Ron wandered around the house, looking for a spot to sit and rest for a bit. He had fed Pig and played with him for a little while, and then had gotten busy cleaning the bathroom, by far his least favourite chore. As a prize for himself, he made a sandwich and settled on the steps right outside of the kitchen to eat.
The sun was intermittently covered by some clouds. A cool breeze was messing up his hair, which was pretty much the longest he had ever had it. It had been months since he had bothered with a cutting charm and, honestly? He wasn't in any hurry to get it shorter. There was simply no point to it, and he was far too lazy to care.
He chewed on the last bite of bread and swallowed fast, washing it all away with a few gulps of water. Then he put his hands on the floor behind his back, resting his weight on them, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet. He sighed, and closed his eyes to appreciate the nice weather.
Auror training. The words came to his mind with the same insistence they had of late, demanding he pay attention to them. Ron had the chance to become an Auror, and somehow the decision wasn't as easy as he would have imagined it to be.
He had always dreamed of becoming an Auror. He had abandoned the hope altogether when he had left Hogwarts, which meant failing to meet the requirements the Ministry demanded. Then, they had been on the run and in the middle of a war, so he hadn't really thought of what he would do after the war. It almost felt like jinxing himself to do so. Except when it came to Hermione, with whom he would always see himself in a hazy, peaceful future, happy and together. Outside of hoping there would be such a time where he would be free to kiss her and wake up late on the weekends, he had not made one single plan for himself after the war.
He had survived it, though. He had a future, even if he hadn't given it more than a passing thought. Life right now felt a bit like limbo, so full of somber stillness that it felt oppressive, confined. Maybe it simply was that he was just so tired, still unable to sleep much at night. In any case, he didn't feel like his life was open and full of possibilities, and therefore had not really thought about what he was going to do with himself.
Now that he thought about it, there were two choices, really. Hogwarts was out of the question, but Auror training was a way of getting educated in a respected career. He wasn't sure he felt the pull for adventure and justice that he had always related to being in the force; not after the war and seeing so much pain and destruction. Still, the need to protect the wizarding community was still there, and he could still see there was purpose in following that path.
Ron jumped out of his thoughts when something bumped and rubbed against his forearm. He half-turned his body to see what could possibly be touching him that way and...
"Meow?"
"Crookshanks? What are you up to?"
He saw the cat drop something next to Ron's long leg, and Ron picked the small metal thing between his fingers, thinking it was a tiny toy of sorts.
"Blimey," Ron said as he took a better look at it. It was one of Hermione's hair pins; one he saw she often used to try to keep a stubborn strand of hair out of her face.
If he wasn't mistaken, it was one of her favourites. It was brown, almost to the same shade of Hermione's hair, but decorated with a small and pretty crown. He had seen her wear it a few times. He had wondered about it, as she wasn't a witch to wear a lot of baubles on her. Ron hadn't known it had been in the house this whole time.
"Are you asking me about Hermione, again? Or is it that you're missing her?"
"Meow."
Ron didn't think about it, and absentmindedly petted Crookshanks' head, softly scratching behind his ears. He curled up next to Ron as if to take a nap, and Ron kept on petting.
"Me too, mate. I miss Hermione, too."
Hermione's new hotel room had a little balcony overlooking the city. She sat there that Friday evening, watching the thousand lights of civilization shine brighter as the sun set under the horizon.
In a strange manner, she knew such a sight would have seemed beautiful and even peaceful to her not so long ago. Sadly, it didn't give her any joy at the moment.
Hermione sat instead looking at the wand in her hand, rolling it between her fingers gingerly, and thinking about the kind of magic she would have to perform with that horrid piece of wood.
She had decided that she couldn't afford to take a few days to carefully plan a way to approach her parents, anymore. She had tried that route, and had ruined it completely. She had originally thought that if she took into consideration every detail and every possibility, she would be able to remain calm and carry out her plan successfully. It had all gone up in smoke when she had failed to predict all options. Then something had gone awry, and she had panicked to the point she had almost given herself a heart attack.
No, there was no point in pretending she was any good at strategizing. Besides, she was hoping they could all return to England as soon as they opened the borders in a couple of weeks, and she was sure her parents needed the time to settle any activities and do any paperwork they needed to return to their home. That meant she had to be ready to cast a powerful spell sometime in the next couple of days. Going to their parents' house during the weekend still seemed like the best idea.
She just had to convince herself that she could still do advanced magic, and that she could use this particular wand to do it. The wand a crazy woman had used to torture her and many others.
