GLOSSARY:
... = scene break.
*...* = POV change
*.* = flashback or dream sequence.
*.JUNE, 2018.*
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For Hermione, the year passed far too slowly. Though she delved herself into work at the Ministry, and being home with Hugo, she missed her daughter terribly. She really couldn't imagine being without both her children… and didn't like thinking about the fact that it was just another year before it would happen.
Hermione sat in her study, reading one of the more recent letters Rose had sent her from Hogwarts. She would be leaving to pick her up from the station in just about two hours, but refreshing her memory about what was going on with her daughter couldn't hurt. Besides, she wanted to get different ideas on things they could talk about.
She sent Rose letters three times a week, but she only got replies, at best, every Monday—sometimes it would be two weeks before she received anything. She felt a little rebuffed, but she forced herself to remember what it was like to be in school that first year. Delving into class work, practicing, reading all those books in the school library… not to mention all the trouble new friends would drag you into; little time for anything else.
Hermione smiled a little to herself. She wasn't at all surprised when her daughter had written that she got sorted into Ravenclaw. She certainly was intelligent.
Just like her mother, she thought with pride.
But as she thought about Hogwarts, her pride gave way to sorrow, as it often did when the subject was brought up. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the memories.
It didn't work.
It never worked.
*.*
"No!" she screamed, fighting against the Auror who held onto her arm, and twisting away from the second who stood before her, a hand on her shoulder.
They had swept into the office, silent as the grave, and taken her out of Minerva's office. Immediately she had tried to get back in, but they restrained her… within minutes she had watched as they took away Minerva in chains.
"STOP! She didn't do anything! Stop it! Don't hurt her!" She tried her hardest to run after the other two Aurors who dragged Minerva along, but the one at her side held tightly to her arm, painfully so.
"That's enough, Miss Granger," said the other Auror, who was there to interview her. "You're obviously under some kind of spell. It's alright, dear. We'll make it all better."
"I'm not under a spell—why won't you listen to me? She didn't do anything to me—she never touched me! She would never touch me! Please—stop!" She begged, still struggling against the tight grip. Down the corridor, she saw the Auror dragging Minerva twist her arm when the witch did not follow fast enough. Minerva gave a sharp cry of pain. "STOP!"
"She did touch you, dear, and that's okay," said the Auror, with misplaced sympathy.
She was desperate. She bit the hand of the Auror who held onto her—doing anything she could to make him lose his grip on her arm. It worked—he let her go, but it didn't do any good.
After this, all she could remember was breaking free for just a second—before she could even try to run she felt a surging pain hit her back, and she fell to the ground, unable to move.
"Don't worry, dear, we know it isn't you. We'll make everything better."
Everything went black after that, and once she did manage to wake up, she found herself in a white room in a hospital bed. Dumbledore stood at her side, telling her that Professor McGonagall was in Azkaban.
*.*
Hermione shuddered and held herself tightly. She hated remembering that night. She hated the look on Minerva's face when the Minister had come into the office, hearing her pain. It made her sick to her stomach.
Why couldn't they have listened to her? Why after weeks of interviews, two months of examinations without finding a single enchantment in effect, couldn't they believe her? Why?
Why…?
A sob raked her body, and a hand shot to cover her mouth. Slumped into her chair, her eyes screwed shut as the painful memories flooded her head and pierced her heart.
*.*
"Miss Granger, please—" a representative, she didn't recall a name, had tried to reason with her.
"NO!" Hermione shouted so loudly people passing by stopped and stared for a moment before moving on. She was standing in the Ministry of Magic, wearing a blue formal dress suit, ready to defend her teacher tooth and nail, only to be denied entrance by some pathetic looking man with a wig sitting with a white cat next to him. "How many times do I have to say it? I am a witness in Minerva McGonagall's trial! Three months—three goddamn months I've been telling the bloody Ministry what happened. Now once they tell me I can make a statement—now that I'm finally here—you say they can't bloody see me?"
