Warning- Death, Nightmares. Please don't read if the things mentioned above are triggers.
Made by me subbing for Chaser 3 in the Caerphilly Caterpillars, QLFC Round 6.
Pairing- Hermione/Molly. Mother/daughter relationship.
Additional Prompts- [colour] teal, [emotion] guilt, [word] virtual.
Your Family Is Right Here
"Hermione!" Richard Granger shouted, stubbing his cigarette against the ashtray by his side and rising from his chair on the front porch. The newspaper he had just read lay forgotten on the table. "Hey, Jean, Hermione's home early!" He rushed to hug the young woman standing in front of him.
A beautiful brunette woman wearing an apron and oven mitts emerged from the door behind him. "Hermione!"
"Hello, Mum." Hermione beamed, hugging the woman tightly.
"We weren't expecting you back until next week, dear!"
"Change of plans, the school decided to let us go a week early," she tried to put on a happy smile, but had to swallow as the image of Albus Dumbledore's body lying on the grass washed through her mind.
"How peculiar," her mother mused, before letting her go to urge her inside the house. "I just put the lasagna in the oven, honey."
Hermione's smile faltered slightly. "Mum, Dad, that will have to wait. Can you please sit down? I- I have something to tell you."
"Of course, dear," her mum said, sitting on the comfy brown sofa with Richard beside her. Her teal-coloured eyes shone with worry. "What's going on, Hermione? Did something happen?"
Hermione hesitated, which only made her mother look even more worried. "Hermione!"
So she took a deep breath, and she told them. She told them about her near-deaths every year, she told them about Umbridge, about Sirius, the Order, about everything that she had hidden from them. Then, finally, she told them about Dumbledore, and the war, and the mission she, Ron and Harry had been assigned.
By the end, Hermione's voice was hoarse, and Jean was crying. Richard excused himself to go have a smoke, avoiding his daughter's eyes, while Jean shakily left to check on the lasagna. Hermione set the table. She needed to busy her hands, even if her mind was whirling with 'What-if's. She sniffled, knowing this was probably the last meal she would share with her parents.
Dinner was a silent affair; the only noises that could be heard were the clanking of cutlery against plates and the occasional shuffle of clothes. It felt as if it was taking ages until the lasagna was gone. Hermione had barely tasted anything. She had no taste for burnt cardboard.
After the plates had been washed in silence, they sat down to watch the telly. The atmosphere was tense and Hermione had the feeling as if she couldn't breathe. Under the pretense of unpacking, she ran up to her room, but instead put everything she could reach into her new beaded bag, from her Muggle clothes, to the Hogwarts trunk waiting at the door. She tiptoed back downstairs, wand in hand, and creeped into the living room, where her parents were sitting.
She leaned against the doorway for a minute, pausing at the sight of the two adults embracing on the sofa. A lump formed in her throat.
"-but we can't just let her go, Jean."
"We don't have any authority over her anymore, dear," her mother murmured back, hugging him tight as his body racked with sobs.
"We're- her parents, J," Richard muttered back, choking on another sob. "We have authority."
"Richie, listen to me, honey," Jean said, smiling sadly. "This is Hermione. We know how much she loves Harry. We know that when our Mi is fixated on something, she won't let it go. This… this war affects her, too. Dear, you know she's made plans, and she'll be careful."
"She's too young, Jean. She can't-" his voice broke.
"This is not our decision to make."
Hermione's heart broke at how sad her mother sounded, at how helpless her father looked.
She felt tears well up in her eyes as, with a trembling hand, she raised her wand. This was her fault. She was the reason her parents had to go through this. She was why they had started getting grey hairs at thirty. They would be better off without her. Her hand stopped trembling.
"Obliviate."
The setting changed, and suddenly Hermione was in the corner of a dark, ominous drawing room, unable to move, watching a man and a woman writhe on the floor. Suddenly, they stopped thrashing, and looked back to the corner, making eye contact with her and looking at her accusingly. Then they started screaming and writhing again.
"Filthy Muggles! Tell me where your daughter is-"
And it stopped. They slumped to the floor, their eyes vacant.
