Hermione woke with the feeling of a dream passing when the phone rang. She
showered, then dressed, transfiguring herself another dress out of a robe
while Ginny was in the shower. Makeup and hair were done with the feeling
of putting on armor.
"Nerves, huh?" Ginny said, squeezing her hand briefly before turning to the mirror to do her own makeup.
"Yeah," said Hermione ruefully. "I...I'm worried."
"About your dad?"
"No....about Mother."
They breakfasted in silence, but though tense, there were small smiles and glances that broke through the tension that reaffirmed the connections made the night before. Finally, it was time to pay, time to walk out into the light rain, and walk to the hospital, and to find the waiting room.
As Ginny walked in, a tall woman with severely cropped dark hair and piercing blue eyes looked up from the corner. She had a good figure, but the pants and jacket she wore concealed it more than flattered it, though the color was good, and the jewelry simple and plain. Hermione saw her too.
"Mother," she said, simply, and waited.
"Hermione," the woman said. Her eyes were cold as they rested on Ginny, and she found herself thinking that if Malfoy disliked her, he had nothing on Margaret Granger.
"Has father been taken down yet?"
"No, he's still upstairs."
"I'll see you again in a moment, then," Hermione said, and walked out. Ginny followed.
"I don't think we're going to have a repeat of yesterday, you know, "said Ginny in the elevator."
"No. Mother gets....irrational at times. And then there's no reasoning with her. I think she's gone irrational about us. But I can ask Father about it," Hermione said.
"She wears her hair very short, doesn't she," Ginny said. "Is that normal for Muggles?"
"No..." Hermione said, "but Mother always has. She says that it's easier to deal with that way, and doesn't fall in her face or tickle her ears or neck when she's working, and that she coped with a mop like mine for years as a child. Apparently her family was traditional and wouldn't let her cut it, and of course no charms were available. She was always endlessly patient with mine, though...with me, for that matter."
Hermione's father was being talked to by the anesthesiologist when they walked in, and they waited until he left to go to his bedside. "There's my girls," he said, pleasure lighting his dark eyes. "Hermione, I saw your mother...it's no good with her. Not now." He sighed. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but she's always been a little bit odd about anything to do with the intimate side of life. I....I don't know what to tell you. I don't want you to think I'm rejecting you, because I'm not, but..."
"But not only do you live with her, you have to work with her," Hermione said. "I understand. You know that I'm living with Ginny's folks...shall I send letters to the office?"
His face lighted up. "That will work, for now...and, you know, you can write it all down. You don't have to edit for your mother, now."
They laughed, and she reached down and hugged him. "I love you, Father. I'll be here when you wake up."
He hugged her back. "You do that, and don't let your mother bully you. We'll try a little patience. Remember, slow and steady wins the race."
He turned to Ginny. "And do I get a hug from you, too?"
"Of course, if you want one," she said, smiling and getting hugged as well. "My family's a pretty hugging sort of family."
"Well, you can convert my daughter. I miss getting hugged," John said, and watched as they took each other's hands in a subtle connection.
"I've got your medicine here, Mr. Granger," said the nurse, "And I'll just run your daughters off now so we can get you ready to go."
"All right," he said with a laugh. "Off with you two, and remember what I said." "We will," said Hermione, with a smile, and then he surrendered himself to the bustle of the medical professionals.
A Reduced wand came in handy in the Muggle world, thought Ginny, as she unobtrusively pulled a book out of her purse beneath her chair and tapped it with her wand to return it to full size. Textbooks tend to take up a lot of space. She tapped it again with a Confusing Charm...anyone who looked at it would see a Muggle college text on medicine, while the wizarding world would see its true title, "Charms for Medical Use, Revised Edition".
Hermione was reading beside her, toe touching her foot in a quiet but subtle connection. They glanced up at each other, giving the small look of connection that they had perfected at Hogwarts, and returned to being silent beside each other. Ginny returned to her book, but after a page, abandoned it for something far more interesting...Hermione's mother, watching them from a corner of the room.
She was pretending to read the paper, but Ginny could feel her eyes on her. On her more than her daughter, actually. She could almost feel the eyes on her face and hair, her hands as she turned the pages, on her legs where her toe touched Hermione's.
