Notes:

I have been so overwhelmed by the outpour of support for this story already. I appreciate each and every one of you! Updates, for now, will be every two weeks, but possibly could be moved up in the future.

Please remember to check the bottom of the chapter for TW. If you are concerned about any triggers please go to end notes for the chapter now.

Once Hermione finally emerged from the back of the house, she found two cups of tea on the table while Harry scavenged the refrigerator for food. One cup was nearly opal from the milk in it, but the other was her perfect shade of khaki. When she sipped the second cup, she was amazed that Harry remembered just how she took her tea.

"So what would you like to know?" A small thrill shot through her as he jumped. She had always taken pleasure in startling him occasionally at school. It pleased her that she was even better at it now. "Shall I start with the attack today?"

"Oh, I definitely want to know about who attacked us today, but we need to go back further than that." He crossed the room to sink into the seat opposite of her, settling in. "Hermione, I need to know everything. Starting with when you left four years ago. What the hell happened? You left for Australia then a month later I get an owl from Austria? And you're gone! Just completely vanish."

"I never went to Australia," she replied tracing a finger down the handle.

"So you lied to me." The revelation sat heavy in his chest. Of the few people close to him, Hermione was always the one he trusted most of all. A decade of friendship and she had never fibbed, never broken his trust, never lied not even once. Not to him.

"It was nothing personal, Harry. You had a mental link to the very monster I was hiding them from. Of course, I couldn't actually tell you where they were."

"Perhaps, but you lied to me even when Voldemort was gone. You kept lying to me." The hurt that crept into his voice catalyzed the guilt she felt.

She blew a sharp breath out before meeting his gaze again. "I think we need something a little stronger than tea for this conversation." With a quick wave of her hand, a bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses made their way to the table.

"Don't think I'm not asking about how adept you are at nonverbal and apparently wandless magic now either. You talk, I'll pour." But she didn't. She sat and pondered how to start while he poured their glasses. After taking a quick sip, Hermione steeled herself. This was undoubtedly going to be uncomfortable and painful, likely for the both of them. The whiskey was her preemptive strike.

"I lost my parents." Straight and to the point. No reason to dance around the topic rather than rip the bandage off. "They're still alive," she offered once she noticed how rigid he suddenly was, realizing what her initial statement must have sounded. She took her time draining the last of her glass and pouring more. "They just- they aren't them. They aren't Tom and Heather Granger anymore. I couldn't restore their memories. Right this minute, they're probably having breakfast or heading over to open Wilkins' Dentistry." A dark chuckle came from behind her glass. "Brightest damn witch of our age, and I couldn't even reverse my own memory charm. After that, I couldn't bear to face anyone. I was too embarrassed. It was absolutely pathetic. I was pathetic." Still are pathetic.

She took a breath and drained the second glass quicker than the first, not even flinching as the liquid blazed down her throat. The alcohol pooled warm in her stomach but did nothing to thaw the ice in her veins. Harry wanted to refute her claim, tell her she wasn't pathetic. But the look on her face warned him off from it. If he stopped her now, he feared she may retreat. He had to let her do this in her own way.

"I stayed there for a while. Made sure they were comfortable in their lives. That they were happy. They were so happy." A hard edge cut into her voice but it never broke. Sadness fought the vacancy for dominance in her eyes and ultimately won. The meaning behind her words was plain. Her parents were happy even without her. Because they're without me , her mind threw in.

When she drained the glass for the third time, Harry pulled it away from her and replaced it with her tea mug. Their eyes met in challenge, but she ultimately allowed it, slowly sipping the warm liquid to hide the lump developing in her throat. "It was nearly a month later when I decided I had to move on. I sent you that owl and walked away. I didn't care where I went, but I had to get out of there, nearly splinched myself in the process actually. It surprised me when I realized I ended up in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow." She hesitated a moment before dropping her gaze to the table unsure how Harry would take the next part. "I visited your parents. Put a new wreath up. I hope you don't mind. After that, I decided to take the muggle way. I loaded up on supplies and went backpacking across Europe. It was surprisingly healing for me. Definitely recommend everyone do that at least once. All the pain from walking, waking up in a new city each day, never thinking more than one putting one foot in front of the other. Being completely anonymous. No one expected anything from me. They couldn't be disappointed."