Hermione woke up with a huge gasp, sitting up in bed and grabbing her wand. She shot a Silencing Charm on the door and let the tears fall freely down her cheeks. This had been the third night in a row. Why would the nightmares not go away? Yes, she had practically killed Jean and Richard Granger to create Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Yes, she had no way of bringing her parents back from Wendell and Monica. Yes, there would have been another way to convince them to leave, to protect themselves. But God didn't have to punish her for it every day. If this kept up, she would have to brew Dreamless Sleep potions, and those were a pain to make- they frizzed her hair. And it was virtually impossible to get her bird's nest into a hairnet. Her mother had always-
She gulped, swallowing her pain, and made her way to the kitchen of the Burrow to get a glass of water, or perhaps something a bit stronger.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice herself arriving at the kitchen. Only when a voice called out her name did she pull herself from her thoughts.
"Hermione?"
She blinked. When had she gotten a glass of water into her hand? When had she sat down at the table? When had she begun crying?
"Hermione, dear?"
She shook herself and looked up.
"Are you alright?" Molly Weasley asked worriedly.
Hermione smiled tearily. "I'm alright, Molly. Just a nightmare."
Molly frowned. "Would you like me to make you something, dear?"
"No, thank you. I was just heading up." She got up hurriedly from the table and made to move towards the door when the older witch spoke again.
"I get them too, you know," she said quietly. Hermione paused in her tracks. "Nightmares. You can talk to me about yours, if you'd like."
Hermione turned back and looked at her. There were tears in Molly's eyes, waiting to be released.
"What do you see?" she asked softly.
"The Final Battle," Molly whispered. "Bill being killed by Greyback. Charlie riding in on a dragon, only to be crushed by a giant like he's nothing. Fred being cursed by Rookwood again. George going out the same way. Percy being attacked by Bellatrix. Ron-" her voice broke. "Voldemort torturing and killing Ron and Harry. You and Ginny-" she took a deep breath. "You and Ginny trying to avenge them all, only to die as well. Arthur- Arthur going mad with grief, killing anyone and everyone around him. Struck by a curse. And me-" she heaved a sob. "I'm left alone. Nobody here with me." She grabbed her head in her hands and muttered the word 'Alone' repeatedly.
Hermione had fresh tears running down her cheeks.
"For me, it's my parents," she said. Molly looked up in surprise. "I experienced a lot of things in the war. I was tortured, I was hunted, I killed, so many times,- but the worst thing I ever did was send my parents away. Every night, I get nightmares about them. I'm coming home after Dumbledore's death, and my dad welcomes me in. He looks so-" she choked. "He looks so happy. He calls my mother to the porch, we all hug and it seems so happy. Then we go inside. I tell them- I tell them everything. From my first year with the troll, to the Basilisk, to Sirius, to Voldemort and everything to do with the war. We eat dinner, and I go up to my room to pack everything that's in there.
"When I leave my room, it's empty. Just four walls. I go downstairs and my parents are crying, hugging, and my dad is still in denial. I didn't deserve them, Molly. I will never deserve people as wonderful as them. So I took away their memories. It was so easy, Molly. Just a whispered word and a flick of my wand. But it hurt so much inside. My heart broke so much, I'm surprised it still beats."
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears from flowing, but to no avail. A pain so strong swallowed her up and she could feel her heart break once more. Was it even able to break still? Was there still a heart left that could break?
"Then the room changed. It became the room I was tortured in, that drawing room in Malfoy Manor. I couldn't move. I was- I was stuck at the side, watching her torture them. And they were looking at me, like- like it was all my fault."
They were hugging now. Hermione hadn't noticed Molly stand up, but the elderly woman was holding onto Hermione like every mother did her child, tenderly, lovingly, showing her that she was protected, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
Her muscles tensed as she felt the love and tenderness coming from the Weasley matriarch. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve any of this.
"Why are you doing this?" Hermione asked brokenly. "I told you, it's my fault. It's my fault I'm an orphan now. I have no family. I deserve no family."
"You will always have family, Hermione. We are your family."
And in that moment, it was as if a wall broke down. Those two sentences, muttered with so much grief and honesty washed away the barrier she had built around her heart, her soul, and the tears welled over. "Thank you, Molly." She sobbed openly now, holding onto the other woman tightly. "Thank you."
"Now, as your pseudo-mother, we need to talk." The business-like aura that enveloped Molly in that instance was enough to shake Hermione out of her sorrow. "Where were we on talking about you and Ron?"
Hermione groaned before a teary laugh escaped her lips. "Molly!"
A huge thank-you to the amazing CupCakeyyy for beta-ing this!
And I mean heavily beta-ing.