A/N: Thanks so much for all of your support so far! 4 more chapters to go in this part, then there will be a short break as I catch up on my writing. I hope you enjoy!
Things are finally working out. It's about time.
Hermione smiled to herself as she rolled onto her back, her periwinkle lightweight summer blanket still covering her up to her neck. Glancing to her right, she caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue sky out her window, not a cloud in sight. All of a sudden, the summer seemed limitless. The sun shined brighter, the birds sang louder, and the flowers smelled sweeter than ever before.
After she and Ron finished their talk the night before, they ended up traipsing around the Weasleys' property for another couple of hours, continually finding new spots to sneak away for a quick snog. Or a long snog. Honestly, she was happy with just about any snog given how long it had taken for them to finally admit their feelings to one another. With all of the recent turmoil and upheaval, it felt like at least one confusing aspect of her life had clicked perfectly into place.
Which wasn't to say her stress evaporated like that. Her relationship with her parents still felt rocky at best. While they had been talking more recently and seemed to enjoy being back home, she still couldn't shake the feeling that they were having secret discussions about her terrible decision-making after she went to bed for the evening. The way their conversations came to an abrupt end when she entered a room set her on a permanent edge, almost to the point where she felt more comfortable outside of her childhood home than inside. It would take time…time and more than a little grace.
But still, for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt as though she had hope.
Hope. An interesting concept. One of the greatest lessons she'd learned over the last several years was the importance of having something to hold onto. Having a goal in mind, a destination at the end of the long and tortuous path. The road they'd all walked to make it through to the other side had been harrowing, leaving them all with scars that may never completely heal. Through it all, though, the prospect of a light at the end of the tunnel fueled their victories and helped them work through their setbacks.
For Hermione, that light revolved around one person: Ron Weasley. As if it wasn't enough to have to worry about staying alive while being at the center of the most dangerous war in half a century, she had to deal with constant heartache and longing for the man she loved as well. She'd put aside the most important relationship she'd ever wanted, ignoring the cravings she felt for Ron to try her best to help save all wizardkind. Over the past year, her heart had slowly crumbled, pieces being slashed out every time he was injured, whenever he wasn't by her side, whenever she had to minimize her own desires for the good of the mission…when he left.
His return to the tent had marked a moment of triumph, a moment of withheld elation and private celebration. Slowly, he had worked his way back into her good graces, proving himself again and again. She would never forget how safe she felt during the nights at Shell Cottage with him sitting by her side. Somewhere along the way, he'd evolved into the man she knew he could be, a caring and kind and loyal man, one she couldn't help but kiss for the first time in the heat of battle.
And when their lips had finally connected again the previous night, she couldn't even believe it was real for a moment. Everything she'd been dreaming of, everything she'd been holding herself back from was finally hers. Her mind was physically incapable of catching up with her body, almost leading to some extremely rash and hormone-fueled choices. While they didn't quite make it that far, though, it wasn't for lack of consideration.
The carpet was warm underneath her toes when she swung her legs over the side of the bed, preheated by the sunlight pouring through the bedroom window. Below her, she could hear the scraping of utensils against china, a sure sign that her parents were eating their normal quick breakfast before heading back to the office.
Perhaps she was just riding high on the events of the previous night, or perhaps she was buoyed by her newfound optimism, but she decided to try to catch them before they left for the day. As she came down the stairs and rounded the corner, they were both depositing their dirty dishes in the sink, heads huddled together and speaking in low whispers that she couldn't make out.
"Morning," she said, feeling a little less brave with them right in front of her.
A wave of nausea hit her square in the gut as they practically jumped apart, eyes wide as they both spun back toward her, papering smiles over their previously concerned faces. Her cheerful mood evaporated in an instant.
Not again…
"Morning, dear," her mother answered.
Her father skirted the table and kissed her on top of the head. "Any big plans today?"
"Not really. At some point, I'll have to start getting ready for school, but there are still several weeks until I have to catch the train. Is there anything I can do to help around here or at work?"