Just the thought of casting spells and charms made her feel like an undercurrent of electricity was running softly just below her skin. It was like her body was missing the use of magic, despite her mind loathing to use a wand she despised, her body almost nauseated at the thought.
Using the wand during the war had been different; first it was so she could impersonate Bellatrix, and then because it was the only wand she could use to fight in the Battle. Afterwards, though... afterwards, she hadn't been forced to use magic, and now it was nearly three weeks since she had performed more than a few, simple spells. She was sure she hadn't used it at all in the last week, at least. Honestly, she wasn't looking forwards to using it again.
She couldn't get a new wand, though, and there was difficult magic she had to use.
Trying to ignore the revulsion she felt, she got up and walked determinedly into the room. It would be a long night for her, practicing spells until she felt she could be the kind of witch with the power to restore her parents' minds.
Hermione's hands were sweating and she felt terribly lightheaded. She was wearing one of Ron's long-sleeved shirts, their hem going well past her wrist. It helped hide the wand she was clutching like her life depended on it.
She rang the doorbell with a trembling hand, and had to force herself to breathe as she waited.
Focus. FOCUS! Don't hesitate. Just focus.
"Yes?"
She was lovely. Hermione always had thought her mother was beautiful. Her smile usually made Hermione feel happy, but now she was simply frozen in her spot.
"Can I help you with anything?" Hermione's mum asked gently, her smile disappearing behind a look of concern.
"Confundus," Hermione cast with the faintest of voices. She saw her mum's eyes lose their shine, becoming glassy and unfocused. She frowned and shook her head slightly as if trying to clear the fog Hermione had caused in her mind. "Thank you for inviting me in, I shouldn't take long."
"What? Oh, yes, yes, of course. Come on in,"
Hermione stepped into the room, barely noticing any details of their house. She sat down on the sofa her mum was pointing at with the soft and hesitant movements typical of someone confunded.
"Is da- Is Mr. Wilkins home?"
"Yes," her mum replied. "Wendell? Come here, honey,"
"Who was it?" He appeared through the hallway, a dishcloth in his hands.
Hermione had to hold back the tears that were threatening to flood her throat and blind her eyes. His dad seemed older than she remembered, but had the same kind eyes she had always loved.
"This young lady has something to tell us," her mum announced, finally sitting in one of the seats in the room.
"Well, hello," Hermione's dad said. "Are you from the Volunteering office? We've been waiting for you."
He sat in the other seat across from her, hanging the washing cloth over the armrest.
Hermione looked at her parents' faces, both of them looking back at her with openness and curiosity. Fear was bubbling in her, making her feel at loss and out of control. What if she ruined it? She had practiced for hours, but what if she failed? And what if she did it perfectly? There was always the matter of how they would react to what she had done.
She didn't have time to ponder and doubt, though. She couldn't let herself panic. She had to go ahead, and face whatever consequences came to be.
"Cedo Venerunte," she said subtly pointing her wand to her mum. Her dad, reacting instinctively at the light shining from Hermione's hand, stood up quickly and defensively, the seat scratching the wooden floors. Hermione quickly pointed her wand towards her dad, who looked like he was threatening to jump to attack Hermione. "Cedo Venerunte!" she yelled in fear and shock at feeling that way about her dad for the first time.
He fell to his knees in front of her, his face blank, eyes open wide in surprise. Her mum was still sitting on the seat, bearing much the same expression as her father. They slightly shook once, twice; small, short-lived seizures caused by fresh magic on their brains.
"I am so, so sorry," Hermione said, seeing their shaking bodies behind her now-closed eyeids. She bent over to rest her arms on her knees and her head on her arms, and finally broke down and cried.
Her sobs racked her body. She lost the little energy that had fueled everything up to this point. She knew that, despite the signs, she couldn't be sure whether the spell had worked or not. It still might have gone wrong. And now that she had let those emotions explode, she couldn't quite control herself enough to check. So she remained bent over, hiccupping and sobbing and hoping for the best.
"Hermione?" Her dad asked, his voice full of doubt. She couldn't move, but cried harder than she thought she could at hearing her name in his voice. "What...? How...?"
"I don't..." Hermione's mum said, almost in the same intonation as her dad.
Hermione finally lifted her head, her tears making her parents look blurry.
"I am SO sorry! I didn't know what else to do! Please understand, it was doing this or risking your death!"
"I couldn't remember I had a daughter," her mum said. "We came to Australia without knowing we had a daughter."
