Fallout

"Sister? I thought you were an only child?" Hermione's mother said.

"Only in this world."

"You were a Squib?" Hermione asked.

Her grandmother frowned at her. "Yes. My parents held out hope that I was just latent well past the point it should have been obvious that I didn't have any magic. I was sent to live with the Muggle side of the family when I was nine."

"Nine?" Hermione was horrified. She'd been under the impression that the children were exchanged as infants or toddlers.

"My sister was five years older than me. She'd already gone to Hogwarts. I think my mother couldn't bear the thought of an empty nest."

"Can we go sit back down?" Hermione's mother said. "I think we all need to sit down." She went back into the parlor. Hermione and her grandmother followed her and resumed their seats from before.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. If her grandmother knew who her family was, why had she never told Hermione she had family in the magical world. If she'd been allowed a relationship with them when she was younger, she wouldn't have felt so behind when she'd gone to Hogwarts. "I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me I have family in the magical world? For that matter, why haven't they contacted me? It's not like people don't know who I am. My face was plastered on Wanted posters all over the place."

"Wanted posters?" Her grandmother said with some alarm.

"I was a criminal a couple of years ago," Hermione said dryly. "Not to worry. There's a painting of me in the main hall of the Ministry now. I mean, it's really the three of us, but I'm featured prominently, which is why I don't understand. If I have family, why they haven't reached out?"

"You're a Granger not a Wright. I'm sure they don't know you're related to them. You were a criminal?" Her grandmother looked accusingly at her mother. "Did you know that?"

"Not until long after the fact," her mother said, frowning at Hermione.

"How does a criminal get a painting in the Ministry?"

Hermione shrugged. "These things happen, but I don't understand why the magical side of the family doesn't know I'm related to them. Isn't the whole point of this tit-for-tat thing to keep families together?"

"Hardly," her grandmother scoffed. "They kick you out of the only world you've ever known and send you to live with people you've never even met before. Then the strangers tell you how grateful you should be for all the opportunities you'll have. You never see your real family again."

"And yet you agreed to take me when someone presumably did the same thing," her mother said.

"Of course, I did. I'm not a monster. I wasn't going to let them dump you in some orphanage when you could be raised by blood. Your father and I couldn't have children. You were a gift, no matter what your origins."

"So, am I your sister's daughter then?"

"No. She married a shopkeeper, but they don't have children."

"How do you know that if you don't have contact?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't say I didn't have contact. I said I never saw them again. My sister writes occasionally, although it's been a few years, which why I wanted to see the list."

"What about your parents?" Hermione asked.

Her mother looked at her. "Seriously? Mum is seventy-five."

"Right," Hermione said. "Her parents might not even be a hundred yet."

"Oh, right, I forgot you lot live forever," her mother said, rolling her eyes.

Hermione frowned. "Not forever, but a hundred and fifty isn't unusual. So, Gran—"

"They're dead. Died in the last war." Her grandmother clenched her hands tightly in her lap and looked away from them.

"Oh," Hermione said, crestfallen. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Wait," her mother said. "Who are my parents to you then?"

"Your father was a cousin of mine, Landen Wright. He married a Muggle woman."

"They're on the tree," Hermione added.

"What tree?" her grandmother asked.

"The one my husband's great aunt made for me, but it only shows my direct lineage. It doesn't show how all the arrangements turned out for the Wrights."

"Oh," her grandmother said.

"Which brings us to the obvious question. Why wasn't I exchanged?"

"I never told my sister you were born. We used to write a lot more frequently, but I mostly stopped after you came along, so the family wouldn't know. I didn't want them pressuring Monica to give you up and believe me, magical children are so rare, they would have."

"I would never have given you up," her mother said, reaching for Hermione's hand.

Her grandmother shook her head. "You say that, but they can be very persuasive. You can do a lot with magic."

Hermione's mother looked stricken. Hermione squeezed her hand, knowing she was thinking about having her memories taken and being sent to Australia. A wave of guilt rolled over Hermione. "This has to stop. We need to do a better job for families in both worlds."

"I agree," her grandmother said. "But I don't know what we can do about it. It's been going on for centuries."

