She noticed it was still light out as she stepped into the lobby of the Portland Congressional branch. It was disorienting being as exhausted as she was and not having the sky reflect a more appropriate time for her to be in such a way. She briefly wondered if she should be apparating in her state, but promptly decided to ignore this thought in favor of collapsing in her bed as soon as possible.

When Hermione arrived back at her house she checked her phone that had been left on the kitchen counter. Magic had a rather unfortunate effect on electronics, and although Hermione had managed to create a spell that would damped the effects of minor magic, it was no match for the overwhelming ambient magic surrounding the ministry, and thus the cell phone had laid abandoned on the kitchen counter for the entirety of Hermione's trip.

She had several good luck messages from Anne and Jack that she swiftly responded to, letting them know it had gone well, and that she would call them in the morning. The stove clock read 3 pm. She made her way to the fireplace and dropped to her knees, a pinch of floo powder in hand.

"The Treehouse."

A well lit room appeared in front of her. It seemed as though nearly the entire room was made of varying kinds of wood. A large circular window was directly across from the fireplace Hermione's head was now floating in, providing ample sunlight and a view of a meadow. There were approximately a dozen children playing a hectic looking competition in the field. She could hear their shouts and laughter from the fireplace, while the inside was otherwise quiet.

"'Allo? Avery?"

A man roughly the same age as Hermione appeared from somewhere to her left. He had long, wavy chestnut hair that was thrown up into a bun at the top of his head, and a beard that was just teetering the edge of being unmanageable. He had a conventional attractiveness with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that was evident even beneath the beard. His full lips turned upwards when he recognized who was calling.

"'Emione! Salut! Ça va?"

"Bien, bien."

"We haven't seen you for a while, what brings you calling?"

"I know, I'm sorry. Is it ok if I come tomorrow? I need to use the floo. And see the kids, of course."

He raised a bushy eyebrow up.

"Is your floo broken?" He gave her a pointed look.

Hermione could feel a slight blush spread across her face.

"No, but the minister wanted to talk and I didn't want to give him the cottage's address."

"The Minister? As in, in England?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"8:30 ok? The calls at 9."

"As long as you come hungry, of course."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she always ended up with friends who felt such an intense desire to feed her, but she was grateful.

At the sound of something crashing in the next room, Avery and Hermione hastily said their goodbyes, the former running off in the direction of the noise, an exasperated expression already painted on his face.

Hermione withdrew her head from the fireplace and sighed softly. She allowed herself to fully feel the emotional exhaustion that had been weighing progressively heavier as the day dragged on, and was now an overwhelming pressure that she found impossible to fight. She hauled herself to her bedroom and collapsed into bed without a second thought.

/

The next morning Hermione woke before the sun. She had long since become accustomed to early morning awakenings that had started as an inimical side effect of her previously regular nightmares, and had evolved into a cherished ritual that was only broken by the overindulgence of alcohol the night prior. She dressed in a pair of baggy jeans, long since ripped and discolored from overwear, and an oversized University of Maine sweatshirt that she had nicked from Jack a few summers ago. A black beanie was placed firmly on her head as she simultaneously slipped into her muddied black boots.

Hermione grabbed her notebook and a pen from the coffee table and left the cottage. It was just starting to brighten, the stars, a brilliant splattering of white that seemed to cover the entirety of the sky, were still visible, but fast fading. She walked at a comfortable pace back to her spot on the rocks that she had sat just a couple days before to contemplate the implications of the unrequested letter.

She descended the rocks until she reached a nook hidden from the surrounding land. The only way one would be able to spot her was if one was in the sea. She settled in and cast a cushioning charm on the cold rock.

It had been her tradition since the first morning she had spent in the cottage to come to this nook and watch the sunrise. One which she took seriously, and was loathe to miss. The birds were chirping, not softly, a sure indication of a summer fast approaching, unlike the buds on the trees that remained stubbornly closed.

She opened her notebook and began to draw as the sun peeked over the horizon. The sky was painted with soft oranges and yellows whose pigment slowly intensified as the sun rose. Drawing was not something Hermione had ever imagined herself doing. She was not being modest when she would say she was not good. Her drawings were clumsy and unclear. It was glaringly obvious that she was untrained and untalented. But the drawings were not for anyone else but herself, and she did not mind the bumpy lines and disproportions. It was calming. A balm for the omnipotent burn seared into her brain. Hermione rarely thought at all when drawing, rarer still, did she think about The War.

She never knew exactly how long she stayed out on the rock. It varied. Sometimes she spent hours huddled against the rock face, not moving until the sun was at its zenith. Other times she was barely there long enough for the sun to properly light the world. Today, she waited until she could feel the warmth of the sun against her face before getting up and returning to the cottage.

