Hermione woke up early, and blankly put on a formal black dress and packed the last of her things away. In the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Ginny looked quite as far away and miserable as she did. She joined Harry in watching all the important visitors and students over breakfast. It felt like the only way to deal with leaving Hogwarts, really, to try and drink in everyone's faces now and try to commit them to memory.
McGonagall called for them to follow her out of the Hall, and Hermione blinked into the sun as they stepped outside and filed into rows of white seats by the lake. It was a brilliant summer's day; she looked around, as Harry and the others did, at all the people from the magical community who were here to pay their respects.
Her throat blocked up with tears as Hagrid carried Professor Dumbledore's body so carefully to the table at the centre of the ceremony, and she spent the next several minutes trying to pull herself together. Hermione could scarcely concentrate on what the man speaking beside the Professor's body was saying.
Why had she come to the funeral? Of all the power-hungry Ministry types and various representatives across the magical community here, she had the most blame for Professor Dumbledore's death and the least right to be here. Hermione remembered a long, long time ago, when Draco had first fallen into the grips of a panic attack in front of her, and she vaguely thought of consulting with the headmaster before jumping head-first into an Unbreakable Vow. God, she was so stupid! Why hadn't she put her embarrassment to the side and talked to Dumbledore about converting Draco and getting him out? He was a piece of shit but he was lost, and unwell…but she just couldn't wait, she tied him to a promise that was now holding an entire family to Voldemort's side.
Hermione knew she hadn't raised the wand against the Professor, or fought the Order by the Astronomy Tower. But surely after those people, the blame for the biggest loss in the fight against Voldemort lay with her. Draco would not have smuggled the Death Eaters into the castle if she hadn't tied him to Voldemort's side, thereby blocking the only other way to save his parents' lives.
She looked towards Harry but he had turned away; he was watching the forest, where she could see the centaurs had gathered to pay their respects too. How angry they had been when she tricked Umbridge into aggravating them; her act was so hideous it had shaken Draco out of his blood supremacy slumber just to take note of how dangerous she was. There was nothing good about her; the only thing she was good for was magic and the Vow, she had nothing else positive to put out into this world…
Hermione thought again about how Dumbledore had traded a hand for a horcrux. The costs of getting one escape from Voldemort kept escalating, far beyond what Hermione thought she had agreed to. Was it worth it? Sitting here in the sun, with no Dumbledore and the grief of hundreds of magical beings, and the hard knot in her chest saying that there probably had been a better way but she had just sailed past it…
The man speaking finally finished and sat back down. A flame burst into existence over the Professor's body, making several people scream in surprise, and it culminated in the entombment of Dumbledore's body near the school, by the lake, in the most magical part of Scotland.
The grief broke for most people, then; even Harry leaned towards Ginny and started whispering in her ear as others stood up and conversation broke out over the silence. But Hermione couldn't stop crying. Ron tried to pull her into a hug, but she knew she was wholly undeserving of any comfort he had to offer. She curled in on herself and wept.
"Scrimgeour's got nerve, I'll give him that much," she said as she entered a train carriage with Harry and Ron. Harry had just finished mumbling what the Minister had finally tracked him down to ask him for, and was now focussing intently on Hedwig. Ginny vanishing from his side could not have been any more obvious.
"I can't believe Percy came. What a bellend," Ron said, shaking his head angrily. Hermione sat down opposite him and placed Crookshanks' carrier beside Hedwig's cage, and her satchel carefully under the seat, not wanting to jostle the basilisk fang she now kept with her at all times.
"He'd be good intel if he could forgive your parents for being right," she said sadly. "Right at the top of the Ministry."
"That would require him to not be a giant hole of stupid, blind ambition," Ron said icily. Hermione privately agreed, but did not want to tell Ron she thought his brother was a lost cause.
"So," she said, magically locking and hexing the carriage door for eavesdroppers. "Will you come to Bill and Fleur's wedding before we take off?"
Harry was staring out the window at Hogwarts, and she wondered if she should have waited until it was out of view; Hermione was loathe to cause Harry any more pain. But he noticed the silence after a moment and turned his head to stare at her and Ron. "What?"
"You're family, mate. I think you should go to the wedding. It's important," Ron said.
Harry blinked. "I'm not – look. I'm not wasting time with a wedding –"
"Here we go," Hermione said to Ron as he rolled his eyes.
"- and 'we' are not going anywhere," Harry said, hands out for emphasis.
