Disclaimer: I don't own it. Nope. Sorry. Sometimes I wished I did, but I don't.
Summary: Hermione deals with the aftermath of erasing her parents' memories.
333
Hermione looked down at the address. Fourteen Alms Hill Drive, Wilkins.
"That's them," she whispered. Ron stood behind her, looking at it over her shoulder.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Are you ready?"
Hermione looked at Ron, wondering what he was getting at.
"Well…they've lived without knowledge of you for two years. They probably won't be the same people. They won't recognize you or anything. And, I mean, what if they moved on…"
"They haven't," she said, convinced.
She had thought about this often, the moment when she would go up to them and reverse the charm, when her life would finally return to normal. It had taken longer than she wanted it to, with all the restrictions that had been placed on international travel, but after a year, the ministry finally approved her and Ron to go and retrieve them. Harry, busy with the ministry, had been unable to join them. In a very real way, Hermione was glad he wasn't here. This was something she didn't want him to see, something she wasn't sure she wanted to share with him.
"Hermione…"
"Look, Ron," she said, the words sharper than she intended. "I know you're just worried about me. But it won't change anything. I don't need you to sit there and tell me how I'm going to fail. Alright?"
A bird loudly squawked outside their window.
"You aren't prepared," he said. "You just think you're going to stroll in there and everything will be just like it always was, don't you? It isn't going to be like that. You know it as well as I do, whether you want to admit it or not. I mean, forget about how they've changed, you've changed more in two years than most of us. I know you have. I've seen it. You aren't their innocent little girl. They don't know you anymore."
Why did he always have to hit the nail on the head?
"It doesn't matter!" she shouted, unable to control her anger.
"Maybe not initially, but after they start asking questions…"
"It won't matter!"
"Stop being unreasonable!"
"I'm not being unreasonable! They're my parents!"
Ron started pacing, his hands clenched at his side.
"Hermione…You didn't even tell them ahead of time what you were going to do."
"I needed to do it to protect them!"
"I know, but do they? They're muggles, Hermione, they don't understand. They live in different worlds."
"Stop it!"
"You did something to them that they may not be so happy with! You think they'll thank you for it? You think they'll thank you for stripping away two years of their life?"
"It was only supposed to be a few months! You know that!"
"But they don't! Without warning, their lives were completely uprooted! You can't expect them to look at you the same way."
"Stop it!" She stood up, her jaw clenched, and stared at Ron. "No! No more! I know, Ron, ok? I know all of it! Stop talking about this!"
Ron put his arms around her, holding her tight. She put her head on his chest, trying to hold back her fear and anger.
"It'll be all right, no matter what they say, ok? I'll still be here. Harry'll still be here. We'll all still be here."
"I know, but…but it isn't the same."
"It's ok."
He wiped her tears away with his thumb.
"I think I'm going to go to bed now," Hermione said softly, pulling away from him.
"I'll be in there in a few minutes."
3
Ron snored loudly, jarring Hermione from sleep. She started slightly; where was she? She wasn't in their apartment above the Hogsmeade shop. She was in Australia. What was she doing in Australia? Tracking down her parents. What day was it? Saturday? No, that was yesterday. Sunday.
She nudged Ron's arm off of her and got out of bed.
"Where ya goin'?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes. "It's still early, isn't it?"
"Do you want breakfast or not?" Hermione asked, buttoning her jeans.
"Can't it wait a little longer?"
"You can sleep without me, you know." She buttoned up her shirt.
"Yeah…sure…just like Harry can find the horcruxes without you."
"I get it; both of you are terribly dependent on me. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to make pancakes."
She slid a sweatshirt over her head and went out into the small kitchen of the apartment they had rented for the month. The red pancake mix box told her how to make them; Ron had no right to complain to her about the recipe. Nope, he had to complain to Aunt Jemima.
"Minnie," Ron said, coming into the room. "Are you sure you're capable to cook pancakes?"
"What did I tell you about calling me that?" Hermione said angrily. "And yes, I can cook pancakes; the directions are on the box." She thrust it under his nose so he could read it.
"I think my mum would have a fit if she knew you were cooking from a box," he said, a grin on his face.
"I'm sure she would." Hermione flipped the pancakes. They were darker than she liked, but would deal with it. She hated cooking.
"Here, let me," Ron said, taking the spatula from her.
"Ron, I've got it."
"Please, Hermione. Making pancakes is one of the very few things I can do better than you."
