May 2, 2008
Jean Granger sat on her porch swing in the darkness, a blanket thrown round her and the sleeping toddler in her lap. It was early May, the darkest hour before dawn. Her daughter Hermione had appeared in her front hall just a few minutes ago, dropped off her daughter with a detailed list of instructions and what had to be three stone of equipment and supplies, and disappeared again.
Literally, because her daughter was a witch.
Jean pushed the swing gently with one foot, remembering the day she and her husband Hugh had learned that. It was on this very porch that Professor McGonagall had stood and explained she was deputy Headmistress at a school called Hogwarts and Hermione had been selected for a full scholarship.
That's the story that got her in the door, at least; the story in the living room had been a bit different.
Jean smoothed the red-gold curls of the child in her arms. There wouldn't be such a visit or story for Rose. Magic born, with a witch and wizard for parents, Hermione said she'd already done some simple accidental magic. Rose's name would have been put down for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the day of her birth.
Jean remembered that day too. She and Hugh had tried to convince Hermione to have a hospital birth, even if it was the magical hospital in London, but Hermione had wanted to avoid both the exposure and the hassle. Even ten years later Jean didn't fully understand why, but her daughter and her son-in-law were famous in their world. Hermione had wanted the birth of her child to be private, family only. They'd had a midwife at home but Jean had remained unconvinced until Hermione admitted she wanted her mum to be present for the labor and birth, and as a Muggle—a non-magical person—Jean would not be allowed in the wizarding hospital, just as she'd never seen Hermione's wizarding school.
Which is why she sat here, on her front porch in England, instead of by a lake in northern Scotland listening to her daughter's speech.
It was the second of May, the ten-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione had been invited to give the keynote address. Well, as she told it, Harry—her best friend Harry Potter, who was even more famous than she and Ron and had been so since he was younger than Rose here—Harry had been invited and delegated the task to Hermione.
Jean readjusted the blanket, careful to keep Rose covered even as she created a pocket for her own body heat to escape. Sleeping children were toasty warm, like little generators, and Hermione had bundled the girl rather excessively, worried about the absence of warming charms in the drafty old Victorian.
Hermione had shown her the speech yesterday, and even allowing for a mother's bias, it was excellent. Most everything Hermione did was, even if it had taken her a little while to settle into a version of motherhood that suited her. Unlike her sister-in-law Ginny, who stayed home with her two (soon to be three) children, Hermione continued to work as a lawyer for the Ministry of Magic. Having maintained her own dental practice throughout Hermione's childhood, Jean didn't blame her.
Hermione had fretted about the appearance of leaving Rose behind on a landmark anniversary, but Ron had insisted even she couldn't manage a two-and-a-half-year-old and an important speech while thirty-four weeks pregnant. With Ron providing security for the event and Ginny nearly as heavily pregnant as Hermione, plus most of their nieces and nephews no older than preschoolers, leaving Rose with Jean and Hugh was the most sensible answer, and Jean was grateful for it.
Not that she rarely saw her granddaughter. Hermione made dutiful visits once monthly and included her parents in birthdays and holidays. But they didn't have the kind of close relationship where they were in and out of each other's houses and lives on a daily basis, and having married into a family of six who were in each other's business, Hermione rarely needed her parents to mind the baby.
Jean shifted Rose to her other shoulder, shivering slightly as the swing's motion blew air over the damp patch where the toddler's cheek had rested against her neck. Rose remained limp and pliable, her only motion to shove the opposite thumb in her mouth and resume sucking.
It was better than she had expected ten years ago. Ten years ago today, she and Hugh had been living in Wahroonga, New South Wales, Australia as Monica and Wendell Wilkins. They'd had no knowledge of Hogwarts, Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort, a war, or even Hermione herself thanks to the memory-modifying charm she had performed. It wasn't until Hermione and Ron "accidentally" ran into them at their flat after work one evening in July 1998 that the truth was revealed.
Rose whimpered, rubbing her face against Jean's shoulder, and she realized she'd inadvertently tightened her hold. Rubbing the thin back soothingly and murmuring apologies, she put the swing back into motion.
That first year, there had been times when Jean had wondered if she and Hugh would ever get past Hermione's betrayal. It wasn't until she left for her last year at Hogwarts in September, when it was just the two of them again, that the suppressed emotions had come to the surface.
She sighed, slouching enough to rest her head on the back of the swing and closing her eyes. It really was dreadfully early. She should go back to bed and take Rose with her. But there was something peaceful and completive about the old house in the first light just visible over the rooftops to the east.
And Rose … her first grandchild. This child, her presence here alone, without her mother, was a tangible personification of the healing in their own mother-daughter relationship. Hermione trusted Jean with the person most precious to her. Trusted that even though she wouldn't do things the way Hermione did, couldn't do them as Hermione did, Jean would care for Rose's physical and emotional well-being. Trusted her and Hugh to take any mention or performance of magic in stride. It showed Hermione valued her parents and her Muggle-born heritage and was willing to expose Rose to an alternate view of the world.
An alternate view that featured predominantly in what Hermione was saying right now. She and Ron had explained the wizarding war they had fought in as racism in the magical community, racism to the extreme of genocide. A genocide that had targeted Jean's beautiful, passionate, brilliant daughter through no fault of her own. Racism that Hermione worked every day to eliminate as she fought for the rights of other magical creatures.
There were shadows on the porch now as the light crept inexorably closer to where she and Rose sat at the west end of the house. Jean stood, throwing the extra blanket over her shoulder to eliminate any risk of tripping with the little one. Sunrise … a new grandbaby arriving soon … the delights of children's books and films and simple wonders to experience all over again. It had been a good ten years since Hermione found them in Australia, and the next ten promised to be even better.
a/n: Aaand, Mandy returns tomorrow with another chapter of Reflections. If you're enjoying these stories, please drop us a line-we'd love to hear from you!