A/N: Took a little break yesterday. My hand hurt, I had to go to an eye appointment. Normal things. This popped in my head this morning, clear as day. Review, please!! XOXO

She was just as she had remembered that day. Dressed in something she had just bought so that they couldn't associate their past life with this new one. It was a bright blue summer dress, it made her look ten times younger than she did when she worried about her. Her father was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. On the floor by the TV, there was a pile of clothes and things as big as a small car. The couch was a warm shade of tan, the carpet white. She stepped away from the Professor, towards her mother. The woman opened her arms and she collapsed into her. She was so warm, so alive. Her father sighed and stood.

"Hermione, if we could help you in any way...we would."

She felt compelled, as though she were a puppet with a set script. The words were forced out of her mouth. It was almost like acid in her mouth, burning her tongue and making her sick. She had said these words in all confidence, truly believing she had chosen the right path. She had been so preoccupied with saving Harry, helping be his support and in turn abandoned her parents. She had given herself totally over to a cause they might not have even succeeded in, foolish kids running around in tents, hiding from a far more powerful wizard. A man that had years and many experiences on them. But regardless of the outstanding circumstances, she had gone along with the plans, had let herself be carried away in the quest for the Greater Good. She didn't regret it, not one iota, but she wished she could have set these things aside long enough to think properly. But she hadn't, she hadn't thought properly--if at all.

"No, Dad. It'll be safer for you somewhere far away."

Safer? As though even her brains back then couldn't tell her there was no way to outrun death. Even Voldemort, who spent his life trying to outwit the invisible force, had failed. What chance did two simple muggles have? Her mother smiled at her, the thing that used to be comforting, just sent daggers through her heart. This would be the last time she'd see them. This was the last place they had been together. This moment was frozen in her mind, the last seconds of their lives with her. Of her life with them. Were they in heaven watching her? Were they happy with her? Could she keep them here? Could she change this? Her mother spoke.

"We trust you, darling. If this is the best option, and you believe it will work, then we support you. Just don't forget about us, alright?"

The woman's smile had lost it's happiness and Hermione cried. But tears never came and she didn't shake with sobs, that wasn't part of the scene, she couldn't break character. She felt like she was choking, needing to mourn but being unable to. Of all the things to have to relive. She had to relive the moment she condemned her parents to death. Maybe if they'd gone into a safe house like Harry's family. Magic could have protected them, but she just had to be sure, she had to be right. Because of her they are dead. Her mother comforted her by laughing.

"Whenever you're ready."

Hermione looked over to the pile of items and asked if they had placed all of their old belongings there. Her parents nodded. She raised her wand hand, holding onto a phantom wand and vanished it all. Gone were the clothes, the pictures, the knick-knacks, the reminders that both of them had existed. There had been family outings, holidays, special occasions, moments that were random but somehow important, all burned into little pieces of paper, stuffed into pretty frames. There had been dresses that told stories, suits that proud moments had occured in, a tie that had saved the deal, a book that good advice had come from. Trinkets like the bracelet she'd made her mother as a five year old, with the stars and hearts. The funny paper hat she had constructed in her spare time before going on the train for the first time. Her father had taken to it and wore it in the house and car before every drive to King's Cross. She had disposed of it all, gotten rid of anything the Death Eaters could have used to find her parents, to coax her into giving information about Harry. All those years, all those moments gone. Their memory was gone.

The act she had just committed rocked her very foundation. She wasn't sure if she could stand anymore. She took in the pale brown walls, the warm tan carpet, the wooded floor that led to the kitchen where she had learned to make cakes, if not cook wild mushrooms and fish. The fridge where the little reminders of the places they'd been had once clung magnetically to the surface. The place they reserved for her at the table, even when she wasn't there, always on their minds and in their hearts. She looked to the right, past the couch and the TV, past the large glass patio door and spacious backyard, to the stairs. Their rooms lay up there, the places were they could feel most like themselves. Her room was up there, but if she went up the stairs she'd find just an empty room, full of nothing. If she went back to this house, she'd find it empty. If she found the strength to return to this place, she wouldn't be able to retrieve anything of theirs. They were gone.

Severus watched her interact with her family, watched her struggle to redo the memory, participate in something she wanted to change. He had never seen her mother or father. He had never thought of them. She looked like an exact replica of her mother, sans the color of her curls and the brightness of her eyes. She took those things from her father. The pile by the television was made up of mementos as well as clothing, bits and pieces that made up a person's impact on the earth. An old swingset was haphazardly placed on top, the red seat laying next to a stuffed teddy that had an eye missing.

