Chapter Text
“Look, all I’m saying is that I’ve had a long day at work and I was looking forward to a nice hot meal. It’s like you’re not grateful for the things I do for this family, Mione,” Ron leaned against the doorway and watched his wife step away from the crib.
“Me? Ungrateful?” Hermione hissed lowly so as to not wake the baby. She’d just put little Rose to sleep when Ron had come in from the shop. He hadn’t even given her a kiss on the cheek or so much as a hello before he’d begun complaining about his long day at work. “What the FUCK do I have to be grateful for Ronald? Enlighten me!”
Rosie was a needy newborn, and it was taking a heavy toll on the first-time mother. There were dark smudges and bags under her eyes from not having slept more than a handful of hours in the past month. She’d lost much of the baby weight, but that was because she hadn’t been able to put Rose down long enough to eat much of anything. Every spare minute she could carve out was devoted to cleaning up their little flat and scrubbing her skin raw in a cold shower before Rose woke up again.
Hermione was beginning to dread the shrill cries of hunger that her baby would emit in the mornings, and it was taking her longer and longer to get out of bed when she heard them. She felt like an awful mother for not instantly attending to her child, but there was this all-consuming numbness growing inside of her, and it terrified her. Some days, she could barely stand to look at her chubby cheeks and patented Weasley hair. It just seemed to remind her of all that she had lost when she gave birth.
Looking at Ron brought up those same feelings of resentment, especially right now when he stood there on her freshly cleaned floors with his muddy boots
“And why are you wearing your shoes inside the house? How many times do I have to tell you this?” She stormed past him, shooting an overpowered scrubbing spell at the offending accessories and ignoring his yelp of surprise when it nearly knocked him over.
“Merlin’s balls, Hermione, take it easy!” He shouted in bewilderment. “See? It’s already gone! What are you so stressed out about it for? You’re a witch, it’s not that complicated.” Rose whimpered slightly in her sleep but thankfully did not stir.
As he followed her into the kitchen, she began to pull ingredients out, shutting the cupboard and refrigerator doors with passive-aggressive slams. Resolutely ignoring Ron, her foggy mind drifted back to when they had first found out about the pregnancy.
She had been up for promotion, but once they heard about her wanting to take a six-month leave of absence, her bosses began to backpedal. Hermione was ashamed to say that she had sobbed in the shower later that night because a part of her had regretted ever becoming pregnant. Still regretted it, in fact.
It was easy for her husband to be over the moon about their life being upended by a new addition. He didn't have to deal with a screaming baby at all hours of the day. He didn't have to give up a serious career opportunity against his will.
For him, life went on like normal. For her, their once-perfect life had crumbled around her in an instant, and it felt like she was struggling every day to pick up the same broken pieces of herself.
Some days, she scared herself with the thought that maybe she should have gone to a muggle clinic. Ron would have been devastated by the miscarriage, but they could have always tried again when she was ready.
Whenever those spiteful notions crossed her mind, Hermione would pull out a photo album from her childhood and sob over the ones where her parents beamed at her with obvious love and pride.
What is wrong with me? She would berate herself even as she numbly turned the pages over and over. Why don't I love my baby like my parents loved me? Everyone says that motherhood is supposed to come naturally, that loving my baby would be the easiest thing in the world. So why does it feel so wrong?
Suddenly, she snapped. The walls seemed as if they were closing in on her, and she just needed to get out, get as far away from this hellish place as she possibly could.
“I need some fresh air. Watch Rose for me.” Hermione’s voice sounded cold and distant, even to her own ears. She didn’t even bother to turn off the boiling pot of water as she collected her cloak from the door in a daze.
“Hermione, wait!”
Her hand hovered over the front door’s handle as Ron called out to her.
“...What about dinner?”
With a wrenching sob of despair that soon turned to fury, she flung her wand at the kitchen and sent a flurry of takeout menus, pots, pans, and utensils flying at the back of his head. Ron's yelps of pain were music to her ears as she slammed the door shut and disapparated off the front porch with a deafening crack.
