Chapter 2

It was simple to forget those early days, how this task had seemed so very great and daunting. But it was much like looking back through a foggy bit of glass, the details were distorted while the general image remained. How alone had she felt. Only very recently, over two decades later, was she finally able to feel at peace with the war, with her role, with the deaths. It was the quiet days, like this one, that took her back to those dark times. She'd sit by the window watching as the day went by while she lost herself in the past. This particular afternoon, she thought back on one of her first spontaneous moments. The day she bought her beloved cottage.

A mug of hot tea popped in front of her, pulling her attention away from the memories. She knew that mug and what its appearance implied. And she smiled, indulgently, as if the mug were the actual person who sent it. The tea would be too sweet for her taste, because even after twenty years and her beloved couldn't get her tea just right, but she'd drink it anyway. The meaning was clear, she had neglected her partner for too long, and now that wonderful person was requesting her company.

Grimacing, she heaved herself from her post by the window. Most of her weight resting on a tightly held walking stick. Sparing it a glance, she lovingly traced the intricate flower carvings with her thumb. The circumstances that forced to require such stick were unfortunate, but those would be no more, she made sure no other would befall her same fate.

"You called?" she said in the general direction of her kitchen.

The only reply she received was in the way of a humming voice, a soft happy tune luring her closer.

"Darling?" she called again.

This time she was rewarded with soft smile, "you spend too much time in that room. Won't you come join me?"

"I was just thinking," she excused.

"Hmm? Come, sit, tell me what you were thinking about," replied the other person walking closer. Hermione felt a warm hand grasp her arm, allowing her to walk a bit more freely. And with a grace she no longer possessed she was eased onto a chair, her companion taking a seat across from her. The warm hand sliding down her arm seamlessly into her own hand.

"I was thinking about the day I bought this cottage," she said, her eyes a perfect mixture of sorrow and joy.

Both stayed quiet, Hermione retreating into her memories while her companion held on to her, like a tether.

-o-

For the first three months after the war, Hermione had lived at Grimmauld Place with both of her boys. All three of them spent that time grieving and adjusting to life in a free world. She watched both Harry and Ron slowly put themselves back together, while she kept on falling apart. She watched Ron thrive with the attention he received as war hero. And Harry, while uncomfortable with being made a spectacle, humbly accepted all praise. Hermione hid, because she could not fathom being praised with a victory that cost them so dearly.

She couldn't understand how quickly the wizarding world had forgotten the human cost. Of course, their victory had been wonderful, but they paid for it in blood. The cost was too great to be happy about it just yet. She couldn't start to rebuild, it was too soon, and her wounds were still raw.

All three of them had made plans come Sept 1st, the boys were joining the aurors and she was going back to finish her 7th year. But as June turned to July and then into August, her resolve to continue her schooling waned.

Ron expected her to snap out of any day. "One morning you'll wake up and you'll feel just like before," he'd tell her. But she didn't know if she'd ever feel like before. He never noticed her slipping away. He was so busy with himself and his fame that there came a day when he went to look for her at his side and finally noticed that she wasn't there. He looked down at his hand, the one she had held since they were eleven years-old, and saw it was empty. He had left her behind, creating a rift between them, a crippling emotional distance.

On the morning of September 1st, she left the dreary old house with every intention of going back to Hogwarts, but alas, she never made it to the station.

The first wave of panic crushed her as she started to pack her trunk. Her hands shook, and she couldn't catch a breath. The second time happened as she whispered goodbye to Harry. She felt safe in his arms. They had not been apart a single night for over a year; and here she was, about to leave the comfort and safety of his presence.

The third and final wave came as she stepped out of Grimmauld place. This time the fear was paralyzing, it brought her to her knees. Her entire body felt hot and shook with pain, reminiscent of her torture. It lasted less than a minute, but it shot her straight back to the war. Her mind tried to recall a cheerful memory, she needed to come back to herself. Cotswold, she remembered the little town she had visited as a child. Magic took over, causing her to apparate on the spot.

