DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

I own nothing but a dog named Lucky, some would say that she owns me.

a/n: going through a re-write, Lucky has been gone now at very long time, and the new pup is 13 years old. it'll take me awhile, but I'd like to revamp the whole story.

Chapter 1

It was early August. School was to start in three weeks time. Hermione Granger returned to the home of her childhood after the defeat of Voldemort. Unfortunately, she was not able to reverse the memory charm on her parents- and was alone. While Harry and Ron weren't coming back to Hogwarts to finish their educations, she knew that she would- she needed to put the past behind her, and move on with her life. Even though it was the dog days of summer, Hermione couldn't relax.

Hermione Granger was entering her 7th, and final year at Hogwarts, a school for witchcraft and wizardry. As the first witch in her family, Hermione learned all she could about magic from books and classes. This particular morning, Hermione was taking advantage of being on her own for once. The events of the end of the war kept her busy the first part of the summer. She'd missed a whole year of schooling looking for Horcruxes, and ending He-who-never-be-named again, and settled down to review for the upcoming term. She was sitting outside in the back patio, enjoying the light breeze fragrant with the lavender, the last of the blooms clinging to bush, wilted and drooping. Her blanket spread under the shade of the maple tree her parents had planted the year she was born. She sprawled out, different books open, her fountain pen flying over parchment as she made notes of her texts. Tendrils of long hair had escaped the plait and blew about her face without her notice.

As the day progressed, and the notes that Hermione was taking filled several pages, it became apparent as she closed her last text that it was beyond time to eat something. She stood, stretching her arms over her head, and easing the dull ache in her shoulders from propping herself up in the ground. The shadows were encroaching on the backyard as morning sidled into afternoon. She opened the sliding glass door and headed into the kitchen. After grabbing a cool drink from the fridge, and putting together a quick sandwich. Hermione took her plate and headed over to the breakfast nook to enjoy the sunshine while she ate. As she set her plate down, the ringing of the doorbell surprised her. She wasn't expecting anyone. With a frown marring her features she headed for the door.

John Banning wasn't a rookie. As a constable this was one duty he hated. He waited patiently on the stoop of a middle-class two story home in a suburb not far from his own. Soft footsteps could be heard approaching the door. A few moments later a young woman was looking at him quizzically through the screen.

"Yes?" She asked. Little did she know that what he was about to say was going to change her life forever.

He cleared his throat. "Are you Miss Hermione Granger? At her nod, he continued. "You'll need to come with me, there's been an accident."

Whatever could he mean? Her parents were safely stowed away in Australia? She grabbed her beaded bag, and pulled the door shut behind her, turning away from the officer to surreptitiously ward her home before she left with him.

John Banning settled the young woman up front in the cruiser. He'd finally matched the bodies in the morgue with dental records. They had been in cold storage for months. No one had reported the Grangers as missing, and only after recieving confirmation of their identities, did they search for next of kin. That they found her in their residence was a little suspect, but as the car they'd been traveling in had been submerged after the bridge collapse, and that they didn't have any indentification on them, it was just a nightmare to try and figure everything out. The country was still recovering from the year of freak storms and accidents, and the backlog of paperwork was incredible. He was just so sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

The morgue was cold. Hermione could hardly recall the ride, she knew that the officer had asked her questions, about what, she couldn't recall, it was of little importance. As he parked the car, Hermione noticed that the sky had become cloudy, and that a rare summer storm was forming. Numbly she followed the officer inside an unremarkable building.

Each step Hermione took brought her closer to a reality she didn't want to face. There was no way it could be her parents, she'd sent them away. Denial was strong in her heart, and it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her escort walked her into a cold room and walked over to what looked to be large filing drawers. The officer pulled one drawer out, and uncovered the face of the corpse that lay inside. He motioned for the young woman to come and identify the person. Hermione took a deep breath and looked at the corpse. It was her mother. Hair matted with the remains of dried blood, Hermione could see that she'd hit her head hard enough to fracture her skull, and that she probably died instantly. It was little comfort. She shut her eyes to the horrible site and whispered. "That's my mum."

And in this same manner she identified her father, a strange numbness overcame her.

