Hp: Hermione and Darkness

It seemed as though any animosity Mrs Weasley may have had towards Hermione during the last year was ancient history, much to Hermione's relief. Since Hermione was the only one remotely interested and excited about cleaning, she and Mrs Weasley started to chat quite a bit. Hermione learned all about Mrs Weasley's family and, sadly, about her brothers, Fabian and Gideon, and their untimely deaths in the first Wizarding War.

Hermione also asked Mrs Weasley for knitting lessons, which Mrs Weasley gladly obliged. Ginny had never been interested; knitting was Mrs Weasley's favourite pastime. At first, Hermione thought it was an excellent hobby to help clear her mind, but then an idea started forming: if she could make something simple like hats, she could give them to the house elves at Hogwarts! And if enough of them were freed, the rest would gladly join them! Hermione made the mental calculations of how much she'd have to raise the dues of SPEW to finance the endeavour, and it seemed perfectly doable. It wasn't much, but it was something.

They also talked at length about Hermione's parents. "I know how hard it must be," Mrs Weasley said one day while trying to clean out an old cupboard filled with sharp, ominous objects. "I can only imagine not being able to share such an important part of yourself with your parents."

"Exactly!" Hermione said. "That's exactly it! And every time I do try, they try to diminish it."

"And every time they try to share a part of themselves with you…" Mrs Weasley let the thought dangle in the air unfinished.

Hermione saw her point, but it was much more complicated. "I definitely understand it works both ways," she began, her thoughts a tangled mess she struggled to articulate. "But it truly has been this way for my whole life, not just when I found out I was a witch."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. She explained her complicated relationship with her parents for most of her childhood. "And then, right before I got my Hogwarts letter, it was like a switch got flipped, and they started to care," Hermione continued, trying not to get choked up. "And that's all I had ever wanted! I was so happy. But then I went to Hogwarts and saw that love didn't have to be—" Hermione paused to think of the right word. "Love didn't have to be work. Or, better said, love shouldn't be work, especially between parents and a child."

Mrs Weasley took a few moments before responding. "As a mother, I can assure you that your parents absolutely do love you and have loved you since you were born. Loving you wasn't the part they had a problem with; showing they loved you was where they needed to work. And it's becoming harder and harder for them to do that because you are a witch who is only home a few weeks out of the year."

"I guess," Hermione said.

"But it doesn't make it hurt any less," Mrs Weasley read Hermione's mind aloud.

"No, it doesn't."

"Here's what I propose," Mrs Weasley said, setting the rubbish bin aside and taking Hermione's hands in hers. "Love your parents for who they are: flawed people who love you dearly and only want the best for you—and believe me, they do. That's all they want. But they don't know enough about the Wizarding World to be able to help you on that journey, so their suggestions will never be what you need. But that's okay!" Mrs Weasley wiped a tear that had escaped from Hermione's eye. "Because we all love you too and can fill in where they can't."

Overwhelmed by emotion, Hermione's tears burst forth in racking sobs. She threw her arms around Mrs Weasley and hugged her tight. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley," she said.

"Always, dear," Mrs Weasley said.

Late that night, Hermione and Ron played Wizard Chess in the kitchen. Hermione's dream that night had been, unsurprisingly, of her parents in the graveyard. Ron and Mrs Weasley had come to try to save them, but He Who Must Not Be Named murdered everyone. It took Hermione a few minutes to steady her trembling hands enough to move the pieces without knocking them over.

Even though they rarely talked much while playing, Hermione couldn't shake this dream. "Tonight's dream was a bad one," Hermione said as she moved her knight. "How about you?"

"Erm," Ron said, shifting in his seat. "Yeah, me too."

"What was it about?"

"Uhh—"

"I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Hermione said quickly.

"No, it's not that," Ron said.

Hermione tilted her head sideways in confusion. "What is it then?"

"I didn't have a bad dream tonight," Ron muttered.

"Oh," Hermione said, even more confused. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? But why are you awake then?"

Ron sighed, his face flushing as he looked up at her. "I borrowed Dad's Muggle alarm clock so I'd be sure to be awake if you had a bad dream. I know, it's stupid. I just didn't want you to be by yourself."

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