Round 2

Ravenclaw, DADA

Drabble

(Object) Antique Plate Set

Word Count: 977


Thank you, Miakoda, for betaing


Grandmother's Antique Plate Set

Tossing and turning, Hermione desperately tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The rain was hammering against the window, overshadowing the cracking of the fire. The occasional lightning illuminated the room only to go dark again after milliseconds. Covering her head with the big cushion, she dreaded the eventual low grumble of the thunder.

Her entire body was tense. Hermione pressed her eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable. Holding her breath in anticipation, she waited and waited, and the longer it took, the more uneasy Hermione got.

She was just about to relax, thinking that maybe this time she got lucky, when the sound hit her with full force. The vibrations wandered through her body as if a ghost had passed through her and causing her joints to ache.

Stiff and frozen, she slowly looked up when most of the wave seemed over. She was lying the wrong way around in the king-sized bed, her husband's pillow between her legs. Hermione had no idea how she had ended up this way. Reluctantly standing up, she walked to the window, to double-check that it was really closed.

There was no point in going back to bed. With her husband gone for tonight and the weather not getting any better, she might as well do something productive to combat her insomnia. Hermione had wanted to put her grandmother's plate set into the cupboard but had been too mentally drained after the funeral and hadn't gotten around to it in the following days.

Before going downstairs, she checked on her little one. Peaking through the crack of the door, she saw Rose sleeping soundly. Her chest rose and fell with every breath she took. Her daughter looked so peaceful, like an angel, not bothered by the raging storm.

With the lightning brightening the room, she only lit a single candle in the dining room. Taking a deep breath, Hermione kneeled down in front of the big box. This was it, her grandmother's porcelain. Tears welled up as Hermione's throat went dry.

Grandmother couldn't be gone; she had always been there, and when Hermione was little and her parents busy, it had been her grandmother who helped her with her homework… It was just wrong. She had thought that somehow she had left all the dying and grief behind her, she was fine. No Hermione was happy. Why couldn't things just stay as they were?

Carefully lifting the first plate out of the box, her fingers clenched unconsciously. She just stared at the newspaper-wrapped plate, not trusting herself to not drop the family heirloom unwrapping it. After holding it for a while, Hermione finally dared to begin unfolding the newspaper.

Looking at the hand-painted pink plate with awe, she studied the floral pattern. Her eyes trailed the golden edge of the plate. It portrayed a warm hue in the dim candlelight. Turning the angle of the plate, slight scratchmarks from many decades of use became visible.

A single tear ran down her cheek. They used to have tea together when she was finished with her homework. Her grandmother would read to her and teach her how to knit...

Hermione had always treasured the time they had spent together. They had been so close before Hogwarts... If there was something she hated about being a witch, it was not being able to speak her mind as freely. But her grandmother had always offered her support, respecting that she just couldn't speak about certain things.

She placed the plate in the cupboard and repeated the motions with the others. The cupboard slowly filled. They looked lovely next to the one she had picked out for her wedding. It was comforting to have a piece of her grandmother with her.

Her eyes fell shut for a moment; she wasn't quick enough to catch the falling saucer. It slipped out of her hand and fell onto the wooden floor. There was an awful sound as the saucer broke into countless pieces.

Not caring about the shards, Hermione let herself fall to the ground. With horror, she looked at the mess. Her grandmother would have been livid knowing that she broke one of her prized antiques. The set had been in the family for generations, and Hermione had promised her to always take good care of it.

Tears clouded her vision as she collected the pieces with her bare hands. She barely noticed the cuts. The wood cracked as she shifted her weight, the thunder roaring outside and blood running down her hands.

Her body was shaking. The metallic scent invaded her nostrils. Hermione was gasping for air. Her bones were aching. Shrill laughter sent shivers through her spine.

No. This wasn't happening.

Her entire body was on fire. She was lying on the wooden floor wincing in pain. She thought she was over it. And now she could feel herself slipping deeper into the abyss. Each thunderclap was a curse, robbing her of the ability to think clearly…

Crying out, Hermione hoped that it would stop. She was helpless and losing her mind. With her fists, she hammered against the floor.

"Mommy?"

Her daughter's footsteps seemed miles away, almost unreal. In this reality, she didn't have a family, only a mission too big to fail…

There was broken porcelain all over the floor. Hermione snapped her eyes wide open, Like an animal, she crawled up to her little one, preventing her from stepping further into the room.

Rose swung her tiny arms around her, and Hermione held onto her as if her life depended on it. She inhaled her familiar scent, relishing the warmth radiating from her small body.

She was fine. She rarely ever thought about the war, and her life was great. Sadness filled her as she saw the broken plate on the floor. Well mostly, just not today.