A/N: Please see end of chapter for specific trigger warning for this chapter.
An anxious storm settled into Hermione that matched the late afternoon Sunday sky. Flickers of it pulsed through her like lightning trapped in a bottle. As promised, she allowed Harry to apparate them to Ottery St. Catchpole at 5:50 on the dot. Typically, he popped directly into the Burrow's wards, but as he watched her nearly strangle her scarf, Harry decided the walk might help work out her nervous energy, for which she was entirely grateful, even if she didn't say.
Only when the silence became too thick did she express her trepidation. "I really don't think this is a good idea. I shouldn't just be showing up here unannounced. Especially not after this long."
"Hermione, it's fine. The Weasleys are going to be ecstatic to see you."
"Not sure that's the right word for it. So what should I expect?" Being prepared was always a good plan.
"Everyone usually tries to show up even for just a few moments. Bill and Fleur usually bring the girls. Charlie can be hit or miss depending on his schedule. Percy is still a prick." She snorted, shooting him a knowing smirk that he returned. "But he comes for Molly. Of course George and Gin, they're inseparable now that she works at the shop. Oh, and about Ron..."
She quirked an eyebrow at him, suddenly very interested in where this was going. He directed her around a large mud puddle as they continued down the drive.
"He's seeing someone new," he blurted, hand still at her back as if he may need to grab on should she Apparate away. "Well, not entirely new, but he and Hannah have been dating a while."
"Who?" Her voice was level and disinterested. Regardless of the last four years, Harry expected some type of emotional reaction from her. Jealousy, happiness, relief, grief. But the stone mask he'd been witnessing for weeks remained steadfast. An emotionless Hermione Granger simply wasn't Hermione Granger to him. Not his Hermione at least.
"Hannah Abbott. She was a Hufflepuff - same year as us, we had Herbology with her. Fourth year I think?"
"Okay," she drew out as if speaking to a child. "And why do you feel I should know this?"
"Well, you know," Harry led, scrubbing at his neck nervously. He motioned wildly with his hands, hoping she'd catch on. "Well, after everything that happened during the battle, I just thought, you know, you may want to know before we go."
Hermione stopped dead in stride, causing him to pull short with her. The small amount of patience she had allowed for the trip was running threadbare, and she was further annoyed with his evasive answers.
"That kiss," he huffed and crossed his arms defensively against her glare. "In the Room of Requirement."
"Oh." The sound left her mouth before she even realized it. "I'd forgotten all about that actually. Well no need to make things awkward; I just won't go."
Casually, she spun on heel to walk back towards the town to walk away, but Harry grabbed her shoulders firmly and steered her back on the path that led to the Burrow. "Nice try, but no. You don't get off that easy. I just thought you ought to know, you know in case she's at dinner."
They continued in silence, hands pressed deep into their pockets to fight off the chill. The wind stirred around them, dancing through the bare tree branches in hushed whispers. As they continued on, the Burrow in all its magical suspension and balance stood as proudly as Hermione remembered the first time she saw it before the Quidditch World Cup. The wards opened at Harry's touch to allow them through, and they dropped their glamours as they entered.
"And I suppose I can't Veritaserum her either," she quipped.
He chuckled, beside himself with her insistence. "No, you cannot. Honestly, how do you have this much Veritaserum?"
"Because it's not."
"Wait, not only did you dose the Minister, but you lied to him too?"
"No, his was," she offered with a shrug. Seeing Harry's skeptical look, she continued. "I felt like he needed actual Veritaserum, but most everyone else, I use sodium pentenal."
"Sodium what?"
"Sodium pentenal. It's a muggle version of Veritaserum," she explained. "Works great, especially for people that haven't been under Veritaserum. It has just enough kick to feel like the real thing that it can trick you into thinking it is. And if someone thinks it actually is, it usually works every time."
He reached out and knocked loudly against the crooked door before turning to face her again. "Did you ever use it on me?"
