Dawn crested over the roofs of the neighbors' houses, banishing the darkness in a halo of orange light. Hermione stood at her bedroom window and watched the sunrise on a new day. One full of possibilities to make different decisions than the last…
After everything that had happened the last seven months no one in their right mind, who knew the truth, could blame her for wanting to go with her parents to Australia. If she was any other girl it might have been an option. But, unfortunately, she was Hermione Granger.
Mudblood.
Traitor.
And an all-around horrible person.
If she hadn't been such a close friend of Harry Potter, she would have gone without a second thought. As it was, he depended on her (and Ronald) while the wizarding world relied on him. A beacon to rally behind, The Boy Who Lived was the sole reason Voldemort hadn't taken control of the entirety of Wizarding Europe yet… Which ensured her caste's continued survival.
It was a symbiotic relationship. She kept Harry from the more detrimental consequences of his questionable choices, like death. He gave hope to thousands just by breathing. In turn, they didn't allow genocidal maniacs to take power and hunt her down like a pig for slaughter. Yes, it was quite beneficial for everyone involved.
Other than Voldemort and his cronies, of course. Considering the stakes, she couldn't find it in herself to feel bad for them though. They were the ones who thirsted for her dirty blood. She would rather be left alone to wallow…
He hesitated. The reminder of Harry's description of the conversation before Dumbledore's murder did nothing to make her feel better. It changed nothing.
She still had to follow the plan.
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Her mother flipped over in her sleep and sighed softly, completely oblivious.
The red glow from the alarm clock set a sinister element to Hermione's well-intentioned actions. She raised her wandhand, ignored the silent screech that caused her trembling and cast the complex string of memory charms.
Every bit of it was as horrible as he had warned. She had to scour the past nineteen years worth of memories for the simplest mention of herself. The things she witnessed were tortuous. From the heart-wrenching worry over her demeanor the last few days to the pride at her first cries. Nothing could go untouched.
It felt like it took eons to find the memory she remembered her father telling her about once when she complained about her name...
"One day I am going to marry you!" A version of her father that Hermione had never met smiled wistfully over the bowl of ravioli in front of him. Care and wrinkle-free, his eyes sparkled under his glasses, indicating he'd had too much to drink.
"Oh please! You barely know me." Her mother, nearly thirty years younger, shook her head in exasperation as she sat across the table.
"I know that you are brilliant. I haven't laughed this hard in ages. I know we share the same passion for good oral hygiene. A hard ask only you can appreciate, mind you." He gestured to her face and almost knocked over his glass of wine. "And you're beautiful... A true Helen of Troy."
"My name is Jean, Mr. Smooth-Talker." Her mother teased with a smirk on her face.
Her father ignored the jibe and picked up her hand before proclaiming, "What more could a man want? Other than our very own Hermione..."
Also tipsy, her mother melted. And it was clear that this was the moment she had fallen for him. The moment she saw their forever. All of his promises displayed in her mind like a movie. Their wedding. The house with the white picket fence. The children. It had taken their future daughter much longer into the relationship in comparison... But she knew the feeling. She had dreamed of it almost every night since. Of them... She knew the tips of their babies' fingers and toes. She knew the youngest boy would favor his maternal grandfather and wear glasses. She knew their daughter would have her father's piercing glare.
Hermione blinked from her reverie as their conversation moved on and did the spell that brought a reproduction of the flashback into a physical form. The same long threads from when Dumbledore took Trelawney's prophecy from her were pulled from thin air. She carefully maneuvered the mist into the concentrated ball of previously stolen memories, bright as a miniature sun due to the number.
"Reducio." The mumbled shrinking charm siphoned the mass until it was no bigger than a pinhead, which she then hid inside the white-hot center of a flame from the candle that was lit to set the romantic mood. There was little more she could do to hide the truth from any intruders.
Already exhausted and a little nauseous from the more grotesque scenes of amour she'd had to witness, Hermione commenced with the harder part of her venture... Converting the woman who had cuddled all of her childhood hurts and loved her unconditionally into a stranger.
Once finished, she turned to her father and went to begin the process again but choked on a sob. The strangled sound woke him. His dark eyes snapped open and an instinctual fear drove out the sleep-induced haze as he realized someone was standing in the darkened shadows of his bedroom, "...Her…Hermione?"
"Good morning, Daddy. I just wanted to tell you that I love you." She whispered, her voice thick with grief.
"I love you too." His declaration was automatic. There was no sign of hesitation and for a second, it was as if the words had transfigured her into a five-year-old again. He had just gotten done comforting her after a bad dream and was promising to move the stars just to see her smile. When she didn't respond, he reached for his glasses to see her better, "What is wrong, darling?"
"Nothing is wrong." She reassured with a conviction that she did not feel. Before she could chicken out, she raised her wand. "Say hello to the koalas for me, okay?"
After an eternity, she finally reached the memory that had been recounted to her hundreds of times…
Her mother, mature but still younger than Hermione's recollection went, leaned forward and plucked a small gift from the large pile under the Christmas tree, "I want you to open this one..."
Her father's eyebrow rose with suspicion, "We always open our stockings first thing."
"I know, but I'm too excited to wait any longer!"
"Jean... You didn't spend that money on those golf gloves did you?" Her father scolded, but took the present from her despite his apparent disapproval. "I made you promise to wait."
"I didn't spend a dime." Her mother coaxed. She clasped her hands and bounced in place, unable to contain her excitement.
Curious, her father quickly unwrapped the box and tore off the lid. He stared down at the contents, his jaw hanging open, for quite some time before he blinked and looked up at his beaming wife. "No..."
"Yes!"
"No..."
"I told you, you big buffoon! Yes!" The uncharacteristic squeal of delight hurt Hermione's ears.
"I can't believe it..." Her father plucked a pair of yellow knitted baby booties from the box and examined her mother's craftsmanship in shock. They had tried for years. Eight, to be exact. The muggle doctors had no explanations for their infertility or her mother's sudden pregnancy. So his reaction was to be expected.
"I know!" Another excited squeal emanated from her mother and she launched herself across the space between them to wrap her father in a tight embrace.
Her father dropped the tiny socks and returned the hug. Both of them began to cry.
Hermione wiped away her own tears before she pulled the silvery copy of the memory from the air and added it to the blinding white ball that was cradled in her left hand. Unlike with her mother, there was no reason to go further back, Hermione hadn't become a person to him until that moment. She used the twinkle of light on the tree to hide the minuscule orb and began the procedure of turning him into a wholly different individual.
Even though she had lived two lifetimes, the decimation of her parents and subsequent rebuilding of Wendall and Monica Wilkins had taken minutes. All of her worry regarding an extravagant reaction was for naught. By the time it was done, she was drained, both mentally and physically. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into a bed that was no longer hers and sleep away the coming war.
Unfortunately, she knew it would be quite a long time, if ever, before she would be allowed to do so. There was far too much to do in preparation for saving the wizarding world from the worst of itself. This had only been the beginning…