A/N: I've started a rewrite of this story. This chapter is almost identical to the original, with a few spelling/grammar changes. New rewrites and original chapters soon!
Please insert your favorite disclaimer about not owning Harry & Co. here. Thank you...saves me the trouble of inventing a unique one. xD
"Ok, Hermione, I think we've proven that you can perform the Hopping Hex silently before I can Shield myself. Can I please have a turn trying to hex you? I mean, we all know you'll block it, but it's worth a shot, surely!" Hermione had to strain a little to hear Ron because he was bouncing rather rapidly from the floor to the ceiling as a result of an enthusiastic Hopping Hex from Hermione. It was Wednesday, and Hermione was having a laugh at Ron's expense while they were supposed to be warming up for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Kingsley Shaklebolt, Professor Shacklebolt as the students called him, decided that the first fifteen minutes of each class should be spent practicing hexing and shielding oneself from hexes in partners before moving on to more difficult and dangerous things.
"Ron, I can't hear you. Let me get you down from that," Hermione offered.
"I'm quite capable of doing it myself. Hold on a minute…" Ron pointed his wand at himself and mumbled a "statianacorpus". His bouncing slowed, but he turned an interesting shade of orange. Professor Shaklebolt stepped into the room.
"Nice Hopper Hermione. Ten points to Gryffindor for creativity and perfect execution. The Headmistress would like a word with you in the hallway, though. Take your things with you; the day is almost over.—you'll be able to catch up the work missed, at any rate. You're excused form this class. Here Ron, let me set you down and then we'll see about your colouring. I think you may have mispronounced the counter spell. Let me show you…"
Hermione left class a little perplexed. Students were only ever called out of class for terrible wrongdoing, and then it was usually Filch and the Head of House. Though McGonagall was both Headmistress and Head of House for the year (Shaklebolt had been a Ravenclaw), her professor had referred to McGonagall as Headmistress, not as her Head of House. And Hermione's rule-breaking was rarely the kind of mischief one got called out of class for.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" asked a genuinely puzzled Hermione.
"Let's walk to my office, shall we Miss Granger?"
"Which one?" Hermione joked. McGonagall didn't smile.
"I'm afraid I have some rather bad news for you, Miss Granger. Please, sit down,"
Hermione couldn't believe it. Just last night, she and Harry and Ron had stayed up late, playing wizard's chess while her mother was being murdered. McGonagall had taken her to the Headmistress's office. There, she had explained that Mr. Granger had come home late from a business trip to find the door to his house ajar and his wife dead inside. He immediately called the police. Dumbledore's portrait offered its condolences, which Hermione barely heard, but appreciated all the same. Now, she was packing her trunk.
With all these muggle killings recently, the Ministry had thought it wise to place a mid-ranking Auror in the police force to deal with the deaths of the muggle relatives of particularly strong witches or wizards. Voldemort sometimes decided it was best to eliminate the bloodline entirely. He wasn't one for leaving any potential enemies alive. When the Police Auror saw the Dark Mark hovering above the Granger residence, there could be no doubt left that this death was more than just a random act of Muggle violence.
He sent word to Arthur Weasley, Head of the Order, that a muggle woman had been worth enough to set a Mark for. Well, that's something, at least, Hermione thought choking on her tears, she was "worth" a Dark Mark. The sorrow was unimaginable. Hermione had been sure that her mother, a muggle, would be safe from Voldemort. But nowadays, who is?
"Hermione, McGonagall just told us!" It was Ron's voice calling from downstairs. Ron's voice, penetrating the fog of her thoughts.
"'Moine, you know we can't come up there! If you'll just come out to the stairs. Everyone's at dinner; we can talk in the common room, or head to Myrtle's toilet and make her leave us alone…anything you want."
Ron and Harry, I can't leave them like this. I have to go see them. I have to talk to them about it.
"Sorry, guys, I was just packing up some clothes. I have to go back for the funeral. I think I'll only be gone two weeks. I can't stand to miss much more with our NEWTS coming up, can I?"
Ron and Harry gave each other a look. Hermione could see that they saw right through her "typical Hermione" attitude, but she was grateful that they didn't burst the semblance of normality.
"I'll be back soon. Don't you two fail all your coursework just because you can't cheat off of me."
McGonagall had told Hermione to meet her in the Entrance Hall as soon as she was done packing and eating dinner, if she wanted any. McGonagall strongly suspected that she wouldn't. Hermione arrived in the Hall at 5:30 sharp. McGonagall had already spoken with Mr. Granger and notified him that Hermione's things would be arriving sometime that evening. McGonagall sent Hermione's trunk off at once. She then led Hermione down to Hogsmeade, bought her some Honeydukes' chocolate and held her hand as they both apparated in Hermione's bedroom to avoid Muggle detection.
McGonagall thought it might be more polite if they pretended Mr. Granger had let them in in the first place, so Hermione showed her the way she always used to sneak out of the house as a child. Hermione, being young and flexible managed the climb out of the window and down the lattice quite easily. McGonagall judged she could make the jump to the shed roof more easily as a cat. Back in human form, the two snuck quietly to the front of the house and Hermione rang her own doorbell.
Mr. Granger came to the door. " 'Ello? Oo's there? Oh, Hermione, s'you," Mr. Granger slurred his words a little. Both Hermione and McGonagall could see tear-tracks down his face. " 'N you must be Professor McGonagall. I r'member you from tha' conv'rsation in the fir'place. Won' fer'git that, no'ma'am."
"Yes, well, I think it's time I left you, Miss Granger. I'm sure you and your father would like to talk a few things over," said McGonagall, all business. But Hermione could sense something else in McGonagall, pity, warning maybe? "Owl me if you have any difficulties or if you would like more time. If not, I'll be back to pick you up, two weeks from today, at 7:00 PM. You're sure you don't want to make alternate living arrangements for the both of you? You would be welcome to—. No, I suppose not then. I'll see you in two weeks Miss Granger." And she disapparated—back to Hogsmeade, presumably.
Mr. Granger turned without another word and slunk back into the house. Hermione supposed she shouldn't feel the need to be invited into her own house. It still smelled like the cleaning products her mother used, but Hermione noticed that the sink held several unwashed dishes and the stove was greasy. Not her father's usual standard of clean. Nothing about the hunched, ashen-faced man seemed to be her father.
Short A/N: Tell me what you thought...good or bad, please. I'm not gonna beg for reviews again, so please save me the suspense of knowing your deepest, darkest thoughts about my fic, and review every chance you get!