The answer sat poised but caught on her tongue, their argument about her snap decision to trust him still hung in the back of her mind. Was she wrong in trusting him so quickly? Would he be angry if she had or if she hadn't? As the answer started to work its way from her throat, the door swung open to reveal the never-changing face of Arthur Weasley, which visibly paled as his eyes met Hermione. He whispered her name as if expecting it was merely a figment of his mind that would disappear once acknowledged.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley. I hope it's alright that I'm here. Harry insisted-"
"Of course! Yes, of course it's alright! Please come in, come in." Arthur stumbled over his own feet to move out the way and let them pass. The living room was the same as she remembered. Homey and warm. Too warm. Too bright. Too familiar. Mr. Weasley moved past her towards the kitchen, shouting as he went. "Harry's here! And he's brought someone!"
"Brought someone? Who on earth-" Molly started but stopped short as they turned the corner to stare into a sea of red hair. No one moved, hardly anyone even breathed as they stared slack-jawed at the pair. Harry stepped closer behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them an encouraging squeeze while preventing a hasty escape.
She swallowed hard and steeled herself against the curious and accusing faces that stared back. As if she were a stranger. As if she were an intruder in their perfect familial bubble. She whispered low for Harry, "Told you this was a bad idea."
First to recover his wits, George clapped his hands together, startling the rest of his family as he grinned at each of them. "Well, are we just gonna stand about and stare at her? Honestly, we're all savages if I'm the most polite one here."
He scoffed and lurched forward to wrap her in a tight hug. To her credit, Hermione merely stiffened before placing her hands on his back and patting it awkwardly.
"Glad to see you again, Hermione," he whispered, giving her another squeeze before releasing his hold.
"You too, George." And once she said it, Hermione realized she did mean it. Despite the bravado and her hardened demeanor, there was a comfort in being in a place with people who knew her before the New Order Rising destroyed everything. A place to pretend things were somewhat normal, at least for a breath.
With an arm firmly around her shoulders, George pulled her further into the kitchen as everyone began to chatter anxiously around them again. Feeling the tension in her shoulders, he pressed a butterbeer into her stiff grip. The majority of the attention fell to Harry, which was a huge relief for Hermione. Explaining to Harry about the last four years had been grueling enough, but the prying of the Weasleys was sure to be unbearable.
After several long moments of back and forth, Ron finally convinced himself to venture over to the corner Hermione occupied. His hands pressed deeply into the pockets of his trousers as he shifted from foot to foot, starting at the floor. He wasn't sure what they were at this point. There had been one kiss four years ago, a long history of bickering friendship, and now, a million unanswered questions. Ron always struggled with starting conversations with her, and four years of absence had clearly not remedied that.
"Hi," he started, eyes darting to her blank face then back to the floor.
"Hello," Hermione offered, leaning back against the wall behind her.
"Right. Um, how've you been?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Small talk. She hated small talk, but she had also promised Harry she would try despite her instincts. "Fine. And yourself?"
Ron took the response as an encouraging sign until he looked up to see the cold flatness in her eyes. He deflated, gaze falling to the floor.
"Good. Uhm really good actually," he mumbled and scrubbed at his neck. With a steadying breath, he surged onwards, pulling on all the Gryffindor courage he had. "Should probably mention I, uhm, well I sort of found someone. A girlfriend, if you will."
"Yes, Harry's told me. Hannah, I believe it is?" she clipped out with arms crossed defensively over her chest.
His eyes snapped up to hers then over to Harry, who stood across the room, openly watching them. The intensity of his stare wilted Ron. "Oh, well, uh- yeah. See, after you disappeared, I thought-"
"Really, Ronald, there's no need to explain."
The awkward quiet settled over them again as she pressed further back into her shadowy corner, feeling claustrophobic in the small kitchen. She wished for an attack, something to focus on, anything but the oppressive silence.