"Yes we are. We're going with you, Harry," Ron said simply. Hermione nodded.
"No – look, guys –"
"Harry, it's truly not up for debate," she said. "Where are you going after the train stops, by the way? Grimmauld Place or your Aunt and Uncle's house? Ron should probably go to the Burrow, but I can –"
"Hermione, you're not –"
"We can argue about it, Harry, but it's not changing anything," she said flatly.
"Think about it, Harry. Hermione will probably hunt you down like a dog if you try and sneak off," Ron said. She hated how reasonable his tone sounded, but a twitch passed Harry's face at the joke. Hermione realised that overcoming Harry's individualist heroism might be another task Ron was better equipped to deal with than she was.
She stood up and picked up her wand and purse. "I'll go find snacks," she said, unlocking the door and leaving Harry and Ron to it.
Hermione wandered down the train carriages until she reached the witch selling sweets, picking out Harry's favourite sherbet lollies and Ron's horrible jellybeans.
"Ten sickles, dear," the witch said, and Hermione fished out a bunch of coins for her from her purse, before turning around and walking right into Gregory Goyle.
She blinked, fingers tensing to try and keep hold of the several items she was clutching to her chest. Hermione was used to shoving things into her satchel, but now that it was mainly being used as a horcrux weapon holster, she had left it in the carriage with Harry and Ron. Goyle stared at her blankly too, and when she looked at the large guy behind him, she saw Vincent Crabbe gazing at her uncertainly as well. They all stood there for too long, a shared moment of gormlessness.
"Outta the way, mudblood," Goyle finally said, breaking it. She looked back at him. There was no bullying happiness to be found; he seemed vaguely sad and lost. Hermione looked back at Crabbe.
"Black, blood-filth bitch," he said, voice soft and vicious. Hermione eyebrows rode up her face a little; she couldn't help it, she was slightly surprised Crabbe had managed to combine three types of bigotry into a single, alliterated insult. He sneered at her - but like Goyle, something was physically off about him. His shoulders were slightly raised, around his ears. Tense.
The question left her mouth before she could stop it.
"Do you miss him?"
Their faces went blank again with shock. Now she was sure she looked unhappy as well – fuck, was she so incapable of keeping her misery to herself she had to go ask bloody Crabbe and Goyle how they felt about Draco leaving? She was a complete idiot. Hermione swallowed and tried to get a better grip of her wand. Maybe if she pretended she hadn't said anything, they wouldn't pay any mind afterwards to the ridiculous question she had asked…
But to Hermione's exponential horror, a third, much smaller person behind the two of them emerged, tilting their head to look past Crabbe's enormous arm. Pansy Parkinson's face appeared, perfect bobbed hair fanning out finely as she twisted her head around Crabbe to stare at Hermione intently.
Hermione turned on her heel and walked quickly in the opposite direction of the three of them, not trusting herself to try and remedy this hugely mistaken encounter, until she saw a familiar flash of long red hair. She ducked into Ginny's carriage and sat quietly beside her, holding her hand as tears trickled quietly down Ginny's face and watching out the carriage window to see if Draco's racist friends had followed.
But they hadn't. There was only Ginny's silent, inconspicuous crying, the easy laughs and bangs from Dean, Neville and Romilda's game of Exploding Snap, and the liminal space of the train where Hermione and the other Slytherins were lost in the wake of the assassination.
"Finally, Hermione," Ron said, holding his hands out for the Bertie Bott's Beans when she finally returned to their carriage over an hour later. "What took so long?"
She looked at Harry, briefly and guiltily. "Uh – nothing. Was playing cards with Dean's lot." Hermione passed Harry his Fizzing Whizzbees. "Has Ron sufficiently threatened you with my bloodhound skills?"
Harry rolled his eyes and half-kicked her leg as she sat down beside him, but she could see a true trace of warmth in the smile on his face that hadn't been there since Dumbledore died. Hermione kicked him back and took one of his sweets, a positive emotion finally entering her heart after weeks of living in Draco's miserable hell.
"Yeah. I'll come to the wedding. But I promised Dumbledore I would return to Privet Drive before leaving," Harry said.
Hermione nodded. "Do you want me to come with?"
"You're not going to your parents' place?" Harry frowned. Hermione looked at Ron, and she could tell by the look on his face he had not broached the subject of her parents with Harry.
"…I will," she eventually said. "It was just an offer. I know you hate that place."
