The Granger home hadn't changed too much since school. Hermione's room was practically untouched a time capsule to her third or fourth year at Hogwarts. The room Hugo and Rose would be sharing for the next two weeks had spent Hermione's childhood as a halfway house for her parents' unfinished projects. Half an afghan and a Christmas stocking for her mother, a series of half painted tin figures for her dad. But anticipating their daughter's return her parents had cleared out the old and given the room a fresh coat of paint. The new furniture was another matter. The dresser and mattresses all still wrapped up in plastic.
"What?" Hugo had come up behind Hermione and was gaping at the room. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Floor looks cozy enough." Rose dropped her bag unto the hardwood and peered into the room over her mom's shoulder.
It did need a bit of work, and it had been more then twenty four hours since Hermione had even touched her wand. She quickly tied her long curly brown hair up into a pony tail and pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. She then promptly held her hand out expectantly. Her wand quickly flew from it's place in her purse downstairs into her open hand. "You two go see if your grandparents need help with lunch. I'll see what I can do about this."
The pair bounded down the stairs with more exuberance then she'd seen in months. Normally Hermione would have had the two sort the room out the Muggle way, but between the actual task and their propensity for bickering it would be well after dinner before the two finished.
Instead a flick of Hermione's wrist set the room into action. The windows opened and a draft carried the wet paint smell out. The plastic around the furniture fell away and the pieces floated off the ground and into their appropriate place. Ten minutes later when Hugo bounded up the stairs to get Hermione for lunch the room was done.
#
"Okay, why can't I just apprentice with you?"
The dinner table was quiet and all eyes were on Hermione. She leveled her best "mom" gaze at her irritated daughter. Lunch and the afternoon had passed amicably enough, but it was now less then two weeks before Rose was to start at Hogwarts and Hermione had finally screwed up the strength to tell her daughter that.
She sighed and set her fork down amongst the very delicious mashed potatoes and peas. "Because witches don't apprentice in the UK. They go to Hogwarts."
"A boarding school? Mom what century do you think this is?"
"The twenty first. It's a good school."
"Full of uppity wizards. If I wanted that I'd go to…to Salem!"
"Rose, if you want to use magic in this country you have to go to Hogwarts."
"And you wonder why I didn't want to move here? I could be apprenticing with Ms. Jenkins right now! Going to school with people I actually like."
Less then a year ago Rose had hit that shrill teenager stage. Hermione's husband had found it amusing that a few sharp words from Rose sent a migraine throbbing through Hermione's brain. Not for the last time she wished he was here, not just because it would have kept them from moving in with her parents, but because he would have had his daughter seeing the logic to going to Hogwarts. It was one of, if not the best school for witchcraft and wizardry. A brilliant girl like Rose could thrive there. And it was safe. Above all else it was safe.
"Rose," Hermione's dad said, "Your mother was terrified when she first heard about Hogwarts," that was an out and out lie and everyone at the table knew it—well except Hermione's dad. He tended to operate in another world apart from theirs, especially in emotional matters such as these. "But she got there and made friends, and with the exception of that whole war thing she ended up loving it there!"
"Did you really fight in the war with Voldemort," Hugo asked.
Her parents looked at her curiously. Her mother wondered, "Is it very well known in America Hugo?"
He nodded, "Oh sure. All the wizards I know knew about the war. Voldemort was this super evil guy and then some British wizards got together and killed him. Mom doesn't talk about it."
"It's like talking about your age," she offered. No one had any idea what Hermione was talking about. "Some things, like participating in a great war? They just don't need to be talked about."
Under the table her mother suddenly took Hermione's hand and gripped it tight.
"It wasn't all bad," her dad said, returning to his mashed potatoes, "you gram and I got a wonderful trip to Australia!"
"So everyone at Hogwarts would know you?" Hermione looked up sharply. Her daughter sounded like she was getting interested in Hogwarts, though wanting to go to milk her mother's former fame was a terrible reason.
"A lot of people I used to know teach there, but it's been years since I've spoken with most of them. I doubt they remember the bushy haired girl who was good with charms."
Rose immediately returned to sulking and started pushing her peas into her potatoes in a way that could only be described as sullen.
"Rose," Hermione tried to infuse as much warmth into her voice as possible, her daughter refused to look up. "You really will like it there. The professors are all brilliant."
"Not as brilliant as you mom."