"And how about you, Hermione?" Ginny called out. "Find anyone special on all of your galavanting?"
A jealous whine crept into Ginny's tone. After graduation, she would have loved to travel the world, see something outside of Europe, but her mother had insisted on keeping her suffocatingly close. Losing a child would do that to a mother, and being the only daughter made it worse. But she sat quietly, buying her time until her mother saw reason. Four years later and she was still waiting.
Cold dread dripped down Hermione's spine at the thought of any kind of romantic relations with the people she had met in the last four years. Perhaps she shouldn't have wished for anything but the silence.
"Definitely not," she bit out. "I'm perfectly fine on my own."
She didn't intend to be so cruel, but the question brought back too many bad memories that she simply couldn't face. Not in that bright kitchen. Not with all these people around. Thankfully George started commentating about Percy's formal attire at their relaxed Sunday family dinner, shifting the focus off of her. The next time she caught his eye, she mouthed a thanks to him.
Just as Hermione thought the night may proceed without incident, a loud clunk echoed through the crowded kitchen as a pot fell to the floor, sending marinara sauce through the air. Immediately, Hermione withdrew her weapon from its holster, scanning the area for an imminent threat. At first, the Weasley clan was too busy fussing over the mess and checking on Victorie to notice her, pupils blown and weapon drawn, but slowly, each one turned toward Hermione, intrigued by her strange behavior and the stranger still item she clutched, pointed nowhere in particular. Harry was the only soul to recognize what she held, what danger it posed. He recognized it from the violent shows his cousin watched on the telly. Carefully, he inserted himself beside her, trying to pull her back to reality.
"Hermione," he called softly, afraid of startling her. He didn't dare touch her. Thank Merlin for the interest he had taken into psychology at university, instantly recognizing the signs that she wasn't completely in the moment: unresponsive; darting, unseeing eyes; chest heaving with each breath. Three more times he called her name before she finally looked at him.
"You're safe. No one here is going to hurt you." His tone was low as he spoke in a voice as soothing as he could muster through his own nerves. The sound of the Weasleys moving around them again ensured only she would hear his voice. He laid a tentative hand on top of hers, and when she didn't move, dared to press down, lowering the weapon. "I promise you're safe. You can put the gun away."
She came back to herself with a start, eyes flitted about the room before finally settling on him again. The noise hadn't been the sound of attack. The red stains across the floor weren't smears of blood. The voices she heard weren't the tormented screams she thought they were. Shock of what she had done, the tragedy she could have committed, finally settled in and she immediately holstered the weapon.
"I'll be outside. I need some air," she mumbled before stumbling out the closest door. Thirty seconds later, he followed her outside, carrying a spare jacket with him.
The back garden stood still and quiet despite the storm still sitting poised on the horizon. Even the garden gnomes stayed hidden away in their holes, safely tucked away from any approaching turmoil. Hermione sat on a bench faced away from the house, absently toeing at a rock by her foot. As he approached, Harry tried to step as loud as he could, snapping fallen branches underfoot when possible to prevent scaring her. He slipped the jacket over her shoulders and sat next to her in silence. The early January chill seeped into his bones, but he refused to move until they sorted it out.
"I pulled a gun on the Weasleys," she finally said, eyes focused on her clasped hands.
"Well if it makes you feel better, I don't think a single one of them knew what it was."
"It doesn't."
"Where the hell did you even get a gun?" The question came out harsher than he intended. A handgun wasn't just bending the rules though, it was outright breaking the law.
"Standard issue during Academy," she muttered to the ground.
"Okay. why did you pull the gun then?" he asked, leaning back to look at her. "I mean I know you were startled. I get that. Merlin knows how many times I've pulled my wand on some poor person, animal, and inanimate object that startled me. But why the gun instead of your wand?"
