Ch. 3 First Christmas

Christmas 1998 was certainly a memorable one, and in ways that she didn't necessarily want to remember. It was the first one for the Weasleys where their family was incomplete, with brother Fred having been laid to rest out under the solitary Oak tree on the edge of the Orchard. It was also the first one where the family was free of impending doom. Lastly, it was also the first one where Hermione finally felt like a part of the family.

She received from Molly her first Weasley jumper, and a cookbook. She turned a fabulous shade of magenta upon opening her present. The jumper was beautiful, in various shades of gold and auburn and brown, but was mortified at the cookbook. She looked up at Ron and saw him and Harry laughing. Appreciation turned instantly into anger. 'How dare they?' She thought in a pique.

She felt the sting in her eyes before her temper broke. "How dare you, Ronald Weasley, laughing at me like that! How could you?"

She sprang off the couch, hitting him roughly on the shoulder with her new book, and huffed out to the kitchen. The leather bound book lay on the couch between Ron and Harry, like a pile of dragon dung. The remaining family in the room was aghast at her reaction.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Ron remarked at the book next to his lap. "Why did she get so barmy about a cookbook? She loves books."

Harry looked to Ginny then to Molly, who stood at the mantle gobsmacked. Realization dawned on him. Ginny quickly realized the implications also.

"You're really that thick, aren't you?" quipped his sister. She smacked him on the shoulder before taking off after her best friend.

Molly and Fleur started for the kitchen before Harry could speak up. "Now just a minute. Give her a few to get it together."

All eyes looked back to him. Charlie was the first to speak up. "What the blazes Harry?"

All eyes were on him. There was no escape.

"While we were gone, there wasn't much for us to eat once we went on the run. Ron and I weren't much help in the kitchen and it unfortunately fell on Hermione to keep us somewhat fed." He got quiet for a second. "She tried her best, but when you can only scavenge mushrooms and the occasional egg stolen from a farm, what can you do? Even while trying to keep us fed, she did without, trying to keep us –"

Harry went silent for a minute, trying to regain his emotions. She didn't tell him until they were back from Australia that she didn't eat many a day so the two of them could have something. 'Hungry boys were bad enough. Tormented by that damn Horcrux made them almost impossible to cope with,' she said in that conversation. He stole a glance to his right, and saw that Ron was at least ashamed of his antics. He remembered that conversation also, from the chagrin on his face.

"Molly, you remember how malnourished we were when we came home in May. Fleur spent the better part of a month feeding us, but we were in such poor shape even with her efforts. We were on the brink of starvation when we came to Shell Cottage. No, I take that back. Hermione was starving when we landed at Shell Cottage. She did without so we would have more."

Anguish came through the doorway where the door didn't hold back the sound.

Fleur looked at her mother in law, and the rest of the group. A moment of understanding passed between them, and they made their way to the kitchen. Before they left, however, they glared at the men, including Harry.

When they left, Ron uncurled from the couch he tried to hide in. "What'd I do?"

The two ladies walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. The men in the next room didn't need to hear or know what was going on. They sealed it, preventing any further intrusion. On a chair at the end of the table was Hermione, with her head in her hands, weeping at her perceived failure. Ginny was kneeling in front of her, whispering to her.

Ginny looked up from Hermione, and her glare flittered through recognition to comprehension. "That brother of mine is a tosspot!" she spat.

Two heads, muted auburn and platinum blonde, nodded back. "Ronald has the tact of a toad. I don't know where he gets it from," muttered Molly. "That might be Uncle Bilius' influence. He was as sharp as a hammer, that one."

"C'est Ronald. He is not my Beel," said Fleur, like she was pronouncing that the Sun would rise because she said so.

"Obviously Bill knows how to act in front of others," Ginny muttered.

The other two ladies' came to chairs at the end of the table, finding a spot to sit in commiseration. Hermione didn't bother to acknowledge the two older witches who had joined them. All she could do was try to reign back in her emotions, which were overflowing yet again. It was one thing to cry in front of Ginny – even Fleur was fine after everything they had gone through in April - but another in front of Ron's mum. She hated showing weakness, even with current company. Pride warred with frustration.

Ginny was trying to help her, between denigrating the emotional depth of her brother, and the insensitivity of the laughter at her predicament. The only thing that the rest heard from her quiet platitudes was that they didn't understand the situation.

"C'est vrai, 'ermione, we didn't know. I didn't know that you were starving until Ronald brought you to Shell Cottage and I had to heal you. I only realized how bad you were when I had to strip you then heal you. I wanted to do more, but you were hurting so much that you wouldn't eat."

Hermione looked up, into those ice blue eyes of Fleur, then to the warm caramel eyes of Molly. "I'm sorry I did that Molly. I had no right to act that way with such a heart-felt gift from you." She hung her head back in shame at her tantrum.

Molly motioned her daughter to move, and knelt on her wobbly and creaky knees in front of Hermione. "Sush, dear. It's painfully obvious with those two prats in the next room that you were too busy trying to keep them alive that you didn't have time or opportunity to learn the domestic arts. Well, Fleur and I will just have to work on that once you're finished with school."

Molly looked up to her daughter in law, and saw her nodding in agreement. "So, from now until whenever you're comfortable, you are welcome in my kitchen, to learn how to feed a Weasley man. For Ronald, it's considerably easier than the rest of them. Just make a huge portion of whatever you make, and let him eat like it's his last meal. It's not that hard at all."

The peals of laughter were heard in the den. The men could only look at one another in befuddlement.

Hermione learned quickly that she wasn't such an astute student in the kitchen, not when it came to learning from Molly and Fleur. Try as she may, she couldn't quite get the subtle art of cooking anything more than just functional fare.

In the intervening years, she received a plethora of cookbooks, mostly from Molly and Fleur. Ginny knew better, and would give her the occasional cook book, as a gag mostly since she was not as adept as her own mother in the kitchen. They would laugh at their own perceived shortcomings. They tried to tutor her, but she didn't have a gift for cooking. She spent many an evening in Molly's kitchen, when Ron was out on a mission trip, attempting to learn how to cook for him. Try as she could, she just didn't have a knack for it. Her breads didn't rise, her pie crusts were too hard, and her chickens were dry as a bone.

Ginny had more years to learn, but she still couldn't top her Mum, except when it came to bread making. Her loaves of French, Italian, and sourdough were outstanding.

Neither couldn't top Molly when it came to making delectable desserts, or the moist and juicy hams and roasts that their husbands love. The only category that she excelled over her mother in law was pastas and other sauces for pasta.

Once she introduced her husband to Italian cuisine, she learned that she could now feed him without too many complaints. Her spaghetti was the only thing she could make that received a compliment. She would keep plenty in the cooling cabinet for when her husband was peckish and couldn't wait for her to come home from work.

Her attempts at French cuisine were even worse. At least she didn't come close to burning down the kitchen at Molly's house.