A/N: I hope the less polished writing isn't too much of a turn-off. I reckon I'll come back and re-write everything at some point in the next ten years. But don't hold me to that please and thank you. And now, ward-breaking part two!

Chapter Seventeen: Homecoming

Wednesday, May 13, 1998, Early Afternoon:

"Go," said Arthur, his voice quiet but steady.

Banish the darkness and bring forth the light

Give us concealment from those without sight

We always obey and we never deceive

We ask for protection from sinners and thieves

Take what we offer and share what you know

Grant us the power to strike down our foe

With nowhere to go and nowhere to hide

The evil will stay and pay with their lives

The now familiar Latin phrases punctured the silent grounds as the group began to chant. An ancient scroll of parchment outlining the ritual had been buried under centuries of documents and papers in Minerva's old office. As the Head of Gryffindor house, it made sense that Godric's greatest contribution to the school would reside there. They spoke the lines of verse with unwavering conviction, their voices bleeding over each other to create an almost physical wall of sound. Rippling streams of white-blue magic flowed out of their wands and into the primary anchor point. Hermione's face was tight with concentration, her eyes reflecting the growing light rising from the soft earth at the base of the trees.

The patterns were more complex than those that made up the other anchor points in the network. They overlapped each other, hundreds of grey and silver threads that had to be activated in just the right way. Progress was slow, the powerful and ancient enchantments requiring more precise magical channeling than anything they had worked on so far. The wards resisted their best efforts, the impossibly thin threads seeming to shift positions as the group tried to empower them. They had almost given up during their first time attempting to tackle one of these, thinking that the wards' needs far exceeded what they could provide. But Arthur had forced them all to keep going, and they had eventually succeeded.

The bright tides of magic rose and pulsed with power as the anchor point came to life, discordant whispers filling Hermione's head in a language she could not quite understand. Words and phrases stuck out to her in the endless sea. They urged her to listen, cease her chanting, to forget who she was and why any of this mattered. She tried to shut them out and focus on the spells that would soon silence them forever, but their beguiling influence found holes in her mental shield and dug even deeper. Perhaps they were a byproduct of the battle, the smear of darkness that remained as a result of Voldemort's brutal destruction of the castle's protections. Or perhaps they were simply tired of working all the time, forced to filter out those who were deemed unworthy by the wizard who had designed them almost a thousand years ago.

Hermione wished that Occlumency had been a part of standard magical education. Harry got all the breaks and he never appreciated any of it. Here she was, struggling under the weight of an ancient anti-Muggle ward with absolutely no idea of what she was doing, and he was probably taking an afternoon nap. How did one defend their mind? The harsh voices were filling her head with countless stinging cuts that would soon overwhelm her fraying sanity. And all she could do was pray that brute-forcing her magic into the stubborn anchor point would bear fruit before her mind was totally lost.

As she worked to mould her magic into any formation that might accelerate the process, Hermione was struck by an alien sense of detachment. It was as if her body was somewhere far away. Not out of reach exactly, simply drifting a great distance beneath her, aimless and content. She attempted to claw her way back to it, but an ever-growing sea of black made the task almost impossible. Every inch gained was a hard-fought victory, the unpleasant substance clinging to her skin like tar. She could still feel her wand in her right hand, if barely. The heated wood against her fingers, its familiar grooves and patterns clear in her head as she mechanically repeated the movements necessary for the empowerment ritual.

Her other hand was resting on Arthur's forearm, his skin warm and firm underneath her fingertips. The little hairs on his arm sparked with energy as the magic flowed through his body, the sensation reminding her of static electricity. She smiled at the thought of trying to explain the concept to the older man, and promised herself that she would one day. Something shifted in her awareness, and Hermione soon found herself away from the distant place and whole once more. She tightened her grip on Arthur's arm, giving him a squeeze that helped to calm her racing heart and still her shaking hands.

The whispers continued to scratch at Hermione's head, a writhing mass of worms tumbling over each other in their eagerness to torment her. But it was far easier to ignore them than it had been before, and the anchor point's configuration stood out slightly clearer. The grey threads now glowed a soft blue, and the silver threads swelled like engorged veins. They had stopped whirling and twisting at every opportunity, the ill-tempered ward having been momentarily subdued. She focused on the wand in her hand and Arthur's strong presence beside her as the white-blue ball of energy grew dazzlingly bright. The anchor point was coming to life before their eyes, illuminating the surrounding area like the sun never could. Their chanting began to echo and grow in volume without anyone needing to raise their voice, and the quiet hum of magic swelled into a roar that rose up around them.

