Taking Care of Those You Love:
Meticulous Planning and Execution
"Hermione? Hermione. Hermione, dear? You've barely touched your food. Are you alright?"
"What?" Hermione's head snapped up from her plate. "Oh, yes Mum, I'm fine." Not true, she thought. "Really, I guess I just overexerted myself today. I – erm – went into town and did a lot of walking, I suppose."
Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a slightly suspicious look, followed by a pointed glance at her husband, and then returned to her food. Mr. Granger cleared his throat.
"You got into town? Without a car?" Mr. Granger looked confused and then his face brightened. "Oh, is this that Appa--, Appear--, that thing where you pop about from place to place? Fascinating. Damn convenient, too."
"It's called Apparition, I believe," Mrs. Granger said. She turned her attention to her daughter, who was not following the conversation but rather was shifting the greens about on her plate in a somewhat listless manner. From far away, Hermione heard her name being called again. "Hermione? Is that what it's called?"
"What?" Her head snapped up again. "Oh—yes. I Apparated. I got my license this past year."
"Oh!" Mr. Granger looked slightly taken aback. The smile on her father's face looked a bit forced as he continued. "Well, that's – that's wonderful. I say, then, we won't have to worry about you driving, will we! Good thing too, the way people can be on the roads these days…I was looking forward to teaching you how to drive, but of course you wouldn't need to know that, would you?" Hermione's father seemed to be lost in thought for a moment and he smiled again. "And speaking of driving!" Mr. Granger leaned forward, looking genuinely excited. "Hermione, what do you say we drive down to the coast for the weekend? It's only a couple of hours away, and we haven't been down since before you started at Hogwarts, your mother and I just…thought it might…Hermione?"
He paused uncertainly as his daughter's eyes had unexpectedly filled with tears. A trip to the coast? It wasn't unusual for her family to go on holiday but normally, it was planned meticulously (by her mother) beforehand. Hermione knew this spontaneous trip – which would surely put her parents behind at work – was their attempt to bring her out of the mood that she'd been in over the past few weeks. Initially, they must have assumed that the death of her headmaster had upset her (although she had told them it was due to old age) but her sadness had not lifted in all the weeks she'd been home; rather, it had intensified. Hermione could only imagine how bewildered and worried her parents were. Hermione had tried to be cheerful and normal. It was torture for her every time she had to force a smile on her face and say yes, of course she was fine, why wouldn't she be? But Hermione knew that her parents noticed when she stared off into space or got unexpectedly emotional.
Unexpectedly emotional, like right now. Hermione felt her throat closing up and she cleared it before saying, "The coast? That sounds really – really lovely, Dad."
"Hermione, are you really alright?" asked her mother for the second time.
"Yes, Mum. It's just that—that it has been a long time since we've been, I was just thinking about it, is all." Another lie, she thought. If there was any silver lining to this horrible situation she was in, she thought it was that at least in a few hours time, she would be able to stop lying to her parents. Granted, it didn't mean that she would be telling them the truth. Maybe someday…
But Hermione couldn't finish that thought, in part because she did not know how long it would be before she returned home. If she did at all. Stop it, she thought firmly. She was not going to be morbid. This was indeed her last night at home with her parents, and she refused to allow it to be ruined by her moping over her vegetables. She blinked away her tears and smiled at her parents, saying,
"You know, Apparition really is very fascinating. I never really went into the details of it in my letters, it's really quite hard to describe…" And Hermione talked the evening away with her mother and father, allowing herself in the lightheartedness of their conversations to forget that it may be the last night they would have together for a long time.
That night, Hermione lay fully dressed on her bed, waiting until she was sure that her parents were asleep. She had forbidden herself to cry; partly for fear that her parents might hear her and come to investigate, but mostly because she was afraid that once she began, it was unlikely that she would stop for quite a while and she couldn't afford the interruption. Instead, she repeated a mantra in her head that distracted her enough to stem her emotions. This is the sensible thing to do. Death Eaters could find them. They could question them, torture them at the very least for information about Harry. They mustn't ever be found. I won't let them be found. And if I die, they'll be better off not remembering me anyway. A deep breath. This is the sensible thing to do…
Finally, at half past one, she crept out of bed, wand in hand, down the hall to her parents' bedroom. She eased the door open and in the darkness, she made out her parents' figures under the covers, breathing gently, fast asleep. One errant tear slipped down her cheek as Hermione recalled saying goodnight to her parents. She had hugged each of them tightly and kissed them, the way she would say goodbye at King's Cross at the start of the school year, not the way she would say goodnight at the end of an evening. Both her mother and father had looked at her bemusedly as they hugged her back, and her father had reminded her with a pat on her head to "Get a good night's sleep. We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning" to which Hermione could only reply shakily "I—I love you, Dad, Mum. Sleep well." Her mother had kissed her on the forehead and smiled, even though the concern never really left her eyes. Then she had shut the bedroom door behind her.
Hermione now looked at her parents' sleeping forms and steeled herself. She knew that after this, after her meticulous planning, there would be no turning back. Before, when it had all been in her head, it had been easy to think about what she was planning to do in the abstract, like an assignment to complete. But now…Hermione pointed her wand at each of her parents in turn, concentrating harder than she ever had, and spoke firmly.
"Confundo."
Hermione watched as her parents began to stir; the charm had been bound to wake them up. She couldn't afford for that to happen. She steeled herself once more and murmured "Stupefy" as well. Hermione gave her parents' still forms one last, desperate look and shut the door behind her. She only had about five hours to do what needed to be done, and the sooner she got this hell over with, the better.
