September 28th, 2005.
Hermione didn't know why she went there. As soon as the guard had handed back her wand, she'd allowed herself to wander off to the seaside. The sound of waves crashing had filled her ears, distracting them from the buzzing sound that had erupted during her meeting with Diggory.
Those words had been all it had taken for her walls to come crashing down.
She gazed down at her hands, the grip on the blackthorn and phoenix feather wand still tight. It was odd; she was holding onto what represented to be the greatest power range for a warrior. Was she destined to a life of war and battles for life?
It had started becoming easy to forget what one might've lost during those past, tormenting years. Her gut throbbed with guilt, reminding her of how easily she'd moved on after bringing back three lives, but forgetting about the other ones that were lost.
She knew that if someone was able to bring back her Muggle parents and didn't do it, she would be furious.
Because everyone deserved to win the war in one way or another, and sometimes just coming out of it alive wasn't the best reward. The events of it could still haunt them, breaking down every hope of moving on, creating a family and not being reminded of the one they'd lost.
Memories of goodnight stories, baked cookies, and lingering hugs as she bid goodbye invaded her mind, and her legs struggled to hold onto the weight of her actions.
She felt the pull of apparition setting and leaving as soon as she landed on the front stoop of the old house. The cold rush of air immediately surrounded her, and her hands shook as she disillusioned herself. Her hand reached mechanically the door handle, knowing well that the people she wanted to see won't be inside.
The wards were broken for years now, when she'd made the mistake of putting such weak ones after she'd left the house. She hadn't been bright enough to expect her parents to linger back in England for much longer, their tickets to Australia waiting on the coffee table. The same furniture that had held mugs of hot chocolate and—
She leaned against the frame and closed her eyes. She greeted the cold mid-afternoon breeze, allowing it to ruffle her hair and slap the numb skin of her cheeks, wet with tears.
She gripped her wand tighter. Her surroundings were enough to make her miss the gentle voice of her mum after a nightmare, or the silly jokes her dad used to make when they attempted to cook something together. Oh, how much she would love to go inside and be greeted with a pair pulling her into a hug, telling her of how proud they were of her.
But, no. How and why would they be? They'd died because of her. It wouldn't have happened, had she not been a witch—a Mudblood.
Death was so unfair.
"Hermione?"
She turned around, knowing exactly why her best friend was sporting such a concerned look on his face. Robards had definitely told her Auror partner of where she'd been.
She shuffled on her feet once again, quietly slumping against her chair, her head in her hands as she leaned on the desk.
She heard the wheels of the chair in front of her move and a heavy sigh escaped Harry's mouth. "Hermione, you shouldn't have gone—"
"Please, Harry," she interrupted, her voice hoarse and tired. "I don't think that's the matter at hand, right now."
He scowled but being clever enough to recognize the severity of the situation, he let it go. Instead, he leaned forward and raked a hand through his hair.
"What happened there?" he asked, his expression twisted with worry. Over the years, Hermione had gotten so used to that look, that she merely blinked at him. Her mind felt muddled and she drew a calming breath.
She proceeded to recall everything that had happened, before she'd made her way to the DMLE—excluding her trip to Heathgate, of course. Blood drained from his face and a heavy silence stretched between them, filling the room with a growing uncertainty of even succeeding to kill Voldemort.
No, she argued, he's dead. They can't bring him back.
"So - instead of trying to kill him, now we have to make sure no one brings him back to life." Hermione groaned, rubbing her temple as a throbbing headache kicked in.
"I will never regret somehow being able to bring them back, but perhaps this wouldn't be so hard if I remembered how I'd done it," she said after a moment, uncertain.
He leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowed. "I remember Remus was with you, wasn't he? Couldn't he have seen, or maybe heard it?"
She shook her head. "I remember telling him to stay outside and when I asked him if he could remember anything, he said he couldn't."
"Hermione," he started gently when despair crossed her eyes. "None of this is your fault."
Her palms were too sweaty—she dropped her wand on the table with a clank and tore her eyes away from him. She couldn't bear to look at his emerald eyes; the same ones she'd been desperate to see when Hagrid had carried him in his arms. She remembered the anguish that swallowed her whole, mocking her for letting him die.
She'd promised herself not to let that happen again. It was arguably the main reason why she'd ended up staying an Auror. Yet somehow, she'd brought a spark of hope for Death Eaters to look for their Lord again, the same fucker who'd tried to kill Harry more than once.
Hermione was terrified. She admitted it wholly. Horrifying thoughts remained in her head ever since she'd worn that Horcrux. But she still knew that if she was the one to create the mess, she'd be damned not to find a way to fix it, as well.
She forced herself to meet his eyes once again, determined. There was a silence stretching between them, before she spoke up, "We need to bring back the Order."
Hermione looked around the room, couches and chairs full of people she'd met more than once since the war. Still, it felt bittersweet seeing them huddled at Grimmauld once again.
Despite his manipulative behaviour, she missed Dumbledore. He was supposed to be there—acting as the leader of the Light and giving proper, organized orders. She shouldn't be the one standing in front of them, and she doubted she could match the requirements to perform a decent job.
