beyond the books

"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked for the third time, bouncing Rose gently in his arms. "I can still call in sick. George would understand."

Hermione took a deep breath, checking her reflection in the hallway mirror. She looked tired but determined, her hair pulled back in a practical bun, her robes simple but professional.

"I'm sure," she said, though the anxious flutter in her stomach suggested otherwise. "It's just a support group meeting. I'll only be gone for two hours, and Ginny will be with me the whole time."

It had been three weeks since her first appointment with Healer Rosewood. The calming draught had helped take the edge off her anxiety, making it possible to sleep when Rose slept instead of lying awake imagining disasters. The individual therapy sessions had been challenging but surprisingly cathartic. Today would be her first time attending the support circle for new mothers.

And her first time leaving Rose for more than a few hours.

"You've got the emergency contact parchment?" Hermione asked, though she knew the answer. The enchanted parchment would heat up and display a message if either of them needed to reach the other urgently.

"Yes, right here," Ron confirmed, patting his pocket. "And I've got her feeding schedule, and extra nappies, and that stuffed kneazle she likes, and—"

"And you're her father and perfectly capable of looking after her for two hours," Hermione finished, forcing a smile.

The truth was, leaving Rose wasn't just hard because of her anxiety about what might happen in her absence. It was also hard because, despite all her struggles, Hermione loved her daughter with a fierce, consuming love that made separation physically painful.

"Exactly," Ron said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "We're going to be fine. Might even have some father-daughter bonding time. I was thinking of showing her how the new Skiving Snackbox prototypes work."

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare—"

He grinned. "Kidding! Mostly."

The floo activated in the living room, signaling Ginny's arrival. Hermione gave Rose a final kiss on her downy head, inhaling the sweet baby scent that somehow always calmed her, even in her darkest moments.

"I'll be back soon, my love," she whispered.

The St. Mungo's support circle met in a comfortable room on the fourth floor, far from the hustle and bustle of the main hospital areas. As Hermione and Ginny entered, Hermione was surprised to see about a dozen witches of various ages already seated in a circle of chairs. Some had babies with them, while others, like Hermione, had apparently come alone.

A middle-aged witch with silver-streaked dark hair stood as they entered. "Welcome! You must be Hermione. I'm Healer Patil—Parvati's mother, though we've never formally met. Please, both of you, come in and find a seat."

Hermione felt a momentary surprise at learning that her former classmate's mother was a Healer specializing in maternal mental health, but it made a certain sense. Parvati and Padma had always been emotionally intelligent.

She and Ginny took seats in the circle, and Hermione tried not to fidget as she felt curious eyes turning toward her. She had expected some recognition—her face had been in the Daily Prophet often enough over the years—but she wasn't prepared for the wave of self-consciousness that swept over her.

What must they think of me? she wondered. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, can't even handle being a mother without falling apart.

As if reading her thoughts, Healer Patil addressed the group. "For those who are new today, I want to emphasize our primary rule: this is a space free of judgment. Each of us comes to motherhood with different experiences, different challenges, and different strengths. We are here to support one another, not to compare or compete."

She smiled warmly at Hermione. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Hermione cleared her throat nervously. "I'm Hermione. My daughter, Rose, is nearly three months old now." She hesitated, unsure what else to say.

"And what brings you to our circle today, Hermione?" Healer Patil prompted gently.

Hermione glanced at Ginny, who gave her an encouraging nod. "I've been struggling with postpartum anxiety and depression," she said, the words still feeling strange in her mouth. "I... I thought I'd be better at this. At being a mother. I've always been good at learning things from books, but this..." She trailed off, feeling her throat tighten with emotion.

To her surprise, several witches around the circle nodded in understanding.

"Oh, I felt exactly the same," said a plump, cheerful-looking witch with a sleeping infant strapped to her chest. "I'm Eloise, by the way. This is my second, and I thought it would be easier this time because I'd done it before. Turns out each baby is completely different, and all the strategies that worked with my first were useless with this one."

Another witch, younger than Hermione and looking exhausted, spoke up. "I'm Maisie. My twins are six months old, and I still feel like I have no idea what I'm doing most days. And everyone keeps saying, 'Oh, it gets easier,' but they've been saying that for six bloody months and I'm still waiting."

A ripple of knowing laughter went around the circle.

"That's the biggest lie they tell you," an older witch with graying hair said. "It doesn't get easier, it just gets different. My children are grown now, but I still worry about them constantly. The challenges change, but the fundamentals of motherhood remain the same: it's hard, it's relentless, and it's perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed by it."

