"So." Anne started off cautiously, speaking in a low voice as she cupped her mug of coffee. "How long would the job be for?"
"I'm not sure. I'm Skyping with him tomorrow, hopefully I'll get a bit more detail then."
"Skype eh? You sure you can figure out how to do that?"
Hermione scoffed. "I'm not that bad with computers."
Anne's eyebrow arched upward.
"Really? I guess it was just a coincidence that you've fried not one, not two, but three separate laptops in the last year alone?"
"Unfortunate freak accidents. Besides, one of those was because I spilt tea on the keyboard."
"Hmm. Regardless you still haven't figured out a Myspace page. I had to put Sam Collins as my number 8. Sam. Fucking. Collins. You know I can stand the asshole."
"It's been a great inconvenience for you I'm sure. I offer my most sincerest of apologies." Hermione responded dryly.
The corners of Anne's mouth quirked up. "Do you want me to set it up for you? I can come around tomorrow mornin' before work."
"It's alright, I'll be fine I'm sure."
A large man slumped into the booth next to Hermione making her jump and spill some of her tea.
"God Jack, don't do that." Hermione admonished.
"I can't move. I refuse." The man, Jack, said dramatically as he put the back of his hand to his forehead. "Captain had us put down eighty new traps today. Eighty. Eight fuckin' zero. And, AND, we had to pull up 150 others. I've been workin' non stop for- what time is it?"
"Three thirty."
"For," He scrunched up his nose as he thought, "Nine and a half hours!"
"Ten and a half hours."
"Exactly! Ten and a half hours! I won't move!" Jack banged his hand on the table in emphasis.
He had wide, built shoulders that made him look even larger than he was. His beard, like the rest of him, was large and unruly. He wore an old dirty hoody and even older, even dirtier jeans.
"You regrettin' those beers last night? I told you it was a bad idea." Anne spoke strictly, but her eyes twinkled with humor.
"The beers aren't the problem. The problem is waking up at 3:15 after bein' up 'til 12. Fuckin' ridiculous."
"Here's a wild idea I'll give ya free of charge. Don't go drinkin' when you gotta be on the water at 4 in the mornin'."
He stood suddenly and reached over the table to give Anne a fat, wet kiss on her cheek.
"A genius! Hear that folks? I'm sittin' with a genius!" He called out to the rest of the diner, half of whom, largely tourists if the paper maps were anything to go by, looked on bewildered, while the other half barely glanced up.
Hermione punched him in the arm.
"Shush you."
Jack put his arm around Hermione to pull her against his side.
"My apologies," he bellowed, "I'm sitting with two geniuses."
Their waitress, a plump middle-aged woman, spoke loudly from the heating rack.
"Jack be quiet or I'll call your mother."
Jack mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?" The waitress said.
"Nothing, ma'am, just admirin' the coffee."
"Mhmm."
Jack turned back to the two women.
"So what are we doin' tonight? Hermione you up for Rosie's? I know how you love Karaoke night." He winked at her.
"What happened to can't move? I liked you better like that."
"You wound me."
"I can't tonight. I have an interview tomorrow."
"A Skype interview." Anne interrupted.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"No. Say it ain't so Hermione. Surely there's another way to do your interview? Telegraph perhaps?"
"Ha Ha. As I told Anne, I'll be fine.""Sure ya will. What's it for anyway? Another fancy fish biology thingy?"
"No, not another thingy. It's not entirely related to what I've been working on. To be honest, I'm not completely sure why they even asked me. Of course, it could be related to my research a few years ago, but surely they'd rather have someone who is currently researching that." Hermione waved her hands about as she rambled. "I mean, it would be extremely interesting, and a fantastic opportunity to delve into an entire sub-discipline I've barely even dreamed of."
"You lost me at thingy." Hermione glared at Jack. "Where is it anyway? Down in Portland?"
Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"No, actually it's back home. In London."
"New London you mean? That's four hours from here!"
"London, England" Hermione gave him a pained smile.
"Oh. Right. Like the country across the Atlantic."
"There's no guarantee I'll take it, it's just an interview."Jack gave her a sad smile. "Yeah. Well, whateva' you end up doin' you know I'll support you."
"I know."
"Well she'll have to manage to not break her computer, so who knows? Maybe she won't even get to the interview." Anne said in an attempt to inject some levity into the situation. Jack clutched onto it like a lifeline.
"Another great point m'lady. You'll neva' leave Hermione! Cursed to an eternity on this picture perfect island."
