Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. It is property of JK Rowling.

A/N: Thank you all for reading. This is the end of the main story, but there is an epilogue still to come. Stay tuned.

Chapter 5

It took until Christmas to work all the kinks out of their procedures. Secretly, Hermione wasn't actually sure if, for example, removing the entire time period of learning a physical skill would also take away the muscle memory of that skill. Amnesia patients who didn't remember any life events certainly retained their skill sets—if not always, then often. On the other hand, Alzheimer's patients typically did lose those skills. The same went for her knowledge of words, facts, and spells, her ingrained emotional reactions to friends (or enemies), and a host of other little things like that. All those different types of memories were stored in different parts of the brain, but by using a different organising principle—blocks of time—they eventually demonstrated that it did work. They could remove all the different types of memories created during that time as a unit, completely resetting the mind to an earlier state.

It took some doing, though. Dumbledore, Lily, and Snape had to do a lot of arithmancy to piece together a spell to extract and safely return such large blocks of memory from one's mind, and it was another job to figure out how to store memories in that quantity. From that alone, they decided that Hermione's memories would have to be stored in a special warded room at Hogwarts. (She warned Dumbledore to be especially careful that Fred and George Weasley couldn't get in in a few years.)

Once they had the spells, they had to test them, and none of the grown-ups was willing to try them on Hermione first. So instead, they followed a questionable, but time-honoured tradition and offered a couple of Death Eaters reduced sentences in exchange for testing the spells. They applied the spells over short enough periods that none of them got messed up too badly.

After they were assured that the spells worked and were reasonably safe, it was time to test them on Hermione directly. She wasn't coordinated enough to do a whole lot involving muscle memory, but they eventually found a solution: Lily happened to have dabbled in dancing in her youth, and she knew a routine that was fairly long, but not very difficult to teach her. Hermione spent the better part of a week learning it until she could practically do it in their sleep, and then they tried Dumbledore's spells. They worked. After removing the entire week's worth of memories—which was incredibly disorienting—Hermione was as clueless at dancing as when she'd first started. When they put those memories back in her head—which was almost as disorienting—it all came back instantly.

Everything was set, and two days after Christmas, they were ready to go.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?" asked Psyche Nimue as they prepared her for the procedure in a specially closed-off portion of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm ready," Hermione said from her bed as she held her large stuffed otter for comfort. Things had begun to change for her at home by Christmas. She had grown significantly in the past three and a half months—that was a strange sensation to feel again—and she was gradually becoming more coordinated, but at the end of the day, she was still stuck in a body that was eighteen years too young. She had to do this.

"Okay," Psyche said. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, legally, you still have power of attorney over your daughter, and as we get going, she won't remember enough to give informed consent anyway. Are you ready to go through with this?"

Mum and Dad gave each other a resolved look and took a deep breath. "Yes, we're ready," Mum said. "We love you sweetie."

"I love you, too," Hermione said. "Okay, let's do this."

"Alright," Psyche told her. "This is going to take a while. I'm not comfortable doing this for more than four months at a time, and one to two would be better. That means you're going to have to relive some very painful times, not knowing what's going on, and you're going to have less and less control over where the time blocks start and end."

"Yes, yes, we've gone over all of this," Hermione said impatiently. "You do have the reference list I made?" Ever prepared, Hermione had put together a list of reference points in her life that she was pretty sure would make it easier to remember blocks of time cleanly and keep all her memories straight. Unfortunately, moany of them were close to traumatic events during her school years, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and she thought this would be the most reliable way to do it.

"I have it. We're ready to start."

Psyche, Dumbledore, Mum, and Dad crowded around the bed, with Dumbledore and Psyche preparing to cast the necessary spells. "Okay, Hermione, I want you to focus on the moment you came back to this time," Psyche said. "The moment you arrived in your younger body and woke up at home. Focus clearly on that moment."

Hermione concentrated on the memory; it wasn't something she would ever forget on her own. Dumbledore began the memory extraction spelland nodded to Psyche that it was working.

"Good. Now, focus on everything that's happened since then—try to go through it step by step, day by day, forward from one event to the next. Hold onto those thoughts. Keep them clearly in your mind."

