8

A life with motherly love.

Carrots, lettuce, tomato, eggplant, broccoli, cauliflower; all foods displayed and arranged in their respective boxes.

"Mom, I'm bored," whimpered a girl.

Hermione glanced at the scene, where a woman was looking at the fruit section of the supermarket. In her cart sat a girl who swayed, restless, without taking her eyes off the woman near her: her mother.

"I want to go," she insisted, as her first complaint was ignored.

"We're almost done," the mother replied in a tired tone that indicated that she had said the same thing at least five times before.

She walked away from the cart to reach a scale to weigh some apples. The woman was pretty, shorter than Hermione, with black hair and skin, an expressive face with curved features…

Hermione froze as she realized the course of her thoughts and focused on the carrots in front of her. She realized that now she had no excuses, she was attracted to women. "And this one also has a child," she admitted reluctantly, hating the coincidence.

If she was being honest with herself, she had never considered it before. She liked men and if it weren't for Narcissa, who was so so attractive that it was almost a direct slap to reality, she would not have realized that women also attracted her attention. There were many beautiful women in the world and sometimes her gaze was lost on them, of course, but she had never thought about it more than twice because ... what did it matter? Hermione was a woman too, so there was no point thinking about it too much, the logical thing was for her to focus on men. Which she did until Narcissa decided to show up and mess up everything, making the improbable normal.

With this revelation, she tried to delve into her past, searching for a sign, something "strange" before Narcissa. She found several things to her surprise and disgust. The farthest back instance she remembered was her interest in her best friend in high school: Katie Bell. During her adolescence she had not associated her actions as anything more than an appreciation of her beauty, but now she suspected that she might have had as much or more interest in kissing her than Cormac McLaggen; and if it wasn't like that, she couldn't find another explanation for remembering her face so well, especially her mouth, after so many years without seeing her.

Normally, women didn't think of women that way, but Hermione did. She lived so many years without realizing that she could have been swimming against the current all this time in more ways than she could have imagined, pretending that there was nothing wrong with her even subconsciously ... so that it turned out that there was not one thing unusual about her, not two, but many!

She looked for the vegetables she wrote on her shopping list: beets, chard, garlic, onion, potatoes, cabbage, and carrots; she placed them in her own cart and continued walking through the aisles. Her last stop was the hygiene products section, she needed to buy more soap.

When she finished she went to the cash register. To her misfortune there were many more people than usual. She chose Box 6, where there were two men, a woman, and an old woman waiting. Once she stood still, behind all those people, she pulled her shoulders back, straightening up. It felt a little strange, like she was waiting for someone to point her out or expose her. Was everything she did recently obvious from her face? Could people intuit her deviations, know that she was not like the rest?

When it was her turn to pay for her purchases, she didn't dare meet the eyes of the cashier.

. . .

She almost crashed her car into a tree when she saw the red Ford Sierra parked in front of her house. Her parents were supposed to visit her tomorrow, not today, but it seemed like they changed their plans and it didn't seem important to inform Hermione about it. As she parked in front of her garage and got out of her car, her parents were soon joining her in greeting her.

"Hermione, you're finally here," her mother said, somewhat exasperated.

"I went shopping," she muttered, going to the trunk of her car to get the bags. "You weren't supposed to come today."

"I wanted to give you a surprise! I missed you, and your father even more."

"A surprise fiasco, we sat in the car for about half an hour," her father said, approaching the trunk to help her with the bags.

"Right, I saw you from the street before parking…"

"You guys ruin everything," her mother complained.

Hermione went to the door, juggling so that she could use the key while holding her purchases, and entered, leaving it open for the others to follow. She put the bags on her counter and her father followed suit. She sighed, already exhausted from just five minutes of interaction. She really hated that things didn't go according to plan.

"Wouldn't you like to add a little more color?" Her mother asked.

She almost snorted, thinking that Narcissa once said something similar: Too white and sober, more than even a prison would dare.

"Could you buy some flowers…"

"It's not necessary Mom," she stopped her.

She ignored her mother's dramatic sigh as she began to sort the items in her kitchen. When she finished storing the milk and fruits, she felt a presence behind her back. Her mother brought out a packet of rice and a couple of cans to sort in the pantry, helping out. One positive thing was that both had a similar order to the kitchen, after all, Hermione he was good habits and spent her childhood and adolescence using her parent's kitchen ...

"Whiskey?" Her mother's eyebrows shot up as she lifted the bottle.

Hermione narrowly didn't scoff. She is an adult now, in her early thirties, so it shouldn't surprise anyone if she wanted to buy a strong drink. But she took pity and was honest, she preferred milder drinks.