No sooner her feet landed, that she felt the pressure around her chest ease. The little village had not changed, it was comforting to see a place that had not been touched by the war. Its inhabitants, completely oblivious to her identity, continued with their business, not sparing her a second glance. With her new-found anonymity she wandered through the old cobblestone streets and little stone bridges. It was only as the sun started its descent that her stomach protested at its neglect, forcing her to nip into a quiet Inn.

The place was empty, apart from herself and the owner, Cait. The woman was lovely, with a round face and rosy cheeks. Her dark blonde hair plaited down her back, and a stained apron secured around her waist.

It was over a plate of kidney pie, that Hermione found herself sharing a bit more than she normally would. Perhaps it was because Cait reminded her of her own Gran, or maybe because this lovely woman had magic of her own and had dosed her drink with veritaserum. Either the young Gryffindor found liberating to share her burdens. A much more sanitized version, always mindful of the Statute of Secrecy.

"I don't know if I can go back and face them," Hermione confided.

The woman tutted. "Then stay," she said simply. "I have a cottage, it's a way over but I've been wanting to rent. You can have it."

Hermione would later wonder why, but she accepted the offer; and after purchasing enough food to last a week the two made their way to the cottage.

"We call it the Witch's Cottage," said Cait when they arrived. "Is been in my family for generations, granny used to tell us that a real witch lived there." They shared a laugh, each finding their own amusement in the name.

"It's lovely," said Hermione with a smile.

It was anything but. The masonry was in a poor state and the gate hung at an odd angle. But Hermione was certain that beneath the jungle that cover the lawn, laid a gem of a garden. "I know it needs a bit of love, but it's safe and warm and rent will be cheap," said Cait eyeing a cracked window pane.

"Can I buy it?" Hermione blurted.

"What?" she squawked, giving the younger woman an odd look. "But you haven't even seen the inside?"

"It's perfect." Hermione felt a smile tug at her lips, a true smile, the kind that she hadn't felt in years. This little cottage was in utter need of repair, but then, so was she. Perhaps if she could fix this house, she could, in time fix herself.

"Alright," said Cait still puzzled. "It's yours."

They made arrangement to meet in the morning and handle the dull details of purchasing a home. That very evening Hermione should've been at Hogwarts, instead she was in a little secluded piece of land waving her wand frantically, turning an abandoned cottage into a home. She should have been sitting enjoying a feast with her classmates, but instead she danced with her magic, feeling truly alive and free for the first time in such a very long time.

It became her haven, the one place where she could breathe and hide away. Not a single soul knew where she was. Well, except for the long-haired gray cat that apparently came with the house. She named him Angus, and he give the impression to be in the same state of disrepair as the cottage. He was a proud tomcat, a bit of his ear missing, his fur matted and a long scar going over his eyelid. Angus had glared at her for the first five days of her stay. But on the sixth day he dropped a dead mouse at her feet, and although appalling, the witch knew that the poor mouse had been offered as an olive branch.

Angus was a warrior, scarred and battle worn, and absolutely perfect for her.

Of course, she knew that her friends were probably concerned about her, but she couldn't help but relish in this little bit of spontaneity. It was only after ten days of seclusion that she sent her newly acquired owl with word of her location. The great horned owl carried a single piece of parchment spelled for Harry and only Harry to see.

Hermione Granger lives at The Thicket

She was certain that as soon as he received the message he would come straight to her. And exactly within two hours her best friend stepped through her floo. He looked anxious, but her worries were quickly halted as he encased her in his arms. His noses buried in her hair and his tears wetting her neck.

"You're ok," he said hoarsely.

Guilt was a new emotion for her. It stung almost as much as grief, but not quite as sharply.

"I'm sorry... I couldn't... I couldn't go back," she said tears filling her eyes.

"I know, I understand," he repeated over and over again, not once releasing her from his embrace.

