House: Slytherin
Position: Year 4
Prompt: [Weather] Fog
Category: Short
Word Count: 1819
oO0Oo
The fog clung to the hilltop, casting everything in a surreal glow. It was a beautiful morning for a walk, and an even more beautiful morning for a run.
Hermione puffed along, trying her hardest just to keep jogging. Her feet throbbed, her thighs burned, and she was sure she had a stitch in her side, because what else could be causing such sharp pains with each breath she took — however, she kept running. If she was to be hunting horcruxes and fleeing Death Eaters in the coming year, she had to be in better shape than she currently was.
Panting, she started sprinting up the hill. The top was so close, and if she reached it without collapsing, she promised herself that she'd take a minute or two to catch her breath and take a sip of water from the water bottle she had put into her backpack.
Muscles screaming, Hermione finally crested the hill. Below her, laid out like a map, was her tiny portion of Birmingham. If she squinted, she could even spot the familiar black shingles of her own home. In its tiny yard, there was a small, hunched over older woman in a pink flowered bathrobe puttering about. Her mother was likely getting an early start on her daily gardening and tending to the peonies.
Hermione began to smile at the sight; however, as she remembered the why exactly she was running out and about in the early morning fog and not sleeping in her comfortable bed, the smile faded. The Wizarding War was looming, and she didn't have long before she helped Harry defeat Voldemort. Her role was crucial: she had to ensure that Harry survived long enough to face Voldemort. She'd known that since fourth year, when Voldemort had returned. It was an important duty, and the Death Eaters would do anything to stop her, including break her.
If that meant killing innocents, she doubted that would even give them a pause. Lucius Malfoy had slipped Ginny the horcrux diary when the girl was only a first year, not knowing what it would do, but knowing that it had been enchanted by his Lord and so was likely filled to the brim with dark and dangerous magic. So long as they were her parents, they were in danger that they could never defend against. It didn't matter how many wards she cast or how many protective charms she placed around them; the simple fact remained that they were muggles, and so any determined wizard would find it very easy to torture them, kill them, or kidnap them. Even guns would not be able to protect them — Hermione could easily imagine a discreet Imperius being placed on her mother as she went shopping, or a stunner while her father was driving to work. Even the Order couldn't keep them safe, not against everything, and that was assuming the Order had enough people to keep a 24/7 guard around her parents.
Her parents were in danger as long as they were her parents.
But she wouldn't let them die. Not if she could help it.
Hermione swallowed hard. She knew what she had to do. Steeling her resolve, she began to run back down the hill. With each step, with each pounding of her heart, the inevitability seemed to grow. She had a duty to her parents, to ensure that they were protected. She had a duty to Harry, to help him save the Wizarding World. She would die for both, and she would kill for both.
But of the two, her duty to Harry and the Wizarding World trumped that to her parents. She hated to put it in such cold, cruel logic, but the lives of thousands easily outweighed those of her parents, even if they were her parents. If the Order couldn't help her keep her parents safe, she would have to do that herself.
Her parents were in danger as long as they were her parents.
As she neared her house, she slipped her wand out from her backpack. "Mum?" she called. When the figure clad in the pink bathrobe turned, Hermione gave her a strained smile. "Is Dad up yet?"
Her mother squinted at the sun, then replied, "I think so, though he's probably in the shower right now. Goodness, Hermione. You should have told me you were going running this morning! I'd have made you breakfast, too."
"Don't worry about it. I can make my own breakfasts." Hermione glanced around, then lowered her voice. "Mum, could we go in? I've got something important to tell you and Dad, something about my boarding school."
"Could it wait a few minutes? I'm almost done tending to my peonies."
Against her will, Hermione smiled fondly at her mother's devotion to her flowers. "It really can't, mum. This is really important, and I want to talk to you and Dad as soon as possible."
"I guess then, dear." Her mother hummed under her breath as she put away the watering can, then the shears, then turned to Hermione. "While we're waiting for you father to get out of the shower, how about I put on a pot of tea? You look parched from running."
"Sure, mum," Hermione said, feeling her throat beginning to constrict at the thought that this might be the last cup of tea her mother ever made her. "That'd be nice."
