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Of Chaos and Flame
by Lens of Sanity
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Chapter Three: Homecoming
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Hermione Jean Granger stepped off the Knight Bus in a quiet suburban neighbourhood on the outskirts of Oxford, suppressing an irritated scowl as she did each and every time at this point in the year. The conductor rambled something which she summarily ignored and the ridiculous magical means of transportation flew off, disappearing around a corner, out of her line of sight. With hair tied back simply to keep it out of her still slightly grief stricken eyes she sighed, double checked the shrunken trunk was still safely tucked in her pants pocket, and reluctantly walked up the path to her parents' house.
The building was unsurprisingly empty.
'Ah, home once again,' Hermione thought with bleak faux cheer, taking a small breath of an artificially pine scented air, dropping down on the expensively tasteful settee, in the expensively tasteful front room, across from the expensively tasteful television set. In short, the home her parents' had painstakingly purchased over the years working as professionals, building a life as the perfect image of successful, middle class family.
'Christ but I hate this place.'
Picking up the remote control she flicked across a few of the channels not really caring what was on, searching instead for some background noise to distract her while she lost herself in thought. An episode of that new detective show Jonathan Creek was on BBC One and Hermione simply stretched out for a while, staring blankly at the images.
Thoughts of her best friend dying were still at the forefront of her mind, and a weight pressing across her chest at the realisation that it really was down to Harry and her to fight this war, that Headmaster Dumbledore had left it to them alone to find and destroy these objects which were keeping You-Know-Who alive and out murdering people.
Hermione had been ignoring these thoughts while finishing out the year at Hogwarts, but alone for the first time, back in the muggle world and her parents house, they crashed home with a sharpness not dulled in the slightest by the passage of time.
Harry and she were, for all intents and purposes, on their own.
'I'm only seventeen years old!' she screamed her lungs out silently, face impassive, eyes just a touch out of focus.
Her muggle parents arrived around an hour later, well dressed in expensively tasteful work clothes, carrying identical expensively tasteful briefcases. Hermione welcomed them with a fake smile and they asked how school had been, enquiring how well she thought she'd done in her exams.
Hermione told them everything was fine, and that her teachers were all 'ever so impressed' with all the hard work she'd put in over the course of the year.
They went for a late lunch at an expensively tasteful restaurant that evening, as they always did on the first day of the summer, and Hermione told them all about the things she had been taught over the year. Her parents showed interest as all good parents were supposed to do, and Hermione pretended the interest was anything but feigned in an attempt to play up the image of a perfect, well to do, and more importantly successful family.
Hermione didn't strangle anyone.
She never did.
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'Ah, Privet Drive once again,' Harry thought as he took in the smell of old musty air in his tiny room, the look of bedding bare even of pillowcases, and the soft sounds of …nothing, the unnatural stillness of a house disinfected into lifelessness. In short a very familiar location, the hated place he had grown up as a child.
"How in the name of Merlin did I grow up here without becoming a dark wizard?" he asked the Ether, actually half hoping his question would be answered. He shook his head as he finished the thought, "Honestly, baby Voldemort lived in better conditions than these as a child."
The perverse nature of Harry's life was not lost on him, he was standing in a tiny room inside a moderately sized house situated in a sleepy suburban hell hole, and he was unable to do magic for the next four weeks because he was still under the age of seventeen. For most people his age this wouldn't have been all that bad, just under a month and he'd be an adult, free to leave and do… whatever they wanted to really, Harry had never once thought that far ahead in all of his life.
No Harry had a job to do, not one which was that hard really when you came right down to it; 'Destroy the immortality of the most powerful Dark Lord in modern times, then kill him. Somehow.' That last weighed down heavily on the boy whenever he thought on it; somehow. He had not the foggiest idea of how he was going to go about it, and with his mentor recently called to play out his 'next great adventure,' Harry found himself more than a little overwhelmed by the prospect.
The removal of immortality part was not all that bad, as he at least had a few places to start, bare fragments of hard fought knowledge to use as a guide. He'd been told over the course of the year about Horcruxes, and armed with enough information about his foe to make some educated guesses as to their locations, 'and I have Hermione still, she'll be able to come up with all sorts of ideas. She's brilliant like that,' he thought, hoping for a smile which never quite came.
It was the seemingly inevitable encounter with the final piece of Voldemort's soul, the near insignificant sliver left walking around in its nose-less body, causing chaos and ending life. It was destroying that part which was weighing most heavily on Harry. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," he spoke aloud into the artificial quiet.
