….You have got to be kidding, Hermione thought to herself.
Seeing the printed address made her stomach drop to her knees. Hermione's pulse quickened. Her breathing grew more rapid. And she had an overwhelming rush of adrenaline that soared through her veins.
There was no way, absolutely no way that she would be going back to that neighborhood. To that street. To be only feet away from a place that she had not wanted to see ever again.
Hermione's eyes darted amongst her surroundings. She glanced at the address once again. It was ironic. Too ironic. What were the odds that this woman lived so close to…
Hermione suddenly banished her next thought.
No, she thought to herself for a second time that evening. Absolutely not. She can come get the prescription another time. Someone can get it for her. Someone can pick it up and-
And just as Hermione's brain was firing rapid thoughts, she noticed a slight buzzing sound. The young doctor paused for a moment. She instantly located the sound and she reached into her brown satchel, trading her calendar book for a little black and awfully outdated cell phone. Without thinking, she flipped open the top and answered in a huff.
'Dr. Granger,' Hermione said flatly, greeting the person on the other end of the line.
'Oh Dr. Granger! Oh I had hoped you would answer. I seem to have misplaced my prescription that you had written for me earlier today. Would you by any chance – and I realize this is a bit of stretch dear and I do apologize sincerely for what I am about to request – but if you had even the slightest bit of time, and of course if you wouldn't mind, is there any way that you could bring that script to my home this evening? You see, I still have a half hour's time before…'
The woman on the other end of the phone conversation was of course, none other than Miss Helen Crawford. The very woman who lived alone in her house, close to another home that Hermione would have soon liked to forget.
As Miss. Crawford continued in her sweet voice, describing her dilemma of a script left unfilled, Hermione began to go into a silent panic mode once again.
If what Ms. Crawford was saying was true, then the poor woman was in fact in need of her medication. And as Hermione so clearly remembered the oath she had once taken to 'do no harm,' the answer to the problem became frighteningly clear.
…Hermione had to give Helen Crawford what she was owed.
The young doctor sighed and closed her eyes.
'Yes, Miss Crawford. No, it isn't that far out of my way. I am sure of it. No Miss Crawford, I know that the medication is important. Believe me. Alright, I will see you in about twenty minutes.'
And with that, Hermione closed the flap on her mobile phone with a soft 'click.' She took a moment to stare at the electronic object in her hand. Hermione cursed herself silently for not being more assertive – to tell the older woman to find some bloody way to see her at her office!
But Hermione just could not do that. It wasn't her style.
The young doctor reached back into her bag to put away her phone, and took a spare moment to look at Miss Crawford's address one last time. While flipping the pages of her calendar to get to the address section in the back, she took a moment to regard the date.
August 27th, she thought to herself, as she looked at the big bold number in the deepest shade of navy.
'Of all days. Of all fucking days…' she whispered out loud to herself.
It was one of the worst days of Hermione Granger's life. For August 27th was the exact date that she had lost the love of her life. Her soul mate. The man she was to grow old with until they both left this world. Together.
…And it had left her a broken woman. Even to this very day.
Hermione Granger had never gotten over the death of Ronald Wesley. And it was doubted that she ever would.
The young doctor slammed her calendar into her bag as hard as she could. Fighting back tears, she blindly got into the driver's seat, and closed the door with a 'thud.' She took a moment for her breathing to regain its control while at the same time wiping stray tears with both hands.
Breathe, Hermione. Breathe.
She angrily started the car, and was off in an instant. The sooner she got this over with, the better.
Within twenty minutes, Hermione found herself turning onto the quiet street where she needed to be.
How the hell did I get here so fast? she thought to herself.
The drive felt as if it took only seconds from the parking lot of the hospital. The young doctor spent those twenty minutes of travel time thinking. And re-thinking. And driving herself insane with her thoughts.
Truth be told, Hermione didn't even know if the Order of the Phoenix was still in existence, or even if the old house used for meetings remained in use. Ever since…it happened, she had stayed clear of the house. Of her friends. Of just about everyone.
