Trolley
Don't own Harry Potter, blame J. K. Rowling for this.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?"
She had been saying that same line since she had inherited her line of work from her mother, who had inherited from her mother, and on and on.
Her very own daughter was going to do the exact same when she died, and that would be that.
But while she had worked on giving the students of Hogwarts some snacks, she had met many people, and generation after generation.
She could remember when James Potter, that rascal, first came to Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy, Frank Longbottom, and Arthur Weasley as well, whether it may was a to-be Death Eater, to-be Ministry employee, or to-be fighter in the Second War, she met them all, all of them except for the parents of the muggleborns. In fact, her own grandmother and mother had met Dumbledore when he attended Hogwarts!
She remembered seeing Harry Potter, but thinking no more of it, knowing that he had never known his parents, and could never had known what he had down at the age of one. A hero he would be, but until then, a normal boy she would sell things from the tea trolley to.
Draco Malfoy inherited his arrogance from his father, but she had said nothing, knowing that they were still family and no matter what, they would be family.
She met Neville Longbottom, nervous little thing, and she offered him a smile in remembrance of his parents, but he never looked up.
Oh, she remembered so many of those who had died, treasured those quiet times she'd offered them sweets right off her trolley. Everyone who had died, everyone who had survived, they were all heroes.
Meeting Bill and Charlie Weasley was a treat, and Percy a bit of an annoyance, but she never said that. The twins were almost exactly like the James Potter and Sirius Black, and made her smile. Ron Weasley was a sad one, unsure if he could live up to his brothers, and she hoped he would become a good friend to Harry Potter. But last but no least, the little sister of them all, Ginny Weasley, seemed happy yet unhappy.
She had seen them, every year seeing them again, watching as they grew. There was more to a person than simply appearances and words, and she looked past all of them to see who they truly were, yet never said a thing. She had looked at each student, and had known that every single one of them was destined for their own greatness.
She had watched, as people died and went, as the good side became victorious, and she let herself smile, carefully holding the bleeding stump that used to be her arm, and let herself go.
She watched from somewhere as her daughter pushed the trolley along, the same trademark smile their whole family had had, pasted onto her face as she knocked on the compartment door as it opened, seeing a boy with black hair and green eyes.
"Anything from the trolley, dear?"
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