#he has a face that makes me maternal like I want to feed him soup

[ballerinaroy]

Can you write something about Hermione having a birth trauma? Like she learns that she is pregnant with Hugo but can’t be happy about it in the first place because with Rose she had an emergency c-section after almost 2 days of labour and is beyond traumatized? And Ron keeping her sane and encouraging her that everything will turn out to be ok this time? I have a birth trauma myself and it was horrible.

Hey! Sorry this took so long. Looking for the right inspiration. You might also be interested in my fic:  after everything we went through it doesn’t feel fair to be so happy. It features a PTSD ridden Hermione pregnant with Rose but it’s along the same vein. Hope you enjoy!

She should have expected this. It wasn’t like last time around. They’d been trying. Rose had turned one and a half and they’d wanted their kids to be close and…she should have been expecting this. But as Hermione sat on the public toilet, staring down at the muggle pregnancy test clutched in her hand, Hermione discovered she had never felt more unprepared.

*~*~*

“Everything alright?”

“What?” she asked, looking up, surprised to find Ron standing before her, their daughter in his arms.

“I called your name,” Ron explained, setting Rose down who promptly toddled over to her. “You looked deep in thought.”

“Oh,” she said, avoiding his eye to pick up Rose, greeting her with a smile and a kiss. “I didn’t hear you.”

Ron chuckled,  “You’ve been doing that more you know, big project at work?”

“Something like that,” she said, shaking the fog from her head. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten, I didn’t pull out, well there’s pasta anyway.”

“Don’t worry, mum sent home soup,” Ron said, pulling out a large container from Rose’s bag. “She still thinks we can’t feed ourselves.”

“She’s not wrong,” Hermione said.

“Yes, but I’m not going to be the one to tell her,” Ron said, dumping the container into a pot to warm it. “Is there any bread left?”

*~*~*

The routine of dinner and putting Rose to bed had pushed the news from her mind.

Hermione lay in the dark, unable to sleep. Her brain spun the words again and again. Pregnant. Inside her, a life was growing. It was what they wanted. She loved being a mother, had loved carrying Rose. Hermione hadn’t believed Ginny or Angelina a minute when they’d spoken about the wonder of growing a life inside you until it had happened and found they had under hyped the process of having a baby.

So why did the thought of having another threaten to choke her? Lying there, she was hard-pressed to remember why they’d wanted to have another. And why she’d volunteered to carry their next. Hermione ran her hand over her stomach, the scars atop it almost faded and now-

Oh. Of course.

*~*~*

Hermione looked up as someone knocked on her door.

“Lunch?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded, waving her in. “I didn’t know you were here today.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be, but Harry begged me and then stood me up.” Ginny explained, sitting herself carefully in one of the chairs. “But I’d already arranged a sitter so you were my second stop.”

“What, was Percy busy too?” Hermione teased, finishing her thought and looking over her desk to make sure everything that needed to be done was.

“Believe it or not he told me he has a lunch date.” Ginny said and Hermione frowned. “I ran into him in the lift. And his ears got awfully red when he told me so we’ll need to talk about that.”

“I’ll ask Margert,” Hermione said, nodding towards her assistant. “She knows more about what goes on in this Ministry than I did.”

“I always liked Margret,” Ginny said appreciatively, lifting herself up from the chair with some difficulty.

“Is everything okay?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“What?” Ginny asked.

“Did you hurt your back?”

“Oh, no, er-“ she looked mischievous and Hermione knew she was holding onto a secret. “Come on, let's go.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, putting on her cloak.

“So?” Hermione asked once they were seated and their orders taken. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ginny waved it away, “Just some back pain.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Hermione said, “I seem to remember you fracturing your clavicle and still finishing out a match.”

“That was a championship game,” Ginny said. “Besides, it was also five years ago and no kids.”

But Hermione didn’t give up, staring at her.

“Oh, alright, but you can’t tell anyone, Harry has this whole plan which I think is ridiculous for a third.”

“A third?” Hermione asked, her eyes darting down to Ginny’s stomach as her own churned.

Ginny grinned, bringing one finger up to her mouth. “Mum’s the word.”

Their order arrived and Hermione was given a moment to reflect as the waiter set down their food and bustled off.

