I sat down to write something a bit more M rated, but I couldn't get the first line out of my head, born from some personal issues I'm currently dealing with. So, as I was writing out how I felt, I decided to turn it into fanfiction, as one does. Writing can be very therapeutic. Who knew?

Self doubt is a crippling thing.

Especially when you strive so hard to do everything so perfectly.

When you trust your intuition because it is widely known, and is told to you, and to others, for so many years, by people whom you look up to and respect their opinions and decisions, that you are the brightest witch they have ever known.

The proof is all right there for anyone to find. Find any essay, and it will have the highest marks, and will surely be inches longer than required, sometimes needing another sheet of parchment. Results of her O.W.L.S: As many O's as she could manage, which is all of them, falling straight down in a line, one after another. But with that all that knowledge, all that work she puts into cramming all the history, all the spells, all the facts and numbers and names… is it enough?

She studied it, back to front, and sideways, and back again. But there is no way to test it, to find out for sure if it will work. And all of that cleverness and intellect, what good is it if she can't predict the future? You can plan for any possible outcome, prepare for the worst, and hope for the best, but unless you know for sure what will happen… is it worth the risk?

The alternative is not an option. She can't just leave them here. And the Death Eaters, with their hatred for muggles, would love nothing more than to target ones whose daughter is helping Harry Potter, their Dark Lord's arch enemy. Keeping them here, even under the heaviest of protection spells, will not work. Look what happened to Harry's parents… you can never be too careful. Not at a time like this. Whether or not she lives til the end of this war, she can at least find a small comfort in them being safe.

But it is only that small comfort that is keeping this option open, to obliviate their minds, to not only make them forget her, but to move them as far away as humanly possible. They have to forget her, because if, for some horrific reason, they are found, they won't be able to give her away, even through magical means. She has to be deleted, for self-preservation purposes. But there is another reason, a more heart breaking reason, for them to forget her existence, for if she does not make it back to them they will be able to live on happily, together, never having to learn of her death- Never having to mourn the child they never knew.

But will it work? And will she be able to reverse it if she does find them again? Not to mention the moral implications of mucking around with someone's mind… two of them, in fact. She has to do this twice, one after the other, and that thought alone is enough to send her spiraling once again, down into the nether of negativity and doubt...

The doubt that has set in, even stronger now. It has taken a seat, tapping its foot, waiting impatiently for her to crumble, to bail out and crawl back into her soft, cozy bed until she can think of another solution. But she doesn't have the time. An she's done the research; She knows there isn't another way. She is merely hoping, and hope has a way of making one stagnant. Hope, for her, is a hinderance, in this case. Right now she has to move, quit staring at the wallpaper in her childhood bedroom- the room she no longer identifies with, with it's non-magical things such as electric lamps and non-moving photos.

She sniffs, and closes her eyes as a tear rolls down her cheek. How had everything gotten so complicated? How did she get herself into this? How can she get them all out of it- herself, her family, her friends? She puts her head in her hands and lets out a sob, and it feels good to let it go; just one loud sound to empty herself of just a bit of the terror, and stress, that has been building up inside of her for weeks.

The pressure that others unintentionally put on her to be the best at knowing things is nothing compared to what she does to herself on a daily basis. She can't help being this way, determined to always be particular about what is right, and to correct others. Highly logical, perceptive… smart. She is proud of those words being associated with her persona, but sometimes she felt the burden, heavy like an elephant sitting on her chest, and all she wanted was to be weightless.

Her thoughts turn to Ron, and how he is expecting her today. How he has no idea what she is about to do. After it's done, and after she leaves the house, probably for good, she will see him again. She'll tell him what she did, and he'll be there, and maybe, hopefully, let her cry on his shoulder. He was there for her during Dumbledore's funeral, with his arm around her shoulders, his hand on her hair. He was… sweet. She isn't sure how to think of them beyond that, but the image of his freckly face and floppy red hair, his too-big hands and long arms wrapped around her in a hug… Yes, that is something to look forward to, surely.

Wiping away her tears, she stands up and grabs a tissue to blow her nose. She adjusts the strap of her beaded bag across her torso, and raises her wand. Sweeping her arm around the room, she changes the wallpaper, the bedsheets, and empties the frames on the walls. She had already taken down all of her awards, and packed her books and personal items. Now, it's as if a stranger lives here. She ignores the ache in her chest, and the fear behind it as she opens her door, breaking the silencing spell on the room, and walks out into the hall.

