Disclaimer: The characters and settings all belong to JK Rowling. I'm borrowing them to play for a while.

Chapter 1: Reconciliation

Hermione Granger entered her flat, carefully smoothed and folded her gown over a chair, and deposited her purse in its accustomed place on a nearby table. She stepped out of her shoes, flexing her toes to ease out the kinks that were there from standing for too long in heels too high, and sighed with relief.

Hermione was now a fully-fledged M.D, courtesy of the University of Cambridge, School of Clinical Medicine. When she had deserted the wizarding world for her muggle roots, she had not lost her love of learning nor her meticulous application to study. In three years she had completed a rigorous University training in premedical studies. Now, a mere four years later, she held the degree of Medical Doctor.

She had buried herself in her studies, desperately blocking the pain she felt from the wars—physical and emotional—and also rejecting the magic that still pulsed under the skin in her fingertips. In the first three years she learned to be numb to the magic, and her time spent at Cambridge had been mercifully free from having to check her impulse to open a door with a wand and a word. She rarely thought anymore about how slowly it took to perform day to day tasks without magic. At first, she was grateful for the chores that used up her time and left her physically drained, and now she didn't even notice the extra time.

The strict schedule she kept also left little time for friends. Ever since…then…she had shied away from close contact with her peers. She couldn't bear to be hurt…like that…again. But now she was terribly lonely, and knew it. Still, loneliness she could overlook in favor of books and her classes. But if I had a friend who could understand, she thought, and then stopped thinking. She knew who could understand, and she'd abandoned them.

She shifted on her sore feet, and broke her mind from this line of thought. She moved jerkily to the mail lying on the floor and picked it up. Bills…a sheet of coupons…a letter with eight stamps. Strange. Why eight? It wasn't heavy.

With a gasp that was half laugh and half shock, she recognized the handwriting. Molly Weasley. Hermione threw the letter with the bills back on the floor and ran to the bathroom, her heart beating harder than it should have when she covered the short distance. She turned her shower on and stripped off her clothes, jumping into the stream of water before checking the temperature. She shrieked as it burned her and adjusted it. The shock, however, steadied her and by the time she was clean and dry she was ready to go and collect her letter.

Hermione curled into her reading chair, tucking her bare feet up, and opened the letter.

Dear Hermione,

I don't know if you've heard, but Harry and Ginny are finally getting married this summer. I know you haven't wanted much to do with magic, not since the war and Ron dying, but please consider coming out for the wedding. It would mean worlds to Harry and Ginny. You may stay here at the Burrow, of course; you know you'll always be a daughter to us.

Molly W.

Hermione grimaced. A daughter to the Weasleys? After running away from the wizarding world and ruthlessly cutting contact with everyone? And she doubted Harry would even want to see her at this point; he'd been left too often—one way or another—by the people he was close to to easily forgive her desertion of him. And Ginny had clearly been hurt the day Hermione left.

She dropped the letter neatly on a book, and made her way to the kitchen, chewing the message over in her mind. She'd already burned that bridge. Of course she wouldn't go. Would she? Why not, whispered a voice, Nothing there can hurt you now. Not any worse, anyway. You don't have to use magic…

Except to get there, she thought wryly, but the only potential for harm there is to myself. Oh well, I don't have to decide today.

Hermione picked up a book to read, and headed for her bed.

OOOOOOO

"D'you suppose she'll come?" Harry said? "It's been seven years now, but knowing how she feels responsible for…well, you know what I mean. And then leaving, even when I knew she wanted to stay for, for everyone. I'm sure she thinks I hate her."

"If you think that, just owl her yourself," replied Ginny calmly, "It's time she realized she's not responsible for Ron's death or any of the others. If she doesn't want to use her magic, fine, but not because she thinks she's going hurt anyone. And she shouldn't have left without telling you, at least." Ginny, truthfully, had been more hurt than Harry when Hermione had packed her trunks and left. She had come into the Gryffindor common room and announced that she was leaving. Permanently. She had said she'd write when she could, but she didn't write. The first Christmas Ginny thought about sending Hermione an owl, but Harry had stopped her, saying Hermione would contact them when she could. If she wasn't writing, it was because she couldn't.

Ginny was still stung at Hermione's selfishness in disappearing, especially while Harry was recovering and desperately needed his friends, but Harry himself felt that he understood. Hermione had always hated hurting anyone, and was terrified when she realized her own power, maybe even desire, to hurt and kill during the war. In fact, it hadn't even surprised him when she'd showed up in the common room with a set face and announced her departure. He'd only hugged her and hoped that she wouldn't be gone too long.