Before the lawyer had a chance to open his mouth, she continued. "Shut up! I don't care what you have to say, I'm going in there—getting up in that chair, and tell them the truth! Professor McGonagall never laid a hand on me! Now let me pass NOW or I swear to god I will turn you into a rat and feed you to my cat!"
"It's not that simple," said the short pathetic looking man. Hermione was ready to take her wand out and curse him. The only reason she didn't was because of what he said next. "Professor McGonagall is dead."
Hermione stood there. Horror struck her heart like a train. She felt as all the blood in her face just drained away.
"…no."
"There was an explosion—an escape attempt at Azkaban. It happened right where they were holding the trials… It killed the criminal, and several Aurors. The rest of the jury and the Judge survived, thank goodness."
*.*
Hermione had turned him into a rat after that last comment, and while she didn't feed him to Crookshanks, she hadn't stopped his own. It hadn't helped her feel better, though she had managed to avoid formal charges (after all, she couldn't control other people's pets). Even so, she didn't feel anything other than painful sadness and anger for a very long time.
Professor McGonagall was never proven innocent, not even after her death. Not even after Hermione made hundreds upon hundreds of statements to the ministry, and to newspapers—to anyone who would ask, adamantly stating that she had never once been molested or abused by her professor.
Dead.
Her professor was dead… and it was her fault. She never forgave herself for that, and she never forgave Malfoy for spreading that damn rumor in the first place. She had tried to get Malfoy arrested for murder, or for falsifying a case, or even permanently banned from Hogwarts. None of it worked. No one wanted to smear the name of a pure-blood, certainly not Malfoy, and certainly not for a Muggle-born like her.
"Mummy?" a tiny voice called.
Hermione gasped and quickly wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeves. She couldn't let her son see her like this.
"Oh—Hugo—yes…" Hermione sniffed and turned around in her chair, looking to her son, who was standing timidly in the doorway of her study. "What is it?"
"Are you okay?" Hugo asked. He still stood in the doorway—he knew he wasn't supposed to come into her study. He rarely broke that rule… unlike his sister, whom Hermione knew would sneak in during the night to read her books, though she never brought it up.
"Oh, I'm fine." Hermione smiled, though it felt fake and cheap, and got up from her chair to walk to her son. She knelt beside him and hugged him close, "I just miss your sister is all."
Hugo thankfully didn't pry anymore. Hermione buried her face into his brown hair, bushy like hers, and pushed down all the pain and all the regrets... just as she had done a million times before.
It was a few minutes before she let Hugo go and smiled at him.
"Let's go get ready to pick up your sister, okay?"
*…*
When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Rose was just finishing reading Esmeralda's latest letter.
Finally, I must add that I believe the latest attempt of the boy to be that of a purely innocent nature. However, if he continues in his pursuits, you could always bring the issue to your Head of House, who would then discuss the matter with the Head of Slytherin. I don't think you should pay much mind to him.
I hope you enjoy your summer, dear, and look forward to your company at the shop.
Madam E.
Rose smiled a little bit. Well, if Esme said it wasn't anything to worry about she wouldn't pay the matter anymore thought. She noticed some fine print at the bottom and held it up closer to read it.
PS,
For Merlin's sake, stop giving Owen treats when you send him back—he keeps coughing up the carcass right when a customer walks up to the register. It's rather unsettling.
Rose couldn't help but break into a fit of laughter. Albus and James stared at her oddly, but she quickly cleared her throat and stuffed the letter into her pocket.
"Who keeps sending you those letters, anyway?" Albus asked.
"A friend," Rose said. "Oh look—our mums are already here."
Rose had grabbed her bag and rushed out of the cabin.
*...*
When Rose rushed off the train, Hermione quickly pulled her into a crushing hug. Of course, she only knew it was crushing because Rose grunted and said, "Mum—I can't breathe."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rosie, I've just missed you so much!" Hermione said, releasing her. She looked to her nephews and smiled, "Hello, boys."
