The Wizarding World of Harry Potter are the property of JK Rowling, from whom I'm just borrowing them. I'll put it back how I found it, maybe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was only by catching herself on the back of the chair she'd been leaning on that Heather managed to keep from falling on her arse. Hermione's sudden appearance after months of being gone had been about the very last thing she'd expected to happen. "What…how…when…" she stammered, staring at Hermione, who was still glaring sternly back at her. Hermione's jeans and shirt were well worn with travel, and Heather thought she looked thinner than she had been when she'd left, but that could be due to the insufficient lighting in the dark kitchen. One thing was certain, Hermione was very tan.
"I just got into Heathrow thirty minutes ago," Hermione explain, setting her suitcase down next to the doorway and slowly approaching Heather. "I sent you an owl three days ago, but from the sound it you probably weren't even aware of it." If there was scorn or condemnation in her voice, Heather didn't catch it. She had pulled herself back upright but hadn't moved. The joy she had momentarily felt at seeing Hermione was replaced by cold dread.
"How much…" she began hesitantly.
"Do I know?" finished Hermione across her, arching an eyebrow. "About everything. Ron met me at the airport."
Heather grimaced, both at the thought of Ron and knowing that he would have told more far more than Heather might have wanted him too. "Damn traitor," she muttered louder than she had intended to.
"Ron's not a traitor." Hermione said wearily, pulling out a chair and lowering herself into it. "And you're going to apologize to him and everyone else here tomorrow."
Heather began to splutter in indignation. "I will not!"
"Yes." Hermione leveled a cool gaze at her that brooked no argument. "You will. Those people are your friends, and from the sound of it you've treated them like rubbish today." She held up a hand to forestall the tirade about to escape Heather's lips. "I'm not saying you don't have a reason to feel what you do, but they were right to cut you off and once you actually sober up, you'll see that."
Heather grumped and lowered herself into a chair. "Fine. I'll apologize."
"Good." Hermione replied cheerily, dropping the chilliness in her voice. She reached out and held Heather's hand. "It's so good to see you, by the way."
"Same to you," Heather grunted. She was happy to see Hermione, really, but the thought of apologizing to Ron, not to mention her still throbbing headache, had blunted that happiness considerably. "What took you so long?" She hadn't meant for the question to come out like that and regretted the rough phrasing instantly.
Hermione eyed her coolly but brushed it aside. "Well, Australia's a big place to look. It took me almost a month just to track down my parents."
"But, you did find them?" Heather asked quickly.
"Oh yes, they had moved to Perth, a city on the west coast of the country and had started a dental practice under the assumed names I'd given them." A shadow crossed Hermione's face and she didn't continue speaking for a long moment. "It took…some convincing, even after I was able to return their memories before they were really sure who I was. Dad got pretty violent there for a second."
"What happened?" asked Heather hesitantly.
"He slapped me, said I was a sick, horrid girl for making up stories." Hermione muttered. "I could see when it all returned to him, because he let me go and started crying."
Heather was on her feet in an instant and was moving to console her friend. "Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry."
"It's alright," Hermione said quietly. "He's apologized for it a hundred times now, but still…"
"Yeah," Heather replied, not sure what to say next. She was alleviated the need to reply by Kreacher's reappearance carrying a bottle of firewhiskey.
"Mistress," he moaned morosely, bowing and presenting the bottle to Heather.
She looked at it for a long moment before taking it. Every fiber in her being cried out for her to rip open the seal and drink. Her hands trembled. Kreacher still had not risen from his bow. Heather let gravity drag the bottle downwards until it hung limply next to her leg.
"Kreacher…I'm sorry." She muttered to the back of the elf's head. "I shouldn't have snapped at you; you didn't deserve that."
The elf looked up, his black eyes quavering in terror. "Mistress has no need to apologize to Kreacher. Kreacher tried to defy an order from Mistress and should puni-"
"No. You are not going to punish yourself." Heather said flatly. "You were trying to take care of me." The words Ron had flung at her earlier now stung in her ears in a much different way. "I don't want you to punish yourself for that, or anything, ever. In fact, you are forbidden to punish yourself, got it?"