Hermione relented and sat down at the small table, the headlines from The Prophet catching her attention. Evidently Harry and his crew had found a small stash of dark wizards somewhere near Liverpool. There was a specialty piece on Neville, how he grew up and his career choice; he finally descended from the position as auror and took up a position working as an herbologist. And Luna finally took a job as a naturalist, working alongside a young man named Scamander. Ginny set a new record for most points scored in one game. It seemed everything was finally settling down, returning to normal.
"Here you go," Ron said, putting a plate of four perfect pancakes in front of her. "Butter, and syrup."
"What happened to the ones I cooked?"
"I'm sure the birds will enjoy them, or maybe die from them. I can't tell which."
Shaking her head, Hermione ate her pancakes.
"So when are we going?" Ron asked, flipping some more pancakes.
"When we're done with breakfast, I suppose."
"You think they'll be awake?"
"Yes."
He sat down across from her and drowned his breakfast in maple syrup.
"What if they aren't?" he asked.
"I…we try again later? What else are we going to do?"
"I don't know."
"You are, however, going to have to put on a decent shirt."
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said. "You know I hate that dress shirt."
"Stop being such a baby. I want you to look nice. My parents never actually met you, you know."
"I'm sure they've heard loads."
"Oh, yes, be sure they have, and none of it terribly good."
Ron chuckled and stuffed his face.
3
The house was blue. The fact that it was blue didn't shock Hermione so much as it was the exact same shade of blue as their house had been back in England. And not only that, but they had the same flowers growing out front, with the same kind of mailbox, and the same welcome mat out front.
"You alright?" Ron asked.
Hermione glanced at him. It was one of the few times he was serious.
"Yeah," she replied and bit her lip.
"Are you ready?"
"Your tie isn't straight." She played with it, fixing it up and avoiding eye contact with him.
"Do you want me to do this?" he suggested.
"No," she said quickly. "I need to do this. I need to fix it."
"But if you can't…do you want me to finish it?"
She looked at the ground, her head clouded with all sorts of emotions -- fear, jubilation, admiration, excitement, anxiety…
"Hermione?"
"Yes. Only if I can't."
3
They stood on the stoop, both of them, his hand on her back. She knocked, and they waited. When one of them opened the door, she would fire off the spell before they could speak. Then, it would all be over. It was simple. Easy.
"Hello?" her father said, opening the door.
Hermione pointed her wand at him.
"Hold on, now, what are you doing with that?"
The door flung open a bit more. He had a baby in his arms. His baby. With his eyes. Hermione's wand fell from her hand. Ron muttered the spell. A look of confusion passed over the man's face. He looked at Hermione, and then at the baby, and then back at Hermione.
"Fuck," he said.
"Wendell, who is that at the door?" a woman asked. She came in their view, her belly distended with late pregnancy. Hermione felt like she was going to faint.
"Our daughter," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ron reversed the spell on Mrs. Granger, as well. The same confused look came across her face and she looked from Hermione to her husband and back again.
"Shit," she said.
Hermione felt her stomach drop out as she stared at her parents and her younger sibling. She hadn't expected this. They would be mad at her, yell at her, throw her out, and never speak to her again. They would hug her, hold her, tell her they missed her. They were alone. Just the three of them. And Ron, of course. But…two babies…
"Come in, dear," her dad said, directing Hermione and Ron inside. "I think we need to talk."
Ron followed Hermione in, the pair of them following her father. They all sat in the drawing room. Mr. and Mrs. Granger on one side of the coffee table, Ron and Hermione on the other.
"So, Minnie," her father said, gently putting the baby in its cradle. "Who is your…ah…friend?"
"Ron. He's…we're getting married."
Hermione felt a surge of uncertainty as she looked at her father. He looked surprised, pale, and completely taken aback. Usually a composed man, she knew it took quite a bit to unsettle him. Ron grabbed her hand. She hoped with everything she had he would approve of it.
"Very well," he said and cleared his voice. "I trust you're taking good care of my daughter?"
"Yes, sir," Ron replied, his voice strong and sure. Hermione squeezed his hand. He was walking into a trap, she knew.
"And what do you do for work, Ron?"
"I work with my older brother, George, and we run a chain of joke shops in the wizarding world."
"And are they successful?"
"Very, sir. We run a clean business with a lot of good fun."
"Are you an honest businessman?"
"I wouldn't think of doing anything less."
The two men stared at each other for a few minutes in silence, each one gauging the other.
