A Moment Before the Collision

It seemed to be only a blink of the eye in memory, but in actual fact it had been time enough for entire worlds to change.

Hermione sat at the well-scrubbed kitchen table, resting a cheek against the rubbed-smooth surface and breathing in the warm afternoon air. Insects hummed life into the late summer outside and the exotic smell of cooking banana bread wafted to her, mingling with the warm cup of tea by her forehead and mixing with the faint scent of condensation on the outside of the cup.

The world outside the confines of her head seemed very far away at that moment. A change of scenery, a spanner in the cogs of the mundane, had found her a long way from the home and the life she had made for herself back in the land of snowy fields and ice-kissed winter beauty. She had spent the past week in her parents' summer house, lost in her own thoughts and memories, trying to find the part of her that had been forced below the level of her consciousness for so long that it now eluded her, slipping through her fingers as soon as she felt its cool touch brush against them.

Lifting her head, the witch looked muzzily about the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. A tuft of white-blonde hair was visible above the table as its owner raced through the kitchen pursued closely by a shock of blazing red. Hugo screamed with delight as Rose scampered on all fours after him, chasing her brother out into the lounge room and then away again down the hallway. The screen door screeched and banged, followed closely by a succession of thumps as Hermione's children raced out into the yard; Rose bouncing harmlessly down the wooden back steps and hitting the ground at a run.
Hermione rested her head against the table again. Visions of babies washed across her mind's eye. Small children tottered, babbling away, their tiny hands grasping one or two adult's fingers. Getting to her feet, the witch dabbed absently at an unbidden tear that had been shaken free and moved to check her baking. It wouldn't be long before Rose's mind caught up with her nose and she was back in the kitchen, begging for food.
'Mum?' The tone of Rose's call made Hermione drop her tray onto bench and steak out of the kitchen.
Rose was standing at the door, small face pressed against the fly-screen. She bore a look of resigned calm that made her mother's heart still.
'Where..?'
Rose didn't reply, but pointed out into the yellowing grass to where a small, blonde figure squatted by the Hills Hoist. Hugo screamed out a cry as soon as he caught sight of Hermione, holding his arms out to her. In moments the witch had scooped his little body into her arms and was striding back into the house.
'Hush now, hush now,' she crooned, trying to keep her own voice calm. 'You're alright. Don't fret.'
Rose trailed along behind them and pulled herself a chair as Hermione sat Hugo on the table.
'What happened?' Hermione asked her softly, stemming Hugo's bleeding nose.
'Chasings,' Rose shuddered; inhaling and exhaling almost in the same moment. 'He ran into the...thingy....um....clothes line.'
'Ah.' Hermione nodded at her and carefully flicked her wand in Hugo's direction. 'Episky.'
After settling Hugo onto the lounge with a draught of restive potion, Hermione joined Rose in the kitchen and sliced them some of the salvaged banana bread. They munched quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
'You did the right thing to get me,' Hermione said, first to break the silence.
Her daughter smiled at her, even as the tears sprang to her bright eyes. She choked a little and began to cry in earnest. Hermione hugged her close.
'You were so brave,' she said, stroking the top of Rose's brilliant crop of hair. 'Hugo is very lucky to have a big sister like you.'
'I didn't want him to cry,' Rose said, rubbing her nose on her mother's shirt as they rocked comfortingly from side to side.
'I'm proud of you.' Hermione pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.
Rose allowed herself to be held a moment longer before pulling free and returning to her own seat. Some things, it seemed, were always better after cake.

As the sun had lowered into the west, the sky was streaked with brilliant colour. Yellows merged with vibrant oranges, running with bright pinks, and they in turn faded into dusty purples and then away into the white-speckled inky sky. With the onset of night came the incessant drone of mosquitoes. Hermione lay under the stars for as long as she could before the insect life got the better of her and she hurried inside to the safety of flyscreens.
Feeling sorry for herself, the witch settled into one of the wicker chairs on the enclosed veranda and applied calamine lotion to the myriad of itching bites she had sustained. Though her parents had warned her, she hadn't believed them until now. The humid air, the biting sun and the itching, flying things had seemed of little consequence to the thought of spending a few weeks away. So she had made the arrangements, packed hers and the children's bags, and taken the Floo network to a fireplace on the other side of the world.
Life was different here. She wasn't Known here. Her children were just pale English children that ate far too much food, were far too inquisitive, and made far too much noise. Even the wizarding community here didn't much care to bother them. Tourists seemed to be just another part of the stunning scenery.
Hermione sighed, absently scratching a bite on her ankle and reaching for her drink. The ice had all but disappeared, even in the evening cool. She took a sip and leaned back into the chair. There was time enough to think here.
Soon Rose would be off to Hogwarts. Her letter had arrived just before they left and she had been absolutely thrilled. Hermione had promised that they would buy her things here so that she would have something extra-special to make a start with. Rose had danced a little jig right there and then, her worries about travelling by Floo all but forgotten.
There were other reasons that brought Hermione's mind back to Hogwarts, besides Rose and Harry's Albus starting their first year. Her return to Hogwarts all those years ago to finish out her seventh year seemed be the pin-point decision that tilted every event afterward.
The witch shivered and the glass slipped from her hand, smashing against the wooden floorboards. She continued to shiver and brought her legs up close to her body and wrapped her arms about them, suddenly very chill.