"All the more reason it should stop. I'm going to speak to some people and see if we can fix this mess."

Her grandmother looked at her. "What could you possibly do?"

Hermione was taken aback. No one had questioned her determination in a quite a while.

"Did you miss the part about there being a painting of her in their Ministry," her mother said. "She's a witch of some note, despite her youth."

Her grandmother looked at her. "And apparently a criminal."

"Only during the war," Hermione said. "When we prevailed, my record was expunged. And because of my activities during the war, I do have access to people who could help."

"Huh," her grandmother said, and then a slow smile spread across her face. "I would love for my sister to know that."

"I wish I knew who she was," Hermione said.

"Scrivenshaft. That's her husband. He owns the—"

"Quill shop! I go there all the time. I buy writing supplies there. Are you telling me I've been buying quills from my great aunt for years and never knew? She's a very nice witch, and she makes the best quills. Her husband makes the ink and parchment, but she does the pens. My favorites are Magpie quills, and she's the only one who makes them. She always lets me know when they're available."

"Well, I'm glad you like her," her grandmother said sourly.

"Is that bad?" Hermione said, confused.

"No," her grandmother grumbled. "No. I just wish I could see her so easily."

"So why don't you?" her mother asked.

"That's impossible. I haven't seen her in decades."

"I could take you to Hogsmeade," Hermione said.

"No. If I go with you and tell her who you are, she'll be furious."

"What? Why?" her mother asked.

Hermione sighed. "Because, by the family rules, I should have gone to her."

Her grandmother frowned, but nodded. "She and I haven't had significant contact since you got pregnant, Monica."

"Oh," Hermione's mother said. "I…you cut yourself off to protect me?"

"Of course, I did," her grandmother snapped. "On the off chance that you produced a magical child, I didn't want them coming after you. Wen had an air of Squib about him, and I thought you two just might have better odds than most." She looked at Hermione. "And I was right."

"You sacrificed so much to protect us," Hermione said. "Why haven't you spoken to me for the last seven years."

Her grandmother frowned. "Because you just…you were so excited that first Christmas home from Hogwarts. Just like my sister had been. All you talked about was the magical world and how great it was. And then when you didn't come to your grandfather's funeral, I thought, I'd sacrificed so much for you to stay with our family, and there you were, disappearing into their world."

"But Gran—" Hermione started.

"Don't say you didn't," her grandmother scolded. "Monica and I might not talk much, but we do talk. Your trips home got shorter and shorter. I knew it was inevitable that you would disappear into the magical world entirely one day. I tried to make Monica understand, but she was angry at the suggestion. She said it was just a phase. And then they disappeared. I knew that must have been down to you somehow. You didn't even tell me where you sent them or why. You never bothered to offer to send me too. Selfish. You're a selfish girl."

Hermione blinked back tears and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought you were estranged. They were in so much danger being connected to me, and I couldn't convince them of that. Parents of Muggleborns were being murdered. I had to send them away. I didn't think it would have much of an impact on you. You two barely spoke."

"Not much of an impact?" her grandmother said angrily. "She's my only daughter and you just took her away without so much as a note."

"I couldn't send you a note, Gran. That would have just drawn attention to you. Better that you be the estranged Muggle grandmother with no contact. Of course, if I'd known you understood so much of the magical world, I would have told you what was happening. I would have enlisted you to help me convince Mum and Dad to go, but I thought…I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Stop," Monica said. "Just stop. This isn't Hermione's fault. She was a seventeen-year-old girl having to make adult decisions to keep her loved ones safe. She didn't have all the information and that's your fault, and you and I didn't sort out our issues, and that's our fault. She did the best she could at the time. I won't have you berating her for it not being a perfect solution."

"I should have come home more, stayed longer. Gran's absolutely right about that." Hermione said, wiping away tears. "When you were gone, before I figured out how to bring you back, I regretted every day that I hadn't spent more time with you and Dad, when I had the chance."

"Please," her mother scoffed. "You were living your life and there's nothing wrong with that. You're supposed to go out into the world and be your own person. We knew you loved us and that you'd come back eventually. And you have. And you've brought us a lovely son-in-law too. So, don't you feel bad, don't you feel bad about any of it."

