I Already Knew

A/N: Sorry about the temporary hiatus (for those who care). Damn SATs. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Thanks to all who have reviewed me so far. Hope you enjoy! The next chapter should be up within the next few days (again, for those who care). J.K Rowling is the original. Supid copyrights.

"I'll tell it to you again, more slowly," Voldemort said. He reached so far over the desk that his grip was around the lip of the table. "Where—is—my—horcrux?"

Hermione look at his face in frozen shock. His eyes were red as when you press the colored pencil too much on paper.

"I really…have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione responded.

Still standing in the corner, Snape proposed, "Perhaps Sarah never gave her it."

Hermione recognized the name. "What about my mother?"

"Shame," Voldemort said, sighing. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this."

"What?" Hermione asked. Neither Snape nor Voldemort seemed to acknowledge her.

"Where does she live now did you say?" Voldemort asked Snape lazily.

"But…Wait!" Hermione urged, more loudly.

"Oxfordshire Road, in London," Snape responded.

"Bit of trip, but quite worth it," said Voldemort, rising from his chair.

Why is he going to my home? My mother! What does he want with my mother? Hermione's mind was racing, but everything was going to fast for her to catch up.

"You can't! I do not understand! Why…?" Hermione nearly cried. Her voice was hysterical now.

Voldemort's face twisted in to a smile that nearly made her want to throw up. "Don't worry, you're coming with us."

Hermione quickly glanced at Draco. The same contorted smirk he usually gave when he did something sinister was drawn on his face.

"I've always wanted to see where a Mudblood like you lives."

"I don't know exactly who you think you are, but I won't be badgered by you a moment longer!" Mrs. Granger yelled.

She grabbed the door handle and proceeded to slam it shut until Ron jabbed his arm between the door and the frame. Mrs. Granger opened the door ajar enough to let Ron's arm free.

"Please," Ron begged through is gritted teeth. "You have to help us. You have to help us to help your daughter."

"Sarah!" A voice called form inside the house. A bespectacled man with light brown hair and sea blue eyes came to the door. "I heard you scream and the door slam against something. What is going—"

The man assumed to be Mr. Granger took notice of Harry, Ron and Tonks standing on the porch. His mouth was agape as looked back and forth from his wife to the crowd standing before him.

"Sarah, who are—"

"These are friends of Hermione's, David."

"You mean…?"

"Yes, David, 'magic people'."

"We're not here to harm anyone," Tonks added in her most diplomatic manner. Her hair had changed from its normal bubblegum pink to a faded blue. "All we need to do is take something and leave, before anything happens to you or anyone else."

Mrs. Granger heaved a sigh and looked distant for a moment. "Come in. Sit down."
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Cups of tea were set on the table of the naturally lit living room. Random and carefully dusted pictures lay on the mantle and on the light tables. Ron stared in amazement at all the electronics in the house: the television, the phone, and the lights. He planned to take pictures for his father, if only he knew how to work a Muggle camera.

Mrs. Granger continued to stare at the picture of her daughter at 10th birthday, with her normal neighborhood friends in their normal home. Aloud she said to no one in particular, "Perhaps it was a mistake to let her go. I never wanted to get involved with her world again."

Harry and Ron stared at each other. Harry then asked, "Again?"

"Sarah, the letter would have been sent to Hermione, anyways," Tonks said, seeming to grasp the situation. "You couldn't have prevented it."

Turning to talk to Tonks, Mrs. Granger said, "I thought that, since he was gone, perhaps… perhaps it would be safe for her to go to that school. Then she found a friendship with you… Your name is Harry, right? She became friends with you, and now he'll find her. She's not safe."

"So, Hermione told you about Voldemort and what's happening in our world?" Harry asked. He found it surprising to know that Mrs. Granger knew so much about the wizarding world. Then again, Hermione was always one to keep her parents informed.

"No," she responded. "She didn't need to tell me anything. I already knew."

Ron chocked on his sip of tea.

"Wait, then…you're a—"

Mrs. Granger shook her head. "Was. I'm part of a group of magic people that have the option to take away their own powers."

Tonks leaned further back into the chair she was sitting in. "The Tempramagi, if I recall."

She nodded. "Let me be short with all of you. I do not have what you are looking for. It is buried with my mother, the last person to own it. I buried it with her so neither my daughter nor myself would have to carry that burden."

"What was your mother's name, Mrs. Granger?" Ron asked enthusiastically. He was so interested in the conversation; his face almost touched Mrs. Granger's.

Mrs. Granger stood up and took the picture at the center of the mantle. It was an aged sepia toned picture, the edges of the photo blanched out by too much light. In the group of six people, Mrs. Granger pointed to the profile second from the left. The honey colored hair and bookworm appearance was unmistakable.

"Aria. Aria Fitzgerald. That was her name."

Harry dropped the picture. Either he was seeing things in the old picture or the picture was showing him what he did not want to imagine. Apologizing profusely, Harry bent down to pick up the broken frame. Mrs. Granger helped Harry gather the pieces of broken glass. Gingerly she cleaned off the picture, dusting past the part of the picture where Tom Riddle's profile resided.

The picture was put back in its place. Mrs. Granger whispered, "I never knew why she trusted him so much."

End A/N: Come on, now, press the shiny blue button! I still have cookies, but no coffee. (My photo teacher is holding the coffee hostage until our class actually does work. Work? Who does work anyways. It's so overrated.) Constructive commentaryis welcome, but remember: FLAMES ONLY HELP ME ROAST MY TOASTY MARSHMALLOWS! (and pays heating bills! )