"Hey Aunt Hermione," said James. Albus waved a little—Ginny had him in a hug just as crushing as the one she had given Rose just a moment before. She tried not to laugh, while Hugo and Rose simply let their amusement show… rather loudly in fact. She swatted their heads softly from behind. "Oh, shush you two."
After they gathered their children's luggage and got it on the carts, the two mothers said their goodbyes and parted ways, each with their children in tow.
Hermione listened as Hugo and Rose talked animatedly about Hogwarts. She listened as Rose told Hugo that she was the one of the few students to know how to properly fly a broom before the first flying lesson—not surprising; thanks to their father's obsession with Quidditch, the two of them had learned very early on.
"I can't wait until I can go onto the house team." Rose said. Hermione couldn't help but shake her head. Despite how alike they were, things like this reminded her how much the girl was like her father.
Once they had gotten to the car and started driving, she let her daughter and son keep talking until there was a lull, just as they pulled into their long winding driveway that led up to their house.
"It sounds like you had a good year," Hermione said, turning into the small garage. "Did anything interesting happen in the last few weeks?"
"Of course, Mum, you already know about that." Rose said. Hermione, confused at this and fully stopped, looked at her daughter with a small frown.
"You haven't sent me a letter in three weeks."
"No, I sent you one on Monday."
"Dear, you didn't send me anything." Hermione raised an eyebrow, quickly becoming suspicious as her daughter seemed to realize something and turn her head back towards the window.
"Oh… right."
"Oh, right, what?" Hermione set the parking break.
"Oh—nothing." Rose said casually, quickly unbuckling herself. "I wrote letters to you and my friend on Monday, I suppose I thought I sent them both out at the same time."
Hermione didn't like how fast Rose got out of the car and rushed inside, nor how excited she was when they went inside to find a package waiting for her.
"Who is that from?" Hermione asked.
"My friend," Rose said. "I'm going to my room—to get settled." She snatched up the small parcel and raced up the stairs without another word.
"Rosie's got a boyfriend," Hugo teased loudly after his sister.
"Shut up!" came the positively furious reply from her daughter's bedroom before the door slammed loudly.
A boyfriend, huh? Hermione didn't know if she felt amused or worried. She settled for not paying it much mind as she read the rest of the mail.
*…*
Rose quickly jumped onto her bed and opened the package, positively shredding the wrapping.
She practically squealed in delight as she held the brand new lightweight tartan shawl in the Ravenclaw colors. A small note was attached to the end.
I got sick of your constant badgering for one.
Madam E.
It wasn't cold, but she put it around her shoulders anyway.
*…*
Hermione paused in front of Rose's door, knocking. "Rosie, lunch is ready."
"I'll be out in a minute, Mum!" Rose called from inside.
Hermione made to leave, but stopped dead in her tracks as a painfully familiar scent assaulted her senses.
*…*
Rose had already hidden the shawl when the door to her room slammed open. She gave a shout of surprise, and looked up to see her mother standing there with an unfamiliar… and yet somehow scary expression.
"What. Is. That?" asked her mother very slowly.
"What is what?" Rose asked, confused by the sudden appearance.
"That smell," her mother said.
Rose realized that her mother must have caught whiff of ginger that lingered on the tartan scarf. Goodness, her mother had a nose like a dog. She quickly tried to come up with an excuse, not wishing to explain she had received it from a friend—since that would mean she would have to explain how she met this friend. She was sure if she let her mother know about where she spent most of her spare time, that she would be forbidden from ever visiting it again. After all, no matter how elusive, it was considered a bookshop for restricted and otherwise dark books.
When her mother took a step into the room, she backed up into her nightstand. With a loud clank, an old tin of the Ginger Newts fell to the floor, popping open in the process.
Rose and Hermione looked at the tin at the same time. When Rose looked back up, however, her mother was still staring.
"I—I know that I'm not supposed to have food in my room…" Rose said nervously. "…but I know you can't stand the smell so I kept them up here."