I wonder why she hates me so, Ginny thought. Although, actually, it's not me, it's what I represent. Easier to handle, that. I'm a role, a symbol, that she dislikes, not a person. She glanced at the woman again, sweeping her eyes over her closecropped dark hair, the eyes hooding like Hermione's when she was thinking, recognizing the angles and the set of the familar mouth. She fairly quivered with tension, and Ginny realized, looking at her, that it was a normal condition. It was the tension of concealment, though, not of work. Her entire body screamed "leave me alone!", and her clothes did nothing for a body that, though less busty than her daughter, was still quite good for a woman in her early fifties. They barely managed a conceding nod to being female, shying hard toward androgyny.
When Margaret Granger went into the hall, Ginny stood as well. "Back in a moment," she said to Hermione, who glanced up, nodded, and went back to her book. Ginny followed Margaret down the hall to the ladies' room, and walked in, managing to fiddle with her hair while Margaret dealt with more personal business, and was around the corner when Margaret came out to wash her hands. She moved over, and looked at her makeup in the mirror when Ginny came up next to her.
"I know you don't like me," she said, in a firm but quiet voice, imagining her mother saying it, "but you love your daughter, and I do too. And I don't want her to get hurt any more than you do. If you choose to not acknowledge us, that's all right. I'll play this by whichever rules you want. I just want you to know that we are not walking away from you, and an owl will always find us. And I want a truce. Can you manage that?" Margaret went white, and flushed, and opened and closed her mouth, clearly caught between several statements.
"I....A truce, yes. I can...do that. It's just...it's all too much," she said quietly, leaden pain in her voice."
"John's being sick?" said Ginny.
"That, and all this... I wanted her to have a normal life, you know," Margaret said, half to herself. "I didn't want her to hate herself and feel bad all her life like I always have. I failed."
"You didn't fail. Hermione's a lovely, confident woman."
"She'll never marry and have children, though," said Margaret, again in that painful half whisper. "I wanted it all to be right for her."
"It doesn't take marrying a man to have children," Ginny said. "We'll manage, in time. I'm from a large family, I want kids someday. But we both have college to get through. We've got time. Sometimes, you know, 'all right' isn't what you thought it was going to be...my mum and dad taught me that."
"I...I wish I could believe that," Margaret said, hugging herself in a child's gesture of comfort. "I've never had "all right".
"Things can change, you know," Ginny said. "I know when I want kids...I want them to have both their grandmothers."
Margaret nodded, and turned away. "I...don't ask me to be happy for you. I can't. But...she's my daughter."
Ginny nodded. "I'll send you the news as it happens."
Margaret nodded once, jerkily, and walked to the end. "Leave me alone, please," she said, and as Ginny moved to the door, she could see tears on the older woman's cheeks.
Hermione looked up when she came in. "Is....everything all right?"
"I wanted to talk to your mother," said Ginny. Hermione started to speak, horrified color blazing up in her face, but Ginny continued. "We have a truce. She'd like to get letters about you, to know what's going on...but, love, she's got some huge issues sitting like a dragon on her Quidditch pitch. It's not you. I know that much now. Whatever this is, it's her."
Hermione nodded with a motion much like her mother's. "That....helps," she said, with a sigh. "I...there's always been something. Things changed when I was about ten or so...she wouldn't touch me, started being really strange.... I don't know."
"I don't either," Ginny said. "But...." She trailed off as Margaret came in and sat down, picking up the paper again with a gesture of decision that shut her off entirely from the rest of the room. Ginny gestured that it didn't matter, and picked up her book again.
Waiting for someone in surgery always seems to go on forever. This was no exception. At noon, Ginny and Hermione slipped out and ate lunch in a quiet silence, then sat a quiet watch while Margaret did the same. The silence went on, until, finally, a young man came in, still in scrubs, and said, "Family of John Granger?"
"Everything went well," the doctor said, "he's been taken to recovery, and when he comes out you can see him."
"Thank you," said Margaret. "Can you tell me where..." "Down the hall and to the right, there's signs," he said, and rose and departed.
"Let's wait," Ginny whispered to Hermione, and they waited outside Recovery until they saw Margaret leave, tears of relief sparkling in her eyes.