It was similar to that movie Dudley had been watching over and over again during the summer before his third year. There was this time travelling robotic killing machine, and it was trying to take out this twelve year old kid, because the twelve year old would one day grow up to be 'the last best hope of humankind.'
If you wanted Harry's opinion as to what it would feel like to be that character he'd be able to give a pretty detailed answer. Only for Harry it was worse, because the world didn't need saving at some indistinct time long in the future, after much training and preparation. No, when you were Harry James Potter you have to go save everybody now. With hardly any help, and no idea as to what the bloody hell you were supposed to do.
A traitorous thought lanced its way through the boy's mind as he took a seat on the stained bedding, 'I wish Gin was here.'
Wishing ones girlfriend was there wouldn't under normal circumstances be a bad thing, however Harry knew deep in his bones that he had been using the pretty redhead to avoid all of his problems. When he lost himself in blissful oblivion it was almost like the trials ahead of him were unimportant, somebody else's problem, another life entirely. And when it was over, everytime, he felt as though he'd taken something precious from the girl.
So he pushed his attention to more important things, a set of books entitled 'Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts,' given to him for Christmas during his fifth year by Remus Lupin and his fallen godfather Sirius Black. Although he was up to the eighth and penultimate volume he'd stopped reading them after Sirius died, which now seemed to have been a grave mistake, time no longer feeling a limitless commodity.
The books had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counterjinxes and hexes described, and though he was unable to actively practice the magic itself, Harry resolved to become as ready as possible while in the solitude of his childhood home. For whatever reason in occurred to the raven haired sixteen year old that, had his friend not recently lost his life, this war would not have felt so close as it did, and so Harry would have doubtlessly done far less productive things this his month alone.
He lay back on the bed, evening sunshine streaming through the small window, and lifted Volume one.
Start from the beginning and keep going until you reach the end; then stop.
Simple.
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Ginevra had managed to sidestep pretty much all of the questions regarding her whereabouts on the Hogwarts Express by virtue of telling one group of friends she was with the other, and now she was finally back in her family home for the first time since Yule.
On meeting up with everyone on the magical side of King's Cross she had unceremoniously dragged Harry into a secluded corner for a "chaste" goodbye, one he would hopefully remember fondly. The woman had then disengaged and, after a few more words of farewell, parted with the rest of her family to the communal floo connection, situated on the far side of the barrier in and out of Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
'Ah, the Burrow once again,' she thought as she took in the smell of the summer air, the look of the untidy garden, and the soft sounds of garden gnomes as they uttered swear words the twins had taught them so long ago. In short a very familiar location, the treasured place she had grown up as a child.
Her mother began to prepare a hasty meal which Ginevra was looking forward to, having eaten little that day, the exception being what passed for food at the Hog's Head. Sprawling out on the couch she looked over to her eldest brother, "Why were you and Fleur spending so much time in Hogwarts at the end of the term Bill?"
A grim smile passed over him as he answered, "With Dumbledore gone we were reorganising the Order, and with mum and Ron-, well it seemed like the best thing to do to help keep an eye on things."
To the sounds of cooking she idly mused to herself, 'Mum really didn't take losing one of her children very well.' A long contemplative quiet descended on the two as they became lost in their own thoughts, and after a while she blurted a seemingly random question, "How does the Ministry track underage magic, do you know?"
"What are you thinking Gin?" Bill asked, suspicious tone thickly evident.
"Just curious, do you know or not?"
"Yeah, if you buy a new wand from Diagon Alley it has a tracker on it to help them trace wand-signature, but if you're in a high magical area like Platform Nine and Three Quarters it'll be lost in all the ambient energy."
Grinning the girl asked, "Okay but I'm using Gramma Weasley's old wand so there will be no tracker on it right?"
"True but you still can't do underage magic with it because you still have the Trace on you. Just like everyone else who goes to Hogwarts, they put it on you during the first day of class. If you were home schooled the Ministry adds the Trace when they make you register." This fact deflated the younger girl's enthusiasm a bit.
"So there is no way past it? That can't be right. I know some people in school improve loads over the summer, so there must be something. Otherwise how could they practice?"
"To be honest I don't really know how the Trace actually works, but if I had to guess I'd say that it just makes it easier for them to pin you down in muggle areas. It wouldn't be something complex enough to track what spells you're using, that would be far too complicated and way too easy for regular people to Curse Break their way through it." His eyes lit up a little as he thought about his passion and Ginevra rolled her eyes at him, all the while thinking through what she was being told, and more importantly how the knowledge could help.