Hermione was very quiet, and Rose worried she was going to be grounded the first day back home. Slowly her mother came into the room, and picked up the tin.
Rose backed away from her mother, unnerved by the silence. A moment later, she was shocked to see tears suddenly come to her mother's eyes.
"M-Mum?"
"Get washed up for lunch." Her mother said quickly, and then left the room. She took the Ginger Newts with her.
*.AUGUST.*
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The summer was rolling by far too quickly. It was already the 1st and it felt to Rose, who was now sitting in a nook in the backroom of Esme's shop, that she had just gotten back home from school. She was now determined to spend as much time with her friend in the shop as possible before she started her second year at Hogwarts.
"So if I dangled a bit of yarn in front of you, would you attack it?" Rose asked loudly, looking over the edge of the latest book, through the archway. Esmeralda groaned from her seat at the front counter.
"I knew I shouldn't have fallen asleep like that." Esme said with a sigh.
"It was funny watching you flip out when I petted you." Rose giggled when her older friend rolled her emerald eyes in response. Rose put down her book as Esmeralda turned towards the front, obviously to ring up a customer who had walked up. They had arranged her spot so she could look out into the shop, and that she could see the edge of the back counter where Esmeralda would sit, but out of view of the front of the register, thus the customers couldn't see her.
This summer had been an eventful one, at least as far as she and Esmeralda were concerned. Esmeralda had begun to tell stories about herself as a child; fantastic stories about growing up in Scotland, and her years at Hogwarts, and a little into the career she went into right after. By about now, Rose had heard most of the stories up until the older witch was about nineteen.
"When I'm older, will you tell me about your crushes?" Rose asked.
"What?" Esmeralda arched an eyebrow, surprise evident in her voice.
"You're not about to tell me in nineteen years you never had one." Rose smiled when poor Esme actually blushed. "Ooh, maybe something more?"
"Wicked child." said Esmeralda, looking back to her register and picking up her cup of tea. "Aren't you supposed to believe anyone who isn't married and over twenty has never been kissed?"
"I'm not that stupid," said Rose, rather proud of herself. When Esmeralda took a sip, she added, "I even know that parents do it."
Esmeralda choked on her tea and spun around to look at her. "Do what?"
"You know, cuddling and kissing and stuff. In bed." She said the last part in a whisper as if it was the naughtiest thing ever. Esmeralda looked at her for a long while and then burst out laughing. "Hey, what's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing dear, I'm just shocked." Esmeralda didn't seem shocked though, she sounded amused. Then she turned serious and pointed at her. "I'd better not get a letter about you doing anything like that."
"Eww!" said Rose, sticking out her tongue. "All the boys at school are gross."
"Good, that's just what I wanted to hear." Esmeralda sounded pleased and turned back to her counter. "By the way, do you know where I put my glasses?"
"On the shelf to your right, Esme," said Rose. The bell on the door chimed, and she watched as Esmeralda once again stood from her seat to silently ring the customerup.
Customers never stayed long in the shop—generally speaking, anyone who knew where the shop was, and what was inside, came with a very specific book in mind. Rose never heard than a few words exchanged between her friend and the wizards and witches that would buy a book.
Rose couldn't help but notice just how long Esmeralda's hair was—today was one of the rare times she kept it in a ponytail instead of a bun at the back of her neck—the ebony locks ended just above her waist.
Once the bell ringed again, signaling the patron had left, Rose put down her book.
"Can I braid your hair, Esme?" Esmeralda turned around and looked at her stiffly. "I can do it from here, don't worry."
Esmeralda put her hands on her hips and looked at her with a small frown.
"Come on—you'll be helping me practice my levitation charm." Rose said, wiggling her wand between her fingers. After a minute, Esmeralda finally sighed and took her hair out from the ponytail, and ran her fingers through it, separating it into three parts.
"I swear if you make any knots in it—"
"I won't, now sit down and stay still."
