Disclaimer: Not mine.

Hermione's Son

June 2003

Hermione moved from St. Mungo's to a small apartment near a train station and close to an adult education establishment that her father had found for her. She was determined to find a way to survive on her own, not wanting to fall back into dependence on her parents but at the same time not yet able to take care of herself. Although she had tried to move out of the hospital and live by herself before, this time she was confident of success.

She found herself sorely behind the rest of the Muggle world in her mathematics and knowledge of sciences. Having only studied magical potions she was not prepared for the most rudimentary job in a field she loved. Even her literature knowledge seemed years behind what she would need for a further education although she excelled in ancient Greek and Latin. Prepared with a list of required reading from the government school system she made a trip to the bookshop to stock her empty shelves. Adding a few from a second list of suggested, but not required reading, she arranged for delivery, as the piles were too heavy for her to carry.

Glancing at her watch as she left the shop, she headed for St. Mungo's for the first of her outpatient sessions. She hated this part. Hated sitting in front of a Healer and talking about feelings, about what she wanted to do with her life and how she planned to go on from here.

It had taken her a year to learn how to play the game and to spit back what they wanted to hear. A year to heal and year to convince some idiot counsellor, that she could live on her own. Now, she had to sit and listen to him tell her how to live as a Muggle, as if he could tell her more than she already knew. She learned to manufacture memories that fit into their idea of what had happened and found books that explained posttraumatic stress that helped her tell the healers what they wanted to hear.

"Miss Granger, how are we today?" Healer Clough opened the door to his office, waving her to a small seating area he had set up in the corner.

"We are fine," she said, tossing her pocketbook on the floor and sitting in one of the wing back chairs

"So, it's been a week."

She knew he was waiting for a response but only sat and looked at him, thinking of all the time she had spent in this same chair, talking (or not talking) about the same things. At first, she had feigned interest on the paintings and certificates that hung on the walls. Now, she didn't pretend, only sat and started back, showing her contempt and utter distain for the Healer.

"Your lessons, have they started yet?"

"No."

"I see," he muttered looking down at his notepad. "Have you decided which lessons you are taking?"

"Yes."

"Have you visited your parent's home?"

"No."

"I see, and why is that? I would think after your long absence you would want to see your childhood home."

"It's not my home. They sold the old house and bought a smaller one north of the city."

"How do you feel about that?"

Hermione was careful not to alter her position or change her expression, as he was apt to interpret anything she did. "We have spoken of this already."

"Have you seen your son?"

"My brother. My parents adopted him. He is my brother now as you well know."

"Are you ready to talk about him?"

"No. If you are interested in him you need to talk to his parents."

"Are you ready to tell us who his father is so we may contact him?"

"No," she snapped. "How many times must I tell you we had already separated? He or his family has nothing to do with any of this."

"How does it make you feel to know your parents are raising your son?"

"Listen, we have been over this time and time again. Unless you have something new to go over I have other things to do."

"We have never uncovered your feelings as to the matter."

"I've told you that since I am unable to care for him and my parents are, this is the best arrangement for all concerned. Furthermore, I don't know what you expect me to say. I've also told you, on several occasions, that I am ready to get on with my life. Coming back here once a week is only going to keep me here…in this world…I need to move on."

"You feel ready for that?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and looked at him coldly.

"How would you feel if we made this a monthly meeting?" The Healer asked, jotting at note in his book.

"I would feel better if you signed off on me completely. I feel like I am being watched all the…no I am not paranoid…I know that until you close my case I am a security risk. I have never been a risk and you know it."

"Miss Granger, I have no legal right to refuse your request. However, I feel you have not reached the point that you should stop our sessions."

"Sign the release," she said, then shrugged her shoulders, leaning back in her chair. "That or I come in once a month and we discuss the weather. It's London. Rain, looks like rain, and partly cloudy. There, that should cover the rest of the summer."

"I will have the papers drawn up in the morning. I want you to do something for me. I want you to keep a diary of sorts…a journal. I want you to write down your feelings. Not what happens during the day, but the way you feel about things."

"Fine. The same thing we tried a year ago." She stood up, grabbing her pocketbook from the floor. "Why can't you just accept that it was the war…and the injury I received? I saw everyone dead, knowing that we should have been able to stop what was happening. Christ, I was seventeen, what did you think would happen? I'm not the only one that drags in here to talk."