Her parents are both home as it is very early in the morning. She can hear their voices drifting up the stairs from the kitchen, the sounds of the refrigerator door being slammed, and the television turned on to the news. At the head of the staircase she closes her eyes, listening and willing her trembling lip to still. She can't do this if she's shaking. She can't perform under any more doubt, or hesitation. She can be strong for the next minute or two. Later, she can break down into a puddle of tears and self-loathing. But right now, she has to focus in order to get it right. That's what the book says to do. Focus. Right.

She makes her way down the stairs as quietly as possible. She can't let them hear her. If they do they will speak to her, and if they speak to her she will give in to the reluctance and waver, and tell them everything. They'll want to protect her and take her away, just like she wants them to, only without her.

They're sitting at the small round table in the kitchen, both of them turned to the small television sitting on the counter, watching a story unfold on the news, something about the stream of senseless violence that has broken out recently. They're fixated as they sip their coffees, so this is the perfect time to do it.

She raises her wand… and then lowers it. Her hand is shaking so badly, and she is close to tears again. She thinks of Ron, of Harry, and slowly raises her wand again, this time unwavering as she points it at her father's head. After a deep breath she mumbles the spell, and watches as an almost invisible streak of smoke emits from the end of her wand to the back of his skull, disappearing around and into his ears. Not wanting a moment to pass, to allow herself to think on what just happened, she does the same to her mother, and gets the same result.

Then she holds her breath and ducks out of sight, listening with eyes shut so tight they start to burn. It's silent for too long, long enough for her heart to start pounding in her chest, and a whimper to almost escape her lips.

But then they start talking again, and their voices seem… different, somehow. She hears them talking about a flight, and how they can't miss it, and she wants to cry from relief, and sadness, that it worked. It worked!

Their voices are coming closer, and she knows it is time to leave. The hardest part is over, and now their lives are theirs alone. She doesn't belong here anymore.

She tiptoes to the front door, making sure they don't see as she opens it wide enough to shimmy through. She closes the door behind her with a faint click and lets out the breath she has been holding. But there is no time to contemplate; She had booked their plane tickets to leave in one hour, which means they are inside right now grabbing their luggage they thought they had packed, and are about to rush out the door to make it on time to the airport. She planned it this way so, instead of her leaving them there, she can watch them go, on their way to safety.

She hurries to the side of the house and hides behind a bush, just before her mum and dad exit the house, lock the door, and hurry to the car parked in the driveway. She watches them, knowing that nowhere in their minds are they thinking of her, worrying about her, wondering what she is doing and if she is alright, well fed, or happy.

She doesn't want to cry; she wants to look at them, remember them, even if they don't know her. For a second she has an idea, to pretend to bump into them before they get into the car, as if she were a neighbor on the street, strike up a quick conversation, just to see. But that would be too painful, she thinks. She'll never recover from it.

And then they are gone, driving away, and she is left there on her own, hiding behind a bush beside her own home. She backs out onto the sidewalk and looks up at it, up to her bedroom window and no longer recognizes the curtains. That is enough to make her turn on her heel and walk down the street. She could apparate from the garden, out of sight, but she has to leave. Now.

So she walks, then jogs, and full out runs to the nearest side street, and by the time she stops tears are running down her face. She bends over with hands on both knees, but she can't be alone for this part, she can't break down in the middle of a side street by herself. She has to believe she did the right thing. She has to tell someone, and hear it from them that she is still clever, and smart- the brightest witch they've ever known.

She thinks of Ron again- of his warm and welcoming home bursting with loud, friendly people; of Harry who will be there in just a few days, expecting her to help him continue this difficult task he was thrust into. She may be leaving home, but she has a second one, she still has a family. And that is where she needs to be. With them… with him- Ron, her best friend, her something more…

She sucks in a shuddering breath, forcing herself to keep it together, just for a few moments longer. Without bothering to wipe her eyes or nose, she stands up straight and flicks her wand, disappearing with a definitive crack.

XXXX

I'm not sure if this can be turned into a chaptered story or not, but I'm thinking about it. Perhaps a missing moments throughout Deathly Hallows type of story, completely canon? I haven't done anything like that, and it would be T-rated as Ron and Hermione didn't get together before the end. Let me know if that is something you, as the reader, would be interested in me doing.

As always, thank you for reading!