keeping up appearances
"Oh, she's absolutely gorgeous, Hermione!" Molly Weasley exclaimed, cradling Rose in her arms with the practiced ease of a woman who had raised seven children of her own.
"Thank you," Hermione replied automatically, her smile fixed firmly in place. The weekly Sunday lunch at the Burrow had become an exercise in performance art. For three hours, she would pretend to be the confident, capable mother everyone expected her to be.
The Weasley kitchen bustled with its usual controlled chaos. Arthur was regaling Harry with his latest Muggle acquisition — some sort of device called a "smart thermostat" that he was convinced must have magical properties. George was demonstrating a new product to Percy's children, who squealed with delight as tiny purple bubbles emerged from their ears. Bill and Fleur's children chased each other around the garden, visible through the kitchen window.
Hermione felt disconnected from all of it, as though she were watching the scene through a thick pane of glass.
"Would you like me to hold Rose while you eat, dear?" Molly offered, noticing Hermione's untouched plate.
"Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, reaching for her daughter. The thought of anyone else holding Rose for too long sent prickles of anxiety across her skin. What if Rose needed her? What if something happened and Hermione wasn't the one holding her? The rational part of her brain knew Molly Weasley had successfully raised more children than anyone else in the room, but rationality had little power these days.
"Nonsense," Molly insisted gently. "You've barely touched your food. I'll just keep her for a few minutes while you eat."
Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, though her eyes never left Rose as she mechanically forked food into her mouth without tasting it.
"How are you sleeping?" Molly asked casually, bouncing Rose slightly as the baby made a small gurgling sound.
"Fine," Hermione lied, cutting her roast beef into increasingly smaller pieces to give her hands something to do. "Rose is actually quite good at night."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Rose did sleep for reasonable stretches. It was Hermione who lay awake, checking and rechecking the monitoring charm, getting up to place her hand on Rose's chest to feel her breathing, researching obscure infant maladies by wandlight while Ron snored beside her.
"Bloody miracle, that," Ron chimed in from across the table, his mouth half-full of mashed potatoes. "Not like Percy's two. Remember how they never slept, Mum? Used to hear them screaming all the way in the attic when they stayed over."
Percy looked up from wiping his son's face. "That was just Molly. Lucy slept like a log from day one."
"Every baby is different," Molly said wisely. "Though I must say, Rose does seem to have a very sweet temperament."
Hermione felt tears threatening and blinked rapidly to dispel them. Rose did have a sweet temperament. She was a good baby by any standard — which only compounded Hermione's guilt. What kind of mother couldn't enjoy such a perfect child? What kind of mother felt this bone-deep terror and emptiness when faced with everything she'd ever wanted?
"Hermione's been brilliant with her," Ron said proudly, giving her a warm smile across the table. "Got schedules and everything. You should see the nursery — organized better than the Ministry archives."
More guilt. Ron thought she was doing so well, had no idea of the darkness that consumed her when he wasn't looking.
"Well, obviously," Ginny chimed in, entering the kitchen with a basket of fresh rolls. "It's Hermione. Did you expect anything less than perfection?"
The word hit Hermione like a physical blow. Perfection. That's what they all expected from her. That's what she expected from herself. And she was failing spectacularly.
"I'm not—" she began, then stopped herself. This wasn't the time or place. "I just like to be organized," she finished lamely.
Ginny caught her eye across the room and paused, her brow furrowing slightly. For a brief, terrifying moment, Hermione thought Ginny might see through her facade, might notice the dark circles carefully concealed with a glamour charm, might recognize the hollow look behind her smile.
But then Harry called for Ginny's opinion on something Arthur was showing him, and the moment passed.
Hermione excused herself shortly afterward, claiming Rose needed changing. In the small bathroom off the kitchen, she locked the door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
"Pull yourself together," she whispered fiercely to her reflection. "Stop being so pathetic."
Rose squirmed in her arms, her tiny face scrunching up, and Hermione immediately focused all her attention on changing her, grateful for the task that required her full concentration.
When she returned to the kitchen, Ginny was waiting by the door.
"Everything alright?" she asked casually.
"Of course," Hermione replied, too quickly. "Just needed to change her."
Ginny studied her for a moment longer than was comfortable. "You know, James is finally sleeping through the night. I've got loads of energy now. I could come by tomorrow and give you a break if you'd like. Take Rose for a walk or something while you catch up on sleep."
The offer was tempting — so tempting that Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes again. But the thought of being separated from Rose, of not being able to see her, check on her... It sent a fresh wave of panic through her chest.
"That's so kind, but I'm fine, really," she said. "Besides, I've got some Ministry work to catch up on."
Ginny didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "The offer stands. Anytime."
Later, as they prepared to leave, Hermione found herself in the garden, Rose bundled against the autumn chill. She breathed in the crisp air, trying to clear her head of the fog that seemed to follow her everywhere these days.
"She looks just like you," Harry's voice came from behind her. He approached cautiously, as if worried about startling her. "Except for the hair, of course. That's all Weasley."
Hermione managed a genuine smile at that. "Poor thing."
Harry laughed. "I don't know. I've always been rather fond of Weasley hair myself." He glanced back at the house where Ginny was helping Molly clear the table, her red hair catching the golden afternoon light.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, Harry keeping a respectful distance as he peered down at Rose's sleeping face.
"She's beautiful, Hermione," he said softly.
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate, but they were all she could manage.
Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a gesture she recognized from their school days when he was working up to saying something difficult.
"Listen, I know everyone's probably telling you this, but if you need anything..." he trailed off, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"I know, Harry. Thank you."
He nodded, seemingly relieved not to have to elaborate. That was one of the things she had always appreciated about Harry — he didn't press, didn't demand explanations or emotional revelations. He simply offered his quiet support and respected her privacy.
"Ron's really proud, you know," Harry said after another moment. "Keeps showing your picture to customers at the shop. Bit annoying, actually." He grinned.
Hermione tried to smile back, but found she couldn't maintain it. The mention of Ron's pride only intensified the shame coiling in her stomach. If he knew how she really felt, how she sometimes had to lock herself in the bathroom just to breathe through the crushing panic, would he still be proud?
Harry seemed to sense her mood shift. "Sorry, didn't mean to keep you out in the cold. Should probably get the little one home."
Hermione nodded gratefully. "Yes, I should find Ron."
As if summoned by his name, Ron appeared in the doorway. "There you are! Ready to head home?"
Hermione nodded, relieved at the prospect of escaping the well-meaning but exhausting attention of the Weasley family.
As they said their goodbyes, Ginny caught her in a hug that lasted a beat longer than usual.
"Remember what I said," she whispered in Hermione's ear. "Anytime."
For the first time that day, Hermione felt the tiniest loosening of the knot in her chest. Maybe someday soon, she would take Ginny up on that offer.