"Then let's go in. Water doesn't boil itself, you know!" With a cheery wave, her mum entered the house, and after taking a deep breath, Hermione followed her in. "Now, go wash up, Hermione, and I'll have your breakfast ready by then."
Hermione snorted softly but did as her mother bid. When she exited the bathroom, she found a heaping plate of eggs before her. "Mum, I told you I wasn't hungry!" she protested as she entered the kitchen. "And those were dad's eggs!"
"Ah, don't worry about it," her mum said fondly. "Dig in, and I'll have another batch ready for him when he comes out. He never has to know."
"He never has to know what?" Her father's familiar voice filled the room, and Hermione turned to find him standing in the doorway in full business attire.
"Oh, just that Hermione gets your eggs this morning," her mother cheekily answered. "Have a seat, love, and I'll whip you up some more."
"No, don't worry about it," Hermione said, pushing the plate of eggs back in front of her father's seat, where it belonged. "I'm not that hungry right now, anyways." And she wasn't. In her stomach twisted knots of fear, worry, and apprehension; she didn't think she'd be able to eat anything right now. She took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're here, dad, because I have something I want to say."
"What is it, honey?" he asked.
"Mum, could you join us at the table? This- well, this is important." Hermione waited until her mum had taken off her apron and sat down before speaking again. "You know about the prejudice in the Wizarding World. You know that I'm a muggleborn. Things aren't great for me, but they're about to get a lot worse.
A dark wizard intent on enforcing blood purity is beginning to terrorize the Wizarding World. There's this prophecy that Harry has to defeat him, and I mean to help Harry succeed." Her father began to speak, but Hermione cut him off with a sharp glance. "I have to be there, dad. If I'm not, he might not survive until he has to face You-Know-Who, and then I'll be hunted down anyways, because I'm a muggleborn." She dragged her chair in. "But it's dangerous. This wizard has followers, and those followers are ruthless and will do anything to succeed. They'll try to hurt me, and, well, if they can't find me… it'll be easy for them to find you."
She gave them a sad smile. "I want to keep you safe, mum and dad. But as long as I'm your daughter and you're my parents, you're not safe."
To her surprise, it was her father who seemed gobsmacked, while her mother simply nodded. "We'll hide, then," her mother said. "We'll change our names, dye our hair, and disappear."
"But what if they track you down?" Hermione countered. "What if they put a Taboo on my name, so they know whenever someone says it, and one day you just let it slip? You'd be defenseless against them. The Order doesn't have enough people to protect you, and I will not let you die."
"Then what would you have us do?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I'd- I'd wipe your memories and give you new ones send you to the United States, where you'd be safe. You could have entirely new lives. You wouldn't remember me. You'd be safe."
"But Hermione, what if we don't want to forget you?" Her mother smoothed down one of Hermione's flyaway curls. "You're our little girl, and even if this war will be as dangerous as you say, I don't want to forget you. Nothing is more important than that."
"This is safe and reversible," Hermione lied. "Once the war's over, I would either lift the Memory Charm or send someone else to do it. It would only be temporary."
"That's my girl." Her father laid a hand on her shoulder. "So strong, so brave, so methodical. Harry's lucky to have you, Hermione."
She smiled at him, although tears were beginning to blur her vision. "So you'll do it, then?"
"If it'll help you, then I'll do it," her father said. "I love you, Hermione, don't forget that. That won't change no matter what memories you put in my head. Jean?"
"I guess," her mother said. "And I love you too, Hermione, no matter what happens."
Hermione pulled her parents into a bone-crushing hug, then pointed her wand at each of their foreheads in turn and began casting.
Hours later, she left her home. Only, it wasn't her home any longer. The eggs sat untouched on the table, but it was too late to go back and have her final glimpse of her parents or have one last bite of her mother's cooking. She'd clouded their minds with a thick and insidious fog, and they wouldn't recognize her until it lifted, if it ever did. In their current state, they'd most likely call the police on her if she walked into the house.
So Hermione clutched her beaded bag and walked away from her parents, already thinking about what she would tell the Order: she'd Obliviated her parents and sent them to Australia with fake identities, and they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins there. Any spies of Voldemort who heard that rumor would have trouble finding her parents then.
As long as they were her parents, they were in danger. But it seemed they weren't her parents anymore.