It was 7:30. She milled around her home, straightening things that were out of place while she allowed herself to grow excited at her trip to The Treehouse. While it was true she had lived in Maine for the better part of a decade, she hadn't necessarily spent all her time there. A large portion, for certain stretches a majority, was spent in Québec. She thought back to her first visit.

/

It had been almost exactly a year since The Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione was exhausted. She had tried to live exclusively in the muggle world, a futile attempt to avoid the consequences of being a wizarding war hero. She had been expecting to find comfort in the simplicity of muggle life, instead finding herself out of place and out of sorts. It was the same feeling she experienced before entering Hogwarts, and every break spent at home with her parents. She didn't belong in the muggle world. As much as she tried, she couldn't turn off a part of herself that was so integral to who she was. It was precisely this feeling that pushed her, after 8 months, to re-enter the wizarding world… cautiously.

Hermione decided to explore the wizarding community in Québec first. It was near enough to her new home that she could avoid a portkey, and far enough away to give herself a proper separation when she returned to the cottage.

She apparated to a side alley she had looked up on map quest. Instantly, the sound of cheerful chatter assaulted her ears. She walked out of the alley into the stone streets of Old Québec. There were people all around her, dining underneath colorful umbrellas on metal chairs, others wandering around mindlessly. Some spoke French, others english. She appreciated the scene for a minute. The Château Frontenac loomed above them all, looking as elegant as it did powerful.

Hermione walked across the street to a derelict café. She wondered if all wizarding communities were hidden behind such unattractive visages. The door squeaked as she opened it. Unlike The Leaky Cauldron, the inside of this way station, L'oeil de Triton (The Newt's Eye), was nothing like its exterior suggested. It was bright, welcoming, and clean. There were witches and wizards milling about. A well stocked, oval shaped bar commanded the center of the room. The area nearest the entrance Hermione had just walked through was crowded, although not overly so, with dining tables of varying sizes. Across the room, that she now headed towards, was filled sparingly with standing tables, clearly meant for drinkers to congregate around. She walked out onto the patio lining the back wall. There were fewer people here, but it wasn't difficult to imagine it being filled with smokers and people desperate for fresh air. Hermione couldn't help but notice almost all the conversations around her were in a warped French that was almost unrecognizable to her. It didn't seem as though they were talking about her, and so she was emboldened enough to continue through the narrow door hidden underneath an overgrowth of ivy.

The scene that awaited her was so similar to Diagon Alley, she felt a pang in her chest. Stores lined the cobbled street, advertising everything from wands to pewter cauldrons, to the newest broomstick. The people, however, were undoubtedly different from the English, and this allowed the breath that had been stuck in her chest, to release. They casually strode from store to store seemingly without a worry in the world more serious than what they were to have for lunch. There were no signs of war. No indication that their lives had been in grave danger not one year ago. With a jolt, Hermione had realized that they hadn't been.

It had seemed that the world's fate had rested in Harry, Ron, and her hands'. It was humbling to realize she had been completely wrong. These peoples lives were unaffected. She was sure they had heard about a dangerous wizard rising to power, but that was thousands of miles away and didn't directly impact their lives. There was no reason for them to hunker down in safe-houses or go on the run. Here, life had continued.

She hadn't even made it 30 yards before something solid barreled into her, forcing her to the ground, and knocking the wind out of her.

"Savannah!" A strong female voice rang out from a few feet away.

The thing that had ran into her, Hermione realized now was a girl no older than 7, winced at the voice.

"I'm sorry!" She spoke in hurried French, her brown eyes blown wide in mortification. She was a small, skinny girl, and Hermione found herself begrudgingly impressed with the amount of force with which she had collided with her. The girl's black hair was messy. It reminded Hermione of Harry's by the way it seemed to have a mind of its own. She had smooth chocolate skin that was nearly the same shade as her dark eyes.

Hermione didn't respond, but not for lack of trying. Her breath still hadn't returned.

"Savannah you cannot rush off like that. I'm so sorry for her Miss." The feminine voice, a woman in her early 20s, turned to Hermione and offered her hand.

"It's fine. It was an accident." Hermione managed to breathe out in clumsy French.

"Ah, is English better?" The woman spoke with an American accent.

Hermione's brain had finally managed to catch up with her eyes. She realized the woman in front of her was beautiful. She was tall and muscular, an athletic build that implied regular exercise and careful diet. Her hair was so dirty blonde it was nearly brown. It was thick, wavy, and laid calmly on her head in a manner that Hermione was immediately envious of. Her face, angular, all sharp edges, served to give her an intimidating air. Simply put, Hermione found the woman stunning.

She finally recovered enough to speak. The woman looked at her with an amused expression.

"Y-yes. It's really no problem."

