Chapter Two

Hermione didn't want to tell the others where she was going the next day, although that was unavoidable. After all they had been through Mrs. Weasely was not up to letting anyone going anyplace alone, most especially it seemed to be the infamous trio. Ron guessed that it had to do with all the trouble they had gotten into the past seven years. That was only partly true, Hermione knew since Mrs. Weasley lost Ron for a year, she lost Fred for good. And all three of them could very well have targets on their backs from an escaped and deranged Death Eater.

So, Hermione was joined on her destination by George. Mrs. Weasley had volunteered him as she thought it would keep her safe and George distracted.

"Is this it," George asked staring up at the two story white house. It was what came to mind every time Hermione thought of home.

"Yes," she sighed, her heart plummeting to her feet at the sight of the boarded front door, every window shattered. The flowers that used to line the walkway and the sides of the house were gone, just patches of dirt.

They walked up together, pulling the boards down, throwing them into the dead bushes. Hermione reached for the knob, but her hand fell away.

"We could come back tomorrow," George offered gently.

"I have to do this."

She tried the knob. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and walked into the darkness. The glass crunched under her feet. When her eyes adjusted she saw the couch tipped over, the fireplace missing bricks from a type of explosion.

"Oh..."

"If your parents moved to Australia, why didn't they sell this house?"

"I created a thought that they could use this as a vacation home of sorts when they retire... I thought that if I came back for them, they'd want to return to it..."

"If?"

"I was sure that I'd die when I left to go with Harry."

George picked up a broken frame. Inside was her parents hugging in front of the Eiffel Tower. "You look just like your mom."

Hermione wasn't listening. She was lost in a thousand memories that surrounded her. She remembered that right there in that room she spoke with Dumbledore. He told her that she was a witch and there was a place for her.

She visited each room of the house, each one as trashed as the one before it. The kitchen looked as though it had suffered an explosion and the bathroom appeared as if it was in the middle of being remodled, and she could barely look at her parents bedroom. The furniture was toppled and the curtains were slashed.

She stepped into her own room last. Her desk where she last sat to write to Ron was missing a couple of its legs, the canopy of her bed was in ribbons. Books cluttered the floor, leaving her bookcase empty. She picked up the one nearest to her foot, opening it to a random page, inhaling the scent of paper and ink. It was a storybook her mother had read to her as a child. She had wanted despertly to bring it with her, but only the most useful of things she had to bring with her. After all, Ron had scolded her for as many books she brought.

She sat on the edge of her bed, clutching that dear book to her chest. George walked in and began picking up the others, turning them over in his hand.

"They're all story books," he noted.

"I took the informative ones with me."

"We can take these with us."

She shook herself out of her revere. "Leave them. We're here to clean up for my parents. Hopefully I'll be back here with them."

"You're going to move out," he asked with a touch of surprise.

"Did you think I'd stay at the Burrow for good?"

George placed the stack of books on the shelf. "I guess not, huh?" He laughed at himself. It was shallow but it sounded like music to her ears. There was little laughter to be found at the Burrow. In fact, she had never heard that crooked house so quiet.

"George," she said, adding the book in her hand to the stack. "What's wrong?"

"I'll have to leave, too. I can't avoid the joke shop forever."

"The world needs jokes now." She waved her wand, the books lifting and setting themselves in the right order on the shelf.

"Alphabetical order. Always a perfectionist, Hermione."

"Time to get started," she said, "I'll take the kitchen if you take the lounge," she offered. He agreed with a short nod.

They worked into the night. The only mess left was the empty pizza box on the table. What they did in hours would have taken years to do without magic. Even her parents, who often lectured her to not become dependent on magic would've approved of the results.

George rested a hand on his full stomach, "that was good. Thanks for calling that in. I need to learn how to use those blasted phones."

"You're welcome."

He peered at her oddly. "I heard Harry's going to pardon the Malfoys." There was a tug at the corner of his mouth. "Ron nearly had a heart attack."

"Oh, well, I think Harry is doing the right thing."

"I'm sure you do." He winked conspiratorially.

She laughed, "what are you implying, George?"

"The living room is right next to the kitchen, you know. I heard you and Harry last night. You talked him into doing this."

"You shouldn't be listening in on other conversations," she told him with a slight smile.

"What else would I do with my time? Mum said to keep myself busy."

Hermione's smile slipped suddenly at the reminder of Fred. She forgot.

"It was a joke," he amended quickly. "Hermione, I didn't mean -"

"I know," she said, kicking herself for being taken off guard. If George was trying she had to as well.

"Look, in all seriousness, are you sure that you want this? The guy was a major git. Most would throw his ass in Azkaban without a second's thought."

"But everyone should get a second chance."

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

"We're just looking out for you, Hermione."

"I do appreciate that but I need to move forward."

Hermione raised to her feet, taking the box outside to the bin. She didn't dare say it aloud - not to George, but she thought that they all needed to move forward.

She had a future she couldn't have imagined having when she was searching for horcruxes. Now that it was all over, she intended to use it.