Hermione looked down into the small face that was screaming at her. How could something so tiny make so much noise? she thought as she picked up her month-old baby. She held Rose in her arms and began to rock her, hoping that the movement would send the baby off to sleep.

“I’d put her over your shoulder if I were you, Hermione, dear,” Molly said as she walked in the room. “Babies like to be upright.”

Hermione shifted Rose so that her daughter’s head was now on her shoulder, but Rose did not stop crying.

“Try patting her back,” her mother, Jean, suggested. “It’s probably wind, darling.”

Hermione patted Rose’s back using the small, circular movements that her baby book had told her were particularly effective at dealing with wind. Rose didn’t stop crying.

“It’s probably colic,” Ginny said from the corner of the room, where she was nursing Albus whilst simultaneously reading to a two-year-old James. “Don’t you remember all the noise Victoire made at this age? We’ve been so lucky, haven’t we, Harry?”

Harry looked up at the sound of his name. He was engaged in a particularly violent game of chess with Ron, and both were oblivious to the scene of domestic bliss in front of them.

Rose paused but only long enough to draw breath. Her face became purple with rage as she redoubled her efforts.

“Come on, Rose, darling,” whispered Hermione in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “Please stop crying, just for Mummy.”

Finally, Rose seemed to be settling down; her sobs had subsided to a whimper and Hermione began to place her in the bassinet that was in the corner of the room. Really, Rose was so beautiful when she was asleep, she thought.

“YES!” shouted Ron as Harry’s king surrendered before his knight. “Take that, Potter! I win again!”

There was a moment’s silence as all eyes turned to the bassinet. Hermione felt, rather than heard, Rose’s indrawn breath; then, she began to scream again.

“For Merlin’s sake, Ron!” she hissed. “Can’t you ever do anything quietly?”

“What did I do?” asked Ron indignantly. He caught his mother’s eye. “Oh, sorry, did I wake the baby?” He stood up and walked over to the bassinet. Peering over the edge, he looked at his daughter now screwing up her face and squeezing tears out of her eyes. “Come on, Rosy-posy. Come to Daddy.” He picked her up and instantly, she stopped crying.

Why does she do that for him and not me? Hermione thought. “It’s Rose, not Rosy-posy, Ron. Don’t land her with a stupid nickname,” she said sharply. Then she relented. “I’m sorry. Look, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get a bit of fresh air.”

Without waiting to hear if anyone did mind, Hermione grabbed her cloak and strode purposefully out of the house. It was November and the days were beginning to get chilly, so she drew her cloak about her and walked quickly to warm herself up. As she walked, Hermione thought. She thought about her life before Rose, and how simple it had all been. She’d worked hard at the Ministry and had gained promotion quickly. Ron had proposed and they’d had a wonderful wedding followed by a glorious honeymoon. Six years into their marriage, she’d discovered she was pregnant; Ron had been ecstatic. Hermione had been pleased too, once the morning sickness and aching fatigue had passed. She’d read every single book in preparation for the birth, but nothing she read could have prepared her for the reality of motherhood. A twenty-seven hour labour had left her exhausted, tearful and unable to bond with her tiny daughter.

She turned down a small path that she knew led to the park. She’d brought Rose here only yesterday, hoping that the soothing movement of the pram would send her to sleep, but Rose had stubbornly refused to close her eyes and had remained crotchety all day. Hermione sat on a bench near the swings, watching as mothers pushed toddlers on swings or fathers played football with their sons. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. Merlin, would she ever feel that close to Rose?

“Do you mind if I join you?” said a voice behind her. Hermione looked up to see a pretty girl with blonde, curly hair and delicate features. Before Hermione could reply, the girl was levering herself down onto the bench; she was heavily pregnant. The girl peered at Hermione curiously and then smiled. “You’re Hermione Granger, aren’t you?” Hermione nodded but must have looked blank because the girl continued, “My sister was in your year at Hogwarts. I don’t know if you remember her -- Daphne Greengrass?”