*…*
It was the 15th, and Hermione should have been out running errands while the kids were at their Uncle's joke shop. Instead, she sat in her study, rereading a very old piece of parchment for the hundredth time. She had acquired it nearly eighteen years ago, stolen her first day working within the Ministry, but she had been too scared, too ashamed to read it.
It was her last words, a complete transcript of the trial, the minutes leading up to that fatal explosion.
Around five years after getting it, however, one night where she had drunk a little too much wine after a huge fight with Ronald, she found herself taking it out of her desk and unrolling it.
Needless to say, upon reading the thing she sobered up right quick… and proceeded to burst into tears.
Now as she held the tin of Ginger Newts her daughter had somehow to acquire, a tin that looked too much like the one that would sit on Professor McGonagall's desk, she found herself reading it again, and again felt the burning of her eyes.
It wasn't often that one found out that the professor they fancied returned their feelings.
Hermione closed her eyes and pushed the parchment away. Well a lot of good it bloody did. Minerva was dead. Hermione's feelings had gotten her killed.
Hermione rested her head on the desk, held fast onto the tin, and let her mind wander.
As guilty as she should have felt desecrating the memory of a dead woman, she still couldn't help imagining how different her life would be if that rumor hadn't started, and she had been given the opportunity to tell Minerva how she felt after she graduated. She couldn't help the fantasies, and hopes she had within them.
She imagined starting a courtship, trying to be the perfect lady for the older witch, and how things would have progressed. It would have been painfully slow for the first year or so, but once they had their first night together, everything went together perfectly.
She imagined moving in with her, perhaps starting a family with her; either by adoption or magical means, watching their children grow as Minerva worked as Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Hermione—after working at the Ministry for a while—would go on to teach either Potions, or Transfiguration, or perhaps even Charms.
She imagined waiting until after curfew before sneaking into the Headmistress' private quarters and seducing her precious wife away from paperwork. She shuddered as she envisioned undressing her slowly, piece by piece, and kissing newly exposed flesh, and once she teased her too much, being quickly flipped back and pinned by a positively growling, but smirking, and flushed Minerva.
She imagined Minerva sucking and biting her neck, marking her, claiming her…
The idea made her groan, and her head rolled back, the dream so vivid she could almost feel Minerva's breath on her skin, skillful hands running down her body.
Hermione gave a sharp gasp and jumped when she heard a knock on her study door. She spun about to stare at it.
"Oy," muttered a voice from behind the door. It was Ron. The irrational fear of being caught cheating came instantly, though there was no possible was Ron could know whom she was thinking about. "You alright, Mione?"
She took several calming breaths before answering, "I'm fine."
There was the jiggling of the doorknob.
"What is it?" she snapped. Ron knew she didn't like it when he tried to come in without permission. This was her space—where she went to escape.
There was a moment of frustrated silence, it was obviously frustration because she knew he didn't like that she locked the door, just as much as he didn't like being put out from a room in his own house.
"The kids are gone," he said. It was obvious what he wanted.
She gave a frustrated groan, but it was too soft and short for her husband to hear. She put the tin down and got up, crossing the room. When she opened the door, Ron was gone, but their bedroom door was open. She sighed and leaned against the door frame.
Damn, it figured he would bother her now.
…
As she performed her wifely duties, the scent of ginger mixed with parchment lingered and she closed her eyes. With them closed, and her ears tuning out any sounds in the room, her mind wandered back to her previous fantasy. Of course, he thought she was ready because of him. Ha! How wrong he was. It wasn't him kissing her, caressing her; it was someone else, someone far more skillful with their tongue, far more talented with their fingers, far more beautiful…
She moaned her name, but Ron didn't seem to notice, and if he did, quite frankly, she didn't give a damn.
*…*
Too soon, it was the 30th, and Rose stood outside the store, looking up at the signs. It was hard leaving Esmeralda's shop for a lot of reasons. After two years she had now come to regard the place as a second home, and Esmeralda her best friend—a big sister. What made it harder than it had to be, however, was because she couldn't even give a proper goodbye.
It wasn't that Esmeralda hadn't offered, but Rose was too afraid.
