Author's Note: I will try to keep the use of Author's Notes on this iteration of the story to an absolute minimum. However, I recently tried my hand at a third (and hopefully final) revision of the first installment. I'm looking to flesh this story out tremendously, so if you'd be so kind and first check to make sure you've read the most recent version of the first "chapter" (in fact, it's now a prologue), I'd greatly appreciate it. Thank you!
~Chapter 1: Disappointment~
"Are you sure you won't come to the Burrow this summer, 'Mione?" Ron practically whined as he stepped off the Hogwarts Express, signifying the end of their Sixth Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hermione shook her head with a smile, "Now, Ronald, I've told you loads of times already. My answer is still no. It's my last summer as a student and I've not spent enough time with my own family in ages. I promised them I'd be home for the entire duration of the summer holiday this year." She loaded the last of her belongings, Crookshanks in his carrier, onto a trolley and began pushing it toward the exit.
Ron opened his mouth to protest further, "But, 'Mione—"
Hermione abruptly stopped and turned on her heel to face the tall redhead, her hands flying to her hips as she jutted her chin out in defiance. Her voice now had an edge to it, worthy of McGonagall herself, "I will not let you—"
Harry saw the lightning beginning to crackle between his two best mates; it was not the ideal way for friends to part ways, and especially not for such an extended period of absence from each other. Thinking fast, he intervened, "Yeah, Ron. After all, if Hermione's around, how will we be able to lounge around painting our nails and talking about cute boys?"
On cue, the sparks flying between them petered out in an instance, and Harry had to stop himself from letting out a loud sigh of relief. Instead, he threw on the most convincingly innocent expression he could muster while trying his best to hide the grin threatening to overtake his features. Hermione stared up at him, trying to retain her serious expression but failing as her lips began twitching with repressed giggles. Ron simply stared wide-eyed at his friends, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The sight of the two was too much for him; Harry burst into laughter and pointed at them. He reached his other hand up to wipe the tears of mirth that sprung from his eyes as he tried to speak through his chortles and failed.
Hermione finally let the playful smirk crawl over her lips as she crossed her arms and leaned to one hip, looking with feigned curiosity from one boy to the next, "Oh, really now? If that's what you plan to do in my absence, maybe I will need to pay a surprise visit after all." She followed with a feminine chuckle as she teasingly slapped Ron on his shoulder.
The light contact seemed to finally bring him up to speed as he quickly closed his mouth and his face slowly regained its natural colour. "Yeah, alright, Harry... You're probably right. She'd never let us live it down if she saw us with our hair in curlers anyway," he winked at the pretty brunette before they all burst into a fit of raucous laughter once again.
Once the three had finally caught their breath, they steered their trolleys to the magical barrier which separated their world from Muggle London where they would part ways until September. It was easy to find their families once they'd reached the other side. The Weasleys' flaming red hair was a dead giveaway, and Mr. Weasley had of course engaged the Grangers in an amicable dialogue pertaining to Muggle technology. Today's topic appeared to be the finer mechanics of multi-speed blenders. "What is the difference made between ultra-high speed and Mach speed?" asked Mr. Weasley, while holding out an old ad illustration from twenty years prior.
Mr. Granger took the arrival of the teenagers as the cue to end the conversation there, as he hadn't an answer for the kindly wizard. Arthur was easily distracted as well as the trio exchanged their hugs with the gentleman. After the group had all finished with their pleasantries and Ginny had joined them as well, they set out to depart. With a last hug and kiss on the cheek to Harry and Ron for her final goodbye, Hermione turned and followed her parents out of the station.
"It's always such a joy to talk with the Weasleys," Mrs. Granger said as they had finished fastening their safety belts and the car began to make its way from the lot. "Arthur especially. He is always so genuinely fascinated in our world and has such fantastic things to say about the most mundane devices. It makes me better realize and appreciate the technology we often take for granted. Isn't that right, honey?" She patted her husband's arm.
"Sure, sure," he merged onto the main turnpike. "It would be nice for us Muggles to be able to research those wizards, too, though. Seems a bit one-sided, doesn't it? They can study all they want about us, even have a class in school about it! But most people don't even know they exist! It's very elitist; almost as if they're…they're playing God!" He hit the top of the steering column with his right hand before falling silent once again.
