Questions and Answers

little_bird

Story Summary:
What happens when the past collides with the present and threatens to cast the Potters' and Weasleys' lives into disarray...

Chapter 68 - Parental Expectations

Posted:
06/11/2011
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1,189


Ron walked into Hermione's office and came to a surprised stop. She must have a new assistant, he mused. Everything about the witch screamed competence, from her neatly swept-back hair to her precisely pressed robes. It made Ron feel slightly grungy, clad as he was in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that could handle the rigors of the shop and stained trainers.

The young woman sitting behind the desk gave him a contemptuous once-over and asked, 'May I help you?'

Ron drew himself to his full height and gazed at the witch down his long nose. 'Is my wife in her office?' he asked with a slight chill to his voice.

The witch consulted an appointment diary and tilted her head back to glare at Ron. 'She is,' she said shortly.

'Thanks,' Ron told her and stalked into Hermione's office. 'New assistant?' he snarled to her.

Hermione glanced up and sniffed hopefully in his direction. 'Is that lunch?' she asked, gesturing with her quill toward the basket Ron carried in one hand.

'Yes, and you didn't answer my question,' he replied, holding the basket just out of reach.

'Yes, she's my new assistant... Her mum's in the Wizengamot.' Hermione admitted. 'She's rather intense, isn't she?'

'Just a little.' Ron drew a chair closer to Hermione's desk. 'Haven't had anyone make me feel that inferior since I was in school. Has a worse glare than McGonagall.' He pushed a sandwich across the desk to her.

'Yes, well...' Hermione unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. 'My last assistant got promoted and she's sort of temporary until I can find a more permanent one.'

'Does she know that?'

Hermione sighed. 'Yes.'

Ron chewed his sandwich and eyed the closed door. 'Hm. Wonder if she's an only child?'

'What makes you say that?'

'It's what Percy would have been like if he didn't have the rest of us to smack him around a little.' Ron reached into the basket and slid a thick envelope across the desk.

'What's this?' Hermione picked up the envelope and pulled it open. 'Portkey tickets to Seville?'

'Happy birthday?' Ron said sheepishly.

'Birthday's not until September.' Hermione glanced down at the tickets. 'And these have a departure date of April fifth.'

'Erm...' Ron's ears turned pink. 'I thought you might need a bit of a holiday... with everything else that's been going on...'

'Oh?' Hermione studied the two pieces of parchment. 'Why Seville?'

'It's warm... and sunny...'

'You think I need a warm, sunny holiday?'

Ron picked at the edge of his sandwich. 'Yeah, I do...' He looked at her from under his eyelashes. 'I think you need to take some time and relax.'

'And I have to go to Spain to do that?' Hermione asked in amusement.

Ron sighed and took a bite of his sandwich. 'Yes,' he said in finality. 'Yes, you do.' Hermione set the parchment down and stared at the two tickets. 'I'm surprised you remembered to breathe over the last year.'

'Breathing's an automatic reflex,' Hermione murmured off-handedly. 'We'll be back by the time Rose and Hugo come home for the Easter holiday?'

'Yeah.'

Hermione nodded. 'All right.'

Ron blinked. 'Really? You're just going to leave work behind for a week and take a random holiday? Just like that?'

Hermione snorted. 'Says the man who still works over fifty hours, six days a week in the shop.'

'Touché.' Ron grinned at her. 'And neither of us takes work with us.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'No work for either of us?' She ran a fingertip over the tickets. 'What are we going to do for a week with no work to do?'

'Use your imagination,' Ron retorted. He pushed the chair back and stood up, leaning across the desk to kiss her. 'See you at home.'

xxxxxx

Benjamin hunched over the kitchen table, patiently helping Leo with his math homework. Math was Leo's least favorite subject and as such, had a tendency to dawdle over it. 'I don't see how being able to solve algebraic equations will help me charm things,' Leo muttered.

