Hermione sighed contentedly, sat back, and pulled her cup of tea towards her. Closing her eyes briefly, she allowed the comforting rush of friendly chatter to flow over her, gently soothing away the remains of a long and busy day.

It was Sunday. Sundays meant the weekly Weasley family gathering at the Burrow. All day long she had weaved through scads of in-laws, family friends, and hyper-active children trying to get things done in time for dinner while simultaneously running over the new treaty drafts she had received from the office the day before in her head.

The children, who were quite excitable when left to their own devices, had become even more frenzied at the arrival of their beloved Uncle Charlie. He, as James had put it, was the best uncle in the universe because wasn't around often enough to tell them off and always brought really cool presents. And sure enough, when Charlie had arrived he had had a huge tote full of gifts for all the kids, looking to Hermione like a very tan, skinny Father Christmas.

But now the evening was upon them. Dinner had been eaten, the kitchen had been cleaned, and the children had been sent away to play. Hermione smiled. This was the part of Sundays that she loved best; sitting and talking around the scrubbed wooden table in the Burrow's kitchen with the people who had become her brothers and sisters.

They had all been laughing at Molly's attempts to guilt Charlie into moving back to England when Rose skipped in from the living room and climbed onto her uncle's lap.

"Oh, thank Merlin, Rosie!" cried Charlie, hugging her to his chest, "You'll save me right?"

Rose's eyes widened. "Save you from who, Uncle Charlie?"

"From Grandmum!"

Rose raised her eyebrow in a way that reminded Hermione forcefully of herself. "Sorry, Charlie. I love you, but Grandmum's my best friend. You're on your own."

The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter and Rose went back to making her new doll dance on the table.

"Hey, Rosie!" Bill said from the other end of the table, "What's your new dolly's name?"

Rose cocked her head to the side and squinted, obviously thinking quite hard. She grinned. "Her name is Bella, Bella, Bellatrix!" she sang.

The teacup Molly had been holding crashed to the floor.

There was no noise; it seemed rather as if the room had lost all its air – no one seemed to be breathing.

Rose glanced nervously around, eyes alighting on every face before resting on her father's, obviously expecting him to break the silence. Her lip trembled when he did not. Hermione could feel everyone's eyes on her. They all knew about Malfoy Manor.

She realized with a start that Rosie had probably never heard the Burrow this quiet and that it was probably scaring her. Closing her eyes to compose herself briefly, she turned to her daughter.

"Sweetie, where did you hear that name?" She tried to keep her voice light and warm, but it was hard to do so when she could hear her own screams echoing in her ears.

Rosie looked calmer now that someone was talking. "From that book on As… Astr… Astrononomy that you gave me."

"The book on Astronomy?"

Rose nodded. "Mmm hmm."

Hermione swallowed hard, now questioning how wise it had been to give her six year old her old textbook to play with. "And why did you pick that name, Darling?"

"Well, 'cause some people are named after stars. Like Jamesie and Auntie 'Dromeda. And 'cause Bellatrix is the perfect name for a princess!"

Beside her, Harry chuckled bitterly.

Ron put his hand on her shoulder, a warm, solid comfort reminding her that the hurt she was imagining was over with. "How 'bout you choose a different name, baby?" he said.

"But why, daddy?"

Hermione slipped her hand over his and he swallowed whatever explanation he had been about to give.

"Because, Rosie, a long time ago we knew a lady named Bel-" She paused, shook her head and continued. "We used to know someone named Bellatrix."

Rose seemed slightly in awe, happily unaware of the tension in the room. "Really Mummy? Was she beautiful like a real princess?"

Hermione smiled tiredly. "In the beginning." Rose looked confused. "She…" Hermione searched for the right words. "She wasn't very nice."

Again, Harry chuckled darkly. Hermione glared at him. He wasn't making this any easier.

"Oh." Rose's voice was small. "Oh. Like really mean?"

Hermione nodded and leaned forward. "More mean than Crookshanks at bath time," she whispered conspiratorially.

Rosie giggled. Then her face fell, "Does that mean I have to pick a different name?"

Hermione blinked. The scar on her neck was itching. She refused to scratch it, knowing that the others would see and worry. Unbidden, memories of Albus Dumbledore and a young Harry sprang into her mind. She looked at the doll in Rose's hands – at its long blonde hair and smiling face. Then she looked into her daughter's eyes, marveling at the innocence there.

"No, Rose. Not at all." She heard the sharp intakes of breath all around the room. She kept her eyes focused on the only person who mattered. "But do you know what all real princesses need?"

"No, Mummy, what?"

"Nicknames."

"Princesses don't have nicknames!"

"Oh really?"

Rose nodded emphatically.

"Well, what's your name?"

"It's Rose, silly."

"And what does everyone call you?"

"…Rosie?"

"Exactly. Princess Rosie. All the most important royals have nicknames."

Rosie looked thoughtfully at the doll in her hands. "Like Bella?" Hermione nodded and Rose smiled."Princess Bella." She scrambled off Charlie's lap and around the table to hug Hermione. "Thank you, Mummy, that's the perfect name!"

When Rose pulled back, already trying to run and play, Hermione held fast onto her hand, prompting her to turn back.

"Listen to me Rosie, because this is very important, ok?" Rose nodded solemnly. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." She smoothed her daughter's hair back from her face. "You'll understand it when you're older." She hugged her again. "I love you, Rosie"

"I love you too, Mummy." Rose smiled and then ran from the room, calling for Albus.

Hermione turned back to the table, feeling as if she had aged a hundred years. She wearily raised her eyes to meet those of the others. Ginny, Angelina, Audrey and Fleur were smiling softly, supportivly; Bill, George, Percy and Charlie were all giving her a look she had come to associate with big brothers – a gentle sort of protectiveness. Molly had tears in her eyes and Arthur wrapped her in his arms, nodding to Hermione over the top of his wife's head. Harry reached out and covered her hand with his, intertwining their fingers briefly as they had often done in the past. And then, one by one, they all turned back to their own conversations, perhaps a bit more subdued than before, but all bravely acting as if noting had happened, for her sake.

Ron moved from his spot behind her and crouched at her side. He took her arm gently in his hands and cradled it as he slowly pushed the sleeve up towards her elbow.

"Ron…" she sighed, "…don't…"

He paid no attention to her, choosing instead to press soft kisses to the ugly scar left there.

"Thank you," he murmured after every kiss, "Thank you."

"For what?"

His eyes met hers. "Thank you for being so strong and beautiful and brilliant and kind. Thank you for being the best mother a man could ever want for his children. Just... Thank you."

Hermione gave a half-sob and pulled him into a hug. She stayed in his arms until she was sure that the tears were finished. She lent back and grinned, wiping her eyes. "You're not so bad yourself."

Ron burst into laughter and lifted her up, kissing her hard. "Merlin, I love you," he chuckled.

"Oi! Get a room you two!" yelled George. Ginny turned his hair purple.

And just like that, Hermione knew that even though some things would always be difficult, everything was going to be all right.

So yeah. I haven't written in a really, really long time so sorry if it's kinda rough. Anyways, please review, even if you didn't like it! I love feedback; any kind will do. :) Also, I don't own Harry Potter. Just in case you were wondering. Thanks for reading - Sloane