It had been two weeks. Two long weeks since the battle. But, of course, life could not just go back to "normal" or any semblance thereof. There was too much destruction and death, too much left-over fear; too many wrongs to right – wrongs that really couldn't ever be righted.
Hermione had spent the past two weeks attempting to pull her life together – namely, Apparating to Australia and searching out her parents, whose memories she'd modified months ago when she, Harry, and Ron set out on their mad quest for Horcruxes. It had been a clever charm, one that could only be reversed by the caster, so once Hermione had found her mum and dad, she was able to set them right almost immediately. But it required quite a bit of clean-up: modifying their Australian employers' and neighbors' memories and so forth. And then, of course, explaining to her bewildered parents about everything that had happened in the months they couldn't remember.
They were rattled to know how close their daughter had come to death; how close they had come to being enslaved by a Dark wizard. It only took a few days to clear things up in Australia, but Hermione had spent over a week in her parents' home, helping them get back into a routine and resume their jobs as dentists ("Just returned from a Sabbatical in Australia," her mum told coworkers proudly, but hemmed and hawed when details were requested).
But now, things had returned to normal in the Muggle world, as far as most were concerned, and Hermione was growing restless. Her parents' house wasn't really home anymore – after all, Hogwarts was where she had spent ten out of twelve months each year – and in any case she was desperate to return to the world of magic. And she was desperate to see Harry and Ron – especially Ron – again.
On Saturday evening, her parents already in bed, Hermione sat on her small window seat, trying to concentrate on a novel. The light of the moon coming in through the white-curtained window was bright enough that she didn't need a lamp or her wand, and normally she would have been content to stay there all night, engrossed in her book. But tonight her mind kept whirling in every direction, refusing to settle on the thick novel in her lap.
She finally closed the tome, gently setting it on her small roll-top desk, and propped her chin in her hands, letting her mind whirl as she stared at the full moon.
What's going to happen to me, to my life? the logical part of her brain wondered. I haven't even finished my last year at Hogwarts – how will I ever find a decent job? How will I support myself? And I can't keep living here with my parents – where will I find a house? Maybe I can rent a flat with someone, that might be cheaper… do wizards even have flats?
Another, insistent voice in her head whispered, you could get a flat with Ron…
Just thinking his name was all it took for Hermione's cheeks to flush and her heart to race. Her mind filled, unbidden, with images of that desperate kiss, so fleeting in the heat of battle, when neither of them knew if they were to survive the next few hours. Ron's lips against hers, his arms firm around her waist, her hands about his neck. It had been, she thought, the happiest moment of her life, despite the chaos and sorrow that surrounded it.
But doubts were always creeping into her mind, ruining her blissful remembrances. I started the kiss, she thought uncomfortably. It had been a bold and entirely un-Hermione-ish thing to do, and even now she wondered if she had been right to do so. Perhaps he doesn't feel the same way I do, and just kissed me back because… well, because he's a teenaged boy. And of course he's busy with his family – this brought a tear to her eye as she thought of Fred – but surely he would have sent an owl? Although I never sent him one, to be fair. Truth be told, she'd started several, but never could get past the opening line. Dear Ron…
Hermione was startled out of her thoughts by a loud rapping on the window, right next to her cheek where she had laid it against the cool glass. She gave a small squeak of surprise, but saw straightaway that it was only an owl – a nondescript, tawny bird she didn't recognize. She let up the window and the owl hopped, businesslike, onto the sill and dropped a familiar-looking envelope into her lap. It was addressed in sparkling emerald ink:
Miss Hermione Granger
The Blue Bedroom
517 Coriander Lane
She flipped it over to see the official Hogwarts seal in crimson wax. Intrigued – why would Hogwarts continue to correspond? – she broke the seal with her thumbnail and slid out the letter.
Dear Miss Granger,
Due to unfortunate circumstances the previous year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be allowing all students who did not complete their seventh year to return and finish their schooling. We are pleased to announce that you are once again admitted to Hogwarts, and look forward to seeing you September first at King's Cross Station. Enclosed is your list of required books and supplies.
Sincerely,
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
Hermione could hardly believe her eyes – she could return to Hogwarts and complete the year she had missed! She could take her N.E.W.T.S., conference with her professors about potential jobs… her life wasn't doomed, after all. With a sigh of relief, she took out the list of required items and began poring over it. There was of course the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Eight – well, that was obvious. Advanced Potions and Antidotes, N.E.W.T. Level Charms, Ancient Runes: Gaining Expertise…
Engrossed in the parchment as she was, Hermione almost jumped out of her skin when another owl body-slammed itself into the upper part of the window. It stuck there, almost comically, and then slid down with a sickening squeak. Hermione managed to catch it through the open window and dragged it inside, shaking her head.
"You scared me, Errol," she whispered, a hand still at her throat. For a moment, her heart jumped at the thought of a letter from Ron, but realized almost at once that the handwriting on the front was much neater than his messy scrawl. The bird shook his scraggly head dazedly and gave a feeble hoot as she took the black-enveloped letter from the owl's talon and slit it open.
Dear Hermione,
You are invited to attend a memorial service for Fred Weasley and Remus and Nymphadora "Tonks" Lupin. The service will be held Sunday, August 15th at 2pm at the Burrow.
Sincerely,
Arthur and Molly Weasley & Ted and Alice Tonks
Another small piece of parchment was attached, which read, "We would be happy to have you at the Burrow for the remainder of the summer holidays – Harry will also be here. Love, Mrs. Weasley."
Reading the brief letter, Hermione sobered immediately. She had tried hard not to think about Fred, Lupin, and Tonks in the past few weeks, and had almost succeeded simply because she had been so busy with her parents. But now she thought sadly about each one of them: Fred, with his flaming red hair, always with his twin, always cracking jokes. The poor Weasleys – especially George – she thought, I don't suppose they're holding up very well.
And then there was Lupin, the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they had ever had at Hogwarts. But more than a teacher, he had been a friend, always ready to lend a hand or a bar of chocolate. And Tonks – here Hermione couldn't hold back her tears – Tonks, who had always been the life and soul of every gathering, with her brilliantly pink hair and devious grin. Tonks, who had sent Hermione and Ginny into such fits of laughter with her goofy pig-nose trick.
Hermione was crying outright by now, trying to do so quietly so that her parents wouldn't hear and waken. She had been trying so hard to be composed and calm, to face the devastation left in Voldemort's wake with a serene outlook, but all it had taken was one little letter to break through the careful walls she had built. Her ribs hurt, as they did lately when she was upset or stressed, a lingering effect of Bellatrix's torture at Malfoy Manor. Hard to believe that had only been a month ago.
Still sniffling, she took out a piece of parchment and wrote a quick, affirmative reply, and gave it to Errol, who took it in his beak and hopped dazedly out the window, only remembering to spread his wings when he was inches from the ground. Knowing she needed to get some rest, for the 15th was tomorrow, Hermione plaited her bushy hair into a braid and fell into bed, wishing with all her heart that a certain red-haired someone were there to kiss her goodnight.