Hermione paced in front of the fireplace like a rabid dog. Kingsley had owled her in advance, informing her and her parents of the possibility of an attack within the coming days. Her parents were shocked, to say the least. Hermione had done her best to hide the reality of the impending War from her parents. Past scars were easy enough to cover up.
Luckily her parents treated her no differently than if she had been going away to a Muggle boarding school. They inquired about her friends and her marks, but shied away from specifics when it came to magic, although not because they were ashamed or frightened by their only daughter's abilities.
They were quite pragmatic people, but she was their only daughter. If they had known the truth about what had happened in the Wizarding World over the last 5 years (not to mention how involved she had been in it all), Alastair and Jane Granger would have locked her away long ago.
Hermione made a great effort to persuade them to ring her grandparents in Merseyside so they could continue the rest of their holiday far away from Chelsea. She knew the extensive debate with her parents about returning to Hogwarts would be delayed if not forgotten as long as they stayed there. Mim and Pip did not know she was a witch. They didn't know much about her at all. Jean had limited contact with them since Hermione was a young girl for valid, if not regrettable, reasons.
When Hermione was seven years old, her dreadful cousin Ophelia (her mother's family was nutty for Shakespeare) had chucked Hermione's Madeline doll in the large fountain in her grandparent's garden. As if by magic, which Hermione later learned was precisely what it was, her cousin was suddenly sputtering in the fountain next to her beloved doll.
Her grandmother, who had only turned the corner in time to see Ophelia splashing around in the fountain, dragged Hermione into the sitting room by the ear, followed by a dripping Ophelia who was not at all shy about throwing accusations her way.
Mim had demanded an explanation at once, using the nickname Hermione had always loathed.
"Minnie, why did you push your cousin into the water? You've ruined her dress."
"My name is Hermione, not Minnie! And I did not push her in! She ended up there on her own!" Hermione cried out in a mixture of anguish and defiance.
"Do not lie to your grandmother. You expect me to believe she went for a quick dip?" her grandmother questioned sternly.
"Maybe! I didn't do anything wrong. She's the one who threw my doll into the water. Why isn't she being punished?"
Hermione snapped her mouth shut. She knew better than to speak rudely to her elders. She couldn't help it, though. Ophelia had always teased her for her unkempt hair and rather sizeable front teeth, but this time she had gone too far. Madeline was the closest thing Hermione had to a friend, and that nasty imp had submersed her in water!
Her austere grandmother did not take kindly to her backtalk, and put Hermione over her knee.
"Your mother doesn't see the benefit of spanking. It's clear that you need discipline, and I will not hesitate to do so."
Tears were already streaming down Hermione's face, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her grandmother brought her hand down on her rear-end. When her palm went to make contact a second time, the lights flickered with little notice by Mim. On the fourth strike, however, all of the light bulbs in the room abruptly burst. Her grandmother froze at once out of terror.
Hermione winced.
Things like this had happened before at home, but never at a relative's. Her mother was going to be furious with her!
"I didn't mean to do it!" she shouted in panic.
Jane had heard the commotion and came to investigate. Seeing Hermione still placed over the knee of her grandmother, Jane gasped and rushed over to pluck her daughter up in her arms.
"What in God's name are you doing, mother?" Jane questioned in horror.
Ophelia piped in instead.
"Hermione pushed me in the water, and then she made all of the bulbs explode! I saw it! She did it with her mind!" The little girl screeched with a crazed look on her face.
Jane's mother still looked as if she had seen a ghost. Hermione tried her best to burrow her face in her mother's shoulder and not be seen. She was hysterically mumbling apologies over and over again. Jane's breathing hitched when she saw the broken glass scattered around the room.
She wished she could say Ophelia's allegation was absurd, but this wasn't the first of unexplainable and bizarre incidents involving her daughter, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last.
"She-she's not normal. The lamps…I was j-just trying to teach her some m-manners…" Hermione's grandmother stuttered.
This made Hermione sob with even more ferocity. Jane's heart broke for the pain and confusion her daughter was feeling, as she was no stranger to it herself. She didn't know why sometimes things shattered when Hermione was severely upset. She was even more perplexed as to how the neighbour's dog ended up at the foot of Hermione's bed every night, even when Alastair had stayed up until dawn once to see if she was sneaking into the yard to let him in. Hermione had been sound asleep all night, yet the dog had appeared magically, curled up at her feet at sunrise.
Jane couldn't very well explain it, but she refused to let anyone—even her own mother—tell her that Hermione was an aberration.
Since that day, Hermione's interaction with her mum's parents had been limited to polite, enigmatic greeting cards on most major holidays. She knew sometimes her mum would sit by the phone with an old family photograph in her lap, struggling with the desire to phone her grandmother and explain what had happened that day. But who would believe it?
Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by Crookshanks pawing at her legs, as if imploring her to settle down. She swooped up the Kneazle in her arms and stood in front of the mantle to gaze at childhood photos.
