Chapter 1: September First

"But Mum... please??? Oh, come on, who's ever going to know??"

It usually took no more than a simple narrowing of the eyes to bring a debate with any one of her children to an abrupt end, but Hermione Weasley had the sneaking suspicion that even her usual trick would not quite be enough to stifle any further arguments from her oldest child--at least not at this particular moment, and certainly not with this.

"I promise to keep it hidden in my trunk," Jack went on. "I swear, Mum, no one will ever lay eyes on it!"

The problem was, he knew his mother so well. Too well, Hermione decided. In particular, he knew exactly how to adjust the cadence in his voice just so, and for additional effect, pair it with that oh-so-familiar pleading look on his face that he had undoubtedly learned from watching his father, one he had managed to perfect in his eleven years.

It never worked, of course, but it also never failed to make Hermione smile at the valiant attempt.

"Well, if it's just going to be locked up in your trunk," she said, "then what would be the point of bringing it in the first place?"

Jack opened his mouth automatically, but seemed to think the better of it almost as soon as he did, for he closed it seconds later--an unmistakable sign of realizing he'd have no reasonable answer for that kind of reasoning--and sighed.

"Bugger," he finally muttered. He must have caught her look of reproach, because he offered up a sheepish smile as if in apology. "But why can't first-years bring their own brooms, anyway? It's not as if we don't already know how to fly..."

Hermione let out a laugh of sympathy and tilted his chin up, not that she had to tilt it all that much to bring his face up to hers. At eleven, it was already quite evident that Jack had begun to grow into the lean, lanky frame that Ron, Percy, Ginny, and their father had, and was threatening to reach her height in another year or two, or perhaps even by his next growth spurt, which, alarmingly, seemed to come every few months.

"Sorry, darling," she said. "Rules are rules, remember? There'll be quite a few first years who grew up with Muggles and have never learned to fly before. It wouldn't be fair to them at all to have you showing off on your broom, now would it?"

"I s'pose," he said, shrugging.

He turned back to his trunk, still flung open and waiting to be filled with last-minute items, and took out the Firebolt he had been attempting to smuggle, a present from Ron and Hermione on his tenth birthday. She watched him as he went back to randomly throwing in objects (was that her tattered old copy of Hogwarts, A History?), and a pang of nostalgia suddenly hit her, as the realization began to set in at last: she was actually saying goodbye to her eldest.

It seemed as if only a few minutes had gone by since that fourteen-hour labor that brought him into the world, when she had squeezed the life out of Ron's hand and muttered something about how his mother had ever managed to go through the birthing process not once, but seven times. She herself had gone through it three more times after Jack, most recently only ten months ago, when she and Ron were blessed with Elinor, the latest addition to their family (a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one nevertheless).

And now here was her little boy, no longer the toddler who used to clutch her hand and tug at the hem of her dress when he wanted to get her attention, but someone who was getting ready to begin this new adventure in his life.

Her eyes wandered over to his bed, where his robes--Ron's old ones from first year--were still neatly laid out. "Jack, you almost forgot these!" She picked them up and smoothed the front, smiling as she ran a finger over the Gryffindor crest sewn on the front.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?"

She could tell he was apprehensive about something.

"Should I... I mean, what if..." He sighed. "Isn't it going to be weird if I don't end up in Gryffindor, but I've already got the crest on my robes?"

"Oh," Hermione said, then laughed softly. She had to admit, the thought had never even crossed her mind. It seemed almost a given than a Weasley would be sorted into Gryffindor; certainly the tradition had already held up with Bill's children, Audrey and Steven, and Percy's son, Lawrence. And just last year, Harry and Ginny's daughter, Emily, had also been sorted into their old house. "Well, I suppose we could find some of your father's plain black ones for now until it's official."

His lips moved into that familiar lop-sided smile she had seen so many times on Ron's face over the years. "Thanks, Mum!"

Sometimes it still amazed her how much he looked like Ron. Jack had her eyes--all of the children did, except for Elinor, who had inherited Ron's--but every other feature of his was an exact replica of her husband's, from the fine, copper-hued hair that skimmed his eyes, to the light spray of freckles all over his cheeks and nose, and even the way he chewed his bottom lip absently when he was deep in thought over something.

Madeline had the same trademark Weasley hair that her brother did, and Caroline and Elinor had both gotten Hermione's wild nutmeg curls, but all three of the girls' faces were a perfect blend of their parents' features. It was Jack, though, who most resembled Ron. It was Jack who reminded her most of that awkward redhead she had encountered on the Hogwarts Express twenty-four years ago.

"Everything all set in here?"

Jack looked up from his packing and shook his head. "Er... not quite, Dad... sorry..."

Ron was now standing at the door, holding a newly awoken (and still very sleepy) Elinor in his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched the scene before him. Hermione saw him throw a glance at the Firebolt on Jack's bed, then grin knowingly.

