May 12th

The sun shining directly in Hermione's eyes was what finally woke her up from her deep, potion-induced sleep. Whatever ingredients were used in the tonic to clear her mind and help her rest were highly potent. Based on how stiff her limbs felt, she was sure she'd picked up one of the potions only rarely used for high intensity situations. Like the time she thought she was back in the cafe on Tottenham Court Road and Antonin and Thorfinn were there to kill or capture her again. She'd almost destroyed their kitchen and ruined a perfectly lovely dinner party.

A quiet shuffling coming from near the window caught Hermione's attention, steering her thoughts away from embarrassing nights that were better left unremembered. Someone was with her in the room. Assuming it was simply an overly attentive Antonin, she was startled to see the figure seated in his father's favorite reading chair. A smile slowly crept on Hermione's face. She might have been a terrible mother, but she did love her son in her own way. Her maternal instincts were just dormant or recessive or simply non-existent.

Oliver had grown since she'd last seen him. Even since the brief glimpse she got of him back in February before Draco dragged her away from Hogsmeade. Though he was still seated she could tell that he would one day be easily as tall as his father. His hair was getting long, threatening to cover up the eyes he got from his mother. Part of her was sad to see he was becoming more and more handsome. Soon, if he wasn't already, he would break many hearts in Hogwarts Castle and probably have his own crushed as well. When he saw her eyes opened and watching him, Oliver smiled, his dimples a perfect copy of Antonin's.

"Papa told me I couldn't wake you up, but I could come in here if I was very quiet."

Hermione struggled to sit up after remaining in one position for so long. If her son was allowed to come down to the village to visit, it must be a Saturday, which meant she'd been dead to the world for over a day. She shouldn't have been surprised to sleep so long. Between the potion, the release of the tension she'd held in her out of fear of what Antonin would do to her, and the simple joy of finally sleeping again in her own bed, she might have been able to keep sleeping. As soon as she started moving, her son was off the chair to help. He threw his arms around her the moment she was sitting up.

Motherhood never brought Hermione the joy she was assured by so many that it would. The guilt she felt at not wanting to be a mother only increased when she was around her only child. She did love him, but always felt he would've been better off with someone else as his mother. Maybe recognizing that fact was proof that she did care about the boy. He deserved more than he was given.

Oliver was reluctant to release his hold. Just like his father in another way it seemed. She was surprised to discover that she didn't mind. A big part of her had been afraid that he wouldn't forgive her for ruining his birthday by almost murdering his father in the middle of his party. Of course, she had to remember that it wasn't as if Oliver had much of an understanding what was normal for most families and what wasn't. The fact that he didn't recoil from her in terror was proof that her son loved his mother.

When they finally broke the embrace, Hermione patted the top of the mattress to encourage him to sit on the edge of the bed. The shift in his position gave her the chance to get a better look at the young man he was growing into. He would need new robes before the next school year. Already they were too short and a little too tight in the shoulders. She'd heard the slight deepening to his voice had already begun. If she blinked too hard, she'd open her eyes to see him transformed into a man. An entire year away was a long time in a child's life.

Her eyes fell on the scarlet and gold tie at his throat. She couldn't suppress a small chuckle as she reached up to touch the part of his uniform she was very familiar with. He might look just like Antonin, but he was every bit her son as well. She knew her husband would've preferred he be in Ravenclaw where the students were typically more studious and less likely to get into trouble. His mother, however, was glad to see her House colors on her son.

"How do you like being in Gryffindor?"

Oliver's face lit up at the question. So much about the boy had always been overly serious and solemn. To see him excited made him look the age he actually was. Perhaps her running away and abandoning him hadn't been as traumatic with him tucked away in the castle. He deserved to have a carefree childhood learning his lessons and making friends. Part of her hoped he was getting into just a little bit of trouble. She didn't know what to do with a perfectly well-behaved child.

"I love it. Professor McGonagall says that she's going to have to retire soon because we're all exhausting."

Hermione smiled. It was an old statement that her Head of House had been making to generations of her Gryffindors. While many of the professors teaching in the castle at the end of the war chose to leave for other opportunities or to simply get away from the regime, Minerva McGonagall felt a duty to continue protecting her students. She still had an enormous amount of respect and admiration for the Transfiguration professor even if the elderly witch no longer had much use for her former student. She would refrain from being openly hostile in Hermione's presence, but she was never warm. That part of Hermione's life was over.

Oliver was a wealth of information about the castle and its inhabitants. Without much prompting from his mother, he gave her all of the highlights of his first year - making friends with the other boys in his dormitory, his visits to Hagrid's hut for inedible snacks, and a dozen more perfectly normal activities she was glad to hear he was involved in. Though not terribly far from home, being at school was opening up an exciting new world for him.

"Hugo Weasley is probably my best friend."

Hermione's stomach clenched at Oliver's innocent admission. It was so reminiscent of her years at Hogwarts. Of course, she knew that Ron and his wife Romilda had a son his age. The Weasleys were determined to carry on the family tradition of having enough children to fill a Quidditch team. Remembering how innocent and naïve she and Ron once were filled her with a sadness that was hard to shake.

"One of the Gryffindor ghosts told me he knew you when you were in school, Mum."

"Yes, I even went to Sir Nicholas' five hundredth Death Day party."

"No, not Nearly Headless Nick. The other one. The one that likes to play pranks on Professor McGonagall."

She'd heard a rumor that there were ghosts in Hogwarts left over from the final battle. If they were true, she hadn't seen any familiar faces floating in the air when she made her frequent visits to the castle. Maybe they were hiding from her or maybe she didn't allow herself to actually see them. When she was locked in her broom cupboard, terrified and all alone in the dark, a few times she felt the already chilly temperature go down. Afraid of what she might see if she opened her eyes, she kept them tightly closed until the space heated up again. Whomever, or whatever, it was, never spoke. She didn't want to see one of the most vivacious people she'd ever known cold in death. It was too hard.

"He teamed up with Peeves one day during…"

Whatever story her son was about to tell was interrupted by the door opening. Antonin lingered in the doorway for a moment before joining them. In times past he wouldn't have hesitated to join them both on the bed. Everything was different, however, since she ran away. The married couple was still unsure how to act around each other. Antonin cleared his throat and addressed their son.

"You should head back to the castle, Ollie. Headmaster Mulciber only gave you permission to be gone for two hours."

The young wizard's face fell at his reminder. Hermione bit back a smile. As quickly as he was growing, it was evident that he was still a child. Before he got up from the bed, Oliver threw his arms around Hermione again. He squeezed her tightly.

"I've missed you, Mummy. Please promise me you won't go away again for so long."

She was overcome with his plea. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she didn't know what to say. How could she make a promise to him that she wasn't sure she could honor? He deserved more than to have his mother lie to him. Instead, she only hugged him tighter, kissed his forehead, and made him promise her that he wouldn't cause Professor McGonagall too much grief.

The moment the two wizards exited the bedroom together, Hermione laid her head back down on her pillow. His visit was exhausting: physically, emotionally, and mentally. When she closed her eyes, she felt her eyelashes dampen with her tears. Why was life so damned difficult? How was she expected to keep going when all she wanted to do was lay down and die?

A gentle hand pushing her hair away from her face startled her eyes open. Her husband stood over her, concern etched across his face. She hadn't even heard him reenter the room she was so wrapped up in herself.

"We've both missed you."

Hermione closed her eyes again, worried that she was going to begin sobbing in front of the man who always told her showing emotion was weakness. When he pushed a glass vial in her hand, she was grateful. Antonin dropped a kiss to the top of her head and left her alone again.