Quidditch League, Season 8, Quarter Finals.

Pride of Portree, Beater 2.

Theme: No bashing: Hermione Granger. Unexpected setback

Optional Prompts: (Quote) "You've never been one to give up when the going gets tough, so don't start now.", (Object) Book, (Colour) Lavender.

Warnings: Deals with illness, death, and cancer.

Beta(s): CupCakeyyy, secretfanficlover, Ash Juillet

Word Count: 1506

Hermione doesn't give up when the going gets tough

The genuine smile on Hermione's face remained until the scarlet train disappeared from sight with her only daughter on it. It was bittersweet to watch Rose grow up and attend Hogwarts, but she knew that she'd have the best time at school. Hermione's hand rested on her son's shoulder, who would be leaving on the train in two years. She wasn't ready for her children to grow up so quickly.

"Let's go home," Ron said as he began to lead them both off the platform. It was at this point that she realised that most of the parents had already departed - she guessed that was the difference between sending your child off for their first year, and all the other years.

Hermione let her husband lead her the whole way to the fireplaces near the exit. She watched Ron take Hugo in his arms as the green flames flickered up. With a sigh, she followed them home. It had been surprisingly tiring getting Rose ready earlier, and all she wanted to do was take a nap. However, both her and Ron had taken today off work to spend time with Hugo and be on call if - for the unlikely reason - Rose needed them.

"Can we make cookies?" Hugo asked with absolute excitement when she stepped through the fireplace.

She couldn't help but smile at her son's excitement. "Of course. How about you get the ingredients out and I'll be there in a second."

Her nine-year-old son happily wandered off to the kitchen. She looked after him, her brain still replaying the Hogwarts Express going out of sight as Ron approached her, concern etched over his features. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"If you need to rest-"

"Ron, I'm fine," she snapped. Instantly, she felt awful. She knew he was just trying to help. "Sorry." She took a breath. "I don't want Hugo to know something is wrong. Besides, St. Mungo's are confident that tomorrow's treatment is going to work. I'm not going to give up when it gets tough - therefore, I'm making cookies."

He nodded, his hand holding onto hers. "It should've worked last time," he muttered.

Hermione shrugged off his comment and walked into the kitchen, a semi-forced smile making its way to her lips as she picked up the cookbook. "Looks like you've gotten everything."

Her nine-year-old son grinned up at her proudly.

Hermione's eyes closed as she took a deep breath. It was times like these that she wished she was at a Muggle hospital - she still understood them slightly more than St Mungo's Hospital despite being part of the wizarding world for over half of her life.

She opened her eyes and focused on the healer explaining to Ron what was going to happen again after they had both been told twice already.

"Your wife will take the potion, then using a spell, we'll remove her blood slowly, filter out the cancer, and then return it to her body. It will be pain-free, however, she may feel light-headed, and therefore will have a healer on hand with additional potions if required," the male healer explained patiently. "Do you have any further questions?"

"And it'll work?"

"It has before," was the healers' only reply.

"Ron, let him do his job," Hermione spoke, trying to get comfortable on the hospital bed. "It'll be fine."

Ron walked over to her and took her hand, the level of sweat showed her that he was worried. "I want to be here with you."

Hermione smiled softly. "It's a lengthy process - could be a few hours. I have work to do and books to read anyway."

He seemed highly reluctant, and she understood why, however, she could feel his worry and uncertainty radiating off him and it was making her increasingly more nervous. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "You should go and spend time with Hugo, he's expecting you to turn up at your mother's."

Resigned, Ron nodded. "Patronus me when it's done."

"I will."

With that, she watched her husband of thirteen years walk out of the room and lifted up her book on magical law and began to make notes about proposed changes. Next week was the announcement of the new Minister of Magic and she would jump to talk to whoever was elected with her ideas - she had to be prepared.

"Are you ready, Mrs Weasley?"

Without correcting him to her actual last name, she nodded, chugged back the potion, and proceeded on with her work.

And the new Minister of Magic is… Hermione Granger!

Even though Hermione knew she had been put into the running for Minister, she had never expected to get it. Her mind had been so focused on her health that she hadn't even considered it. Especially when she had informed them of her cancer. Leukaemia. The blood coursing around her body, in her veins, was killing her. But the latest treatment had shown a positive outcome - however, it wasn't a cure.

Standing on the stage, holding the book with all of her notes, Hermione realised that she was now in charge - she had wanted to discuss the laws, but how would she change them? Her pale face was blank for a whole second before she pulled out her prepared speech - even if she hadn't thought she'd get it, she was always ready for anything.

"Ron, you're not listening to me! I can't do it!" Hermione expressed as she slumped down on the bed. "The cancer is fighting back. How can I lead the magical world when I'm going to the hospital every other week?"

Though he tried to help, it seemed pointless at times.

At his silence, she continued her rant. "I'm drained, Ron. Exhausted. I can't keep going like this." She paused. "Perhaps I should step down."

"No, you shouldn't," came a younger voice.

Hermione's head jerked up to the door where Rose and Hugo were standing; they were both back home for Christmas. Rose was in her fourth year, and Hugo in his second; they both knew that Hermione was ill but hadn't known the extent. Well, until now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered; she hated them seeing her like this.

"Mum, you've never been one to give up when the going gets tough, so don't start now," Rose spoke, moving over. "You're the best Minister of Magic the world has seen!"

Hugo nodded, holding one hand behind his back. "You can do it. And we can help."

Hermione didn't know what to say to them, thankfully, Ron stepped in. "Your mum is just tired, but she's not giving up. Why don't you two go and sort out lunch for us?"

Rose nodded and exited the room immediately, happy to have something to do to help.

Hugo, however, hovered. "I made you something." He removed the hand from behind his back and held out a brooch. "I bought it for you; it stands for good health."

Hermione smiled as she took the gift and looked down at the intricately designed butterfly with lavender accents. It was simple enough but meant so much to her instantly. "It's beautiful, Hugo."

He stepped forward and hugged her. "Don't give up, Mum."

"I won't."

Hugo adjusted his robes - he wanted to be presentable for today, to make his mother proud. Slowly, he pulled out the butterfly brooch from his pocket and watched as the sunlight made the lavender gems look like they were dancing in the sun. It almost made him smile. Almost.

He had intended to put the brooch on the coffin but couldn't bring himself to part with it. Instead, he repocketed it and turned to address the crowd - he only knew a fifth of the attendee's that he could see. After all, his mother was the first member of the golden trio to die. "My mother… My mum taught me to never give up. She saw her cancer as a setback and kept going. She made a fantastic Minister of Magic, helped so many people, and was the best mother anybody could ask for. She leaves memories in others minds." He paused as he struggled to find the words. His eyes searched the crowd, however, the number of unknown individuals made the just-turned-thirteen-year-old freeze. Who were they? Did they even know his mother? Or were they just here to mourn a 'hero'? Had they even met her? Knew that she loved the scent of lavender but rarely used it because somebody she knew by that name died during the war?

No… none of them knew that. Because they didn't know her.

Hugo looked down and slipped out a small book from his pocket. "One thing you don't know…" He paused again. "Or didn't know about my mother was that she wrote poetry. I wish to remember her by her words."

We celebrate the victories and remember the hope.

We mourn the buried and release the rope.

For some, the war ended on the second of May.

But in the mind of those who fought - It will always be D-Day.