Seven years was too long. Harry wanted her to come back, and even maybe to boss him around a little and explain everything in far more detail than he wanted. He'd made a good life in the last years, but Ron was dead and Hermione was gone, and he needed her to help him come to terms with his own pain.

"I'm going to owl her," Harry said finally, "Seven years is long enough. If she hasn't confronted her demons by now, she ought to."

Ginny smiled to herself a little triumphantly, but then giggled. "I'll bet she's shocked when she sees Hector at her window. I wonder if she keeps owl treats? Hector always has his eye on the treat at the end of the delivery."

OOOOOOO

The kitchen in Hermione's flat was tidy to the point of obsession. Every pan, utensil, and package of food had a right and proper place, and was in it. She had once been messier, but as her medical education had demanded more and more organization, it was easier to learn the habit in everything than just confine it to her work. Her counters, cupboards, and floor were creamy white, which showed every speck of dust. There were no specks. Hermione smiled and found the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, and began to hum as she cooked.

Muggle cooking was the first creative outlet Hermione had discovered she enjoyed tremendously. She had never used her magic to cook during school, so the time food preparation took her was never a burden in her mind. She associated it, in fact, with the chemistry she'd loved in college, and the unpredictability of her results kept her interested. She'd stopped using anything packaged the first year in favor of making everything from scratch. It filled the little empty time she had left from her lessons, and it was satisfying and calming. Not unlike Potions, her uncooperative voice whispered to her, but she didn't listen.

Hermione was startled from her quiet dinner by a tapping at her window. Instinctively she jumped, looking at her door, before the direction of the sound registered. She glanced over to her window and jumped again when she saw a large, dark bird perched precariously on her narrow window ledge, peering in with an outraged expression.

"Sorry," she called at the bird through the glass, "I can't open that window. You'll have come to my bedroom window; it's just the next one over…"

Hastily she walked to her room and threw open the window to admit an indignant owl with a scroll tied to his leg. The owl watched her narrowly while she removed the scroll, and relaxed when she said "wait a moment, and let me get something for you—I don't supposed you'd try pasta. No," as Hector ruffled his feathers irritably, "Oh, hold on, I imagine I'll have something you can eat. But no meat, sorry. I'm a vegetarian."

The owl looked even more outraged, which made Hermione laugh. She came back into the room with a lump of cheese and some crackers, which the owl took with some dignity, and then launched himself out her window into the night.

Hermione smiled as she watched the bird drift out of sight, and then it struck her as strange that after seven years it had seemed so natural to deal with one of the animals of the wizarding world. After Crookshanks…. No, she wasn't going to think about Crookshanks.

She shook herself and looked at the little scroll of parchment with some apprehension, but also with a growing sense of excitement. The parchment felt good under her fingers, slightly rougher than her plain white printer paper. And she could smell the ink, faintly, and this brought back more good memories of school, and writing her essays for History of Magic, and the satisfaction of answering a question on her Transfiguration test with precise accuracy.

Hermione smiled again, and opened the scroll.

Hermione,

I'm writing this to personally invite you to Ginny's and my wedding. I know you needed time to escape your demons after Ron died, but hasn't it been long enough? I miss you, and so do the Weasleys. Molly could use a little closure herself, you know…

I hope you've had enough time to heal. Please come.

Harry

PS—Ginny sends her love, and hopes Hector didn't peck you for not providing a proper treat.

It was easy to make a decision, really. Hermione had left her friends to deal with her own…demons, as Harry had put it. She would go to Harry's wedding, even if it meant seeing the Weasleys, and remembering their looks when Ron…. No, she still couldn't think about Ron. Not yet. But she would have to when she went to the wedding.

Hermione started, realizing what she'd just thought. When I go to the wedding. I guess I'll have to deal with this, finally. Maybe now I can, though. Now I can do something when someone is dying in front of me.

With a sigh, Hermione sat down to write Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

OOOOOOO

"She's coming."

"What?" Ginny snapped her head up to look at Harry. "Really? I didn't think she would. Not after seven years. Why does she think she can just show up after seven years?"

"Stop it, Ginny," Harry said flatly, "If you're still angry after seven years, why shouldn't she still be struggling after seven years? I'm just glad she's coming."

"I'm not angry, but it's going to cause upheaval. You know Mum will want to talk with her. She's the only who saw Ron die, and she never even spoke to Mum or Dad. It's our wedding. I want it to be happy, and I don't want Mum crying in her room all night and pretending to be cheerful all day. It'll be awful."

"I think she knows that. She says she's already made a time to talk with Mum and Dad in two weeks in Diagon Alley. She'll talk with them then, and your Mum will have time to grieve before the wedding."

Ginny looked unconvinced.