Her grandmother still seemed very upset. Hermione considered the situation and thought about her exchanges with Madam Scrivenshaft over the years. She looked at her grandmother who was staring disconsolately out the window. "I think it's possible your sister already knows who I am," she said tentatively. "Or at least suspects."

Her grandmother looked at her sharply. "What makes you say that?"

"Because, thinking about it, she gives me special treatment. I get discounts no one else gets. I'm sent a personal note when she has Magpie quills available. She always keeps a small amount of walnut ink in stock because she knows I like it. Ron always says she treats me special, because I like expensive quills, and I go through so much parchment, but what if it's more than that?"

Her grandmother shook her head. "How could she know? I've never mentioned you to her, not once."

"Before Mum got pregnant, did you ever send photos of her to your sister?"

"We used to exchange photos every Christmas, why?"

"Every time I meet someone who knows Mum, they comment on how much we look alike. Mum gets the same thing every time she's in my world. If your sister noticed the similarity, she could've cast any number of spells to see if we're related."

"If she knows, why hasn't she said anything?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. It's possible we have a communication problem in our family."

Her mother snorted back a laugh.

Her grandmother frowned. "But if I say something, and she didn't know, she'll be so angry."

"All right, but then you explain yourself, and you work it out."

Her grandmother huffed. "You make it sound so easy."

"It may not be easy, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Isn't it worth trying to get the family back together? We could have proper holidays. We could have days out. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"As if," her grandmother scoffed. "Like you have any interest in spending time with us."

"Mum," her mother said defensively. "We see Hermione every week, sometimes more than that. She and Ron have dinner with us every Wednesday. Sometimes, she and I go have our nails done or go to a play or a concert."

Her grandmother didn't seem to believe that. "You come into the Muggle world that often?"

"Sometimes," Hermione said. "Sometimes, they come to me. When we have our nails done it's at a place that caters to both worlds. It's possible, Gran. It's not always easy, but it's possible."

Her grandmother shook her head. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Hermione and her mother exchanged glances. "Think about it, Mum," her mother said.

"Please," Hermione added. "I'd be happy to speak to your sister on your behalf or to bring you to her so you can speak for yourself. Just think about it."

Her grandmother nodded.

"I think we should go," her mother said. "It's been a long day and we all have a lot to think about."

Hermione nodded. "If you don't mind, I'm going to call Purdy to come and get us. I'm exhausted, and I told Ron I wouldn't push it. I've done an awful lot of magic today."

"Of course, darling, whatever works best for you," her mother said.

"Who is Purdy?" her grandmother asked.

"A house elf—"

"My sister's best friend used to have one of those," her grandmother said with delight. "I can't believe you own one. I thought only purebloods had elves."

"I don't own her. She's a free elf. She works with me and makes my life infinitely better, but if she were to decide she was sick of me tomorrow, she could go."

"Really?" her grandmother said. "A free elf. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well," Hermione said firmly. "If I have my way, they'll be more and more common."

"Huh," her grandmother said.

"Purdy?" Hermione called.

The little elf appeared a moment later in a sparkling white tea towel. "Yes, Miss?"

"Purdy, do you mind taking Mum and I back to London?"

"Purdy doesn't mind, Miss."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "We can take Mum home first. Oh, I'm sorry. This is my grandmother, Honoria Wright-Acton."

"Hello," her grandmother said.

"Hello, Miss," Purdy said.

"Mum, I'll call you tomorrow," Hermione's mother said, kissing her mother's cheek. Hermione stood awkwardly, unsure as to how she should say goodbye.

"I'll think about what you said," her grandmother told her.

Hermione nodded. "Good." She looked at her mother. "We should go." They each held one of Purdy's hands as they disappeared from Essex.

xXx

Hermione got home late that night. Her father hadn't been home when they'd arrived with Purdy, so she'd stayed to keep her mother company, until her father returned. When she Apparated into her foyer in Heathgate, she could see Ron had fallen asleep on the sofa while listening to a Quidditch match that was still playing. Crookshanks was curled up next to him. The cat lifted his head when she came in and let out a meow in greeting. Ron woke at the noise and looked up.

