Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belong to J.K., not me.
Harry Potter apparated to the suburban muggle street with a quiet pop underneath his invisibility cloak. He furtively glanced around to ensure that he was alone, and then shrugged off the cloak to appear in the warm spring evening. Harry sighed, but stepped forward, resigned to the unpleasant task before him.
At last, he reached the front door of a stately brownstone with a garden that bore the signs of once being loved and cared for, but now looked overgrown and unkept. However, several flowers bloomed in the late spring sunshine.
Last chance to back out, Potter, he thought, knowing that Hermione would be furious with him if this went wrong, and probably even if it went right. Harry nervously adjusted his trousers and button down. Even now they felt more comfortable than cumbersome robes, an indelible indicator of a muggle upbringing. Finally coming to a decision, Harry ignored his nerves and raised his hand to the knocker. Too much has happened for another family to break apart. I'm tired of fighting.
Before he could even grab the knocker, the door swung outward, nearly knocking Harry off the step. As it was, he barely jumped out of the way in time, awkwardly stumbling backwards.
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, didn't see you -" The graying man who had just come through the doorway suddenly stopped talking, looking Harry up and down apprehensively. "You're one of Hermione's friends." And David Granger swallowed reflexively and took a step backwards.
"Hermione doesn't know I'm here." Harry hadn't quite anticipated the extreme awkwardness of the situation until he was already caught in the middle, standing with his back to a bush and a confused muggle to his front.
"Then why are you?" Mr. Granger's expression was caught somewhere between terrified and righteously angry.
"To talk. Can I come in please?" In response, the older man merely stepped aside. Harry entered, curious despite himself. The house was not covered wall to wall with intimidating tomes, despite whatever he may have expected. There were, however, several pictures of Hermione at various stages of childhood decorating the walls of the hallway and sturdy furniture in cheerful colors in the sitting room.
"Is your wife home, Mr. Granger?" Said Harry, just as the aforementioned woman rounded the corner. Harry had vaguely remembered meeting both the Granger's years before, but now could clearly see how similar Hermione and her mother looked, both possessing a down to earth grace that was evident even in the most trying of times. Like now, for instance. She gasped and unconsciously took a step away from him. But then she steadied her expression and raised her hand in a small little wave.
"Here I am." And with that she smiled wanly.
"My name is Harry Potter, I'm a friend of Hermione's, and as I've already told your husband, Hermione doesn't know I'm here. We've met before, Mrs. Granger. I take it you remember?" Both the Grangers nodded. By some unspoken agreement found only between people who have been married for a long time, Hermione's parents both sat on the small couch facing a cushy blue armchair, which Harry gratefully sank into. He made a brief effort to look dignified, but the tole of the past ten days, and indeed, the past seventeen years showed in the slump of his shoulders and the dark shadows under his eyes. Harry took a deep breath and repeats the promise he made to himself before coming. No yelling.
"How much did Hermione tell you? Before you -" and Harry remembered with disturbing clarity exactly what Hermione had been like after leaving her parent's house yesterday afternoon.
She'd appeared to the Burrow's outer gate with a loud crack - which was most unlike Hermione, who'd long since perfected the art of apparating quietly, and sunk to her knees in the middle of the muddy garden lane, pale as a sheet, taking great gulping breaths.
"Hermione!" Ron yelled, and rushed to her side from the flutterby bush he and Harry had been trimming, and surreptitiously checked her for injuries.
"I'm fine, Ron, honestly, I'm fine. I've just had a bit of a shock I'm fine I'm -" and here she gasped and buried her face in Ron's shoulder.
"Hermione, what's wrong? I heard from Kingsley you'd fetched your parents safely, and removed the charm brilliantly and... erm... all that." Ron looked up at Harry helplessly when this only caused her to cry harder.
"My parents said that... that... they just need some space. And time." Hermione furiously scrubbed away her tears, her face pale and splotchy.
"What d'you mean Hermione? Haven't they had an entire bloody continent of space for a year." Ron awkwardly patted Hermione's back as she struggled to compose herself.
"They feel violated." Hermione whispered with a hollow finality. She stared straight ahead, eyes unseeing.
"They're afraid. They're afraid of me."
"Hermione said there was a... fight. About whether or not magic people who had non magic... erm... muggle... parents were as good at magic as people with wizard and witch parents." Mrs. Granger said, folding her arms across her chest.