A long moment passed as he studied her. The hollowness of her voice mirrored the emptiness in her eyes, and her face had visibly ashen. Just as Harry moved to touch her to try to comfort her, she cleared her throat and soldier on. "After I finished the main route, I started bouncing around again. I must have run to a new country each week."

"Barcelona," he whispered. She couldn't suppress her laugh. The noise was harsh in contrast to the hushed, reverent tones they had been speaking in.

"Yes, Barcelona was quite beautiful. You almost caught me. If it hadn't been for that bicycle that nearly plowed into you, you would have had me cornered."

"You were shorter, a blonde." Her silence gave him the answer he didn't need. "I'm not sure how I knew it was you, but the second I saw you, I just knew. I could feel it in my bones that I was looking right at you. Sort of like tonight."

Hemione shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. It was two long sips of her tea before she recovered.

"I adapted a distraction charm not long after that. If someone were looking for me, it forced them to look in another direction. Perhaps that was how you saw me in Diagon Alley. You had stopped looking."

His head shook slowly. "No, I never stopped looking for you. I think I just gave up on the idea you would come back to England. Plus you can't charm away mannerism, Hermione." Her eyebrow rose slightly, inviting a further explanation. "The way you were pressing through the crowd. It's exactly how you dodged people in the halls at Hogwarts. Shoulders hunched, weaving in and out. Then in the alley, I noticed how narrow your stance was. You also do this thing where your pinky curls under the base of your wand. I've never seen anyone else do that." The room suddenly felt terribly warm to him under her scrutiny. She had no idea he paid that close attention to her mannerisms in school. Her penetrating gaze finally broke when he took a long draught from his tea, hiding his flaming cheeks behind the cup. "Well after Barcelona, there was Bangladesh, Paris, Vancouver, Rio de Janeiro, Jerusalem. Essentially, when I got bored, I'd find a brochure for another country, another city, and get myself there. Sometimes Apparation, sometimes muggle travel if it was too far. Eventually, I believe after New Delhi it was, I uh- I wound up in New York City."

Her entire demeanor changed at the mention of the city. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she gripped the mug. Every muscle in her body was on high alert, prepared to fight her way out of the memory.

"At first it was good. Sightseeing, exploring a place I'd never been. The lights in Times Square were unbelievable. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. I hitch-hiked all the way to Florida which in hindsight was probably not my safest idea. But that's when it all went to hell." Harry tried to meet her eye, but her gaze never left the table. He pulled her now empty mug from her with great effort. Finally, her eyes snapped up to meet his, but he merely turned back to the stove to refill it. After setting it back on the table, she latched back onto it, anchoring herself to the warm kitchen rather than being drawn back to that dark time.

"Damned cooling charm got me caught."

"Caught? What do you mean? By muggles?"

She scoffed at the idea. If only. Muggles were easy to handle. A confundus charm and she would have been on her way. If only things were that simple.

"No, something far worse. It's this band of witches and wizards. They call themselves The New Order Rising. We called them New Order for short."

"The Order? Like The Order of the Phoenix?"

A shiver cut through her before she could stop it. Comparing them to The Order caused a knot in her stomach.

"No," her voice strained as she choked on the thought. "They are nothing like the Order. The Order was created for good. This group, the only way I can think of to describe The New Order Rising is the epitome of evil."

He regarded her carefully for a moment, looking for an indicator that she was merely embellishing, but he knew in his bones she wasn't. Hermione Granger didn't exaggerate, and he knew that. Pragmatic might as well be her middle name.

"That's saying something considering everything we've seen."