Hermione had practised this over shorter amounts of time when they tested the spells. She concentrated and remembered speaking to her parents and explaining about magic to them, then their big day going to Diagon Alley and then up to Hogwarts to tell Dumbledore how to end the war, those weeks of waiting when she detailed all her past adventures, the reception after the war was over—it was all so easy this time around. All those years of hardship, and a little foreknowledge made it unbelievably easy—And finally, those weeks of experimenting with the spells up through Christmas—up till today. As she concentrated on the memories in sequence, she was tying them together into a unit.

Dumbledore completed the spell, and a silver mist formed around Hermione's head. He lifted it up and away from her and put the memories in a large flask, which he labelled and set on a nearby shelf.

Hermione opened her eyes, disoriented, and wondered where she was. She remembered the ritual she had just undergone, but something was wrong. Mum and Dad were standing over her along with a woman she didn't know—and Dumbledore! Dumbledore was alive again! Tears welled in her eyes at seeing the old man's kindly face.

"Professor! You're alive!" she squeaked in a voice that sounded far higher than normal. Her body felt strange. It must be 1981! "My voice! It worked! Professor, I have to tell you—"

"You already did, Hermione," Dumbledore said with a smile. "The war is over."

"What? It is?"

"It is. Voldemort is dead."

"Dead? But what about the—"

"Horcruxes? Also destroyed. All five of them. It is the twenty-seventh of December, 1981. All of the Potters are safe. You are in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing."

"I am? But…Mummy, Daddy—?" she turned her attention to

"You already told us everything, baby," Mum said tearfully. "Everything's going to be fine."

"But why am I in the Hospital Wing? What happened?"

"It was your idea, Miss Granger," the unknown woman said. "My name is Psyche Nimue. I'm a Mind Healer. We've spent the last month and a half perfecting a process to remove your memories in time blocks, store them, and safely return them later. We just completed the first step in that process."

"My memories?" she gasped. "So you figured it out then? I can go back and relive my life and get my memories back later? Oh, this is so wonderful! I can still grow up with Harry! I did meet Harry, didn't I?"

Mum snorted: "Baby, it was all we could do to keep you from snogging him."

Hermione turned red and bit her lip. "Er…sorry," she said. "I must've got overexcited."

"Well, we can worry about that later," Psyche Nimue said. "We have a lot more memories to pull out, and we should keep going."

"Oh, right, right," she replied. "Um…Professor Dumbledore, if I'm going to keep waking up thinking I'm…mentally younger like this, it's probably best if you stay out of sight until I get back to when your alive—if that's possible."

"It can be arranged, Hermione," he said. "If you are ready?"

She nodded, and Psyche got back to work, instructing her in what to do from her reference list: "Alright, then, I want you to go back to Harry's nineteenth birthday…"

The next few memory extractions went smoothly. The trouble started when they had to go back to just after the Battle of Hogwarts. It would have been easier on Hermione to go to just before it, but she had so many vivid memories of the raid on Gringotts and the battle itself, and the terror of the battle itself was so distinct in her mind to the relief and, yes, grief of the aftermath, that they had decided it would be safer to do them as separate units. However, they immediately found that the Hermione of the third of May, 1998 was not exactly in a good mental state to do that.

Hermione jerked awake after and immediately saw that something was wrong. She appeared to be in the Hospital Wing, even though she'd gone to sleep in Gryffindor Tower. A very large woman she didn't recognise wearing Healers' robes was standing over her.

"What happened?" she cried. "How did I get here? Was it a rogue Death Eater?"

"No, Miss Granger, you're perfectly fine," the Healer said.

"But why am I in the Hospital Wing then? Where's Harry…? Where's Harry?!"

"Hermione, it's okay, calm down," another voice said.

She turned her head to see the last two faces she expected to see—and unnaturally large and young faces, at that. "Mum? Dad? How'd you get here? You're supposed to be in Australia. And why do look so strange? And how do you recognise me?"

"What?" Mum said. "Why wouldn't we recognise you?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mum—I didn't want to do it. I almost didn't, but I had to wipe your memories. It was the safest thing for you."

"What?!" Mum yelled.

"Wipe our memories?!" Dad echoed. This was the one thing Hermione had never mentioned to them in the past three months, and if she still had those memories, she'd probably be kicking herself right now.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I was just so worried. It hurt so much to go behind your back like that, but I was afraid you'd slip up if I had you learn a new identity, if I could even convince you to go. I knew I could never help Harry if I was spending all my time worrying if you were alright. I had to send you away."

