Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Just Like That

Fourteen thousand galleons.

The number glares at her, taunts her. Her fingers glide over the various line items: copies, court filing, divorce proceedings. Her heart clenches and tears spring to her eyes. How ever is she going to pay these fees? Her solicitor won a clean separation, no debt that her ex husband racked up would be hers, and she won custody of her two children, but this is the price. A costly service for peace of mind.

In the seven years since the final battle at Hogwarts, she's been married, given birth to two children, and divorced. The Ministry is calling it a fallout; so many young people married and rushed into adulthood following the war, so pleased to have survived. Now, though, families are falling apart because the anxieties of post-war Britain are melting away.

She's cold as she sips her tea in fuzzy pyjamas and a thick, gray sweater. The bun atop her head is falling apart leaving curls to fall haphazardly around her neck. She doesn't even care how bedraggled she looks. Long gone are the days where she's innocently put together every second of the day and she's perfectly comfortable with no makeup on her face and wearing mismatched underwear.

But, cor, fourteen thousand galleons.

Her wages at the ministry aren't enough to make the ghastly monthly payment option, and yet she makes far too much to qualify for assistance from the ministry welfare division. She's completely and utterly buggered.

"Mummy." A squeaky little voice interrupts her worry and she pulls her lips from between her teeth to mask the concern there.

"Hugo, my lamb, what are you doing out of bed?" Hermione smooths the notch between her brows and pushes the solicitor's statement out of her sight. "It's half eleven, darling. Have you had another bad dream?"

Hugo looks exactly like his father. He's ginger with the wide blue eyes and freckles beginning to dust his nose. But when she looks at him, she sees herself, too. The curious glances when someone gives him new information, the scrunch of his eyebrows when he's trying to solve a puzzle, and while his hair is a brilliant shade of red, it's a curly mop around his ears.

Her youngest child sniffles and wipes at his eyes. "Yes. There was a dragon and it stole my galleons."

Hermione smiles despite his deep frown and holds her arms out to him. He jumps into her arms with his blanket and snuggles into her warmth.

"Dragons don't steal galleons," she tells him lightly and smooths his hair down. "Has mummy ever told you the story of the dragons that guard Gringott's?"

Hugo nods and wipes at his eyes. "They protect the galleons, mummy."

"And do you think that the dragon in your dream could be a Gringott's dragon?" She pulls back and smiles down at her son. He scrunches his face as he thinks.

"Maybe he thought I stole his galleons?"

"Perhaps, lamb."

"You sound sad, mummy." His big, blue eyes meet hers and she schools her expression into an exaggerated, happy face.

"Oh no, Hugo, mummy is very happy," she lies in false cheerful tones. "I've got you and Rosie. What else could I possibly need?"

He sighs and smiles as his eyes begin to droop. Hermione's gaze falls on the note from the solicitor. Fourteen thousand galleons. Due upon receipt. Hermione takes a deep breath and rubs her son's back as she tries to think of any possible way she can make enough money to pay the solicitor.

As her son's breathing slows, she gently lifts him and puts him back to bed. The poor thing hasn't been sleeping well since his father left, quite the upset for the little boy who idolizes his father. Hermione promised Ron that she'd never keep the kids from him, but it's the hardest balance for her to keep: what Ron has done to her versus how good he is as a father. She'd never be able to reconcile the gentle father with the furious husband.