'Do you want to be like Martin Sanchez?' Benjamin asked. 'Parents wouldn't send him to a Muggle school and he can barely add ten and ten without taking his shoes and socks off so he can count on his fingers and toes.'

'Martin's a stuck-up jerk,' Leo huffed, the tip of his pencil grinding into his paper so hard it snapped.

Benjamin ruffled his son's hair. 'It's your bedtime, anyway. Go on up.'

'I'm not done with my homework...' Leo protested weakly.

'You'll finish it in the morning while you're eating breakfast,' Benjamin told him. 'And no flying this weekend.'

'But, Dad...'

'How many times have your mom and I told you not to wait until two hours after dinner to do your homework?'

'Lots...'

Benjamin smothered the laughter that bubbled up. 'Stop pouting,' he chuckled. 'You brought it on yourself.'

'But Ricky's dad doesn't make him finish his homework over breakfast,' Leo whined.

'Do I look like Ricky's dad?'

'No...'

'Good night, Leo.'

Leo heaved a huge, put-upon sigh. 'Good night, Dad...' He padded up the stairs of the narrow house and his footfalls soon faded, followed by the sound of water running in the bathroom. Benjamin slumped, propping his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.

April set a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. 'Thanks,' Benjamin sighed.

'So are you going to tell me why you've been lumbering around like a wounded hippogriff for the past few days?'

Benjamin sighed and cradled the mug between his hands. 'Mom lied to me... About my father, about herself. I don't even know what's true or not.' He sipped his coffee, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. April had grown up in Seattle, spending her summers working in a coffee shop and her coffee was strong enough to cut through the cold, misty fog that billowed outside their windows. 'She says her family was one of the biggest supporters of that Dark wizard that died a couple of years before we finished school. And my dad fought on the other side... Said she never told me to protect me from the stigma,' he finished on a sarcastic drawl.

April set her sock-clad feet in Benjamin's lap, and he automatically reached down and began to run his thumb firmly down the sole. 'Didn't you ever pay attention in history class?' she scoffed.

'No,' Benjamin replied truthfully.

April leaned back in her chair, sighing in bliss as he transferred his ministrations to her other foot. 'I looked it up,' she said softly. 'The war in England. Before we got married.' When Benjamin's gaze snapped up to meet hers, she continued blithely, as if he hadn't reacted. 'I do know how to do research, Benjamin,' she said pointedly. 'And I have Salem's entire library at my fingertips.'

Benjamin snorted, wrapping his long fingers around April's feet. 'You have too much time on your hands.'

'Hmmm. And being the librarian at Salem is totally useless,' April said, with a toss of her dark hair. She tugged her feet from Benjamin's grasp. 'Let me ask you something...'

'Don't see how I could stop you.'

'If it had been you with Leo and Marissa... And you'd had to leave all that behind and start over, in order to make their lives better than yours, and to protect them; would you have told them everything?'

'Oh, don't do that,' Benjamin sighed with disgust. 'Don't pile that psychological crap on me.'

'Just answer the question,' April prodded.

'You ought to have been a lawyer with the Aurors,' Benjamin told her, trying to divert her attention.

'Nice try. Just think about it, will you?'

'Would you believe me if I said, "yes"?'

'No.'

Benjamin took a large sip of his coffee. 'I have six cousins on Dad's side of the family. Six. And they're all married with families. I've even got a cousin on Mom's side. And he apparently has a kid, too. I've spent the last thirty-eight years thinking she and I were alone in the world, and then when she got older, I wondered if something ever happened to Mom, how I would handle it by myself. And I have this enormous family in England somewhere. All this time. And she was never going to tell me. So, no, April, I would not ever allow Leo or Marissa to think they had no one else.'

xxxxxx

Ginny stood on the staircase of the Burrow, leaning so close to an old photograph of her uncles Fabian and Gideon, her nose nearly touched the glass. She had nothing to compare it to, save her own memory. She felt Harry's arms slip around her waist. 'Your lunch is getting cold,' he said quietly.