"Hey," he said sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Half eleven," she said, leaning over the back of the sofa to stroke Crookshanks head.

Ron turned off the radio.

"You don't have to turn that off on my account."

"Nah, I don't really care about that match. It's not the Canons playing." He stood and stretched. The hem of his T-shirt rode up exposing a strip of skin above his trousers. Hermione smiled. "So how did things go with your Gran?"

"Weird."

"How so?"

She could feel tears threatening again. "Could we talk about it in the morning? I'm just exhausted right now."

"Sure." He stepped around the sofa so he could hug her. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. "What can I do?" he asked.

"Could you take me upstairs and make me forget my day?"

He smiled at her. "Of course. I'm always happy to roger you, you know that, you don't have to ask."

She chuckled. "You say the sweetest things."

He kissed her neck. "I really do."

She laughed in earnest at that.

"Come on," Ron said, taking her hand. "Let's go to bed."

She followed him upstairs.

xXx

Later, as Ron snored softly beside her, Hermione lay staring at the ceiling. She had hoped to fall into the same blissful, post-coital sleep Ron was enjoying, but alas, her mind wouldn't stop racing. She kept constructing points to make in conversations with McGonagall and Shacklebolt. Eventually, she gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs to compose letters requesting meetings.

xXx

The next morning when Ron woke, Hermione was sleeping soundly beside him. He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. Gathering his clothes, he went down the hall to shower and change in the other bathroom, so he wouldn't wake her. When he went into the kitchen to get breakfast, Purdy was up and making eggs and toast. "Good morning, Purdy."

"Good morning, Mr. Ron."

He opened the door for Crookshanks to come in. When the big Kneazle-cat cross came in, Ron said to him, "Hey, Hermione is asleep, so don't wake her when you go up." The cat looked at him with understanding yellow eyes and slipped upstairs.

xXx

Across town, Wen Granger was also getting ready for work. He was tired and cross. Monica had tossed and turned all night, so he hadn't gotten much sleep either, but he had a meeting with someone from the National Health, so he couldn't be late. He sighed as he knotted his tie. Generally, his wife did that for him. It was a little quirk of hers. Monica liked to fix his tie. She'd also insisted Hermione should learn to tie a half Windsor, a full Windsor, a four-in-hand, and a bow tie, so when Monica hadn't been available to tie his tie, Hermione did it. He looked at his sloppy knot in the mirror. It would have to do. Wen shook his head and looked back at his sleeping wife. She was a weird one, but he loved her. She'd been very upset coming back from her mother's house, too upset to really tell him what happened. He sighed again and went to pour himself a bowl of cereal.

xXx

When the meeting with Basil Sutton-Johnson from the National Health Service was over, Wen was struck with a wild idea. The meeting wasn't far from the Leaky Cauldron. He was walking out the door before he'd really thought through his plan. He needed to see Hermione and get her take on what had happened at her Grandmother's house yesterday. He didn't want another night of a despondent wife, who gave half answers to his questions until she broke down in tears. It took him less time to find the unassuming, faded purple door than it did the last time he'd looked for it. He boldly walked into the rundown pub. The same man with the pony tail was wiping down the bar with what looked like the same dingy rag. There was another man asleep in the corner. The barkeep looked up when Wen walked in.

"I need to see my daughter. She's through there." Wen pointed to the battered door that led to the magical side of the pub.

The bartender eyed him. "You're Granger's father?"

Wen nodded.

"Hang on." He stepped behind a curtain and Wen waited. A moment later, he returned. "Go through."

Wen opened the door and stepped into a completely different establishment. There wasn't an empty table in sight and a large tea pot and several pitchers of ale and juice floated through the air filling cups and glasses for the lively crowd.

"Oi," a man called to him from the bar.

Wen walked over to him. "It's the rush," the man explained. "And Hermione's not here."

A small elf appeared behind him. "You are the Granger's father, sir?"

"Uh, yes," Wen said. "You're a house elf?"

"I'm a free elf, sir," the elf said proudly.

"Oh," Wen said. "Hello. What's your name?"