Blue and white sparks continued to flow from her wand and a firm click reverberated in her chest a moment later. With a sigh of relief, her body relaxed as the strain on her magic abated. Whatever strangeness she had experienced during the ritual was already starting to feel like a bad dream. Sunlight warmed her clammy skin and the cool forest air dried the sweat on her brow. Unable to stop herself, she threw her arms around Arthur's shoulders and he awkwardly patted her back.

"That was quite the stubborn old ward," he called over his shoulder to Bill and George. Hermione continued to bury her face in Arthur's chest for a few more seconds, but when she finally raised her head, her face was dry.

"Did any of you feel a presence, kind of like a scratching?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

"I felt a sort of pull," said George. "Like it was trying to wash me away." Hermione nodded but said nothing.

A heavy silence filled the air, and they all stood for a moment and simply watched the almost blinding glow of the rejuvenated anchor point. Their task was complete. Over a week of painstaking effort had led up to this final challenge. They would not have been able to do this on their first day, not even close. Their understanding of the process had evolved and grown as they empowered more and more anchor points, resulting in all four of them becoming rather skilled at magical channelling and directing their will in ways outside of conventional spell casting.

"Is anything supposed to happen now?" asked Bill, looking around nervously. "After we did the last secondary—"

His words were drowned out as a deafening whir filled the empty grounds. The newly-empowered anchor point flared even brighter, causing the group to stumble back as a wave of magic hit them. It vibrated with concentrated energy, shooting off four thick golden beams up toward the castle. Red and silver sparks orbited around their centres, detaching for a few seconds before merging back with the blinding golden light. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers exploded in a burst of radiant white energy when the beams made contact, as did a point somewhere near the kitchens. The remaining pulse of magic burrowed deep underground, presumably seeking out the anchor point in the Slytherin common room. None of the other primaries had possessed nearly as much energy as what the Forest's harboured. They weren't weak by any means, but were likely mere pieces of the puzzle that the Forest anchor point held in place.

Several blue-white threads of power exploded from the Quidditch pitch, shooting towards the castle and forest anchor point faster than the eye could track. They reminded Hermione of plasma, the vibrant energy illuminating the grass an eerie white as the beams travelled just above the ground. One of the foot-wide threads slammed into the forest anchor point, welding itself to the power source with a squelching thump that made George almost regret stuffing himself to bursting a scant two hours earlier.

"The secondary anchor points are attaching themselves to the primary ones. They're all inter-connected. That must be how the entire system works," said Hermione excitedly, her face alight with the prospect of learning something new.

"Thanks, Hermione," said George dryly. "We never would have figured that out otherwise."

"It's interesting!" she insisted, sticking her tongue out at him, her hands on her hips. "How often are any of us going to see a ward network turn back on, especially one on this scale. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"I suppose," replied George around a yawn. "Maybe I'd appreciate it more if I wasn't so ready to collapse."

The light show continued to dance and flow around them, but the intense crackling and thunderous bursts of sound had thankfully begun to die down. The primary anchor points had finally found each other. Only the more numerous secondaries remained as they worked to close the loop. Threads from the castle sped towards their location, and the forest anchor point flared a brilliant golden white as they made contact. Hermione guessed that something similar was taking place at each of the primary anchor points in the castle. It took everything she had to keep her footing, a relentless exhaustion pulling at her clothes and eyelids with a biting ferocity. She grit her teeth, desperate to see this task out to its end.

The beams of light dissipated as the magic cemented itself in place, filling the air with a series of reverberant clicks and thuds that echoed all around the grounds. Something close to silence rang out, but Hermione wasn't sure if she had simply gone deaf as a result of the din they had all endured. The sun peeked through gaps in the labyrinth of criss-crossing white, blue, and gold, heating the earth and taking up its silent vigil once more. The complex pattern receded into clouds of multicoloured mist, sinking into the ground in a mass of twinkling stars.

"Merlin's saggy pits, what now," groaned George as the rumbling started.

The forest anchor point pulsed with raw energy, a spear of blistering golden light blossoming outwards toward the castle. Large domes expanded from the four common rooms and rose to meet the unstable point as it slowly ascended. Hogwarts stood silhouetted beneath the enormous mass of concentrated energy, the staggering display all but blotting out the sun's rays. The primary anchor points joined together to create a white orb that glittered with black and gold sparks. The task force watched in awe as the sphere of power undulated and grew, slowly rotating as it gained height. When it had risen over a hundred feet above their heads, the orb burst apart, bathing the castle and surrounding area in a dazzling shower of white-gold light.