*****
Hermione reappeared in the one place she knew that Ron would never know to look for her: Northway Gardens.
It was a small park just a little ways down the street from her parent's old dental practice (and only a few blocks from her childhood home). She used to come here all the time when they would take her to work with them, and she would begrudgingly agree to read her books outside in the fresh air, sitting cross-legged under one of the copious weeping willow trees as she turned her pages with a comically serious expression on her small face.
Ron had never bothered to ask about her childhood home or her childhood at all, really. Hermione had always gone to visit him at the Burrow over the summer, so he'd never had cause to come over when they were at Hogwarts, and after she’d restored her parents' memories, they’d decided they enjoyed the retired life, so the house had been summarily sold and their belongings either donated or shipped out to their new home in Australia.
As such, there had been no real reason, in his mind at least, for her husband to take an interest in the property, especially since he was so busy with the shop’s reopening. No, Ron preferred to let Hermione handle all the boring details and would have been quite content leaving it at that.
Luckily, Harry had insisted on helping her get the house ready to sell, taking off from the Auror Academy and even bringing over all her favorite Chinese takeout options. They’d spent the whole day pouring over toys and photographs and laughing about how crazy her hair used to be as a kid. She’d shared some favorite memories of her parents, like the time they’d had to take away her books and send her outside to play as a punishment for arguing with her teacher (she’d been right of course, but that was beside the point).
And when the sadness had inevitably hit her as she’d looked around at the bare walls, devoid of the love and warmth that makes a house a home, Harry had been the one to hold Hermione while she wept for the loss of a childhood innocence that she’d never gotten to properly mourn.
All this to say that, while a part of Hermione resented Ron’s lack of interest in her muggle heritage, another part of her was grateful for his ignorance at the moment.
I don't want to be found right now… right?
Nibbling on her bottom lip, Hermione felt the exhaustion set in, and she shuffled over to a bench that afforded her a view of the playground, watching sadly as several parents brought their happy children by to swing. She so badly longed for her and Ron to have a happy little family like that, but it just felt as if nothing about parenting came easily to her.
Brightest Witch of Our Age, yet I can't do something that women have been doing for centuries, Hermione buried her head in her hands, berating herself as the tears dripped through her fingers and onto the pavement. Molly Weasley can make seven children look like a stroll through Diagon Alley, but I can't even handle one fussy baby.
By the time Harry found her, the sun was nearly over the horizon, the sky streaked with orange and purple. He stood behind her and cleared his throat slightly so as to not startle her when he took the other seat on the bench.
“Ron’s worried sick, you know,” Harry began gently. “We all were. I’ve been looking all over for you for hours, ever since Ron floo-called me and Gin in the middle of dinner to ask if you’d been by.”
“I don’t–” Hermione cut herself off before she finished saying I don’t want to talk about Ron. Instead, she carefully said, “can we just… sit and watch the sunset? I promise you can take me back after that.”
He didn’t reply, just giving her a knowing look before throwing an arm around her. She, in turn, leaned her head against his shoulder and enjoyed the peaceful calm that fell over her as the last of the sun’s rays faded away.
When she began to shiver, Harry discreetly cast a warming charm on the both of them, finally breaking the comfortable silence between them to ask, “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Hermione shook her head, and he sighed.
“You don’t have to talk about it with me, but you should talk to someone, Hermione.” Harry stood and offered her a hand, pulling Hermione to her feet. “From what Ron’s been telling me, you’ve been off for months, ever since the baby was born.”
She slid her hand into his, the warming charm already working well as the heat from his palm made her fingers tingle slightly as she spoke. “God, he’s right. I’ve probably scared everyone half to death over something so stupid as having to cook dinner for my husband. First, I’m a shite mum, and now I’ve made everyone have to come look for me over this, this hissy fit of mine– they must all hate me.” Her heart began to beat faster and the park began to feel as if it was spinning slightly before her. Dimly, she realized that she must be having one of her panic attacks that she’d been trying to keep anyone from finding out about.