"Girls," was all John Granger said, tubes running into both his hands and coming out from under the blanket. But they both kissed him, and he smiled, and it was all going to be okay.
"Nerves, huh?" Ginny said, squeezing her hand briefly before turning to the mirror to do her own makeup.
"Yeah," said Hermione ruefully. "I...I'm worried."
"About your dad?"
"No....about Mother."
They breakfasted in silence, but though tense, there were small smiles and glances that broke through the tension that reaffirmed the connections made the night before. Finally, it was time to pay, time to walk out into the light rain, and walk to the hospital, and to find the waiting room.
As Ginny walked in, a tall woman with severely cropped dark hair and piercing blue eyes looked up from the corner. She had a good figure, but the pants and jacket she wore concealed it more than flattered it, though the color was good, and the jewelry simple and plain. Hermione saw her too.
"Mother," she said, simply, and waited.
"Hermione," the woman said. Her eyes were cold as they rested on Ginny, and she found herself thinking that if Malfoy disliked her, he had nothing on Margaret Granger.
"Has father been taken down yet?"
"No, he's still upstairs."
"I'll see you again in a moment, then," Hermione said, and walked out. Ginny followed.
"I don't think we're going to have a repeat of yesterday, you know, "said Ginny in the elevator."
"No. Mother gets....irrational at times. And then there's no reasoning with her. I think she's gone irrational about us. But I can ask Father about it," Hermione said.
"She wears her hair very short, doesn't she," Ginny said. "Is that normal for Muggles?"
"No..." Hermione said, "but Mother always has. She says that it's easier to deal with that way, and doesn't fall in her face or tickle her ears or neck when she's working, and that she coped with a mop like mine for years as a child. Apparently her family was traditional and wouldn't let her cut it, and of course no charms were available. She was always endlessly patient with mine, though...with me, for that matter."
Hermione's father was being talked to by the anesthesiologist when they walked in, and they waited until he left to go to his bedside. "There's my girls," he said, pleasure lighting his dark eyes. "Hermione, I saw your mother...it's no good with her. Not now." He sighed. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but she's always been a little bit odd about anything to do with the intimate side of life. I....I don't know what to tell you. I don't want you to think I'm rejecting you, because I'm not, but..."
"But not only do you live with her, you have to work with her," Hermione said. "I understand. You know that I'm living with Ginny's folks...shall I send letters to the office?"
His face lighted up. "That will work, for now...and, you know, you can write it all down. You don't have to edit for your mother, now."
They laughed, and she reached down and hugged him. "I love you, Father. I'll be here when you wake up."
He hugged her back. "You do that, and don't let your mother bully you. We'll try a little patience. Remember, slow and steady wins the race."
He turned to Ginny. "And do I get a hug from you, too?"
"Of course, if you want one," she said, smiling and getting hugged as well. "My family's a pretty hugging sort of family."
"Well, you can convert my daughter. I miss getting hugged," John said, and watched as they took each other's hands in a subtle connection.
"I've got your medicine here, Mr. Granger," said the nurse, "And I'll just run your daughters off now so we can get you ready to go."
"All right," he said with a laugh. "Off with you two, and remember what I said." "We will," said Hermione, with a smile, and then he surrendered himself to the bustle of the medical professionals.
A Reduced wand came in handy in the Muggle world, thought Ginny, as she unobtrusively pulled a book out of her purse beneath her chair and tapped it with her wand to return it to full size. Textbooks tend to take up a lot of space. She tapped it again with a Confusing Charm...anyone who looked at it would see a Muggle college text on medicine, while the wizarding world would see its true title, "Charms for Medical Use, Revised Edition".
Hermione was reading beside her, toe touching her foot in a quiet but subtle connection. They glanced up at each other, giving the small look of connection that they had perfected at Hogwarts, and returned to being silent beside each other. Ginny returned to her book, but after a page, abandoned it for something far more interesting...Hermione's mother, watching them from a corner of the room.
She was pretending to read the paper, but Ginny could feel her eyes on her. On her more than her daughter, actually. She could almost feel the eyes on her face and hair, her hands as she turned the pages, on her legs where her toe touched Hermione's.
