[/A/N: My thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story so far you keep me writing you are awesome. I'm also sorry for the long break since the last update but things have not been good. I friend of mine is recovering from surgery at the moment and I just want to wish her a speedy recovery - take care of yourself Ag.

Chap 6 - Cause it's my problem, If I want to pack up and run away

Christmas day 1999

A good night's sleep had been just what the she needed. The early morning sun glittered off Melbourne's urban landscape. Placing her hand on her stomach Hermione patted her still mostly flat stomach. She was four months pregnant and just starting to show, although it still looked more like she had just eaten one too many chocolate frogs. "Merry Christmas little one. Let's see if we can't find your grandparents today."

Last year, Hermione had only had a week to search for her parents. Trying to find where they had gone in a country as large as Australia was no easy task. Especially, as it appeared that they had spent the better part of a year wandering through the Australian outback. After a week spent chasing ghosts and rumours across the country, Hermione had been forced to return to Britain.

However she hadn't stopped her research entirely during her final year at Hogwarts. And after studying a map until she worried her eyes might become permanently damaged, she had come to believe that her parents were heading for Melbourne. Which was why, after spending a few hours resting in Bangkok, she had grabbed a quick breakfast and apparated straight to the cosmopolitan city.

Blinking into the sunlight one last time, Hermione headed into Melbourne public library. Cool air rushed over her and she sighed in relief, outside the morning temperature was already unpleasantly hot. The smell of paper and ink tickled her nose, and she breathed deeply letting the comforting scent fill her lungs. She could almost hear the voices of her friends teasing her about her love of books. God, why did she feel more at home surrounded by books then she did people? The scars on her arm seemed to throb, and for just a moment she could hear her spine cracking again. Ah yes that was why. Because people are evil, individuals were a different matter, but people as a whole had very little going for them.

She had bled to defeat Voldemort, had fought him since she was 11, had stood beside Harry when all others had abandoned him – even Ron. And yet while Harry and Ron were hailed as hero's and showered with awards, her role was largely ignored. Hermione wasn't looking for fame or platitudes, but to be dismissed as Harry's plucky muggle born friend was insulting. Then, to watch as the role of muggle borns was quietly erased from the history of the Voldemort's destruction. Hermione sighed, she knew that she was becoming bitter, but she could see the seeds of future conflicts being sown. Pushing such thoughts to one side, Hermione tried to focus on what she came here to do.

The place was thankfully rather empty of people, and the subdued atmosphere helped Hermione relax and focus. It didn't take her long to locate the reference area of the large building ,and within a few minutes she was heading to a table with the electoral roll in her hands. Given that voting is mandatory in Australia, it was a good bet that if they were living in the city they'd be listed. Skimming quickly through the document Hermione located the fake name she had given to her parents. In fact there were actually three possible addresses, and Hermione sighed as she reached into her bag to summon a quill and parchment.

.

.

Hermione stood in front of the house at the start off a small cul-de-sac. The small front garden was unkempt and overgrown; the tiny patch of lawn brown and dry. A large plank of wood stood nailed across the front door sealing it shut. Its presence a warning to the world to keep out, to move past this abandoned house and forget you ever saw it.

Hermione didn't move, she simply stared at it. She might be wrong this might not be her parents' house. But her gut said otherwise. Her stomach twisted back and forth withering like a snake. Desperately Hermione tried not to imagine just what the dark mark would look like floating above the rooftop.

The sun beat down mercilessly upon her, sweat trickled down her spine, and she knew she should cast a cooling spell on herself. But she stood there frozen in the sun dreading what was to come. A subtle fluttering from her navel finally freed her body from its frozen state. Hermione stared down at her stomach, her hand moved to rub gentle circles against her belly. The fluttering had started a few days ago, and she knew it was her baby moving around. Silently she apologised to her little one for scaring it.

Finally gathering her courage, Hermione looked back up at the one story house and forced her feet to move her forward, one hand resting protectively over her belly as the other reached for her wand. Stepping on to the porch, a simple set of spells opened the door and froze the alarm.

The stale air seemed heavy and dark as Hermione entered the hallway. A large picture of her parents kissing in front of a sparkling blue ocean greeted her, and she gripped her wand tighter. She could feel herself shutting down, becoming numb to it. Carrying on deeper into the house, she came to a huge open plan living space. One wall was entirely glass, with sliding patio doors leading out to what looked like a small pool. It was a beautiful view, and she knew her father would have loved the sense of space the room gave. She could almost see him standing beside her, a content smile playing across his face as he drank in the feel of it all.

Small brown spots marred the glass, pulling her back from visions of her father. Her eyes naturally followed the trail of spots across the doors and onto the pale yellow walls. It seemed to take several long moments before she was able to register the faded brown, flaking message that had clearly been left for her.

'It doesn't matter where you try to hide them mudblood, the Dark Lord sees all. Soon you'll be as dead as the whores who spawned you.'

The joke was on them really, Hermione thought absently. They must have expected her to get word of her parents' deaths and be demoralised. Instead, the Dark Lord was long dead and her morale of no consequence.

Walking around the room Hermione took in the little details of her parents lives. Most of the large furniture, such as the sofa was missing. But everywhere she looked she could see her mother's touches or a hint of her father. The tiffany style lamps her mother always loved, the leather foot stool, her father's favourite book. Hermione felt like she was drowning in her parents' presence.

Ignoring the way the stiff, rust coloured patches of carpet crunched under her feet, Hermione walked across to one of the doors that led to the other rooms and continued exploring. She had missed her family so much and now, here in the house they lost their lives in, was as close as she would ever get to be. And so she would drown in them a little longer.

.

.

Shrinking the picture of her parents kissing on the beach, Hermione added it to her bag with the rest of her possessions. One thing life had taught her was the importance of not shying away or ignoring the mistakes which you make in life, and every time she saw that photo, she would remember just how much her decisions had cost her. She would never let herself forget the part she played in the death of her parents.

A few flicks of her wand later, the house was once again secure. The question was how to proceed now. There was no way Hermione was leaving until she knew who had killed her witty intelligent mother and her calm smiling father. What had become of their bodies? She would need to organise a funeral unless they were in a paupers grave. And it was that thought which brought Hermione to her knees, hunched over and retching.