Ch. 2 Books for learning
Hermione returned to the kitchen ninety minutes later, ready to take in the chaos and mayhem known as her mother in law's residence. She loved the Weasleys in ways that still surprised her after all of these years, but there were times that the unbridled energy that went on inside those walls drained her. Fresh sheets, freshly shagged and freshly showered did wonders to help with the touch of anxiety that went with going to Sunday brunch at her in-laws.
She took a bite of the fresh fruit left on the breakfast table. To this day, she still ate like a bird most of the time. Some habits were hard to break, such as indulging in sweets or eating more than half of the food that went on her plate at the Burrow. At least now no one pestered her about it.
She finished off the rest of the fruit. She put her bowl into the sink along with the rest of the dishes. Ron was good about loading the dishwasher.
As much as she would love to skive off of Sunday brunch with the family, her husband wouldn't hear of it. He never told her, whether in front of his family or the kids, but her cooking was nothing compared to the rest of the women in her life. If anything, it was the one thing that was functional at best. She only knew because she knew her husband, and his love of food. He ate well for her, but his Mum's cooking was his weekly indulgence and delight.
Jean Granger tried, at least until Hermione went off to school, to teach her daughter some of the fundamentals of cooking, such as reading an ingredients label, or measuring those ingredients for a dish to serve at dinner. But even her time at school was focused on those subjects that did interest her – History, Runes, Charms, keeping the boys alive. Those were the most important for her time. Standing over a stove as a child and learning the finer points of making a meal were one of the least interesting things to her. Books and cleverness were considerably more important.
It was now, reflecting back, that she didn't realize the importance of having artistry in the kitchen and other domestic chores. Sure, she could clean and dust the house where a mite would starve, or organize her personal library seven different ways, but her magic, as powerful as it was, was stifled in the kitchen. She didn't have a gift with food. She didn't comprehend how to wield magic with food. She didn't have that subtle touch that made food go from edible to delicious.
Her time spent with Molly Weasley didn't help her skills in the kitchen. If anyone was a magician in the kitchen, it was that woman. How she was able to feed nine people daily growing up, and in the quantities that she could, was remarkable. And the most interesting thing of it all was that it tasted fabulous. She couldn't remember a time when something was over-cooked, or burnt, or was less that delectable. Molly had a gift, where she didn't. Her gifts lie elsewhere. In short, Molly was intimidating in the kitchen.
She felt the strong arms of her husband snake across her slowly expanding hips, followed by a tender kiss behind her ear. "Ready to go? Mum asked us to be there at 11. You know if we're late she'll send Ginny over."
She leaned into him for just another moment, relishing the quiet that was certainly rare in their household, and a miracle at her mother in law's residence. He was freshly showered, smelling of the soap that he insisted she purchase for him. Fresh clean Ron was her second favorite. Only sun kissed grass infused chocolate Ron was better.
They stepped to the fireplace, their next destination being The Burrow.
They stepped out and were immediately buffeted by the cacophony that was a constant on Sunday morning. Ron took off her traveling cloak, letting her wander into the kitchen before him.
For years, starting with the day their world changed for the eventual better, they were never individuals. They were always RonandHermione. The family saw them attached to the hip, proverbially before literally, yet literally quickly followed. Even when the family was caught in the crossfire known as a row, they were still RonandHermione. Even when they were screaming like tantrum throwing toddlers at one another, they were still joined at the hip. Once the rest of them learned to stay out of the way, there was less carnage. The only ones who had the temerity to even deal with the aftermath were Harry and Ginny.
"Ah. There you are. Ron, go fetch the pitchers of pumpkin juice and take them outside. I need Hermione to help me with the rest of the salads and potatoes," Molly said while she was directing the whirling spoons in the various pots and sauces on the stove.