The look her parents shared could only occur between people who were so familiar with each other that words became unnecessary. An entire non-verbal conversation played out in front of her, after which her mother turned to her and shook her head. "Oh, we're fine, sweetheart. You've been so generous with your time these last few days, but I'm sure you'd like to spend time with your friends."
Their words were almost becoming patronizing. Hermione knew she hadn't been that generous with her time, still heading back to Grimmauld or the Burrow whenever she felt she'd won enough brownie points for the day. Though she logically knew she was probably imagining things, the way her mother said 'your friends' felt particularly acidic, as though they were somehow the root of her newfound deceptive ways. Her mother couldn't possibly blame Ron and Harry for her missteps, could she? And if she did, what did that say about her opinion of Hermione?
"Besides," Mr Granger added, "with everything you've done to help re-organize the office, there's really not that much left to do besides testing all of the equipment. And unless Hogwarts is teaching you dentistry, you're probably not going to be able to help with all of that."
He chuckled at his own joke, and Hermione offered a perfunctory laugh as well. "As long as you're sure," she said. "I'll try to tidy up around here before I leave, okay?"
"Only if you like," her mother replied.
"We'll be back from the office around six or so," Mr Granger said as he picked up his keys from the bowl by the front door. "Can we expect you for dinner tonight? I'm making my famous spaghetti sauce…"
Hermione nodded. "Of course, Dad. Sounds delicious."
"Perfect, we'll see you then!"
As her parents had left the house, Hermione peered out the window from a safe distance, making sure she was far enough back that they wouldn't be able to see her if they turned around. Tears started rolling down her cheeks as they climbed into the car, their faces once again serious as they buckled their seatbelts. Once they'd pulled out and sped off down the road, she collapsed onto the couch, hiding her face in the pillow and starting to weep.
When would things get better? When would she finally just be able to move on and have her normal family back? Would it ever happen? She wasn't sure if she could handle walking on eggshells around her family for the rest of the summer, always careful about what she said, always over-analyzing and second-guessing their assertions.
The tears eventually dried, and her shaky hand reached out for the wand she'd left on the coffee table. In her depressed state, she wasn't sure she'd even be able to hang on to a memory that was happy enough for the spell to work, and her voice was feeble as she flicked her wrist.
"E–Expecto Patronum."
An otter started to emerge from the tip of her wand before the wisps spluttered and died. She tried again, and once again she had no luck. Clearing her mind, she thought of nothing but Ron. The way his lips felt against hers. The way he held her in his arms. The way he comforted her in her darkest moments.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A translucent otter burst onto the floor, eagerly awaiting her instructions.
"Sorry if you're not up yet, but I'd really like to see you again. I–I'm kind of a mess and…well, just let me know."
The creature galloped away, flying through the wall and off in a westerly direction toward Devon. While Hermione waited for a response, she dried her eyes and set to work cleaning the kitchen. Scrubbing the stovetop, wiping down the counters, and mopping the floor did little to assuage her guilt, but at least she was paying a penance of sorts.
It didn't take long for a silver terrier to arrive at the house, its wagging tongue glinting in the sunlight.
"Of course, any time. You can apparate straight to my room if you like. I'll be there."
The kitchen didn't look perfect, but it was much cleaner than it had been. Making a mental note to return home before her parents to try to finish up, she wrung out the mop and deposited the bucket in the side closet before ducking out the back door.
A shed sat in the far corner of the backyard, just big enough for some gardening tools, a rusty old lawnmower, and one person to comfortably fit inside. Hermione had used it as her apparition point ever since she was of age. The door creaked as she swung it open, and she held back an encroaching lilac bush as she tucked herself into the small space.
Wand grasped firmly in one hand, Hermione picked up the metal watering can in the other and tossed it in the air, turning on her heel just before it hit the ground to mask the pop of apparition.