"For Dad."

"For me?" He was surprised. "Thanks."

"And for your mother there is nothing?" She asked, somewhat jealous.

"I bought the candies you like," Hermione said, pulling them out of a bag.

Her mother was not embarrassed, rather, she made an exasperated face, as if responding: "You took your time to say something so important."

A knock on the door ended the conversation. Hermione was briefly surprised, until she remembered that today Narcissa would visit her again. Sooner than usual because even though they didn't say it out loud, they didn't want to wait another whole week to have sex again. She looked at her parents, somewhat scared, as if they could know what she was thinking, or worse, what she was doing. A second knock made her wake up. She went to the door with a tense gait and opened it a little, not wanting her parents to see what was happening.

"Hi," Hermione said, leaning her body against the doorframe, obstructing the small space.

Narcissa frowned slightly as a smile spread across her lips. Hermione had sounded too nervous.

"Is something happening?"

"My parents are here. I didn't know you were coming today, I'm sorry," she said hastily.

"Why are you so scared?"

"Because... you know! We… " she trailed off, unable to meet her gaze. "You should leave."

Her parents were in the back, looking curiously toward the door, so she felt her whole back itch with guilt and shame. If they could hear them ...!

"I'm dressed. I doubt they suspect anything," she joked.

Hermione blushed helplessly.

"Who is it?" Her mother intruded.

She had approached very quietly and placed her hand on her daughter's back, causing her to straighten up and gulp. Hermione's heart was racing, but her mother wouldn't realize that… would she?

"Narcissa Malfoy, I'm her neighbor. And I like to think that I'm also her friend."

"Oh! A pleasure. I'm Hermione's mom."

After a pause in which they smiled kindly, they both looked at Hermione. She really wanted to be able to get everyone out of her house, shut herself up and put everything in order: her already clean house, and especially, the chaos of her brain. Dirty, dirty. All so inappropriate.

"I had invited her to spend the afternoon, but I was telling her that she should come another day because of unexpected circumstances," Hermione explained, gathering her courage.

"You can stay if you want, we won't be a bother," her mother offered.

"Thanks Mom, but Narcissa doesn't want to ..."

"On the contrary, I do."

Hermione turned her head very quickly towards Narcissa, shocked. Did she hear well? Had she just interrupted and contradicted her?

"Come in then, go ahead." Her mother pushed her without much force to open the door fully. "Look, this is my husband, the father of…"

Hermione disconnected, unable to fully follow the conversation. All she could think of was that she wanted to murder her mother and Narcissa. She felt blank; exposed, dazzled. She reached out her hand, grabbing the forearm of her… Neighbor? Friend? Lover?

"I'll be right back Mom, I want to show her something," Hermione said, dragging Narcissa outside.

They went out to the backyard covered in snow already for the season. Hermione was silent, staring straight ahead, focused on the small cherry tree growing under a glass roof that kept too much snow from falling on it.

She did not consider herself to be very fanatical about plants, as Narcissa appeared to be with her flowers. The cherry tree seemed to be something that was always there, so much a part of her routine and her life that she felt as much of her own as her first and last name. It demanded constant care, adequate watering. She especially liked it for its firmness, always tenacious, able to overcome freezing temperatures and flourish after them.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Narcissa said.

Hermione flinched and turned her head to see her. Was she offended? Or worse, angry? Looking the other in the face, she could answer no. She was nervous, but not for Narcissa. She was used to having cheeky people around. Everybody was. Her mother, her friends, the people from the supermarket. They pushed her, always, that's life, her life, but Hermione is tenacious, firm, enough to overcome the frozen stares or the winter.

"What do you think of your son?"

"Excuse?"

"How do you see Draco?"

"That is too ambiguous a question. Don't you think?"

Hermione looked forward again, at the snow whiter with each passing second, thanks to the sunlight, also whitish from the clouds, which reflected and bothered the eye, but it was still more comfortable than meeting eyes with the woman next to her. She sighed, because Narcissa was right. It was very cold, so she could see her breathing, that misty vapor. Her lips felt cold and dry, her fingers beginning to complain.

"A mother must have an opinion about her children, surely you must have expectations for him," said Hermione.

"I don't think your parents are unhappy with you, if that's your concern."

"You can't tell just from a minute's conversation. I'm alone, I know they don't like it."

"I thought you had solved your concerns, accepted what you wanted, understood that you can't please everyone ..."

"If I only counted my own opinion about my life, maybe that would be the case."

"What are you talking about?" She said. "Of course that's what matters."

"You're the type of person who just does what she wants, I grant you." Narcissa's indignant snort cut her off. "Still, not even you escape from this."