"Aren't you a bit…young…to be getting married?" her mum asked, her hands resting on her belly.
Hermione bit her lip. Why did she know someone would bring that up?
"We've been through a lot together," Ron said, staring at Hermione's mum. "I…don't think I will ever meet a woman as smart, witty, resourceful, brave, or beautiful as your daughter. What's the point in delaying the inevitable?"
Hermione couldn't help but grin; it seemed that had become their motto. "What's the point in delaying the inevitable?" Hermione had first said it to Mrs. Weasley, and it seemed to have been a common theme in their relationship. There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed the information.
"You are sure you can provide for a family, young man?" her dad said sternly.
"Yes, sir. I wouldn't have asked her otherwise."
Hermione knew it was a lie, but it was one she could stand behind. Ron would have proposed even if had a single knut in his name in Gringotts, but knew her father -- pragmatic as always -- would not approve if that were the case.
"Good."
The clock on the wall ticked loudly.
"Why did you do this to us?" her mum finally asked. "Why did you ruin everything?"
"Helen," her dad said sternly.
"I need to know," her mum continued.
"I did it to protect you. There were people after me, wanting to kill me. They would have killed you to get to me. I wasn't going to let that happen."
Her dad looked like he was going to pass out.
"No," her mum said. "That's impossible. Who could be after you?"
"An evil man," Ron said. "He killed a lot of muggles without second thought. He wouldn't spare you even if you were pregnant. He wanted to get to Harry, Harry was close to Hermione, and you are close to her. You were in mortal peril with knowledge of her. By erasing your memory and sending you to another country, she spared you."
"There must be other ways, though," her dad said, his voice trembling. "I look back on these two years, and all I see is a lie. We were living a lie! And we didn't even know it. How do I know that this isn't a lie? How do I know that you just didn't come in here, pretending to be my daughter and to know all this stuff? How?"
"I…I think if it was a lie, you would know," Hermione said, her voice void of emotion. She felt like she had just been beaten with a club, exhausted. "Like…like how you knew something wasn't right so…so you had children…."
Her dad looked in the cradle. An awkward silence fell over the room. Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged glances, the "should we tell her?" glance that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.
"What is it?" she asked.
"We didn't know we had another daughter," her mum said, her voice almost frantic. "We didn't know. You can't blame us for this. You can't. It wasn't our fault."
"What is it?" Her hand tightened on Ron's.
"We loved the name 'Hermione'," her dad said.
The pair exchanged some more glances.
"Just tell me."
"Her name is Hermione." Her dad motioned to the cradle.
She couldn't breathe. How could they reuse that name? Wouldn't it have felt wrong? Wouldn't they…wouldn't an alarm have gone off or something?
"You need to breathe, Hermione," Ron whispered in her ear.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, getting up. "I…I'm so sorry. For everything. I should have…excuse me…"
She left the room, walked down the hallway, and left the house. She couldn't handle this. She thought she could. She thought she could go in there, tell her parents what had happened, and then leave on a good note. She was incapable.
They had replaced her. The thought seized the air from her lungs all over again. They had replaced her. She felt like she was going to vomit. They had replaced her. She wrapped her arms around her body and walked down the street, her head down, her vision blurred.
Why did she ever think everything was going to be alright? What kind of a fool was she?
"Hermione!" Ron called, running after her. He caught up and stopped her. "Hermione…"
"Don't call me that," she snapped, struggling to breath and hiccoughing.
Ron wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. He rubbed her back.
"Why did you let me think it'd be ok?" Hermione demanded, hitting him. He just tightened his grip around her. "Why didn't you tell me they would have children? Why didn't you tell me they'd name her Hermione? I hate you, Ron. I hate you."
She sobbed into his shirt, unable to control herself.
"I think we should go back to England," Ron said gently.
3
Hermione could feel Ginny's eyes boring into her as she ate her peas. Harry shifted uncomfortably, as well. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had tried to keep conversation light and had succeeded, but conversation more or less petered out, all topics exhausted.
"I take it that it didn't go well?" Ginny asked, barely glancing up from her peas.
"No, it didn't," Ron said forcibly, closing all doors for conversation.
There was a few seconds of knives and forks chinking.
"Have you two thought of a date for the wedding yet?" Ginny asked again.
They'd talked about it recently. It had ended up with quite a few vases thrown and a few shed tears. They had agreed to wait a little more, to see if they could mend things with Hermione's parents at all, before coming to a final decision.