After a moment or two of stomach-twisting transport, her feet hit the fuzzy orange rug in front of Ron's bed, and her pupils narrowed to accommodate the sudden influx of light. Once they'd fully adjusted, she was able to appreciate the furrowed brow of her boyfriend waiting for her, his arms wide open.
Wordlessly, she fell into him, sobs reigniting in the safety of his embrace. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly as he whispered shushing sounds into her ear. Aromas of tea tree oil and cinnamon were embedded in his clothing, the familiar scent helping to calm her as they sat down on his bed. Ron left his arm around her and offered a supportive squeeze as she sniffed and blotted her face with a tissue.
When he spoke, his voice was raspy, like he had recently woken up. "What's going on?"
"I don't know." Hermione sighed, feeling a bit sheepish as she admitted her worries. "I wish things were getting better at home."
"Did something happen this morning?"
"Nothing big, I guess. Just more evidence that they're not being honest with me. As soon as I walked into the kitchen this morning, they tried to pretend like they weren't talking about me, but it was obvious that they were. I wish they would just say something."
Ron pursed his lips, his gaze flicking out the window. "Can…you know, can you say something?"
The groan slipped out of Hermione involuntarily, and Ron immediately began to backpedal. "Yeah, no, never mind. Right, bad idea."
"No, it's not a bad idea," she said, burying her head in her hands. "It's an intimidating and scary and aggressive idea, but it's actually quite smart."
He chuckled and patted her head. "You must be rubbing off on me already."
"Ron…" she complained, a smile still sneaking onto her face against her will.
"Sorry, not the time, yeah? Seriously, though, it might help, don't you think?"
"Maybe. Maybe we'll have a wonderfully productive conversation and air out all of our grievances, coming together stronger than ever before on the other side. Or they might just keep lying to me and telling me everything is alright when I can tell it's still bothering them."
"Never know until you try. Besides, have you ever wondered if maybe they're waiting for you to say something the same way you're waiting for them to say something?"
"Well, aren't they the grownups in this situation? Shouldn't it be their job?"
It sounded as ridiculous and petty as she knew it would, but she couldn't help but think there was a shred of truth in it. Even though she was the one who set everything in motion, parents are the ones who are supposed to help fix things. Right?
"Hermione, you've basically been a grownup from the moment I met you," he replied with a chuckle, quickly adding, "...in the best way possible, of course."
When she refused to crack a smile, he deposited a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. Before he could pull back, she reached up and grabbed the back of his head, yanking him toward her as their lips crashed together. While the kiss was firm at first, it evolved into slow, lingering, gentle kisses that filled Hermione's heart with hope again. The dichotomy between her delirious elation with Ron and her disheartening anxiety with her parents was dizzying, but the high highs she felt with him were like nothing she'd ever experienced before.
They finally pulled apart, and she settled with her back against his chest, both of them leaning back against his headboard. Their fingers weaved in and out of each other's, Hermione tracing the outline of his entire hand with her pinky.
"I don't know if I care for this new, logical version of you," she said.
"What can I say?" he responded, hugging her around her belly. "I'm essentially a Hogwarts graduate now. I'm just really…hmm, what's the word?"
"Erudite?"
"I was just going to say smart. Eryoo-what?"
The back of her head thumped against his chest as she laughed, craning her neck to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Nothing. And just a reminder, if you like, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would let you come back and finish seventh year in earnest. Don't forget, there will be at least one very helpful person around."
Even though she'd said it in a joking manner and knowing full well that Ron had no intention of returning to school, the resultant silence still gave her pause.
"Hermione…I really don't think–"
"Ron, I'm kidding! I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I was only joking."
"I…look, you know it's hard for me, yeah?" he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Especially now. Now that we're, you know…together."
"Right, I understand–"
"No, you don't," he interrupted, sliding out from behind her and climbing out of his bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced the floor. "I couldn't sleep last night. I was staring at the ceiling for hours trying to figure out what to do because I–I don't want to be apart from you for that long."
"The time will fly by; you'll see."
