House: Slytherin
Year: 4th
Category: Standard
Requirement: Love conquers all
Prompt: [Weather] Misty
Word Count: 970
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Hermione pulled her duffel bag off the baggage claim and began walking towards the cabs. As she did, she kept constant watch over her surroundings. The war was finally over, but the Battle of Hogwarts was still seared into her brain, and the months spent on the run had taken their toll. She didn't know if she'd ever be the same, but she hoped so. As time passed, she was beginning to relax a little more. Things were slowly returning to normal.
Searching for the neatly lettered sign that would say "Granger", she felt the tears bubbling within her almost rise to the surface again. There was one thing she wasn't sure would ever return to normal, but she had to try, no matter how much it hurt, because she owed them as much. She stopped before her cab.
"Are you Miss Granger?" her driver said in a heavy Australian accent.
"I am she," Hermione said, letting him take her duffel bag from her and toss it into the trunk. "Would it be possible to drop me off at a relative's house instead of my hotel? My mother's dying, and she wants to see me as quickly as possible."
"I don't see why not," he said, holding open the door for her to enter the car. "Just as long as it's not too far." As the taxi pulled out into the early morning fog, he asked, "What's the address?"
Hermione pulled a well-worn paper from her pocket. "638 Magnolia Lane."
"That won't be any problem."
As he drove, Hermione tried to ignore her growing apprehension. It had been nearly a year since she had last seen her parents. They wouldn't recognize her, of course, but she hoped she would still be able to recognize them. Surely they couldn't have changed too drastically in one year…
Although the drive was supposed to only take 20 minutes, the thick fog covering the city meant that Hermione didn't exit the taxi until nearly 8 AM. Nevertheless, she paid the driver with a smile, and when he wished her luck with her mother's recovery, that smile only faded a bit. If only the memory charm were reversible - she had been nothing if not thorough last year, and all accounts said the effects were permanent. Yet she thanked him for his kind words, then set off in the early morning mist.
The fog clung to her and made it hard to tell which way she was going - inside it, Hermione felt lost. It made her think of her parents, lost and wandering in a similar fog which she herselves had placed in their minds. It was as though their entire lives had been enveloped by mist. One which (hopefully) they would find a way out of.
Finally, Hermione found their door. As the fog swirled around her, she knocked.
When her father opened the door, Hermione almost began to cry. It was as though a stranger wore her father's face, for there was no warm glow of recognition in those familiar eyes. "What do you want?" he said brusquely. "If you're trying to sell something, we're not interested."
Hermione swallowed. "No, it's not that," she said, her voice breaking. "There's something important I have to tell you…"
"Wendell?" Her mother's voice floated to Hermione. "Who's at the door? They sound familiar."
"It's some young woman, dear," her father called back. "She says she has something important to tell us."
"Oh?" Hermione's mother approached, busily stirring her coffee. Then she looked up and saw Hermione.
Both women froze. In her mother's eyes, Hermione saw something - the barest flash of recognition - and then the mug of coffee slipped from her mother's hands and shattered, sending scalding coffee everywhere.
After casting a surreptitious glance around her, Hermione siphoned the coffee out of the carpet and cast a quick Reparo. As the mug knit itself back together, she asked, "Are you okay?"
"I- I'm fine," her mother replied. "You look very familiar, Hermione."
Hermione's lips quicked into a grin. "You know my name?"
"Somehow," her mother replied, pressing a hand to her forehead. "But I must be going crazy, because it would be impossible for a mug to repair itself."
Now her father was looking at her, his eyes wide. "I think," he said slowly, "I think I knew a Hermione. Once. A lifetime ago. She was a witch. She mended mugs like you did."
Hermione blinked back her tears, focusing on her parent's faces. Around her, the mist seemed to be thinning. "What did this Hermione look like?" she asked.
"She was brave," her mother said immediately. "So, so brave. She was a lion. And very smart. We were always impressed by how quickly she learned. Even magic."
Her father nodded. "She was strong, too. When her friends got in trouble, she would help them, and when she was bullied for her blood status, she kept her chin up." He sighed. "I wish I'd had more time with Hermione."
"Me too," her mother said.
Hermione swallowed hard. "You can still have time with her," she said softly. "Do you remember what this Hermione looked like?"
Her father frowned. "No, oddly, I can't."
But then her mother started. "You, you have Edward's nose! And my eyes! And the Granger hair!" She paused. "Who are you?"
Now it was her father's turn to start. He stared at her again, harder this time, then enveloped her in a hug. "She's Hermione," he said as he squeezed her so hard Hermione thought her ribs might break. "She's our daughter."
And around them, the fog lifted. The sun smiled down at the happy family, warming them with its bright, clear glow. Just as her parent's eyes and minds were clear now, too. The mist was gone; it was time to embrace the light.