"No," Ron said again with equal force.
"Do you know where you're going to have it?" Ginny continued.
"Why are you being so pushy?" Hermione asked, her tone not exactly pleasant.
"Don't talk to her like that," Harry said. "She's just trying to be civil. It isn't like you've made any attempt at it."
"Shove it, Harry," Hermione said, her cheeks beginning to burn.
"You know, I love how you're going around, as if they were the only ones lost in this war. There are others, you know. Fifty one of them. Do you care? No, all you care about is your parents," Harry said, his words sharp.
"It's not like I expect you to understand. You never had any parents. I'm going home."
Hermione threw her napkin on the table and disapparated before Harry could say anything else. She paced back and forth, the boards creaking under her feet. Why did she have to go and say that? It was only going to make things worse. He had it coming to him, though, with his all high and mighty attitude about being an auror. It wasn't like he actually took the N.E.W.T.s necessary. He shouldn't even be an auror.
Ron apparated near her, his face matching his hair.
"I'm sending a letter to your dad," he said, sitting down at the table.
"What?" She stopped pacing and looked at him. He quickly sharpened a quill and pulled out a bottle of ink.
"He needs to know everything," Ron said with finality. "Did you tell him anything about Harry?"
"I…I told him who he was…"
"What about Voldemort?"
Hermione stared at Ron; what was he doing?
"You can't tell them," she said, pulling the quill from his hand.
"We need to. If they know everything, then maybe they won't be as angry, maybe they'll understand and forgive us." He took the quill back.
"I don't want them to know!"
"Why not? You're a fucking war hero! Why wouldn't you want to tell them?" He stood up, his face turning purple.
"I didn't tell them anything! They think of me as this geeky girl who goes around with her nose in a book! If I told them…if I told them what really went on at Hogwarts…it wouldn't fix anything. It would only make it worse."
"You're being ridiculous! You're the reason why they're still alive!"
"Alive? They're muggles! Do you think they care about some dark wizard? I don't even know if they believe in magic!"
"How can they not believe in magic? Are they thick or something?"
"They're muggles! Close-minded dentist muggles! They live in this world of tea parties, conventions, and teeth. They think I live in the same world!"
"Well, you don't; you haven't since you were a first year, probably since before then, if I know you at all."
"But I acted like I did!"
"Hermione…do you trust me?"
She just stared at him, her heart pounding against her chest, her jaw set, her brows furrowed, fear climbing up her throat. Somewhere inside, she knew he was right. In order to appreciate what she did, they needed to know. It would shatter their precepts of her, change their perceptions, reveal all the lies she told them throughout the years. They would…they wouldn't forgive her for that. Ever.
"I would never do something I thought would hurt you," Ron said softly. "I hate seeing you like this. You've let me cook every meal since we got back without complaint, you haven't hit me upside the head once, and you've come home on time every night. It isn't like you. I can't stand it. I want to fix it. I want you to beat me, fight with me, and abandon me."
"That doesn't make any sense, Ronald."
"Just…just let me do this. For us."
"I'll do it."
"No."
"Why not? We both know I'm the better writer."
"If you do it, then you'll take it harder when he doesn't reply. Besides, you'll probably leave stuff out you don't want them to know, and they need to know everything."
How did he know her so well?
"Fine," she said. "But I get to proofread it."
"You don't get to see it at all," Ron replied sitting down and dipping the quill in the ink.
Hermione paced back and forth while Ron wrote. She cringed at every scratch, and shook her head at every pause. He didn't know what he was doing. Her dad was going to read it and throw it out as trash. Or he just wouldn't be able to read it because of Ron's messy script. Either way…
"Alright, I'm done," Ron said, rolling up the sheet of parchment.
"You only used one page?"
"I wrote small. Where's Cocoa?" he called for the owl. The brown bird hopped onto the table and hooted softly. "Take this to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, ok?" The bird hooted and went out the open window. "There. It's done."
Hermione took a deep breath. It would be alright. Nothing bad would happen because of this. It would be fine. She grinned meekly and glanced at Ron. He had the most worried look on his face she had ever seen him with.
"It'll be alright," he said, his eyes still locked on the window. "It's out of our hands, now."
3
Hermione laid down on their couch and stared at the ceiling. Those damned pureblood laws were making her head spin; who knew there would be so many strings attached to them? The reform team was running around in circles, trying to make sure legislation they needed wasn't being taken out with the pureblood laws. Hermione, a key part of that reform team, was not spared the excruciating headache, the battle scar of those involved.
