“Hannah?�

“I’m awake,� I call, pulled from my doze. As she comes in, I hasten to sit up and appear ready to get out of bed, although actually I am not at all prepared to ignore the pleas of my warm blankets to scrunch back up into a ball the way she always says is bad for my legs. I may have been brought up on a farm, but I still despise waking up early.

Apparently she’s not intent on making me get up right away, because she sits down next to me, saying, “How are you, dear? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night.�

I had spent the previous day helping Dad out in the fields, which is always exhausting; we have to do everything manually because he’s a Squib and I’m underage. When I got home last evening, I ate dinner, let my owl out to hunt, and then conducted a panicked search for clean Muggle clothing other than farm overalls for the journey to Platform 9 3/4 in the morning. Despite her fatigue and my bad mood, she had managed to stay patient with me, although that is not always the case.

“I’m good,� I yawn, not bothering to add any details.

“I’m glad,� she says, and now I detect a twinge of sadness in the expression on her oval-shaped face. Then she tells me, “I had a bad dream…I dreamed you were kidnapped.�

“Oh…� I say gently, and give her a comforting hug. She is overweight, which is almost certainly a direct result of having to sit at a desk for ten hours a day--she was thin all her life until seven years ago, when she took that mail-sorting job at the Hogsmeade post office. Occasionally she goes on a diet and tries to exercise more, and she sticks to it with remarkable diligence for quite a while, but eventually the weight of holding up the household’s sky drags her back again.

But it does make her very huggable.

“We were in Nepal, but you had been kidnapped somewhere else,� she continued. These themes are nothing new; most of her dreams involve traveling in foreign countries (which she spent most of her twenties doing) and/or her children being lost or in danger. “I was with your Dad, Sam, and Evie, in someone’s house--a family from Nepal. They had invited us in. And…there were servants, and one of them was holding a child, and the child looked like you.

“And someone from the household saw the child and said quickly, ‘No--take her away--don’t bring her in here!’

“The servant was taking her away, and I said, ‘Wait! Wait, bring her back! She looks just like my child.’ And they were all looking at me like I was mad. I was saying, ‘Bring her back! She looks like my daughter,’ and they were looking at me like a woman who’d gone crazy from losing her child. Because--after all, we were far away from where you’d been taken--so why would you be in Nepal?

“The servant was going out the door, and Sam, he was walking up the steps. And you saw Sam, and you reached your little arms towards him, and you said, ‘Sam-sam-sam!’� I smile at her version of my baby voice.

“And I went after you, and you saw me and said, “Ma-ma-ma!’ And I grabbed you, and you put your little arms around me, and I said ‘This is my child!’ They were watching us, the other family, but something had changed--it wasn’t friendly anymore; they were drawing wands…looking like they were thinking about whether to hurt us.

“Dad grabbed a knife, and he pulled Sam over. He was holding up the knife to protect us, and I was holding you, and Sam picked up Evie. And…� she closed her eyes for a moment. “Dad said to them, ‘If nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.� I shudder involuntarily at the thought of Dad boldly attempting to fight witches and wizards. “And I held you, and I said, ‘This is my child!’�

I hug her again and stay in that position. Over my shoulder, she repeats fondly, “You are my child.�

I know I am her child. I know it is for Sam, Evie, and me that she tries to shoot hoops without a broom, or juggle Bludgers for years on end, continually deciding which tasks--work, housekeeping, farming, parenting us, curbing Dad’s temper--she needs to keep in the air and which ones to let be for a little while. Often, she can do it, just by trying hard and making good decisions.