"But wiping our memories? Without even asking us?" Dad said. "How could you do that?"

"You don't what it was like, Dad. There was a war going on. People were dying all over the place. I know I should've told you, but I knew you'd send me away, and Harry would've died without me. Everyone would've died. You could've doomed the whole country if you'd done that!"

They knew that much, as horrible as it sounded. Mybe a little hyperbolic, she'd explained it in graphic detail when she recounted her experiences. They didn't like it, but they understood—somewhat. "But why take our memories of you?" Mum said. "We could've gone into hiding. And don't say you didn't want us to worry about you. You didn't have the right to make that decision."

"I kn-know I didn't…" Hermione shook in the bed and subconsciously clutched her stuffed otter tighter to her chest. "But I was Undesirable Number Two. They were specifically looking for me and anyone close to me. Our address was on file with the Ministry, Mum. Once they took over, they could've tracked you down. They could've tracked you down so easily, Mum. They would've used you to catch me, Ron, and Harry, and then they would've tortured and killed you anyway. I had to get you out of the country with no trail—no connection with anyone who so much as smelled like me."

Mum and Dad turned pale as the implications hit them. Their mouths hung open slightly. They'd heard a lot about how horrible the war had been from their daughter, but they hadn't fully appreciated how close their own family had come to ruin.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione repeated. "I was going to reverse it. I swear I was going to come find you as soon as I could and reverse it. But how did you get here first? Did Harry send for you? Where is he?"

"Miss Granger," the Healer said, "Harry is safe at home."

"Home? He doesn't have a home to go to."

"Miss Granger, please take a look at yourself." The Healer held up a mirror.

Hermione looked into the mirror and was so shocked she nearly fainted. She looked about two years old. "Eek! What? But—how—?"

"It's alright," she said. "A year after the war, you discovered a way to send your memories back in time to 1981 to end the war before You-Know-Who ever went after Harry. Today is the twenty-seventh of December, 1981, You-Know-Who is dead, and James and Lily are alive and well."

"What? But…but…how do I know you're telling the truth?" she said quickly. "And why don't I remember it?"

"Perhaps I may be of assistance?" another, even more impossible voice said, and at that moment, the snowy head of Albus Dumbledore came into view…

If that batch of memories was awkward for Hermione's parents, the next one was downright terrifying. Unfortunately for everyone involved, she had skimped out on the detail of this incident, too. The moment Hermione "woke up" after the memory extraction, she started screaming at the top of her lungs and clawing at her left arm so hard that she drew blood. Suddenly having a two-year-old's boundless energy and underdeveloped limbic system coming from that mental state turned out to be a very bad combination.

"Hold her!" a female voice called.

"NO!" Hermione screamed as huge, strong hands reached out to hold her down, and a black haired woman leaned over her. "NO! NOT AGAIN! PLEASE NOT AGAIN! I SWEAR I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! WE FOUND THAT SWORD! WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR VAULT!"

"Hermione, please," the black-haired woman said.

"NO, PLEASE! PLEASE! GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

"Hermione, it's okay," another woman's voice said.

She turned in horror. She recognised that voice.

"Mum…? Dad…? NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! YOU CAN'T BE HERE! YOU CAN'T BE HERE! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! WHAT DID YOU DO THEM YOU BITCH?!" she screamed at the black-haired woman. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE GODDAMN DEATH EATER FAMILY!"

"Hermione, calm down, it's okay," Mum pleaded.

"NO! NO! YOU CAN'T BE THEM! IT'S A TRICK! IT'S A DEATH EATER TRICK!"

"Hermione, please, you're safe. We're all safe."

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, DEATH EATER! ALL OF YOU GET AWAY FROM ME! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MUM AND DAD?!"

"HERMIONE, I'M NOT BELLATRIX!" the woman yelled finally understanding what was wrong, but by that point, Hermione had completely lost it. All the torches in the Hospital Wing blew out from accidental magic. She started punching, biting, and scratching at all three of them and, to her parents' chagrin, swearing like a sailor. Yes, that underdeveloped limbic system was definitely a problem. It took them several minutes and a good, long look in the mirror to convince her that this ordeal wasn't some new torture on the part of Bellatrix Lestrange and still longer to convince her of what was really going on to finally get back on track. They got her away from that mental ordeal as fast as possible.