"Ginny," said Harry gently, "I still have nightmares, and I've come to terms with most things. Hermione still blames herself for Ron's death. The fact she's willing to speak to them means she's trying to do what is right for them and for us. Cut her some slack."

Ginny nodded, walked into Harry's arms and buried her face in his neck. "I don't know what she went through. I don't understand why she left, but I'll try."

Harry smiled into her hair and gathered her closer.

OOOOOOO

Hermione woke up crying, tears running down her face into her pillow.

The woods. It was dark, only lit by the smoky glow from some of the trees near the castle—and most of the fighting—which were burning. Ron was behind the neighboring tree. She glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye, and then gasped a choking scream as a hex deflected off the tree in front of her and hit her thigh. She tried to keep her balance, and swayed wildly, clutching at branches, but she fell, slowly, hearing her wand break as she landed heavily across a root. Ron leapt to her side, but then, to her confusion, fell back with a shocked look. An eternity passed as she registered the ragged hole in his neck, and the blood flowing out. Then movement returned and she launched herself at the Death Eater who came around the tree. Her unexpected attack caught him off guard, and he tripped; Hermione, with a strength she didn't know she had, flipped him on his back and punched him in the throat, feeling his airway collapse. Frantically, she scrabbled for his wand and ran to Ron. Her hands and voice shook as she tried to perform a basic healing spell. Nothing. Then something just to slow the blood. Nothing. Panicking, she grabbed a handful of Ron's robes and pushed it into the gaping wound. It was soaked immediately. Ron opened his eyes. There was no fear in them, but deep sorrow. With difficulty, he mouthed the words "I love you." And then there was nothing in his eyes at all. As she cried over Ron's body, she was vaguely aware of the gurgled choking of the Death Eater, and when it stopped.

Hermione gagged, and then rolled over just in time to vomit on the floor instead of in the bed. It was always so vivid, so precise. I can't forget. I want to let it go, but I can't forget. He's bleeding, and the wand fails—I fail. He died because I couldn't stop the bleeding. And I killed the other one with my own hands; it was so easy. I hate myself.

When her breathing steadied, Hermione gingerly climbed out of bed to get the bucket and cleaning supplies. They were in her room. She'd needed them before.

OOOOOOO

Pacing nervously, Hermione considered her wardrobe for the twelfth time. She didn't want to talk to Molly and Arthur Weasley, but she owed it to them, especially when she would be a guest in their house in a month's time. She knew with certainty that she would end up crying, and she at least wanted to make a good impression before she ended up sobbing like a child.

She'd burned her robes when she got accepted to University. Now she had only muggle clothes to wear to The Leaky Cauldron, and she while she didn't want to wear robes, she didn't want to drawn attention to herself, either.

At least, not more attention than I'll get once I start blubbering.

She chose, at last, a long, plain skirt and a loose blouse gave much the same effect as robes, concealing her figure—not that I've got much of one—and rippling gently not unlike her old school uniform. Her skirt was a deep brown and her blouse a golden tan, setting off the gold highlights in her hair (still frizzy, unless she made an effort—but her professors had never cared, so why would she?) and the ivory of her skin. She was pleased that her straight shoulders gave her blouse the same academic look that wizarding robes gave everyone. Satisfied, she turned from the mirror and resumed pacing.

I've been thinking about this for two weeks. They have a right to know. They had a right to know seven years ago. Maybe if I tell them the nightmares will stop. No. They won't. It doesn't matter, they need to know. They still love me, I think. What have I done to them by not telling them? Stop, I have stop. Just go and tell them. If you can't face them again afterwards, you don't have to go to the wedding.

This thought stopped Hermione's pacing. She was going to the wedding. She didn't know when that decision had become so important, but there wasn't any way she was going to miss it.

I have to see Harry.

Suddenly the queasiness in her stomach settled, and she turned to the door to leave. She would talk to Molly and Arthur, and it wouldn't be so bad. Well, it would be bad enough, but she had the courage to do it.

OOOOOOO

"Do you think she'll still look the same, dear?" whispered Molly to her husband, as they sat in the Leaky Cauldron.

Arthur looked surprised. "I didn't think about it. She'll be older."

"She'll be underfed and pale from studying inside all day, instead of getting out, if I know her," said Molly. "A muggle doctor. I imagine you'll have plenty of questions for her about that!"

"I won't." said Arthur drily. "After the incident with the stitches, I've had quite enough muggle medicine. I only want to see that she's all right."

Molly nodded slowly, "Yes, but I need to know about Ron, too. I accepted his death years ago, but I need to hear it from her. Maybe it will help her more than me, but I still need to hear it."