“Thank god, I was starving. I know it’s too early but I know this one’s a boy the way it eats.”

“Last time you knew it wasn’t because you were always throwing up,” Hermione commented.

“Well I was right,” Ginny said, popping a chip into her mouth. “Anyway, what about you?”

Hermione didn’t say anything, hoping to avoid the question by pretending not to hear it.

“No luck?” Ginny asked knowingly.

“Well,” Hermione shrugged.

“Well? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, it’s just so soon, isn’t it? Rose isn’t even two and it’s just so soon.” Hermione babbled.

“Well, sure, I just thought you were considering it,” Ginny said casually.

Suddenly the food in front of her didn’t look very appetizing. She brought a hand to rest over her stomach on instinct and then snatched it away, gripping the wooden bench.

“Hermione?”

“It’s just so soon,” Hermione repeated. “It’s too soon, I’m not ready to go through that again.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ginny said. “You had a rough go of it. I’m not trying to-“

“I don’t want to give birth,” Hermione whispered, looking up at last and was alarmed to find her vision wet. “I can’t go through that again.”

Hurridly, Ginny stood, coming over to her side of the booth and rubbing Hermione’s arms.

“Hermione that was,” Ginny said helplessly. “Have you talked to the healer?”

She nodded. “They said it was an abnormality but it happened. They didn’t catch it until it was too late and even if they monitor me, what’s to say it won’t happen again?”

Ginny didn’t have anything to offer and Hermione felt herself on the verge of breaking down.

“I don’t want it to happen again.”

“I know,” she whispered and looked deep in thought. “Let’s go see them.”

“What?” Hermione asked. “Now? I don’t have an-“

“Hermione, and you’ll never hear these words out of my mouth again, they’ll make time for Harry Potter’s wife.” Ginny made a gagging noise. “Oh, I hated that.”

Hermione let out a helpless laugh.

“I swear I’m washing my mouth out with soap when I get home,” Ginny said, shuddering. “Now come on, let’s see what they have to say.”

*~*~*

The calming drought had helped to ease her thinking long enough to actually listen to what the Healers had to say. Before, with Rose needing to be watched and the trauma of being awake for three days, she’d barely processed what the maternity healer had told her. But sitting in the room, Ginny there to ask questions and hold her hand, Hermione’s worries had been lifted if only a little.

“She down?” Hermione asked as Ron came back into their front room.

He nodded, sinking down onto the sofa beside her and giving her a smile. “For now, I waited until the big screams stopped.”

Hermione bent over, kissing his cheek and he blinked sleepily at her. “I’m about to turn in myself, are you staying up?”

“Actually there’s something I want to talk with you about,” Hermione said, setting her book aside.

“Oh?” he asked, lifting up his head. “Everything alright.”

Hermione nodded. “I went to St. Mongo’s today.”

“Hermione-“

“About a week ago I was feeling run down and I realized I was a week late,” Hermione said. “So I took a test and-“

“Oh,” Ron said, his eyes darting to her stomach, and then he sat up straighter. “Hermione, are you-?”

She nodded, letting out a nervous breath.

“Wait, so, why’d you-is everything?”

“Everything’s fine,” Hermione said, taking his hand and laying it over her abdomen. “I didn’t tell you, about last week, because I was frightened. After Rose’s birth, I-I didn’t think it would affect me as much as it did but staring down at that test I was terrified.”

“What did the healer say?” Ron asked, terror on his face.

“That they were going to monitor me and as we get closer to my due date I might have to go in for observation but there is no reason why anything should happen again,” Hermione assured him. He let out a long breath, his hand sliding around to her back and he pulled her close. “I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“No, Hermione I, you’re okay?”

“I’m better,” Hermione said with a nod. “I mean, I’m still worried of course but-“

He pressed his lips against her cheek and she felt a calming wave rush over her. She closed her eyes, throwing an arm over his shoulder and the last of the tension drained from her.

“You wanna talk about it?” Ron murmured.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Hermione asked. “I just want-“

She just wanted to have him hold her while she drifted off.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek in another long kiss. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping, come-on, if you’re anything like your daughter a good bedtime story should do the trick.”

