I've rewritten the first chapter, it's not imperative to reread but it might help.
31 August 1999
It was not in the nature of one Miss Hermione Granger to be a messy person. She liked order, organisation and her loose ends neatly tied. She was never quite sure how she'd survived for so long during the war: travelling with two teenage boys and a horcrux in a tent, splinching around the woodland of England left her living in a state of chaos, at best.
Her travels with her best of friends had been a test of her patience, a test of their friendships and had pushed her to the very boundaries of her comfort zone. In the time since she'd regained her assertive grip on the threads that wove through her life and she found herself able to breathe easier again, knowing it was all in hand.
In that vein she couldn't up and leave on a trip, of undetermined length, to Australia without tying up a few of her current and outstanding loose ends. She had five days ahead of her to put her affairs in order and she knew that explaining her decision to Harry and Ron, protective as they were, would be just the first hurdle ahead of her.
At the end of the war with no school to return to, no parental homes for Hermione or Harry, and a collective aversion to tents, the trio moved into the grim old place Sirius had left him. Number 12 hadn't changed during their 'travels', upon their return they found it as depressing as ever with Walburga wailing at anyone who'd listen; but they threw open the windows, filled each room with laughter and made a home of the house.
Mrs Weasley wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement, her last son leaving home to shack up with the pureblood portrait from hell, and she would frequently bustle through the floo bemoaning their inability to fend for themselves, checking they'd stocked the larder and armed with a casserole or two 'just in case'.
That evening, as the hot August sun set on a sweltering London, the trio tucked into the cold leftovers of a roast chicken from the day before; casting cooling charms between mouthfuls of food and chilled butterbeer.
"Merlin, I'll be glad when this heatwave's buggered off already, is all of London like this?" Ron asked as he pressed the cool glass to his forehead, condensation muddling with the sweat on his freckled forehead.
"Worse, probably," said Harry who was not as bothered by discomfort as Ron. "Plus the muggles don't have these cooling charms to take the edge off either".
Ron groaned at the thought, "how do they even survive this? It's oppressive".
"The Dursley's used to go off to Cornwall for a week when it all got too much, down near the coast, it's cooler there".
Hermione perked up at his mention of the Dursleys, always interested in their bizarre and neglectful guardianship of her friend. "Did they take you with them, Harry?"
"Merlin, no, they left me to it at home. Jokes on them though, i'd stand for hours in front of the empty, open fridge racking up their electricity bill," he told her with a grin.
"We should do that," said Ron thoughtfully.
Both of his friends turned to look at him with bemused faces, "...stand in front of the fridge?" Said Harry. "We've got cooling spells, mate".
"No, don't be a prat. We should go visit Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, get some sea air! I'll write him this evening and we'll be dipping our toes in the sea by the end of the week".
Harry was keen, having not had a holiday that didn't involve Hagrid battering down the door before, but Hermione saw an opportunity. "Actually, Ron, I don't think I can go," she told him tentatively.
"No? I'm sure you can break away for a long weekend, Hermione, let your hair down for once-".
"I've decided," she said interrupting him. "I've decided to go to Australia".
"Australia?" asked Harry. "Have you heard something then?"
The boys knew, of course, that she'd started to make enquiries with the Australian ministry about the wellbeing of her parents. Letters had gone back and forth between her and the government officials, each bird pecking her angrily over the distance and none of them bringing answers to her questions.
"No, no news, and I don't think I'm going to get any... You know how it goes, things are never simple and I did too good a job," she told them with a pessimistic huff of laughter. "I think, well I've decided, that I'm going to go to Australia to look for them myself. I think it's time, I need answers and to stop hiding from it".
"Do you need us to come with you?" Harry offered, looking as if he was willing to go back immediately if she just asked.
"No, oh Merlin boys don't be silly. You've got Auror training and Ginny... and I've seen you making eyes at Daphne, Ron, you really should act on that already".
Ron had the dignity to blush but he didn't protest, he'd met Daphne Greengrass when visiting Percy at Hogwarts armed with a 'Molly Weasley special' for lunch. In the weeks since he'd make excuses to visit and she'd picnic as close as possible to the Weasleys without intruding.
"You can't go it alone, you don't know what you'll find, anything could happen Hermione," said Harry sternly, his Auror training already making itself known.
"Yes, Harry, I know that. I made this mess myself thank you very much".
"That's not what I meant-"
"No, Harry I'm sure it's not but it is the fact of the matter. I sent them away, I packaged them into a neat parcel and sent them off to the other side of the world while I flung myself into a battle they'd never have let me be a part of".
"You had no choice, Hermione".
"Yes, Ron, I did; but I made the right choice. The hard choice, and that choice had consequences. It's time for me to face them".
"But you shouldn't go alone, I don't like it," Harry said scowling.
"I'll write, and I'm just a portkey away, honestly. I need to do this for myself and by myself. Even if I can't fix them… I need this closure".
"When do you leave?" asked Ron. "How long will you even be gone, Hermione?"
"I scheduled the portkey earlier, I leave in 5 days - on Sunday - and I don't know. It could take weeks, it could take months… It's a bit of a blind mission, I'm afraid. I sent them to Perth… That's where I'm heading but, if they've moved on… I don't know. Truly. Can I leave my things here though? In my room if it's not too much trouble?"
"Merlin, Hermione, for the brightest witch of our age you sure are thick sometimes, Hermione. Of course you can, the fourth floor bedroom will always be a home if you need it," Harry told her, eyes twinkling.
1 September
Turning down a role working at the Ministry of Magic was easier than Hermione thought it would be. She'd found Kingsley in his office, just a wall away from the floor of witches and wizards with their heads bent to the desks before them, scribbling away on parchment frantically.
