Disclaimer: Not mine. All rights belong to JKR.

A/N: I started writing this story on the 19th of June, 2020, in the midst of the pandemic when I was too bored to study, couldn't go out to work, and had too much time to explore my writing skills.

Here's a little background that will help my readers understand some of what I write. This story is not a bed of roses. It will go dark but it has its beautiful moments. It's a romance—which will soon be the primary focus, but that romance will thrive in the midst of an intriguing plot. Trust me, you will not regret giving this a shot.

As for the rating (M), the story does contain adult themes, but not in the way you think. Our two main characters will obviously—at some point—get intimate, but it's going to progress gradually. If you want to read a PWP, you can find way better pieces someplace else. Also, while I was writing this, the image of Severus Snape that I held in my mind was from the books, not movies. Because book-Snape is younger (36 during HBP), other characteristics like his voice and character in general are same. This story is about two people coming together and their life further, sex will eventually play a role but love comes first. In my mind, love and sex are not entirely interconnected.

It's going to be a ride, exploring emotions like grief, guilt, horror, hatred, angst, but also happiness, fondness, attraction, friendship, care and love.

Are you ready?

Note: It is canon-compliant till OotP, but after that only a few episodes are canon. I have tried to keep all characters in character as much as possible. This is how I perceive things would have gone in the circumstances that I have laid.

Also, my first language is Spanish, not English. So I already apologise for minor errors, if any.

Reviews fuel me to write further or I start to lose interest. :P

Enjoy!

If thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only.

...love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me... (Sonnet 14)

Chapter 1: Something Wicked This Way Comes!

In Britain, summer is considered one of the loveliest times in the year. Most folks could be seen taking sunbaths on lazy days. Youngsters found all the lethargy leaving their body as June bagan. All was seen into a new, cheerier light in those few months. So was the perspective of Dr. Jean and Samuel Granger. Well, for the Dentists, summer also brought their daughter back home from her hush-hush school in Scotland.

Dr. Jean Granger and her husband, Dr. Samuel Granger, (also a Dentist) had always found happiness in their simplicity. Being renowned professionals, one could only imagine the abundance in their bank accounts, but their house was a three-bedroom set—a place where all the Grangers—and a certain cat—found a peaceful home.

There were precious memories in all nooks and corners of their house. The kitchen had numerous ones of the couple cooking together, the adjoined open-dining room had many of the family having meals together, chatting blithely, and the drawing room had a life-changing one of a stern-looking, greying woman, who had brought the news to the family, confirming their doubts that their daughter, Hermione Granger, was indeed special—that tale five years old now.

Now, their precious daughter was going to be Seventeen coming September. But the family would not be able to celebrate her coming of age in the Wizarding World, because like every year, the young witch would be at her school, starting her Sixth year.

From the kitchen of the Granger Residence, a hallway led to a flight of wooden staircase. If one were to go up, leaving the Master Bedroom on the ground floor, one would find two room in the other hallway—one was a guest room, seldom used, and the other was the room that belonged to the said young witch.

Whoever knew Hermione could easily picture her room—and it was no different from the imagination of many. Two out of four walls were covered with books, one wall had a solid bookcase but the other one was a makeshift, because there was not enough space in the room to accommodate place for the growing number of books the girl possessed. So, two summers back, Hermione had thrown the television set out of her room to make place for a makeshift book rack. Now, her room consisted of her single bed, soft and comfy, her study table that was always neat and tidy, a sette that was laden with plush cushions, a window seat where one could often find Hermione sitting and the two bookcases with obviously numerous books. A soft, white carpet was laid under the settee, matching the curtains, in contrast with the baby-blue patterns on white walls and similar furniture. A large window opened to the neighborhood, although it was a peaceful one, Hermione only opened the window at night.

That summer evening, Hermione had taken an early shower and had stood looking at her reflection in the mirror of her dresser that had its place in the small dressing room, adjoining her bathroom. A long scar extended from her collar bone to the top of her bra—a reminder of whatever that had happened at the Department of Mysteries, a few weeks back.

Being a Muggle-born had its benefits. It was easy to hide the details from your parents. She had not breathed a word of the Ministry debacle to her parents, fearing that they might not let her return to Hogwarts for the remaining two years. Not that her parents would ever force their will upon her, but they were, indeed, protective of their only daughter... In truth, Hermione saw no purpose of giving them a reason to be worried about her.

Voldemort was back and there would be a war—she hoped their side had enough time to prepare, though. The Order of the Phoenix had lost some Aurors and members at the Ministry encounter, leaving their side frail. It would take time to rebuild their strength.