“Hey now,” Harry said, cupping her face and using his thumbs to brush away the few teardrops that had escaped her thick lashes. Hermione felt a faint blush rising in her cheeks at the fierce, protective expression that Harry was giving her in that moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away, the emerald green of his eyes grounding her from losing it completely. “Don’t say that. Nobody hates you, and you are not a shite mum. You’re Hermione freaking Granger. You kept two idiotic teenage boys alive for seven years, all while nagging them to do their homework, being top of your class, and oh yeah, fighting in a war since the age of eleven.” His voice softened, and he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her forehead, whispering so that only she could hear him, “You are an incredible woman, Hermione. You just need a little help getting back to all the things that make you, you.”
Overwhelmed at the unexpected praise, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to speak. Instead, she stood slightly on tiptoes to throw her arm around his neck and squeeze him tightly. Harry returned the hug, sliding his arms around her back and wrapping her up in the sense of warmth and comfort that Hermione had come to associate with Harry’s presence. Somehow, when he was with her, he always had a way of making her feel like everything would be alright.
They stayed like that for several seconds, content in the other’s embrace, before the sound of a nearby cat knocking over a trash bin startled them both into breaking apart. With a small chuckle of embarrassment at having been scared by something so silly, Hermione slipped her hand back into Harry’s once more.
“I don’t think I’m up for apparating again, so would you…?”
“Take us back to Grimmauld Place? Ron’s probably still there with the baby.”
A stab of guilt went through Hermione as she suddenly remembered the reason she’d left in the first place. “Yeah, I suppose that would be for the best.”
If Harry noticed the crestfallen expression that crossed her face, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he squeezed her hand comfortingly and walked with her back in the direction of her house, looking for a spot where they could apparate in relative privacy.
“If you decide to change your mind about talking to someone, I can recommend a good muggleborn therapist,” Harry said after a time, deliberately meeting her eye as he talked. “I went to see her when– well, after the war ended… the nightmares… they got really bad for a while.”
Mind reeling from the information he'd just shared, Hermione nearly forgot to respond. “I don’t know… it’s not that I don’t want to, Harry, I just… I can’t right now. The shop is doing better, but between the baby’s expenses and me not having an income while on maternity leave, we couldn’t afford for me to see anyone. And anyway, what would Ron and Molly think of me? Not even fit to take care of myself as I am right now, much less Rosie. They’re never going to let me live this down, me running away from my own baby.”
There was no hesitation on Harry's part. "I'll pay for it."
"Harry you can't," she protested. "Ron, he'll be embarrassed if you–"
"I don't give a damn what Ron would think, Hermione." Harry whirled around to face her, stopping them in their tracks.
Her heart began to race again when he grabbed her by the chin and tilted her head up to look at him. The stormy look he gave her seemed to shoot straight through her, her belly tightening with some unknown feeling. So lost in her confused thoughts, she almost missed the rest of what Harry said.
"–just needs to get over his pride and see that this is what's best for you. You can't take care of Rosie properly until you've gotten yourself right. You never put yourself first and–"
Impulsively, Hermione blurted out, "What if we don't tell him?" She blushed as she realized how sordid that sounded. "About the therapy, I mean."
He looked uneasy at the thought, dropping his hand back to his side. "I don't know Hermione, that's not the kind of thing I'd want my wife to keep from me."
"Please, Harry," she pleaded. "You know how he is. It'll just cause more fights between us, and I'm so tired of fighting."
"Okay, I won't say anything for now, but if he asks me, I'm not going to lie about it, Hermione."
"And I don't expect you to," Hermione reassured with a small touch on his forearm. The corded muscles clenched beneath her fingers, and she idly wondered just when he'd gotten so fit. She flashed him a stubborn smile as they continued on to their apparition point. "And I'm paying back every knut of what you spend, so you'd better send me the bills."
They quarreled good-naturedly the rest of the way home, and as they reappeared on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, Hermione couldn't help but feel a tiny bit optimistic about the future.