Nevertheless he tours her through the department and, despite the merciless hard work she sees in each cubicle, the glitter and appeal to her is undeniable. Maybe it's the 'adult' environment, or just the smell of ink reminding her of simpler times. Before the war reached its climax she'd have killed for this environment and this had been what she aspired to.
Now older, and maybe wiser, she had her doubts about the ministry career path. Would she really have an impact? Could she make positive change? Was it even worth it? She looked at Arthur and Percy, her main examples of the ministry life, and became filled with doubts.
Arthur had spent years ridiculed as he'd worked for what he believed in, broke his back for what he loved. It was only now, after the war, that he was beginning to make the changes he'd pushed for. Could she face that much disappointment and come out the other side of it whole without a family like the Weasleys to support her?
And Percy? Percy Weasley was a cautionary tale personified and she could see herself becoming him with little difficulty. The boy had burnt out under the strain of his ministry aspirations. He'd quit last year to join the Hogwarts rebuild, subsidising his lack of pay through bartending of all things, taking the most un-Percy job ever. He was a different man though, and happier for it as he started his new job at Hogwarts this week.
In the end she found it easy to say "thank you, Minister, but I find myself needing to go elsewhere right now," to Kingsley. Though he was disappointed and assured her that, if she changed her mind there'd always be a role for her, she knew she'd not return to the building in a professional capacity if she could help it.
3 September
As the new term had just begun, and the bustle of new students searching through the halls was still novel, she waited until Friday to return to the castle to visit Minerva McGonagall. She arrived after breakfast, during the first lessons of the day, when the halls would be quietest and her appearance would be less newsworthy. It wasn't uncommon for her presence to still cause a stir, especially at Hogwarts, and she tried to avoid it where possible.
On her way to the headmistress's office she passed the library and couldn't help but peer through the windows on the door. Students were studying already, so early in the term, and she envied them the safe childhoods before them: free to learn without the possibility of a Dark Lord at each corner. Though she hoped they'd never have to make the choices she and her peers had had to in these same halls.
Minerva greeted her with a strong pot of tea, ginger biscuits and a shoulder she hadn't realised she needed to badly to cry upon. As she told the woman across the desk before her her plans, talking her through her decisions and what she might face… It was like a trip to a therapist, something that probably wouldn't go amiss when this was all over.
"I'm sad to see you turn down my offer, Hermione; but, if you don't mind me saying, I think you're making the right choice," the headmistress told her once she'd finished recounting the past few weeks of research and her choices.
Hermione sighed, "it's just, it's the one thing left over. I can put everything else behind me and move on with my life but I'll always want to know what happened to my parents. This question will always be there and I don't think I can live my life without knowing and facing the consequences of my decision".
"It was the right decision, Hermione. You kept them safe by sending them away, you couldn't guarantee that safety in Britain".
"I know, and I'd make the choice again, but I need to know this. I need to find them and check they're safe, maybe even return them to me - if I can," she told her though she was almost scared to hope that she could to repair her relationship with them.
"I'd like to give you something for your travels, I think you'll find use for it in Australia. You may already be familiar with one, from Harry's lessons with Albus? This is a miniature pensieve - a bit more compact and less ornate than his I'm afraid. It could help your parents to remember you if you are able to show them your memories".
Hermione was speechless as she accepted the offer, already cateloguing memories in her mind that she could show her parents. Their trip to France, the day she got her letter, the time she broke her wrist in the playground chasing after a boy who'd stolen her favourite book… It would be invaluable.
"Thank you, Minerva, I can't tell you what this means-"
"You don't need to thank me, Hermione. I understand. And when you come back there'll be a place for you here, if you have need of it. I'm sure Irma will be happy to keep the position open for you".
4 September
It was the afternoon before she left for Australia and Hermione was finishing up the last of her packing. Ron had told his parents about Hermione's plans and, that evening - whether she liked it or not - a leaving party of sorts had been planned to wish her well.
She was torn between packing lightly or throwing in as much as possible, though there wasn't room for the kitchen sink as well as the pensieve wrapped securely in an olive green Weasley jumper. Everything that went into her suitcases had to be carried, magic could only ease so much of the load, and who knew how far she'd have to carry them across the continent?
Photographs of her childhood were as essential to help with her parents and, as she sat on her bed ,sifting through the static muggle pictures brought many memories back to her: the good and the bad. It hadn't taken long, she thought sadly, for the wizarding world to cause her to start withdrawing from her parents.
She was as young as 11 when she started making conscious decisions to protect them from her world, it was best not to tell them about the troll, she'd argued. They didn't need to worry.
Then, when a basilisk was slithering through the pipes and she was so proud that she'd stopped it… She'd so nearly told them but had held back, scared that they'd withdraw her from the school and world she loved so dearly. Surely her parents, who'd shuddered at the thought of flying lessons on a broom, wouldn't understand?
By the end of her third year she didn't even skirt around the details anymore: werewolf for a teacher, escaped prisoner in the woods, hippogriffs 'assaulting' students - what was the point in worrying them with what they wouldn't understand?
It wasn't like she didn't see the looks they shared when she was on the edge of a room, they withdrew too and she wasn't the only guilty party. They hadn't wanted to hold their daughter back from the magic of magic so they'd encouraged her to spend more time at school, with her friends, exploring her new world.
They'd pushed each other away and then, to protect them, she banished them further. Hermione knew, when she found them, there'd need to be reparations beyond the memory charms she'd cast upon her parents. She just hoped they'd give her the chance to repair the ties they'd all severed.
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