Hermione awoke on the sofa Sunday morning to the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting in from the kitchen.
After her talk with Rose, she and her daughter had joined Hugo in the den to watch some superhero film that had recently come out on Netflix. She hadn't lasted thirty minutes.
At some point in the night one of the kids must have gone up to her room because she was currently snuggled up against a pillow from her bed and wrapped in her favorite quilt. Bloody lucky. That's what she was.
She may have slept long, but that didn't mean she'd slept well. As the events of yesterday quickly came back to her she suddenly felt like she'd been hit by the Knight Bus.
Reluctantly she removed herself from the couch and made her way into the kitchen where she was greeted with the site of Rose flipping pancakes on the griddle and Hugo pouring her a cup of coffee. Bloody lucky indeed.
"Good morning mum," her son said as he handed her the steaming mug.
"Morning you two. I didn't realize you'd become quite the little chefs!"
"Dad taught us how to make some simple stuff over the summer in case he was ever too busy to cook or pick something up."
Ron had shown them how to cook? Truthfully, he'd probably taught them the only things he himself knew how to make. His menu was by no means extensive, which is why the kids had eaten a lot more takeout growing up than she would have preferred.
When she had time on the weekends she would often make meals for the week so that Ron could just heat them up when the kids got hungry or when she got home, whichever came first. But she would usually do that after the kids had gone to bed, not wanting to waste any time she had with them. She'd never considered teaching them to cook herself.
There was something about picturing Ron showing Rose how to mix pancake batter or demonstrating to Hugo how to boil a potato that made her smile.
She was gnawing on a piece of bacon when she suddenly remembered something from Ron's letter.
"This may seem like a strange thing to ask, but humor me. Did either of you ever feel like I wasn't around a lot when you were younger, and if so, did that bother you?"
The siblings exchanged a look between them, and Hermione braced herself for their reply.
"You were gone a lot, mum," Rose admitted truthfully. "And there were days, especially when we were really little, when we missed you a lot, and we didn't understand why you couldn't be home as much as dad was."
Then Hugo chimed in, "But dad always made sure we knew how much you loved us. He would tell us how your job was really demanding and that if you could spend every second with us you would. And when you were around, you proved every word of that true."
"You were a fantastic mother, mum. Don't ever doubt that. And Hugo and I, we couldn't be more proud to call you ours."
Hugo nodded his head in agreement, and Hermione felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Seriously what had she done to deserve such precious children? And then there was Ron... He'd defended her love to them time and time again, despite his frustration with her.
"Where is this coming from mum?" Rose questioned.
"Nowhere. It's nothing. Your father just mentioned something the other day, and it got me thinking. Nothing bad. Just that I was gone a lot."
Hugo's eyes widened and Ron's lopsided smile began to spread across his face as he straightened up in his chair. "You've been talking with dad?! Does that mean—"
"It doesn't mean anything Hugo," Rose snapped. "It just means they've been talking."
"It still means something," Hugo mumbled, shuffling out of the kitchen.
"Rose, you didn't have to use that tone. You know this has been exceptionally hard on him. Finish cleaning up and then go pack your things. Uncle Harry will be here soon to take us to the station."
She placed her dishes in the sink and climbed up the stairs to her son's room. He was laying on his Chudley Cannons bedspread, throwing a quaffle up in the air when she peaked her head through the door.
"I'm fine mum," he said unconvincingly.
She walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed, moving her hand to gently pat his head. There were definite tearstains on the neck of his nightshirt, and his cheeks were still wet.
"Really, I'm fine. I was just about to pack up my things," he sniffed, running the back of his hand under his nose.
"Hugo," she said gently. "Whatever is bothering you, you know you can tell me. Right?"
He nodded, wordlessly.
She was about to leave when he finally spoke.
"I hate that you and dad don't love each other anymore. And I hate that I can't talk to anyone at school about it. I know you said it would make things hard at the ministry, but I just get so angry and sad all the time, and I can't explain it to anyone. I mean Lilly knows, but she doesn't understand. Her parents are happy and in love. Her life is normal."
That last sentence broke her heart, and she questioned for the millionth time if she and Ron had made a mistake.