His eyes fixed on the window, staring intently at nothing in particular as they became red-tinged at their edges. "No, it won't. I've been apart from you before. Fifty-two days. And they were the longest, slowest, and worst days of my life."
Hermione stood up, suddenly realizing the root cause of his anxiety. She had tried to tell him time and again that she forgave him for leaving the tent, but it was easy to see how much it still weighed on him. There was no way she could allow him to have any doubts. Marching up to him, she stopped him in his tracks with a tight hug. "Ron, stop. You have to stop. This is completely different. And I promise, it won't be that bad."
"It will be. I don't think you…" He paused, shoulders sagging as he sighed. "I don't think you understand how long I've wanted this. You. Us. Years, Hermione. And now that we finally have that, the thought of you being a six-hour train ride away makes me sick to my stomach."
"You seem to be forgetting that you're a wizard," she murmured into his chest. "You can get places much faster than trains can."
"But you know what I mean, yeah? I know what you're like once school gets started. You work so hard that you don't have time for much else. And on top of classes and studying for NEWTs, you'll probably be Head Girl too. It makes me wonder where I'll fit in."
"Ron, you're making it sound as though you're just going to be sitting around doing nothing. You'll be busy too." She pointed to the nightstand next to his bed where a copy of The Dark Arts Outsmarted lay open, a few pages earmarked for reference.
"Oh. Right," he answered, his head tilting up toward the ceiling. "Yeah, maybe."
Pushing off his chest, she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "You will, and I bet you'll really enjoy the training. If nothing else, you'll get to spend a lot of time with Harry without having to worry about You Know Who."
"Harry's fine," Ron moaned as he flopped back onto the mattress. "But he's more interested in snogging my sister than being mates with me at the moment."
"Perhaps, but it's…new for them." Her lips curled up into a devious smile. "I imagine you could understand, especially given your new situation."
Leaning down, she dropped a slow, sensual kiss on his lips, pulling a genuine smile out of him.
"I imagine I could. With a little more explanation, at least…"
Wasting no time, she fell on top of him, her lips hungrily finding his as he wrapped his arms around her back. If the rest of their lives could just be what they had at that moment, she'd sign up in an instant. She giggled as his fingertips tucked under her t-shirt, skimming along the bare surface of her sides. In response, she deepened the kiss, correctly guessing that she'd throw him off his guard the further her tongue went into his mouth.
When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily, lying next to each other on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Ron flipped onto his side, facing her with a grin on his face.
"Good explanation."
"I rather thought so…"
"Anyway, I know I'm being a bit of a bugger about this Auror stuff, but…I don't know, I'm kind of excited about it. Sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" she asked, matching his position, their noses only centimeters apart.
"I should be, yeah? I mean, this is what I want for my career. At least I think it is…"
The look of concern on Ron's face gave Hermione pause, and she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "It is if you want it to be."
"I think I do." He shook his head, resolve creeping back into his glare. "No, I do. I do. Of course I do. I was good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, so it makes sense. Plus, as you said, Harry will be there, so…yeah, it's the right call."
"You don't sound so sure."
His brow furrowed, and he glanced away, biting his lower lip.
"You know," she continued, "just because you're good at something and it's your best friend's choice doesn't mean it has to be your choice. You should do what you want."
"I'm only eighteen. What if I don't know what I want?"
"Well, let's think about it. If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?"
"Easy. Snog you."
"Ronald!" She tried to admonish him, but the grin snuck through no matter what. "I'm serious!"
"So am I! As a horde of Dementors!"
It was hard to be too angry as she had to admit that he had a point. In fact, if she had her way, she couldn't think of much else she'd prefer either.
"Fine," she said with a chuckle. "But that's not a job."
"It should be. If it was, I'd be the best at it, don't you think?"
"You certainly would."
Their lips met again, having difficulty remaining pressed together as they both laughed.
"But besides that. You know what I mean. If there's something that interests you more, you should do it! I believe in you, Ron. I know you can do whatever you set your mind to."
