Of Mothers and Lovers

Blood was roaring in Hermione's ears.

"Don't," she glared at him, "believe everything you read."

Art folded his arms across his chest. "So you didn't live with Uncle Viktor?"

Hermione sighed and pressed her fingertips against her temples. "I did, but it wasn't like the magazine said. Rita –"

"Did you date him at Hogwarts?"

"We went out on one date, to the Yule Ball, it wasn't –"

"Why didn't you go with Dad?"

"He didn't ask me." For the millionth time, Hermione could have killed Ron for not asking her to that stupid ball.

"So what's not true?"

"What?" Hermione asked.

"What part of this is lies? It seems to me everything they've said is true."

Hermione stood so abruptly the chair behind her clattered to the ground. Winky appeared at the door to the kitchen trembling behind her tea towel. "It doesn't even occur to you that there may be another side to the story, that there might have been extenuating circumstances that you don't understand?"

Art thrust out his jaw and glared at her.

"I see that it doesn't." She wasn't even aware of casting the spell that sent the magazines shooting into the air and shredding into a thousand pieces, which rained down over Art like confetti. Hermione left the room in rush of air.

When Ron stepped into the kitchen a moment later, Winky was sobbing and occasional pieces of magazine were still drifting down over Art, whose eyes had grown huge.

"What the hell?" Before Ron could demand an explanation he saw a glass and a bottle of fire whiskey shoot toward the garden. He glared at his son. "You go to your room!" he shouted, "I'll deal with you later."

When Ron stepped out the back door into the yard he was astounded by the transformation. Their tidy little urban garden had been transformed into a thick impenetrable jungle. He had to pull out his wand and cast slashing spells to get through it. "Damn it, Hermione," he muttered as he pushed through the heavy vegetation.

When he finally made it to the center of the garden he found her on the stone bench under a trellis of roses. She had her face on her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. She had one arm outstretched with half a glass of fire whiskey in her hand. The bottle was in front of her on the bench.

"Bad day?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You could say that." She took a sip of whiskey and moved her feet so Ron could sit down.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I like what you've done with the garden, but it does block the downstairs windows."

Hermione looked up as if noticing the changes in the garden for the first time. "Sorry," she said. "I obviously shouldn't cast herbivicious when I'm upset."

Ron nodded, looking around at the towering jungle of vegetation. "Yeah, probably not." He took the glass of whiskey from her and took a sip. "You want to tell me what happened in there?"

"Your son thinks his mother is a filthy, mud-blood, slag."

"He said that to you?" Ron asked, shocked.

"He was quoting an editorial he read in Witch Weekly."

"Why would –"

"He found it cleaning house today. He found all of them actually. All the ones from when I was with Viktor."

Ron clamped a hand over his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Hermione took the whiskey glass back from him and finished the contents. "He thinks I've lied to him, and I suppose I have."

"Come one, Hermione, no one's lied to him. We've just left out complicated bits of our lives. What should we have done? Sat him down when he was seven and told him every detail of life before he was born? What business is it of his that you once lived with Viktor?"

"Ron, he's thirteen. I'm his mother. I'm supposed to be solid and boring. It's bad enough I teach at Hogwarts, but to find out something like this. He feels betrayed Ron."

"No one's betrayed him," Ron insisted. "It's none of his bloody business."

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she poured herself another glass of whiskey. "We're his parents, of course, he thinks it's his business."

"Well, it isn't," Ron grumbled.

"Maybe it wasn't, but it is now. He deserves an explanation."

"Hermione, he's only thirteen."

She laughed softly and sipped her drink. "Have you forgotten everything we'd seen and done by the time we were his age?"

"That was a different."

"Maybe but he needs an explanation. He can't hear anything I say to him right now. You're going to have to talk to him."

"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled and took the glass of whiskey back. He drank down its contents and handed it back to her. "Fine, I'll go talk to him."

He turned to fight his way back to the house when Hermione stopped him. "Ron."

He looked at her.

"Be gentle, this isn't his fault."

Ron frowned at her. "It isn't anyone's fault. It's just life. It happens."

As Hermione watched Ron cut a swath back to the house, she realized she should probably do something about the garden before the Muggle neighbors noticed. She stood up with just a little difficulty and cast the necessary incantations to return the garden to its normal state. She picked up the bottle of whiskey and walked back to the house. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to consider what brought her and Viktor together in the first place. She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, just how easy it had been.

It was snowing, Christmas Eve, when she left the Ministry library. Even though she had finished her exams for becoming an Unspeakable, she continued to go to the library every day. She found it comforting to be surrounded by the books, to busy herself with learning. Besides it was a place to go when she got up in the morning. She was at loose ends now that the exams were over and she was just waiting to hear whether she made it or not. Unfortunately, she'd been warned that it would likely take a month or more before they notified her. Since Ron had stated over a week ago, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with her, she'd had nothing to do but rattle around in her parents' empty house for hours on end.

Yesterday, she'd broken down and pathetically sent him a Christmas card by owl post, but hadn't as yet received one in return. Actually, she'd only gotten two - one from Harry, in which he wished her a Happy Christmas and then implored her to sort out this business with Ron, and one from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, which just said Happy Christmas and nothing more.

