A/N: Sorry for the wait; I'm not sure about this chapter though, but thought I'd already let you wait too long. So, if any thoughts pop up, let me know. Also, I'm probably going to change the title of my story somewhere along the way, because I feel like it's not a proper title.

Chapter 2

October 30, 2017

Hermione stumbled into her house through the backdoor, carrying three shopping bags, filled to the brim. Her keys were jammed between her teeth, with her foot she kicked the door shut and she called Ron to come and help her unload the groceries. That was when a note floated towards her that said that Ron was off taking their daughter to see Harry's family. She sighed audibly and heaved the bags onto the kitchen table. From the back pocket of her jeans, she withdrew her wand and performed a simple locomotion spell that made cans, bottles, vegetables and other types of food flying through the air to their proper places in the fridge and closets.

Despite her powerful position in the wizarding world and despite being extraordinarily adept at using spells, Hermione didn't enjoy bringing her wand out too often outside of work. Somehow, she just didn't feel the need to do everything with magic, especially smaller chores or things like unpacking groceries. She didn't know why, though; she blamed her Muggle side for it. Holding onto this way of living, she also thought it wasn't all too bad for Rose to get accustomed to "normal" things as well, like doing the dishes, or cooking, or vacuuming. For when she would eventually meet her grandparents, or so Hermione kept justifying to herself. Ron didn't share her opinion on this, quite the opposite in fact, and they'd sometimes had disputes about it that usually ended in cursing and mean words.

When everything was settled in place, Hermione shuck off her coat and handbag and left it both on the counter. Gratefully embracing the silence, she made herself a tea and sank into the sofa in the living-room. The quiet didn't last long, as a small parliament of owls landed on the window sill, carrying three packages of envelopes. At first, she tried to ignore them, but the adamant percussive hits on the glass got to her nerves fast and annoyed she opened the window. The owls hooted happily and flew in, circling her head with loud cries. Then without notice, they dropped the packages onto the carpet and flew away. A speckled one perched down on her shoulder and pecked her hair, looking for treats.

"Auch, stop that, I don't have any treats right now. Tell whoever sent you to give you some worms on my behalf, now shoo," Hermione said, giving the bird a shove with her hands.

With a disgruntled screech, the owl took off, quickly flapping its wings to join its flock again. Hermione watched it until they were nothing but mere dots in the distance, almost swallowed by the clouds. The envelopes were scattered at her feet, the thread that had kept them together undone by the shock of the fall. She gathered them and sat back down in the sofa, her legs tucked up under her. Most of them had stamps from the Ministry on them, directly addressed to her and forwarded by Nathan. Two of them were letters from Hogwarts, the first by Neville and the other by Professor McGonagall; besides some trivial anecdotes from both of them, they both included an official invitation for the Winter Fest that Hogwarts would host this year.

The Winter Fest had been installed two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and was an annual event between the three most renowned European wizarding schools. The three schools wanted to maintain a collaborative relationship, but since the Triwizard Tournament had been canceled a few years prior, because it was deemed too dangerous after the death of Cedric Diggory, they had to come up with something else, and that was when the idea of the Winter Fest was born. The Fest consisted of a week-long programme with some class exchanges, fierce Quidditch matches, a cosy winter market with food and merch stalls in Hogsmeade, an ice rink and many other activities. The climax of this week, and perhaps the event that students looked most forward to, was the Christmas Ball that was still traditionally held in an astonishingly decorated Great Hall.

Hermione and most of her friends always received invites for this Christmas event, as it was an opportunity to see each other again, and to talk about the past, the present and the future. But Hermione, unlike the others, was ashamed to say she'd only managed to go three times in sixteen years, and each time she'd been called back to the office during the night. In the earlier days to do the administrative tasks her officials didn't want to do over the Christmas Holidays, but that were urgent nonetheless, and later because she as an official didn't want to take the same advantage of the people working for her.