"Yeah, but the Aurors want me now. They don't care that I didn't finish school. No other job would offer the same. Plus, did you know they start paying us as soon as training starts? I could start earning money in just under two months. D'you know how helpful that would be? I could help Mum and Dad. I could move out! I could even start saving for our house–"
He stopped, his entire face turning beet red. Hermione's insides squirmed at his near admission. The thought that he was already considering starting a life with her, moving in with her…it was too much to take. She smiled, inching forward and capturing his lips one more time, trying to show him how excited she was for a future together.
"I know. It sounds lovely," she offered, trailing a finger down his cheek. "But it would all be for naught if you weren't happy."
"I'm happy with you…"
"I'm so happy with you. That's only one aspect of our lives, though. I want all of you to be happy."
"I know. And you have no idea how happy that makes me. But the Aurors will be good. It's a good job…respected, rewarding, important for sure. And I do think I'll be good at it."
"You'd be great at it. I know from first-hand experience."
"I just think the idea of doing anything that looks or sounds like school is just depressing at the moment. I'm sure I'll be more excited when the time comes."
"I hope," she said, kissing the tip of his nose. "But…just don't forget that those of us who really care about you will be happy no matter what you decide to pursue. Because while I think you'd be a great Auror, there are plenty of other things you'd be great at too. It's all up to you."
"Thanks. I guess we'll see."
Pushing himself off the mattress, Ron stood up and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Now. What do you want to do today? Your choice."
"My choice, huh? Part of me wants to just stay here and kiss you all day," she responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her chest to his. "But it's a beautiful morning. Let's not waste it. Besides, I think a nice long walk out here would really help take my mind off of my parents."
Ron nodded. "Your wish is my command."
With one last peck on her cheek, he grabbed her hand, pulling her out his bedroom door and bounding down the stairs together.
The rest of the day was spent meandering around the Burrow, ducking into its many nooks and crannies to share kisses when possible. Throughout most of the afternoon, Hermione found she barely thought about the difficult task she'd set herself for the evening, instead focusing on the extremely handsome man consuming the present. It was exactly the kind of day she'd dreamed of throughout their years at Hogwarts when she'd harbored a half-decade-long crush on him, nothing but beautiful weather, no responsibility, and Ron.
Even when they absentmindedly wandered into the apple orchard alongside Fred's grave, Ron's eyes glazing over as they stopped in the middle of the path, she stood by his side and provided the shoulder he needed to cry on. It wasn't as though she'd been nervous to offer this sort of support to him in the days before they officially became a couple, but once he'd let her in, it went from feeling acceptable to feeling natural. She expected to be the person he could lean on in times of stress for the rest of his life, and it didn't scare her in the least. On the contrary, she took a certain pride in being able to help him, feeling closer to him than ever before when he displayed his vulnerability.
Eventually, though, the hour came for Ron to eat with his family and for Hermione to Floo back home. Mrs Weasley invited her to stay, of course, but Hermione turned her down, knowing that if she didn't get her emotions off her chest soon, they were liable to burst out of her in a much less productive manner. After kissing Ron goodbye next to the fireplace, she stepped inside, threw down the powder, and felt the familiar crush and twist of magical transport.
The floral print of the sofa came into view first as Hermione spun to a stop in her home fireplace. It was quiet; her parents weren't home yet. The clock read half five, meaning she should still have another thirty minutes until they arrived. As she utilized the time to tidy up the living room and sweep the floors, her mind started rehearsing all the things she wanted to discuss with her family.
No matter what she thought about, though, she kept coming back to the idea of simply begging for their forgiveness. Sure, she could outline the specifics of leaving them out of her decisions, forcing their hand without their consent, and risking all of their futures. But ultimately, what was done was done, and all that was left to do was hope that they could absolve her of her sins.
She had just put away the broom when she heard the sound of a car door slamming. Dashing to the window, she caught sight of her Mum and Dad approaching the front door, a bag of groceries in her father's hands. As the key slid into the lock, Hermione's fists balled up as she steeled herself, intent on holding herself together through the conversation.