Banning shut the drawer containing her father and escorted her out of the room. The green tiles on the floor and pale yellow walls did nothing to soothe Hermione. One moment she was fine, the next a feeling of nausea overcame her.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, "I need to use the restroom." Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Officer Banning felt an unusual protectiveness forming for the slightly odd girl. He guided her to the facilities and waited for her to finish. He hoped fervently that his family would never have to experience this.

Later that afternoon, Hermione was taken to the office of social workers. As a young adult, there were things she needed to take care of. All of this was explained to her by the kindly officer.

Hermione sat waiting on an ugly green chair that was rather worn and uncomfortable. She hardly noticed time passing as she picked at the loose threads on the arm of the chair. After some time she was summoned in to a rather cramped office by a kind looking older woman.

"You're an only child, is that correct?" The woman asked. At Hermione's startled nod, she continued. "Your 19th birthday is also approaching, is that correct?" Again Hermione nodded. "Since your parents died during the bridge collapse, their final expenses will be provided for as they were just unlucky enough to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The investigation is still on-going, and we're glad to finally know who these people are. Hadn't you wondered dear where your parent were after term ended?

Hermione started to shake her head. A bubble of hysterical laughter made its way out of her throat as she realized the futility of trying to spare them, that it had all come undone. She needed to get out of that chair. She needed to go home. There was so much- too much she had to do. A strangled sound caught in her throat as she had another thought as her eyes landed on the telephone. It was an older style one, and as Hermione though by inspiration, an idea was planted in her brain. I need to call for help, someone, could help- she'd have to call for help.

"Can I make a call? " at the nod of the social worker Hermione picked up the telephone and surreptitiously dialed 6-2-4-4-2.

The line hummed in her ear for a moment, after several moments the line started to ring.

A misty voice came across the lines. "Thank you for calling the Ministry. How may I direct your call?

"Arthur Weasley, in the department of..." she was cut off by the voice saying,

"Thank-you" interrupted the voice. A series of chips and clicks later before the call was answered.

"Hello?" Came the voice of Ronald Weasley's father. Hermione was glad she could hear him so clearly across the magical connection.

"Mister Weasley, it's me, Hermione Granger." She paused to collect herself. "I'm sorry to be calling you at work, but there's been an accident." her voice faltered. "My parents…"she inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, "are dead." A shuddering breath wracked her body as she tried to control her anguish. "I was wondering if I you could help me with everything happening, I'm at the Surrey police office" She finished lamely.

There was silence on the other end of the line. A dull humming could be heard as she waited; the second hand on the clock turned round and round. "Are you still there Mr. Weasley?" She asked, unsure if she lost the connection.

"What? Oh, um yes." He responded awkwardly. "Yes, yes, dear, Let me see if I can find someone to come and help you, its not quite my department, is it." His voice sounded more certain with every word. "Hold the line, I'll get someone there in a hurry."

Relief flooded through Hermione. She had someone who was going to help her. "You don't know how much this means to me." Hermione sniffed, wiping her nose on a tissue that she'd been holding. The social services worker indicated with a hand motion that she'd like to talk. Hermione reluctantly handed the phone over to her.

"Hello. Mr. Weasley, is it?" The worker asked. "There is some paperwork that needs to be filled out, highly irregular circumstances, you know? How soon will someone be here to pick her up, she doesn't seem like she'd be safe left alone after the shock. I don't know what the constable was thinking, bringing her in by herself. " she gave him the address and asked what time she could expect help to come for the young woman. Arthur looked at his watch. He knew traveling took time in the muggle world, so he said, "20 minutes, if traffics' all right. I work here in the city." After hanging up the telephone the social worker looked at Hermione and said. "It's a terrible thing that's happened young miss, but I'm certain you'll come out of it just fine, why don't you start looking over this paperwork, and we can talk more when your friends get here."

Hermione averted her eyes. She noticed the rubber sole starting to come loose from the bottom of her shoe. Her life would never be the same; it was almost insulting to hear these platitudes from this woman who knew nothing about her, or her family, or what she'd just lived through. She did not respond to her words. Instead, she sat lost in her own thoughts. Hermione took the paperwork and sat in the hall on a plastic chair flicking back and forth through the paperwork, seeing, but not reading.