"Of course it is. Savannah, you know better than that."

The girl looked to be on the verge tears.

"I know-"

"English." The girl scrunched up her face in displeasure.

"I know. I saw Erik running to Satchel's and I wanted to beat him. I was not watching careful where I was going."

"Carefully. And that's clear."

The woman turned back to Hermione.

"I'm Skyler, by the way. This one is Savannah. We were just going to get ice cream, can I buy you one as an apology?"

"It's quite alright, I wouldn't want to impose." Hermione was very proud of how clear her voice came out.

"Well I'm not considering my apology accepted until you agree. And I'm afraid I'm rather insistent on my apologies."

"Please ma'am join us." Savannah turned her eyes to Hermione, who quickly found her resolve fading.

"It's Hermione." She sighed. "Lead the way."

Skyler and Savannah, despite clearly having no relation, looked nearly identical as they beamed at Hermione.

They walked across the street to Satchel's Dairy Freeze. An excited looking boy of about 10 was waiting for them in front of the door, looking impressively smug.

"Nice one Savannah."

"Shut up Erik."

Hermione fought off a smile. Skyler had no such reservations and snorted. A middle aged man lumbered towards them. Like Skyler, he was tall and muscular, but, unlike her, his features were soft and welcoming. About three more children followed in his wake. They were of varying ages, one, a girl that looked no older than 4 was gripping the man's hand, another, this time a boy, looked about 12, the last was quickly approaching manhood, his beard growing in patchy.

"Where did you two wander off to? And who's your new friend?" He spoke in a deep voice that seemed to be the antithesis of his welcoming appearance.

"Just popped off to look at some quodpot gloves. Savannah got a little overexcited when we were heading over here and ran into this poor girl." She switched to English. "Hermione, this is Luis, Luis this is the poor girl."

Hermione furrowed her eyes at the introduction, but offered her hand to shake. Luis shook it without preamble, his large hands easily covering hers.

"My apologies for Savannah. She is very, how do you say, excitable." He spoke with a thick French accent that Hermione could barely make sense of.

"It's really no problem. She's very sweet."

Savannah, whose shoulders had been slouched, puffed up her chest at the compliment and rewarded Hermione with another bright smile.

Hermione grew quiet as she watched the odd group interact. She couldn't figure out the nature of their relationship, but it was clear that they were very close. None of them looked alike, but they behaved as though they were family. She briefly wondered if Skyler and Luis were together. They gave no indication they were, and the thought was pushed aside. Hermione was stirred out of her thoughts by Skyler's voice.

"Hermione? What do you want?"

"Oh, um, cookie dough?"

"That's my favorite too!" Savannah said before Skyler could respond.

The rest of the group ordered, and made their way back out of the small shop each carrying a large cone.

"So what do you do Hermione?"

"I just took my N.E.W.T.s, but I suspect I'll do some research. What about you?" She turned the conversation away from herself, and was thankful to the others for allowing her to do so.

"You're looking at. I deal with these nightmares all day."

"Please. You love us." The 12 year old sassed.

"That doesn't mean you're not nightmares."

"We run a community center of sorts." Avery chimed over the bickering.

Hermione swallowed her questions at the solemn looks the children now sported.

She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but before she could question it, she had been swept up by the group's insistence and apparated to a grass field.

They were quickly surrounded by even more children, again of varying ages. They spoke in rapid French too fast for Hermione to understand.

Skyler softly grabbed her arm. Hermione was proud that she managed only a small flinch.

"Come on." She spoke directly into Hermione's ear, bending down slightly to do so.

She allowed herself to get pulled towards the- well, building was a strong word. Standing before them was the largest tree Hermione had ever seen. Even larger than the Redwoods she had read about. It was wider than her childhood home, and many times over taller. She craned her head upwards and could just barely see the top. The exterior of the tree was warped to allow for glass windows and doors. There were several balconies that seemingly grew out of the tree itself.

Skyler looked at Hermione as she admired the Tree, her jaw hanging loose.

"It's amazing isn't it?"

Hermione managed to nod in response.

"It's all molded from the tree itself. Ancient magic."

"It's fantastic. I've never seen anything like it. Never even read of anything like it."

"You wouldn't." Skyler smiled, as though she was laughing at a joke only she knew.

She led Hermione into the house. It opened to a mudroom. There were cupboards lining the-trunk? Walls?- that were made of more wood. Hermione suspected that most things in the house were made entirely of wood. She allowed Skyler to direct them into an adjourning room. It was warm, bright, and would have reminded Hermione of the Burrow's living room if not for the tall ceilings and large windows. There was no one inside.

They sat on well worn couches that instantly sunk down when they dropped into them.

"Welcome to the Treehouse."

"What is this exactly?"