"Good evening, Hermione," her father said cheerfully as he walked in through the door. "How was your day?"
"Yes, dear," Mrs Granger added. "Did you have fun with your friends?"
Steady. Keep it on the level. It won't help to be emotional–oh, who am I kidding?
Before she could even respond, Hermione's cheeks were wet with tears. "I–I…" she started, unable to make it any further before dropping onto the sofa in a torrent of sobs. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, sweetheart," her mother cried, rushing to her side. "What's wrong?"
"Did something happen, Hermione?" Mr Granger demanded.
Hermione took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her breathing and calm herself. "N–No, nothing h–happened. I just…I can't do this anymore! I feel like I'm a stranger in my own house! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I'm so sorry I tore our family apart!"
Her mother's forehead wrinkled with confusion as she picked up Hermione's hand. "What do you mean, darling? Of course you're not a stranger, and of course you didn't tear the family apart. Your father and I–"
"No, it's all true! And it's all my fault! I've done it to myself!"
"Hermione, we've discussed this," Mr Granger said sternly, earning a reprimanding glare from his wife until he sat down on Hermione's other side. "This wasn't your fault. You simply did what you thought was best."
"I know. But my best wasn't good enough, and now I've ruined everything! I uprooted your lives, I destroyed your business–"
"The business is fine–"
"I almost got you all killed–"
"We would've been killed if it wasn't for you–"
"And I kept you in the dark the entire time! I gave you no choice! I ripped you from everything you've ever known and–and you'll probably never trust me again! And you shouldn't!"
Her body shook as she cried again, and her parents remained silent, each of them rubbing her back as she wept. Nothing had changed. They were still saying the right things, but she could tell they didn't mean them. Was this ever going to end?
"Hermione," Mrs Granger finally spoke up, "I'm so sorry if we made you feel as though we still blamed you for this. I promise–we promise that–"
"Mom, stop! Just stop!" Hermione cried. "You're both being…too nice! Everything I did…it had to have bothered you. Please, just be honest with me. Yell at me, scream at me, ground me for heaven's sake, just do something besides be nice!"
"I'm sorry, you're upset because we're…not being mean enough?" her father asked.
She sighed, shaking her head. "I've seen you talking amongst yourselves when I walk into a room. The conversation ends quickly every time. I'm not stupid, Dad. I know what conclusions to draw. Some things still bother you both about what happened, and you not saying them is a hundred times worse than you just…getting them out in the open!
"So please. Please tell me what you really think. We can't go on like this, skirting the topic every time it comes up and keeping things bottled up. I won't be mad. Honestly, it'll be a relief."
As she gazed down at the coffee table, eyes slipping in and out of focus, she could feel her parents having another of their wordless conversations behind her. It was obvious what was happening in the silence, and she could only hope her plea was enough to finally get them to explain themselves.
"Well," Mrs Granger said in a meek tone, "I suppose…oh, I don't know, I suppose it would've been nice if you'd told us ahead of time."
Mr Granger nodded. "Exactly. We're your parents, Hermione. Sad as it is for us to admit at times, you don't need us that much any longer. But in that situation, it seems like you did need help, and we would've absolutely been there to help you if you'd only asked."
"Part of me wanted to, believe me," Hermione replied. "But…it's not your world. You wouldn't have had any idea how to help."
"Perhaps not," her father continued, "but we could've at least tried. For you, Hermione, we would always try."
Hermione's mother placed a hand on top of hers. "It might be hard for you to understand until you're a parent yourself, but believe us when we say we would do anything for you, Hermione. Anything. And for you to not give us the opportunity…it hurt quite a bit."
"We try not to bring it up too much, Hermione," Mr Granger added, "but…well, for a long while, we've both felt as though we were raising you…incompletely. Your mother and I never want to worry you and never want to make you feel as though you can't be yourself around us, magic and all, but we'd be lying to say it hasn't been difficult to navigate."
