Glaring over the table, Little Johnny swiped his finger through the flames of the candles that Hermione had lit for their first dinner together.
"Finding your name in the flame, Johnny boy?" Edward teased good-naturedly. He took a bite of Hermione's roast dinner. "Mmmm delicious!" He chewed contentedly and sighed loudly. Hermione blushed from across the table. No one had complimented her for her cooking before. Minerva who sat at the table, looked rather unimpressed with the whole affair. She pushed the food around her plate halfheartedly and sipped at her glass of wine.
Hermione jumped, earning an exasperated glare from Minerva. Hermione's cheeks colored under Minerva's steady gaze. "I forgot the bread, it's still in the oven." Edward nodded at her to go ahead, and she sped into the kitchen to retrieve the warm, golden loaves.
Minerva turned her frown to her husband from her seat at the end of the table. "Edward, what is with all this up and down business? Can't she just sit with us and eat?"
"She's serving us dinner, dear," Edward replied flatly, his mouth still full with some of the roast chicken.
"I don't want her to serve me dinner." Minerva sniffed disapprovingly "dear."
Edward looked at her with weak concern, "Aren't you hungry, dear?" Minerva looked helplessly at her plate and bit her lip.
"I just think that all this ceremony is unnecessary." A pregnant pause took over the table as Hermione returned with the bread. After taking a steaming piece, Edward turned to Hermione:
"The medication sometimes takes away her appetite." Hermione nodded. She knew how many things could take away a fragile woman's appetite. She looked longingly at Minerva, whose troubled eyes now avoided her gaze. "Now you can cut Ian's chicken into petite little-"
"No!" Minerva suddenly lunged in front of Ian and Hermione, holding her knife threateningly. "I'll cut Ian's chicken, Hermione" she stated carefully, though her hands shook.
"Dear, Hermione is being paid to help with these things. You know, cutting chicken, cooking dinner, doing the washing...to help you recuperate." The truth of the matter, which Minerva was not blind to, was that Minerva lacked the energy for those tasks and Edward needed someone to hold down the fort for him so he could return to work. She turned to Hermione:
"Doesn't that bother you?" she prodded. Hermione wordlessly shook her head. Minerva glared at her with those cold eyes, and Hermione found herself vibrating under her gaze.
"Well, you've turned into a proper slave in no time. I suppose you will follow me up to the loo in the mornings with a fresh roll of paper. Pink, if you don't mind." Hermione reddened at the suggestion. She found herself wondering what Minerva looked like with bedhead, what she slept in...a nightgown? pajamas?
"Why'd you have to come back at all, huh?" John charged his mother angrily, startling Hermione from her thoughts. Edward harshly rebuked his son:
"Don't talk to your mother that way. Your mother is home...your mother is home because she is all better." He sighed and sipped his wine. They all knew that Minerva was in fact, not at all better.
An uncomfortable silence once again descended.
"Now what's she doing?" Minerva snapped. Edward inwardly grimaced, Minerva was not going to give up. She was clearly unhappy with his decision to get a helper and disguised her disappointment with sardonic comments. Not that Edward could see that.
"She's eating, she's hungry!" Edward pronounced simply.
"Slaves eat in the kitchen." Minerva rebutted, smoothing back a few strands that had escaped her bun and giving Hermione a great view of her delicate neck.
"Oh, I, I don't mind." Hermione stood to leave. Minerva was starting to make her feel hot under the collar, which made her indescribably uncomfortable. She had never thought of anyone that way. And Minerva was, for all intents and purposes, her boss.
"No, sit down." Edward turned to his wife: "Minerva, Hermione has been brought up in proper society. She is used to being treated civilly"
Ian turned to his mother with wide eyes, "Mom? What does civilly mean?"
She leaned down and said in a slow, soft voice, "It means like a proper slave."
"Minerva!" Edward snapped. He turned to his son and gently explained: "It means to be treated with respect."
"Well, I'm used to being treated like a fruitcake," Minerva grumbled almost inaudibly, "so what."
John heard and pushed his chair away from the table. "This makes me sick!"
Disguising her pain with more bitter sarcasm, Minerva held up her plate with a smug expression on her face, "Oh, a nice try Hermione"
"Not the food, you." John grumbled without meeting his mother's eyes.
"You know what little John? You need a dog, then you'll be a happy boy." Minerva croaked.
"Maybe you're the one who needs a dog..." John countered before thundering up the stairs to his room.
After dinner, Edward chatted with Hermione while she washed dishes.
"As I said in the car, when she starts, just let her go off. That's what the doctors recommended." Edward took a dish and began to dry it. "It will try your patience, of course."
"Oh, she didn't anger me," Hermione blushed. If this was all the fight Minerva McGonagall would put up, Hermione would have no problem. They were silent for a moment.
"How do you like the house?" The house was beautiful. It overlooked a loch and was surrounded by tranquil forest. It was spacious yet comfortable. Hermione loved the house. "We really only use it for summer."
"It's beautiful"
"It suits you, call me crazy." Hermione gave a small shudder at the comment-and contemplated, for a moment, how different it would have felt if it was Minerva saying those words, not her husband.