Harry stared, trying to wrap his head around this colossal understatement. He ran a hand through his hair and opened his mouth to speak. And then thought better of it. Harry looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking slightly.
"It started... A very, very long time ago I think, with the stupid idea that magical people are better than non magical ones - let me finish!" Said Harry, as Mr. Granger opened his mouth. "But muggles of course weren't around to dispute the belief, our lives are so separate. Quite a lot of wizards don't know any muggles personally. And then there was the idea that muggle borns weren't as trustworthy or talented or smart or - I don't even know. The furthest reaching record of that goes back over a thousand years.
Anyway, there were some families whose ancestors had been wizards for as long as anyone can remember, and believe me they keep bloody good track. So they called themselves pure bloods, and thought that they were better than everybody who wasn't like them. They believed in their absolute superiority, over everyone, including magical creatures who can think for themselves, like merpeople, centaurs, house elves, and werewolves - people like that." Here Harry's face twisted into an expression of utter grief for a split second before his mask of impartiality snapped back on -"
"Sorry, but what does this have to do with Hermione sending us off to -" But Harry wasn't paying attention to them and continued speaking in a soft monotone.
"There was one man, a half blood funnily enough, who wanted power over everything. So he gathered an army around his filthy ideals of pure blood supremacy, and started a campaign of terror. First muggles, then muggle borns, then some half bloods, and then anyone who dared ally themselves against him and his ideas was fair bait. Nothing more than animals to be slaughtered. It wasn't really about blood, you know. Just about power. My parents were some of the people who fought him, a long time ago.
Then, 17 years ago, he was temporarily defeated - until he came back at the end of our fourth year at Hogwarts. And then this past year there was a war, not a battle, not a fight, but a war, and Hermione was in the middle of it partly because I was in the middle of it but mostly because she's a good person. She sent you away and hid you because they would have come and killed you if they could find you. Or captured you to lure us in. Or - I really don't want to think about it because we won! And now my children will grow up in peace." Slightly out of breath, Harry realized that his volume had risen considerably over the course of his speech, and he flushed. He got up slowly from the chair and moved towards the exit. Harry turned when Mr. Granger spoke up.
"Was anyone who Hermione knew killed?" There was a terrible hope in his eyes that his daughter had been spared this, but Harry's expression said it all.
"I've been to twelve funerals in the last ten days. I won't be able to go to everyone's, of course, but that's the way it is. A lot of people are dead, and your daughter knew a lot of them, grew up with them, and fought beside them. I'm godfather to a month old baby who's parents both lost their lives. He'll never know them. My best mate's - not Hermione, the other one - his brother is dead. I've just come from the funeral of a sixteen year old boy who fought for a better world. Mr. and Mrs. Granger - so much has been lost, so many people don't have their brother, or sister, or best mate, or parents, or child anymore - don't - just be glad you've still got yours." They both suddenly looked very pale, and Jane Granger opened her mouth and quoted -
"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—
and there was no one left to speak for me." To her surprise, Harry nodded in understanding.
"It was just like that, Mrs. Granger. Exactly like." He grimaced.
"How did you … Know a non-magic poem? I thought your parents were magical." Hermione had said something once (and now she noticed that she couldn't bear another second without her daughter in her arms) about wizards and witches being awfully ignorant about muggle culture, and couldn't help feeling skeptical.
"They were, but I was raised by muggle relatives after... well, like I said, my parents fought in the war. (Harry felt slightly guilty for this fib, but felt that Hermione could tell her own parents anything they needed to know.) I didn't even know I was magic or that magic existed until I was eleven. My aunt didn't get along with my mother see, and didn't like magic very much. They were hoping I'd turn out normal. Tried to stamp the magic out." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. Suddenly he realized that if he kept talking, he'd keep telling these almost complete strangers more and more intimate details of his life. Harry turned abruptly.
"Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Granger – do you mind if I apparate from the hallway? It's a bit of a walk from here to be secluded enough you know."
"No... no, not at all." Mrs. Granger's eyes were shining suspiciously. "Could you – could you send Hermione over if you see her? I think that... I think we need to talk."
Harry smiled brilliantly.
Author's note:
Martin Niemoller poem printed without permission - he's worth looking up if you've got time. Might turn this into a two shot later - I can't decide if it's done or not. Let me know what you think. Reviews are love forever. I would really appreciate any constructive or complimenting comments you have.