"There's something about it. It just seems more humane in a twisted sort of way." He gave her a questioning look, so she explained further. "With a wand, I can kill, I can torture. I can mangle and mutilate. But a gun, it's different. Especially in the Wizarding world, a gun just stops everything. When I was on the run, they'd go for their wands, but when I pulled the gun, it scared them; truly, properly scared them. Wizardkind doesn't have any sort of defense against a bullet. They can pierce even the best protection shields typically. So they knew they couldn't really defend themselves. I suppose it's sort of become a habit to reach for it when I feel threatened. And I just like the way it feels. The weight of it, how the cold metal grounds me. I control it. I pull the trigger. I fire the bullet. With magic, anything is possible. Any horrible, terrible thing could be possible. We know that better than anyone I think."
Flashes of the horcruxes and cursed blades burned in his mind. They did know better than anyone the horrors magic could produce.
"But guns? Those are simple. It's simply point-" she pointed her fingers like a gun at one of the gnomes that had emerged from its home, "-and shoot." She finished with a recoil of her hand as if feeling the kick of the firing.
For the first time perhaps ever, Harry was afraid of Hermione Granger. Had she always been a bit intense? Scary even? Sure. But seeing the void in her eyes as she explained how a gun made her feel frightened him. Maybe she was right. He didn't know who she was, what she had done, but then she started picking at the hem of her sleeve. Just like his Hermione did. He knew she was still in there. There may have been layers of shields between him and the old Hermione, but she was definitely still in there.
She looked over to see his contemplative look and grimaced. "Sorry… I know that's morbid."
"No. it- it actually makes sense." He quickly wiped the fear from his mind. "I get what you mean by feeling out of control when it comes to magic. It makes me feel almost weightless most of the time. Like I'm on the edge of it controlling me instead of me controlling it."
The "shot" gnome roamed in front of them as they each sat lost in their own thoughts. An occasional shout or clang from the house broke the quiet until Harry finally said, "You never did answer earlier."
"About what?"
"The sodium pentagon-"
"Sodium pentenal," she corrected with a smirk.
"Did you ever use it on me?"
She was quiet for a long time before finally whispering, "No."
Hermione pushed at the rock with her toe again, moving it from one side to the other. Back and forth, pushing and pulling like the waves of thought in her mind. She hadn't experienced indecision like this in years. Selfishness had driven her this far, pretending she could keep Harry with her. Pretending that was okay. And it was time she gave up the comfort.
"I should go," she started, hoping he let her slip away quietly. "I've kept you long enough. I just don't belong here. This isn't my world anymore."
"You're not going anywhere, Hermione." His chest clenched in panic - she didn't just mean tonight at the Burrow. He wouldn't lose her, not to the New Order and not to her own selfless crusade of protecting him.
"It's not safe. I'm putting all of you in danger by being here." Her voice was calm as she spoke which was how Harry knew she didn't truly mean it. At least he didn't think she did. "If they track me down, they will kill everyone here without a second thought. It's better that I go. I've caused enough trouble already."
"I heard what Mary Beth said, or Sarah. Whatever her name is. And I know you. You've hidden your tracks too well for them to find you. Trust me, I know how well you can hide." The hurt in his voice caused a twist in her chest that she tried to push back down.
"They aren't the only danger to all of you," she whispered into the wind.
"You panicked. It's understandable. You didn't hurt anyone."
"This time." She pointedly looked at his throat she previously strangled in a similar panic. "I didn't hurt anyone this time ."
"Hermione, it was an accident."
"A potentially deadly accident. One I won't risk happening again."
Silence fell over them, cocooning them in the bubble of the garden. Even next to her, Harry felt a million miles away again until her quiet voice spoke again.
"You should get back in there. I'll just wait out here."
He fixed her with a look over his glasses. "I'm not that thick, Hermione." It forced a smile from her as she shook her head. He hoisted himself from the seat to stand in front of her and hold out a hand. "Come on then."
"Why are you doing all of this?" she asked, piercing him with her gaze. "Why are you staying with me? Why were you so insistent that we come here?"