Still, she swallowed the urge to protest and drag Harry in her place, instead. Her eyes wandered down to the corner, where the Potters were. Her best friend sat where he belonged, next to his parents and his fiancé. He didn't belong with more burdens on his shoulders.
Hermione had just finished explaining everything that had occurred so far, in the same way she'd done with Harry. Most looked pale, if not slightly shaken, but still relatively calm. Perhaps, it was because this meant dealing with just Death Eaters and not Voldemort himself. Sometimes, she didn't think they realized how those who bore the Dark Mark could be just as cruel.
Thinking about me, poppet? A voice cackled a laugh, enjoying the shiver that ran down her spine. She grasped the parchment in her hands, fixing a stare on the list she'd made.
"Harry and I are going to look for the group that was in contact with Diggory. I think we should keep an eye out to the Death Eaters that managed to escape, and—and I will try to see how I managed to work out the Veil."
Voices started to protest and at the loud noise, she reached for the edge of the table behind her in a tight grip. Almost everyone instantly quieted down, well acquainted with the after-effects that accompanied the war. Finally, one person spoke for the rest of the room, "Why would you work on the Veil?"
She looked at Andromeda briefly, before a slightly different image of her appeared in front of her eyes and she looked away. With an attempt to steady herself, she let out a shaky breath. "I just think it would be useful to - well, maybe I could bring back more people," she admitted, taken aback by the question.
"You can't do that."
She eyed the woman with surprise, meeting her dark eyes as her stomach began to sink. "And why not?"
Andromeda's eyes softened greatly, and she let out a weary sigh. "Hermione, you can't fight with death. I have learned to live with the fact that Ted is gone. I know other people have, too. But if you find a way, how long do you think you will keep doing this? Allowing people to drag you to the Death Chamber and order you to bring anyone back from a Veil?"
". . . Or perhaps, you want to see if you can bring back Muggles, too."
Hermione swallowed thickly, her fingers gripping the wood behind even tighter. The reminder once again ignited the oxygen she was struggling to breathe in. Conflict raged inside of her, causing her to bite her tongue so hard it bled. She blinked, forcing down the anger that urged to surface.
She held her eyes locked with black ones, resembling the haunted, deranged ones while a slur was being carved on Hermione's arm.
"Are you calling me selfish, Mrs. Tonks?" she asked curtly, unable to keep the coldness out of her tone.
The woman made to protest, but she held her hand up, halting any further talk about the war. They were supposed to be discussing the present, the future and everything it could hold.
"You're right. I do believe we should just focus on finding the Death Eaters still at large. The Aurors are helping, but I thought that perhaps we could use some help from the Order . . ." She stood her ground and delivered her ideas, carefully enunciating words to stop her voice from cracking.
By the time the meeting was over, she allowed her feet to take her to her room. Halfway through going further inside, she paused and glanced at Harry and Ron. A part of her family had survived, she reminded herself, and she allowed her body to sag in relief.
Hermione looked down to find words staring back at her. It was as if the old, worn out book had grumpily called her out for not paying attention. Had it been any other day, she'd have been glad to find a distraction from the content. At the moment, though, she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering off to the window.
It had gotten dark out, the sun setting slowly, but steadily. There were some things that happened, regardless of anything else going on in life. Things like the sun rising and setting each day, allowing people to wake up and go to sleep accordingly. Hermione would love to welcome back the normalcy of life.
A knock broke through her thoughts and before she could stay quiet, letting whoever it was to assume that she was asleep, the door opened slightly. Sirius peeked through the gap and barged in, kicking the wood back with his foot. His hands were carrying a tray, and the smell of dinner surrounded her senses.
Not allowing him to hear the rumble of her stomach, she protested, "I'm not hungry, Sirius."
He rolled his eyes at her, still sauntering to her bed and finally sitting down next to her feet, as he nudged them away. He shuffled on his seat, moving up slightly so that the tray could sit on her lap. "Eat."
"I just told you—"
"And do I look like I care?" he asked, clearly not expecting an answer as he held out a spoon to her.
A soft grunt escaped her lips, but she took it from him and welcomed the dinner wholeheartedly—though, she tried to hide it from him. She had told him that she didn't want to eat.
It was when she remembered the hollow crevices on his cheeks, a gaunt look on his face when he used to drown in Firewhiskey, that she let out a bitter laugh.
"How awful of me - bringing you back to a world on the edge of yet another possible war."
"I don't think it's possible."
She looked at him, feeling a little stunned. "And why is that?"
His hand found its way to her own, their gaze still locked. "Because during the beginning of it all, we didn't have you."
She didn't have the heart to tell him that it didn't matter. That it was because her parents had her, that they'd died.
"You give me more credit than I deserve." Her voice sounded much smaller than it ever had, in any conversation with the man sitting in front of her. Who was she to complain, when he'd fought the war for more than fifteen years?
He leaned forward, his gaze focused on the swelling of her eyes. "I don't deserve any either," he argued, and she let out a baffled noise.
"Why would you think that?"
It took a moment, then there was a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "Exactly my question for you, Hermione."