'Who does he look like?' she asked.

Harry didn't have to ask the "who" to which she referred. He exhaled slowly, his breath stirring the hair on top of Ginny's head. 'Him,' he said, even more softly. 'Red hair. It's even wavy like his. He's got a cowlick in the same place,' he added, indicating the way Fabian's hair lifted from over his left eye. 'It's like the one George has. Like the one your mum has.' One finger ran down the bridge of Fabian's nose. 'Got Ron's nose. It was a little... shocking, I suppose, to see it on someone else's face, yeah? Since the only people I've ever seen with it are actually Ron and Hugo...' The gentle fingertip traced the line of Ginny's arching brows. 'He's got your eyes. Well, his eyes,' he amended, nodding toward the photograph of Gideon and Fabian on the wall. 'They're different in a masculine face,' he mused, his eyes closing as he pictured Lavinia's son. 'Fierce, like yours, when you're confronted by something you see as dangerous. That's how he looked at me when I saw him in their shop. But, yours have this light in them. Not that his are cold,' Harry said. 'They have this wariness to them. You watch and observe first, then hex later. I get the feeling he'd hex first.' He took a small step back. 'Tall. Broad-shouldered. Like Bill.' Harry smiled widely. 'I'd always wondered how Bill got that build, considering your dad's on the thin side. Gets it from them,' he said, inclining his head once more at the photograph. 'Got their cheekbones,' Harry whispered. 'Hers,' he clarified. 'And her ears.'

Ginny swallowed heavily. 'Did you tell her about us?'

'I did.' Harry hesitated, then decided it was best to tell her. 'I even gave her copies of photographs,' he admitted.

'Bribery, eh?'

A ghost of a chuckle came from Harry. 'Persuasion.'

'Do you think that'll help?'

'I don't know.' Harry brushed his lips over the edge of Ginny's ear, exposed by her drawn-back hair. 'I do know it's useless to dwell on it.' He guided her toward the stairs. 'Come on, love... Your mum's getting suspicious. Thinks you're ill.' Ginny's eyes rolled in exasperation. 'Actually, she thinks the, erm...' Harry made scissoring motions with his free hand. 'Thinks it didn't take and that you're...' The hand curved over his stomach.

'Oh, good Lord,' Ginny grumbled. 'What on earth made her think that?'

'You did bolt from the table when she served lunch,' Harry said.

'I only remembered this photograph was here,' she argued.

'You couldn't wait until after lunch?'

'No.'

Harry snorted. 'I hope you've got a good story to tell Molly, then.'

Ginny slid down the wall, perching on the edge of the riser. 'I hate knowing and not being able to tell her about him. And she knows I'm hiding something,' she added darkly. Harry glanced at her askance. Their impromptu trip to America had only garnered mild interest from the rest of the family that had faded when informed it was for a case Harry was overseeing. They had grown accustomed over the years to somewhat secretive nature of Harry's job. 'She knows. Mums always know,' Ginny insisted. 'Don't you think you ought to warn her, somehow? Just in case he decides to come over here?'

Harry dropped to the stairs next to her. 'I promised her,' he maintained. 'I suppose we'll deal with it if - and that's a rather large "if" - his mother tells him anything. That's what it all comes down to, Gin.'

'And you really don't think she will?'

'She was fairly adamant about not telling him anything,' Harry said with a shrug. 'But she could.'

'What are the two of you whispering about?' Molly appeared on the landing below them. 'Like a pair of teenagers sneaking around, you are.'

'Nothing, really,' Ginny said, wincing at how strained she sounded. 'Just some rubbish about the English team wanting to sign Albus to play in the next World Cup.'

'You're not going to allow that, of course,' Molly said immediately. 'He's too young.'