She decided to cut through Diagon Alley. As she walked, she felt light headed. She realized she'd skipped breakfast and also lunch, but unfortunately, the shops were all closed for Christmas Eve. Her stomach growled as she stepped from the alley behind a dusty teashop into Muggle London. It was only a couple of blocks to walk to her parents' townhouse, but she didn't really have any food there, so she decided to stop into a Muggle market that was still open on the corner before heading home.

She'd managed to put a bottle of milk and a box of Weetabix into her basket when someone bumped into her. She turned around and was astounded to see Viktor Krum scowling back at her. The scowl disappeared and was replaced by recognition.

"Hermione?"

"Viktor?"

They hugged each other.

"What are you doing in London?" Hermione asked.

Viktor smiled. "I'm trying out for Puddlemere United."

Hermione looked at him, surprised that he would leave Bulgaria. "What? I thought you played for the Vrasta Vultures when you weren't playing for the Bulgarian National team."

Viktor cleared his throat. "I was. I just needed a change. I can still play for the national team if they want me."

Hermione thought it odd that there would be a question as to whether they'd want him, but she didn't follow Quidditch very closely, so she was reticent to say anything else about it. "So are you staying around here?"

Viktor sighed. "No. I'm supposed to be staying in Diagon Alley, but the Portkey that was supposed to take me directly to the hotel dropped me behind some Muggle jewelry store instead. I've been walking around for two hours trying to find an entrance into Diagon Alley. I just came in here to get something to eat."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm so sorry. You should report the Portkey - that kind of malfunction is really serious. Who made it?"

Viktor shrugged and his scowl returned.

"Well," said Hermione, "the good news is Diagon Alley is only about a block from here. I can take you."

Viktor looked visibly relieved.

Hermione looked down at the pitiful contents of her basket. "Actually, would you like to get dinner first?"

Viktor smiled at her warmly. "I would like that." He raised his eyebrows. "But, it's Christmas Eve, and I don't think we're likely to find many places open, unless you want to go to a Muggle restaurant or eat at the hotel perhaps."

Hermione thought he was probably right. "You know what?" she said. "Why don't I make us dinner? I don't live far from here and then you don't have to eat hotel food on Christmas Eve."

Viktor nodded his head. "That sounds good, but you're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Hermione smiled. Her evening suddenly didn't seem as bleak. "Do you have any particular favorites?"

Laden with thick steaks, parsnips and Brussels sprouts, she and Viktor walked through the snow to her townhouse. They stopped for Viktor to pick up his luggage, which he'd transfigured to look like cardboard boxes in front of the market.

Dinner had been a joint effort. Viktor knew a good grilling spell and Hermione handled the vegetables. Sated and having started on their second bottle of wine, they'd stayed at the dinner table talking until well into the night. When Viktor finally realized the time, he got up to leave. Hermione rested a hand on his forearm.

"Viktor, it's after midnight. This house has five bedrooms. Why don't you stay? I can take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

He paused, looking intently at her. "You don't mind?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't have asked if I did."

She got him settled into one of the second floor bedrooms and then went upstairs to her own room. Only she wasn't able to sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning she gave up and went back downstairs. She conjured a fire in the parlor fireplace and poured herself a glass of brandy and sat sipping it on the Oriental carpet in front of the fire. She'd been sitting there for some time when she heard Viktor come down the stairs. She heard him go into the kitchen and then a minute later he came into the parlor with a glass of water in his hand.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him. "I couldn't sleep."

He sighed. He was barefoot and shirtless in flannel pajama bottoms. He sat cross-legged on the rug next to her. "Me either."

"Well, happy Christmas," she said, and leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Happy Christmas," he repeated, but instead of kissing her cheek, he kissed her warmly on the mouth.

She hadn't expected it and was surprised by how easy it was to open her mouth to him, to let him touch her breasts, to let him inside her. It felt good, and that surprised her too. She remembered lying there on the rug with Viktor curled next to her with her robe pulled over both of them like a blanket and thinking how she had never considered that she could have satisfying sex without love.

She awoke the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast, and when she'd stepped into the kitchen, he'd smiled at her, and it hadn't been as awkward as she'd expected. They ate, he suggested sledding, so they went. Again she was surprised, because she had a good time. Afterward they'd come home to more wine and more sex. That made it sound harsher than it was but she never thought of sex with Viktor as making love. She didn't love Viktor, although she was very fond of him. She was pretty sure the feeling was mutual since during the three years they were together, although they had discussed marriage, neither of them had ever said the word love in relation to the other. She had assumed, at the time, that it was a one-night stand. She'd taken him to Diagon Alley late in the afternoon so he could be well rested for his upcoming week of Quidditch tryouts. She never expected to hear from him again.

But she had heard from him, with owls coming almost daily, once with flowers. At the end of the week he'd shown up at her door, triumphant with making the team and with a request. His best friend, Todor, and some of his friends had rented a house for a month in Amsterdam. They had an extra room and Quidditch practice didn't start for six weeks. Did she want to go? She'd said yes and almost lost everything as a result and bound herself to Viktor for the next three years and oh how that had cost her and cost her and cost her.

Hermione walked up the stairs to her bedroom and headed for the big claw-footed tub in the bathroom. Whiskey and baths were what she turned to for pain relief and Artie saying "filthy, mud-blood slag" was more pain than she'd had in a very long time.