"Poppin, sir. I can take you to the Granger."

"Come on, Poppin," the publican said. "We're slammed."

"It will only take a second," Poppin replied. "It's the Granger's father, Mr. Bert."

Bert sighed. "Fine, go on then, but please make it quick."

The elf held out his hand and Wen took it. A moment later, they were standing in an outdoor courtyard. Hermione was sitting at a table having lunch with a woman Wen didn't recognize. They were chatting amicably when Hermione looked up. "Daddy?" she said, standing with some alarm. "Poppin? What's happened?"

"It's alright," Wen said. "Poppin brought me from the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch."

"No," Hermione said. "That's fine. Thank you, Poppin," she said to the elf.

"Yes, Miss," he said and disappeared.

"Um," Hermione said to her father. "This is Sylvia Goldman. She works in the office next to mine. Sylvia this is my father, Wendall Granger."

"Ah," her father said, reaching out to shake Sylvia's hand. "Do you work with house elves too?"

"Heavens no," Sylvia said, smiling. "I work with goblins. There are days I regret that choice though. It's lovely to meet you. I hate to run off, but I have a meeting I need to get to."

"I understand," Wen said.

"I'll see you later," Hermione said.

"Righto." Sylvia drew her wand and Disapparated with a soft pop.

Wen looked at Hermione. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

Hermione smiled. "Have a seat. Can I get you some lunch?"

"That would be nice. I've been in meetings all morning."

"What would you like?"

"What are you having?"

"A lamb sandwich and some potato soup."

"That sounds perfect."

Hermione flicked her wand and the remains of Sylvia's lunch disappeared and were replaced by a clean place setting. She picked up the plate, told it her father's order, and set it back in front of him. A moment later, his lunch appeared.

He smiled broadly. "Wonderful." He picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her father swallowed and took a sip of water. "When I got home last night your mother was very upset. I understood that she was upset about what happened at your grandmother's house, but she didn't really want to talk, so I'm short on details. She'd had quite a bit to drink by the time I got home, and she was listening to Tori Amos."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's not a good sign."

"No. Certainly not."

For the next hour, they ate their lunch and Hermione explained the previous night's events. When she was done, her father sat back in his chair and sighed. "Now I feel like I need a drink."

Hermione nodded. "I could get you an ale—"

He waved her off. "No, no, I'm fine. I just wish this whole thing weren't so complicated. I think your mum feels rather like rubbish her family was sifting through trying to find gold."

Hermione hated that her mother felt like that. "I know. But the other way to look at this is, that Gran loved her so much, that she stopped all that by cutting herself off from the only family she had."

Her father nodded. "That is a good way to look at it."

"The other thing to understand is that I've already sent letters out to set up meetings so we can start talking about this as a culture and stop doing these things. Families need support, not shame and misunderstanding."

Her father smiled at her exactly as he'd done when she was a child and achieved any small goal. "Of course, you have."

"I actually have a meeting with the Minister of Magic in about an hour, and I'm meeting with the headmistress of Hogwarts tomorrow evening after work."

Her father raised his eyebrows. "My goodness, you work fast."

"I happen to know both of those people fairly well, and I've got a bit of cachet since the end of the war, and my success in front of the Wizengamot. I might as well use it while I've got it."

"Indeed." Her father fiddled with his soupspoon.

"I'm hoping I can get something going to fix this mess, so I can show Mum and Gran that it won't always be like it is now."

Her father nodded. "An admirable goal."

"Maybe, but it won't really fix their situation."

He sighed. "No."

"I wish Gran would consent to at least let me talk to her sister, or better yet, let me take her to Hogsmeade, so she can speak for herself."

Her father nodded. "I'm sure that would be good for your Gran." He looked around at the people popping in and out of the courtyard.

"But Mum is your primary concern. Mine too. I'm just not sure what I can do to help there."

"I'm not sure you can do anything in that regard. I think she just needs time to sit with all this and put it into perspective."

"I guess." She hated that her mother was so upset and wished there was more she could do.

Her father looked at her and smiled. "Since I'm here, do you have time to show me that painting of you before you go to your meeting."

Hermione smiled. "Sure."