She looked at the invitations for a few minutes. They were blueish pieces of parchment with loopy handwriting; the letters changed places every now and then, revealing a different message, like a billboard. The disappointment was already tangible; Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to make it, not with the new case on the table. Since the President of MACUSA had pointed out to her that Muggles were indeed openly blaming the wizarding community for all that went wrong, she'd also noticed a steady increase in similar complaints in the UK. Nothing too harmful yet, but she was aware that people were starting to look at her for a response.

Biting her lip, she folded the invitations back into the envelopes and laid them at the bottom of the stack. It was then that a light pink envelope caught her eye. She brushed the other envelopes aside. It was a letter, the writing, that was huge and clumsy, she recognised to be from her daughter. Careful not to get too much glitter on her hands, she opened it. There were two sheets of paper in it, one being the letter and the other a drawing of what she thought was their family. Smiling, she put the drawing on her lap, and read the letter; it said: Dear Mummy, this is my first letter to you. I love you a lot, but I also miss you a lot. I wish you were more here to play with me. Daddy says your too busy. Love Rose.

Hermione felt her heart sink a bit. Of course she knew she was away from home a lot, since Ron frequently reminded her of that, but to hear it from her own daughter. It brought about a deeper realisation, a sense of guilt as well, one that felt as heavy as a brick, nestling itself in her stomach.

At that moment, she heard the front door opening and Rose's voice resonating in the hall. "Is mummy home, daddy? Can I tell her? Can I tell her?!"
Rose didn't wait for an answer, and bursted into the living-room and flung herself around Hermione's neck the second she saw her. "Mummy, do you know what happened today? It was superb!"
Hermione laughed, the pink letter pushed to the back of her mind. "Rose, honey, do tell me. I'm burning to know!"
Meanwhile, Ron also entered. He made short eye-contact with Hermione, and she felt something was off with him, but his face didn't give her any clues. It wasn't annoyance, or anger, or gloom, but it wasn't happiness either. He didn't wait for her to say anything, but took off to his office.

Her attention shifted back to her daughter, who was bouncing up and down in her lap. "I did magic, mummy! Can you believe it? Auntie Ginny said I could hold her wand if I wanted, and I said "yes, please", and then I held it, and then there was magic, and then I tried to do the Summoning Charm like you taught me and it worked! But daddy really told me off for it, and then I cried."

"You can do the Summoning Charm? Already? That's wonderful, darling! Oh, I'm so proud of you!" Hermione exclaimed happily, hugging Rose tightly. "But I can understand why your dad reprimanded you, even though I may not agree with his methods. You cannot use magic yet, because it's prohibited by law to use magic outside of a school, like Hogwarts, when underaged, and you, Rosie, are still far from eighteen."

"What does "prohibited" mean, mummy?" Rosie asked, laying her head on Hermione's shoulder.
"It means something is not allowed, or forbidden," Hermione answered, caressing Rose's hair.
"Then it's not fair. I want to practice spells. Do I really have to wait until I'm eleven to go to Hogwarts? That's five years from now."
"I suppose you'll have to, but you can still practice the movements, like you did before? And I'm sure that once you've got your own wand, you'll master the spells in no time," Hermione said. "By the way, how were uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny?"

Excited about the new topic, Rose began rambling on about James and Albus and that they'd found a bunch of gnomes in the garden and that James was a show-off, because he assured them that he could easily get rid of them, but then he failed and angered the creatures instead. She then told of other creatures that were lurking in the bushes and grasses, one of them recognised as bowtruckles by Albus.

Hermione was so absorbed by her daughter's stories, that she almost didn't see Ron slipping back in. Silently, he moved to the kitchen, the same pensive, but unreadable expression on his face. She made to stand up, and Rose looked at her quizzically.
"Honey, why don't you go and see if you can find any bowtruckles in our garden? The sun is still out for an hour or so," she said, and Rose smiled enthusiastically, leaping off the sofa. "Don't forget to put your coat on, I suppose it's chillier than it looks."

Rose scooted off to the garden, through the front door and walking the little path at the side of the house. She looked for her mother only once when she passed by the window, making a funny face. Then she disappeared out of sight, and Hermione followed Ron into the kitchen.