“Oh,” replied Hermione, “yes, I remember Daphne. I... err ... didn’t have much to do with her, I’m afraid.”

The girl smiled ruefully. “I can believe that. After all, you were a Gryffindor.” She held out her hand. “I’m Astoria ... Astoria Malfoy. I rather think you knew my husband better than my sister.”

Hermione looked askance. This is the Malfoy bride, she thought. I had heard she was young, but ... Hermione, realising she was staring, stopped her musings. “You could say that, I suppose,” she agreed. “How is Draco?”

“Very well,” said Astoria, sighing. “He’s looking forward to being a father.”

Hermione caught the sigh and heard the slight note of desperation in Astoria’s words. “And you,” she said hesitantly. “Are you looking forward to becoming a mother?”

“Of course,” replied Astoria a shade too brightly. “Why wouldn’t I want to be a mother?”

“No reason at all,” agreed Hermione sagely. “Except... ” She shook her head and gazed into the distance at the small boy who had been playing football with his dad. He was crying about something and his father seemed to be trying to placate him. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m having an odd day.”

Astoria stared at her. “Except what?” she asked at last.

Hermione gazed at her hands, at the nails bitten down to the quick. Astoria’s hands, she noticed, were beautifully manicured. She took a deep breath. “Except, sometimes I wonder whether every woman is meant to have a child.” She shuddered as she finally admitted a truth that had been buried deep inside her. “I married Ron Weasley. Did you know that?” Astoria nodded. “And we have a child, Rose, who is only a month old. She’s beautiful, honestly, she really is beautiful, but... ”

“Go on,” Astoria urged quietly.

“I don’t think I’m a good mother,” admitted Hermione. “I don’t think I know how to be. I’ve read all the books but, in the end, it comes down to instinct, and I don’t think I have it.” She buried her head in her hands, letting her hair fall over her face. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be talking to you like this. You don’t want to hear about my problems when you’re about to have your own baby. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother, Astoria.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” replied Astoria, sighing. “I just find myself getting more panicky about the whole thing as the big day approaches. Draco tries to reassure me that everything will be fine but ...” She stared at her hands and began picking at the pale pink varnish on her nails.

Hermione smiled warmly at her. “Do you know something, Astoria? I wish I’d had your doubts and fears before I had Rose; then, perhaps, I would have been prepared for the shock of it all. I’m not a friend of your husband’s, you know that.” Astoria nodded and smiled weakly. “But at least he’s talking to you about it. Ron refuses to believe I have a problem. I’m surrounded by perfect Weasley mothers; even Bill’s wife, Fleur, settled into domestic bliss, and Victoire was a horror.” She sighed. “I miss being me; I think that’s the trouble. I was always the clever one, at school, at work and in my marriage, but this is something I can’t read about or study for and ... and ... I’m floundering. I can’t tell Ron -- he’ll think I’m abnormal or something.”

Astoria leant over and took Hermione’s hand. “You can talk to me,” she said quietly, “but I really think you should talk to your husband.”

Hermione sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I doubt he even realises I’ve left the house,” she said bitterly.

“Oh,” said Astoria with a smile on her face, “that must be another red-haired man walking towards us then.” She stood up. “You should talk to him, Hermione. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Hermione watched as Astoria started to walk away. “Thank you,” she cried. “And good luck with the baby.”

Astoria turned back to her. “Perhaps we could meet up after this one’s been born?” She giggled a little. “We don’t have to tell our husbands.”

Hermione smiled at her, not her sad smile of recent days, but a slightly mischievous smile. “I’d like that, Mrs Malfoy.”

“I’ll send you an owl, Mrs Weasley,” replied Astoria. She walked away and glanced at Ron as she passed him. He didn’t seem to see her, his eyes focused only on his wife.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said as he sat next to Hermione. “You seemed upset.”

“I was, Ron,” Hermione replied. She looked up at Astoria’s retreating back. “But I think things are about to get a bit better.”