Within those twenty minutes spent driving, a flood of memories washed over the young woman. She had no idea what was going on in the wizarding world these days. The times were long gone when she had used a wand for any purpose. She assumed that Volemort was still lurking about in some shape or form. But it didn't matter. Not really. There were three people gone from her life. Two of them her parents, and the other – her late husband. All killed at the hands of an evil, sadistic thing which Hermione avoided thinking about at all costs.
She could have had revenge, she supposed. Even in the slightest of forms. But where would it have gotten her? Dead? It seemed like a plausible action all those years ago, but Hermione decided upon a different path. A path of strict avoidance and repression. And truth be told, it was working quite well for her. Up until this point, that is.
The death of her parents had been the last straw. As she helplessly watched the cursed fire burn her family home without end, knowing well that her parents were never coming back, knowing that the death eaters had intended for her to be caught in the roaring flames, she stood with the rest of the Order members watching the spellbound blaze.
…And then something in Hermione just….snapped.
She was tired. Tired of it all. She was tired of fighting the good fight. Tired of seeing the people she loved most die. Tired of having her life ruined before her eyes.
Hermione walked past the Order members to stand closer to the flames. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans grabbing her wand, snapped her wand in two with a 'crack' and hurled the pieces into the blaze. Not caring who surrounded her, not caring what they thought, she sobbed and screamed with all the fury she had left in her tiny frame.
Looking up at the Dark Mark that graced the ebony sky above her home, she spoke at the top of her lungs with great force.
'The hell with it all! All of them gone – for what?! FOR WHAT?!' she yelled erratically towards the night sky.
Sensing her immediate distress, Harry instinctively moved closer to her to calm the young witch, but it was too late. She was too far gone. She had had enough. And this was the last straw - the very last straw.
Backing away from Harry, from the others, she looked at the crowd with their backs turned from the scene. A fire truck could be heard wailing in the distance.
'Just fucking leave me alone! ALL of you!' she screamed at the Order members present that evening, her hands waving wildly.
'Hasn't he done enough? Hasn't he done enough damage?! Well I'm through with it – I'm done! Just-stay-the-hell away-from-me!' she demanded, tear-stricken eyes full of rage reflecting the burning fire in the moonlight, her chest heaving with each breath.
…And just like that, she vanished. Right from the spot. Never to be heard from or seen again.
It is true that Hermione must not have been thinking clearly that night. For if she were, and she truly intended upon destroying her wand, she would know that fire would not have even caused the slightest scorch. And after the curse was lifted on the blazing house, the Grangers' charred remains moved, a man in black robes entered the property, scanning the ground, and gently picked up two beautiful pieces of wood that he stored in his cloak without a single notice.
And here Hermione was now. Sitting idly in her vehicle, right outside Miss Helen Crawford's home. Sitting and waiting. And of course, thinking about all those memories she had once sworn to never recall.
She put one arm on the steering wheel and held her head in her hand.
Number 12 could not be seen, no. It was hidden. Hidden between two other houses, secretly tucked away from onlookers. Hermione doubted whether the old Headquarters even existed anymore. Not that she cared. Although she had to admit – current circumstances had unconsciously caused her to care, now, didn't they?
Somehow, someway, the young woman suddenly gained the courage to exit out of her vehicle.
She opened the door quickly, and shut it just the same. In an instant, she was dizzy, and a bit nauseated, but she closed her eyes and willed herself to walk. Her shoes carried her to Helen Crawford's address in a swift speed, and she took a slightly sweat-drenched hand up to the side of the door to ring the bell.
Ding Dong.
Within seconds, the frail, warm face of Helen Crawford appeared at the entrance.
'Why hello dear! Thank you, oh thank you for coming! Please, please come in!' she coaxed.
This phrase was exactly what Dr. Granger didn't want to hear. She had banked on making a quick exit after handing off the piece of paper, but was shooed in by a pair of bony arms.
'Come in, come in,' Miss Crawford begged.
Hermione forced a stiff smile and entered into the tiny home.