Kreacher bowed again. "Yes, Mistress. Does Mistress or Miss Granger require anything else?"
"Not right now," Heather said. She watched the elf lift his hand, preparing to apparate away when she stopped him. "Kreacher, thank you," she said.
"Of course, Mistress. Kreacher is always happy to serve." With a crack, he was gone.
Heather set the bottle down on the table heavily and sat down. Her body was still screaming for her to open it, but the desire was farther away now. The look in Kreacher's eyes had driven home just how far she had truly fallen. She couldn't ignore the craving, but she could stop it from controlling her, at least for the moment. Hermione was watching her closely. "You going to drink that?" she asked.
"N…no" Heather stammered, tearing her eyes away from the bottle. "No, I'm not."
"Good." Hermione said, reaching across the table and snatching the firewhiskey. In a fumbling, unpracticed motion she whipped the stopper out and took a tentative sip.
"Oy!" cried Heather, who thought this was very unfair.
"You listen here, Heather Potter," Hermione said, pointing at finger at her, "I haven't had a drink in months, and I need this." She took another sip before sliding the bottle back across the table at Heather. "So, I'm going to make you a deal. You get one night, here and now, with me, to get as pissed as you want, because I need that. The catch, tomorrow you sober up for good. Understood?"
Heather eyed the open bottle warily. Before she knew it, the rim was touching her lips and liquid warmth was pouring blessedly down her throat. "Hey, don't drink it all!" shouted Hermione, making a grabbing motion with her hand.
"Hold on," Heather said, standing up and walking towards a cabinet. "I've got glasses, we don't need to be drinking this like savages." She extracted two cups and rinsed them in the sink.
"From what Ron tells me that hasn't stopped you from acting like one," Hermione jabbed.
"Maybe not, but here I was thinking you were a high-class witch. Guess I was wrong." Heather shot back, setting the glasses down on the table and pouring each of them a healthy measure. "So, what happened with your parents?"
Hermione stopped laughing and considered her drink. "They, well they weren't happy." She said slowly. "It was days before they would even speak to me. I kept coming around hoping they'd changed their minds, but it was slow going."
"They wouldn't talk to you?" Heather asked incredulously.
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Dad was furious, and Mum just couldn't cope with it. Of course, once they did speak to me, they both said a lot of things they regretted later, but still. They came around after a while though."
"Did they come back with you?" asked Heather when Hermione stopped speaking.
"They said they weren't ready," Hermione said in a deadpan before throwing back the contents of her glass. "They said that after what I had done to them, they didn't know if they wanted to be around me anymore." She poured herself another round and threw that one back as well.
"That's awful," Heather said.
Hermione laughed bitterly. "Oh they blamed you too, and Ron. Said that if I had had better taste in friends than this wouldn't have happened. They claimed that I abandoned them for the wizarding world the moment my letter from Hogwarts arrived. And you know what, they were partly right. After all, how many summer and Christmas breaks did I give up spending time with them to help you." There was bitterness now in her voice that rocked Heather to her core.
"Hermione…" she whispered, not trusting her voice not to break.
Hermione looked up with watery eyes. "Oh, no! I don't blame you, Heather. My situation with my parents isn't your fault, I'm sorry. I've been dealing with this all summer by myself and for a second I forgot where I was. No, Voldemort was coming back no matter what and…" she stopped and stared deeply into Heather's eyes. "You're still blaming yourself for all of that, aren't you."
Heather was no longer sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. She had been transported to the graveyard of Little Hangleton, watching as her comrades were struck down one by one. Then she was in the basement of St. Oswald's. The next moment she was standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, watching the fighting everywhere. On and on the visions went until a warm hand slid into hers.
"Come back to me, Heather. You've got to come back to me." It was Hermione, and her voice, now laced with warmth and comfort, brushed aside the images flashing across Heather's mind until her eyes could focus on her friend's face again. "Where were you, Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.
Heather nodded numbly. "And Little Hangleton, Upper Flagley too."