Hermione stared wide-eyed at her father's reflection in the rearview mirror, which was angled so she could see his face from her position on the backseat. The vein in his temple was protruding slightly; she was unsure of how to respond. Her parents had never really expressed any displeasure with the magical community, or her place in it, beyond their initial apprehension. But she had thought their minds were put to rest when Professor McGonagall explained and assisted with Hermione's transition to Hogwarts six years prior.
She'd always been careful to keep them complacent about the Wizarding World during her time at school, too. The witch wrote frequently and enjoyed telling her parents about all of the fun and useful things she had learned throughout the term, and would even share snippets of her more harrowing adventures while away from them, too. Of course, she was scrupulous about the details, snipping and censoring when necessary. Sure, their foray into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic was not so much a school field trip as it was a life or death battle on the brink of an all-out war, but she needn't worry them with the details when the danger had gone and passed.
"Honey…" the warning tone in her mother's voice, directed at her father, brought Hermione from her reverie.
"No, Jean. I mean it. The Weasleys are nice people, yes, but their society has some kind of a God complex. I feel like I don't even know my own daughter any more. As though they're all hiding something big from us, and forcing her to as well," he glanced pointedly at her through the rearview.
Hermione did her best not to look guilty, but knew better than to speak. She'd always been a terrible liar; however, it seemed like her father was not actually expecting a response. Did Mr. Weasley say something about the war? She knit her brow in confusion, wondering what had set her father down this particular line of thought; grateful that he had already turned his attention back to the road so he didn't witness her change in expression.
"And now they're about to take her away for good…" he sounded defeated. Her mother merely cast her eyes to her lap, slowly wringing her hands.
Hermione didn't bother hiding her bemusement now, "What are you talking about? No one is going to take me anywhere." She leaned forward in her seat so that she could place a hand on their shoulders reassuringly. "Even if I am a witch, I am still your daughter. Even if I decide to take a career in the magical world after graduation next year, I can still use that same magic to visit you any time I'd like, you know." She smiled warmly at her mother, who had turned to look back at her.
"Oh, sweetie, we know that," she patted Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze before turning her eyes back to the front of the car. "It's just that we feel you never really like to any more. And the more immersed in that world you become, the less you will care about silly little Muggles like us." She gave Hermione's hand another squeeze before dropping her own to her lap; a wan smile on her face.
"What do you mean?" Hermione's heart sank. She had no idea her parents were feeling this way. They felt as though they didn't matter to her any longer, or worse! That she didn't love them. "You're my parents. I love you. Of course I do, and will, like to visit you!"
Her father did a poor job of hiding his scoff in response which earned him a light slap on the wrist from her mother. "Forgive us, sweetie. We're just two parents waxing poetic about our daughter growing up and not needing us anymore. Don't let us spoil the fun you're planning to have with your friends at the Weasleys' this holiday!" Mrs. Granger's tone returned to the cheerful one she'd used at the beginning of the conversation, and her smile grew large and genuine.
A smile crept onto her dad's features as well, "Yes, love, don't let this old man rain on your parade." He winked at her through the rearview as he circled through a roundabout.
The young witch simply stared from one parent to the other, brows furrowed in consternation once again, "But I'm not going to the Burrow this year."
Her father pressed the brakes a bit harder than he'd intended as he reached a traffic light when she spoke. She had to coo and pet a frightened Crookshanks as her father apologized for the poor technique. "You're not?" He exchanged a glance with his wife that Hermione didn't notice, still soothing the half-kneazle.
"Of course not." Hermione responded a little indignantly. "I promised you both I would be home all summer so we could spend a proper holiday together before my final year in school. Don't you remember?"
"Well, sweetie, of course we remember…" her mother's tone was placating. Hermione had inherited her father's quick temper, so Jean Granger had become an expert at cooling the flames before they gathered too much heat. "Honestly, though, we assumed you would have changed your mind as usual. Not that we would have been bothered; we understand your attachment to your school and friends, after all. It has just been such an awfully long time since we last discussed it."
Hermione felt a pang of guilt in her chest at her mother's words, As usual? Her gaze fell to her hands, still absent-mindedly running through Crookshanks soft fur. I'm a horrible daughter, aren't I? A disappointment. Immediately her mind retraced all the previous holidays since she'd been at school and she quickly realized, with a sinking sensation, that she hadn't spent a proper school holiday with her parents since the summer between her second and third years at Hogwarts.