Vacantly, she shook her head. Despite her best efforts, her mind was still reeling, sending her back to that place in Nevada. The air felt dry and hot on her neck despite the cool rain that had fallen over the house the last three days.

"It's the only accurate description for them," she mumbled.

"But I don't understand how any of that involves you."

Her eyes slid shut as a shuddered breath escaped her. "Morgan."

"Who's Morgan?"

"Morgan is the name of the poor sixteen-year-old who found me. She could hardly keep her wand trained on me, her hands trembled so badly. It was simple, disarming her, but I couldn't just walk away. Not when it was obvious she didn't know what she was doing, that she was scared. She begged me not to hurt her, just to go with her quietly before they sent others. I was afraid of what these others would do to her. I figured it must be some radical cult or something and that she was in trouble. But then I noticed the Dark Mark on her arm."

"So you let her take you?" He screeched at her. "Thought that you'd go at this on your own? Try to prove something to everyone?"

Her eyes snapped up, piercing him. "I thought I could help this poor girl who was obviously in over her head. I thought I could determine if this was a serious threat then contact the appropriate authorities if it was. She was obviously ill-trained, leading me to think this group wasn't a significant threat."

They sat silently for a moment, neither wanting to give in. Whoever spoke first would lose, and they both knew it. The silence was suffocating Harry though. The more she explained, the more things were unraveling. He couldn't understand how the Dark Mark was resurfacing nearly five years after Voldemort's demise.

"That doesn't explain why you had one," he mumbled, finally giving up his pride.

"I knew whatever was going on, mudblood carved into my arm would give away my identity immediately." Subconsciously, her hand drifted to her arm, running her thumb up and down the scar. "I'd been hiding it with long sleeves up until then, but I had a feeling that would only work so long. So I stunned the girl and tried to cover it however I could. No amount of concealment charms would work on it, but we already knew that being a cursed blade that put it there. Her tattoo gave me the idea to cover it. If they were using the Dark Mark, I thought it could help me garner some respect or at least offer a bit of protection."

His eyes drifted back to her left arm. The thought of the Dark Mark on her made him sick, but he understood why she did it. The best way to hide was in plain sight. He laid his hand over hers giving it a gentle squeeze to convey his understanding. When her eyes met his, he was startled by the intensity in them. He could see the disgust she held for using the Dark Mark. After everything they had done to rid the wizarding world of Voldemort's regime, the idea of putting the Dark Mark on himself just to survive was repulsive. A flash of Hermione dressed in Bellatrix's clothes came to mind. The woman had tortured and maimed her not a week prior, and yet Hermione polyjuiced herself as that wretch regardless because he had needed her to. She had always been better at doing the hard, necessary things. Unconsciously, he reached out and stroked the scar on her arm. The touch soothed her a fraction, and she continued on.

"Once she came to, she apparated us to this, well I'm not sure what exactly to call it. I suppose it was a military base perhaps." Now that she was talking about it, telling her story, she wanted to get it out as quickly and painlessly as possible. "They call it the Academy. It's like a base of operations as far as I could tell. It's essentially what I imagine Hogwarts for Deatheaters would look like."

"What exactly does that mean?"

She puffed out an exhale looking for the right words. "It's all the worst you can imagine. Dark arts, dueling, and fights. Experiments. The nastier they are the better." She didn't elaborate. The thought of spilling every dark thing she witnessed in that place caused the Firewhiskey and tea to churn uncomfortably in her stomach.

"Merlin," he murmured.

A mumbled agreement was the only response she could think of. What else was there to say in a moment like that?

"What did they do to you?" he breathed. The comment was more to himself; however, two weeks of blind training had sharpened her hearing and awareness. Exasperated, she pushed away from the table, from him, leaning as far back into the chair as she could. She needed space.