Hermione's hair whipped about her face as the magic crashed over them, cool and refreshing against her clammy skin. Her drained core greedily absorbed the unbound magical energy that washed over her, clearing the headache whose persistent throbbing had almost claimed her consciousness. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the flood of new strength coursing through her tired body. When she opened them again, the world had by some miracle righted itself. The anchor point did not pulse and whine. The air no longer shimmered with leftover magic. Everything was mercifully back to normal.

"Can I go home yet?" Bill asked. "Fleur's probably worried sick by now."

"I don't want to go back to work," murmured Arthur. "I just can't fill out incident reports and answer security questions after this."

"I'm hungry," said George.

"We all need rest," agreed Hermione, patting Bill on the arm. She offered him a small smile and he returned it gratefully. "Let's get back up to the castle and tell Headmistress McGonagall the ward network's running again."

"I think she knows," replied George, grinning. "And if she somehow missed the fireworks, I seriously question whether she can look after this place."

They all headed back up towards the castle, standing closer together than was strictly necessary. Hermione was too tired to hit George for his cheek, and the others simply shook their heads in mock disgust. Now, how to sneak away without drawing too much attention?

._.

No. The reality was somehow worse than the horror show her brain had promised it would be. Everything screamed with a mundanity that left her weak and hollow. The world tilted and spun, off-centre and wrong. Nothing was out of place, but the sheer alienness of her surroundings planted a pit in her heaving stomach. What had she done? How could it have been the right decision, the only one she could have made. Analysing and re-analysing the data, piecing it all together so confidently. She hadn't been an idiot. She had been a murderer.

The house looked so uninteresting. Family portraits lined the walls, though none of them had been taken after her twelfth birthday. The year she had walked down a path that could never be retraced, each step leading her further and further away from an easy and comfortable life. The year she had given up on the people who loved her. The start of a six-year goodbye. At least only one heart was broken. Burn it to the ground.

Magic, friends, Hogwarts, saving the world… It had all been so important once. Vital, no other possible way of living her life. Then why did it feel so pointless now. Why, after everything she had accomplished, did she want nothing more than to curl up in front of the TV with her Mum and Dad and watch Beauty and the Beast one more time. The big bowl of popcorn on her father's lap, sneaking handfuls even after Mum had told her not to. She sat down on the old sofa, perfectly preserved after a year of bloodshed. It sagged comfortingly under her weight, the familiar depression too small for her now. The television screen was black. It didn't turn on when she pressed a button on the remote.

The tears came then, silent and without end. She didn't try to fend them off and stay strong. Not anymore. This was her chance to finally let go of the person she had fought so hard to be all these years. Flawless, uncompromisingly intelligent, ready to help anyone. It was high time she indulged the scared little girl in her head that never got to come out. The girl who had no friends, the girl who had been the butt of every foul joke her classmates could conjure up. The girl who just wanted to learn and be happy without complication. Well, half of her wish had been granted at least. Her parents would have been so proud. Tear the stitching.

Hermione retrieved her wand from the pocket of her jeans. She waved it once, and all of the lights in the house turned on whether they worked or not. Her vision shimmered like a rippling pool, the white and beige of the walls and floor coming in and out of focus. She traced patterns through the air, streams of multicoloured flames trailing from the tip of her wand and hovering before her. She had such absolute control over her magic. There was little she couldn't do. But it still felt as though she'd failed the most important test.

She staggered to her feet and shuffled towards the kitchen, passing the bowl of sugar-free sweets sitting on the coffee table without slowing. She probably knew every wrapped treasure by heart, even if the tastes had left her mind long ago. She ran her hand along the chipped wooden table in the room's centre, missing her father's special scrambled eggs with a throbbing ache. He had never revealed to her the secret behind his signature dish, and she hadn't cared enough to ask. Stupid. Did he still know how to make them? Was he treating her mother to the delicacy every morning, unaware that his non-existent daughter burned to taste them just one more time?

Small potted plants sat in trays on the window sill, lifeless and brown. Aguamenti, she thought, too choked up to speak properly, but the stream of icy water did nothing to restore the once-white begonias. The kitchen looked out onto the small backyard. If she tilted her head, Hermione could just make out the driveway. Empty. She had expected as much, but not seeing the grey Volvo stung regardless. Trust yourself.