"Thank you Hugo. Wipe the brown off your nose." Her son rubbed at his nose and was concerned to find it perfectly clean. "And they really are brilliant. Professor McGonagall's one of the only Animagi in all of England. And Professor Longbottom travels all over the world studying plants. He's been published in loads of journals."
"But it's like camp Mom. For years."
Hermione smiled, "and not a parent in sight."
Her daughter was too stubborn to look openly delighted, but it was very clear that the lack of parental supervision immediately sold her. Hermione wasn't about to tell her about Fitch or the third eye every teacher in the place seemed to have. That was something Rose could learn about all on her own.
#
After dinner Hugo Sr. Insisted on teaching his grandchildren about the very best British programs and had set them down in front of the telly for some BBC costume drama. Hermione loved her father, but had learned as a child that it was better to not watch the dramas with him. He tended to get into even the driest ones and loved to point out any and every historical inaccuracy.
The lesser of two evils was her mother—who was now up to her elbows in soapy water and she scrubbed the pans from dinner.
"I can do that Mom."
"No thank you dear. I'd prefer to limit to magic in the house to the absolute necessities."
Hermione resisted an eye roll and picked up took up a towel to dry the sopping pans her mother had placed on the rack.
"I can do that dear."
"I don't mind helping Mom."
"You should be in there with them."
"Really Mom. I'm fine."
Her mother's hand stilled in the soapy mess. "You're not fine dear."
That was the problem with Harriet Granger. She was just as astute as her daughter, and just as emotionally pragmatic. Covetable traits to be sure, but absolutely awful traits to have in a mother. She glanced up from her work. Her mother's brown eyes were focused so intensely on her she thought the woman was about to have a go at Legilimency.
It was enough to tear a little crack in the armor Hermione had been working hard to build since deciding to come home. "I'm not fine," she admitted slowly, "But I will be. And right now I want to spend time with my mom. Okay?"
Her mother stared a second longer then returned to her scrubbing, "You understand I worry dear. Everything you've been through and you've been strong. Impossibly strong. But losing a spouse isn't like fighting a war. And you've got two children who need their mom."
"I know that mother." She'd hoped the more formal title would indicate that Harriet should leave it.
Harriet continued, "You've been home for only a few hours and already you're pushing them away. First upstairs, now after dinner. And sending Rose to Hogwarts? Going back to work next week? You say you know, but what I see right now is that woman who hardly looked like my daughter coming to find me in Sydney.
"I'm not running."
"You're children disagree."
"Mom."
"It's too soon Hermione. You need to take a breath."
"I appreciate the concern mom, but my boss has been amazing these last few months. He's put up with a wreck of an employee. And he's given me an enormous task here. Something that'll be good for me, the children, heck for all of England. I can't shirk my responsibilities any longer."
"Your children are your responsibility." She waved a soapy hand towards the living room. "Rose. You could apprentice her."
"No. I can't." Her voice was. "You may not believe it but she needs Hogwarts. She doesn't need to sit around here being constantly reminded that her father is dead."
"Mom?"
Both woman turned to find Hugo standing in the doorway. Words really failed to adequately describe the horror and guilt Hermione felt at that moment. Her son had her frizzy hair, but he had his father's eyes, and they were now wide in hurt and surprise.
"Hugo. We…"
Hugo didn't wait for an explanation he turn and ran, loudly bounding up the steps and into the room he shared with Rose. Hermione shot her moth a dark look, and to her credit Harriet looked suitably reproached.
Hermione dried her hands and quietly followed her son up the stares, ignoring the curious looks from her father and daughter in the living room.
She didn't try to talk through the door, just opened it and sat beside Hugo. He'd taken a pillow and was now curled up tightly in a ball wrapped around the pillow and unwilling to budge. She watched him for a while. The quick breaths and the closed eyes and the red on his nose from the tears he refused to let fall.
She stretched out alongside him and pulled him and the pillow close, wrapped her legs and arms around him and laying her cheek against the top of his head. He smelled a bit like the airplane and the awful chicken that had been served on board. But he also smelled like the shampoo he used. The baby kind that didn't cause tears.
She kissed the top of his head and rocked him slowly. She didn't hum. Didn't apologize. She just rested on his twin sized bed and held him close.
After a while Rose came in and went to bed, leaving on the lamp in the hallway as a kind of security blanket. Hermione's dad would be annoyed at the extra cost to his electricity bill, but Hermione didn't mind. She held her youngest and slept straight on til morning.