"So you're saying you could probably lift the Trace from me, but there is no need because if I practice around, say a magical family's home for instance, and I stick to using my Grandmother's wand, the Ministry won't be able to catch me."
"Pretty much yeah, what are you thinking lil'spitfire?" he said chuckling, and as their mother called them in for an early meal, the blue eyed woman got to her feet, telling Bill where she'd been going with her line of questioning,
"I think it's about time you teach me some good Curse Breaker ways to blow shit up."
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'Fuck me with a spiked club would you look at this place,' Ginevra thought, her gaze shifting about her first floor bedroom. With new eyes it was like she'd never seen the inside of it before, a small space really, being the only girl among a swarm of brothers meant she didn't have to share, but gods in heaven was everything bright. "And pink!" she stated aloud shuddering.
A poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters was one thing, Donaghan Temlett on bass was pretty talented and if what her dorm mate had told her was true, the man played for a muggle band called 'Pulp' of all things.
At least it wasn't pink.
The captain of the all witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, Gwenog Jones was taking up the whole of the north wall also, and she was actually looking fairly hot in it so the photograph must have been taken before Jones took that Bludger in the face last season. But the rest was pink, very pink. And the Unicorn stencils.
"No-one can ever be allowed to see this room."
Green went well with red hair so she set about the room with her wand changing everything pink into a nice neutral green, the shade of spring grass or dark moss. 'What was I thinking, pink? Everyone knows pink is hideous for redheads, at least my hair is actually red and not ginger like the twins, that would be even more unforgivable.'
The memorable feeling of churning chaos assaulted her senses as she went about channelling magic, thinking on the why of this increasingly familiar sensation had brought nothing but questions and no answers. All she knew was that ever since she'd used the Lucky Potion and her eyes had changed colour, she'd had the feeling of swimming in the sea when there was a large storm happening. The sensation was less personally violent than that, but as far as describing a sensation went the metaphor was not too bad.
It wasn't long before the old pull of magical exhaustion started digging at her and she decided to stop, before her body stopped her.
'Perhaps I will be able to answer some of my questions once I recover more magically. At least the room is looking better than it had.' Not even bothering to change Ginevra crashed onto her childhood bed and was instantly embraced by the comforting arms of Morpheus.
She was the only one at the Burrow who was smiling as she slept that night.
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Feeling her magic drain painfully Hermione kept focus as best she could, clear mental image, with intent focused in all the complex ways described in the textbooks. The near invisible beam of light connected her wand to the object she was enchanting, and she let out a little sob of pain as more magic than she was comfortable in channelling was dragged from somewhere behind her ribcage.
When it was over her vision swam a bit, then she keeled over and blacked out.
Late the next morning Hermione woke and found herself still prone on the floor, spine aching in a way which was probably not normal for a supposedly spry teenager. She hadn't expected anyone to come check on her, but then again she hadn't expected that enchantment to have been as difficult as it was. Nevertheless the old irritable disappointment still reared its ugly head after she realised nobody in this light forsaken hellhole cared enough about her to check she'd been crumpled on the floor in a clearly painful position!
Following a brief stretch of limbs and a little sub-audible grumbling, Hermione got to her feet and picked the small beaded bag she'd purchased the first day of summer, thinking it looked kind of stylish, even though it had come from a second hand store. The thing was purple and as far as she knew unique, rather than the kind of off the shelf accessories most people bought.
Hermione tapped out a few detecting charms before opening it, discovering that as far as she could tell it had worked. Opening the little bag she saw how much deeper it was on the inside, easily capable of stuffing her hand right up to the shoulder.
"Now all I have to do is figure out how to make it travel through time and I've got my own Tardis."
Hermione blinked and giggled after a moment, unable to believe she'd said such a ridiculous thing out loud. Regardless, enchanting on that magnitude would have been an ambitious project for a gifted N.E.W.T. student, so she decided that the accomplishment was something to be proud of, and that nothing was going to ruin this good feeling today.
This declaration went uncontested for quite a while. Hermione spent most of her day generally relaxing around the house, taking things easy. She read up on a few of the more interesting theories in the current books she'd been working through; warding and enchantments mostly as she'd decided to put off any heavy work or future planning until later in the summer, if not until she and Harry began their unavoidable mission.
So she'd been having what was probably the best day of her summer so far, when she found herself returning from the grocery store to be confronted by none other than Sally Pews.
Interesting.