[acciocrzychickfics]

Happy

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while ago actually and I have been struggling if I should make this public or not. I guess its now or never. The setting is post-war. I don’t know why but I have this feeling that the Order was never really disbanded, it was kind of like a watchdog type organization after the war. 

Adjusting his eyes to the dark was never a hard thing for Remus to get the hang of. However, adjusting his ears to the crying of his son took him awhile. He was always the first to wake up to little Teddy’s cries. He chalked this up to his keen sense of hearing. Rolling over in bed, he saw Dora sleeping soundly. She had been through the wringer at work these past few weeks. She needed her sleep and he knew it. He kissed her forehead and went to the small room he had magicked when she was pregnant to let her know that while he was still unsure about if his lycanthropy would be hereditary or not, they would get through this together. 

“Are you hungry, little cub?” he asks, picking up the small blue-haired baby who was now smiling up at him as he walks into the kitchen. 

At first, he had struggled with these midnight feedings especially if Dora had to do a night shift for the Order or had to an all-nighter at the Ministry. Not understanding how such a small child could eat so much. He finally broke down and apparated to Andy’s in the middle of the night with a wailing Teddy. He had done everything to try and get him to calm down but once he put Teddy in his grandmother’s arms he quieted now. 

“You know, you are going to be a charmer when you get into school. Don’t tell your Mum but I charmed a girl or two in my time.” Remus exclaims trying to calm his two-month-old son down while using a warming spell to heat the bottle, chuckling then adding “She wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”

Teddy gurgles as the bottle is placed on his lips and latches on unsure how he likes this “I know it’s not the same as when Mum does it.” 

Sitting down in the rocking chair in the living room, Remus begins to read to his son that his mother would read to him as a small child. “Where we were, little cub? Ah yes, Chapter 3. They did not sing or tell stories that day, even though the weather improved. They began to feel the danger was far away on d either side.”

Until four or five pages later did he notice, that Teddy had fallen back to sleep and the bottle had been drained. 

“I never expected to fall in love. I never expected to marry, let alone your mother. I never expected to have children. Never in my life did I ever expect to have an amazing son like you. Teddy Lupin, I. Love. You. One day, I will have to be honest with you about why I left. I regret that immensely and am unsure I ever will forgive myself for that. However, know I missed your mother and you the entire time I was gone. I thought that you both were better off without me in case you did inherit my furry little problem. Just know, no matter what I love you with all my heart and will do my best to provide for you no matter what. I can not guarantee your life will be easy with having a werewolf as a father.”

“I have a feeling Teddy will be very defensive if anyone talks bad about his father” he hears from behind him. Standing up, he sees Dora standing in the doorway of the lounge smiling. “I will also keep anyone in line who talks ill about my mate.” 

“You should be in bed” Remus answers concern lacing his face as he holds Teddy in his arms letting the bottle fall from Teddy’s lips. 

“You should have woken me up, I would have fed him,” Tonks exclaims in frustration, now holding her breasts. “My boobs hurt.” 

“I am sorry” Remus answers quietly going slightly scarlet “I should have realized.” 

“ It is only natural and it is nutrients for our son.  No need to be embarrassed, Rem” Tonks answers back motioning to her breasts “There is a spell I can use to get the milk out of these. Mind if I hold him?” 

Remus transfers Teddy to her arms as he squirms in her arms “It is alright, little cub. Mummy is here.” It was as if hearing her voice calmed him down as he snuggled into her arms. 

Kissing Tonk’s head, then Teddy’s whispering “I love you both”, he pulls out his wand to whisper “scourgify” to clean up the mess he made in their kitchen. 

“I would have just left it in the morning.” Tonks yawns walking back into their bedroom to put Teddy down in his crib as he changes his hair color to bubblegum pink “Have you noticed he changes his hair color depending on who is holding him?” 

Lupin smirks, not realizing that he did indeed change his color to brown when his father was holding him.  “Now that you say that when Any was over, he changed his hair color to dark brown.” 

“I think that is his way of letting us know that he knows the difference between us,” Tonks replies yawning again. 

“Dora, you need to go back to bed.” Lupin reiterates “You are going to be exhausted come tomorrow.” 

She sighs trying to come up with an excuse trying to hold her son as much as she can “I just want to hold him. I just want to hold him in my arms and not let him go. I feel like a bad mother because I am working all the time.” 

