Just In Case We Can't
Dear Arthur,
I know that all my correspondence has been with Molly, so we don't know much about each other, which is why I'm writing this to you.
I've always been afraid of losing Hermione, from the second they placed her in my arms, and to the minute I entered the hospital wing last year to collect her. It's a brand new world out there, wherever you are, and I can't be a part of it, I can't take care of her when she's there.
I know hardly anything about what's happened at school, about what's happened out of it, I only know that my daughter, my only daughter keeps coming home with injuries.
We keep getting letters telling us something dreadful has happened. In her first year it was that a troll had attacked her, and she'd been rescued by your son. In her second, it was a giant snake. By her third year, she was getting taught by a werewolf, helping a convicted murderer escape and having creatures try to suck the soul out of her. Her fourth year, she got sent to the bottom of a lake, where she had to stay with merpeople while waiting for some boy to rescue her. Then, when I thought it couldn't get any worse, we got the worst one of them all. She was in the hospital wing of the school, not responding to any treatment. It nearly killed me.
At first, I tried my hardest to blame you, to blame your son, but then I realised that if it weren't for him and Harry, she mightn't have gotten half as far as she did. My daughter's life is permanently in grave danger, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
She's changed too. My Hermione used to be extremely chatty and couldn't wait to get home for the holidays. Now, she's withdrawn, unresponsive when we ask about school and she can't seem to get out of here fast enough. Since she started at that school, we've had her home for the summer three times out of five. I keep waiting for the day she doesn't even bother to come home. Thankfully, I know that you and your wife won't let that come.
I know there's not much you can do about this, but she's my little girl and I know you have one of your own. All I ask, is that if anything is to happen to my husband and I, is that you promise to take care of her. I know enough about you to know that you already do, but I need you to promise me that you will take care of Hermione, just in case we can't.
Regards,
Jean Granger
Jean sealed the envelope, writing Arthur's name across the front even as she realised she had no way of sending it. Instead, she laid it down on the table and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Once more, she counted the blessing that led to the fact that Hermione was still at home, at least until Ron invited her to the Burrow.
Hermione was first one awake that morning, and walked slowly down the stairs, wincing at the pain in her side. She walked through the living room, stopping only to pick up the envelope sitting on the table and frowning at the name written in her mother's loopy handwriting. As she brewed a cup of tea, she heard a tapping on the window, and looked up to see Errol. She let the owl in and swapped his letter for the one her mother had written, and then sent him off into the morning air.
Arthur removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he read Jean's letter. He didn't know how to respond to the subjects she covered in her letter. He looked up just as Percy walked past the door, pointedly not looking at his father. He realised then that he knew exactly how Jean felt. He picked up a piece of paper and wrote a short message on it before heading down to the Atrium where he swiftly located the post owls.
Two weeks after the disappearance of the letter she'd written Arthur, Jean was awoken by the arrival of an owl, bearing a letter addressed to her. She opened the envelope, confusion etched across her face.
I promise. Just in case you can't.
