Our Constellation--Dramione

Chapter Twenty-Five

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, plotlines, characters, places, events (etc.) all belong to J.K. Rowling, she is the rightful owner. When a character is created by me, you'll know right away ;)

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6 May 1998

Hermione woke up long after the sun had introduced itself. After her fit of restlessness before and after her horrific nightmare, she'd finally submitted to exhaustion and slept so soundly that even Ginny's hog-like snores couldn't wake her. However, she didn't sleep in as long as she'd have liked to.

The stomach-quivering scent of warm eggs and fresh bread from the oven sifted through her nose and opened her eyes. It was a bizarre way to wake up. Well, not bizarre, it wasn't unusual seeing as this was considered normal for the Weasleys, but she hadn't had a nice meal like this since their stay at Shell Cottage. And even then Fleur's cooking was mediocre.

Hermione stirred awake and sat up, noticing the other side of the bed was vacant. Ginny must've already gone downstairs to eat, which was probably what she should've been doing as well. She climbed down the stairs gingerly in the likely case that someone was still asleep. It was the first time during her stay that she truly accepted and understood her surroundings. Yes, there was that peculiar warmth radiating from the hearth and the hearts of its residents, but other than that, she hadn't realized until now just how empty the place seemed. Perhaps it was only because it was still early morning. She reckoned she'd only been asleep for four hours since her nightmare, which wasn't ideal for the witch. So many things around the house had been moved and changed, partly because of the fire and the reconstruction of the burrow, but also, she'd wager, as a result of Fred's death.

The clock bearing all the once-seven smiling faces of the Weasleys on spoons was missing a face, the laundry was misplaced and some were casually dumped into half-open trunks and tucked under shelves, and lastly, none of the household objects seemed to have that infinite glow of beaming pride as it once did. Suddenly the magic that kept the house alive had a wavering light and a receding will to shine.

"Ah! Top of the morning, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley poked her head out from the kitchen's walls.

"Where's--?"

"--Oh Ginny's right in here, love. Just helping with the dishes is all."

"Oh. Do you need some help?"

"Nonsense! While you stay at my home you are a guest. Guests do not do any housework unless I require it. Take Harry for instance. But that's another matter. Please, please, come into the kitchen. I was just cooking up some breakfast. I'm going to make Eggs Benedict with gooseberry pancakes, a side of freshly diced fruit, we have a meat and cheese platter if you'd like with your bread, if not, we have margarine and jams instead."

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't been offered a meal this big since Fleur and Bill's wedding! And still, she hadn't had enough time to partake in such an extravagant feast before the death eaters took over and killed the party.

"I take it you're quite hungry."

"Is it that obvious?" she asked guiltily.

"Well, it's near 'bout that time of day for a good meal. Also, I am very short. Your tummy is very loud."

Hermione instinctively clutched her middle, forgetting for the briefest of moments that there wasn't a charm she needed to worry about. She'd spent nearly nine months trying to conceal evidence of a pregnancy and now that she'd succeeded in that, she could sit with relief that it was no longer a struggle. But she'd much rather take that worry any day compared to her current strife.