"I don't want our goodbyes to involve you getting a migraine." Rose had said.
"It's not as bad as all that." Naughty Esme had lied. Rose knew that being too close, not just to her but to any child, gave the older witch intense pain.
"I wish you could see me off," Rose had commented. Esmeralda frowned.
"Oh, dear—"
"I know. That would just make your brain explode."
Rose had settled for waving an enthusiastic goodbye, to which Esmeralda smiled and waved back, albeit sadly.
Rose sighed and looked down for a moment, saddened. When she looked up again, she saw Esmeralda standing in the picture window, watching her. When their eyes met, Esme tilted her head questioningly. Rose just smiled back and waved again.
A customer had walked into the shop after that, and Esmeralda had left the picture window to tend to whoever it was. Rose decided she should leave then, otherwise be tempted to linger.
She headed back down the street, dodging and weaving through the thick crowd. This was probably what she liked the least about Diagon Alley this time of year—everyone was rushing about buying last minute supplies instead of, like her mother, getting them as soon as they knew what was needed for the school year.
Speaking of her mother… just as she rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a massive collision between herself and two older boys, she saw an all too familiar bunch of bushy brown hair. Instantly she dive-bombed into a crack between two buildings and huddled close to the ground, hiding. Her mother passed her by without noticing her, thank Merlin.
Now the reason she was hiding from her mother in a dirty and somewhat scary alleyway was that, quite simply, she had claimed that she was going to stay at Flourish and Blott's while her mother went into some of the other stores. Well, that would be all well and fine, but that shop was at the other side of the alley—she had no excuse for being in these parts.
She waited until her mother ducked into one of the shops before bolting into the crowd and racing towards the bookshop.
*…*
The 31st. Esmeralda stood silently in the picture window of her shop, looking out into the crowded streets of the alleys. She never ventured out this time of year—not until well after nine, not until the streets had thinned and all the hustle and bustle—and children—had gone.
It had never been hard before—in fact she had come to enjoy it in her fifteen years as a (relatively) free woman. But yesterday as she watched the young girl leave and go into the throngs of people, being pushed about, she had a powerful urge to rush into the streets and walk with her, protect her.
But it wouldn't do any good. Even if she had stepped out from the safety of her shop, all the screaming and laughing little children would set her head into an unbearable agony. She would more than likely collapse in the street and proceed to be trampled on by unknowing patrons.
Rose knew this and she never asked her to venture outside, just wished.
What Rose didn't know, however, was that the spell that caused the pain she had learned the reversal to last year.
It had been on accident, really. It was from a new book she had come into possession of, having been purchased during an estate auction out in one of the nearby towns—one of the only reasons she would leave her shop. It was nearly as old as her.
Inside, it described the mark that was scared upon her forehead, which now stayed hidden beneath a red tartan sash, the rim of her hat, about a pound of makeup and a glamour charm—one could never be too careful with such things, even the quickest glimpse of the mark from any Auror could cost her everything.
Esmeralda turned away from the window and looked at her sanctuary. It had taken her years to get the place, though it held itself fairly well. That's the good thing about selling rare and restricted books, patrons who want them badly enough will pay an arm and a leg for a title, but, generally speaking, she would attain them at much lower prices, or even free, depending on how stupid the last owner was. It truly amazed her how often she would come across a treasure trove in someone's bin (not literally of course—she would never stoop so low as to root through someone's garbage. Never again.).
Owen made a sound from his perch on the far end of the shop. She glanced over at him, noting with some amusement and disgust that he had once again coughed up the fur and bones of one of Rose's treats.
Oh, that girl… Esmeralda shook her head and put her hands on her hips.
The girl had been so determined the first time she met her, stubborn, almost fierce. It was impressive, and so had allowed her to stay. She had no idea that the redhead would weasel her way into her heart, make her feel something other than cold bitterness for the first time in so many years.
She even let Rose "name" her. At first it had been a little odd, but now it felt natural, like her name had always been Madam Esmeralda Emerald.