Hermione awoke to find Hugo peering at her, his face very close to hers and his hands on his hips.
'Wake up, Mummy!' he said.
The witch sat bolt upright. 'Argh, Hugo! Broken glass!'
The boy looked at her, surprised and confused, and then down at his feet. There was nothing but tiny newly-tanned feet and clean wooden floorboards.
'Who wants pancakes?' Rose called loudly, bouncing out onto the veranda and then back inside.
'Hugo, I'm going to eat your breakfast if you don't leave your mother alone.'
The little boy scampered back inside as fast as his four-year-old legs could carry him. Hermione smiled at the sound of her husband's voice and followed after her children. Ron was indeed in the kitchen, amusing his offspring by flipping their slightly-burnt pancakes loop-the-loop to their plates. He grinned at her, obviously pleased with himself.

Hermione yawned, despite herself, and smiled back, gratefully accepting the offered cup of tea and sinking into her chair at the table.
'I got back around just after midnight,' Ron answered Hermione's question before she'd opened her mouth.
'How'd you go?'
Ron shrugged. 'We won't know until we're told, if we're told at all.'
Hermione nodded. That was Ron's standard response, at least in front of innocent ears.
'And Harry?' she asked.
To his wife's surprise, Ron laughed. 'You're going to have to talk to my sister.'
''Nanty Ginny makes good breakfast,' Hugo said, wriggling a dance in his seat.
Rose nodded agreement, honey dribbling down her chin, and reached for another pancake. 'And Dad makes lots of food when he's home,' she said, mouth already full.

After breakfast and a fight of washing-up bubbles, Ron flopped into one of the chairs on the veranda and let Hugo and Rose crawl over him. He produced presents for them both, received a hug and watched them scuttle away with their bounty. It was a small return for the days and nights all three of them had been at home without him.
'Rose received her Letter,' Hermione said, wiping her hands on the tea-towel she'd tucked into the belt-loop of her shorts and leaned on the doorframe.

'Yeah? Bet old McGonagall is sick of Weasleys by now.'
'Most probably,' she replied. 'Poor thing. She was just getting used to the next generation of Potters.'
Ron smirked and leaned back in his hair, putting his bare feet on the spindly table before him. He clasped his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Hermione watched the boy who had grown into the man she had married. He still towered over her, still could make her laugh 'til her sides ached and yet still possessed the ability to be uncommonly thick and unthinking.
Ron opened an eye to find his wife watching him carefully. He raised an eyebrow.
'We thought you were going to come with us,' the witch said quietly.
'I'm here, aren't I?' Ron scowled at her. 'Don't start, Hermione. You know what my job is like. I can't always be where I should be exactly when I say I will.'
Hermione folded her arms. 'Are you going to be there when I take Rose to the Station?'
'You know I can't promise that,' he replied. 'I want to, but I can't.'
The witch didn't reply but wandered back into the kitchen. She pulled out a pad of paper from a drawer and sat, pen poised, at the table. It wasn't long before she heard the back door-screen bang closed and Ron's heavy footfalls down the stairway. He called for Hugo and Rose before the three of them crunched across the driveway and, presumably, down the road for ice-lollies.
Hermione set her pen down and rested her shaking hands on the table. There was something very comforting in the smooth grain of wood under her fingertips. The fight had been quite mild. She'd walked away before either of them had gotten worked up and said or done something that they'd later regret. Although, she mused in a dark part of her mind, it was rationality that had proved their curse.
It had been her decision that had started the discussion, all those years ago, but it had been his decision that had ended it. There had been no fight, no bitter words. It had been entirely rational. Looking back, it seemed that therein lay the problem. It was too neat, too clean. It had all made perfect sense, more than anything else had before.
There in the pub a few weeks into Harry's departure on a Secret Mission, with Ginny taking the place of Ron and Hermione as things were returned to their rightful places, there a calm, quiet discussion had occurred. And when September rolled around, Hermione went back to Hogwarts with Ginny and Ron disappeared away to Aurora training with Harry. They exchanged a hug and well-wishes, and there and then at Kings Cross, Hermione Granger was no longer a Weasley.