Ron hugged his mum like he did his wife then scampered outside with the pitchers for lunch. He would rather be outside watching the kids with his brothers and their kids than being under his mum's supervision, or within arm's reach of his sister. Leave the women in the kitchen while they got to play, said the chauvinist side of Ron Weasley. He would never admit it to anyone except his wife, but he loved watching the kids play Sunday morning. He missed out most of the time during the week while he was working so hard. 'These were the moments worth living for,' he thought. 'The kids make living worth it all.'
Hermione found the pot of boiled potatoes on the stove, and went to work turning them into creamed mashed potatoes. Nothing that some shredded cheese, butter and crème wouldn't make better. Once it was ready, she spooned it into three serving bowls, and added the spoons for it. Next up was the salad.
She stepped up to the island in the remodeled kitchen, finding a less than lethal knife to work on the greens for the salad. It took years before she was comfortable with a knife in her own hand, much less being around other food preparations. She fought the desire to scratch the old scar on her neck, the physical pain having been gone for years. Now, it was nothing more than a nervous habit that she had trouble breaking.
"Finished yet?"
Hermione brought her focus back to reality to see her favorite sister in law and best friend standing shoulder to shoulder with her. Ginny was elbows deep with the last proofing of bread for dinner tonight. All she needed to do was add on the butter to the top and it would be ready to go in the oven. Hermione chuckled. Poor Ginny, always drafted to come over hours early to help with the bread making. She must want the time away from the kids Sunday morning, even if it means putting up with her mum.
"The greens are shredded, and the carrots are diced, along with the radishes and the tomatoes. I think it just needs a dressing and it will be ready for the table."
"Mum, we're taking our things out to the table for brunch. You need anything else yet?"
"No, dear, all that remains now is the ham and chickens for the lunch. You two run along and make sure the kids are cleaned up."
The two best friends grinned when they took the salad bowls to the outside table, thankful that they had a few moments of peace without small mouths or large hands demanding their attention.
"So when is the book going to the publisher?" asked Hermione while she sipped water from her glass.
"A month from now and I hope I can make the deadline. The kids are driving me around the twist while they are at home. I'm sorely tempted to run away for a week just so I can write in peace."
"That bad?" she asked further.
"It would be better if we didn't homeschool them, but Harry wouldn't have it any other way. He told me a while back how bad his primary school was, and I couldn't foist that on the kids or on him. So, instead, I am teaching them at home and earning a gray hair a day from those rampaging hippogriffs."
Ginny had the three kids, from nine to five, and they were a handful on the best of days, monsters at their worst, at least according to her sister in law. She could only smile at their different parenting styles. Ginny might complain, but her kids, as well-mannered as they were most of the time, could be rambunctious as well. She laughed at the differences.
She sent her kids to a private primary school, since she was back working full time at the Law Enforcement office as one of the up and coming Solicitors. Her schedule was fine most of the time, except when her husband was stuck late at the office or out on a mission trip. Those days when he was out in the field for weeks were hard for her to cope.
"Well, I couldn't keep Rosie out of school. She all but insisted when Roxanne told her about the one she went to in London. Angie wouldn't hear of homeschooling Fred and Roxanne, not when she was busy at the Wheeze's every day. Besides, my personal library only has so much appropriate reading material for an eight year old."
They laughed at the joke known as Hermione's personal library. One room of their modest residence, which would have been a small fourth bedroom, had been converted into her own personal study and library. All four walls of the small nook of a room off of the master bedroom had been converted into shelf space for her personal collection. Between the law journals, books from Oxford and Hogwarts, there wasn't much room left for her own personal pleasure reading. Sure, there were a couple of volumes of Shakespeare; one from her husband that was of her favorite poet, Pablo Neruda; Jane Austin; and a couple that Ginny had purchased for her (including her first published book), but the rest were books she had studied up to that point in her life. Tucked away on the shelf above the door, where only Hermione would look, was her collection of read through and yet barely used cookbooks.
She tried on numerous occasions, but it was the one set of books that she couldn't understand or properly apply to her life.