Just as he had taken this in, the pile vanished. He watched her look around then sigh and gather her parents together, had them stand side by side like victims for the firing squad, and then she Obliviated them, filling their head with names like, 'Wendall Wilkins' and 'Monica Wilkins'. She told them about wanting to go to Australia for the entirety of their lives and that they had finally acted on it. They had gathered enough funds and already had plane tickets. She reminded her father that they were in his front jacket pocket. She told her mother their money was in a certain account, gave them the number. She told them that the taxi would be there for them and handed them the suitcases full of clothes and things she had just bought for them. She reassured them that the new buyers were trustworthy, a kind couple from Bedford who needed a home to start a family in. He saw the thought she didn't vocalize: to start a family to replace hers.

A honk was heard from outside and she stepped away from them, to the wood floor behind them and lifted their spell, Disillusioning herself in the same movement.

She watched as her parents seemed to place themselves, then smiled at each other and walked out the door, the sound of a trunk, then a door opening and closing the only noises from outside. After a second, the car pulled away. She was released from the spell, allowed not to be limited to just acting out what had happened. Her legs gave out and she hit the ground.

What was the purpose? What in that act had she accomplished? Sure, Voldemort never found them, never tortured them, but they still died, they still left her. She felt nothing, nothing but crippling pain. Why didn't she just hide them with magic? Was there something she could have done?

"You did what you thought was right. You tried to save them." He said, answering a question she probably didn't mean to let out.

She was caving in, much like he had when Lily hadn't forgiven him. She was sinking down into a self-blame that was hard to get out of. He knew this all too well.

"I didn't try hard enough. I didn't do enough and they died. It's my fault."

He didn't touch her, unsure how to comfort her. It didn't come to him as easy as it came to her. He was out of his element. He patted her shoulder after a couple minutes.

She took a breath and glared at the house surrounding her. She didn't want to be here. She closed her eyes and thought of the meadow, the trees and the odd colored grass, the cocoa as it slid down her throat. She thought of the smell of rain, the slow moving clouds, the moon that only came out because it had to. She visualized the fire, wishing she could throw herself into it and end this. Surely the pain of her flesh as it burned away could outmatch the all-consuming pain she felt now? But when she opened them, all she saw was the image of her parents, a picture in such an obvious place, forgotten. Her phantom wand was gone and she couldn't vanish it. She stood, brushing past someone. She could care who
it was. She picked the picture up softly, almost as though she was afraid she'd break it, the tarnished metal frame dull against the bright colors of the photo. She watched the completely muggle still photo, her mother mid-smile, her father laughing, and her in the middle, just the summer before she sent them away.

They seemed so happy, so alive and normal. Anger flooded through her at the irony that this, their happiest moment before death. Would it never end? She screamed, throwing the picture across the room. It smashed against the wall, a crunching, shattering sound as it fell then to the ground.

He watched her, her sadness, her anger. She was falling apart before his eyes and he wasn't sure what to do. She had been so helpful during his collapse and he felt like he couldn't repay her. All those years he had avoided things that required emotions, disengaging himself from the pain he had been tired of feeling. She had helped him confront his pain, deal with the loss, but his mind was blank as to how he was meant to do that for her. She threw the picture and the glass flew along the floor in a sad tingling song. She screamed again, then ran to the door, the taxi was gone though, he knew that. She paused long enough to wretch the door open so hard it smacked against the wall behind it, cracking the glass in the middle. Outside there was a road, long and silent, and she ran down it, crying. He followed, thinking of ways to calm her, bring her to the realization that she had brought him. She had opened his eyes, had shown him that once done, things could not be undone.

In retrospect you may wish you could do it differently, but the truth was that you couldn't and the point is to be able to deal with that fact. There was nothing she could have done.

"Miss Granger!!" he called, seeing she was running out of steam. Her trainer-clad feet slowing, her jeans moving up and down with her, the wrinkles on her black shirt as she held her face in her hands. She slowed, but took a deep breath before he could catch her and started again. There was a city in the distance, large and wild. Buildings reached up to the skies like flowers, apartments and condos, penthouses and office buildings. She wasn't going to run that whole way? Normal life was happening outside this little bubble, but there was no way you could tell. So much emotion was passing between them and they were beyond silly things like Professor and student. There was something more here, he knew this by the tugging of his heart in his chest as he saw her sobbing, unable to face the reality of the situation. "Miss Granger!" but she just seemed to ignore him. He growled, "Hermione!"

Her name from his lips like a best friends concerned timbre startled her and she stopped. She turned, her breathing ragged, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt physical pain and it felt good. This pain took away her other pain. The Professor was a ways from her, just coming to a stop in front of her. His breath was slightly labored, but it wasn't like hers. Then again, he hadn't been running and sobbing. Her throat was on fire.

"Don't do this." He said, grabbing her hand. "What good will come of this? They are gone. You did what you thought best."

Hermione shook her head, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She yanked against his hand, then, when it wouldn't come unglued, she scratched her nails against it.

He let her draw blood, not caring about it. She glared at him, her honey brown eyes draining of all feeling that wasn't anger.