Harry shook his head. "S'ok Hermione, I'll be fine. It'll be great to leave it properly," he said, looking out the window at the Scottish countryside.
"I bet," she affirmed.
"I reckon there'll be a tonne of new security measures at the Burrow, anyway," Ron said, in between inhaling jellybeans. "It might take a while to sort them out for you anyway. Now that You-know-who is out murdering people like Dumbledore."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "I guess there'll be some Order members at the platform who might know…your family, at least, Ron…" She wondered if she should talk to a sympathetic Order member about Obliviating her parents. She wasn't sure who would be sympathetic to her doing this to her parents, though. Ron understood. Harry would, when she got around to telling him. She weighed up whether Mad-Eye would think it the height of caution or an unthinkable crime.
She knew she had just been ruminating on how she should have approached the Order for help earlier with Draco. But this was a bit different. Two spells to save her parents from Death Eaters hunting them to a grisly death. What could the Order help with? She already knew she could do the spells she needed, Hermione thought, guiltily remembering Goyle and Luna.
In the end she thought, if there was someone particularly sympathetic who wouldn't view her as a hysterical child or an evil witch, she might ask an open-ended question to test the waters. Only if, though.
" -ione?"
"Huh?" she said stupidly, breaking out of her pondering. "Sorry?"
Ron jerked his head to confer never mind.
"No trouble on the train this year," Harry said as it started to slow and the scenery became industrial.
"Mm," she said noncommittally, trying not to think about Goyle and Crabbe and Pansy. "Good."
"D'you feel sorry for Malfoy?" Harry asked suddenly. Hermione felt her chest freeze up.
"Ugh, no," said Ron firmly. "Why would you feel sorry for that cowardly git? You said he even got another chance and stuffed it up."
"Do you?" she reflected back at Harry, trying to will her heart to stop beating frantically with guilt.
Harry looked thoughtful. "A bit," he said after a moment. "Must suck to have to run back to Voldemort. 'Specially when he couldn't do it." Harry felt his pockets to look for his wand, while Hermione tried to breathe through his pinpoint determination of Draco's circumstances.
The train stopped and Hermione carefully pulled on her satchel and had her wand in her hand as she followed Harry and Ron out of the train. Mrs Weasley pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, not noticing Ginny walk straight past them all to exit the platform, and told her she was welcome as soon as she pleased, just so long as it was before the first of August as that was the wedding date, and Bill would be at home soon and she was so pleased, and had she seen Ginny –
Hermione eventually pulled away and gave Ron a quick wave goodbye.
"Will you be – uh, we'll see you at the Burrow soon?" he said quietly, and he gave her a grim nod as she confirmed she'd be there in a week or two. Lupin suddenly appeared too, and told Harry he'd be accompanying him back to Surrey, and Hermione felt quite alone watching Harry nod happily.
At least the Trace was more reliably broken, now she had finished the school year she had turned seventeen – she'd read of some Muggle-borns who had continued to have trouble with magic being linked by some tired administrator to their location even after they had turned seventeen. And she had her wand. But it still felt strange to watch Harry and Ron get safely swept away by people in the Order with a 'see you later', leaving her alone with a trunk, a basilisk fang, and a bunch of Death Eater-adjacent students and their not-so-adjacent families.
She checked the platform, but the sixth-year Slytherins weren't in the immediate vicinity. Hermione took the opportunity to lose any hangers-on in the complexity of muggle London anyway. She ducked off the platform quickly and got on a train back to Birmingham, changing clothes and tying her hair back into two rough plaits to throw any horrible blood bigots off her trail.
It would be good practice, anyway, for what she'd have to do with Harry and Ron once they started searching for the remaining horcruxes. Hermione pulled her hood up and gripped her wand under her sleeve, going over and over the theory and practical magic of the Imperius and Obliviate curses in her head as the train sped back up the island to her childhood home.
She Disillusioned herself. Hermione couldn't bear to face her parents' happy greetings before she did it. She punched in the disarm code at the alarm control panel, and silently stepped into her house, wand arm shaking. Like a fucking Death Eater.
Crookshanks started complaining from the doorstep she had left him on before she reached Dad's office. He always finished work early this time of year, marking dentistry theory exams. When she was much younger she would sometimes join him in here, finishing homework while he complained bitterly about the students woeful lack of precision when explaining radiography or sterilisation practices…
Maybe there would be a university in Melbourne that could put his careful eye for detail to good use, she thought, tilting her head to look into the office and seeing the back of his shiny, bald head. Seeing as he was wasted on the entirety of the United Kingdom.