The tiny home was quaint, clean, and awfully neat. Just Hermione's style. She took a sniff. Lemons, she thought to herself. Very fresh – and awfully appealing.
'Miss Crawford, honestly, I just…I just came here to drop off the script for you. You had better be off to get it filled before-' and Hermione was cut-off as a liver-spotted hand shot up directly in front of her.
'Please, Dr. Granger. They will be open for a little while longer. I am glad you came over tonight. Very glad my dear,' the older woman said.
'I will get you some tea, no? It will do you good. Just a spot before you drive home. Wait here – I'll be right back!'
Miss Crawford exited the living room and made her way towards the kitchen. In the mean time, Hermione sat down at the little dining room table and tried desperately to keep her sanity. The woman was driving her bonkers. Yes, she was sweet. But yes, Hermione really wanted out. She wanted to leave. Wanted to get home, back to her own little world.
'Here you are, my dear' the old woman said, offering Hermione a cup. Hermione grasped the object out of the old woman's hands, thanked her quietly, and studied the cup for a moment.
It looked familiar. Uncomfortably familiar. Which made Hermione quite uneasy all of a sudden.
Some teacups and saucers are quite plain, really, but this one – there was nothing plain about this one, that was certain. For as Hermione raised the teacup to her lips, her hand stopped mid-air.
A bluebird on the cup fluttered his wings.
To make matters worse, he not only fluttered his wings, but he flew towards the handle of the cup.
Hermione's brown eyes widened with fear, her breath caught in her chest. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Yes, possibly. She had worked a long, hard day, and possibly her sleepless nights were catching up with her.
But alas, she watched silently as the bluebird outstretched his wings and flew back towards his branch, located closely to the brim of the cup.
Hermione harshly placed the cup on its saucer and placed it on the table in front of her with a thud.
'Sugar?! Where do you keep your sugar?!' she asked, an awkward smile upon her face, her voice an octave higher, eyes as wide as saucers.
'In the cupboard next to the refrigerator dear. Just through the door there - right on the first shelf,' said the elderly woman with a sad smile, not bothering to look at the young girl.
'First shelf. Right,' said Hermione. She leapt out of her seat in an instant and barged through the wooden swing door that led to the kitchen. She began to pace, running her hands through her hair.
Oh dear God…I knew…I KNEW this was a mistake, she thought to herself. How the hell am I going to get out of this one?!
Without thinking, Hermione pulled the cupboard door located adjacent to the fridge. She gasped out loud, as her eyes scanned the shelves before her.
In front of Hermione's face were three shelves.
The top two were filled, absolutely filled with prescription bottles. The same medication that Hermione had been prescribing Ms. Crawford for years.
She grabbed one of the bottles and shook it.
It was full.
She grabbed yet another.
It too was full. Completely full.
What the hell is going on here? Hermione wondered, panic stricken, her heart racing.
And next to one of the end bottles on the second shelf was a tattered piece of paper, an old newspaper clipping if you will.
…An old article from the Daily Prophet declaring Dumbledore's death.
Hermione mouthed the headline, and instantly dropped the clipping into the dry counter below, as if it were on fire.
And just then, Miss Helen Crawford made her way into the kitchen.
Hermione turned around, tiny beads of sweat upon her brow, her palms sweaty, her heart pounding through her chest.
The only words she could utter came in a whisper.
'Miss…Miss Crawford?'
The old woman gave a sad smile and looked at Hermione with warm eyes.
'Oh Hermione...It was time, my dear. You…you are needed. The Order needs you…' she said in the softest of voices, walking closer towards the young doctor.
Hermione could not comprehend any more that moment. At the sound of Helen Crawford's words, Dr. Granger's legs gave out and she slipped into darkness upon the wooden floor of the kitchen.
…And just then, a fluffy orange cat trotted around from under the table and sat perfectly still next to the body on the ground. He looked at the young woman and yawned.
Miss Crawford frowned. She looked at the large feline and sighed.
'Well, Crookshanks – that didn't go very well now, did it?'