Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling, etc, etc. Anyone who thinks I do own Harry Potter is an idiot.

A/N: I'm going to try for longer chapters in this story, because I think that is something most of you want. Might take me a while to get into the swing of things, as these first few chapters I have specific things in mind for and don't really want to paste them all together.

Steps Toward Something

Chapter Two

Hermione's Dad finally broke the silence between them two days after she returned from Hogwarts for the summer. They sat at the dinning room table, eating a pretty meagre meal of beans on toast (her Dad's staple, which, after the splendour of Hogwarts meals, was looking even worse than it normally did), when he finally spoke more than a token "hello".

'So, how was school?' he asked, looking at her sideways.

Hermione finished chewing her "food" before she finally replied with a simple, soft-spoken, 'it was fine.'

Her Dad sighed softly and nodded. He always did when he tried to talk to her, which wasn't often, and her replies did not satisfy him. Once she had tried, really tried, but he was never pleased, and so she had given up. The silence was better. This awkward attempt at bonding only brought home to her the reality of her life.

Her Mum cared so much for her that she left her Dad when Hermione was six and only ever saw her once every fortnight. That was, of course, if she was not out getting drunk and coming round at three in the morning, banging on the door, talking loud and slurring her words. Hermione had lain in bed and listened to her own Mother drunkenly beg her Father to leave with her, forget that mistake sleeping upstairs and just go. How many times had that happened? That, or worse?

Hermione wished she could forget.

At least her Dad stayed. He was miserable - it was plain as day, as was the cause – but he stayed anyway. She loved him for that, even as she hated how pathetic their relationship was - pathetic and strained. It was clear her Dad just wanted a normal child, one that spoke and laughed and hugged. Perhaps sit on his lap and listen to him read her a story, or something like that. Unfortunately he was stuck with her. A child who struggled to communicate with most adults, and refused entirely to talk to kids her own age. A child who would freak out if someone tried to touch her in any significant way. A freak.

A mistake.

Someone who wasn't worth the effort of trying.

At least, that's what she had thought before she met Harry.

Harry had made her realise she was worth it, just by his persistence and understanding. At least, she had accepted that he thought she was worth it. And that was all she needed. One person to accept her for who she was, and love her in spite of all of her weirdness.

Maybe her Dad did love her. She wasn't sure. Hermione thought it more likely that he just felt obligated. Which was fine. Understandable, and why she loved him, because before Harry, it was more than she got from anyone else.

She wished she could just tell her Dad everything. Just open her mouth and tell him all about Harry, Hogwarts, Magic, everything. Unfortunately, the truth was, she just didn't feel comfortable doing that. She wished she did. It would be so simple then, just to be normal. But she wasn't normal, and so she couldn't.

She couldn't even talk to Harry, the person she trusted and loved the most in the world. She had to resort to writing her words on pieces of parchment. A pretty pathetic way of communicating, but the only one that she was comfortable with. She had made a small break through at the end of the year though, when she had held Harry's hand, albeit briefly. That gave her hope that she might be able to overcome her other issues, in time, with baby steps.

'Honey?' Her Dad said, snapping her free from her thoughts.

Hermione looked at him. '…yes?'

'I said, I'm going to be out tonight, but I'll be back before you go to bed. Keep the door locked while I'm gone and don't answer it if someone knocks, okay?'

Hermione nodded her understanding. She sometimes wondered if her Dad thought she was stupid, despite the fact her report cards always came back glowingly, at least on the academic side of things.

After her Father left, Hermione stood in front of her bedroom mirror. Her curly brown hair she had bunched up in a ponytail, a few stubborn strands having pulled free to fuzz out at odd angles. The dress she wore was simple and yellow, wrinkled from not being ironed. Her Dad didn't seem to care about that kind of thing, and by extension, neither did she. That said, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles, with no real success. All in all, she looked plain and boring.

Hermione wasn't quite sure why that bothered her, but she put it to the back of her mind. She wasn't standing in front of the mirror to critique her appearance. She was standing in front of it, looking back at herself, for one simple reason.

Practice.

'H-hello… h-harry.'

She smiled and tried again.

(-)

Despite her Dad's claims, Hermione was in bed before he got back, a little after twelve, stumbling in and slamming the door behind him. When he opened the door to her room, the light from the hall blinded her eyes. She heard more than saw him walk slowly until he knelt by her bed.

'Hermione… honey?'

She smelt alcohol on his breath and could see lipstick marks on his collar, illuminated by the light from the hallway.

'Yes, Dad?'

He was silent for a moment. 'I'm sorry.' There was a crack in his voice, and Hermione realised he was crying.

She knew in that moment that her Dad did love her. Despite everything, he did. Yet she had given up on him. The guilt nearly overwhelmed her. It wasn't too late though. He was here now, and though he might not remember in the morning, she would.

'Dad?''

'Yes, honey?'

Silently, she thanked Harry, for everything he had done for her, for everything he had taught her, and so she reached her hand out from under the covers and placed it on her Dad's cheek. His eyes widened and tears slipped free. 'It's okay.'

That was all she needed to say.