“Dora, come here.” Remus motions towards the bed, picking up his son and placing him in his bassinet next to the bed, “Teddy will be fine for a couple minutes in his crib.”

Glancing at Teddy once and then looking back to his wife, “Darling, you are in no way a bad mother because you work. You are creating a better world for our son. A better future for him to grow up in. A better world for both of us to raise our son in.”

“I just am afraid I will miss him growing up.” Tonks begins to say before Remus puts a finger to her lips.

“He is only two months old, Dora.” Remus responds “Maybe you can talk to Kingsley about creating a hybrid work schedule so that you can be home but also in a time of need, you can be in the office? I am sure both of you will be able to come up with something that will be applicable.” 

Tonks bit her lip “I guess, I think I’ll sleep on it” 

“I also think you need to sleep. Your hair is turning its natural color again” Remus reiterates calmly putting a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. 

Tonks walks out of the fireplace as her mother is feeding Teddy and Remus is cooking lunch. 

“Nymphadora, why are you here? It is only one” Andromeda asks as she puts Teddy down in his swing. 

“I am home for the rest of the day” Tonks answers smiling the biggest smile she has had in weeks. 

“Did you talk to Kingsley?” Lupin asks grabbing some bowls from the cabinet. Walking up to him, she gives him a peck on the cheek.

“I did,” Tonks replies pulling herself up on the kitchen counter swinging her legs. “We agreed that I would be on something called hybrid maternity leave. Since my full maternity leave was up about a month ago, I will be going to work every other day. On the days I am not on the job, he will or another Auror will be updating me.” 

Remus hands her a bowl of soup smiling, “That is wonderful, Dora.” 

“I have other news about you, my dear” addressing Remus looking back at him. “I heard a rumor, that you will be asked to take back your post at Hogwarts.”

“What? Me?” Remus questions trying not to make his disbelief show on his face. 

“Yep, Kingsley was talking to Harry and Minerva when I walked into his office. I can not help that I have learned some skills from a certain werewolf” Tonks answers him as he hugs her forgetting about the soup in her hands. 

“I am guessing they do not believe that I know,” Remus asks realizing that she had the soup in her hands 

“Oh, I have a feeling that they will notify sooner rather than later” Tonks smiles glancing out the window as an owl flies towards them.

[awellboiledicicle]

So, weird dream

I had a dream that I got lost on the way home from somewhere and met someone who needed a ride home and i gave her one because it was raining and the road was washing out. She was shivering, so at one of the stop signs, even with the heat turned up and i was warm, i gave her my coat and my coffee because she was shaking. She thanked me and cried. I gave her my bandanna and she said thanks again.So i drive her out to this really remote house and the road looked like it was washing out to the point of a mudslide but she thanked me so much and when i asked if she needed an umbrella too because there was still a walk to the door she cried more and hugged me, and told me she was actually a magical being. Her hug was really damn cold and she didn’t specify what she was till she let go.

She wasn’t like a fairy or anything, which i asked because that was something that made me nervous-- i’m jewish not stupid, but i had been helpful so eh-- and she’d said no, just made of magic. 

But she’d appearantly been trying to get a ride home from town all night and not a single person had given her one, even though it was raining cats and dogs and Niagara falls. She explained she’d been showing up at intervals along the whole 200 mile stretch of highway and no one pulled over, offered her a coat or umbrella or anything. I was the first-- even if i had been really freaking twitchy because hitchhikers aren’t my thing. Honestly the only reason i’d done it is because it looked like she was going to get caught in a mudslide and die, and i couldn’t let that happen. 

And she was so happy with me, that she was going to give me a gift.  Now, in the dream and out i wasn’t sure if G-d had given our people a line about interacting with magical entities and/or if they fell under ‘shit G-d made that we just kinda had to roll with’ so i was just kinda listening politely. 