"Imperius."
He stilled and Hermione grabbed the side of the door frame, trying not to faint. Even Imperiused, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Continue marking exams," she forced out, heading back for the entrance to bring in Crookshanks and her things so she could lie in wait for her mother to return from the practice.
Was this how Draco had felt, Hermione wondered. She sat in the kitchen waiting for her mother to come home, ignoring Crookshanks' meows as he meandered around the courtyard like he owned the place. Had Draco known, when he left her that horrible letter in the Room of Requirement, that it would come down to Imperiusing her? Maybe he had pretended it wouldn't for as long as he could. Hermione had certainly lied to herself for as long as possible about the fact she would have to send her parents away to keep them safe.
She poured herself a glass of water while watching Crookshanks chomp on some hydrangea flowers, and pulled off her bangle to see if Draco had sent her anything.
Are you moving ok? Haven't heard anything here.
She sighed, and sent him back a frank message.
So far. I'm Imperiusing my parents to leave the country.
Somehow that was easier to say than I ran my mouth in front of your shite friends. Maybe because Draco knew exactly how bad it felt to override someone's free will. She glanced at the clock – it would be time to move soon, to catch her mother while she got out of her car so that she wouldn't have to look her in the eye as she did this.
The bangle gleamed on the kitchen island.
That's thorough.
Hermione felt like throwing the bangle across the room. Christ, even Ron had offered better at sympathy than this. Even if it did take him several minutes. She reapplied the Disillusioning Charm and shoved the bangle back on, moving to wait outside her townhouse for her mother to pull up.
It was just as hard as overwhelming her father. Mum got out of the car with groceries to make dinner, humming some song from the radio. She moved too much for Hermione not to catch a glance of her face. It felt terrible to watch her free will leave her eyes, her pale hands slacken and drop the groceries all over the driveway.
"Put the groceries away," Hermione choked out between retches into the rose bushes.
Hermione had cooked dinner and served it to her parents as they drunk in the courtyard at her direction. She at least could order them to enjoy a night off rather than make them cook for her like slaves.
She couldn't bear to look them in the eye. She couldn't eat with them – not that she ever thought she would have an appetite again, after what she had done. A memory jarred in Hermione's mind and she pulled off her bangle before starting the dishes to ask Draco about it. A new message she had missed while throwing up or sautéing vegetables waited for her there.
It's the safest approach, Granger. You'll feel better when they're gone.
Hermione had forgotten Draco was a fucking void of emptiness who valued life over substance, and therefore would have nothing to say that would assuage her guilt over this decision. She didn't know why she had forgotten this. It was what made her break a bottle of soju on him - only a month ago, technically.
I have a question, she sent back. Why'd you make me describe the story of Charlotte's Web?
She slammed the bangle on the windowsill and angrily started scrubbing dishes, listening to her parents faint chatter through the open sliding door. But it did not light up until much later that evening, after she had started packing all her remaining belongings up, and rummaging for all their identifying documents for easy access as she sent her parents across international borders.
Why muggle children's stories? he sent back. Or why describe anything at all?
Both, she replied, throwing bank statements from the eighties aside. Crookshanks wandered in and stood all over the papers strewn all over her father's office, meowing loudly.
The bangle lit up several times in succession.
Well. Working in silence on that cabinet was terrible.
I missed you. It felt like the least creepy way to hang out with you.
It was nice to hear about the stories you liked growing up. So different to mine.
And also, I didn't expect I would be around to have to explain this. So I didn't think that hard about it.
Hermione's head hurt reading this series of messages. It was a strong mix of the exceedingly obvious and thoughtfully touching. If she'd bothered to pay attention to why she was half-listening to her parents talk or watch late-night tv, she could have figured out half of what he had said on her own. She was having a slow day, apparently.
I'm half-listening to my parents talk while I go through identity documents, she decided to send back.
It's nice, isn't it? he said.
Hermione sat and focused on listening to them and the late night BBC news broadcast for a moment. Amongst the crime scene and the crying and the vomiting, she felt the gentle calmness and another chain of understanding to Draco that nobody else could see.
"Mum? Dad?"
Hermione asked it like a question, though it didn't matter – her Imperiused parents turned, perfectly ready to listen. She sighed.
