A dreary sun rises, casting a brilliant shadow against the old brick house. In the smallest room in the top floor is a brown haired witch. She stuffs the last of her books into a purse who's appearance shows no real measure of its actual size.
Her shelves once ladened with books are now musty and bare. The red curtains are faded with age, and her walls peel with paint.
Hermione grabs the purse, and heads downstairs taking as slow of time she can. Every step she walks down brings a flood of memory and sadness. Her parents are in the living room- it's only a matter of time. War is in the air.
The clock ticks softly in a taunting manner, as if reminding her she's running headfirst into the midst of war. But first, she need to take care of her parents. The last step inevitably comes, and Hermione take the long way to the living room taking short and winding steps till she sees them.
She faces her parents and sees her mum's round face and pleasant smile. She sees her dad and memorizes his soft creases of his face. She faces them with every ounce of Gryffindor courage she has. Even then she trembles under their soft gaze and love-shining eyes.
Tears build in her own as she reaches for her mother's hand, and holds it just like she was a little kid, still in pigtails and ignorant from war and death, and the terror of living. Just for a moment she is back in a haven with her parents sheltering her world. She never wants to leave them, but she has to. She owes Harry too much.
It tears her more than any injury could ever do, and a permanent bruise scars her heart. It would be so easy to embrace her parents and go in hiding with them, but the world may very well be holding up against her own trembling shoulders. A sudden steel edges her voice, and she tries to hide the tremble as she speaks. She tries to hide the tears.
"Mum. Dad. You need to leave."
Her parents' shocked expressions nearly topples her over, but she forces herself to look at them, eye to eye. They would never know the danger they were in, or how powerful magic could ever be. How it could tear the world stone by stone, and re-write history with blood.
"Why ever would we Hermione? This is our home. Why should we leave?"
The house has a distinct smell to it, a fading spice that has become so familiar to Hermione. The sofas are worn, and the table has a dent in it from the time her father missed his target with a hammer. The fireplace roars with bright flames that lick the wood. It's all very old, but it shines gold with memories. They hold every smile and embrace in it. But in the end, memories fade.
"It's not safe here, mum. It won't be till the war is over. Please. Go to the Burrow. You'll be safe there. Voldemort won't be able to get you."
Her mother purses her lips in an annoyance that has no place in the seriousness. Hermione knows that look- it's her own face every time she allows her heart to lead.
What her mother doesn't understand is that such fierceness will never defeat the evil that plagues Britain. Sometimes, mind has to bow to strength. And the strength dies, fading to submission.
To Hermione, to bow down to another is a fate worse than death. She will never allow her parents to do so. No matter if it rips her from her very core, she will keep them safe.
As much as she owes Harry her loyalty, she owes her parents just as much. Unshed tears begin to sting, but she won't leave till her parents are safe.
"When the war is over, I'll come back. I'll be back, mum, I'll come back."
Even as she speaks, Hermione knows that it's a broken promise. There is no guarantee she will survive. But if she doesn't, her parents must.
"Please mum. The Burrow is under wards and charms. You'll be safe there. It's not safe here for muggles like you."
"Is that all we are now, Hermione? Muggles? Is that what your parents have become to you?" Her mother's voice is flat, almost cold. She shakes her hand off Hermione's.
Her ever ordered mind descends into an unknown chaos. It's a whirlwind of words and a plethora of emotion. Above all is a stabbing pain in her heart as she speaks. Somehow she holds strong against the wind.
"No- No mum.."
"Your father will protect us. He has a rifle, and the police aren't far. Your dad can still punch, Hermione."
What good is a rifle against magic? There's a reason muggle weapons aren't commonly used in the wizarding world. Their magic is powerful enough.
Hermione can no longer hold back tears at her mother's familiar stubbornness. She need them to go to the Burrow- the alternate would be much too painful.
"See reason, mum. A rifle stands no chance against magic. You have to-"
"No, Hermione, we will not go. This is our house, our home. How can you think to abandon it?"
One look at her mother's face and she knows this is a lost battle. She draws her wand out slowly, almost faltering. Maybe for the last time, she looks into her mother's eyes.
She points her wand at her.
Her mother's eyes widen. "Hermione, what are you-"
Tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her throat feels raw. A knife twists in her heart.
She has to do it. Her parents raised her, and loved her, and gave her to a new world just to see her smile. She owes them her life.
She will keep them safe.
"I love you, mum."
"Hermione-"
She closes her eyes, and moves her wand trying to keep steady. One day, if I survive mum, she thinks, I'll come back. I promise.
A blinding light bursts from the end of her wand. She can see it with closed eyes.
"Obliviate"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
A wave roars as it slaps against the sand, and retreats again. The sun shines brightly as it beams upon the beach. A couple lies on bright towels, like every other person in the beach. Just a normal Australian couple at the beach.
"The sun feels nice today, Wendell," Monica Williams says, stretching in pleasure. "I want to stay here forever."
Her husband chuckles and places a soft kiss on her cheek, before freezing. A splash of brown catches his eye
"Monica- does that girl seem familiar to you?" He points to a maybe 19 year old girl with brown frizzy hair and almond eyes. He's seen that face in dreams-or perhaps they were nightmares. He feels like he should know her, but there's a missing piece that keeps him from clicking it together.
"Not that I can say." Monica yawns and turns around so the sun strikes her back. A sudden pang of unease hits her stomach.
"Maybe it's a neighbor. We don't know anyone with hair that wild, do we?" She forces an uneasy smile.
"Yeah.."
In the heat of the beach, it's a wonderful feeling of peace that washes over both of them. The brown haired girl shouldn't be causing this much agitation. She's just a neighbor.
Monica waves at her- if she is indeed a neighbor, it would be rude not to. The haunted look in the girl's eyes surprises her.
She consoles herself with the fact that it's probably the sun playing it's tricks. She stretches out her toes till it touches the sand, and focuses on the wonderful heat.
A pleasant drowsy feeling washes over her, and the face of the girl fades away.