Prolouge

Dawn. Hermione Granger peered out her bedroom window. Nothing. There had been no stars that night, but more importantly, no glittering green serpent had appeared in the sky. Glancing over her room one last time, she flicked her wand and levitated her trunk out her bedroom door and down the stairs.

She surveyed her mother's kitchen. The worn wooded table was set for breakfast, and a pot of tea was boiling on the stove. Hermione lowered her trunk to the ground next to the fireplace, and checked the flowerpot of Floo powder again.

"Good morning, darling."

"Morning, Mum," said Hermione, turning to peck her mother on the cheek as she emerged from the pantry. "How long have you been up?"

Ellen Granger cracked an egg into a mixing bowl. "Not long at all. I'm surprised you didn't beat me down here, you've been waiting for this all month."

"All summer, Mum," said Hermione, going to the fridge and pulling out an apple. She winced. "I didn't mean it like that, Mum. I missed you and Dad all year. I always do. But I need to be with Harry. And with Ron. They need me."

Mrs. Granger smiled to herself. "I know, dear. I know what you meant."

A yowl broke the silence that had fallen. Crookshanks barreled through the door, in hot pursuit of a tiny ball of fluff hovering a few feet above the ground. Pig had made his presence known.

Hermione clapped her hands, and Pig zoomed over to her. Zipping around in the air, he hovered just long enough for Hermione to untie the letter he was carrying, and he was off again.

It was from Ginny.

Hermione,

You can't get here fast enough. Fleur is driving me mad, fretting. I told her that Bill will think she looks fine. Why the bloody hell does she insist on fussing when she's unbearably gorgeous? If anyone was going to fuss, it should be me.

Charlie, Fred and George are all here, and they're all talking in low voices over in one corner. Order business, obviously. But am I allowed to listen? Or contribute? Of course not. Does it matter that I was at the Ministry two years ago? Or that I fought at the end of last year? Not a smidge. I feel useless. Mum keeps telling me to help her wash dishes, or something. I'm going to scream if I can't be useful.

Ron's driving me spare, too. Keeps checking the clock, and then his trunk and then he peers out windows as if watching for an owl. I told him the Cannons didn't have an icicle's chance in hell of winning another match for the next five years and he smiled. Smiled!

Help.

Ginny

Hermione smiled grimly, and slipped the letter into her back pocket. Poor Gin. She'd be even angrier when she found out what she, Harry and Ron were planning. Hermione hoped Ginny wouldn't try to follow them. Molly Weasley was fierce, but Ginny could be a force of nature at times.

"Is everything all right, dear?" her mum asked.

"Just fine." Hermione's heart clenched again. She was lying to her parents, too. They had no idea that their only child was planning to skip her final year of school and go traipsing around England looking for Dark objects. "Ginny's just asked me to bring a book she leant me."

Mrs. Granger accepted this explanation without a second thought. Her mind didn't even fully register it, because at that moment her husband entered the kitchen. She kissed him. "Hello, love."

Mr. Granger swept his petite wife into his arms and kissed her again. "Morning," he said, as he put her down. He came over to his daughter and kissed the top of her head. "Morning, darling."

Hermione beamed up at her father. "Hi Daddy."

"It's the big day, isn't it? Excited? Nervous? Happy?"

Hermione smiled. "Daddy, it's not me getting married. Honestly."

Bill Granger winked. "But it could be soon! I saw that young redhead watching you in the station when we picked you up this year. Strapping young lad."

Hermione blushed faintly, but merely said "Daddy, Ron was worried about me, that's all. Dark wizards, Death Eaters…you never know."

Mr. Granger smiled. "If you're with him or Harry, dear, I won't worry about you. They both love you very much. In different ways, of course."

"Honestly!" was the only word Hermione could get out. Ron, Ron was her friend. That was all he wanted. She pushed down the warm feeling in her stomach she got from hearing his name. He had held her at the funeral, in his arms, and she had felt so safe, and he had smoothed her hair away from her face and his arms were so strong and he was so solid to hold onto…

"Hermione?"