"From what exactly?"

"From being who others say you are, Mrs. Malfoy," she said, emphasizing her last name. "You are Lucius Malfoy's wife, Narcissa Malfoy. Your maiden name doesn't even matter, in fact, I don't know what it is, because for everyone, for everyone else, you are his."

"Are you ... are you jealous?"

"What?" She was taken aback. "Well, I suppose that through you I live as someone possessive or someone who is envious of your marriage. You see it? Right now, there are already two versions of me. The jealous and the not. Surely most would think that I am the first because it is more normal for someone to feel jealous. "

"I didn't mean that, I know you're not like that."

"And you still thought so? Why was that the first thing that occurred to you?" She asked with bitter humor, sweetened by a crooked smile. "But okay, I get it. We are all who they tell us we are. Who am I to contradict you? My life does not belong to me more than to others ... "

"What we surely see in the same way is that we would not want our thing to leave my room for anything in the world."

"Or mine," she added jokingly.

"Because you are who you are, his wife," she ignored her. "So it is for everyone. You are a wife, a mother. You can say that you don't care, that Lucius is fine with this, but I can bet anything that if Lucius' friend found out about this thing between us, or I don't know, Rosmerta and her lazy mouth, they would not give us a shred of grace."

"But no one has to know. What's the point of feeling haunted by something that hasn't happened and probably won't happen?"

"You can't know! Once they see it and can point it out, it will be as if they were playing target shooting with your head."

"Isn't that exaggerated?"

"Does it matter so little to you? Wouldn't it be a problem for you to be branded as ...? As a… Whore? You would be the cheating bitch and I would be the prostitute in your marriage."

Narcissa pursed her lips, her smile slipping through.

"Oh my gosh, it's not funny!" She said, upset.

"What vocabulary you have… One would expect that someone like you didn't have so many surprises," she scoffed, laughing at the end.

"My reputation, my life, it doesn't seem like a joke to me."

"You don't have anything written on your forehead, Hermione. You always worry for no apparent reason."

"If it happened once, it could happen twice!"

There were moments in conversations where the cold was felt the most. It was noted, in Narcissa's long exhalation, in the steam that was created by that hot air, in how she clenched her hands, retracting her somewhat numb fingers, protecting them from the cold. Both women were warm, but not warm, and they were still in the courtyard, hidden behind the low fence.

"Nobody is forcing you, Hermione," she said then. "Whether they approve or not, you are you. If you are afraid of wanting something, that fear is still yours, not someone else's. If fear overtakes you, live with it, make a life with it." She paused, in which it seemed for the first time that Narcissa was conflicted about something. "But if you really want it, you can come to my house whenever you want."

Narcissa didn't look at her. Hermione preferred to focus on her cherry tree. Her eyes felt wet, but her face remained dry.

"I think Draco is a smart boy, he is doing very well in his studies, I am proud of him and I am sure that as an adult he will do very well," Narcissa said. "Also, he is very sensitive and kind, you would know if one day you spoke to him. What I hope ... is that he does not allow himself to be manipulated for being like that. His faltering nature bothers me. He still hangs his head offended and embarrassed even today, as if he were still three years old, obeying his father, or me. I think that when he meets one of his girlfriends, whether he has had them already or not, I will find it abhorrent, because I know that he will be a silly man who will allow himself to be handled like a doll.

Do I think about Draco, you asked me? I'm his mother, of course I have an opinion on everything about him. But you learn over time that it doesn't matter. If I want him to eat vegetables, but he doesn't want to, even if I get him to swallow them, he won't stop hating them. If he wanted some sweets, no matter how much he is denied them, he was going to get them, or want them even without having them, waiting for the moment when he can, whether he has mine or not, in my presence or in secret. I raised him all his life, I know him. I have an opinion on the way he dresses and even on his friends. And it does not matter. Draco is who he is, no matter how much I tell him what to be like. Even when he obeys his parents, he is still, deep down, fighting, existing. He gives me joys and dislikes. He makes me proud and ashamed. He will do things whether I want him to or not. And I will always love him, even when he does his worst. With everything I don't want from him, with everything I hate… still, with the good and the bad, I love him.

There is no correct answer. What I, you or the whole society thinks, none is better than the other. They have some wishes, you have others. I prefer to think about which ones matter the most. What others want, or what you want? Which one will win? Or maybe, for this conversation I should say: Are you going to lose again, Hermione?"

Hermione liked it when it snowed, just like now. There was something comforting about watching Narcissa walk away and the snow fall. When you cry, the emotions turn over, everything comes out, the chest lightens. The flakes slid cold but warm against her cheek.