"What? Where am I?" Hermione looked around fearfully. "What? Hogwarts? No! I thought we got away! That bastard! He sold us out! I bet he even knew that thing was an erumpent horn. Where's Harry? Where's Harry? PLEASE SOMEBODY, WHERE'S HARRY?!"

She fought against the hands that tried to hold her down again as her parents cried.

Hermione thankfully didn't scream the next time, but what she did was almost as bad: she burst into tears.

"Why did he have to leave?" she sobbed. "Why did he have to be so stupid? He knew what he was getting into. He knew the locket was affecting him. Ron, we need you! I need you! Why did you leave?"

"Ron? What happened to Harry?" Mum said.

"No, Harry's fine, he's—" She stopped and looked up in horror to see her parents' tear-stained faces. "Mum? Dad? What's wrong? What are you doing here? Wait, Hogwarts? No! No! No! How did I get to Hogwarts?!"

This wasn't going well.

"What? What happened? I was just at the wedding. How did I get to Hogwarts? Did the Death Eaters attack? Where are Harry and Ron? Are they okay? I need to get to them. Where's my wand? Where's my wand? WHERE'S MY WAND?!"

The little girl groaned as if she'd been woken too early from sleep and turned over in the bed. The reaction was so much better than the last few steps that Mum wiped her eyes and chuckled a little.

"Hermione," she said softly, "it's time to wake up."

Hermione's head snapped up at the unexpected voice. "Mum? Dad? How did you get to Hogwarts?"

"It's a long story, sweetie."

"We've been told there's a war going on in your world," Dad said.

"Oh, no," Hermione said fearfully. Her seventeen-year-old mind made a snap decision. She'd have to try the direct approach now that they knew: "Listen, I should have told you before, but I was hoping I could keep you out of it. You two have to get out of the country as soon as you can. Assumed names, nothing that ties you back to me. The Death Eaters will come after you to get to me. I can help you get out, but you have to do it now."

"Okay, okay," Dad interrupted, "as satisfying as it would be to make you go through this whole conversation like this, you really need to know what's really going on."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Mum told her, "Do you remember when you had that Time Turner in your third year…?"

"Oh, I must've fallen asleep. How's Ron doing…? Wh-where is he? He couldn't have got out already. What happened to him? Where's Ron?"

"What? Why am I in the hospital wing? The last thing I remember is going to the Christmas party—oh my God, McLaggen! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Why did I ever want to go with a jerk like him? If that bastard drugged my, I'll hex his bits off!"

"Hermione, you're okay. No one drugged you," a familiar voice said hurriedly..

"Mum?"

"Long story. Who's this McLaggen person? We didn't think you'd have any trouble with this boy—er, with the party."

"Oh, Mum, I only asked McLaggen to make Ron mad because he was being such a git. I should have listened to you better, Mum. You told me boys are only interested in one thing, and McLaggen's the poster boy for that. And he's so disgusting about it! He practically flaunts it."

"Well, as far as we know, that boy didn't do anything to you, so you're fine there. Now, what's really going on is a little more complicated…"

"Well, Mum, Dad, I'm off to sixth year today. Wish me luck. I certainly hope it goes better than last year."

Mum giggled in spite of herself.

"Mum, what is it. Wait a minute, how did we get here…? Oh, no! Did the Death Eaters do something?"

"Argh…oh…oh…That's strange. I suddenly feel a lot better. Wow, Madam Pomfrey said those potions wouldn't fully take for a week."

"Um, I'm afraid things are a little more complicated than that at the moment, Hermione," Dad said.

"Dad?" Hermione said in confusion. "Oh—oh, no, they told you? Look, I know you're probably really scared right now. I mean yes, I almost died, but please, you can't pull me out of Hogwarts now. Harry's gonna need me more than ever now that Sirius is dead. Merlin knows what'll happen to him without his friends around to help him."

"Hermione, calm down," Dad said. "We're not pulling you out of Hogwarts. In fact, I think you're going to have a much better time here this time around."

"'This time around'? What do you mean?"

"Professor Dumbledore, you're back! Thank Merlin! I thought that foul woman had got rid of you for good."

"Mum? Dad? I thought you were going skiing."

"Um…not this year," Dad said. "We wanted to be here for you."

"Look, I know I haven't been home for Christmas for the past three years, but Harry really needs me. Everyone's been giving him so much trouble; you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Why don't you try us sometime?" Mum said.

