A/N Must read:  It is official. My computer is the biggest load of junk ever to hit this earth since the invention of time. Eurgh! Somebody mentioned that I take forever to get the events started. I have a quick message for everyone who thinks that, but was too scared to type it because I may have chopped their head off in a fit of rage. I am a foreplay girl. In other words, I tend to take forever and ever and ever and ever and ever to get round to the main point. I DO, however, have a well worked out plot, so I won't be writing myself into corners that I can't get out of. It's just; I'd find it hard to write myself out of a paper bag. That's another reason why it takes so long for me to get a chapter up. I find any action or verbal scenes like trying to eat fifty cars in one swallow. So, yeah, it may take a little while to get going. Unfortunately, not a particularly great chappie, but the next one should be more to your liking. I'm sorry if you don't like it like this, but this is the way I write and I won't be changing it! Also, in this chapter, I make several mentions to 'her father'. I mean it to be Mr. Granger. You see, Hermione's been calling him Dad forever, and it's not that easy to change.

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It rained hard all evening and into the night. Hermione woke to darkness, lay listening to the rain pounding the window, tried to sleep; couldn't. Not really in the mood for reading – she was a great fan of Japanese anime fiction – or listening to music, she turned on her bedside lamp and looked at her watch. One forty.

She swung her legs out of bed, ignoring the indignant, sleepy mew from Merula as her foot brushed down her back, and went downstairs. The kitchen tiles were cold under her bare feet; the tap dripped annoyingly. She got herself a glass of water, and then stood by the patio doors. Rain battered the glass, steady rain, as if it was never going to stop; as if it would always be nighttime, and raining.

There was nothing to do, but go out in it. Quietly, she slid the door open. The ground was wet and gritty; something crunched unpleasantly underfoot as she felt her way to the grass, avoiding the low wall. She stood on the soft lawn, and turned her face up to while the rain beat down hard, soaking her hair so it stuck to her back, running over her shoulders and down his back, clamming her nightdress to her legs. It seemed the obvious place to be: outside, not cocooned in bed. The sky was too overcast for stars, but a lighter patch of inky blue gave relief from the dark swirls of black clouds racing each other across the sky. Some clear night, she'd come out here and look. How many times had she done that? Not since she dropped astronomy.

The rain was a kind of blessing as she stood outside, taking her away from the dangers of her life: the strange relentless force,  the hard ground receiving it, ,drinking it thirstily, and the sense of giving himself up to it, letting it drench him.

"Hermione? Mia, is that you?"

She swung around. The downstairs hall light had been flicked on, silhouetting the shape of her father in the patio doorway, in his dressing gown. Something stirred inside her. She had forgotten about him. In the calm of the rain, she had lost all thought of her real life, the one she had to live.

"What the hell are you doing? I heard the door open – thought we had burglars-"

Why had he heard the door open? He must have been awake – checking on her, making sure she was still there. And not running away.

"No, only me."

"What – what are you-"

The words died in his throat. He was unable to say anything. Had she been trying to get away from him?

"Nothing." Hermione called back, shivering.

"Hey, what-" Her father came out to her, put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on in, you're soaked! You weren't sleepwalking, were you? You haven't done that since you were little!" He was being jokey, chatty. He wanted her to forget all that he had done to her. Wanted her to forgive him. To forget…

Hermione allowed herself to be ushered indoors, hating the feel of his arm around her. It felt like he was itching to strangle her; to get her out of the way. He took of his dressing gown and put it around her shoulders, without letting go of his grip on her. Hermione noticed suddenly, that it was her mother's pink satin one, streaked with rain.

"Dad! What-"

Her father grinned. "Picked up the wrong one in the dark." So that was why he was awake…her mother would be awake too, in the bed, waiting for him to come back.

"You were going to tackle burglars wearing pink satin?"

Shared laughter was a release: muffled, as if trying not to wake her mother above. Not that they needed to have bothered, Hermione thought savagely. Now, he'll think I'm alright, I'm happy. I've forgotten.

The rest of the conversation washed over her as she noticed Hedwig perched on the edge of the worktop in the kitchen. Her father was bustling around making hot chocolate. She walked towards the owl, feeling the fierce amber eyes blazing into her. She didn't blink, just smiled.

Since the beginning of the war, Hedwig had become suspicious of everyone, except Harry; sent off on missions that often took her into the midst of a battle, she was wary of anyone she took a note to. She let off a shriek, and ducked her head downwards to the letter tied quickly to her leg. Hermione moved forwards cautiously. She had more than one scar derived from not keeping her guard. Untying the letter easily, she moved away, unfolding it as she went.

Hermione,

            How are you? We're fine, apart from Ron, who's getting a lecture from Molly at the moment because pigwidgeon flew into the window again. He's becoming worse than Errol!

            We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and want to know if you can come? If you can, we'll see you in Fortesque's at twelve. If not, we'll see on the train.

            Please come, Hermione! Shut up, Ron!

            Love, Harry. And Ron!         

Hermione grinned. The Weasley twins new invention, talking quills, were a great success. You just had to talk to the quill, and it would write for you. Good, if you didn't want to write. Bad, if it picked up something else within twelve metres. She watched the puddle around her getting slowly larger and larger.

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Disclaimer: Don't own (surprisingly!!)

Yeah, short, crappy, don't tell me – I already know. Reviews are really appreciated. You don't even have to put more than one word. Just 'rubbish' will do. I want to make a tally of exactly how many people are actually reading this.

Li-Chan – You are swiftly becoming one of the lights of my life. You always review, always!! And you seem to like it!! Thank-you soooo much. I have made a tribute to you in this chappie!!! He, he, it's kinda hard to find though!!

Yes, I have low self-esteem.

The berry monkey. 

P.S. My other cousin had her triplets yesterday at 10:30. So…that makes two sets of triplets and a set of twins. No, two sets of twins. My other friends mum has had twins. My life is taking a severe turn for the worse…