"What do you want, Harry? Do you want a bedtime story? Because this is not it. You want me to tell you how I could hardly stand for a week after someone stabbed me in the leg during a demonstration? Nearly severed my Achilles tendon. Or maybe the time I had to fight a fourteen-year-old until one of us was unconscious then once I woke up was Crucioed for letting him win? Oh, I know. How about the potions trials? Now, that was a real treat testing out potion safety, vomiting four times a night afterward when the recipe was bad. Does that sound like a good way to pass the night to you?" His eyes grew wider at each revelation she made. They had done horrible things to her, to his best friend, and he'd have liked nothing more than to see every last one of them kissed by a dementor for it. Harry leaned into the table toward her. He wanted to touch her, comfort her in some way, but she still seemed so far away from him. She was still on the other side of the world.

"I'm just trying to understand what happened," he whispered. "I'm trying to understand what you've been through, Hermione."

She met his eyes defiantly. The chair scraped against the tile, making a harsh noise as she stood. Her hands landed on the table with a loud thud that made him jump.

"What I've been through was hell infiltrating that group. I tortured and was tortured. I did things, unforgivable things, for more than three years. And now, I have to live with that. That very well may be a worse level of hell than the Academy was."

"Hermione-"

"You know what? It's late. Today was exhausting and we should both rest." She turned and all but threw her mug into the sink. When she spun back around, he caught her up in a hug. Her whole body stiffened at the contact, prepared to fight. It was a long moment before the tension fell from her shoulders. That unsettled him most of all. It was as if she, Hermione Bear Hug Granger, had forgotten how to be embraced. Finally, her hand came up to his back, awkwardly patting.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I didn't mean to press you so hard. Of course, it was terrible." His arms tightened around her. If he never let her go, it would have been too soon for him. It was the first time in four years he'd been able to hold her. "I just want to help."

"I think I'm beyond helping now." Her voice was soft, and she honestly didn't think he would hear her. She wasn't sure if she meant him to.

"No, you're not".

With one final squeeze, he released her, sensing her discomfort at being constricted. They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Neither one knew how to finish the night. It had been years since they were on the run together, yet here they were again. Ultimately, Hermione cleared her throat to alleviate the tension.

"There's another bedroom, second door on the left."

He nodded his acknowledgment. "Right. You'll be here when I wake up, won't you?" He hated to even ask, honestly despised the unsure waiver of his voice, but he also didn't know what this new version of her may do.

She chuckled though. An honest chuckle. "No, I had every intention of dragging you to a safe house just to abandon you here and burn it." When he didn't laugh, she sighed. "I will still be here when you wake up. Swear on my wand."

He nodded curtly and squeezed her arm. "Good then. Good night."

"Night," she mumbled before sharply turning and going to her own room.

Once the door clicked shut, she slumped heavily against it. Telling him about the Academy did nothing for her frazzled mind. Flashes of memories blindsided her, dragging her back into the darkness. Blonde hair stained red with blood. An unconscious boy lying at her feet. The face of a man laughing as her screams filled the room. Blood. Yelling. Screaming. So much screaming. Her hands ground into her temples trying to push the memories out. She blinked rapidly trying to concentrate on something other than the memories. Finally, the worn punching bag levitating in the corner came into focus. Without hesitation, she crossed to it and swung wildly. The blow landed awkwardly and jammed her wrist, but she didn't care. The pain helped ground her. Over and over, she hit the bag. She punched past the point of her knuckles splitting and bleeding. She kept hitting even when her shoulder started to bleed again. She continued on until her body ached so badly it was the only thing on her mind. With one last burst punch, the bag careened back into the wall. Panting, she finally felt worn enough to attempt sleep. Before her mind could start reeling again, Hermione collapsed onto the bed.

Notes:

TW: descriptions of torture and violence towards children.

I am happy to provide a chapter overview for anyone concerned with these triggers. Contact me on Instagram ( anonymouslyblonde), discord ( anonblonde), or private message

Also a huge shout out to all of my discord friends who let me bounce ideas around. Especially AlwaysThatGuy, possumwrites, suzyq28, and DeprinDot all of who have received crazies 3 am messages from me with ideas. Be sure to check them out too!

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