Echoes Erased -1 Year Later:

"We're fighting blind, we'vebeenfighting blind" Kingsley began, his deep voice resonating in the tense silence. "And while we've managed to hold onto a few safe houses, the Death Eaters are getting bolder. They're not just targeting Muggleborns and dissenters anymore. They're after anyone who even looks like they might be resisting."

After the past year of violent attacks and all around standstill progress for the order, they were growing tired. They were short on supplies and they needed to mobilize their troops in more effective ways. The plans to go looking for Horcruxes had been postponed with the Sirius' funeral as well as efforts to assist targeted muggleborn families and prominent "blood-traitor" families

The words hung in the air, and Hermione glanced at Ron and Harry, feeling a swell of unease. She couldn't help but think about her parents. They were less safe than she thought, she was hoping that perhaps the order would be able to hide her parents for her, but after hearing all about the dangers for muggleborns their presence here, at this very house, could be putting everyone at risk and putting themselves even more at risk.

"I need to get my parents out," Hermione cut through the silence, and all of the heads turned toward her, expressions ranging from confusion to concern.

"What are you suggesting?" Harry asked cautiously, breaking the tense quiet.

Hermione took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she looked between her friends. The weight of what she was about to say felt crushing, suffocating.

"I think… I need to Obliviate them," she whispered, her voice tight with pain.

There was a stunned pause, followed by Ron's immediate, "What? Hermione, no! You can't—"

"It's the only way," she interrupted sharply, but her voice wavered. "The Death Eaters will come for them. I—I can't leave them defenseless. If they remember me—if they know who I am—they'll never be safe."

Harry stepped forward, his face etched with worry. "Hermione, there has to be another way—maybe the Order can—"

"No!" she cried, louder than she intended, startling them both. She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing herself to remain calm. "I've thought about this. I've thought of every possible way. This… this is the only option. If I Obliviate them, they won't know who I am. They'll think they're someone else, and they'll go far away. It'll keep them safe."

Silence fell again. The enormity of what she was planning seemed to hang in the air, choking them all. Ron looked pale, his eyes wide as he stared at her in horror.

"But… you'd be erasing yourself from their lives," he said quietly, his voice strained. "They won't remember you. You'll be—"

"Gone," Hermione finished softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Yes. They won't remember I ever existed."

"But… you're their daughter," Harry whispered, as if saying it aloud could change the reality of the situation. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hermione looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes that shone with unshed tears. "No," she said honestly. "But I have to."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive silence heavy around them. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, Hermione straightened, her face hardening with resolve.

"I have to do this," she repeated firmly, as if trying to convince herself as much as them. "If I don't… I'll never forgive myself."

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Hermione wandered out into the cold, biting air of the London streets. The journey felt surreal, like a dream she couldn't wake up from. The streets blurred past in a haze, the familiar sights of her childhood a cruel reminder of everything she was about to lose.

Finally, they stopped outside a modest house on a quiet street. Hermione stared up at it, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. The lights were on in the living room; she could see her mother's silhouette through the curtains, moving around in the kitchen. Her father's voice floated out through the slightly open window, a low murmur that made her chest tighten.

She took a deep, trembling breath. This was it.

, Hermione steeled herself and walked up the garden path.

Her hand shook as she raised it to knock on the door. A moment later, it swung open, and her mother stood there, smiling warmly.

"Hermione, love! What a surprise!" Mrs. Granger stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. The familiar scent of her mother's perfume hit her like a punch to the gut, and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing.

"Hi, Mum," she managed, her voice breaking. "I… I'm sorry I didn't call first."

"Nonsense, you're always welcome," her mother said lightly, pulling back to look at her. "Come inside. Your father's just made tea."

Hermione stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloping her. Everything was just as she remembered—the photos lining the walls, the faint smell of her dad's pipe, the familiar creak of the floorboards. It felt like coming home.

And she was about to destroy it.

"Dad?" she called softly as she entered the living room.

Mr. Granger looked up from his newspaper, his face lighting up when he saw her. "Hermione! What are you doing here, darling?"

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "I—I just wanted to see you both. I—um, I missed you."

"Well, sit down, then," he said cheerfully, patting the sofa beside him. "Tell us everything."

But Hermione couldn't sit. If she did, she would never get up again.

"I… I just…" She faltered, her heart pounding. "I need you both to know how much I love you."

Her mother's smile faded, concern creasing her brow. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mum," Hermione whispered. "I just… I need to do something. Something to keep you safe."

"Keep us safe?" her father repeated, confused. "Hermione, what are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, her voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry."

And before they could react, she raised her wand.

"Obliviate."

A soft, silvery light glowed at the tip of her wand, and her parents' expressions went blank, their eyes glazing over. Hermione felt the magic wash over them, gentle and insistent, erasing every trace of her from their minds.

Their memories, their love, their lives—everything that connected them to her—faded away in a heartbeat.

When it was done, she stood there, trembling, her wand still raised. Her parents blinked slowly, their expressions puzzled as they looked around the room.

"Wendell?" her mother said uncertainly, glancing at her father. "What… what were we doing?"

"I—I don't know, Monica," he replied, frowning. "I… I feel like we were… waiting for something."