Ah, such an amazing child. It had been crushing to learn she was a Weasley.
Esmeralda remembered that time all too well. When that letter came, Rose's full name on the bottom, she had let out a scream and dropped the parchment as if it was fire.
That name brought back so many memories that she couldn't find the strength to write the girl back. Her mind had tormented her with visions of every time she had cursed the Weasley name over the years, every time she had to go to the streets, or had to struggle to survive and stay hidden from the prying eyes of everyone around her. The knowledge of the ever present possibility of being discovered by an Auror; it all just played over and over in her head like a never-ending reel. How could she not have known?
After an age of depression, and a steady flow of letters, she finally received the one that changed everything. The poor child had thought she had done something wrong. The old witch realized how foolish she was being, and quickly formed a reply.
Now she couldn't believe she had almost risked upsetting Rose, driving her away, being alone. She couldn't imagine a summer without seeing her young friend.
Esmeralda closed her eyes as her hand went to her forehead, once again thinking about why she couldn't bring herself to remove the curse.
Although she only felt a motherly (or sisterly, as Rose often insisted, because she believed her to be too young to be her mother; HA!) love for the child, and although Rose had severely lessened her belief of being the predator all those people had made her out to be, memories of the past filled her head.
"And have you had sexual thoughts towards a minor?"
"Yes."
Esmeralda shuddered. It was true; along with love she held a fear of Rose in her heart, though it was small, and because of that she hadn't removed the curse from herself.
If there was even the slightest chance that motherly love could change, that she could develop feelings once again, then it would be better to live with the pain—to be reminded of what happened before, and not let it happen again.
*.SEPTEMBER.*
.
.
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It was September 1st, and Hermione stood on the platform 9 ¾ as Rose boarded the train, following her three cousins James, Albus, and Lily. Harry stood next to her.
"I don't know how you do it," Hermione said softly to him once the train had vanished from sight down the tracks. "I'm still in shock that Hugo is going next year. Here you are sending all of them off."
"It gets easier by the third time," he said, "But it's still a bittersweet thing, watching them all leave."
"I'd bet," Hermione sighed, glancing down towards the floor. It was then that she realized her daughter had forgotten a bag, which had shoe marks all over it. "Oh, damn it!"
Hermione picked up the bag from the floor and brushed off the dirt before quickly opening it. Sweet Merlin she hoped nothing was broken—she and Ron couldn't afford to replace any school supplies right now. When she unlatched the flap and looked inside a scent hit her and she froze.
"What's that?" he asked, glancing over her shoulder. He saw the shoeprints on the bag and winced a tad. "Anything important?"
She carefully extracted what looked to be remnants of a tin—Ginger Newts, which had been crushed inside the satchel and scattered over a tartan Ravenclaw shawl she didn't remember buying her daughter, a few books and several blank pieces of parchment.
"Well, it doesn't look that bad," Harry finally said when Hermione didn't speak. "Ginger Newts are pretty cheap."
"Not these," Hermione said, but she didn't really care about the price. The blank pieces of parchment bothered her. They certainly weren't new, so she couldn't understand why they were in separate pieces, and such small pieces—too small to write much of anything surely. And they had a faint scent… ancient and a bit musky, like they had been lying around old books for years.
And why was her daughter addicted to Ginger Newts all of a sudden?
She would have to send Rose a letter and let her know about the bag… and perhaps ask where she got the shawl. It looked rather nice.
*…*
Rose was freaking out a few days later. Her mother had sent her the bag she left behind, and the letter was filled with the usual be careful with your things and hope you have a wonderful year and blah, blah, what she was freaking out about was the last line in the letter.
When you come home this summer I want to have a talk with you about where you've been getting these books.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Here is another chapter. Please be sure to review, let me know how I'm doing, ask questions, give me your opinions on what is going to happen next. Even a one word review will make me happy!
PS,
Skipping July was intentional, as nothing significant happened in that month.
If you see any grammatical errors I deeply apologize.
