Summary: Walking away doesn't solve anything. Unfortunately, talking doesn't help either.
Building Barriers: The bricks may be of misunderstanding, but the mortar is of love.
Chapter 2: The Primary Layers
On the way home, her parents besieged her with the usual questions about her school year and her studies. Hermione told them about mastering summoning charms faster than anyone else in the class, as well as her quick grasp of the more challenging switching spells (specifically, changing a hedgehog into a pincushion). After she narrated her academic year, she did her best to explain what the more complicated magic was and meant--in ways that two dentists would understand.
The Triwizard Tournament was also something Hermione knew would come up. The subject had appeared in her letters home all year--that is until the end. So, before her parents could ask questions, Hermione skirted the nicer moments of the topic and left the rest alone. She thought that the stiffness of her voice must have been apparent, but when neither parent commented, Hermione decided that she was safe from them. But just maybe, she was not yet safe from herself.
"Sorry for talking your ears off," she finished quietly before falling to gazing out of the car window at the passing landscape. Ragged. That was the best word she could think of at the moment that described her breathing. Her mind wasn't working as well as she would have liked. Images of the Great Hall draped in black reflected in the glass of the window. Dumbledore was speaking…
Hermione resolutely shook her head to clear the image. She would think of that later. When she had some time alone. She could not fall apart. Harry had to deal with much more than she did. The roadside landscape of passing trees returned.
They finally reached the brick house, and as she watched her father haul her trunk up the front stoop, she thought how simple it would be if she could just give it a boost with her wand. Almost out of habit, her hand moved to retrieve it from her pocket, but she froze in horror as she realized that she had almost violated Wizarding law.
Mentally shaking herself, Hermione stepped after her father into the house. "What would you like to do first?" asked her mother.
"Unpack?" Hermione answered.
Her mother emitted a giggle uncannily similar to one of Hermione's. "I should have known. I meant after that."
"Oh, I don't know… I was thinking of reading…unless you have something in mind?"
"I was thinking of going for a walk. It's so nice outside."
"Yes, it is," Hermione glanced out the window at the uncommonly sunny day.
"Your father and I have a lot of appointments tomorrow, so I thought that we could spend some time together today, before we have to go back to work. We've been getting a large number of children who are finishing the school term." Both her parents were dentists; they shared an office where they practiced together.
Hermione sighed. She didn't really feel like going for a walk; her feet hurt, and her eyes drooped from cramming for final exams. Her mind was mentally taxed from both studying and testing and trying to comprehend all that had happened with Harry and Cedric at the end of the tournament. Still, she appreciated that she would not see too much of her parents for the remainder of the summer. "That sounds great, Mum. I'll be ready as soon as I finish taking this stuff upstairs."
"Why don't we go right now?"
"Now? I haven't unpacked yet."
"That's okay. You can do it later." Hermione could hardly believe her ears.
"Later?" she squeaked. In truth, she hadn't really planned on unpacking, but the thought of her trunk sitting in the front hall did not sit well with Hermione. "I thought you said we could go after I unpacked."
"Some things never change." For some reason, this comment left the usually collected Hermione biting her tongue.
"You worked hard all year. Take a short break. Besides, walking is good for you."
"True," she consented, allowing the unfamiliar heated and uncomfortable moment to pass.
Mother and daughter walked through the Muggle streets, Hermione sharing a bit more with her mother than she did with her father. She refused to release the details, but she revealed a tad more about the Yule Ball and Victor's promise to write.
"So, this Victor," her mother began. Hermione felt an extra amount of heat in her cheeks unrelated to the brisk strides she made. "What's he like."
"I've told you…" She sighed, resignedly. Hermione would need to carefully choose her words; she did not care to let slip too much to her mother. Mother-daughter talks had always made her temperature rise and her hands fidget uncontrollably. "He's nice, but I'm not sure…"
"Not sure about what?" Mrs. Granger huffed between breaths.
"Oh, I don't know." Hermione actively stared at a tall house further on. "Those are nice shutters," she commented. Still, her mother was not to be deterred.
"You know, Hermione, you'll never know what he's like if you don't take the risk of getting to know him."
"Oh, I know him." Anxious to resurface before her mother pulled the conversation deeper into the dark waters Hermione hesitated to revisit, she searched once again for a distraction."
Talks of Victor led to the world cup. But this was dangerous too. She described some of the game, mentioned the mascots, expressed her disgust with the behavior of the boys as a result to the Veela, carefully stepped over the incident in the woods and the appearance of the dark mark, and…Winky.
For a moment, her feet halted. A perfect distraction. Although the thought of using S.P.E.W. as a distraction left her with an uneasy stomach, she pushed the feeling aside and looked upon the opportunity to promote a worthy cause and drum up support—even if her mother might not understand fully, surely Hermione could help her understand.
Half an hour later, the two women of the Granger family approached the house, talking animatedly--or rather, Hermione talked animatedly to her mother, who although showing more interest than any of the S.P.E.W. recruits, still appeared to be thinking of something else.
"Well, that sounds like a good idea, dear. Of course, any form of slavery, as you said, is horrible, but…" When Mrs. Granger hesitated, Hermione pounced.
"But…' what?"
"Oh nothing, it's just… This is a noble thing to do, Hermione; it's just not going to be as easy as you think."
Hermione frowned. How does she know what I'm thinking? She has no idea what I've done so far and what I had to do to make this much progress. But there Hermione stopped thinking, and her lips separated. "I never thought that it would be easy, Mum."
"I know," was her mother's reply. But hadn't she just said… Some unknown force within the brown-haired girl stirred. She always did that—switched things around. Just like the time when—
No, she didn't want to go there. If she brought up every petty disagreement she had had with her parents in the past, she'd turn into one of those teens—like Parvati and especially Lavender Brown, who recounted for hours on end the heated arguments she had had with her mother over the summer about this shirt she wanted to buy and that boy she wanted to see. And however annoyed Hermione became with her mother, she refused to allow herself to mold into the common and petty teenage girl figure.
Usually if there was something that her parents did that annoyed Hermione, she would just push it deeper inside her and walk away. But now that was becoming increasingly difficult to do. And she didn't understand why.
But she knew trying to talk wouldn't help. She had tried that before, a few years ago, and it had ended with her mother complaining and making some excuse completely irrelevant to the initial topic. That was more frustrating than holding her comments inside, so Hermione learned that, when dealing with her parents, it was easier to just let it go.
Maybe it was harder to do now because Hermione could speak freely with her friends…
"We're here." Hermione looked up from her seething and found herself standing in front of her parent's home once again.
"That was nice, mum, thanks." Hermione jumped up the stairs and turned the knob on the front door. She sighed. Internal venting left her need to complain satiated--for now.
"I think I'll go in and take my things up to my room now." The muscles at the corners of her mouth worked hard to form a smile and Hermione walked into the house, shutting the door behind her.
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A/N: If you were in any way offended by Hermione's comments about Lavender & Parvati, I'm sorry. I have support for my choice organized into a few paragraphs, so if you'd like to read it, please contact me.