'No, Mum, we're not,' Ginny said, pulling herself to her feet, grateful for the change of subject.

xxxxxx

Parker settled in his usual chair, and pulled out his books, arranging them in order of difficulty, with the most difficult subject first. If he got that out of the way first, the rest of it wasn't so horrible. Or it didn't seem that way. He pulled the Transfiguration textbook off the top of the pile and opened it to the chapter for that night's homework. He pulled out a fresh quill and unscrewed the lid of his bottle of ink and... Nothing. He sat at the table, surrounded by other students writing essays, making star charts, researching spells and potions. And for the first time in his life felt absolutely no compunction to actually even attempt any of his homework. His eyes flicked from one side to another, the others seeming to move at double speed, while he seemed to stay motionless, suspended in an isolated bubble of space. He'd never in his relatively short life failed to complete any assignment.

Fred and Jacob occupied a table nearby with James and Madeline. 'I think he's finally gone and snapped,' Fred murmured in an undertone to his twin.

'Always figured he would,' Jacob agreed.

'You did not!'

'I did, too!'

'Hush, the both of you,' Madeline hissed. 'He's not snapped.'

James glanced at Madeline. 'Erm, Maddie? He's been sitting there staring at the same page of his book for the last...' He checked his watch. 'Forty-three minutes. He doesn't just do that. And he's got N.E.W.T.s coming up.'

'Maybe he's just taking a break!' Maddie countered.

Jacob shook his head. 'Nah. If anyone of us would snap, it's bound to be Parks,' he stated. 'None of us have ever been so eager to please our mums or dads with the marks like he is. Not even Vic.'

'Has he blinked at all?' Fred asked.

'Yeah,' James said. 'Just now.'

Isabella dropped her bag on the table next to James. 'What are you staring at?'

James didn't reply, but gestured with his chin toward Parker, still sitting unmoving in front of his books.

'Oh, for the love of...' Isabella tugged her Charms textbook from her bag and set it on the table with a bang. 'Go back to the common room if you're just going to treat Parker like a freak show, eh?'

'But -' Fred protested.

'Just go,' Isabella sighed. 'The lot of you.' She waited until they had left, then counted slowly to one hundred, waiting for one of them to suddenly "remember" some scrap of parchment they'd forgotten. When it was evident none of them would return, she slid into a chair next to Parker and nudged him with an elbow. 'Something on your mind?' she asked casually.

'Not really,' Parker grunted.

Isabella indicated his empty parchment. 'You haven't started your homework,' she said.

Parker's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. 'So?'

'Not like you. You're always the first one to get it started and go above and beyond what's been assigned. And exams are going to be here before you know it. We'll have revision to do...'

'I don't even know if I want to take them,' Parker muttered.

'But you have to take them!' Isabella gasped.

'I don't even know what I want to do,' he mumbled miserably. 'Why bother taking them?'

'I thought you were going into International Magical Law...?'

Parker shook his head, blinking rapidly. 'I was,' he said in a strained voice.

'Have you talked to your mum or dad?' Isabella asked hesitantly.

'Wrote to Mum last week. Haven't heard back from her.'

'Hm.' Isabella sat back in her chair and contemplated the stack of books that walled them off from the rest of the library. 'You think she's told your dad?'

'I don't know...'

Isabella patted Parker on the back. 'Cheer up, then,' she began. 'I'm sure if she had said something and Uncle Perce got his pants in a twist over it, the Howler would have been here by now.'

Parker laughed weakly. 'Wouldn't that be something? To not receive a Howler from home for nearly seven years, then get one just as I'm finishing school.'

Isabella pushed her chair back. 'You know, I thought Mum would go spare when I told her and Dad I was going to become a Quidditch scout,' she mused. 'Especially with her being a Healer, I thought she might want me to do that, or something a bit more scholarly. But she didn't. Said she'd support me whatever I decided to do. Even work with dragons, although she muttered something about Dad dropping me on my head when I was a child while she was doing the washing up after dinner.'

