"Yeah, well, not that I'm complaining about my childhood, because I'm not."
Except for the whole Tom Riddle fucking up her life bit that her family had been so desperate to sweep under the rug, her childhood had been pretty damn good.
"But you remember how when we went shopping for school supplies, mum would be plucking at that little pile of gold on the floor at Gringott's?" She poured the firewhiskey into the two glasses. "Well, I don't want that to be me."
Which was why she would never have seven kids. Or, possibly, any, now that Harry... She pushed the thought aside roughly, drowned it by knocking back a shot of firewhiskey.