"Strange you did not mention the fact that the father of your child deserted you."

"Perhaps because I have accepted that. I can't change it and I can't run from it. It's time for me to get on with things." She turned on her heel as she left, breathing the first breath of freedom she had felt in well over two years.

She was angry with herself for loosing her temper at previous sessions and knew that before the day was finished she would send him a note of apology for her behaviour as she had almost once a month for the last year. She was almost through the lobby when she heard her name called and spun around expecting to see one of the clerks running after her.

"Ron?"She heard the name come out of her mouth at the same time she realized it was Charlie walking towards her.

"Hermione," he said her name softly as he leaned down and kissed one cheek and then the other. "I haven't seen you for years. How are you?"

"Fine, you…you startled me."

"I do that sometimes." He took her elbow and led her to the side of the lobby to be out of the way. "What have you been up to? No one wants to…"

"I decided to come back here and live in London. I'm just in the hospital today to visit someone," she lied.

"Mum acts like…I don't know what. I came back last week and we were sitting around…you know…just talking about what everyone was up to…and when I asked about you she left the room."

"You'll have to ask her. You know how she wants to keep everything the same. Perhaps it's just that I'm not in her world anymore."

"How about lunch? I have the whole day free."

"Oh, Charlie, I'd like that but I am really busy today. Can we make it another day?"

"Sure, name it." He grinned. "I've been away so long that when I do come home I don't see anyone from the old days.'

"You know how to make a girl feel young," she joked. "I'll owl you."

"I'm at The Burrow…just send it there…or floo."

"I will," Hermione stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then left him in the lobby, fleeing into the streets of London.

She was thankful Charlie did not follow and had accepted what she said, but she suspected, by his reaction, that he understood she was brushing him off. Hurrying to her new home, she finished unpacking the few boxes she had. Opening one she did not recognise, she realized it was from her mother's house, full of things she had left there. On top of the pile of forgotten objects was a picture of her, Harry and Ron.

Picking it up the photograph she tried to remember when it had been taken and thought it was fourth year. It seemed so long ago. She was relieved to see it as a childhood picture that no longer conjured thoughts of death and destruction. She sighed, closing the box and pushing it into the hall, not able to look further into the box. Deciding that she had enough photos and memories and what she needed was a fresh start she left the box for the trash bin.

After changing clothes, putting on sweats and a pair of new trainers, she set off for the park. Running was her new release, an activity that she found she could do to close her mind and only hear the constant rhythm of her feet and the sound of her own breathing. It was easy for her to lose herself in London. Easy to fill her time with school, studying and the case of books she was free to read whenever she wanted instead of the strict time schedule of the hospital. She found she liked to stay up late, sometimes until dawn only to grab a couple of hours of sleep before heading out to a late class.

The school was strange to her. Full of older students, not unlike herself, several struggling to learn the English language at the same time they fought to finish their education. The lack of structured lessons at first irritated Hermione and had her at a loss of what to expect. It soon became apparent that the structure allowed her to progress more quickly while giving those still fighting to keep up the time they needed to succeed.

Studying over the weekends, taking extra lessons, and working one on one with her science teachers she completed the five years she was behind in a little less than two.

"Congratulations," Robert Cummings shook her hand as he handed her certificate to her. "We expect you back in June for the celebration."

"I may not be here," s he beamed, looking at the paper he had given her. "I want to start Uni as soon as possible."

"You need to take the exam if…"

"No, I plan to study overseas. I have a couple of possibilities. All they require is my transcripts. They are testing me when I get there."

"Really?" He frowned. "This time of year it is most unusual for a first year…"

"I have an appointment at the University of New York and a couple of others. They have summer programs that I can get into. I want to get away for a while."

Over the next few years, Hermione's only contact with home was through letters and the occasional e-mail that she still felt uncomfortable using. She made a point of remembering her brother's birthdays and as he got older marked her calendar as a reminder to write to him at least once a month. Her mum sent her photos of him on occasion and Hermione, at first only able to glance at them, slowly became curious as to his appearance and took to carrying one in her handbag.