This was the girl from Primary school who'd made the early years of her life so… distinctive. The girl who had been seen in that strange mirror she'd run across the day after her twelfth birthday, crying and debasing herself at Hermione's feet. The much anticipated day her magic would be used to punish her for all the bullying which had been visited on her by this girl's own hands.
Headmaster Dumbledore had asked what she'd seen, and Hermione had lied to the man quite blatantly at the time, and lied again a term later when Harry told her of his experience with the artefact.
Nevertheless this was an opportunity she could not allow to let slip through her fingers. It was even better that Ms. Pews was with her two little enforcers and what Hermione would tentatively presume to be her boyfriend. He was a tall one, maybe a rugby player from the build.
"Well if it isn't Beaverface Granger?" Sally said in her distinctive tone, funny that Hermione could recognise the enunciation of each word as though it hadn't been close to a decade since she'd heard it last. This was going to be just what she needed to round off the perfect summer's day.
"Good to know you've come up with no new insults Sally my friend," Hermione said with a brilliant, open smile, lashing out a Vacillation Hex with a twitch of her wand. Turning to the only man in the small group she batted her eyelashes asking, "My you look almost good enough to eat, do you have a name to go with those shoulders?"
"David-," the man managed as far as his first name in a surprisingly deep voice, before being cut off by having a witch's tongue shoved down his throat. It didn't take long before Hermione's hand snaked its way down the front of his trousers either, a sight which caused that total bitch Sally Pews to throw off the effects of her minor confusion jinx.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my boyfriend you whore!" she screeched, her pretty face going blotchy with rage.
"All good things must end," Hermione answered with a quiet sigh, disengaging slowly and taking one final little peck.
The stupid muggle's full armed slap sailed over Hermione's hastily ducked head and, grabbing onto the back of old Sally's bright pink blouse, drove the full might of her knee into the girl's stomach, dropping her to the pavement in a savage blow.
"Well it was nice seeing you all again," Hermione said breezily, "especially you Mr. David." She looked the man up and down quite openly, then down to the gasping muggle at her feet. Sally Pews was in the precise position at her feet as she had been all those years ago in the mirror.
Hermione smiled brilliantly to herself and the world in general.
Today was turning out to be a very good day indeed.
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Ginevra woke not long before four in the morning, surprisingly well rested from her early night, immediately getting on with dressing. Following a well travelled path down the single flight of stairs, she was careful not to step on any squeaky floorboards as she made it out the front door of the sleeping Burrow without making a sound. There was a long trek down the dirt path, out from under her family wards, before she could lift her wand and incant two lone syllables,"Lumos" and after a loud bang she was greeted with what was clearly scripted spiel.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Mike Monkfish, and I will be your conductor this evening." Shaking her head Ginevra handed over a ruinous eleven Sickles which the gormless man extorted from her, and she found herself hurtling toward King's Cross.
Finally letting her off about thirty minutes later Ginevra set off at a brisk jog toward her destination, although she was forced to Confund two idiotic muggle law enforcers who thought someone running in the dead of night had to be a criminal, 'fools.'
Having floo travelled all but a handful of the times she'd come here, there was the only path she knew to the building she sought. As she had once walked this way at the beginning of her fourth year, Ginevra found herself a little sweaty from exertion as she finally closed on Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
A long, shrill, and bellowing conversation over dinner the previous evening between her mother and father had given her the idea to come here. Her mother, channelling a classic Prewett temper, had been arguing for relocation under the wards and protections of this Ancient and Noble family's home. While the Order of the Phoenix had put many jinxes specifically defending against Severus Snape, they had been unable to locate the Fidelius Anchor, and so Professor Flitwick had told the Order that he was unable to place the Charm on a building which was already covered by one. Not to mention that he did not have the permission to do so from the building's rightful owner, which was apparently a requisite of the Charm's magic.
The upshot being that House Black either was, or was not, one of the most secure locations in Great Britain for anyone opposing Tom and his Death Eaters. The Order of the Phoenix predictably and sensibly, abandoned the property the morning after Albus Dumbledore had died.
As Ginevra closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked pretty much the same as she remembered. It was still the eerie and cobweb filled, with house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirius' mother, and the cursed Troll's leg umbrella stand was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again.
"Severus Snape?" the disembodied voice of Professor Moody rang out into the quiet, signalling the first of the Order's protections.