She'd spent the Christmas holiday at school that year, and the next summer she'd gone to stay at the Burrow shortly after the summer began to attend the Quidditch World Cup – a once in a lifetime opportunity, she had felt at the time. The Yule Ball – as part of the Triwizard Tournament – and her invitation to attend with Victor Krum, kept her at school the following Christmas, too. She had only spent a few days at home the next summer, mostly to gather any supplies she felt would be useful to the cause, before hurrying to help the Order of the Phoenix at Grimmauld Place before the start of Fifth Year. She had done it because she felt taking a more active role and keeping current on Wizarding news would better enable her to ensure her parents', and Harry's, safety.
Christmas of Fifth Year she had had every intention of spending with her parents. They had planned a lovely vacation to France and even her grandparents were to be joining them. But then Mr. Weasley had been attacked by Voldemort's snake and she had felt it best to be available to those who had become her surrogate family in the Wizarding World, to show her support especially if things turned worse. She had been planning to make the missed opportunity up to them the following summer, but the battle at the Department of Mysteries had placed her in St. Mungo's for many weeks following. Thanks to the severity of the curse that Dolohov had cast on her, she had not made enough of a recovery in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts before the end of term arrived. She'd only had a week at home with her parents before returning to school for her Sixth Year.
It was when she had realized she was expected to stay at the school as one of the honoured guests at the memorial for those who were lost in the brief Second Wizarding War, which was organized to take place over the Christmas holidays, that she had written to her parents promising her presence at home for the entire summer.
Of course she hadn't been able to explain to her parents the true reasons she had been absent from most family holidays over the past few years: that she'd had an active role in stopping a devastating war from wreaking havoc on all they knew and loved. No, confessing as much to her parents would have resulted in her abrupt removal from Hogwarts, Wizarding Britain, and possibly even her friends' lives. Her parents would possibly have forced her to give up magic altogether. Hermione knew she could not have chosen between her family and her new life, nor could she have stepped away from helping in the war or her education at Hogwarts.
No, it was best they did not know the truth. She slumped in her seat, realizing what an ungrateful daughter she appeared to be, having always used the excuses of social obligations or studying at school, making it appear that friends and grades were more important to her than time with her parents. Upon recognizing that they weren't entirely false excuses either made her feel all the worse. I'm such a selfish disappointment.
In a small voice, she finally spoke up, "I'm so sorry to make you feel that way." She realized there was no sense in continuing to beat herself up about it, and instead that she should take the opportunity to make the most out of this summer to make up for lost time with them. "I love you both! You've no idea how much I've been looking forward to this summer with you." Hermione smiled widely at her parents from the backseat, but neither seemed to quite return her enthusiasm.
"You're sure you don't want to go to the Wesleys' this summer?" her father probed, eventually breaking the silence.
"Yes, I am absolutely sure. This summer, I'm all yours," she beamed, realizing there was no tragedy that could keep them apart this year. She chose to ignore the slight unease she felt welling in her chest at their suddenly less-than-vibrant response to her declaration. She chalked it up to apprehension about getting their hopes up since she had disappointed them so often in the past. The young witch did her best not to let the thought affect her mood again.
Mrs. Granger turned to face her daughter and gave a squeeze to her knee, "Well then, that's great, sweetie." It didn't escape Hermione's notice that her mother's smile seemed to falter slightly and her gaze seemed distant, as though the older brunette's thoughts were pre-occupied elsewhere. She wasn't sure how to react, so she simply smiled in return, resolving to investigate the source of the strange tension at a later time.
For now, her father had pulled their car into the driveway of the quaint, two-story Granger house, and Hermione relished the idea of retiring early. Her housemates had arranged an impromptu end-of-term party in the common room the evening before, which had lasted well into the night. She hadn't managed a nap on the train home, either. Likewise, the weird tension she'd been feeling in the car for the drive home only seemed to add to her exhaustion.
So, it was after a quick dinner, in which she tried to shake the unease and simply enjoy her parents' company, that she excused herself for the evening and shortly fell into a dreamless sleep, Crookshanks curled atop the duvet beside her.