Granger Yet
Tumbling

"You're kidding, right?" Hermione stared, her mind telling her that must be the truth.

"I'm not."

"It can't be, though!" Hermione took a deep breath, staring at her mother wide-eyed. "I mean, dad always told me to be true to myself, yet you're telling me he did the exact opposite of that! I mean, I don't know how many times he told me not to change who I am simply because someone else tells me that I'm wrong for being myself, only for him not to take his own advice! It doesn't make sense."

"Except he did take his own advice," Hamlet Granger said, continuing to lean against the kitchen counter, frowning, glaring at Mr. Weasley, making it clear that he was very unsure of the Wizard in their presence while Hermione looked at her uncle, confused regarding how he could say such a thing.

"Mrs. Granger?" Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. Hermione turned her head to look at the red-haired wizard, feeling somewhat nervous with the direction the conversation had gone, particularly since she couldn't think of a reason off the top of her head why her father would keep such a thing from her.

"Yes?" her mother smiled, speaking softly, yet there was—as Hermione turned her head again so she could look at her mother to try and gauge the situation better, a definite glint of worry in her mother's brown eyes.

"You mentioned something about your husband not returning home, that things didn't go as planned. Does his leaving yesterday have anything to do with what's happening in the Wizarding community right now?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Hermione stiffened, sitting up straight. "That's not possible." In some ways, she felt like she did on the train her first year, telling Ron that his spell to turn his rat yellow wouldn't work, that Fred and George had tricked him. "I'm the one with the subscription to a Wizarding paper, not my parents, so he can't know!"

And then came the silence that made Hermione even more nervous; there was no getting around how she could see the adults in the room becoming nervous. Mr. Weasley opened his mouth only to decide he'd instead sip his tea as if debating how to say something. As for her family, Hermione watched her uncle look at the ceiling, still against the counter, while her mouth glanced away, crossing her arms.

None of the adults said anything—that might have been what made it click that there was a way, a way that made Hermione's stomach churn as the only way was, in her mind, a worse nightmare. Her voice tightened. "Mom." Olivia Granger turned her head to look at her, attempting to smile. "Please tell me dad's not a Death Eater. Please."

"Former Death Eater." The words made her startle, partly because she'd not expected anyone to add that caveat to the title, but what surprised her even more was how those words came not from her mother or her uncle. Instead, they came from Mr. Weasley, who was frowning. "What kind of trouble is your husband in?"

"Family trouble," her mother said.

"Family trouble," Hermione's voice strained. "What kind of family trouble could dad possibly be in? And why aren't you more concerned, mom, that you married a Death Eater?" Hermione swallowed. "Is it because you don't know what that means, being a Death Eater?"

"More than you do," her mother said firmly, making Hermione swallow, feeling like she wanted to cry, not understanding how her mother could so easily betray her like that—for it felt like a betrayal.

"Mom! Death Eaters torture and kill Muggles! They torture and kill Muggleborn! I don't understand why you would marry him knowing that!"

"Because he's a wonderful dance partner and has a cute butt," her mother said.

"Mother!" Hermione felt her face flush up, her eyes darting over to look at Mr. Weasley, unsure of how he would react; raised eyebrows from the Wizard in the room were within her expectations, but not her uncle, suddenly letting out a chuckle as if her mother's response amused him. "Be serious!"

"Why did I fall in love with your father?" Olivia let out a hum, coming over and sitting at the table. She placed her chin in her hands. "Because your father is your father."

"That's not an answer," Hermione said, closing her eyes and leaning forward so she could cover them with the palms of her hands.

"He's not a bad person. Really, he's not," her mother said, her voice sounding as if she were pleading with Hermione to not—Hermione wasn't sure, beyond the fact what she was hearing was the worst nightmare she'd ever in her wildest dreams dreamed of.

"Not my dad. Not my sweet-natured dad." Definitely her worst nightmare. Hermione muttered, "He lied. He lied to us."

"Sebastian?" Her uncle let out a chuckle. "Sebastian's a horrible liar. What you see is what you get, though he can sometimes be a bit standoffish."

"Standoffish?" Mr. Weasley let out a laugh. "That wasn't my perception when we talked."

"Proof that dad's lying, isn't it? If his perception of dad doesn't match how my dad is." But then, it hit her that Mr. Weasley was laughing. "But dad really isn't approachable."

"Oh, I did see that," Mr. Weasley said, the tension in the room breaking while Hermione didn't understand quite why. Her father, after all, had just been revealed to be a Death Eater while her Muggle family members, her mother and uncle, didn't bat an eye, which honestly disturbed her. "That's not what your uncle meant by standoffish, but it wouldn't surprise me if he'd never shown that side of himself to you kids. I mean, given where that would have come from."

"Where what would have come from?" Hermione stared.

"From being a Pureblood, if I'm not mistaken," Mr. Weasley said, resulting in a buzz in Hermione's head as she tried putting everything together, or perhaps her brain was trying to let everything sink in as it had for Mr. Weasley. And it felt odd, given how she'd seen him go at Mr. Malfoy. "That's what you meant by family trouble. But I think he wouldn't have gone back if he didn't think it important?"

"Yes, but as for details," Olivia frowned. "He said—honestly, I couldn't follow him, beyond the fact I think it has something to do with whatever trouble he got into sixteen years ago. And I know something happened because he'd promised he'd be right back."

"You don't trust your husband's family."

"Hell no. And we're his family," Hermione's uncle said. "Let's make that clear. The very fact he had to go back, I don't like it."

"Sixteen years ago," Mr. Weasley mused.

Hermione buried her head again, knowing she'd be turning sixteen soon, but for once, she didn't want to ask questions. Instead, she tried to pretend this wasn't going on.

"You were saying you wanted my help," Mr. Weasley said. "But how?"

"I honestly don't know. I mean, I have a slight idea of what I want to happen, but it's a little hard given we don't know where he is, and you wouldn't either. But you do know he's back. That person that leads the Death Eaters?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley said. "I don't know how to tell you this, but there was an incident at the school."

"Hogwarts? But Hogwarts is supposed to be safe from all that," her mother tensed up. "It's supposed to be safe."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, normally. I mean, as safe as anything dealing with magic can be."

"Hermione!"

She flinched, not sure why her mother was upset.

"I know enough about magic from your father to know that not all magic carries this risk you just prescribed it to have, and Lizzy is having a hard enough time dealing with wrapping her head around the idea of magic without you being as non-nonchalant as you are! But I don't remember your father or me raising you to be that brazen about things that could harm you!"

"She's actually the voice of reason," Mr. Weasley said.

"Most of the time."

"Hermione!"

"Please. Don't upset your mother any more than she is, kiddo," her uncle said. "That said, what did my niece mean by normally?"

"A teacher infiltrated the school," Hermione blurted out. "I mean, a Death Eater infiltrated the school by pretending to be a teacher that they kept locked up in a trunk."

"Is that even," her uncle started, only to sigh. "Never mind. It's obviously possible."

"A safe place," her mother muttered. Hermione watched her mother away from the counter before leaving the room, coming back with a duffle bag, her fingers twisting into the handles.

Hermione tensed. "Mom. What's that?"

"Your dad's things."