Thing was, she gave me a list of choices of what does your heart desire type things and, see, i’ve seen these movies. I have read those books. I know the asshole genie and mystical rules lawyer. The choices were:

More wealth than your wildest dreams, wealth beyond counting by any being in this world or the next as repayment for your selfless kindness paid upon total strangers, as you will use it well

The love and devotion and acceptance of all you see fit, as none should look upon someone as kind and generous as you with anything but love and joy in their heart

Immortality so that the fear you cast aside when you came to my aid will never darken your mind again, as someone as gentle and giving as you deserves the assurance of never coming to harm or the shadow of death darkening your travels

Now if you don’t know me, I have always been what you would call not a person to know what to do with these choices. And also not purposely rude. But somehow my response was like, along the lines of like “I don’t wanna live forever bc no. Mind control sounds like a shit move.” She looked amused i caught that. “and i don’t.. i don’t really need that much money, ma’am. Like $20 for fuel if you really feel like you need to pay me back or something, but i don’t really think its needed.” “C’mon, i’m trying to repay you! Besides, what kinda human doesn’t want unlimited money!” I just blinked at her.  “Do you know how fast the government would be on my ass. What would the taxes even be on a bank account of infinity. Is there interest. Do i open my wallet and money just flies out like a bazooka. Does it count as income and if so would i write in ‘paid from magical force’ and how do you file that. Is it just there.” She just kinda got blank faced and stared at me. “You’re thinking about this a lot aren’t you?” “Well, what would i even do with it anyway? I have a house. I have a car. Even if i upgraded my wifi or gaming things or something, ok. Buy shiny things? Ok still... lots of money. Pay off everyone in the country or the world’s student loan debt? Housing loans? Credit card bills? Outstanding debts? Donate to charities in such large amounts they don’t know what to do with it? Pay for people’s citizenship papers and tuition and housing?” “Well, yeah those are--” “No, you know why? Because the government would be on mine and everyone’s ass immediately wondering where all this money came from and why they didn’t have it wrapped tightly around their dick calling them daddy. I’d do it if it were possible, but it needs to be done in smaller amounts than infinity.” “That’s fair.” She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms. “I can’t not give you something though! Pick one.” “Ok, but we’re rewording it.”

Cut to like 6 months later

I was living in New Mexico and had this GIGANTIC mega store-bakery-housing complex-craft market thing that was staffed by over 400,000 people who had immigrated to the United states and i had over 5,000 lawyers constantly fighting the government and we had secure escorts for our workers and their families. Because I employed the people who were in the process of immigrating and those who had, and part of the benefits package that you got for learning a trade at my company was we would pay for healthcare/dental/maternity/paternity/100 sick days and the health care thing expanded to your family and if you wanted to bring your extended family to the US we had a program that you could pay into from you $19/h starting salary to help cover the cost of us helping get the process started. 

I and Vera [magic lady] had started this company and she continually was amazed that my reaction to negotiating down to 20 million dollars a day into my bank account was to do this and then set up various foundations and businesses that domino-ed to pay off college debts and send people to college. To buy homes sitting empty, fix them up and fill them with homeless families. To pay for medical treatments that are being denied to people that were unable to afford them. To feed the hungry and renovate homeless shelters and soup kitchens. To renovate and improve schools in inner city areas and make sure theres not mold and leaky pipes collapsing roofs. I recall there was a part where i rolled hard at local and national legislation on sex work because a law had come down to make it even more criminalized and for a while while the law was in effect, we handed out free condoms, dental dams, birth control, prep, and opened pharmacies in the stores with a nondisclosure polocy that got us in trouble and we poured a lot of money into a legal “fuck you” at the government till the law was repealed.  Every week the 20 million gets taken down to 0, and the profits from the businesses are distributed to all the workers and if the profits are too large for the higher ups, while the lower parts shrink, they get redistributed because the workers need to have money to live. 

Vera kept making noises because the most i’d do is use my pay to buy Judaica and occasionally rocks, and the workers would bring me food and then i’d bake way too many muffins in return. 

I was just patently against letting myself be greedy, partially because it was against my personal morals and beliefs and partially because people fucking needed jobs. 

Also, let me explain how it pissed off Dromled Prump.

Because Drombled Prump was really pissed off that my store continued to function when he talked shit, because he talked shit and his friends talked shit because we were basically paying to have a safe place that would fight immigration from being illegal fucking dicks to legal citizens and people who are literally doing what they need to do. Or who are here, working, and don’t need your shit today gringo, either buy a chair or fuck off. But appearantly what pissed him off more, is that we had better food than the shit he had at his places. And he’d been told this. So he showed up one day, presidential like, to make it all shameful on us that we were such a hovel that we couldn’t make it presentable for him.