Hermione gave them a very uncomfortable look. They let the silence stretch a bit before they broke down and told her the truth.

"What? Why am I in the Hospital Wing? It couldn't be that bloody quill, could it?" Hermione looked at her right hand. "No, nothing on my hand. Wait, Mum? Dad? Oh my God! You can't be here! Not with that Umbridge woman going on her witch hunt. If she finds out there's muggles in the school, there's no telling what she'll do!"

"Ah! Oh, Mum, Dad, I had the most horrible dream. Harry was getting restless because Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let us write to him, and then he got attacked by dementors, and he was expelled for defending himself."

"Um…" Mum, Dad, and Dumbledore all said in unison.

"Ugh. Worst school year yet."

"Do you want to talk about it, honey?" Mum said.

"No, not really…There…there was an accident…A student died."

"Oh, dear. Cedric, was it?"

"Yes—wait. How did you know?"

"Oh, you've told us a lot of things lately."

"Hate mail. That twisted woman made me get hate mail and landed me in the Hospital Wing. If I ever figure out how she found out that information—"

"No need, Miss Granger. Rita Skeeter is currently in Azkaban," Dumbledore said.

"What? How, Professor?"

"You recently informed me that she is an unregistered animagus capable of transforming into a beetle."

"A beetle? Of course! It all makes sense…! But why don't I remember that?"

"Argh! Professor Dumbledore! I'd like to file a complaint. I was just held hostage at the bottom of a lake in February under threat of death. That the threat was fake should be immaterial. In the muggle world, that's all kinds of illegal."

"I'm afraid that hasn't happened yet, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. In some ways, this was starting to become almost comical, especially with that two-year-old voice.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Hermione said. "Wait a minute, why am I so tiny all of a sudden?"

"Fire-breathing dragons! Professor, whose bright idea was it to use fire-breathing dragons for the First Task?"

"Hmm…I think I shall add Ludo Bagman to the list of people who should not be allowed to gain power."

"Hey! Why am I back in the hospital wing? And why am I so tiny? Oh my God! Did I somehow time travel back to my younger body?"

"Wow, I didn't think you'd get that after your reactions to all the other memories you were going over," Mum said.

"Huh? What other memories? Wait a minute, Professor! Is the war still going on? I have information—!"

"The war is over, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, you were already able to provide a great deal of help."

"Okay, now where was I at nine o'clock…wait a minute, something's wrong." Hermione patted herself down, felt her face, and looked at her hands. "Oh my God, I'm like, two years old. Professor, I think the time travel went horribly wrong! What's gonna happen to me? Horrible things happen when people mess with time! Please, Professor, how do I get back? How do I get back?"

"Oh, no, it went wrong! How do I get back? How do I get back?"

"How do I get back? Somebody, please, how do I get back?"

"Wait a minute. This doesn't look like nine o'clock. This doesn't even look like September. Oh my God! This doesn't even look like 1993! What happened?! How do I get back?!"

"Professor! I know what's in the Chamber of Secrets! It's a—"

"Basilisk, yes. It has already been taken care of."

"Mum? Dad? What are you doing here? You can't be here! It's too dangerous! There someone called the Heir of Slytherin who would love to get a piece of you. What? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"No! Don't look at me! I don't want you to see me like this! Wait…wait a minute…the fur's gone. Am I better already? But…but why am I smaller than I was before?"

"Mum? Dad? I don't feel so good. I feel, like…out of proportion or something. I feel like I'm, I don't know, a little little kid again. I need to go back to Hogwarts today. What's wrong with me?"

Mum giggled a little through her tears. "There's nothing wrong with you, Hermione," she said. "Well, there is the issue that you're two years old."

"What?! Wha'd'you mean I'm two years old? How could that happen?"

"Well, what would you say if I told you that time travel was involved?"

"Time travel? But that's impossible."

Mum chuckled louder. "Oh? And magic is…?"

"Holy cricket!"

"Oh, I must've fallen asleep. How's Harry doing…? Wh-where is he? Did he get out already? What happened to him? Where's Harry?"

"What happened? I don't remember getting sick. Why am I in the Hospital Wing? And am I…smaller? Did I accidentally drink a shrinking solution? I read in Magical Draughts and Potions that they can de-age you for short periods."