Hermione blushed, again. 'Stop doing that!' she told herself sternly. "Sorry Mum. What did you say?"

"I asked if you had gotten your Head Girl letter yet."

Hermione shrugged. "No. But I got a note from Professor McGonagall saying they might be a little delayed this year. They might not even announce it until we reach Hogwarts." Again, the twinge in her gut. She was lying. She had gotten her letter, but had thrown it in the rubbish bin without even opening it. She didn't want to read the letter congratulating her on getting the position she would never fill.

Ellen Granger shrugged. "Well, you'll get it, I'm sure. We're so proud of you, darling. Our little girl, all grown up. Her last year at Hogwarts." She walked over to Hermione and wrapped her arms around her. "I am so, so incredibly proud of you, my darling girl."

Hermione couldn't help it. She felt tears spring to her eyes. She would not cry. She squeezed her eyes shut, but they seeped out. A sob escaped her throat. Hermione felt her father's strong arms wrap around her and her mother.

The Grangers stood in their kitchen, holding each other. Hermione cried, praying for the safety of her parents. 'Please, please, whoever is out there…help them. Keep them safe this year…I love them so much. Keep my parents safe.'

Finally, the clock chimed seven. The three broke apart, and Hermione wiped her eyes. "I'd better go. They'll wonder where I am and worry." Her mother nodded, wiping her own eyes. "Go, go, I don't want Molly to fret. Try and write. I love you." She kissed her daughter on the cheek one last time. Hermione pressed her hand there, trying to preserve it in her heart.

Her father dropped her trunk in the fireplace and turned to her. "Well, darling girl. This is it, for another year. I love you." He swept her up into his arms like he had done since she was a child. Hermione clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing in her father's scent, a mix of spices and burning leaves.

"I love you Daddy. So much. Be safe. Please take care of Mum."

He laughed. "I always do." Planting one last kiss in her hair, he lowered her to the floor. "Say...where's Crookshanks? Don't want to forget him, now, do you?"

The twinge was turning into a wrench. "Actually," she lied, " I though I'd have him stay here this year. He developed a dislike of one of the first year's toads last year. I told Micah I'd leave him at home. Besides, you'll both get to spend some more time with him, I know you love him!" She smiled brightly. "Well, then, that's it. I should really go now. I'm three minutes late as it is."

Ellen allowed herself to be pulled into the arms of her husband. "Goodbye, darling. The year will be over before you know it. Be safe." She waved to her daughter, now standing in the fireplace with her trunk and a handful of Floo powder.

Hermione was blinking back tears. She prayed it would not be the last time she would see her parents. She tried to fix every detail of them in her mind. Her mother's slightly rumpled blouse, her father's crazy graying hair. Her mother's kind brown eyes. Her father's warm smile. " I love you both," she said.

"The Burrow!"

A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm not new to the site, but I'm pretending I am. I wrote a few fics, a looong time ago, but they were very bad and I dislike being reminded of them. So, let's just call this my first story, ok? K.

Now that the requisite introductions are over and done with:

I love reviews.

I like NICE reviews, and reviews with CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM. Don't be nasty, please. I'll send out my flying monkeys.

This is a D/G fic with loads of R/Hr. If you don't ship it, don't read it. Or, you can read it if you want to, but don't review and whine about it. I'm not forcing you to read it.

I'll probably be updating this pretty often, but Audrey, my muse, is known to take sudden, month long holidays with jet-setting playboys. She comes back with killer tans and I'm stuck here tapping my fingers impatiently. So don't blame me, blame Audrey. And if it's not Audrey, then it's that other foe of mine, real life.

But I'll try REALLY hard. Swear.

And now on with the story!

Next: Hermione arrives at the Burrow. Ron is at the Burrow. 'Awww' alert.