XXV. Abatina
Fickleness.
Ron Weasley had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He always had done and, as far as Hermione was concerned, he always would do. Twelve years of marriage hadn't knocked any sense into him at all; he was still as fickle as he had been as a teenager, still couldn't seem to realise that some of the things he said were just plain rude. That was why Hermione had locked herself away in her study and was seething with annoyance.
Suddenly there was a knock on her door. Hermione glared at it, wondering why he wouldn't leave her alone. The study was her sanctuary, the only place in the world where she could get any peace (having two – no, three children meant that there was never a quiet moment in her lift) and now he seemed determined to ruin even that.
There was another knock.
"What is it?"
The door opened to reveal a scared-looking Hugo and a half-asleep Rose. Hermione immediately wished she hadn't snapped; it wasn't their fault their father was a complete idiot.
"What is it, darlings?"
"Hugo said he got woken up by loud noises," Rose mumbled. "Then he woke me up and now he won't go back to bed."
Hermione sighed inwardly. Why couldn't Ron learn to behave? If he did then maybe they wouldn't end up in this situation so often, with a pair of confused children appearing at random hours of the night and complaining about being disturbed by shouting. It wasn't fair on any of them. Why couldn't he finally grow up?
As she tucked her children into their beds for the second time that night, Hermione wished that neither of them would grow up to be as fickle and ignorant as their father so often was.