Hermione sighed, wearing her shirt. Those thoughts were enough to steal her sleep, at least she could attempt to keep them away otherwise. She left the dressing room and entered her room. Her eyes fell on the two letters that were waiting their replies. One from Harry and the other from Ron. She thought about writing replies, but the problem was that none of the boys had insight enough to let one of their owls stay at her place until she would write back. Boys!

Well, Harry not having that presence of mind currently was actually understandable. She was worried about him, truly... After Sirius had passed away, her friend had hardly talked to her, or anyone. She liked Sirius, he—albeit too carefree and slightly reckless—was a good guardian for Harry, but now, he was gone. She hoped Harry would let her help him through it, although it was highly unlikely.

She unconsciously rubbed her collabone, feeling the rough edges of the cut that Dolohov had given her with his spell. That memory made her shudder. She had thought it was be the Killing Curse, but the man only managed to give her a deep cut with his other spell—Hermione was not sure which—until she had conjured the Protego Shield around herself. Madam Pomfrey had said that she would always bear the scar until she got it surgically removed at St. Mungo's—something that she had filed in her mind for future references, there would be time for that—hopefully.

"Hermione?" Her Mum called with a knock on her door. "Are you decent?"

Hermione snorted. "Yes, Mum." Her Mum had never stayed in a dormitory with two other girls, after all, which made her so sophisticated.

Her mother opened the door and poked her head in. From under the bed, Crookshanks leapt out and stretched dramatically. Hermione's mother chuckled at the familiar's antics. "Sweetie, I'm going out for a bit. Do you want anything from the Departmental Store?"

"No, nothing as such..." Hermione replied absently. "Oh, a small book bag, actually. Mine is on the verge of coming apart, even after all the spells that I keep using on it."

Her Mum chuckled again, "Sure thing, Love. Anything else?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Not even a good lip-gloss?"

"I don't use that, Mum."

"A good nail-paint?"

"Mum-"

"Face mask?"

"Mum!"

Her mother laughed, "You're no fun."

"I have Cosmetic Charms for all these wastes of money," Hermione said smugly, then chuckled.

"And I believe you have something to alter these rags, too? Oh, I forgot, my daughter likes to wear these hideous tatters," she smirked teasingly.

"What's wrong with this?" Hermione frowned, looking at her plain shirt.

"Nothing, except I might force you into buying a whole new wardrobe before you go off to your school." Her Mum closed the door after giving her an amused smile.

Hermione shook her head and snorted to herself. Her Mum truly disliked Hermione's sense of style, or lack thereof.

Hermione opened her trunk that sat at the end of her bed and retrieved a clean pair of socks for herself. She unconsciously fingered her wand that laid at the top of her pile of clothes. She kept it safely in her trunk while at home.

It was nearing time for dinner. Hermione gave Crookshanks his bowl of food before going down to the kitchen. Her father was apparently cooking the Shepherd's Pie, by the mouthwatering smell filling the house.

"Oh, hello, Pumpkin!" He said cheerfully. "I was going to call you."

"I was just showering," she said, walking to the stove and taking a deep breath in the aroma. "You need any help?"

"I would have, had I fancied a burnt dinner," he said teasingly.

Hermione was too bad a cook, and although her potions were upto the mark, her cooking was not even close. She giggled, sitting on the counter. "By the way, have you booked the tickets yet?"

"Oh, shoot, I forgot!" Samuel hissed, adding some spices in the dish. "I'll do that today. Don't tell your Mum."

"I won't, but if the seats are full..." She sighed dramatically, popping a slice of cheese in her mouth. Hermione adored those carefree evenings with her family.

"God save me," he shook his head, snatching the next piece of cheese from her hand. "You will never eat dinner at this rate."

Hermione feigned a groan but then just smiled. With all the chaos at Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, her family was her retreat. "I'll set the table, then," she volunteered, hopping down from the counter.

"Your mother is crazy for the World Cup," he snorted. "Good thing you reminded me."

"Return me the favour and don't let her tag me along?" Hermione tried.

"Sorry, not my department," her Dad held his hands up.

"I don't understand what's people's obsession with sports!" She muttered. "Harry and Ron, too, are mad after Quidditch."

"Oh, yes, I think a few letters arrived for you this afternoon, Love," her father said.

"Oh, I've read them," she said, collecting the required crockery from the cupboards. "They were from Ron and Harry."

"I think there were more than two- Oh, shoot! My garlic bread!" He made an irritable noise in his throat, rushing to the oven.

Hermione burst into laughter. "And somebody was making fun of my cooking."

"Ugh! Jean is going to kill me!" He retrieved the burnt bread from the oven that was emitting smoke. "She had warned me."

"You want me to take the blame?" Hermione said in a feigned voice.