"Sit up, will you?" Ron asked, his hands full of their dinner.
"Why didn't you just use magic to bring that over here?" she asked, righting herself.
Ron shrugged and sat down. He flicked on the television, tuned in to WSN, Wizarding Sports Network, and started watching the Harpies' game. "And the Fireball speeds past the beaters and scores again," the television droned. Hermione started eating her sandwich.
"Your father sent a letter to the Burrow," Ron said after the Harpies were up by ten points, one hundred to ninety.
"He what?" Hermione put her drink down, missing the coaster.
"He sent a letter to the Burrow." Ron put the cup on the coaster.
"Do you have it?"
Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, already opened, and offered it to her.
"You aren't going to like it," he warned.
She took it anyways and read it. And Ron was right.
"He's…they're…they're not coming," she said, feeling all sorts of walls collapse around her.
"I know," Ron said, putting his hand on her knee. "Dad said he'd send them a hexed something or other, if we wanted."
"No…he can't…"
She let the paper, written in her father's neat hand, fall to the floor, and buried her face in her hands. How could they do this to her? She hadn't done anything wrong. She had protected them, kept them from getting hurt. Why were they doing this? Who…who was going to walk her down the aisle? Who was going to give her away? Nothing was going to be right. Nothing was going to feel right.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, her breathing tremulous.
"Go through with it, I suppose," Ron replied, wrapping his long arm around her. "It'll be fine. It'll be beautiful. It'll be magnificent and wonderful and everything we hoped it would be."
"No…no it won't…"
3
"Hermione!" Ginny snapped. "Don't cry! How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Yes, dear, please control yourself," Mrs. Weasley said, patting Hermione on the cheek. "Wait until after, ok? That's a good girl."
"Ginny…do you know where my shoes are?" Luna asked, looking distractedly around the room.
"Under the bed," Ginny replied. "Damn, Hermione, this heat is killing me. Why'd you have to pick the hottest day of the year?"
"Don't know," Hermione replied weakly. She felt like she was going to vomit because of how hard her heart was pounding against her chest. And she couldn't breathe properly because of this dress…
"Are you ready yet?" Harry asked through the door.
"No," Ginny said. "Now go away."
"Ron's about to have a cow," Harry continued.
"Good on him," Ginny replied. "Tell him to milk it and make some ice cream for the reception while he's at it."
"Is it going to be that long?"
"Well the longer you stand there yelling at us through the door…"
"Fine, fine, I'm gone."
"We're all ready, right? Ginny asked, looking around.
"I think a nargle stole one of my shoes," Luna muttered.
Ginny groaned and got down on the floor, the position not exactly flattering in her dress, and reached under the bed.
"Here," she said, handing the shoe to Luna.
"Ah, thank you." They put on the finishing touches and left.
3
Hermione looked over the mess they had made behind the Burrow. There was no doubt it had been a good time, full of dancing, drunk uncles, good wishes, and excellent food. Fleur made a magnificent lamb and Mrs. Weasley…mum…had made a brilliant roast.
"Have fun?" Ron asked, coming up behind her.
"Yeah," Hermione said.
"You don't sound convinced."
"I just…I just wish they had shown up." Hermione reached out for his hand and found it.
"Promise me you won't let this ruin our trip," Ron muttered, pulling her against his body.
"What about after the trip?" she asked, trying to hide her smile.
"After the trip you can send them a howler, but that's it. No moping about. No leaving work early. And definitely no letting me cook without a fight, got it?"
Hermione grinned meekly at him, but didn't offer an answer; she couldn't commit to something like that. They had…they had deserted her.
"You can't let them control your life," Ron said, his fingers squeezing her hands. "I won't let you."
He was serious, the look on his face the same he got when he was doing the books for the shop, the same when George pulled a prank on him, the same when Ginny pissed him off so bad he wanted to pound her into the pavement, and the same he got on May second. If she chose to fight about this, she would lose. There was no point in fighting.
"Ok," she said, squeezing his waist. "I won't."
"Then why don't we go consummate this marriage, eh?" His serious look was changed for an impish grin, and his hands started to undo the back of her dress already.
"Will you wait until we're in the room, first?" she demanded, pushing him off.
"Hey! It's not my fault I can't resist a beautiful woman."
"Sometimes you make me want to vomit, Ronald Weasley."
He chuckled and lifted her in his arms, carrying her off into the Burrow.
333