Beta-read thanks to Tanguera and Melody Lepetit!
"Mum? Dad?" Hermione watched their glazed stares clear with a few blinks.
"Hermione?"
Hearing her mother breathe out her name wiped away the stress and anxiety of the past two months. Hermione's knees buckled as her father's arms wrapped around her shoulders. Gone was the heartbreak of counting the dead, the mass-burial of unclaimed bodies, splitting up from Ron, and weeks frantically tracking the movements of her obliviated parents. The Grangers held their sobbing daughter between them, struggling to make sense of their newly merged memories.
It was hours later that they could sit on the sofa and form complete sentences: Hermione from relief and regret, and her parents from shock and anger. Her father still vibrated when he thought too long on it.
"So now that you're not stealing free will, and a person's basic right to choose, have you at least finished your paganistic education?" her father grumbled out, watching his wife continue to smooth her hands over Hermione's hair. Hermione winced. "So, a drop-out as well. Fuck's sake."
"Well you'll just have to go back and finish up, won't you dear?" Mrs. Granger smacked her husband on the arm.
"I will. There's an option to write my NEWTs without returning to Hogwarts, which is still under construction. But what about you two? Will you come back to England?"
Her father snorted. "And what? Return from the fucking dead? You think the NCA won't cotton on to two dentists who disappear, then suddenly renew their practice insurance? We'd be first on the list of suspected criminals, as we somehow found a way to forge lives and passports and all. " Her mother smacked him on the arm again. The swearing was a Wendell Wilkins habit that evidently stuck, and Hermione wondered what else about her parents was new.
"We've managed to build lives here. If we moved now, we would probably draw too much attention."
Hermione nodded, her parents had always been sensible, and she was glad the obliviation hadn't taken that away. As much as her father grumbled about 'five fuckin' years in school gone,' her mother reassured her that they would be fine in their lives as the very comfortably retired Wilkins couple.
"I'll write." A week wasn't enough to dissolve the lump in her throat, as her mother drew back. Her father nodded gruffly, pulled her into a tight hug, then gently pushed her away.
"Go on then. Get those NEWTs now."
The international portkey left Hermione debilitated for few moments, the dusty floor of Grimmauld Place wavering in her vision. The tears didn't help. She was already home-sick for her parents. The house around her was silent, even Kreacher's usual banging of pots and pans in the kitchen was absent. Hermione thought: 'Harry must be visiting at the Burrow.' She waited for the hint of nausea from the portkey travel to fade, then shrugged, 'Might as well register for my NEWTs.' She threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, not trusting her abilities to apparate without getting splinched with her current emotions, straightened her shoulders and announced, "Ministry of Magic."
Floo was eminently more agreeable that Portkey, even with the light coating of soot. Hermione stepped out of the common Floo fireplace, brushing off her shoulders, and collided with a man. She bounced and stumbled to regain her footing, only to crash to the floor when her arms and legs were magically bound. She looked up to face three aurors, penning her in and was levitated upright, as the most senior Auror with the badge name 'Crowley' unrolled a scroll of parchment.
"Hermione Granger, you are hereby accused of 'Unsanctioned Obliviation'." His deep tones that echoed through the hall. The Floo fireplaces were still flaring up green, and travellers paused or worse stopped to stare in curiosity. The tears welled up again, Hermione couldn't decide if she was more angry or embarrassed. Her actions had been necessary during a war, surely there would be leniency. No one stepped in to defend her, she recognized none of the faces past the Auror uniforms. Before she was prodded to follow the lead Auror, Hermione spotted a man. He was shorter than average at her own height, clean shaven with sandy blond hair, wearing Muggle business clothes with a black robe overtop; his lips slightly quirked in a thoughtful toothless smile. The only reason Hermione's brain pointed him out from the rest of the crowd was the complete lack of surprise in his expression.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Please don't worry about the owl drawing attention, it has been disillusioned until it reaches the recipient. None of your neighbours will ask uncomfortable questions about foreign species frequenting your home. The owl belongs to Obliviator Christoph Hans, and the parchment is also spelled to only be visible to you. Consequences of my past actions have caught up to me.
Hermione scanned the spartan windowless room, hands and feet spellbound, sitting on a plain wooden chair at a plain wooden table. Crowley stated, "Obliviator Hans will speak with you," then shut the door behind him. She waited, shivering from nerves and the cold of the room, until the door creaked open and the sandy blond man entered. He was still smiling without showing teeth, opening the door just enough to slip through before closing it again. With a flick of his wrist, two scrolls unrolled and were placed on the tabletop in front of her, and he gestured for her to read as he sat with a creak of knees.
"Now my dear, you are in quite a bit of trouble." His enunciation and diction was perfect, his words almost sung with a tinge of an Austrian accent. "A war heroine charged with unsanctioned Obliviation during war time. Caught upon returning from an unsanctioned Obliviation reversal, and though close friends with the acting Minister, it is during a time when said Minister is trying to weed out corruption and the unethical." Hermione read the charges on the first scroll with a sinking heart, and she knew Kingsley couldn't overlook her crimes. It would undermine all the work and effort he was expending to rebuild the Ministry with a strong foundation. He hadn't even done more than slightly shake of his head, refusing to meet her gaze, when he passed by the holding area to the Head Auror's office. She turned to the second scroll. "So you have two options." It looked like a contract of employment. "Option 1. Be placed under house arrest with no magic for the next three years, which is rather fair considering it's not Azkaban and you know how to function as a muggle. Option 2. You work for me."
"For - for the Obliviators?"
"Yes. I thought your spellwork quite neat. You obviously have talent. No NEWTs, yet still successful in performing a reversible Obliviation and the reversal. You will study for your NEWTs in the next eight months, take them, then join the Obliviators under my command for four years. You will find my branch requires a… delicate touch. Everything is aboveboard and transparent. A note will be on your record of taking this employment, in exchange for not being incarcerated. You will be my tenant and under my supervision, so I will be aware of your movements at all times."
On the bright side, I will complete my NEWTs and have employment.
There are Obliviators that deal specifically with romantic affiliations between the magical population and Muggles. Muggles call 'ghosting'; it is when a personal relationship ends without warning, explanation or further communication. Officially, I will be in the Interrelations and Mediation branch of the Obliviators, which is more aptly called 'the Ghosters.'
Please don't worry, and if you have any response to send off, Tybalt (yes, Hans has named the owl after a Capulet) will stay for a few hours before returning.
With love,
Hermione