Chapter One
The war was over. Voldemort was dead. No matter how many times Hermione rolled it over in her mind, she could scarcely believe it. After all, she had spent the past year on the run with Harry and Ron trying to learn of a way to defeat Voldemort. A part of her didn't believe that it would ever end.
Yet, she couldn't sleep. She lied awake in Ginny's room, troubled with the memories. Sometimes, she almost forgot to breathe. It had been funeral after funeral and the worst of them was Fred's. She felt like she had been deadened with the loss of tears she had shed at Tonk's and Lupin's funeral, but she had more. They wouldn't stop falling and she was sore, the misery beating up her insides.
She didn't speak at the funeral. No one did, really. She stayed close at Ron and Ginny's sides, but she found herself alone in the front garden, the chickens pecking the ground at her feet. Suddenly, she felt like an intruder. The Weasley's were like family, but hers were in Australia, unknowing that a daughter they didn't know they had was going to show up and change their lives.
They would be angry with her. How could they not be?
Harry had joined her outside. He didn't speak either, but stayed with her until the sun sunk low in the sky. Together, they had gone up the stairs, where he silently went into Ron's room, and she went into Ginny's.
Ginny remained fast asleep, undoubtedly from grief. Quietly, Hermione left her to her dreamless state and made her way down the creaky steps to the kitchen. It was hauntingly dark, but not vacant. Harry sat at the roughly carved table, staring at one chair in particular.
"Harry," she croaked sleepily. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"That's where Fred sat," he lament, nodding to a chair identical to all the others, but empty. It would always be empty.
"I miss him, too." She gripped his shoulder.
"It shouldn't have happened..."
Hermione didn't know what to say, so instead she asked, "do you want tea?" She didn't wait for his answer but busied herself making a pot. She set the burner on as she filled the teapot with water from the tap.
It was simpler to use magic but she did it the muggle way. It was slow but comforting. Periodically, she glanced over at Harry. He appeared to have aged years, dark circles under his dark green eyes, but a good night's sleep would help him. However, he refused to accept any potion handed to him; Mrs. Weasley frequently tried. George wasn't so proud as he was knocked out on the couch, refusing to go into the room he used to share with Fred.
It was a stupid sign of strength Harry was attempting to exhibit. He was only eighteen and had gone through too much.
She poured two cups, the heat of the chamomile quickly relaxing her. She handed one to him and sat across from him.
"I got an Owl from Kingsley," he told her, "he wants me to review some cases."
"What kind of cases?"
"The Malfoy case for one. Whether they should be sentenced or not."
"Oh..." She paused.
"They need to pay for what they've done. But I keep thinking of that night at the Malfoy Manor. Malfoy didn't give us up. He could've... I don't know why he didn't..."
"I don't know, but Harry, when Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy didn't fight in the last battle. They were off trying to find Draco. Maybe all of this is to preserve their family. I saw them when..."
"When Voldemort died?"
She nodded, and although she didn't say it aloud she remembered it was the same look she had when she altered her parents memories. She often dreamt about it, standing in their living room, casting that spell. Every time, the building would collapse and she would be standing over Fred's body.
Every night, the same nightmare.
"I don't know what to do," Harry whispered, tapping his forefinger against the cup.
"Give them a second chance."
His brows shot up underneath the mess of his black hair. "Are you serious? We wouldn't have considered that when we were eleven."
"We're not eleven anymore. Please, Harry..."
"They tortured you."
"Bellatrix did that and she's dead."
"But they didn't stop her -"
"Harry," she exhaled, grabbing his arm. "It's over. It's a scar now. Leave it be. For me."
Harry abandoned his tea and hugged her tightly. "If you can forgive them for what they've done to you, I'll pardon them. Just tell me why."
She inhaled the scent of him (woodsy with a mix of the Weasley's fabric softener), before pulling out of his arms. "I'm so tired of families being torn apart. I'm exhausted." The sting of tears threatened her vision as she thought of her own parents.
"Their hearing is in two days. Come with me? Just in case they need you to testify."
She straightened the collar of his wrinkled shirt. "Anything for you, Harry."