Her dad stood up, looking down at Hermione with the first signs of reproach. "You made us forget we had a daughter, didn't you?"
Hermione couldn't reply, so she just nodded her head yes, looking pleadingly from her dad to her mum.
"Was Australia your idea, too?" Her mum asked this time, the first threads of anger apparent in her voice. "I had never had any intention to come here, but all of a sudden there was nothing that could make me happier than coming to live here."
She nodded yes again, this time looking at the floor in guilt. She lost all hope that her parents would understand her motives, their actions both familiar and terrifying.
"So you used magic on us? Without our consent?" By now, her mum's voice was shrill. She knew her mum would soon explode.
"I just meant to protect you," Hermione finally was able to say, still pleading, still trying to make them understand.
"It was NOT your choice to make!" Her dad raised his voice, dripping with disapproval. "I thought we had taught you better!"
"Daddy, listen to me," she begged, "you two were in enormous peril. You remember the Wizarding War, don't you? They would have sought you out and tortured you!"
"It still doesn't give you the right to take our agency away from us! People have the right to choose their own way, and you stole that from us. How could you respect us so little?"
"No, no, it wasn't like that," Hermione tried to argue, "I didn't do it because I didn't respect you, but because I know what magic is capable of and I couldn't bear risking you like that!"
"So you thought it was alright to take that decision from us?" Her mum demanded indignantly. "I knew you weren't telling us all there was to know about that war. You lied to us for years, and then not only did you use magic against us without our consent, but completely ignored our right to decide what to do with our lives."
"But, Mum, you two would have never agreed to leave the country, and if you had stayed, they would have found you! You could have lost your minds or die, don't you see?"
"We would have left England if you had come with us. Did you ever think of that option? Not lying to us, not violating our rights, but coming with us escaping from that danger?"
Hermione lowered her eyes again and talked barely above a whisper. "I couldn't do that. I had made a promise. I had to help save my world."
"And we didn't fit in that. In your world there was no room for us," Hermione's dad concluded, disapproval staining each word.
"No! Of course you're part of my world! That's why I needed to save you, don't you see?"
Her mum stood up, side by side with Hermione's dad. Her face was hard like stone, her lips pressed tightly into a thin line of contempt. "I don't know how I can trust you again, knowing you turned your wand on us that way. You are my daughter, even if I thought I didn't have any children of my own for months and months. That's the only reason I'm not asking you to leave our house right now. Do stay; I just don't think I can be in your presence and control my anger at the same time."
She turned and walked out of the sitting room.
"Daddy?" Hermione begged, her voice small and scared.
"I have never been so disappointed in you," he said, and crossing his arms, turned away from her.
Hermione saw them leave, and soon heard the click of a door closing. She felt the tears come back in full force, and she covered her face with her hands as if to try to protect herself from seeing that her parents had left her alone. Even if they had been extremely angry at her before, they had never left her alone like that, and it showed Hermione quite how critical their reaction was.
As minutes passed by, and as silence surrounded her, she could only feel the heaviness that pulled her down onto herself. The argument had taken every ounce of energy she had, and now she felt unbearably tired. She lay down on the sofa she had been sitting on the whole time, and curled up into a ball. She let her tears run freely and silently until she sensed she was falling asleep, welcoming the unconsciousness that would let her forget that even if the spell had worked, everything had gone terribly bad.
Several hours later, Hermione woke up with the certainty that she was being observed. She saw her parents as soon as she opened her eyes, sitting on the same seats they had been in before. Slowly she sat up again on the sofa, neck and back sore from sleeping in a weird position. Then she held her hands on her lap, wringing them tightly, and waited for them to say something.
"We're still angry, make no mistake," her mum began, "but we want to know more. This time don't tell any lies. Tell us everything."
She did. She didn't edit anything this time, like she would have back during her school years. She simply began chronologically right from the moment she had first heard of You-Know-Who, what he wanted to do, and what it meant for her friends and for the wizarding community.
She spoke for a long time, trying to make sure they would understand the severity of the situation. She did not hold back when explaining the position that muggles and muggleborns would have under Voldemort's regime, and why it was so important for her to be there, to fight for her values, right alongside Ron and Harry.
"Ron and I knew it was going to happen soon. We talked about it many times; spent hours alone somewhere in the castle when Harry was away with Dumbledore, discussing what we would do when the time came. So when Harry announced that he was leaving school, Ron and I knew what to say. We knew what we had to do. We had to go with him.