Hermione felt something loosen in her chest. The simple acknowledgment that motherhood was inherently difficult, that struggling didn't make her a failure, was surprisingly powerful.

For the next hour, the women shared their experiences—the fears that kept them awake at night, the pressures they felt from family and friends, the moments of both joy and despair that punctuated their days. Healer Patil guided the conversation with gentle questions and occasional insights, but mostly she allowed the women to speak freely.

Hermione found herself nodding along, sometimes laughing, sometimes blinking back tears as stories resonated with her own experience. By the time the meeting concluded, she felt both emotionally drained and oddly refreshed, like she'd had a good cry and a long sleep.

"What did you think?" Ginny asked as they made their way back to the floo network.

"It was... helpful," Hermione said, somewhat surprised by her own assessment. "I didn't expect to have so much in common with the others. I thought my problems were somehow unique."

Ginny smiled. "The wonderful and terrible thing about motherhood is that it's an almost universal experience, but it can feel incredibly isolating. That's why spaces like this are so important."

As they stepped into the floo to return home, Hermione felt a flicker of anticipation at seeing Rose again—not the frantic, desperate need she'd felt before, but a gentler, more balanced longing.

When they arrived back at the cottage, they found Ron and Harry in the living room. Harry was holding Rose, who appeared perfectly content, while Ron was engaged in what looked like a heated game of wizards' chess against himself.

"You're back!" Ron exclaimed, looking up with obvious relief. "How was it?"

"It was good," Hermione said, crossing the room to Harry. "May I?"

Harry carefully transferred Rose into her arms. "She's been an absolute angel. Didn't even cry when Ron accidentally set off one of those new Whiz-bang prototypes in the kitchen."

"You did what?" Hermione asked, but without the sharp edge of panic that would have accompanied the question a month ago.

Ron had the grace to look sheepish. "It was an accident! And she thought it was brilliant."

Hermione looked down at Rose, who gazed back with bright, curious eyes. Had her daughter enjoyed the impromptu fireworks display? The thought was both alarming and somewhat amusing.

"Next time," she said, "maybe give me a bit more notice before conducting pyrotechnic experiments around our infant daughter."

Ron grinned, clearly relieved that she wasn't more upset. "Deal."

Later that evening, after Ron had gone to check on inventory at the shop and Rose was finally asleep, Hermione sat at her desk, a blank piece of parchment before her. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up her quill and began to write.

Dear Fleur,

I wanted to thank you for your letter and for recommending Healer Rosewood. I've been seeing her for nearly a month now, and while I can't say I'm fully recovered, I do feel as though I've found a path forward.

It's strange how we can fight in a war together, attend family gatherings for years, and still know so little about each other's private struggles. I had no idea you had experienced similar difficulties after Dominique's birth. Your openness about your own journey has been a gift to me, one I hope to repay someday.

I attended my first support group meeting today. I was reluctant at first (as I'm sure you can imagine), but it was surprisingly comforting to hear other witches express thoughts and feelings so similar to my own. One of them said something that has stayed with me: "Magic can solve many problems, but it can't make motherhood easy." There's a profound truth in that, I think.

Rose is growing so quickly. She's begun to smile in response to our voices, and yesterday I caught her watching a beam of sunlight on the wall with complete fascination. These small moments of joy are becoming more frequent, or perhaps I'm simply more able to notice and appreciate them now.

I'm writing to ask if you might be willing to meet for tea sometime soon. Not at the Burrow with everyone around, but perhaps just the two of us (and the girls, of course). I think it might be helpful to talk more, if you're comfortable doing so.

With gratitude,Hermione

She read over the letter, feeling a sense of accomplishment at having written it. A month ago, she would never have admitted her struggles so openly or asked for such personal support. It was a small step, but an important one.

As she sealed the letter and set it aside to send in the morning, Hermione reflected on how much had changed in such a short time. The darkness hadn't lifted entirely—she still had moments of overwhelming anxiety, still sometimes found herself checking on Rose multiple times during the night, still occasionally felt the crushing weight of inadequacy.

But there were also new moments of light breaking through: laughing with the women in the support circle, watching Ron's natural ease with their daughter without feeling jealous or incompetent, experiencing brief periods of genuine enjoyment in motherhood rather than just grimly enduring it.

She wasn't "cured," as she might have hoped to be by now. Recovery, as Healer Rosewood had warned, wasn't a straight line. But for the first time since Rose's birth, Hermione could imagine a future where the good days outnumbered the bad—where she could be the mother Rose deserved and still be herself.

It was enough, for now.