Earlier that day, Hermione did in fact go into town, where she visited the bank that her parents used. She had performed a subtle Confundus Charm on the teller (she was developing a strong dislike for that charm), which allowed him to placidly move all of her parents' money from her parents' account to that of a fictional couple by the name of Wendell and Monica Wilkins.
Hermione now went throughout the house and either changed all the names on the post, the bills, the credit cards, or deposited any items in a large bag that she had magicked to carry immense loads. She placed travel guides called "Australia: Adventures Down Under" and "Cavorting with the Kangaroos" on the kitchen table.
She snuck onto her parents' computer (her father had taught her the basics of working a computer and luckily, he never logged out of his email account) and she wrote an email to the secretary at their office. Her father had mentioned the other night that Ellie was thinking about changing jobs.
Dear Ellie,
This may come as a shock to you, but we won't be returning on Monday to work. Actually, we'll be leaving for Australia on an extended holiday and I can't honestly tell you when to expect us back. I know this is very abrupt but we've decided that we need really need the break. If you would please contact all of our patients and tell them we apologize for the trouble and suggest David's office on Eubarrow St. for appointments, we'd really appreciate it. I've mailed you a cheque which has your last week's pay and an additional bonus for the trouble we'll be putting you through.
You've been so good to us, and we'll make sure to contact you straightaway when we return in case you are still interested in working for us.
Hermione signed the letter from her parents and began another. She wrote other emails to her parents' friends and her father's brother. She had always wanted a big family but now at least, it was convenient that both her parents' families were very small. Nevertheless, the entire process took the better part of an hour. She had to be careful to keep the emails deliberately vague while putting in enough details to make it sound believable. When she was done, she sighed. That had been the easy part.
Then Hermione combed the house a second time, this time removing any framed photographs on the walls that had her in it. Her first day of kindergarten, in the bag. The three of them in France by the Louvre, in the bag. The family trip to the coast the summer before Hogwarts, in the bag. Her baby album, in the bag. Her ribbons for winning top student of her class all through Muggle primary school all went in the bag. Hermione worked methodically and quickly, as if doing so would lessen the sharpness of the pain. But each thud of the pictures in the bag was like a razor-sharp jab in her heart, and the bare walls only seemed to reflect how empty she felt inside.
Hermione went last to her room. There were scrawls on the bottom of the wall nearest the door where Hermione had written out the alphabet, perfectly penned, at the age of two and a half. She cleaned the wall with her wand. There were pictures of her, Ron, and Harry, another of her and Ginny, on her bedside table. Her first Hogwarts letter was framed on her wall. Children's books on her shelf. All of them went into the bag. Hermione remade her bed and transfigured a pen holder into a vase full of dried flowers. Her Hogwarts trunk was packed and she dragged it from the room into the hall. One last sweeping glance into her bedroom revealed nothing more than a bed, a desk and dresser, and a vase full of flowers. Hermione waved her wand and a light layer of dust sprinkled on the desk. Indeed, it passed for a perfectly pleasant and rarely used guest bedroom.
She checked her watch and found that it was almost six. Hermione went down to the basement, where her parents stored most of their unused furniture and several old mementos in boxes. Hermione created an illusion on one side of the wall which made it appear to extend much farther than it actually did and shoved the now humongous bag and all the boxes past the illusion, safely stowing them away from her parents' sight, should they ever come down here. This took almost an hour, even with magic. At almost a quarter to seven she went back upstairs, wracking her brain for more to do. She double and triple checked the walls, the shelves, the closets, the filing cabinets, for any indications that she had ever lived here, much less a couple by the name of Granger. She dragged her trunk down the steps and out the front door and then slowly, painfully, made her way back up the steps and down the hall to her parents' bedroom.
Looking at her parents, Hermione felt the first shudder of a sob come on and she rushed to them, kissing her mother and father each several times, tears streaming down her face. She tripped on the rug as she backed out of the room. In the doorway, she pointed her wand at her parents once again—they had now become two dark blurs to her through her tears—and whispered "Ennervate." As they began to stir, Hermione left the room, leaving only a crack open in the doorway to stop and listen. She heard her mother's yawn first, and then her voice.
"Wendell? Wendell."
"Mmph."
"I was thinking…what do you say to finally moving to Australia? I just had the most marvelous dream about it."
"Really? Monica, are you sure?"
"Perfectly. We've always talked about it, and we don't have anything holding us back. We can always change jobs. We're not close to anyone around here. And it's not as if we have any children of our own to worry ab—"
At this, Hermione, unable to take any more, ran down the hall as quietly as she could and out the front door, where she grabbed her trunk, eyes streaming, and dragged it down the street to the end of the block. There, exhausted more by emotion than exertion, she stopped, sank onto her trunk, and finally let go.
Hermione sobbed without a care, unaware of how much time had passed. She glanced up only when she heard a front door open down the street. It was her father, coming out to get the paper. He spotted her only after he had picked it up. She was far enough away that although he could make her out, he couldn't see that she had tears tracking down her cheeks. Thus, when he did spot her, he only looked confused as to why there was a girl sitting on a strange box by herself so early in the morning. After pausing, he gave a general, good natured sort of wave and walked back inside the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
Hermione gave a ragged breath and stared at the door, hoping irrationally that it would burst open and her father would remerge and call for her. Then she shook her head hard and forced herself to pull her thoughts together. Grasping the handle of her trunk and closing her eyes, Hermione thought of the place that, for now, she would have to think of as home.
She pictured in her mind the tall redhead she knew would be waiting for her on a hill overlooking the Burrow. With a Pop!, Hermione Disapparated.