He was sitting in silence, pretending to flick through a copy of The Daily Prophet. She knew it was pretend, because his head was tilted a little bit too much, and his fingers never fiddled with the fringes of the paper when he was actually reading. Sometimes these little things and the fact that she was aware of them, caught her by surprise, even though she'd known him for more than ten years.

"Something is bugging you," she said matter-of-factly, breaking the silence.

"It's nothing," Ron mumbled.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't ignore me and be so quiet and furtive."

"Usually, when I say 'It's nothing', it means I don't want to talk," Ron said a little louder.

"Not talking is not an option I'm afraid. Communication, Ron, remember? It's what we need to work on." Hermione braced herself, she knew she was pushing boundaries here. If there was one thing Ron absolutely didn't like, it was being pressed to talk. And if she was completely honest with herself, she already knew what was weighing on both of them.

Ron looked the other way, turning his face away from her. With his gaze he followed Rose, who was skipping in the garden, through the kitchen window. "I can see when you're not acting normally," Hermione sat down next to him, and laid her hand on his arm. This made him turn back to her, and jerk his arm away.

"I'm not acting normal? I'm not acting normal," Ron scoffed, "You're the one who rejected me, you're the one who lets her family down, you're the one who neglects her friends, do I need to continue? And you're going to tell me I'm not acting normally?"

Hermione sighed irritably, "Ron, we've been through this before. I'm not ready yet for marriage and I'm not letting our family down just because I don't want to have another child. And about my career, we made these decisions together, so it's just the way it is... I don't understand why you're bringing this up now, Ron. Have you been drinking? Did Harry make a comment again?"

"Just the way it is, listen to yourself. I've never written a letter to my mum saying I didn't get to spend enough time with her, and nor have I seen any other family we know where this kind of thing happens. They've all got a happy family, unlike us. And leave Harry out of this, he's got nothing to do with this," Ron snapped, pushing himself off the chair.

"You know about this letter?" Hermione asked, quite appalled.

"How do you thing she posted the thing? She's seven, for Dumbledore's sake."

"You put Rose up to this? To writing me? That's sick, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, "And, quite frankly, it's always you who's complaining! I've never heard her complain about -"

"About what?" Ron said sharply, "about that time when we would all go to France to have a nice holiday, but it had to be cancelled because you had duties? Or about that time when you would throw Rose a birthday party, but at the end of the day couldn't make it? Or about that time when, not so long ago, you were going to take her to Diagon Alley to buy her her first broomstick, but forgot? Or about the hundreds I-will-make-it-up-to-yous? No, she didn't complain, and d'you know why? Because I was there to pick up the pieces, I was there to mend what you had broken, each and every single time. Yeah, daddy Ron will solve things, he's home, he's only an Auror, he's got loads of time on his hands. And what about us? When was the last time we did something even slightly romantic together? Right, over a month ago, when I dared to propose to you, and you had to run off because someone needed you at the office."

At this stage, Ron was nearly shouting, his face all hot and red. To his embarrassment tears were also rolling down his cheeks, like small but constant rivulets flowing doing a mountainside. Hermione wanted to be emphatic, wanted to hold him and share his distress, but she couldn't. Anger rushed through her as well, and ironically, because he didn't understand her feelings, just like she didn't understand his.

"Rose is a clever girl, she knows that I have responsibilities, but-" Hermione said crossly.

"Ah, responsibilities, there you have it! What about your responsibilities to your own bloody daughter and to me, your bloody partner? Have you-" Ron retorted.

"- she also knows that I love her, and-" Hermione continued, now raising her voice as well.

"- ever thought about that, now have you? Do you even know how painful it is to see Rose's disappointment? Not to mention to feel my own disappointment when you said "no" and considered my proposal almost like a business proposition. It's -"

"-And that's that, OK? And It's not my fault that you wanted to propose to me! And if you'd even listened to me, you'd have known that marrying wasn't in the cards right now. But-"

"- full on humiliation, I tried hard Hermione, but I don't know what kind of partner you want me to be, to be honest. Do you even want me to stay, or am I so repellent to you that you can't handle the idea of living with me for a long time. Because-"

"- do you ever listen? No, you don't, because you have this conservative idea of what a woman's life should look like. Marrying, having children, keeping the husband happy, but providing for the family, that's only for the husband. You, Ron, want to turn me into something I'm not, I'm not a housewife, and I'm not going to be one. Never!"