"From tomorrow, you are both to begin the process of resigning from your jobs, selling your home, and moving to Australia," she said blandly. "You are to do this as quickly as possible. The context is you are in grave danger and you must leave as discreetly and quickly as possible. Given that, how long do you think it will take to do this?"
"A week or two," her father replied blankly, his dark brown eyes flat and staring past her into nothing.
"Ok," she agreed, twisting off her bangle to check with Draco whether this would be enough time. "You are not to reveal to anyone else you are leaving because of danger. You will state and believe the reason is it is your lifelong dream to make a life in Australia. Do you have any questions?"
"No," Mum said.
Perhaps it was a stupid question to ask. She recalled the dreamy ease of the Imperius from fourth year. Nothing could break through the sunshine of the curse. She wished she knew how Harry had managed it.
"Ok," she said, sighing. "Please go about your usual routines while doing this task." With that, they left for bed, and Hermione guiltily checked the clock on the kitchen microwave and realised it was well past midnight.
Is two weeks ok to get them out of the country? she sent to Draco, before locking the house and going to bed herself.
The sound of the car door slamming and the engine starting woke her up the next morning as her parents left for work together. Hermione rolled over in her childhood bed and checked her bangle. Probably, Draco had replied.
With that, it was time for her to get to work as well. Hermione transfigured her clothing and appearance to mimic an unsavoury Birmingham teenager and headed out to the city centre.
"Hi," she said, trying out a sullen tone on the police receptionist, hoping it wouldn't sound a million miles away from a streetwalker with gang connections. "I've got information on that stabbin' in Cannon Hill," she said, borrowing a lie from the paper her parents had delivered.
The receptionist looked at her somewhat sceptically.
"So, can I talk to someone, or what?" she followed up, trying to be rude and hurry this interaction along.
The woman on reception rolled her eyes, reminding Hermione very much of Ron. "Take a seat," she said, and Hermione slouched off to sit on one of the hard, plastic seats, fingers on her wand in her pocket, looking around at all of the CCTV cameras.
It felt like a rather long wait, but eventually a tired looking man in plainclothes emerged and indicated for her to follow him.
"Cannon Hill?" he asked as Hermione approached him, heart jumping into her throat.
She nodded jerkily, and he lead her further into the station, past several officers and desks stacked with poorly organised paperwork, into a room barely bigger than a closet with mismatched chairs and, blessedly for her but probably bad for the entirety of Birmingham's vulnerable population, no evidence of muggle recording devices.
"Right. I don't –"
"Imperius," she cast, interrupting him. "Are there CCTV or recording devices on in this room?"
"No," the detective said blankly.
"Do you have access to firearms?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"I need you to provide me with three different firearms and ammunition without arousing suspicion. Can you do this?"
He nodded. "I have personal firearms I can provide," he said.
Well. That would certainly be easier than stealing from the Birmingham Police. But Hermione still figured it was the right move to Imperius a police officer – a random member of the public would likely not have access to the weapons she sought.
She commanded the officer to meet her after he finished work near the entrance to Cannon Hill Park to hand over his weapons, write a benign report making up some useless information she had provided, and to keep this secret, before leaving for the bank.
Hermione managed to get through withdrawing her savings without cursing the bank teller. It wasn't costless, though: she lost almost an hour to tedious paperwork, ID checking, and rude looks at the revealing outfit she hadn't bothered to transfigure since leaving the police station.
The outdoors shop she found was slightly more bearable; it was more pleasant to spin a tale of camping throughout Britain (which was possibly not even going to be a lie) and purchasing camping supplies, dehydrated food and hiking gear. And finally, Hermione breathed easy as she entered the Library of Birmingham, smiling slightly as she issued a biography from a woman who escaped a cult as well as a range of books on psychology, history and languages.
Detective Rowe met her after six near her assortment of charmed shopping in the shade of the trees at Cannon Hill Park, standing blankly by while she finished hiding a carefully charmed lockbox with a basilisk fang in the trunk of a large tree. She surreptitiously took his handgun, hunting rifle, and some sort of shotgun which certainly looked illegal and put them all in her backpack, alongside boxes of heavy ammunition, then Obliviated him and released the Imperius on him. It felt strange to let the control of him go while she still felt the magical tie she had looped around both her parents.
It had been an enormously productive day in the muggle world. Hermione supposed that was to be expected with illegal magic on her side. She shouted a vague greeting at her parents as she got home and took all her items upstairs, practising the Undetectable Extension Charm until the sky outside her window grew dark and her bangle lit up against her wrist, the warm sensation lying entirely about the tone of the message it carried from Wiltshire.