"I could have put them in the Order's protection, but I just had to come up with a different way. I had to be right. I had to--I had to--" she sobbed and he pulled her to his chest, holding her.

She beat her fists against his chest, leaving a stinging pain. She cried and punched, wriggling. He held her tighter, ignoring her hits. Finally, when his chest was burning from the strikes and she had lost her energy, she grabbed him back. She cried and cried. He let her, not knowing what else to do. Suddenly, she pulled away.

"There was something I could have done, wasn't there, Professor?" she asked, looking like she was expecting punishment.

He shook his head. Looking in her eyes, he told her the truth. "You did all that you could. You did your best by them. It is foolish to expect that there was something else." She bit her lip. It was working. He continued. "You are a bright witch, you thought through all avenues and you chose the one most likely to work. It was out of your hands."

She took in his words. Was he right? Did she do all she could? Was this the right thing? Was there a right thing? He was holding her and she was distracted. She looked back up at him and sighed. Since when had he not been right? What use was she crying in an imaginary world? What was done, was done. She had known that from the beginning, she thought. She knew it was pointless and yet she did it anyway. She just loved them so much...she still loved them. She didn't think there was a day in her life when she wouldn't love them. But hadn't she told him to let go? Hadn't told him to hold on to the one he loved, but to let this moment go? Who was she to speak of things like that, then turn her back and ignore it? She resigned herself to the fact that there was no other option. She would have to just be glad in the fact that she had tried. Wasn't that all that mattered?

He knew he'd won because the scene dissolved. They were back in the fog. But this fog was different, it was thick like smoke. They ran, covering their faces. Soon they broke free, and they were in the meadow again.

But there was something wrong with this meadow. It wasn't the peaceful place it had been. It was dirty, mangled bodies laying here or there, pyres next to them, the pieces missing from the bodies being used as wood. The stench in the air was suffocating and he raised his hand to cover his mouth and nose. the grass was worn and ragged, the trees in various stages of disarray.

As they walked to where they had once been talking and drinking hot chocolate, a throne appeared and an all too familiar face sneered back at them. He turned to Hermione and she was looking at him in fear. At first he thought she didn't see the man in the throne, but then he realized she was disappearing.

He screamed inside. 'Don't leave me here alone!' but no words came. But just as she began to fade completely, her wild hair and worried, puffy eyes staring a hol into his, he called, "Hermione!".

She was walking with him, knowing what was on the other end of the meadow. It was only too obvious by the bodies. She felt odd, sort of light headed. She raised her hand to touch her forehead, but she never saw her hand. Her eyes widened, she was fading! She looked at the Professor, scared. She couldn't leave him here alone. He was about to face one his greatest foes and she was vanishing. She willed herself to stay, even as a voice flitted through her mind.

"Miss Granger's waking, sir."

She reached for the Professor and he called her name. She was trying with all her might to stay, but she kept getting pulled back. She opened her mouth to call him back but she lost sight of him and then she felt her body rise up. She gasped out, "Severus!", before her eyes opened wide. Harry, Ron, McGonagall, Pompfrey and Dumbledore were there, standing over her. Harry and Ron were frowning at her, ghosts of smiles on their faces. McGonagall and Pompfrey were looking at her with curious eyes. Only Dumbledore was looking at her soberly, his no longer twinkling eyes glancing at the man to her left. She grabbed the front of Dumbledore's robes, because he was closest.

"Put me back! He needs me!"

The man frowned at her in worry. "What...Miss--"

She pulled him closer, growling angrily. "Get me some of that potion, now!" Her eyes flashed like heat waves off the desert. "I need to help him."

Dumbledore looked at her and nodded. She let go of him and he walked to the Floo. She grabbed her wand off the side table and vanished the border between their beds. She moved hers until they were side by side. His face was scrunched, his mouth thin. She touched his hand and forced her mind into his.

"You hold on! I'm coming back for you!"

Dumbledore returned quickly. "We were afraid to touch it, but luckily we bottled some before vanishing the rest."

Hermione barely heard him. She uncorked the vial of bright blue substance and applied the salve to her head, the effect catching immediately. She reentered the dreamworld plane. But she was lost in the smoke-like fog. She coughed and cried out.

"Severus!"

He had watched her go and he suddenly felt alone. Through this whole thing, he'd had her by his side, and as much as he disliked admiting it, he needed her there. The resolve he'd had moments ago was gone...he felt utterly helpless. He willed himself not to look at the man in the throne, the man he'd had nightmares about, the man who tortured him, lied to him, betrayed him. But he wasn't to be ignored, the snake-man lifted his disgusting white head, smiling like a very rich man taking from the poor.

"Hello, Severus." Said his high pitch voice.

A/N: Just going to repeat the reminder on the top. :) Please REVIEW!!! L.O.L.= Lots of Love!! XOXO