"It's a home, first and foremost. More specifically, it's a home for those with nowhere to go."

"An orphanage?"

"I suppose. We don't only deal with orphans though. There are plenty of children here whose parents have cast them out for one reason or another. And those are only the permanent residents."

"What do you mean permanent?"

"It's a camp of sorts. At least, in the summer it is. Campers will arrive in a couple of weeks. There are plenty of parents who either don't want, or can't, have their kids stay the entire summer. We also offer tutoring as a way to help no-maj-borns. It's crazy to think some of them don't do a lick of magic all summer, don't you think?"

Hermione's scar burned painfully on her forearm.

"Yes, I remember feeling miffed that pure and half bloods were allowed to do magic without penalty during breaks."

"You're no-maj-born?" Skyler looked surprised.

"Yes."

Skyler hummed. "We have a few here. Residents that is."

"Why here?"

"Their parents died. It's hard enough to go to an orphanage for only three months of the year, never mind if you're magical. Their mental state doesn't tend to be in the best of conditions, to put it mildly. Imagine how much accidental magic would be done if you tried to put them in a no-maj orphanage."

"I never thought about it. Do magic raised children come here too if they're orphaned?"

"It depends. We run the largest orphanage in North America, but there are a few out west, and one down south in America. We're different from the rest in that we also take in the unwanted."

Skyler continued at Hermione's questioning look.

"What's your opinion on half-breeds?"

"I think it's an insulting phrase for one. They've been completely cast aside by society. It's a disgrace really, how the government handles it. It's as though we live in the dark ages."

Skyler gave a small smile.

"Some of the children here are. Or have been bit by a werewolf."

"Oh. That's…" She searched for the word.

"Unfortunate? Tragic? Surprising?" Skyler supplied.

"Yes. To all three."

"They don't have anywhere else to go. Their parents didn't want them. We try and give them more than just a place to sleep in-between terms. A home."

"It's a brilliant idea. I can't imagine how rewarding it is."

"I can't imagine myself doing anything else, if we're being honest."

Savannah, who, since barreling into Hermione had decided that she was her new favorite person, ran into the room.

"Hermione, can you please stay for dinner? Please?"

Hermione found herself unable to refuse.

/

She had spent several years spending weekdays at the Treehouse and weekends at the cottage. Slowly, she had begun to shape a life for herself. Looking back, Hermione could say without a doubt that the Treehouse had saved her from a disastrous implosion.

To be provided an opportunity to help others in a way that was completely independent of any violence had been exactly what Hermione had needed.

She glanced to the analog clock on the wall. 8:27.

Hermione picked up some floo powder, and was on her way.

"Hermione!"

"'Mione!"

"Can you help with my homework?"

Voices assaulted her the second she stepped out of the fireplace. A half a dozen children were clamoring fro her attention. She didn't even try to stop the grin that spread across her face.

"Slow down everyone! Let her breath!" Avery's voice bellowed from behind the hoard of kids.

"Hi guys!"

Savannah, now 15 years old, pushed her way to the front of the group to envelop Hermione in a hug.

"I missed you!"

"I missed you too. Now let's go to the kitchen, I was promised breakfast."

The group, still vying for Hermione's attention, chatted happily as they made their way to the industrial size kitchen. She sat on a familiar stool and leaned her elbows on the similarly familiar bar.

The older ones relayed their latest school terms, while the younger kids filled Hermione in on their recent tutoring sessions.

Before she knew it, it was nearly 9. Avery was the first to notice, and shooed the kids out into the lawn to play.

"Good luck Mi. We'll be here for you after." He said into her neck as he hugged her.

With that, he followed the kids into the yard, and Hermione was left alone.

She didn't have to wait in front of the fireplace long before Kingsley's face appeared.

"I must admit, I wasn't expecting this to be your calling place. I suppose it does make sense." He said in lieu of a greeting.

Hermione just smiled.

"Alright, down to business then. What do you think?"

"I think I've been sold since you first sent your letter."

Kingsley beamed at her, smile clearly evident despite the flames distorting his face.

"That's great! I know it's all last minute, but do you think you could be here by Monday? The team can still do work until then. They're fast approaching needing further guidance."

"Yes, I'm sure that's fine. Am I going to be working mostly in the field, or should I sort out accommodation?"

"We'll get you set up in Edinburgh. I'll send someone this afternoon to handle it. All you have to do is show up."

She nodded. "And the rest of the information?"

"I'll have it waiting for you the second you get to England. Our consultant is putting together a comprehensive report as we speak. She's still sifting through the site runes."

"Who's the consultant?"

Hermione would never have thought Kingsley was capable of it, but there was no doubt the smile he gave her was, in a word, devious.

"Fleur Delacour."