Hermione arrived on the back step of her childhood home and paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings. The home hadn't changed much, the same wooden swing hung from a great oak tree at the back of the garden while beds of wildflowers bloomed, emitting sweet scents that attracted the buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies. Nothing had really changed, perhaps the white picket fence that separated them from the fields looked more grey than white these days and the sage green door had pealed in a few spots but on the whole, it had stayed the same even if her relationship with the inhabitants of the home had soured some in recent times. The house held so many fond memories of her childhood, that brought tears to her eyes when she tried to focus on them.
Unlike with the Burrow where she always felt welcome, Hermione no longer felt comfortable with walking into her childhood home without invitation, so she raised her fist and knocked on the door firmly three times, waiting for the familiar scuffle of her fathers feet, it was always her father who would come to greet her and today was no exception, within minutes of her knocking, the sage green door swung open to reveal the tall frame of her father.
"Hello Dad," she whispered, her eyes burning as she looked at him. As with the house her father hadn't changed much with time; he had a few more grey hairs amongst his chestnut curls, and a few more lines upon his face which she hoped were from laughing and not frowning. He looked almost the same, but his demeanour was different these days, he was less open and welcoming than he had once been.
"Hermione," he greeted and part of her wondered where her nickname had gone, once he'd always greeted her with a warm Poppet when she'd returned home but since restoring his memories his words had been colder, more detached.
"I was told you were expecting me," she whispered, her father nodded, gesturing for her to follow him inside, Hermione did so with tentative steps.
"Hermione, her mother greeted, stepping forward to give her a hug that brought no comfort, it was clinical, distant, nothing at all like the warm safe embraces she remembered from her childhood.
"Hi mum," she replied, a single tear leaking onto her cheek, her dad who stood behind them frowned at her, Hermione hurriedly wiped it and turned away, stepping out of her mother's grasp, as she took a calming breath to centre herself.
"What's wrong," her mother asked, clearly the older brunette could still tell when something was up with her, Hermione shook her head.
"Nothing," she whispered, holding her tears back as her eyes scanned the living room, as with the outside of the house, this had largely stayed the same, same sofa, same photos, the only things that had changed was the muggle technology, her father had always loved keeping up with the latest tech.
"DON'T DO THAT," her mother snapped.
"Do what," she asked quietly, moving to sit on the edge of the royal blue sofa, in the spot she'd always taken as a child.
"Lie, you've lied enough to us," her mother said much quieter, her voice betraying her disappointment with her.
"This was a mistake, I don't know why Fred sent me here," she told her parents as she stood up, preparing to make a quick exit.
"Wait," her father cut in firmly, he approached her and pushed her carefully back down into her spot on the sofa.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, allowing the tears she'd tried to keep at bay, to roll freely down her cheek. Her father sat down beside her and silently pulled her into his arms.
"We can't either Poppet," he whispered, stroking soothing circles on her back as he hummed a sweet melody she recognised from her childhood. The sound of her nickname coming freely from her fathers' lips for the first time in years had her crying in earnest, her body shuddering as fat tears leaked from her eyes.
"I can't stand that you hate me, I was trying to keep you safe, so many people died, people I loved, and I didn't want you to be victims in a war you wouldn't understand," she told them through hiccupping sobs.
"It was our job to protect you, you silly little girl," her mother said as she squished herself in on Hermione's other side, wrapping her arms around her, holding her tightly. Hermione felt safe and secure, in her parent's joint embrace for the first time in many years.
"You should have given us the facts, trusted that we could have protected ourselves, protected you," her dad whispered, his voice choked.
"You wouldn't have let me," she whispered sadly.
"I wonder why, look what happened to you," her mother said, grabbing her left forearm that had eight letters scarred into it, each left by the most sadistic woman, Hermione had ever had the displeasure of meeting.
"I had to fight," she told them firmly, she'd have never been able to live with herself had she left her friends to fight without her.
"Hermione you were a child sent to war, you shouldn't have been a part of that, we hate that you were a part of that," her mother whispered, Hermione looked at her mother, who had tears running down her cheeks just as she did.
"I was fighting for my rights, fighting for my family, my friends," she whispered.
"Yes, but you were a child and we failed you," her mother told her heatedly.
"No you didn't, you were the best parents," she protested.
"Parents who couldn't predict the immense pressure you were under, who you didn't feel comfortable coming too for help, Hermione you wiped our memories," her father told her.
"I didn't know what else I could do, I'm so sorry," she whispered honestly.
"We forgive you Hermione, truthfully we have for a while, it's ourselves we haven't been able to forgive," her mother told her.
"You didn't do anything wrong; it was me, all me," she told them.
"How about we agree that we all made mistakes and move past this, lets get a cup of tea and have a chat about your day so far Poppet," her dad spoke kindly as he wiped away her tears with his handkerchief.
"I'd like that," she nodded. Securely sat between her parents, she told them about the quest so far and the trio smiled and laughed together, the conversation soon moving to other topics like her job, relationship, pet cat, all the things they hadn't spoken about in recent years.
"Goodness look at the time, you're going to be late for the next part of your quest," her mother said many hours and cups of tea later.
"What was your part of it," Hermione asked.
"That boyfriend of yours visited us and told us that if we didn't mend our relationship, we'd miss out on key parts of your life, he's a good lad and he was right," her dad told her.
"I'm glad we had today," she confessed.
"Come back round whenever, Hermione you don't have to knock or plan your visits, this is your home, always has been, always will be," her mother told her as she pulled her into a warm hug.
"Thank you, I will," she whispered, wiping away fresh tears from her eyes.
"The next place on your quest is to visit the safe haven," her father told her.
"Safe haven, he means Shell Cottage," Hermione smiled, she remembered during the war, long before she and Fred had gotten together, it had been a few weeks after she had been tortured and Fred had visited the cottage. Hermione had been sat upon the beach, weak and bandaged, feeling pretty miserable in all regards when he'd plonked himself down beside her, both of them watching the sunset silently. Fred had made a comment about how beautiful it was and how he wished all the people he loved could stay there because it was like a safe haven away from the raging war.
"That's the spot, he said you'd get it, don't be a stranger and come tell us about your surprise," her mother said.
"I will, thank you," she told them, giving them each a final hug before she apparated away to Bill and Fleur's home.