"Does Severus Snape have a body this hot?" she demanded belligerently, and something whooshed over her like cold air. Her talented tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak, but before she had time to feel inside her mouth her tongue had unravelled, and Ginevra came to the conclusion that this would probably prevent any Secret Keeper from revealing the Secret. 'Clever.'
Eventually Ginevra landed on the fact that she was meant to be informing the ghostly Headmaster that she had not in fact killed him, and a suitably disturbed redhead then made her way to the Black Library, this night's destination. By the time she arrived the woman checked with a 'Tempus' spell and found it to be a little under ten minutes to five in the morning, meaning she had around an hour before she would be forced to call the Knight Bus back to Devon and her family home.
"Best get to it then Ginevra, you need to improve or you will be useless to him."
Around forty minutes later rooting around for more magic of the type she sought out, Ginevra had collected a fair pile of interesting tomes, including 'The Magick in Bloode by Marius Carrow' which Ginevra had wanted to read ever since she heard about it doing research for a piece of History homework. Turning to leave her robes caught on a bookshelf, and with a tearing crack the stack gave way, tumbling dozens of books to the floor. As she extricated herself from splintered wood and scattered pages she noticed a false back behind the shelf she had for the most part ignored, and investigation found something very, very interesting.
"That might be just the thing I'm looking for."
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It had been three weeks since returning to Privet Drive and the Dursley family had been unusually quiet for the most part. Even Dudley appeared to be taking a crack at helpfulness which Harry would have considered bizarre had he been thinking on it, distracted as he was. As Harry took a break from his studies he once again decided to read the memorial to Albus Dumbledore, an article which had surprised him in more ways than one. Mostly though Harry was shocked at the realisation that the old Headmaster had a life of his own outside of his awareness, and that Harry had hardly known the man at all.
The Elphias Doge character who wrote the article, seemed to Harry to be pandering to the old man though, and he would be disappointed at confirmation in the form of Rita Skeeter's sensationalist book when he read about it the following week, in precisely the same newspaper. He hadn't really been able to put his finger on why the memorial article had shaken him so, taken in the abstract Harry knew Dumbledore must have had loads to tell him had he lived long enough, advice as to how he'd defeated his Dark Lord in the forties for instance, would have been top of the Headmaster's priorities Harry was sure.
Still, Harry had put reflecting on the Horcrux collecting mission to the back burner. He'd been spending his days taking notes and coming up with ideas as to how he was going to become stronger. It hadn't taken more than a few hours that second day, after he'd spent the time to write down every spell he knew and everything he could perform with competence, for Harry to conclude that he was woefully unprepared.
Compared to the average Dumbledore's Army member from his fifth year illegal student organisation, Harry was considerably more able to defend himself. This was mostly thanks to Snape unfortunately; the gods damned Half Blood Prince had equipped him with the kind of spell knowledge which would make another Department of Mysteries Battle a far more deadly affair. And if it ever came to that, most of the blood spilled would be on the side of the Death Eaters.
It was so bloody obvious in retrospect. The Death Eaters had been under orders to use non-lethal magic, so they should have been trying to hurt them without worrying overmuch about themselves.
Having gotten all the way through 'Practical Defensive Magic' Harry had discovered a few things, one of which was the realisation that only the first three books covered things needed to pass N.E.W.T. Defence Against the Dark Arts. The first book being around O.W.L. standard and the second and third made for British seventh year level. As the Christmas present was a nine book series this meant that he had a resource which was far more helpful than he'd previously believed, and Harry was beginning to suspect the final two were on a Ministry restricted list.
Two of the more challenging pieces of magic he had found and resolved to learn were things he had seen employed with his own eyes. Used by Voldemort and Dumbledore during their clash at the end of fifth year. One was the highest level shield the texts outlined, which conjured a shining silver disc of magic out of thin air. He had seen Voldemort utilise it to deflect the force of Dumbledore's spellfire, with no visible damage to the shield bar an impact which caused a deep gong-like note to reverberate throughout the Ministry Atrium.
The incantation was 'Aegis Contego' and it had disturbingly complex wand motions which Harry had been practicing at agonising slowness with a mechanical pencil, his finger, and even a stick of celery taken from the healthy section of his Aunt Petunia's fridge.
The second he had recognised was a binding spell, sort of like 'Incarcerous' only several orders of magnitude more powerful and more difficult to cast. He had seen Dumbledore use it in an attempt to trap the Dark Lord during the same duel, and had incorrectly assumed the thing a pale green fire whip.
He drew back his pencil and waved it as though brandishing a whip, imagining a long thin flame flying from the tip and wrapping pale green around an opponent, he incanted 'Evinxi Necto.'