"Mum? Dad? I thought you were meeting me at King's Cross for Christmas. And I read in Hogwarts, A History that muggles can't even see Hogwarts. How did you get here?"

"Oh, God. They called you. I didn't think they'd actually call you. Listen, I know what Professor McGonagall must've told you, but I didn't actually go looking for that troll. I was just covering for Ron and Harry because they saved me. I was in the bathroom during the feast. I didn't even know there was a troll."

It was too much for Dad to resist. "What troll?" he asked.

"Huh?" Hermione said, wide-eyed. "Uh…forget everything I just said."

"Oh, why do I feel so strange? Everything feels different than yesterday. I think I'm smaller than I was yesterday…and my voice is higher too. Is this another kind of magic?"

Hermione saw that her mother seemed to be in tears. That was equally strange. "Yes, baby," she said, "a very special kind of magic…"

"Mum…Dad…I…I think something's wrong. Everything feels different. It's like I'm smaller…and my head's too big…and my hands are too thick…and my voice is higher. What's going on? That doesn't seem right for puberty. Am I sick?"

Mum blushed when her daughter came to that conclusion. "No, baby, it's not puberty," she said. "And you're not sick, either."

"Then what happened, Mum?"

Mum gave her a sad smile: "What if I told you that magic was real?"

"Magic? That's silly, Mum. Magic's not real."

"Yes, it is, Hermione," another woman said. Hermione looked over to see a woman with black hair waving a small stick. "My name is Psyche Nimue, and I'm a witch—and so are you, for that matter. Just watch." She pointed the stick a teacup on the bedside table and whispered something in Latin. The teacup turned into a gerbil.

"Holy cricket!" Hermione said.

"You see, magic is real. Now, it's a long story, but you're here because your memories got magically scrambled, and Mr. Dumbledore, here, and I are helping you straighten them out?"

"Straighten out my memories? How can you do that?"

"Well, all you have to do is think about the memories I tell you. Here's an example: I want you to think about…" She seemed to consult a paper. "…that field trip you took to the natural history museum back in February."

Each cycle of memory extraction was a lot more uniform after that, but even primary school was no picnic for Hermione. She had been the victim of more than her share of bullying over the years. It was hard enough for her parents to see a mentally younger and younger Hermione get more and more confused and scared by what was happening and clutching a little tighter at that stuffed otter, but the worst was that time when she'd been beat up by a gang of older girls. When that memory came up, she lunged up and hugged her Mum tight.

"Mum, I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I tried to get away."

"Shh, shh, it's okay, baby. It wasn't your fault."

"Am I in the hospital? Was it that bad."

"No, baby. You're in a hospital, but not because of that. You're going to be fine. We just need to give you a few…er, special treatments."

"Mum? I don't feel so good. What happened? Where am I? Mum, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Mummy, where am I? I wanna go to school. I'm supposed to start school today. What's wrong, Mummy? Are we going soon?"

"Mummy, Daddy, I feel sick. I can' move right. I don' wanna go to day care. I wanna stay with you."

"Mama?"

The little girl awoke and wondered where on Earth she was.

"Mama?"

She'd never seen anything like this place before, and she felt very tired, dizzy, and a little ill, as if she'd been crying a lot more than usual. The last few months seemed like a blur to her, even more than usual for a two-year-old.

"Mama's here, baby," a familiar voice said. Mama picked the little girl up in her arms and held her tight. She looked poorly, and also looked as if she'd been crying for several days. In fact, the little girl would later learn that she and her parents had spent several gruelling, often traumatic days sorting out her memories to get her back to her "natural" state.

"What happen?" she squeaked.

"Oh, baby, you were sick. You were sick for a long time, but you're all better now. Everything's gonna be okay, now."

"Wanna go home."

"I know. We'll be going home real soon. Mr. Dumbledore, are you sure Hermione's okay?"

Dumbledore waved his wand in her direction and said, "I see nothing but a perfectly healthy and very brave and gifted two-year-old girl. I must say I'm very impressed by your bravery, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I can see how hard this was for all of you to go through. You may bring Hermione back to the castle according to the schedule we've written up to restore her memories."

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," Mama said tearfully. "Thank you for everything, and especially for giving our daughter back to us."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Granger. She deserves no less after winning the war for us. I wish you well in your new lives.

A few minutes later, the Granger Family walked out the gates of Hogwarts and back into the muggle world, this time to stay there comfortably for a long time.