Hello! I'm back, with a brand new addition. Anyone else just hear Vanilla Ice? No, just me?

Here is chapter one of what will be another multi-chaptered fanfic. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think. This is sort of a prelim chapter to set a tone for the mood of the piece, and the action will pick up from here on out. Thanks so much for taking the time to read!

Chapter 1

The window of the small stone room was open, breathing a shiver of wind through the crack. The gust rustled the crimson bed curtains, causing the bottom hems of the fabric to unsettle a few dust bunnies underneath the four post bed. Hermione tsked low under her breath, momentarily regretting that she'd given the house elves leave to ignore her room all year. Being Head Girl of Gryffindor came with more benefits than just a private bedroom, but the personal house elf that came with said room wasn't something she could have stomached.

Hermione dropped to her knees to peer under the bed, inspecting for any other hidden surprises. A quick glance was enough to confirm what she already knew: it was all cleared out, save a few more clumps of dust. She said a hurried vanishing spell to clean up the mess and stood once again to survey the room that had been hers the last nine months. For some time the space had been filled to bursting with her stock of books, quills, papers, jumpers and letters, as well as the occasional photograph, both of the moving and Muggle variety. Now, it was all packed up. The room could have belonged to anyone; there was nothing left to show that Hermione Granger had ever lived there.

The last time she left Hogwarts, she'd thought to never return. That had been a difficult goodbye, of course, but for a completely unique set of reasons. She was rushing off to an uncertain future, leaving so many things undone. Certain death was in front of her. She had done it willingly, but it had been a terrifying path to set out on. In the rush of it all, there hadn't been much time for reflection, no moment for a sentimental recollection of the memories she'd built at this castle for the bulk of her life. Now, there was nothing to do but sit and think.

The war to defeat Voldemort had been over mere weeks when she got her letter to return to school. She'd known immediately she was going to take the opportunity. She'd been at the Burrow then and Ginny was already planning to return, so it had seemed only natural. And really, it had always been such a goal of hers to finish school, it had meant so much to her. Amid all the sadness and grieving, here was a bright spot, a chance of fantasizing about herself back in her natural habitat. It was an offer to feel like herself once more, surrounded by the books and lectures and assignments she adored. Learning had been more to her than just the completion of homework, though she'd be hard pressed to convince her school mates of that.

No, learning was a great deal more. Books and studies meant always having a resource, a guide to go to when life presented a problem. It meant having an escape, whether that escape was a literal one while looking for a spell to save your life or an imaginary one, the kind of retreat where you could get away for a few hours, flee to a beautiful world when the one you really lived in made you feel small and boring and friendless. That was what language and understanding meant to Hermione, and here was a chance to get a bit of it back.

She'd told Harry and Ron immediately, and they both seemed unsurprised. And supportive. They wanted what was best for her, obviously, and would miss her, even more obviously. Because despite how much of a threesome they had become, Ron and Harry wouldn't be joining her. Harry had an invite with the Auror department and Ron…Ron…had received the same invitation, but opted to stay on with George at the shop instead. It had been amazing to watch him step up for his brother in such an unselfish way. Anyone who knew him understood what it cost Ron not to continue on with Harry, but he never breathed a word of the sacrifice. George accepted the help quietly, as if feeling the weight of the gift but knowing he couldn't properly thank the giver adequately through words.

A knock at the door broke Hermione's concentration and she turned to see Ginny in the open entry. The redhead gave a small smile, already recognizing Hermione's hesitation to leave. They'd always been close, but had grown even more so this past year. They'd both had the boys to lean on for so long, and these months having only each other had given them new perspective into each other. It was genuinely the closest Hermione had even felt to another female.

"I'm coming," Hermione said quietly. "I promise."

Ginny raised a brow as if she didn't believe it, but walked in without protest anyway. She looked around the room for herself, looking to help by finding any left behind object, some forgotten tie or sock that could be recovered at the last minute. But there was nothing. It was just as Hermione had thought; there had been plenty of time to prepare for this goodbye.

"Your trunks downstairs?"

Hermione nodded her head in the affirmative. Three identical leather trunks sat stacked in the center of the Gryffindor common room, each with a delicate gold "HG" embellished on its side, carried down dutifully for her by sweet Dennis Creevey. Hermione spared a moment to remember Colin. She closed her eyes against a flash of memory, seeing his smiling face that afternoon when all the petrified victims of the basilisk had been awakened. She closed her eyelids tighter as a second vision, of Colin dead on the floor, struck even sharper across her memory.

"Okay?" Ginny asked gently. Hermione nodded again, her eyes still closed, before opening them to look back at her friend.

"Just give me a moment and I'll be down, yes?"

Ginny looked reluctant.

"I need a minute by myself."

Ginny seemed to give in at that, hearing some unspoken explanation of all the feeling rushing Hermione in that instant. There had been a time when Ginny would rally against such inclinations, shove back when others tried to push her away, still so scared of being the one left behind. That had changed these past months, as if Ginny finally understood she couldn't hold onto something by grasping it tighter. Ginny's strength had always been her ability to give what was needed, and she'd embraced it this year.

Alone once more, Hermione walked to the window and pushed it closed with force. There was an uneven groove along the edge of the sill, a bump that had always made it near impossible to close the window properly. Hermione wondered now why she had never thought to fix it with magic. Are you a witch or not?

Hermione whipped around against the voice, the silent words echoing only in her mind. Her back to the window, she still felt a chill, though the panes were mostly shut and the summer air outside had to be at a warm temperature. But Hermione had seen the clouds collecting out somewhere near the Forbidden Forest and she knew they'd be on the castle soon. It would be a cold and wet ride in the Hogwarts Express, a fitting scene for her last departure.

Hermione was sad to be leaving, yes, but not only because of the professors and friends and classes she would be saying farewell to. There was a reunion waiting for her at home…she stumbled over the words. At the Burrow. It wasn't her home, it was her friend's home. She herself had no home to speak of. She was going to the home of her friend, Ginny, and Hermione was certain it would offer none of the comfort she had come to associate it with.

Ron Weasley was dead, and the Burrow would never look the same again.