He Gets That From Me
Disclaimer Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. The song "He Gets That From Me" is sung by Reba McEntire.
Author's Note A couple of nights ago I watched the CMA Awards. Reba McEntire performed this song. It was the first and only time so far that I had heard it. But, I immediately thought of Ron and Hermione. It's sorta sad, but it's happy, too.
Song lyrics in italics.
Slowly, and very quickly, I make my way down the narrow hallway of our tiny flat. I know it doesn't matter how much noise I make. He won't hear me. Just like his mother, he could sleep through anything. I was always quiet, though, when I went to wake him up. I had to savor the last moments of silence. I smile to myself, knowing that I love the noise. When I reach the doorway, my smile widens. I cross the small bedroom and sit on the corner of the bed. It sinks in slightly, but does not disturb him. I watch him sleep for several seconds, before I finally reach out my hand and gently shake his shoulder.
"Russell, honey, it's time to wake up," I coo.
The toddler groans and his eyes squint against the morning sun.
His early mornin' attitude:
You have to drag him out of bed.
"Mummy?" he asks.
"Good morning, sweetie."
"Morning," he mumbles, sitting up.
"Let's go get some breakfast," I reply.
Russell follows me into the kitchen and sleepily takes a seat at the table. I go straight to the pantry, already knowing what he wants for breakfast. Cereal. And not any cereal at that. A bowl of frosted flakes and milk will satisfy his cravings. I've tried offering him eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, but he refuses. I don't blame him, though. Frosted flakes was always, and still is, my choice of breakfast. So, instead of taking down one bowl, I take two. He's rubbing his eyes when I place the cereal in front of him. I take my seat beside him and we dig in.
Only frosted flakes will do,
He gets that from me:
Yeah, he gets that from me.
As we eat, I can't help but observe him. I've done this since the day he was born. It's obvious why. He is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. From his curly red hair to his knobby little knees. And, the freckles that adorn his cheeks. You would never know they were there, until you look closely. In the sunlight, each and every freckle can be seen perfectly. As he gets older, more freckles will appear, but for now, I am able to count them. Twenty three all together.
His curly hair and his knobby knees:
The way the sun brings those freckles out.
Once half of his cereal is eaten, he begins to talk. I listen intently. It doesn't matter that it is mindless babble. To me, when he speaks, he is weaving a story together, one word at a time. Whether it be about playtime with his cousins or a nightmare he had, what he says is important. I want to laugh aloud when I think of what you would say. "He's just like you, Mione, except I actually want to listen to him."
"And, then, Mummy, Uncle Fred told me that it would be fun to play a trick on Aunt Ginny."
"Really, now?" I say, hoping that he wouldn't turn into his uncles.
"Yes. But, I didn't do it. Wanna know why?"
"Why?"
"Because Uncle Harry gave me a sickle."
Talk and talk, never miss a beat,
Yeah, he gets that from me:
He gets that from me.
When we finish our meal, I take the dishes to the sink and prepare to wash them.
"I want to help, Mummy."
I look down upon his small form and immediately start to fight back the tears. The look in his big brown eyes tells me he is sincere. I dry my hands on the dish towel and ruffle his hair.
"Thanks, Russ, but I'm afraid you are still aren't tall enough."
"I can fix that," he says, and disappears into the hallway.
He looks at me with those big brown eyes:
He's got me in the palm of his hands,
And I swear sometimes it's just like you're here again.
I have barely begun my chore when he returns. In his hands he holds the stool that is kept in the bathroom so he can brush his teeth. He smiles at me and sets the stool on the floor by my feet. He steps up and looks at me again.
He smiles that little crooked smile:
There's no denying he's your child.
"See, Mummy. I can reach the sink now."
"Alright," I say, returning a smile, "you can dry the spoons."
He takes the towel from my hands and begins to dry one spoon. We both finish, and Russell steps down.
"Thanks for helping me."
"Your welcome. I love you, Mummy."
My eyes weld up with tears. "I love you, too."
"Don't cry, Mummy," he says and hugs my knees.
"I'm not," I deny, putting my arms around him and pulling him closer.
Without him I don't know what I'd do:
He gets that from you:
Oh, he gets that from you.
He pulls away and I dry my eyes. "What do you want to do today?" I ask.
"Can I play Quidditch?"
Of course, Quidditch. He loves to play. He taught himself last month, when he saw Bill and Charlie's children playing. Naturally, I tried to stop him, but he refused to listen to me. He's stubborn like that. When I realized he wouldn't back down, I went and bought him a child's broom, but he won't ride that. He uses yours. It's quite a site to see a four year old riding a broom meant for an adult male.
Before I can answer him, Russell is off to retrieve the old broomstick. I suppose I should call up the gang and invite them over. After all, he can't play alone.
Author's Note: For this story's purposes, we shall change "guitar" to "broom".
How he loves your old guitar:
Yeah, he's taught himself to play.
First, I Floo your mother, and she tells me to just come over. She'll contact the others and have them come over for lunch.
"We haven't all been together in a while," she tells me. This isn't true, we were all over there last weekend, but I don't argue.
"We'll be over in five minutes."
Every time I go to the Burrow, I want to cry. There are too many memories of you there. But, I go each time I am asked. As many memories there are of you there, there are more in my heart.
Russell returns with his broom and I pick him up.
"We're going to Grandmum and Grandpa's today."
"Good. I can tell them my new joke."
"Have you told me?"
Russell shakes his head and begins. "I learned this one from Billy. If it takes a day to dig a hole, Mummy, how long will it take to dig only half a hole?"
"Half a day," I reply quickly.
Russell laughs. "You can't dig half a hole, Mummy."
He melts my heart: tells me he loves me every day.
And cracks jokes at the perfect time,
Makes me laugh when I want to cry.
"Very funny."
"It is," Russell assures me.
"Let's go," I say, throwing the Floo powder into the fireplace.
That boy is everything to me:
He gets that from you:
He gets that from you.
In the minutes it took Russell and I to get to the Burrow, everyone had already arrived. Russell runs off to play, and I sit down with Harry and Ginny. Our normal conversation ensues, and then Harry brings up our financial situation. Like always, he tells me that they could help out, but I don't want their money. I could never live with myself if I took it. I want to provide for myself and our son. I don't want any help. Maybe I am being difficult, but Russell thinks highly of me, and I want him to continue to.
Last night, I heard him pray:
Lord, help me and mama make it through.
I know it would be one hundred percent different if you were here with us. We would have money for a bigger flat, maybe a house. We wouldn't struggle to make ends meet, just so Russell could eat. We would be happy. We would be the family we had always dreamed of being. I know that Russell misses you. I tell him stories of you, since he has so few memories. He could use a father. He could use you, because no man could ever replace you. If you were here, he wouldn't have to miss you.
An' tell Daddy we'll be okay:
He said he sure misses you:
I wouldn't have to miss you.
He sure misses you.
He really misses you:
He gets that from me.
And you. You wouldn't have to miss us.
Finish
Author's Note I felt like crying when I wrote this, although I didn't put a lot of emotion into it. I'm not up to actually crying and being depressed. I wrote this on a whim and thought I would post it. I hoped you enjoyed it and before you leave, please review.