Harry sighed as he stated to himself, "This would be so much easier if I could actually try it with my wand."
With a small frown of concentration he went back to making tiny slashes and twists in the air with his pencil; the shield spell really was absurdly intricate.
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"What is the meaning of this Hermione Jean Granger!" the shrill voice of her mother bellowed as soon as Hermione stepped into the house, four weeks into the summer holidays. Hiding a small smile the brunette closed the door with a soft click.
"What is the meaning of what mother dear?"
"This note!" her father spat, waving the thing in her face.
"Ah yes," Hermione said, tapping the index fingers of both her hands to her lips in what she was hoping conveyed a thoughtful expression. "That would be a lie I wrote to keep you here so we could all have a nice family discussion. No escaping to your ever so important social functions tonight, I have something important we need to talk about."
Her mother blinked, "a lie?"
"Yes," she sighed in exasperation, "I am not really dropping out of school because I've gotten myself pregnant. Nor am I a lesbian circus performer, are you both completely insane?"
"My little girl would not leave such messages!" the man of the house said, a little flustered but quick to reassert his supposed authority.
"Oh do be quiet," Hermione rolled her eyes, "we might as well do this somewhere comfortable."
She collected three brandy glasses and a bottle from the liquor cabinet, filling all three with a solid measure of 'Hennessy XO.' Downing hers in a single practiced motion, Hermione poured herself a second and handed the alcohol to her idiotic parents, before taking a seat in the living room.
After a moment in silence Hermione's father asked the question which he most wanted to confirm, "So you're really not a lesbian then?"
"Oh for the love of god!" she threw up her hands. "There is a war on," Hermione began, ignoring the stupid question, looking both in the eye to make sure they were listening, "and I am leaving tonight, right after this conversation is over, to fight and perhaps die in the process. There is the possibility, even likelihood, that you will never see me again after today."
Taking a drink and waiting for one or the other to break the silence, Hermione decided it really was a very good brandy; she'd have to remember to take some with her when she left.
"Are you-,"
"Yes!" Hermione cut her off, "I am deadly serious."
There was more quiet.
"You are too young to go to war."
"I'm an adult by wizarding law," she pointed out to her obviously disbelieving parents, "besides Harry is almost a year younger than I, and he's the one leading it."
"Young lady, if you are acting out and playing at being childish, I will have none of it," the older woman stated simply, "we raised you better than this."
"You didn't raise me at all you stupid bastards," Hermione snarled. "There should be a number of laws preventing people like you from being allowed to have children!" she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "remember when I came home last year, and I had the deep gash across my chest which needed all of those healing salves?" they were about to interrupt so she snapped, "Do you?"
"Yes, you said it was from a mishap during your Female Defence class."
"Yeah well, that was also a lie," Hermione admitted. "A man named Antonin Dolohov hit me with a curse called the Flame Cutter during a skirmish in the Ministry building. I almost died, but that is beside the point. Do you recall Grandfather's knife wound from when he was in North Africa during World War Two? Well he was barely three years older than I am now, and my battle scar is more impressive and was more life threatening than his, so don't you try and tell me I'm too young."
"Y-your being completely honest aren't you?" mum asked in a horrified voice. "This isn't insolence or make believe."
"No."
"Why didn't you tell us the truth!" she wailed.
"Because you didn't fucking care that's why!" Hermione screamed out her long repressed anger. "You've never fucking cared you useless bastards. Here's a tip, if you have a child for no other reason than because it was on some imaginary list of things successful career people have in their lives, you shouldn't fucking well have children at all!" She took a second deep, calming breath, "I despise you two, I really do, and now I'm going to alter your memories so you will never even remember me. Then I'm leaving here, probably to get killed helping my only remaining friend kill the most dangerous human being who has ever lived."
They both attempted to speak but Hermione didn't want to hear it, Silencing them both with a casual wave of her wand. A few tears streaked down her face, but for the most part she remained impassive, letting the anger wash away as though it was never there.
"I wish Grandma was alive, it'd be nice to know someone I looked up to could be here to give advice," Hermione finished voicing her thoughts bleakly, wiping her face dry with her left hand. "Enjoy Australia."
"Obliviate!"
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Lens of Sanity
A bit of an interlude but the chapter was getting stupid long and this seemed a good place to split it… I've never been a fan of Saint Hermione, so decided on using SlyGoddess' school bully to establish the character. Also the way Obliviating her parents' went down, awesome!