"- if you want me to leave, I will. There are better suited wives out there I'm sure. I should've married Lavender when I had to chance."

They were yelling at each other, each throwing their own thoughts, without minding the other. Hermione had heard Ron's last remark though, and stopped dead. "Ah, so you wanted to marry Lavender? Well, I've heard she still free, and probably wants to shag you right away! She banged the table and turned on her heels.

Without saying another word, she strode to the hall and slammed a few doors in between. From the kitchen, she heard Ron cursing loudly, calling after her to come back and face him like an adult. Her handbag and coat forgotten, she left the house, Disapparating instantly.

When she materialised again, she was shaking and cold shivers ran up and down her spine. It'd been a long time since Ron and she had had such a row, and being away from home she scolded herself for running. She was never really there, not when things were going great, and not when things were going badly. Another reason why a marriage would never work out. Supporting Ron through the good and the bad days would be a gargantuan task for her, and for the first time she let herself openly doubt their relationship on the whole.

Looking up, she was surprised to see the place she'd taken herself. It was the Leaky Cauldron, a pub that used to ramshackle, frequented by wizards that fit the scene. In the back of the pub, there was also the entrance to Diagon Alley. The building didn't look so drab anymore; the old owner had died a few years prior and had left it to his son, whom no-one even knew about at the time. The son was a little bit more eccentric, especially what his taste concerned, and now the outlook of the building was warmer and cosier. At least, as warm as could be managed with the wood that had turned black over time and the sinister looking sign above the door. Hermione thought that was the result of a condition in the will of the previous owner to keep the same furniture.

Without hesitation, she grasped the doorhandle and pushed the heavy door. It was amiably warm inside, and a smell of smoked ham and sweet butterbeer hung in the air, mixed with the smell of newly-baked bread from the stone-oven in the back. It was too early still for the regular folk to be about, and only two seats at the bar were taken, one by an unshaven man in suit that was clinging onto his third bottle of butterbeer and one by a man in black. Could it be? She exhaled slowly, but couldn't move.

"Is it you?" she said under her breath. At the same time, the man looked up. If he was surprised to see her in a place like this, he didn't show it. She, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot and stared at him intently. Not in a hundred years did she expect to meet him again, and flashes of dreamy memories made a blush appear on her cheeks.

Ever since she clumsily bumped into him, he'd left a stamp on every other thought. It was mostly curiosity, though, nothing more. She recognised a likeminded soul when she saw one, but she wanted to know more about him. From what she retained of his image, he was an inconspicuous, yet very present person, with eyes that reminded her of vast marshlands mottled with late-autumnal sunlight. The rest of him was a blur, vague outlines of a tall man that she filled in to her own liking.

Seeing him again in this murky setting, another clearer image fixed itself onto the sketchy one she held in her mind. The man cleared his throat and made a small gesture, beckoning her towards him. That was when she realised she was still staring at him, feet glued to the doorstep.

Gingerly, she came closer and sat onto the barstool. "Minister, what a pleasure," he said amicably, putting his glass of wine gently down.
"Hi," was the only thing Hermione managed to utter. His warm voice engulfed her for a second, and just momentarily prompted a memory from long ago that she couldn't pinpoint.
"Fancy a drink?" the man asked her.
"Er, yes... no! No, I owe you this one," Hermione said abruptly, her thoughts interrupted, "Butterbeer? Or another glass of red wine? Or something else? Personally, I take to Dragon Scale every now and then. Or some Firewhisky. I always save some of that, you know, for a rainy day."
She thought she saw his mouth twitch. "Oh dear, I'm babbling, I'm way too chatty, but I haven't touched alcohol yet, I swear, I'm so sorry..." her voice trailed away, and her cheeks burned.
"Firewhisky, it is," he said dryly.