Chapter Text
“Mum, please,” Rose begged as she waved the flier before Hermione’s face.
Since Harry had not so inconspicuously left a Little League Quidditch flier on the kitchen table last weekend, this had become their nightly routine— a one, Rose consistently ending their evening begging to sign up for Little League Quidditch and Hermione standing her ground.
“No.” Hermione plucked the flier from Rose’s hand and pulled back the covers of her daughter’s bed.
“Uncle Harry will take me then.”
“Uncle Harry knows better than to cross me.”
“It’s little league, mum. There's height restriction wards and padding.”
“You just said yesterday you weren’t little,” Hermione countered.
Rose huffed and crossed her arms, looking too much like a young Hermione herself.
“Just because you don’t like quidditch doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Aren’t you always telling me to be my own person?”
Hermione’s mouth dropped in disbelief. Of course her daughter would use her own words against her.
“I should have never procreated,” she muttered.
“Procreated?” Rose asked, face scrunched in confusion.
Hermione chuckled and ran her hand down Rose’s curls. “Nothing, nothing,” she said and signaled for Rose to get into her bed. “I’ll talk to Harry tonight,” she added, finally submitting to her daughter’s pleas.
Rose’s small arms circled her mother's waist, repeating her thanks over and over before settling into her bed.
******
Hermione’s stomach lurched as she, Harry, and Rose approached the wide field, already regretting her decision to let Rose sign up to play quidditch.
“And you are sure it’s safe, Harry?” Hermione asked for the tenth time that morning.
“Hermione, would I put Rose in danger?”
She squeezed Rose’s hand, thinking of the tendency for danger to find Harry— quidditch included. “Maybe,” she teased warily.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Plus, I trust the coach.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Oi Potter,” a voice yelled from the field.
Hermione’s eyes drifted in the direction of the voice. A tall, blonde wizard waved in Harry’s direction, surrounded by half a dozen children.
“Help me round them up.”
“Malfoy?” Hermione questioned, a new wave of dread washing over her.
“Malfoy,” Harry smirked mischievously. Taking Rose’s hand, he shuffled off toward Draco and the rest of the crowd.
She was officially going to hex her best friend into next year.