'Bet Dad wishes he dropped me on my head on a stack of law books,' Parker retorted.

'Never know until you ask,' Isabella told him.

'I know... That's what I'm afraid of...'

xxxxx

Hermione yawned and stretched, her eyes opening to an unfamiliar room. It was much more luxurious than her bedroom in London. She turned her head on the pillow, nearly startled to find Ron quite a distance away from her. Compared to their bed in Bloomsbury, this one was as vast as an ocean. She slid quietly from under the bedding and grabbed her dressing gown from a nearby chair. The room had a private terrace, and with a tap of her wand on a stiff piece of parchment, a tray of tea and rolls appeared on the table tucked into a corner. She poured a cup of strong, fragrant tea for herself and buttered a roll, dropping into a chair, and enjoying the stillness of the early morning. The past few days had been nearly idyllic with nothing to do. It reminded her of the first few weeks after the war had ended and she and Ron gamboled around the Burrow and its environs with little to do, save enjoy the bright summer days. And like those days, she keenly missed her mother.

It didn't send her into torrents of grief, which had surprised her when her mother had died. In fact, once the initial feelings of relief had faded, Hermione had been more than a little shocked to find she didn't dwell on it much, if at all. But the lack of outright mourning didn't necessarily mean she didn't miss Jane. She reflected, rather wryly, that it didn't matter how old the calendar said she was, she still needed her mother. Hermione recalled with vivid clarity how prickly she'd been when she was Rose's age, and wondered how her mother had managed to stay as patient as she had. In truth, Rose was more like Ron, and Ron and been twice as touchy as she had been. Hugo was sometimes a complete mystery to her. By turns intense and introverted, she was never quite certain what went on behind that calm façade of his. It was infuriating. She was certain her mother would have been able to decipher him.

'Wha' are you doin' up so early?' Ron asked, sleepily, shuffling onto the terrace.

'I'm always up early.'

'First real holiday in years, and you're up before the owls come back to roost,' Ron grumbled, pouring his own cup of tea, and sipped it, cradling the cup in his hands.

Hermione smiled a little. 'We could try to leave the room today,' she told him.

Ron flushed slightly, burying his nose in the cup. 'Maybe. But I find the scenery right here rather fetching.'

'Which you could have seen without leaving London,' Hermione pointed out dryly.

'True, but it's cold and rainy in London. At least here you can see the sun,' Ron argued. He dropped into the chair next to Hermione and propped his bare feet on one of the empty wicker chairs clustered around the small table.

'Two Portkey tickets to Seville, and we only get to see the inside of this positively lovely hotel room...' Hermione broke off the edge of a roll. 'I'm all right with that.'

Ron reached for the rest of the roll. 'So... How are you doing...?'

'I'm fine,' Hermione said, picking up her cup. She kept her gaze on the tea swirling gently around inside the delicate china. 'I miss Mum,' she admitted. 'Kind of one of those things when you don't realize how much you do miss someone until they are actually gone...'

'I was wondering when you'd finally let yourself say that out loud,' Ron murmured.

'Don't get me wrong, Ron,' Hermione began. 'I was upset when she died, but I knew it was coming. Maybe not the exact day,' she demurred, 'but it wasn't necessarily unwelcome when all was said and done. The word "relieved" keeps coming to mind.' She looked up at Ron through her eyelashes. 'It wasn't like with Dad. I suppose I'm more upset by the fact Mum won't see Rose or Hugo finish school or marry and have children of their own. Or that I can't talk to her about Rose and she can't tell Hugo stories about Dad playing chess. That is what bothers me. There's this void, and as much as you try, you just... can't...' Hermione's face crumpled. 'Here I am, over forty years old, and I still want my mummy...' she sniffled.