He made us watch his snake eat a pregnant muggle.
Hermione blinked hard as she re-read his message, suddenly very glad she had forgotten to eat today.
I'm so sorry Draco, she replied uselessly. What else could she say? She couldn't offer him anything anymore.
In second year I hoped the basilisk would get you.
Hermione frowned. It did get me, she replied, wondering if Draco was in shock.
No, kill you, he clarified. But even then I don't think I wanted to watch you get eaten.
His train of thought almost made sense. It's really fucked up. I'm sorry, she etched back, heading downstairs to find some gin to process this horrible news with.
"Did you want dinner, Hermione?" her Dad asked, deceptively normally.
Fucked up indeed. "No, thanks Dad," she replied, staring at her bangle as her parents cleaned up after dinner.
Do you think I deserve it.
Did anyone deserve the world Voldemort had plunged them all into? No, she replied, cutting up a lemon and taking her gin into the courtyard.
Then why do these horrible coincidences keep happening, Draco sent back. Did you curse me? It's always linked to you.
Hermione bit her lip. She could practically feel his panic. I didn't curse you. Did you do the charms? Airways, relax, then whiskey.
You cursed me, he insisted. I have to stay here and watch muggles get eaten alive while you throw your life away.
She swore, rubbing her temples and wondering how they could balance the Vow. Crookshanks unhelpfully wandered out, rubbing his knobbly face on the brick edge of her Mum's raised beds. Draco, what do you want from me? she sent, feeling totally useless.
Having such an existential fight over enchanted jewellery etchings was so impractical. Hermione couldn't believe she was wistfully remembering being able to meet Draco on a whim so they could physically and magically fight until all their anger had worked its way to the surface.
She sat with the uneased aggression for what felt like a long time in the dark brick garden, until Draco replied flatly: Nothing you're willing to give.
She slept in again the next day, maybe on purpose. The sun and her dry throat woke Hermione up, and the right words for Draco were there before she opened her eyes. Like her brain had mulled on them all night while she had uneasily slept.
She pulled her bangle off and saw he had reflected too.
Sorry. Shouldn't have complained to you about it.
"Oh, Draco," she sighed, fiddling with her wand to reply.
I'm sorry. I can't give up on Harry. But I'm working as fast as I can. I will get you out of there.
She couldn't. She couldn't give Harry's mission up. Which did tie Draco to Voldemort's side – until he could no longer reasonably protect her by being there.
When she first entered the Vow with Draco, Hermione hoped she would never have to use it. But now, as the mission tied all of their hands, and Draco's misery called out so painfully, she considered the value of a planned error, to release Draco from his obligation.
Getting deliberately caught by Death Eaters was the boldest, possibly dumbest, idea she had ever come up with. And the moment she sat with the thought, a hard part of her brain kicked in, saying she couldn't give up a chance to save Harry after paying so much for it. That chance was worth more than both her and Draco's lives combined.
But then, she would remember Draco's wretched pain, and the unholy hell she had condemned him to, and her heart would grow weak…
The loop did not stop. Not as she magically destroyed all of the remnants of her from her parents' photos and documents and lives. Not as she mastered the Undetectable Extension Charm and packed up her entire life into a handbag made of beads and magic. Her heart finally quieted as it was overtaken by the grief of the final sin she had to commit against her parents, pulling key memories of herself out of their complacent heads and carefully bottling them.
"When you move to Australia, you will change your names to Wendell and Monica Wilkins. You will not return to the United Kingdom." She read a long list of directions at her parents, gripping her wand hard like it made a difference in the strength of the curse. "You will take Crookshanks with you. He is your beloved cat."
Crookshanks jumped up on the kitchen island, very uncaring about the heinous scene playing out before him in the living room.
"…that's it," she finished, looking from her long list of instructions to her parents.
"Yes," they replied blankly. She wiped the hot tears out of her eyes, and took her father's hand and placed it in her mother's. Her mother took it, as conscious as a muscle twitch, their contrasting skin colours patterning across their intertwined fingers. There was only one thing left.
"Obliviate," she ended, and the second she saw even more understanding evaporate from her father's eyes, she stood up, grabbed her beaded bag, and walked out. With a noisy crack she Apparated to Devon, bursting into tears as she ran into Ginny and Ron digging potatoes out of the garden for dinner.