The perfect little suburban house, cursed to remain uninhabited for as long as it stood. She had made sure of that. Though glimpses remained, much of her family's personality had been cleared out with the move. The whole place reeked of normal. Harry's aunt and uncle would likely prefer the utilitarian look, she thought with a bitter chuckle. It could have been razed by Death Eaters as they tormented Muggles across the country, the scorched remains topped with the Dark Mark. Just another crime against her, or the ultimate kindness? She didn't know, and that was what scared her most of all.

There was an idea she had been toying with for months, bubbling in the back of her head on late nights when Harry was already asleep. Constantly changing her mind, there had been little progress made in the way of a concrete decision on the matter. There was only one path that would allow her to regain her agency and live in the present once more. But how could she let go of this life, this innocent person and her family. How could she burn the final bridge?

Everything was so… much. No trivialities to break up the life and death scenarios. To be a normal teenager worrying about boys and fashion. A luxury she didn't deserve. All must be done because there is no other way to exist. Say her lines, follow the stage directions. And there can never be a mistake. Break free.

The back wall of the house proudly displayed her one and only attempt at finger-painting, the chaotic splatters holding naught but her infantile delight at the pretty colours. She had begged her parents to get rid of the eyesore, no longer able to stomach the mess. They had flatly refused, much to her consternation. Her mother said it held a sort of charm, though Hermione could not fathom what sort that might be.

Her wand was warm, but it may have only been her sweaty palm heating the wood. She examined the patterns etched on its surface. This wand had been hers for seven years. Ollivander had smiled warmly down at her while her parents watched on in silent awe. Blue and gold sparks streamed from its tip, the cluttered shop strobing with the ever-changing lights. She had been so happy, the simple joy of wittingly performing magic for the first time. There were no longer mysteries surrounding the strange happenings of her childhood. Everything made sense.

And now… Now she was bathed in a sea of indecision and helplessness. The longer she stood at the back door of the house, the faster her confidence tried to drain away. It was now or never. "In—"

The word wouldn't come. She was crying too hard. The lump in her throat refused to shrink no matter how many times she swallowed. Could she really do this? Should she? What purpose was this place even serving anymore? It was just an old house. An old house she hadn't properly seen in years. Its inhabitants were long gone. It was basically a waste of space. "Incend—"

Here stood the last tether connecting her to the non-magical world. She had all but relinquished her Muggleborn status when she had decided that Ron's family was more important than her own. When she had as good as killed her parents. And now she faced the final hurdle preventing her from truly calling herself a witch. She would be an undeniable part of the wizarding world, no longer hovering between who she was and who she had been. But was that even what she wanted anymore? To throw her lot in with a society that so highly valued blood purity and self-obsession? She had fought for elf rights back at school, attempting to combat the discrimination magical races faced at the hands of her people. It had been stupid to think that she alone could make a difference in the world. A childish manifestation of her privilege.

Hermione took in the perfectly-laid bricks wedged between lines of rubbery concrete. The vibrant shades of her pointless childhood games receded and dulled as her gaze grew distant. The garage door was shut tight, immovable after almost a year of staunchly protecting what lay beyond. The angry voice in her head rang out painfully, the silent street doing nothing to dampen its harsh words. Quit stalling and get on with what you came here to do. The task she promised herself had to be done. Only one path was the right one, and she had been walking it for years already.

"Incendio!"

A/N: Melodramatic? Perhaps. Me as fuck? Very much so.

The chant. I didn't want to Google Translate it from English to Latin as I doubted the result's accuracy. And though I like the aesthetic of Latin, I preferred how it sounded in English.

Also, a note about language. Well, another note I guess. Anyway, I use the words 'ward', 'enchantment', 'protections', and anything similar interchangeably. I don't want to keep repeating myself so I mix up the vocabulary, but I can see how it could get confusing. So I'm clearing it up. Same with 'power', 'empower', 'activate', 'invigorate', etc. I understand that all of these words have different connotations and meanings, and I guess they're all right in a way. I'm trying to create a vibe more than anything else with these two chapters, and I hope you didn't hate them too much.

Basically, an anchor point is where the wards and enchantments are held. Like a guitar case. But made of pure magic. To house pure magic. Okay, look. It kind of makes sense in my head, but I'm more than happy to take suggestions. So long as I don't have to re-write the whole thing. :) Goodnight all, I am suddenly very tired.