He was a strange mix, this brother-son of hers. He had grey eyes, as did their father and thick hair not unlike her own. Unlike hers, however, his hair laid flat and easily combed into place. He wore it long; at least to Hermione it appeared long, over his ears at the side and brushing his collar in the back. She had been surprised that her parents allowed such a thing but when the next picture included an ear piercing, she had smiled and figured they had finally entered the twenty- first century.

At first, it had been hard to look at the pictures and not see the characteristic Granger chin, only the cocky tilt of his head, his smile that twisted his mouth to one side and a single dimple in his left cheek. Over the years, as he grew, she became accustom to seeing him age six months at a time and came to see his smile as the same lop-sided grin she had found so endearing in Ron. Fighting her own natural reluctance, she managed to hook up a web cam and talk to her parents and Hugh, finally feeling once again part of the family.

It was hard to be so far from everything she knew but when she was offered a summer fellowship at the University of Michigan she once again wrote home, telling her father of the great opportunity that would not come her way again. Put off by his response suggesting that she take a year off from her studies and come home, only to receive word of his death a week later.

She caught the first flight home, rented a car and drove home, twice avoiding a near collision when she attempted a right turn. Having driven for the past years in the States it was hard to accustom herself to driving on the opposite side of the road. As she pulled up in front of the house, she wasn't surprised to see her mother step out with a weak smile, one hand holding Hugh's and the other reaching out for her daughter's.

I had been a hard week that turned into a long month. When Hermione returned to the States, where she had been forced to surrender her fellowship, she attempted to throw herself back into her work with the same abandon she had felt before. This time it was impossible. She couldn't forget her mother's hug at the airport, or the hollow sound in her voice. She couldn't forget the way Hugh sobbed at night or the quiet sound of the sitting room without Dad's sports channel blaring from the telle.

By far the largest blow came a few months later, this time catching her in the middle of the night shift at County General where she was putting in her time in their intern program. The telegram had been short and to the point.

Jean Granger died at 6:02 am. Your presence required.

This time no one greeted her at the front door. No one offered her a weak smile and a tender hug. This time Mary opened the door and stood stiffly to the side, indicating with a jerk of her head that Hugh was in the sitting room.

"Hey kid-o" Hermione said, setting down her suitcase.

"Our Mum died," he said, silent tears welling in his eyes.

"I know," she choked, squatting down in font of the sofa and using the pad of her thumb to wipe his eyes. "We're going to be fine."

"I want my Mum."

"So do I," she sighed. "So do I."

"I told him she was with his Dad," Mary said from the doorway. "Didn't I Hugo? Didn't I say that your Dad wanted to see her?"

Hermione looked at Mary over Hugh's head wanting to tell her to shut up and not to put foolish ideas in a child's head but held her tongue. Pulling back just far enough to tip up Hugh's face, she kissed his forehead and tried to smile.

"I'm sure she wanted to stay with you. Now, what would Mum tell you?"

"That… that… I don't want to," he sobbed.

"Come on kid-o. Say it for me. What did she say when Dad left?"

"That if we believe in God we shouldn't cry when someone dies. That we should be happy for them. But I'm not."

"I am. I am sorry for myself…and for you…and because she's not here...but I'm happy for her." Gently removing his arms from around her neck, she stood and looked around the room. Vases of flowers lent a suffocating fragrance to the room and piles of condolence cards littered the end tables. "Mary, have any arrangements been made?"

"She is where your Dad was. I thought she would want the same thing. You know, just family."

"Thank you." Hermione nodded. "Hugh? You know it's almost midnight?"

"Mary said I could wait up for you."

"I know, but I'm here now. What do you say you sleep in with me tonight?"

"I'll let my self out," Mary said as Hermione took Hugh by the hand and started up the stairs.

That night, she lay with her son in her arms for the first time she could remember. Once he was sleeping she let the own tears fall to the pillow, not sure if she was crying for herself or for the little boy whose life had just changed forever. She wondered what she would have felt if they had died when she was only eleven. Only eleven, she thought. Who would have taken her to the train? Who would have been waiting with open arms each time she came home? Who would have been there for her and who would she have wanted to run to so badly that she forgot all else?

She rose up on her elbow and studied Hugh's face, wondering if she could do this wondering when that maternal instinct she had read and heard so much about would catch hold.

A/N: The story is now in tandem. From here there will be only the present story. Short of making these first seven chapters into fifteen I took the route of doing entire flashback chapters. Hope it was not confusing. Thanks.