Hermione looked confused. "Upper Flagley? What do you mean? What happened there?"
"I thought you said Ron told you everything." Heather said.
"He told me the important things. Is Little Hangleton where he got hurt?" Hermione asked.
Heather nodded again and started speaking. Once she started, she found that she couldn't stop. Whether it was the firewhiskey that had loosened her tongue, or just that Hermione was finally back, Heather found herself divulging everything. Every event, every feeling, every thought she had had since Delores Umbridge's trial, the good and the bad. Her throat quickly became sore with constant use, but she pushed on, not knowing when or if she'd be able to open up like this again. The bottle lay empty and forgotten some distance away.
When Heather at last fell silent, Hermione sighed heavily. "So what are you going to do?" she asked.
Heather looked at her miserably. "What can I do?" she asked. "I've already told McGonagall that I'm not coming back, so that just leaves sticking it out at the Ministry."
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Sticking it out? If you have to describe being an auror, what used to be your dream career as 'sticking it out,' then you need to do something else."
"It's not that simple," Heather began to argue but Hermione cut across her.
"You know, if I hear you tell me that one more time, I'm going to slap you, Heather. How many times do we have to go through this? Do you want to keep working for the Auror Office?" She eyed Heather closely. "Be honest," she said, pointing at Heather's heart.
It took far less time for Heather to answer than she had expected. "No," she whispered quietly. "No, I don't. I can't…I'm not st-"
Hermione pounded a closed fist on the table. "None of that. You are strong enough to do anything, and I think that in time, and with some help, you could be a fantastic auror." Her words stung, and Hermione saw it, so she pressed on, "I didn't mean it like that. Heather, with everything you've gone through in the past few years, it's amazing that you're still standing. You are not weak for saying that you can't keep fighting."
"But…then who's going to protect…" Heather stammered.
"Protect who? Everyone? No one person can protect everyone, Heather, though Merlin knows you've tried throughout the years. We all have to take care of ourselves, just like we've always had too. And you've made sure that we can. Please don't take offense at this, but when are you going to realize that the whole world doesn't revolve around you?"
"I..I never," Heather objected, but Hermione cut her off again.
"Not like that, of course not, but what with the prophecy and what Dumbledore left for you to do, it's understandable that you can't shuck the idea that you have to save the world. But you don't," Hermione dragged her chair towards Heather's and put an arm around her. "The world will go on spinning perfectly fine without Heather Potter out there carrying on the good fight, all right? It's ok to say you've had enough, and to take the time you need to deal with who you are now." Heather was crying slowly into Hermione's shoulder now, but these were not the tears of desperation or self-loathing that had plagued her for days. "Your entire life you've been forced to let others define who you were, from Dumbledore, to Snape, to Voldemort. Even Sirius had his part to play in that. Well, they're all gone, and you're still here. So let them go. Be who you are, not who anyone else expects you to be."
"And…what if I don't know who that is?" Heather asked quietly into Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione chuckled softly, jostling Heather's head on her shoulder. "Heather, you are eighteen years old. You have your entire life to figure that out. Welcome to being an adult. Believe it or not, we're all dealing with that in some way or another."
Heather sniffled loudly and let out a small laugh. "So, I guess I'm quitting, and then what, going back to school?"
Hermione shrugged. "That's not up to me to decide. From now on, the only person who gets to decide what you're going to do is you. With one exception," she held up a finger sternly.
Heather had to think for a second before she sighed. "Fine, yes, I'll apologize to Ron and everyone else." She lifted her hands in surrender.
Hermione's face relaxed. "Good, now, can I stay here tonight? I don't think I'm up to a huge midnight welcome at the Burrow, and I sort of don't have anywhere else to go."
Heather staggered to her feet. "Course you can. Come on, you can bunk in Sirius' room. It might be a bit dusty but we can make it work." As they climbed the many stairs up to the fourth floor, drunkenly laughing and only just managing to keep each other upright, the other residents of the house relaxed. If Heather was laughing again, it was surely a good sign.