She regarded one photograph in particular; despite being taken with a Muggle camera, it was her favorite. Her father had snapped the picture at King's Cross before Hermione would set off on the first of many magical train rides. Alastair was beaming with pride, and Jane was attempting to wipe away tears that had fallen to her cheeks while she looked down at her daughter. Hermione, already in her Hogwarts uniform, was smashed between the two of them, an eager look on her face.
When had things changed so drastically?
The little girl in the photograph had little more to worry about than whether she would finally fit in. Fast forward six years, and she was hardly a little girl…yet somehow not old enough to handle her present situation. Hermione knew the stigma that came with being a Muggleborn…the risk that came with being friends with Harry…but this was too much too soon.
The awful possibility that, if the Deatheaters did attack tonight, her home might be gutted until there was nothing left…
Hermione seized the picture from its frame, folded it carefully, and tucked it into her back pocket.
She resumed her pacing.
Alastair entered the room without notice.
"Your mother and I are all packed," he said, clearing his throat to get Hermione's attention.
Hermione turned toward him, startled.
"Oh…yes. Very well. Someone from the Order should be around any moment…" she trailed off, vexed by her father's piqued demeanor. "Dad…I-I'm sorry…"
"What are you apologizing for?" he asked impatiently. "The letter from those Ministry fellows said our hurried departure is necessary, so I trust that it is. I just don't understand why you didn't tell us about the state of things sooner."
Hermione, who looked on the verge of tears, bit her lip in response. Her father's voice was laced with disappointment, and she was at a loss as how to respond.
With great fortune, Arthur Weasley had chosen this precise moment to appear in their hearth, which had instantaneously tripled in size. He extended his dusty hand toward Alistair as he exited, appearing very serious indeed.
"Alistair, I wish we could be visiting under more pleasant circumstances," Arthur said soberly. "Is Jane nearby? I was hoping to speak with you separate from the children…"
Hermione's head tilted toward Arthur's weary face.
"Children?" she inquired frankly, shuffling several steps away from the fireplace. 'Does that mean Ron is coming along?' she thought frantically.
Arthur twisted around to look at Hermione, as if seeing her for the first time.
"Hermione! My dear, I didn't mean anything by it…I suppose I'll always see all of you as children, no matter how old you get…" Arthur recanted distractedly, and patted her gently on the back.
"Oh! I didn't mean it like that…I meant to say, who is it you're bringing with you?" Hermione asked with discomfit.
"Ah, yes. The boys should be coming along any minute! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must talk to your parents about the wards I'll be setting up around your grandparents' house."
With a meek smile, Mr. Weasley followed Mr. Granger into the kitchen, leaving Hermione impossibly more flustered.
'Boys? WHICH boys?'
Troubled that Ron could be coming out of the grate the next instant, she lifted Crookshanks up once again.
'Oh, yes. Fantastic thinking, Hermione,' she thought to herself drolly, 'What are you going to do, fling the cat at him?'
She only had a few seconds to entertain the thought before George and Fred came striding out of the fireplace with large grins plastered to their identical faces. Hermione experienced a strange sense of disappointment coupled with relief.
"I see your Dad meant to say twins rather than boys! I'm so glad to see you two," Hermione exclaimed a little too enthusiastically.
Fred's eyebrows shot upwards, and he smirked.
"Tired of Ron already? He cannot have been here more than a couple of minutes."
"I don't know. It only takes me about thirty seconds to get sick of his mawkish face lately," George jested in reply.
The twins looked around the room, waiting for their little brother's shirty reply. Much to their alarm, Hermione was the only one in the room.
"Where's Ron? Have you killed him already? Please, tell me you've murdered him and stuffed his bits somewhere, otherwise Mum is going to hack us into pieces," George cried in mock distress.
Hermione grunted in disgust. After setting Crookshanks on the ground, she immediately placed her hands on her hips in a defensive stance.
"No, I've not killed him," she said pointedly. "He isn't here. I suppose you were in charge of bringing him."
Hermione turned away, and rummaged uselessly through her trunk just to avoid further teasing.
"It's just as well. I don't see any reason for him to come. I certainly don't want him here," finished Hermione.
"Got off at the wrong grate," a grave voice rumbled from behind.
Hermione heard the twins make a decent attempt to snicker softly. Mortified, she turned bit by bit to confirm who the voice belonged to. He stood there, brushing the ash out of his ginger hair, a surly glower on his face that she was quite used to by now.
Hermione's stomach clenched at his actions, which, in spite of every last bit of sensibility she armored herself with, always made something in her buzz excitedly.
'Stop looking at his hair! What's so attractive about that…soft…auburn….AGH! Say something!' she thought wildly to herself.
"What are you doing here?"
The words flew out of her mouth severely. Ron narrowed his eyes in response.
"Dad asked me to come," he lied.
Fred was ready to call Ron on his lie when George gave him a quick elbowing. Placing a finger to his lips, he gestured toward the two of them.
"This could be good," he whispered in Fred's ear.
Hermione's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.
"Right….of course."
'Of course. He wouldn't come unless he was forced to…' she thought bitterly.
Ron stalked to the far wall, leaned against it, and stood silently in the shadows. Fred and George exchanged disappointed glances.
"Well… not to break up the party, but I think we should find the real adults and sort out the logistics and all that rubbish," Fred voiced.