Tears glinted in Molly's eyes, and her husband put a hand on her shoulder; at that slight touch, comfort and love flowed between them.

Molly shifted in her seat, and looked over at the door just as a young woman in muggle clothing walked through. Her golden brown hair was windblown and settled slowly back around her stiff, straight shoulders as she glanced around the room. Her gaze stopped on Molly and Arthur, and after a slight hesitation she turned her body full towards them and walked up, a frozen smile on her face.

"Hermione!" Molly jumped up and put her arms around the girl in a motherly hug. The girl jerked, then relaxed and returned the hug, breaking it only once she glanced up and saw Arthur hovering eagerly behind his wife. Hermione released Molly, and took Arthur's hand easily and with a more genuine smile.

"Arthur," she said quietly, "I'm so glad to see you," and was only slightly surprised that it was true. "I'm so pleased to see you both." Hermione looked at Molly and gave her a real smile.

"Sit down, dear. We've ordered tea for the three of us; I hope you don't mind."

Hermione murmured thanks, and no, she didn't mind.

"Tell us about yourself. A muggle doctor! Arthur tells me that takes an extraordinary amount of study, especially in seven years. But study certainly never put you off."

"You know about that?" Hermione asked, drawing back. "I didn't tell anyone…."

"Well, just because you didn't choose to let us know yourself, doesn't mean we didn't care enough to keep tabs on you," Molly responded, affronted.

"Molly," her husband warned, "this is hard enough for Hermione, I think."

Molly had already realized her reaction, and looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That wasn't fair. We have worried about you, you know, and we wanted some idea that you were all right."

Hermione looked between them slowly. "It wasn't unfair. I'm sorry I left, or, not that I left, but that I didn't keep in touch, especially with you. I thought it would be easier for everyone…." She looked thoughtful.

"Was it?" asked Molly.

"No. Not easier. I can't think why I didn't see it before. Although I'm not sure it was harder, at least for me. I had to go through what I went—am going through. But it must have been worse for you, and everyone. I apologize." Hermione laughed a little bitterly. "I don't suppose a simple apology really makes things right between us, but I am sorry."

"Make it right by telling us about Ron's death," said Molly bluntly. Arthur gave her a sharp look, but Hermione nodded.

"I will," she said, "but let's wait until after tea. I don't want to be interrupted." She paused a little awkwardly. "Tell me about the wedding."

Molly happily chattered about the wedding, and Ginny's dress (cream silk, knee-length, ceremony in the garden, you know) and the cake (four tiers of hazelnut butter cake, with burnt sugar buttercream frosting) and the guests (Auntie Muriel, heaven help us, we'd hoped her doxy fever would keep her bedbound, although I always suspected that her doxy fever was more a matter of convenience…) and the weather (Percy said he'd see if the Ministry would allow us a weather charm—surely for Harry Potter…).

The tea arrived between the cake and the guests, but Hermione, while enjoying the conversation, couldn't eat. She wasn't afraid of telling them, anymore, but the topic still made her sick. If she was going to be sick, better to have less in her stomach.

"I see you're still not eating enough," said Molly with a glance at Hermione's plate, "although you don't look as thin as I expected. You must've learned to eat while studying."

Hermione laughed, "I learned to cook; it's very relaxing, but I rarely have guests over, so if I cook it, I eat it." Her fastidious nature would never allow her to waste food. "But I'm not eating now because I need to tell you about Ron, and I'm afraid I might be sick."

She stopped, wondering if she shouldn't have said that, but Arthur nodded in understanding.

"Tell us now, before you have time to worry more. We're ready," he said calmly.

Haltingly, Hermione began to tell them about the woods, falling and breaking her wand, Ron trying to help her and then…the blood, everywhere. She faltered as she thought of killing the Death Eater. I felt it crunch. And then the choking. Her stomach turned. She couldn't bear to tell them. She just told them about trying to heal the wound, and that nothing worked. I couldn't cast with the other one's wand. I failed. No, they don't need to know that. She told them that he'd told her he loved her and died, and that she'd sat beside his body crying until she had to run again, and then she'd had to fight.

Molly was crying softly when Hermione ran out of words. Arthur was pale, but he looked straight at Hermione, saying, "There was nothing you could have done. Not with a broken wand. And not, I imagine, even with all your new skills as a doctor."

Roughly wiping her own eyes, Hermione agreed, "With what I had to work with there, knowing what I know now, I couldn't have saved him. But if he hadn't been trying to help me…"

"You would've been killed," Molly finished. "We don't blame you, Hermione."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, and the tears started to run down her face again.

A/N: This is edited so that the breaks between 'scenes' show up now. I jumped into this feet first and without a flotation device, so please forgive the all my floundering as I continue on...