"What d–do you mean?" Hermione squeaked.
"Well," her mother started, her tone soft and almost forgiving, "We're not magical people, and you are. And that's wonderful and exciting and we love that it's part of your life, but since it can never truly be part of our lives, it's left us feeling a bit left out. For heaven's sake, Hermione, you left home at age eleven, swept off to a world we knew nothing about to teachers that taught you skills we could never hope to understand. Long before we were worried about all of the dangerous situations you seemed to wind up in, we were…we were scared we'd lose you completely."
"You'd never lose me completely, Mum. I promise. Never."
"We know that now, but at the time…"
Mr Granger cleared his throat. "Imagine you were in our position, Hermione. You're a parent, and one day a strange looking fellow shows up and tells you your daughter has special powers and can cast actual magical spells. What would you have thought?"
The idea of Professor Dumbledore showing up in Hampstead Garden Suburb did seem quite odd, and she could only imagine her parents' surprise. "I suppose I would've thought he'd lost his mind."
"Exactly! And once we knew he hadn't, it was even scarier! We sent you off to school with no way to help, no way to support you…they didn't even have telephones to stay in touch! It was as though–" he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "It was as though you were someone else's responsibility after that. As though our child-rearing days were over, and all we could do was watch from the sidelines. That kind of helpless feeling is not easy to recover from."
Of course Hermione knew that she couldn't have told her parents what her plans were. They would've tried to stop her at every turn. Even knowing that she'd taken the only realistic option available to her, their words still cut to her heart like a knife. When she decided to go to Hogwarts, she did so knowing that she was drastically altering her relationship with her parents forever, but at the time she was so excited about the prospect of learning to be a witch that she didn't care.
Years later, however, it became easier to realize just how much she'd eliminated their role in her life. She'd been making decisions on her own for years while at school, but that didn't mean her mother and father didn't still care deeply about the outcome. Once a parent, always a parent. It was the first time she'd truly considered it from their perspective, and a fresh wave of shame washed over her when she realized what she'd done.
"I'm sorry," she implored them. "I didn't…I never really thought about that at the time."
"Hermione," Mr Granger said, his tone still soft and soothing. "Your mother and I believe in you. We do. But there's a big difference between allowing you to live your life as you see fit and allowing you to alter ours."
"I know. I'm so sorry that I didn't–that I couldn't ask you."
"But you could have! If you'd talked to us and explained the situation, we could've done what we needed to do in order to protect you and protect ourselves!"
"That was the problem, Dad, I couldn't accept your protection! I had a role to play, and I knew you wouldn't let me play it if I said anything!"
"Setting aside the fact that you were underage, how do you know that we wouldn't have been helpful?"
"Because you wouldn't have had a way to protect yourself or me from them! It just wouldn't have been possible!"
Mr Granger stood up, growing more animated by the second. "I'm sorry, but that's inadequate! There had to be something someone more senior than you would've been able to do. The head of the school, the leaders of the government, somebody! The thought that these decisions fell to a seventeen-year-old girl and her schoolmates…"
"I wish there was, Dad! But at the time…nobody knew who they could trust…"
"Dear, put yourself in our position! Our daughter–our only daughter–facing mortal danger by herself in a world we know nothing about. Telling us nothing about it. Erasing herself from our memories! What if something had happened to you? What if we never remembered you existed? What if…what if…"
His eyes welled up, and he turned away, unable to continue. As he paced around the room, Mrs Granger took her daughter's hand. "Hermione, it's hard for a parent to feel unneeded by their children. It happens to us all at one point in time or another. But you can never reasonably expect us to stop caring about your safety and your well-being. It's just not possible."
"I'm aware of that, Mum," Hermione said, wiping the accumulated moisture from her eyelids. "Believe me, I am. Now more than ever. I can only hope that someday you'll understand my choices and understand why I felt I had to make that choice on my own."