They all followed Hermione into the kitchen, where the Grangers were looking rather faint.
"…Hermione will need to stay with us. Our connections in the Auror Department have implied that the Ministry might have put some kind of magical trace on Muggleborns. There's talk that the trace was placed when students went through so-called security checks when they exited at the Leaky Cauldron for holiday. Although, it's likely none of them remember. I believe they may have been Confunded," Arthur explained, oblivious to the confusion plain on the faces' of Jane and Alastair, and the shock appearing on Ron and Hermione's.
"Confunded? Aurors?" Alastair asked rather crossly. "Pardon my ignorance, Arthur, but you need to remember we do not live in your world. Our daughter finds it unnecessary to make us privy to it, so I'm finding that it's rather difficult understanding any of this rubbish."
"Alastair!" Jane rebuked.
Hermione flushed, head lowered and hands twisting around each other anxiously.
"No, Mum. He's right," said Hermione. "I-I should have told you sooner. I-I j-just didn't want you to k-keep me from return-returning."
Her voice shook erratically, and tears threatened to rain down her cheeks.
Ron fought to maintain his distance.
'What would you even do, mate? Pat her on the back?' he questioned himself woefully.
Alastair did not look at his daughter as she spoke, instead seemingly studying his cup of tea. Jane looked firmly at him, perhaps waiting for him to reassure her. Her gaze snapped to Arthur, who looked properly embarrassed and unsure of how to continue.
"Whatever is safest, Arthur. I'm sure you know best how to handle this situation, and I know she's in good hands with your family," Jane spoke, attempting a genuinely gracious smile. "Right, Alistair?"
Her husband's head whipped up in surprise. He looked ready to object but was quelled by the fierce resolve in his wife's expression.
"Right…right," he said, clearing his throat. "Forgive me. I hope you understand I've simply been…caught off guard by this situation."
"Of course! I am, after all, first and foremost, a father," Arthur replied humbly. "I understand your worries. Let me assure you that this is the most secure situation for all involved. You and your wife will be safe in hiding, and Hermione will be under the care of a number of skilled wizards and witches."
Alastair nodded as he stood.
"Who will be protecting my grandparents' home," questioned Hermione, clearly not prepared to accept the arrangement quite yet.
"A few members of the Order will be checking in every so often. I can personally drop by whenever you'd like me to," Arthur answered kindly.
Ron watched Hermione bite her lip in consternation. Some organ in the general area of his chest throbbed so unbearably he had to look away. Without thinking, words fell out of his mouth.
"I can help."
Everyone looked at him with amused expressions, save for Alastair and Hermione whom regarded Ron with a suspicious glare.
"Erm, I mean…I know I can't stand guard or anything…but if you needed someone to carry messages…or packages…" His ears were burning so hotly, he imagined they would melt away any moment now.
Had he just suggested he act as Hermione's owl?
"That's very sweet of you, Ron. I'm sure that won't be necessary," Jane spoke through a puckish smile.
Fred was gripping his twins shoulder in an attempt to suppress the laughter trapped behind his tightly closed lips.
Alastair broke the tension with the unasked question.
"How will we be traveling?"
"Actually, I thought the least suspicious means would be for us to travel by car. Ron and Hermione can return with Fred and George. We should leave as soon as possible," Arthur informed them, once again serious.
With that, the Grangers loaded their small car with their bags. Hermione watched, face awash with concern. Jane approached her daughter with an air of compusure.
"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure this will all come to pass in a matter of days. Enjoy the holiday with your friends," Jane said to her gently.
Hermione threw her arms around her mother, squeezing as if for the last time.
"I love you, Mum," was all she could say, silent tears blurring her senses.
Her dad, who she had not seen come up behind her, rested a hand on her head for a moment before embracing both of them. Hermione brought one arm around his back, and whispered the same words.
"Happy Christmas, Chipmunk."
Hermione let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. She decided that she didn't particularly care if the twins would tease her about this later, and beamed at her father's affectionate use of an old nickname.
"Happy Christmas, Dad," Hermione sniffed into her father's chest.
The Grangers entered their automobile; Arthur marveling slightly at the size of it. Arthur stuck his head out of the window, warning the twins not to make any stops but to head straight to the Burrow.
And with a little wave, they were gone.
A/N: Oh, readers. If you're still out there, I apologize a trillion times for my neglect of this story. Alas, it is 4 AM where I am at, and I've spent this early morning at a 24-hour diner, drinking copious amounts of coffee and fixing up this chapter. I was concerned about so many decisions I made in this chapter, particularly the following: the location of the Granger's house, the reason Hermione needed to stay at the Burrow, and how to get Ron and Hermione alone. Comments will be much appreciated (if only to reassure me that my decisions weren't half-baked)! I also couldn't resist doing a little Hermione back-story. I read a great essay over at Mugglenet that complained about the female characters in Harry Potter not having their histories explored in comparison to the mini-biographies of a majority of the main male characters. I agree, whole-heartedly. Maybe I'm just spending too much time with my feminist roommate…WHO KNOWS. Anyhow, chapter four to come later this week! –xoxo, maritera