"Because you need a support system, Hermione. You need people behind you, helping you. And the more the better."
"No, I don't. I can handle this on my own." A steely fire burned in her eyes. Immediately, he realized need wasn't the right word to use with her.
"I never said you couldn't handle it alone, but you shouldn't have to." She turned away, refusing to admit he might just be speaking a hint of truth. Her fingers traced over the Charlie + Jane engraved in the wood. "I never would have survived if it hadn't been for you always being there."
Kneeling in front of her, he took her chin and forced her to look at him again. The revelation and gentle touch startled her. For someone who so frequently acted on emotions, Harry was never the best at expressing them, but there he was, as vulnerable as she had ever seen him. And now she was the one emotionally devoid.
"Maybe you don't need people, Hermione. But it sure as hell helps." Harry extended a hand to her again. The gesture felt more than just simply pulling her to his feet. It was symbolic. Accepting his help, letting him in. When she met his eye again, she could see he knew that too. She took his hand letting him pull her back into the oppressive kitchen.
The Weasleys meandered around the kitchen as they slipped in quietly, taking seats at the table, away from the commotion. Seeing the pair return, George teased her about taking his seat in an attempt to defuse the tension. A kind-hearted but futile attempt. Hermione stilled as her eyes focused on the only other vacant chair. One that would put her back to the door. Harry and George followed her line of sight and both saw why she would wish to avoid that seat. George didn't understand why that scared her, but he remembered his own fear of doors at his back after the war. Crouching by her, he put a hand over her knee.
"Hey. I'm only joking," he said in a soft tone Harry had never heard him use before. "I don't know what's going on, what's happened, but we'll help you through it. We're here for you, Hermione."
"Thank you." Her voice was even making it difficult to tell if she really meant it. "And thank you for that distraction earlier. For tonight in general." He merely nodded before settling into the vacant seat that had been squeezed into.
Everyone settled in to dinner, laughing, telling stories, and catching up. Hermione felt like an observer, not really a part of any of it as she dutifully pushed peas across her plate. Then slowly it quieted, and everyone looked at her and Harry sitting there side by side.
"So. You missed Christmas." Molly shot the cold question at Harry.
"Molly-" Arthur chastized in an attempt to keep the mood light and civil.
"No, I want to hear this. You up and disappear for a month without so much as a line," she said, fixing Hermione with a glare.
"Because of me." Hermione's own response was as cold and emotionless as the older woman.
"Naturally, I figured that part out on my own thanks," she replied hotly.
"Molly!"
"It's not Hermione's fault." Harry's voice gave no room for argument. In that moment, he was every bit the Dark Lord Vanquisher. "I chose to go with her. I chose this. She tried to convince me otherwise."
"So you chose to stay holed up with her, missing two family dinners and all of Christmas, rather than be with your family who have been there with you the last four years! You choose to worry us all sick thinking you could be dead! And where exactly has she been for you?
"It isn't that simple, Molly ." The name came out hard. That stopped her, Harry using her first name. "There's a new threat."
"Mate, what do you mean?" George eyed her; seeing the way she straightened in her seat had his previous suspicions confirmed
"We were attacked. We had to go underground for a while to make sure the threat moved on. We only recently received Intel that the coast was clear."
"The Diagon Alley fight," Ginny muttered. They both nodded at her. "That attack was brutal. I heard people say it was like the whole alley exploded, spells and curses no one has ever seen before. And nothing anyone had heard before considering it was all nonverbal. That was you?" Her voice was tinged with awe.
"Two agents of the New Order found me. I'm sure they were given orders to bring me in, no matter the cost."
"New Order?" Ron questioned.
"Call themselves the New Order Rising. That's who held me captive for nearly three years." For perhaps the first time in it's long history, the Burrow and it's occupants fell completely silent.
A/N: TW: PTSD, flashbacks, and description of firearms