AKA he was going to show up unexpected, somehow, with a whole motorcade. 

Well, that’s fine Draino, because we had a magic lady in a sleeveless flannel, cargo-shorts, and 0% amount of fucks about your plans. Also me. Only one of us can clean the whole store with a snap, and the other has an amazing ability to soak their voice in ‘shit eating grin’. 

So, he showed up we pretended to be civil and he wanted free samples from everything. EVERYTHING.  The man ate bread for about 4 hours. Then complained it was dry. So the restaurant brought him some food and he complained it wasn’t “authentic Mexican” because there wasn’t refried beans. The Restaurant was Peruvian.  I made him the beans. With 4 drops of dawn dish soap. Not enough to taste or make him sick, but it’ll make sure he does some thinkin’ later.

He insisted they were the best beans ever and pissed himself in the parking lot because there was a snake. In the south. 

Vera wanted to turn him into a pig but she commented he was already there.

That part woke me up.

[cristinacori]

For my endless journey westwards I have the seat number 6 in the wagon number 0 of the worst-platzkart ever. Just one working plug, which is located on the bed under mine, so that anyone who wants to load some electronic devices has to do it on the head of the poor man who sleeps there. Empty drinking water tap: we must drink the boiling samovar water, which would not be so annoying if it were not that air conditioning is faulty and the wagon is terribly warm.

The provodnitsa of the night shift is a brusque, short and chubby woman, of those who, as they say in Rome “it’s easier to jump than to go around”. The other one is a gentle skinny lady flame haired. Together they seem Stan and Oliver, but at least the fellow travellers are interesting. Below my bed there are a old couple. He, Vova, has black moustache, grey eyes made heavier by the age, huge round fingers and he is covered in tattoos. She, Valya, has short cut hair and her face streaked with slight wrinkles, she is a cheerful woman and she has nervous chatter. They are directed to Moscow, they speak only Russian and they virtually adopt me. The train leaves and the lady pulls out tablecloth, metal cups and plastic containers filled with everything imaginable food. They offer a bit of their dinner Valya tucks in my soup freeze-dried pieces of smoked ham and without asking me anything, she peels boiled eggs and hands me the bread. I think I must have awakened her maternal instincts, she wants to feed me at all costs. Maybe I stink with my skinny vegetarian sandwiches and Korean soups from the discount supermarket.

They tell me many things (who knows what) and call me “Kristin”. I ask them, in my weird Russian, where they are from. They come from a place that is not a city, but a tongue twister, though I pretend to have understood; anyway I have no choice because they will continue to talk to me as if I really could understand what they say, asking me questions they expect me to answer.

The following day the heat does not let up, and the people in the wagon fan themselves, dripping with sweat, with everything that falls into their hands. To survive the heat, the Uzbek of the seat number 12 begins to open all the windows of the wagon, including the one on my bed. He supports it with a plastic bottle filled with kvas (a Russian drink made from fermented black bread) to make sure that it does not close and he has decided it must stay there. So I have to sleep with the bottle at the side of the pillow. The idea of the open windows is good for the day, but not for the night. At sunset, the cold air of the Siberian nights enters through the window like a sharp blade and lash my face mercilessly. I curl up as much as possible in the cotton blanket, but I can’t get to sleep so I get up at dawn when the whole car is still sleeping. I prepare my tea and I drink watching the landscape in motion. It is raining outside. The dense wiry birch forest is covered with a rosy morning mist through which the sun shines in a dance in which chases the train, appearing and disappearing among the white tree trunks.

We skirt for a long time a large muddy river on which a graceful mist hangs like a long nebulous snake concealing its banks. After few hours the landscape changes and the train makes its way through dark valleys still shrouded in mist and meadows covered with tall flowers of a bright pink. The rain continues to tap on the glass only disturbed by the passage in the corridor of a fat provodnitsa whose flesh barely stays inside the shirt. The upbeat music coming out of the basket of snacks she is pushing announces her presence. “Pirojki, kartochki…” she loudly proposes passing through the wagon. The Uzbek of the seat number 12 makes a joke, she plays along and gives him a playful slap. Everyone laughs, he must have said something funny.