"Oh sweetheart. It's not that we don't love each other. We just… Don't get along anymore. But there's still love between us, and most importantly, we love you."
"But if you still love each other, why can't you just be together?" He looked at her with those pleading eyes that reminded her so much of the way Ron had looked at her a week ago. She so desperately wished she could give him the answer he wanted, an answer that would make the hurt go away, but there wasn't one.
"I'm afraid there's not an easy answer to that question baby," she sighed. "I think we're just trying to figure out if we're better apart than we were together."
"Well I could have answered that one for you a year ago… You're not."
She chuckled at her son's certainty and optimism, "Oh really? And what makes you so sure?"
"He makes you laugh, and you make him brave."
He said it with such matter-of-factness, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. How did her children seem to have a better understanding of her relationship with Ron than she did?
"Perhaps you're right," she said, kissing him on the temple. "Alright then, it's time to start packing your trunk. Your aunt and uncle will be here soon."
She left to go get ready herself, but she couldn't push Hugo's words out of her mind. 'He makes you laugh, and you make him brave."
It's true Ron had always made her laugh more than anyone else, but what was so important about that? And what had he meant when he said she made Ron brave? When had Ron had to be brave lately? He was a Gryffindor so of course he was brave, but what did she have to do with it?
She was still contemplating it when she heard the honk of Harry's car horn. She grabbed her jacket and her purse and rushed downstairs, grateful to see that Rose and Hugo were there with trunks and brooms and cages ready to go.
"Well done you two. Off we go!"
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Would there ever come a day when she didn't get emotional seeing them board the Hogwarts Express? Probably not. Seeing Rose, Albus, and Scorpius sitting together on the train would always remind her of her own experiences at Hogwarts.
"Oh knock it off Hermione. It's not even the first day of school! It was just a holiday weekend. No need to get all emotional," Ginny joked.
"Don't you lecture me on being emotional Ginerva Potter! I saw the way you hugged James before he boarded!"
"That is completely different! That was the last time I will ever see James board the train after Fall Holiday."
"Oh you're right. Completely different."
"It is!" she squealed and they burst into a fit of laughter.
"Aright my gaggling geese, let's head home, shall we?" Harry offered them his arms and escorted them down platform 9¾ .
It took them longer than she had hoped to make it out of Kings Cross, but then, it always did when she or Harry were in public. One of the many burdens that came with their positions was that everyone in the British Wizarding Community knew who they were.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy visiting with her fellow witches and wizards. Having that kind of influence and personal connection was one of the things that had drawn her to the job, and she wanted to maintain a good rapport. It was just that she so often felt like she was being interrogated. 'What did she think about the recent muggle-wizarding relations debate?' 'What was her opinion of the new Muggle Prime Minister?' and probably the question she feared the most, 'Where's Ron?'
She and Harry navigated the crowds expertly, however, and arrived at her home shortly after noon.
"Thanks again for the ride Harry. Gin. I assume I'll see you in the office tomorrow Harry, and maybe we can have lunch some time next week, alright Gin?" She moved to exit the car, only to find that her door was locked.
Harry and Ginny exchanged a knowing look and then pointed their gazes towards her.
"Umm, Hermione. Is there something you want to talk to us about?" Ginny asked innocently.
Shoot. How could she have forgotten? Of course they knew. Ron had mentioned in the letter that the whole thing had been Harry's idea. And if there was something Harry Potter knew, you could almost guarantee Ginny was privy to it as well.
"I'll assume you're referring to Ron's letter… As to whether or not I want to talk about it, I'm… I'm not sure."
Harry cast her a sympathetic look. He knew her better than most, perhaps even better than Ron at times. If he knew anything about the contents of the letter, which he most likely did, he must know how heavily the whole situation was weighing on her.
"If you don't want to talk about it Mione, that's perfectly ok. Just know that Gin and I are here for you if you need anything."
Perhaps she did need to talk about it. She had so many questions, and if she could get some answers from Harry or Ginny, maybe that would enable her to get to the heart of the matter more quickly when she spoke to Ron.
"Oh alright," she conceded. "We can talk, but we're going to your house. I'm afraid to see what Rose did to my kitchen."