Her father shot her a considering look before smirking, "I'm too well aware of your tactics, Young Lady. Last time something like this happened, I had to build you the makeshift bookcase."

"Dad! I helped, too," she playfully protested, taking the crockery to the table.

"Oh, really? Doing what? Sitting and reading leisurely while your old father worked under the blazing sun," he called from the kitchen.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that melodramatic tone of voice. "You're hardly old, Dad."

"What would you call a fifty-year-old, then?" He said as she re-entered the kitchen.

"Oh, c'mon, Dad, you can easily pass for a...forty...nine," she laughed. Her father, too, joined her in their old, private joke.

"Well, somebody is going to be of age, though," he smiled. "Adult, huh?"

Hermione grinned, again hopping up on the counter. "Yes, I'm so excited. I can finally join the Order." At her father's confused look, she explained, "Order of the Phoenix, remember?"

"Ah!" He nodded. "That association against that corrupt wizard, yes, yes. You'll be going there to stay again this year?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. Hermione sensed something akin to strained reluctance in her father's voice. "Why? I went there last year, too."

"Can't you keep a mobile phone with yourself, just so we are sure you're alright?"

"Technology doesn't work well with all the magic in the atmosphere," she explained. "The electromagnetic field gets disrupted."

"A pager?" He tried.

"I'll keep writing, Dad," she promised.

"Sweetheart, letters don't work for emergency situations," he said. He turned to her, "We watch the news. We're worried for you when you're miles away in a school that we don't even have a way of reaching."

Suddenly, Hermione inwardly sighed in relief for not telling her parents of the disaster in the Ministry she was involved in. "Dad, it's all Muggle you watch on the news. Hogwarts is safe." Or is it?

Her father sighed.

"Well, I have an idea," she perked up. "When I am graduated and take my own place to live in, I'll set a Floo network from there to here."

"Is that possible?"

"Of course!" She grinned.

"Look at my little girl, talking about buying her own place," he dramatically shook his head.

Hermione laughed. "That's really cliche, Dad."

"So what will be your role in this Order thing?"

"I am not sure... Professor Dumbledore assigns us the missions, you see," she told him, maintaining discretion.

"Missions?"

"Yes, like negotiating with a certain species, like the Giants or Ware- um... different species..." Although her parents were not much acquainted with the Wizarding World, it was common knowledge in Muggles, too, that Warewolves were never a pleasant news—thanks to the fictional authors. "Anyway, it will be great!"

"And your Healer's Apprenticeship, what about that?" He asked.

"I have talked to Madam Pomfrey, even sent her my OWL scores, she had said that I can do an informal Apprenticeship while I'm in school," she told him. "When I'm graduated, I can directly take the HEMs and start a formal internship in St. Mungo's."

"How many years will that be for?" Her father asked. Hermione really liked that despite being Muggles, her parents took just as much interest in her life in the Wizarding World. Sadly, she could not tell them everything, though.

"About a year, then I will become a Medi-witch, but without any specialisations," she told him. "After that, I can take another internship under a Healer of my chosen field of Healing, to attain the specification. That's another six months. Then, I'll have to take HIGs—another set of exams, before I can finally start my practice."

"So, only two years, and you'll be a doctor! That's great!" Her father grinned.

"Healer," she corrected. "And, yes, but there's a lot to learn, but I'm very excited about it-"

Her words were cut short by the doorbell. "I'll get it," she said, hopping down the counter.

"It must be Jean," her Dad said as she went to the main door.

It was indeed her mother, carrying a couple of shopping bags. Hermione smiled, "Dinner's almost ready. Dad burned the bread again."

Her Mum gasped. "I'm not letting this man come near my oven again!"

Hermione snickered. "Good luck with th-"

"Crucio!" A man's voice shrieked.

"Hermione!"

"Sam, call the police- Argh!"

Hermione felt the sudden jolt of pain taking over her body. White, hot knives ran through her nerves. Maybe, she fell down because she could vaguely feel the cold tiles beneath herself.

"Jean! Argh!"

"Sam!"

"...wants them alive..."

"...pathetic Muggles..."

Her screams submerged any other voices that might have been speaking or shouting, all she could hear were her own screams in excruciating pain that racked her body.

She could not figure out if it was a continuous bout of agony or if she was given any time in between the attacks, all she was aware of was the pain and the darkness that was soon to follow. But before it could take her away, her last thought was a muttered prayer, a plea to whichever deity was listening—to keep her parents safe.

A/N: So here it is, the first of many. I'm currently way ahead in my writing. Hope you liked that. The first few chapters will be quite short but the lengths will improve after a while.

Have a good day!