Ron set his cup on the table, and pried Hermione's from her grasp, placing it carefully next to his. He pulled scooted his chair closer to hers and gently tugged at her hand until she slid from the chair and sprawled over his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. In a few moments, she sat up with a long sniff, and swiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. 'It's all rather silly of me, isn't it?'

Ron reached up and thumbed a lock of hair from her eyes. 'No, not at all,' he told her, trying to imagine what it would be like to lose his own mother.

xxxxxx

Parker dawdled collecting his things and disembarking from the train. By the time he managed to make his way to the platform, only Percy remained in the area where the Weasleys and Potters usually met their offspring. Percy's smile brightened and he reached for Parker's schoolbag. It felt oddly light to Percy - unusual for someone who had exams that were fast approaching. He frowned slightly, but greeted his oldest son heartily and led him through the entrance to King's Cross. Percy didn't say anything to Parker, preferring to wait for him to mention what was obviously bothering him. He didn't have to wait long.

Penny's eyes flicked over the ceiling as she settled into bed that night. 'Be easy on him,' she warned quietly. 'He's terribly afraid of disappointing you.'

The stairs creaked loudly, and they heard a muffled curse outside the bedroom door. 'I think that's my cue,' Percy said wryly, sliding his arms into his dressing gown. He waited a minute, then followed Parker down the stairs. He found the boy slumped at the kitchen table, a glass of milk in front of him. 'You're up late,' Percy commented lightly, Summoning a glass for himself, and pouring milk into it. 'You didn't seem to bring any textbooks home.'

Parker's shoulders drew in defensively. 'I...' His wide eyes filled with tears. 'I'm so tired,' he confessed. 'All the studying and books and essays... And it never stops. It never stops and it keeps going... More books, more essays...' His voice cracked a little. 'I don't think I want to go into magical law...' He took a deep shuddering breath. 'I'm just so tired...'

'You don't have to,' Percy said, with a small pang. Ever since Parker was a small boy, he had told anyone who would listen, than when he finished school, he was going to work in the same place as his dad, so they could see each other every day. He traced the rim of his glass. 'It's all right if you want to take a year or two off,' he said casually.

Parker's head snapped up. 'You... You know about that?'

'You think your mum and I don't talk about you, gumby?' Percy snorted. 'She showed me your letter.'

'Oh... Right.'

Percy sighed. He hoped he'd never have to reveal just how much of a wanker he had been to his own family. 'If I had done that, I might not have cut ties with Mum, Dad, and the rest of my brothers and sister for three years,' he said. Parker's eyes widened. 'Yeah. I finished school just before the last war started and found a position working in International Law. Things were going pear-shaped rather quickly, and the Minister at the time promoted me to his junior assistant.' Percy shook his head ruefully. 'I was so ambitious. It blinded me to the fact that the Minister wanted me, so he could keep tabs on Mum and Dad. Especially once Voldemort came back. They were firmly on the side against Voldemort, and by extension, the Ministry, because the Minister was in full-blown denial of it all. I thought they were traitors. I was naïve. Horribly, terribly naïve. I was so wrapped up in my own self-importance, that I couldn't see it. Not until it was too late and if I tried to leave, I might have been killed.' He glanced at his son, sitting in dumbfounded shock. 'Not that I think that's what would happen to you,' Percy added hastily. 'But I think if I'd been able to take a year, like you want to do, I might have seen things more clearly.' Percy squeezed Parker's clenched fist. 'Take the year,' he advised. 'Go spend a year puttering in the St. Mungo's greenhouses, or work for your uncles George and Ron. Stay with your uncle Charlie and help tutor the children that live on the reserve. Go tour America. We'll still be here when you get back.' Percy paused. 'And you will never disappoint me.'

'What if I don't end up working with you?' Parker asked hesitantly.

'Doesn't matter, son. As long as you're happy.' Percy rose from his seat at the table, patted Parker on the shoulder, then trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, where Penny waited, an anxious line deepening between her brows. Percy kissed it away. 'Everything's fine,' he told her.