When the woman coughed a short while later, Hermione looked up.

Mr. Weasley made his excuses from work and apparated home. The boys were out in the apple orchard and Molly was busy preparing tea.

"Arthur!" She exclaimed, "What are you doing home?"

"Well, Molly…" He responded, carefully weighing his words, "I received a call from Hermione Granger. It seems her parents have been killed in that bridge collapse, and she's just now hearing about it."

"Oh! That's terrible" exclaimed his sensitive wife. "Of course we'll help her." She said firmly. "I had better go and clean Percy's old room." She set the tea aside with a small sigh and headed towards the winding stairs As she passed her husband he reached out and touched her arm.

"Um, Molly," Arthur began, "I apparently need to iron out the details with the muggle authorities." He paused for a moment then said, "Molly, don't say anything to the children. I think Hermione should talk about it when she's ready."

Molly nodded her agreement. Arthur kissed her cheek before disapparating with a small pop.

Moments later Arthur arrived at a tube station restroom that had muggle repelling charms placed upon it. He stepped out of the stall and was striding towards the exit when a gruff voice exclaimed "Where do you think you're going dressed like that?" Startled he paused and inspected his reflection. He quickly transfigured his robes for something suitable to wear in muggle London and passed through the door.

He walked briskly to the address he'd been given over the fellytone. His long legs ate up the distance in little time. It was quite ingenuous of her to call him at work, Arthur mused, as not many people knew that the ministry could be contacted by regular muggle telephone, and that she had done so was simply astounding. She certainly was one of the brightest witches' of her age.

As he neared his destination he checked the addresses. In moments he found the correct building. A rather squat non-descript building whose entrance was guarded by sliding glass doors.

Arthur approached the sliding glass doors with trepidation. Arthur watched a few people enter and exit the building. The doors appeared to be opening and closing by themselves, like magic.

He watched them for a moment fascinated at muggle technology. After several minutes he joined a group making their way in to the building. He looked over his shoulder behind him, the door slid shut. How marvelous he goggled.

He recognized the lift, even though it had no gate as he was used to, but large steel doors that opened and closed like a trap. He wondered how they ever got memos or mail that way. He pressed the down arrow after consulting the directory on the wall.

Hermione watched her friend's father step off the elevator. He was wearing slightly faded khaki pants, loafers and a white button down shirt. He looked so familiar in this unfamiliar place that she stood and flung herself into his arms.

Arthur held her, rubbing her back and listening to her incoherent sobs. His shirt became damp with her tears as she let out her anguish. He held her, allowing her to cry. He knew there was nothing he could say to make it right. After a few moments she stepped back from his embrace. Her eyes red and puffy, her face pale in the artificial light.

The middle-aged and rather matronly social worker noticed his arrival, heralded by the onslaught of a fresh wave of tears.. She straightened up the file in front of her and tidied her desk for a few moments, wanting to give the grieving girl some time to pull herself together. She noted with approval that the man seemed to be respectable, and was offering her some comfort. He appeared to be a good sort. You never knew with kids now a days.

Watching the girl step away from the man, the social worker stood. As Hermione stepped out of his embrace and gave him a tremulous smile. The worker called him by name.

"Mister Weasley?" She questioned. At the red-headed man's nod, she waved him over in her direction. "Bring Miss Granger with you to my office." She turned on her sensible heels and walked down the utilitarian carpet into her office.

Hermione sank weakly onto one of the chairs placed in front of the woman's desk. Arthur chose one next to her patting her comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Are you prepared to help Miss Granger with handling the affairs of her parents?" The matronly social worker, asked, pulling up forms on her computer. Arthur tried to see what she was doing as he found ekltronics fascinating. As the monitor was turned at an angle for her use, Arthur was foiled in his attempt to see. He sat back and addressed her question.

With her attention focused on her computer monitor, she couldn't see the silent communication that was taking place just outside her line of sight.

"Miss Granger attended school with two of my children. They are quite close friends, of course we'll help her get things sorted." Arthur spoke calmly. The worker typed in this information. "How long have you known the Granger family? It seems no one reported them missing after the accident, and we're trying to understand why." And so they went through the paperwork, Hermione explaining quietly some of the more unusual questions.