"An attempt to break the curse does seem futile."
Jack brightened. "Comeon then, just one drink at Rosies. I'll even buy."
"It's free to ladies on Mondays Jack."
"Is it? What a coincidence."
After Anne and Hermione had paid, Jack apparently only having come to talk, the pair drove back to Hermione's cottage, talking casually about the latest small town gossip. According to Anne, Mr. Curbin had been caught by his wife, who had come to his office unannounced to bring him lunch, in a rather compromising position with the new librarian. Hermione was grateful for the distraction and was reluctant to leave the truck when they pulled up to the house.
"One step in front of the otha' Hermione. It's just a call, it's not like you're goin' back yet. Who knows, you might not even get it. And if you do, you don't have to go if you don't wantta. It's shapin' up to be a great summa'." Anne reached over the center console to hug her.
"Thank you Anne. I don't know where I'd be without you."
"Wallowin' in self pity, I'd imagine. You sure you want to go tonight? I can say your Aunt Flow came to visit" Anne wagged her eyebrows as Hermione laughed.
"No I want to go. Besides I used that excuse last week."
"Alright, I'll pick you up in three hours ok?"
"Perfect, see you soon!"
/
Exactly three hours later Hermione was waiting patiently on one of the rocks that lined her driveway. If there was one thing her parents had instilled in her it was the importance of being on time. She thought back to one holiday when her father had made their family get to the airport five hours early, despite it being a short flight to Paris, and all of them being EU citizens. Her mother, in an attempt to fight off Hermione's boredom, had tried to teach her eight year old daughter about the plane they would shortly be boarding, but unfortunately for her and her husband, Jean Granger had a very limited knowledge of planes, and thus was shortly out of facts to give to her increasingly curious daughter. Hermione had then decided to interview as many pilots as she could find, to serve as primary sources of course, until she her thirst for knowledge was properly satisfied.
The thought brought back painful memories. She could still see their fearful faces directed at her before she forced them to do the very thing many parents would fear the most- making them forget their child's existence. Their blank looks after her whispered obliviate still made their rounds in her seemingly endless barrage of nightmares.
After the war, she had tried to undo the damage she had inflicted, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't figure out how to return the genuine memories. There had never been an instance of authentic memories being put back into an obliviated persons mind, false memories, certainly, but never authentic. The smartest witch of her age, and she was well and properly stumped. For two months she stayed in a downtrodden motel on the outskirts of the city the Grangers had moved to. An entire team of St. Mungo's finest memory specialists had been unable to place a single one of Hermione's parents' original memories back into their conscious.
Hermione could see the healers' pitying looks as they abandoned the case when she closed her eyes. It had been the final straw. Without saying goodbye, or indeed even returning to England, Hermione booked an international portkey from Australia to New York. She had planned to get lost in the sea of people. To fade into the background. Instead, she found the city suffocating. There were too many noises that sounded like bombardas. Too many lights that flashed the same bright green as an Avada Kedavra. She hadn't even lasted a week before she was fleeing north to Boston.
That wasn't better. The people there couldn't sympathize with a 19 year old war veteran. Her peers spent their time agonizing over the quality of their fake ids, while Hermione agonized over the faces of the dead that played on loop in her head. Fred. Lupin. Tonks. Lavender. Colin. A wordless mantra that repeated ad nauseam.
Another week later and she was traveling north again- apparating to a lighthouse she had seen on a postcard in the travel office lobby. Eventually she ended up on a small island off the mid-coast of Maine. The people there liked their own space. There were hardly any buildings, let alone lights, to remind Hermione of The Battle.
It was easy enough to pretend to be a marine biologist. The locals didn't care much as long as the rent was on time, and tips were generous. She had been here for nearly the entirety of the nine years she'd spent away from England.
Twice, she'd met up with Ron, Harry, and Ginny- once in Spain, the other in Italy. Each time she had left feeling drained and discouraged. While the others had found their footing in society, Ginny as a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Ron and Harry as Aurors, and all three with successful personal lives, Hermione had flittered from research project to research project, never quite settling on any topic, and all the while unable to form any semblance of a significant relationship. She didn't understand why she was incapable of moving forward in her life while the others could so seamlessly transition to civilian life. Did they not have nightmares haunt their sleep? Did they not flinch whenever someone grabbed their shoulder from behind? Did they not dissociate whenever they heard a high pitched laugh?
Hermione was thrust out of her revere by the sound of Anne's truck. Eager to escape her thoughts, she ran to the passenger door.