The room again fell silent. Mr Granger stopped pacing, settling in the armchair across from the sofa. He cradled his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, pinching his eyes together in exasperation. A tingling feeling shot up Hermione's arm as her mother massaged her hand. Even though it didn't feel like they were making much headway, at least they were talking. It was progress.
"Do you think you'll ever be able to trust me again?" Hermione asked, scared to know the answer.
"Hermione." Richard Granger's eyes were fixed on her, and even though they were exuding pain, there was warmth and caring as well, and she found it more reassuring than anything. Unlike before, she could tell that he was finally being completely honest. "We never stopped trusting you."
"Really?"
"Really. Even though we don't agree with your decision, and even though we wish we were included in it at the time for any number of reasons, we never doubted that you had our best interest and the best interest of this family in mind."
It was the first time he'd expressly stated it with such certainty since she'd found them, and his admission meant the world to her. Of course that had always been her primary aim. All of their safety was the only thought going through her mind when she decided to change their memories. In her darkest moments, she'd let herself doubt that they believed that, wondering if they simply found her to be selfish and arrogant. Knowing that they had faith in her was so comforting.
"Thanks, Dad. I'm really glad you understand that."
"Of course we do. You're our daughter." Pulling himself to his feet, he stepped over toward the rest of his family, hugging Hermione as he sat down next to her again. "Our wonderful, brilliant daughter. But it's because we find you so wonderful and brilliant that we would have been devastated if anything had happened to you and we hadn't done everything in our power to try to help you."
"I understand."
"Sweetheart," Mrs Granger chimed in, "believe it or not, we're not seeking control over your life. We know you're fully capable of handling yourself. But the thought of being permanently on the sidelines is a difficult pill to swallow."
Images of the last year flashed before Hermione's eyes. Duels with Death Eaters, narrow escapes, frigid nights in the tent with nothing to eat…if she were the parent of a child who made such reckless decisions, she'd be beside herself as well.
"I never meant…it was never my intention to shut you out completely. I was just think–thinking on my feet, trying to keep you safe."
"And by the looks of it, you've done so marvelously. Now, nothing can erase the past, and as far as I'm concerned, it wouldn't do to dwell on it. But now that we…understand each other's fears and motivations a bit better, next time, let's just have a little more transparency, shall we?" Mr Granger suggested.
Hermione nodded, a smile creeping onto her face. "That's fair."
"The last thing we want," her mother added, "is to deprive you of the magical life you so naturally embrace. As sad as we were when you left home for Hogwarts, we also both realized that you'd finally get the chance to live the life you always deserved to live, a full and rich and complete life that took into account all of your many skills and talents. We simply want to be aware of what's happening, even if it makes us scared or worried for you. No more rash decisions, hmm?"
"I promise, Mum. If I'm more open with you about my life and its implications for you, please promise me that you'll be honest with me as well. No more huddled, private conversations. Please tell me what you're thinking. I can handle it."
Her father extended his hand, and Hermione shook it. "You've got yourself a deal."
She sighed, the final knot of tension finally evaporating from her shoulders. "Good. Now, can I ask one more favor?"
"Anything."
"Can you please…punish me? Send me to my room, tell me I can't go out for a week…something. "
"As in…you'd like us to ground you?"
"Something like that. I deserve much more."
"I think I have a better idea," Mr Granger said, his lips curling into a devious smile. "Remember when you were young and I'd make you chop up all the vegetables for the bolognese sauce?"
"Yes…"
"If I recall, you rather hated it."
"I did…"
"Well," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen, "it's bolognese night. You've had a pass for the last, oh, I'd say seven years. But I'd say it's about time for you to start helping out again."
A chuckle escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around her father. "I think you're right."
"In that case, young lady, apron on. Sharpen your knife. You know the routine."
"Aye-aye, captain."
"And Hermione?" her mother added, rubbing her back. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For…everything. For your honesty. For keeping us safe. For being, as your father said, your wonderful, brilliant self."
Turning toward her mother, she hugged her tightly as well. "Anything for my parents."