Not speaking Russian is one of the things I regret, I think watching them laugh. If I had been able I would chatted with my fellow travellers, with the provodnitsa. Who knows how many stories I missed, how many anecdotes and opinions on this or that topic. Why so much they, the Russians, always have something to say, they are a people of great talkers. I find it hard to imagine them the way Kapuscinsky describes them the USSR times. The Polish reporter (who also travelled in the Trans-Siberian) writes of them that they remained silent, distrustful, they avoided to speak and hoped that no one performed questions.

It was another era, shaped by suspicion towards each other, by the fear of uttering too many words, to sound curious. All dangerous characteristics at the time.

“The foundations of the Soviet empire have always been the regime of terror and fear. Only perestroika and glasnost’ constitute a significant departure. People are starting to publicly express his opinions to have their own ideas, to criticize and to ask. This becomes an exaltation, a general drunkenness […] everywhere do nothing but talk, talk and talk. […] This verbal superabundance, that talkative oratory is favoured by the Russian language, phrasing from that large, lying, boundless like the Russian land”.

The third day of travel some young Russian soldiers get on the train. They are teens guys who are doing the canonical year of conscription. Among them myself, the bizarre italianka, am a note from the pack and within five minutes they all are making me questions. Where am I from? Do I speak Russian? What am I doing in Siberia? Am I really travelling alone? And they start making pictures of me. Everyone wants souvenir selfies with this being that comes from the exotic faraway Rome. This “young Russian army” does not travel alone: it is accompanied by a non commissioned officer who looks like the same age of the boys he is responsible for. Talking to them I discover that the conscription in Russia is mandatory. Every boy at the age of eighteen must pay a year in the army. They were lucky, Sergej tells me, the only one who speaks few words of English, up to 2008 the years of conscription were two. He smiles at me and he offers me an apple.

The following day the Russian army gets off in Krasnoyarsk and new travelling mates get on the train. Among the newcomers there are six girls, contemporary dance dancers. One of them is specialized in hip hop. They make me look some videos on their phones and even if I do not understand anything about dance, they seem to be really good. I was told that they travel to Ekaterinburg where they have an appointment at the US consulate to pick up a visa to go to California where they will participate in a popular dance competition. They are a bit worried, Ekaterina, one of them says. The US visa is not mere bureaucracy for Russian citizens: the girls will first have to undergo an interview with the console. Those among them who are not married are more anxious because the US government does not look kindly on the Russian unmarried women; the cliché has it that the Eastern European girls use to lure American men to get married in order to to obtain the US citizenship.

A few hundred kilometres after Novosibirsk, the capital of Western Siberia, we arrive at the station of Barabinsk. The passengers before leaving the car, consult the table affixed to the provodnitsas’compartment door, which shows the time spent at each station. In this way those who want to get off to buy something to eat, or just to stretch their legs or to smoke, know for how long time the train will be stopped before leaving again. Ekaterina invites me to come down with her friends, she wants to show me the itinerant fishmongers of smoked dry fish waiting passengers on the platform. Apparently this fish is a speciality in high demand as everyone rushes to buy this delicacy with enthusiasm. We walk up and down the platform to look at our travel companions carefully choose their dinner, and a merchant of fur hats furry tries in vain to convince me to do a deal by buying one. It’s time to climb aboard and all people happy with their food purchases, get on train. In the wagon now an air unbreathable hovers: a mixture of smoked fish and musty smell united to that of about twenty people who haven’t had a shower for days. You get used and, in the end, the fish is tasty. The blonde lady of the seat number 22 makes me taste it. She is going to Moscow to visit her grandchildren. The woman on her fifties is from Norilsk, a Siberian town far to the north, where summers last a month and winters, endless, record a temperature that is about -35°C. Ekaterina translates the lady tales for me, while she makes the fish into small pieces. She is amused to see my face in disbelief. At her eyes me, the italianka tourist, am a strange being that comes from the tropics.

Six-day journey by train: my journey from Vladivostok to Yekaterinburg For my endless journey westwards I have the seat number 6 in the wagon number 0 of the worst-platzkart ever.