I wonder why she hates me so, Ginny thought. Although, actually, it's not me, it's what I represent. Easier to handle, that. I'm a role, a symbol, that she dislikes, not a person. She glanced at the woman again, sweeping her eyes over her closecropped dark hair, the eyes hooding like Hermione's when she was thinking, recognizing the angles and the set of the familar mouth. She fairly quivered with tension, and Ginny realized, looking at her, that it was a normal condition. It was the tension of concealment, though, not of work. Her entire body screamed "leave me alone!", and her clothes did nothing for a body that, though less busty than her daughter, was still quite good for a woman in her early fifties. They barely managed a conceding nod to being female, shying hard toward androgyny.
When Margaret Granger went into the hall, Ginny stood as well. "Back in a moment," she said to Hermione, who glanced up, nodded, and went back to her book. Ginny followed Margaret down the hall to the ladies' room, and walked in, managing to fiddle with her hair while Margaret dealt with more personal business, and was around the corner when Margaret came out to wash her hands. She moved over, and looked at her makeup in the mirror when Ginny came up next to her.
"I know you don't like me," she said, in a firm but quiet voice, imagining her mother saying it, "but you love your daughter, and I do too. And I don't want her to get hurt any more than you do. If you choose to not acknowledge us, that's all right. I'll play this by whichever rules you want. I just want you to know that we are not walking away from you, and an owl will always find us. And I want a truce. Can you manage that?" Margaret went white, and flushed, and opened and closed her mouth, clearly caught between several statements.
"I....A truce, yes. I can...do that. It's just...it's all too much," she said quietly, leaden pain in her voice."
"John's being sick?" said Ginny.
"That, and all this... I wanted her to have a normal life, you know," Margaret said, half to herself. "I didn't want her to hate herself and feel bad all her life like I always have. I failed."
"You didn't fail. Hermione's a lovely, confident woman."
"She'll never marry and have children, though," said Margaret, again in that painful half whisper. "I wanted it all to be right for her."
"It doesn't take marrying a man to have children," Ginny said. "We'll manage, in time. I'm from a large family, I want kids someday. But we both have college to get through. We've got time. Sometimes, you know, 'all right' isn't what you thought it was going to be...my mum and dad taught me that."
"I...I wish I could believe that," Margaret said, hugging herself in a child's gesture of comfort. "I've never had "all right".
"Things can change, you know," Ginny said. "I know when I want kids...I want them to have both their grandmothers."
Margaret nodded, and turned away. "I...don't ask me to be happy for you. I can't. But...she's my daughter."
Ginny nodded. "I'll send you the news as it happens."
Margaret nodded once, jerkily, and walked to the end. "Leave me alone, please," she said, and as Ginny moved to the door, she could see tears on the older woman's cheeks.
Hermione looked up when she came in. "Is....everything all right?"
"I wanted to talk to your mother," said Ginny. Hermione started to speak, horrified color blazing up in her face, but Ginny continued. "We have a truce. She'd like to get letters about you, to know what's going on...but, love, she's got some huge issues sitting like a dragon on her Quidditch pitch. It's not you. I know that much now. Whatever this is, it's her."
Hermione nodded with a motion much like her mother's. "That....helps," she said, with a sigh. "I...there's always been something. Things changed when I was about ten or so...she wouldn't touch me, started being really strange.... I don't know."
"I don't either," Ginny said. "But...." She trailed off as Margaret came in and sat down, picking up the paper again with a gesture of decision that shut her off entirely from the rest of the room. Ginny gestured that it didn't matter, and picked up her book again.
Waiting for someone in surgery always seems to go on forever. This was no exception. At noon, Ginny and Hermione slipped out and ate lunch in a quiet silence, then sat a quiet watch while Margaret did the same. The silence went on, until, finally, a young man came in, still in scrubs, and said, "Family of John Granger?"
"Everything went well," the doctor said, "he's been taken to recovery, and when he comes out you can see him."
"Thank you," said Margaret. "Can you tell me where..." "Down the hall and to the right, there's signs," he said, and rose and departed.
"Let's wait," Ginny whispered to Hermione, and they waited outside Recovery until they saw Margaret leave, tears of relief sparkling in her eyes.
"Girls," was all John Granger said, tubes running into both his hands and coming out from under the blanket. But they both kissed him, and he smiled, and it was all going to be okay.