Near the end of the paperwork was a question that startled Arthur.

"Telephone number?" He asked blankly stalling for time. Having anticipated this, Hermione passed him a scrap of paper with her own cellular number written down.

"Oh, you mean mine." My mind must have wandered for a bit." He read the numbers on the paper back to the woman. She raised her eyebrow at the halting way he gave her this information.

"I'll just run down to the printer, and get everything in order." She explained. "You'll need to sign them, and I'll need to see your driving license for the paperwork." She left the room, her low heels clicking with each step taking her further from the small office.

Arthur looked to Hermione and said, "Driving license?" Hermione pulled out her own and showed it to him. A look of understanding passed over his features and he pulled out his apparition license. He transfigured it to look like a muggle identification with a mild confundus charm. Arthurs' the picture of him kept fidgeting. Getting frantic, he pulled tapped the identification with his wand and a quietly wispered 'petrificus totalus'. the picture stopped moving at once, although his face was frozen in an unusual expression. He quickly slid his wand away. Clicking heels were approaching the door as he settled it more firmly in its harness.

The middle aged plump woman returned, flipping through the stack of papers in her hand. He handed her his license which she looked at cursorily, picture matched, name was right. She handed it back to him. "Okay, Mr. Weasley, here's the paperwork, if you'll help Miss Granger here choose a funeral home we can direct you to help her in the final arrangements."

He nodded.

"All of the other victims were claimed months ago, I can't understand what the delay was. Please sign here." She flipped though the pages and indicated the areas he needed to sign. She notarized his signature and affixed her own on the appropriate line. She took the sheaf of papers and dropped them onto the copier near her desk. At long last she handed him a copy of the papers.

"Good luck, Miss Granger. I'll be in touch if there's anything else." Was all she said as she escorted them from her office to the elevator. Hermione couldn't help but feel as though that statement were an omen.

Arthur escorted her back to her home. He asked about the telephone number, and Hermione explained.

"It's a cell phone. It doesn't matter where the phone is, it will ring, or the call will be answered by a voicemail." She explained.

"A male voice? How does it get into the felly-tone?" He asked, slightly puzzled. Hermione pulled the phone from her hip pocket.

"Here, let me show you. We should change the message."

a few moments later.

Hermione fitted her key in her the lock at her door, as the door swung open, a wave of fresh tears blinding her eyes.

She walked from room to room, a strange numbness distancing her from what she was doing. She indicated the parlor, and asked Arthur to make himself at home.

"I suppose I will need to pack." She choked on the words. She turned and fled the room.

Arthur understood, and settled himself on the sofa awkwardly looking around. Under normal circumstances, he would have been delighted to see the inside of a muggle home, but wisely he knew that this was not the time to satisfy his curiosity.

Hermione walked up the stairs to her room, opened her school trunk, waved her wand. "pack" she commanded in a wobbly voice. Her school robes flew from their hangers, folded themselves and stacked themselves neatly to one side. Books flew from shelves, from under the bed, and in through her open bedroom window. She'd forgotten the books outside. In no time, her room was bare of anything magical. Hermione gently picked up her tattered bear and hugged him close, tucked him safely under her arm.

With a 'wingardium leviosa', her trunk raised in the air. Hermione grasped the handle and towed it down the stairs.

Arthur cleared his throat when Hermione entered the room.

"I thought perhaps you might want to bring your family photo albums." he said, indicating the ones on the bookshelf."

Turning blindly to hide the tears, she spied her mothers' desk. "I think I will bring this as well. It was my mum's, and I don't think she'd want anyone else to have it. She wandered around her home picking up items that were meaningful to her and adding them to the collection of things she was taking; her pockets bulging with the shrunken objects. When she finished in the garage she returned to the parlor. She noticed the sun setting, blazing a fiery trail of orange and crimson against the skyline. She knew deep in her heart she would never return to this house that she had called home all her life.

"I'm ready to leave." She said, he voice only catching briefly.

Arthur stood and silently grasped the handle of her trunk He placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders and apparated to the burrow. There was no way he'd leave her home alone to deal with this.

/2

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