Relief was also a new emotion. Unlike guilt and grief, it didn't hurt. She was grateful for Harry, for his love and his constant comforting presence in her life. She loved him, probably more than anyone else in her life, a familial sort of love. He was her brother in everything, but blood and she knew that he loved her just as much.

He stayed over that night; unwilling to part from her too soon. They spent the evening laughing and crying and reminiscing like they had in that blasted tent. Except this time, they had no Voldemort chasing them, no hunger pains, and the weight of the future didn't rest on them.

The next morning she recast the Fidelius making Harry her secret keeper. He didn't question her need for the charm, he just smiled, his silly crooked smiled and stood by watching in awe as Hermione coaxed her magic to her will.

"I'll be back in a few days, with your orange monster," he said hugging her once more.

"I will be here," she promised softly. "Thank you, Harry."

Taking a step back he dropped a kiss on her forehead, "I love you Mione."

"I love you too," she said moments before he apparated away.

She was still staring at the place where Harry had been when a sharp knock at her door startled her. Fear spread through her body. No one but Harry should be able to see her front door, much less be able to knock. He had not been long enough to tell anyone.

Brandishing her wand she threw her door open. Her stunner bouncing harmlessly off a shield.

"Miss Granger, I assure you that I mean you no harm," said the stout little wizard before her.

"My name is Saul Croaker, I'm with the Department of Mysteries," he continued, dropping his shield and shuffling closer.

"Prove it," said Hermione aiming her wand once more.

"I believe," he started, reaching into his pocked to procure a very familiar object. "That you used this little gem back in your third year?"

It was the time turner, the one she had regretted handing over for the entire time they had been on the run. "What do want?"

"We've been watching you Miss Granger, and I never believed you were returning to Hogwarts this year," he continued. "I'm here to offer you a job."

Her eyes widened at his proposition, "what?"

"I have certain knowledge, in the future you will be embarking on a monumental journey. All I ask, my dear, is that you take notes and record what you do," he asked fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat.

"What journey? I'm not planning anything now or in the future?"

"But you will," he replied with a small grin.

She finally lowered her wand. "What could you possibly want with my notes?"

"To understand magic, and to heal the wound that Voldemort has left on our world," he said, finally taking a step into the cottage.

"Why should I trust you?" She asked unsure.

"I swear on my magic the I have no ill will towards you nor intentions to harm you or yours, and that any information you gather will be solely for the good of the Wizarding world," a bright rope of white light shot from his wand encasing his entire body. "A wizard's oath, is that enough for you Miss Granger?"

She nodded, unable to comprehend how this little wizard had made such an oath without even blinking.

"Wonderful, you will be compensated monthly, directly into your vault starting today. You do not have to be present at the ministry but know that you have the support of my entire department, should the need arise. And most importantly you cannot tell anyone the nature of our arrangement, for you are, in essence, an unspeakable," he said happily. "Do you agree?"

"Okay," she said softly. "Why am I receiving compensation now? I haven't done anything."

"Your work is invaluable, or will be," he said with a wink.

"Oh, Miss Granger, just because you can't disclose the nature of our collaboration does not mean you can't speak of your actual work with others," he said before apparating away.

She was baffled, the onetime her never ending questions should've been asked, she was rendered inarticulate and speechless. Closing the door, she walked to her small kitchen table, dropping down on a chair.

In the course of the last ten days she had left Hogwarts, bought a cottage and become an unspeakable. Her mind was blank, possibly in shock, but completely unable to string together even the simplest of thoughts.

Perhaps tomorrow she'd be able to feel something about her predicament. Even though it was very early in the afternoon she went to room and crawled in bed. Hoping that this shock will keep her nightmares a bay.

Tomorrow, tomorrow she would handle life, today was she would sleep and allow her tired brain to rest.

Tomorrow she would work she would handle life and start work in the garden. She fell asleep thinking of sunflowers and unspeakables.