"You see," Hermione continued, "We had always been a team. We couldn't let him go on his own. And the war affected us all, especially muggleborns like me and muggles like you. I couldn't, couldn't go away and not help. You taught me of justice, you taught me of loyalty, and that decision was me being true to those values."
"Alright, I can see how that makes sense. It feels different when it's my daughter being heroic rather than a random inspirational figure like those we told you about growing up," her dad conceded.
"I wasn't being heroic, I was -" She interrupted herself when she saw the look on her dad's eyes.
"Still, that doesn't explain why you lied to us, and why you violated us by using magic on us without our consent."
Hermione cringed at the word violated, and decided to try to focus on answering all their questions truthfully.
"I was terrified you would not let me go to Hogwarts anymore, or you would decide Harry and Ron weren't good friends for me, antagonizing me every time I mentioned their names. I truly believed in the cause, and you have to know," she added with sentiment, "I had never, ever had friends like them before! I love them!"
Her parents looked at each other for a moment, communicating without the need for words, and then turned to her again.
"We can't approve of the lies, Hermione, even if there was a purpose to them; even if they were founded on something so important to you. You were a minor, and as such incapable of fully understanding what you were getting into. That's our role, as parents, to protect you from such things. You made that impossible by hiding the full truth from us."
"I was a minor, but you have said yourselves I was always mature for my age. You taught me about courage and honour, did you really expect me to not live up to it?"
"And what values exactly were you following when you decided to make us forget about you and send us here to Australia?" Her mum asked in a serious, monotone voice that Hermione knew well. It was the voice she used when trying to control her anger but was close to failing at it.
Hermione looked down to the floor, ashamed. "That... that was the only way I could think of to keep you two safe. I never meant harm, I just needed to make sure they would never find you. It had the added benefit that by not knowing of my existence, you wouldn't suffer if I did not survive the war, and would continue with your lives happily ever after. I needed to know you would be happy. I thought of you two being happy here in Australia, when I missed you during the time I was away."
Her parents looked at each other in the same manner as before. Hermione waited, knowing the discussion was coming to an end.
"We're conflicted. We've heard everything you have said, and even though a lot of it makes sense from a moral standpoint, it is impossible for us to ignore the parts that don't. You lied, you betrayed our trust, and as such there's a wound in our relationship that we don't know how to heal. But you're our daughter, and we're willing to try, if you are."
"Of course I am," Hermione replied with passion. "I want us to be alright, and hopefully gain your full trust again."
Hermione's mum nodded as if finally coming to a decision and reached for her hand, the first time they actually touched; the first time Hermione felt any kind of affection from them in so long.
She began crying again, squeezing her mum's hand, thankful that even if they were not in the best of terms yet, a bridge between them had been built.
The next day, late on Sunday, Ron was getting ready to sleep. Meaning, he kicked off his shoes and took of his trousers, ready to sleep in his shirt and pants.
He lay down on his bed, noticing Pig coming into his room through the window and getting into his always-opened cage. Ron pretty much let him fly in and out at will, which seemed to fit both personalities nicely.
"Thought you would be out hunting mice 'til tomorrow morning," Ron commented to the bird, who started grooming himself.
The door opened and Harry entered, a confused look on his face.
"Why on earth would I want to hunt mice?" He asked, evidently having heard Ron's question and thinking it was directed at himself.
Ron sniggered and pointed at Pig, causing Harry to absentmindedly say simply, "Oh."
Harry started getting ready for bed-to stay there only for a couple of hours, surely, but Ron said nothing.
"Have you thought about Kingsley's offer?" Harry began.
"Yeah," Ron replied. "Are you taking it?"
"Probably. I think... I mean, it's kinda my responsibility to finish the job, right?"
"It would also be alright if you decided you've had enough of fighting the Dark Arts," Ron pointed out, as if explaining to a small child.
Harry huffed dismissively. "As if I could. You have to think that's all I've done my whole life. It's kind of my profession already. Besides, Voldemort himself might have been defeated, but his ideals haven't, not fully. Kingsley said so himself." He ruffled his own hair, thinking. "I'd rather all of it was gone, forever, wouldn't you?"
Ron sighed dramatically. "I s'pose. I reckon that's why I've decided to take on his offer, too."
Harry turned, and smiled. "You will, huh? Great. Will let him know tomorrow."
"Yeah, I will become an Auror. Besides, it's kinda my thing, fighting right alongside you. Won't stop doing that now, yes?"