After a few moments, she goes on. “I think I had the dream because…there’s a man at the office--he’s going to Macedonia with his wife and their baby. I tried to warn him against it--it’s not safe there, not for a baby…the werewolves are everywhere there. And tourists are especially vulnerable…a British baby would be such an easy target. I wouldn’t--oh, Hannah, I would never have brought you, or Sam or Evie, anywhere--anywhere dangerous.� She sighs, uncharacteristically weary. “But, now, with You-Know-Who back…nowhere is really safe anymore. I’m afraid for you, for both of you.�

“Mum, don’t worry about us. I reckon Hogwarts is the safest place of anywhere--with Professor Dumbledore. Besides, I’ll take care of Sammy.�

Mum nods, smiling at me. “I’m sure you will. You’re a good sister, Hannah.�

That reminds me of a thought I had when she was describing her dream. I ask her a question, to confirm my suspicion. “In the dream, how old were Sam and Evie?�

“Sam was about his real age…eleven. And Evie was a baby.�

I nod, noticing for the first time that in her dreams Sam is usually around his real age, but I’m only a toddler, even though in reality I’m five years older than he is. And Evie’s usually a baby, too, despite the fact that she’s ten, nearly as tall as I am, and growing every day--what Dad likes to call a real farm child. I wonder why Sam is her big boy, but we are always her baby girls.

Maybe it is because Sam is so like Dad: independent and not afraid of anything. They both act like they can protect themselves--and like they can protect us, too. I don’t remember the last time I saw either of them cry. Suddenly, although Dad was never Sorted and Sam won’t be until tonight, it comes to me that the both of them are Gryffindors. They’re the hero type.

And yet somehow, for all their fearlessness, I realize that they’re not the ones I admire most. I look up to Mum, with her compassion and strength in spirit. When I am a mum myself, I want to be like her…which I suppose leaves my husband to be the one who bravely defends the family, like Dad.

We stay sitting there for a bit longer, lost in thought, until I check my clock. “It’s past six; I should get up now if I’m going to get my chores done before I Floo to London.�

“Yeah…do you want me to pack your lunch for the train, dear?�

“No, it’s okay, I made Sam and me sandwiches last night.�

“All right. Try to hurry getting dressed, then; I want you to have time for a good breakfast before your father and Evie come back in from the milking and eat everything.�

“Yes, Mum.� I say, falling back into our normal mother-daughter exchanges. I get out of bed, searching for the pair of jeans I thought I remembered putting on top of my suitcase. Turns out I put them inside of it, right on top of my bumblebee-colored prefect badge. Mum stares into space a minute longer, then leaves to go wake up Sam.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Dad and I have been sitting in the living room for a while now. It is night outside the window, a dark, moonless night. I’d put Sam and Evie to bed a few hours previously and had come back to sit on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around myself. Dad is staring out at the shadowy fields through the window, looking oddly lost.

“She was such a good mum to you kids. And such a loyal, kind wife. I miss her so much,� he murmurs mournfully, wiping a tear from his wrinkled, weather-beaten cheek.

And so incredibly hard-working. I think, but I don’t say anything. I remember how tired she was so much of the time, the way she did everyone’s laundry and kept the house clean while Dad claimed Sam and Evie and me for field work. I remember the times Dad got really drunk, and she kept him calm just by whispering softly into his ear, or when Sam and Evie fought, and she broke them up with a simple scolding when Dad would only have shouted at them and infuriated them further. I love Dad too, but he never was the gentle one. He wasn’t the one who held me when I cried over those O.W.L. results, who reassured me that four O.W.L.s did not mean I was stupid, that there was no reason not to keep going in Charms, Muggle Studies, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. If not for her, I would have dropped out of Hogwarts.

I don’t think any of us really understood how much she did for us.

Or did we? Maybe I did. I remember my last real conversation with her…the one about her dream, at the beginning of this year, the day I went off to my sixth year at Hogwarts. I think I appreciated her heroism then.

Because she was a heroine, I think, just not in the flamboyant Gryffindor way. In the Hufflepuff way. Diligent, persevering, and caring, no matter what happened.

“She was a heroine,� I say out loud.

Dad’s lips slowly curve upward into a doleful sort of smile. “Yes, Hannah. I know she was.