"Mmm, let me guess," he said, as Hermione eyed him closely. Ron could be every bit the disciplinarian that she was most of the time, but there were also times when he could also be incredibly lenient with their children--and it was always difficult to tell which way he would lean in any given situation. "Your mum thought it wouldn't be such a good idea to bring that?"

"Well, yeah," Jack said. Then apparently feeling a little bold, he added slowly, "Do... you think it's not a good idea?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow at Ron, who had paused (for the added dramatic effect, she was sure) then shook his head at last, much to Jack's obvious dismay. "Sorry, mate," he said. "I'm afraid I'll have to agree with Mum on this one. Trust me, the headmistress is a stickler for the rules. If McGonagall's known for anything, it's for enforcing those rules... "

Ron turned to Hermione and winked at her when Jack had resumed packing, then leaned into her and whispered, "How was that for good parenting, eh?"

She giggled. "Very impressive, Mr. Weasley," she said, kissing him on the cheek, then taking the baby from him. "I'll get Ellie and the girls ready--can you help him finish up?"

"As you wish..."

As she reached the doorway, she heard Ron slip into his mischievous tone and say to Jack, "Well, now that she's gone, what's say we slip that broom into one of your trouser legs..."

She spun around, armed with one of her ready-made smart comments, but the look of stifled laughter on their faces only made her roll her eyes and laugh along with them.

"It's so easy to get her," Ron was telling their son.

Hermione just smiled and shook her head at her two boys.

The girls took far less time to get ready. Hermione had suspected as much, which is why she and Ron had let them sleep in a little longer before rousing them out of bed to prepare for the hour-long trip into London.

Madeline had actually woken herself up and was in the midst of frying eggs and sausages in the kitchen--making as big a mess as any nine-year old attempting to cook would make--by the time Hermione had come downstairs with Caroline, whom she had managed to get dressed in record time, despite the seven-year old's not-so-mild protests.

Hermione looked around, trying to survey the damage (about a dozen broken eggshells, and a puddle of milk dripping from the counter, which Jeeves the cat was happily licking off the floor) as discreetly as possible, so as not to alert Madeline, who seemed blissfully oblivious to the small disaster area around her. In the end, Hermione decided a quick wave of her wand would be enough to clean up everything, but it would have to wait until they were done eating.

Which, she noticed with much alarm, they had only half an hour to do.

"Look, Mum, I made breakfast for everyone..."

Hermione smiled. She had to admit, despite all the mess, her daughter looked awfully cute in her attempt at domesticity.

"I see," she said, giving her a kiss on her forehead. "This was awfully sweet of you, Maddy-"

"What happened here???"

Ron acted quickly to corral Jack. "Hey, come on-"

"Shut up!"

"Maddy!"

"Well, it looks like our icebox exploded in our kitchen-"

"Jack!"

Hermione sighed in exasperation and turned to Ron, who could only respond with a laugh. "Someday we'll miss this," he said, his voice barely carrying above the children's voices.

Things calmed down enough eventually for everyone to sit down in peace (relative peace, anyway) and eat. Breakfast was finished in a hurry, however; since they would be taking Muggle transportation, Hermione thought it best to leave a little earlier than necessary in case there was unexpected traffic along the way to King's Cross. The traffic cooperated, however, and they arrived in plenty of time, with fifteen minutes to spare after they all crossed the magical barrier onto Platform 9 3/4.

"Ron! Hermione!! Over here..."

It was Percy, sporting a brand new pair of glasses, and holding Penelope's hand. Alongside them stood Chester, their seven-year old son, and Lawrence, who was starting his third year at Hogwarts this year. Hermione noticed he was already dressed in his Gryffindor robes; she had expected no less from any child of Percy's.

"So, Jack," Percy said, "are you excited?"

Jack nodded. He seemed to have gotten increasingly nervous with each hour that passed, and had stopped speaking altogether halfway during the ride to London.

"Bet your parents have told you all kinds of stories about their days at Hogwarts, haven't they? Bet you can't wait..."

Ron tousled Jack's hair and pulled him close. "He's going to have the time of his life there, just like his mum and dad."

This seemed to bring some comfort to Jack, who smiled.

"All right, there's the whistle," Hermione said. "Remember to owl us as soon as you arrive, all right?"

"Yes, Mum..."

"Don't worry, Aunt Hermione, I'll remind him," Lawrence said. "I'll make sure he keeps his head on straight."

Hermione smiled, and tried not to laugh. He sure took after his father, didn't he?

She watched him board the train, feeling Caroline's hand clutch hers tighter as the little girl began to cry. "Shh, it'll be all right, Carrie," she told her. "He'll be back for Christmas, before you know it..."

She felt Ron's eyes on her, and she turned to look at him. He was smiling at her, as if knowing she needed to see him smile at that exact moment. Elinor was sleeping, her head resting on Ron's shoulder as he supported her with one arm, while the other held Madeline close to his side. Hermione nestled up against him, and felt him kiss the top of her head.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered. "You'll see."

Hermione smiled. "I know."

But her heart was still heavy.