May 12th, 1998 -Waning Gibbous
Harry, I know you don't understand. I know you're probably going to be very cross with me too. But let me explain.
I left, as I'm sure you already realized. I had to. I've done something, something for the better and the good of our world but it is not without consequences, and I am not strong enough to face those consequences. We both know I would be dead before week's end if I was put into Azkaban right now. The war is too fresh, those loyal to Voldemort would seek revenge and I would be their only avenue for it. I'm not Sirius, not as strong as he was. I wouldn't survive like he did.So I left. Cowardly and utterly unbecoming of a Gryffindor but here we are.
The Auror's, if they haven't already, should be coming to the house once they realize what's been done and they narrow it down. The parchments and grimoire I left in the library detail what I did, how I did it, and how it can't be done again. Let them have them. They'll want to deliver them to the Unspeakables and have them go over my work. They can confirm that my spell work can't be duplicated. Then maybe then I can come home.
Until then, enjoy your family, Harry. Give Fred my love, Tonks and Remus too. EvenSirius. Tell your parents I wish I could have met them. When my parents return tell them I'm sorry for having violated them and taking their memories. I left them a letter like I did you, if you would give it to them when or if they come I would appreciate it.I wish the circumstances were different but I wouldn't change them. The outcome is too precious.
I'll be okay.Don't worry about me. I'll be back when I can.
Forgive me.
~ Hermione
May 13, 1998 -Waning Gibbous
The heavy-handed knock on the door to Grimmuald Place had Harry swallowing his cold tea and mechanically getting up from his seat at the table. Not bothering to straighten his jumper or caring that he hadn't changed since the day before.
"She's not here," he spoke as he opened the door, uncaring on who was on the other gave him a tight lipped nod.
"I didn't think she would be but we have to check."
Harry didn't do anything but step back and sweep his hand inwards in a 'come in' motion. The three Aurors behind Kingsley moved into the house at his nod of approval leaving the disheveled wizard holding open the door with the acting Minister on the porch.
"I've got tea," Was all Harry said as he abandoned the door to walk back into the house trusting Kingsley to follow. He did, and the pair ended up on opposite sides of the table, with a stack of books and rolls of parchment between them. Eventually, Harry nodded to them before taking a sip of his cold tea."She left those for the Unspeakables."
When Kingsley didn't move Harry shook his head.
"She can't come back can she?"
"No," Kingsley replied solemnly, "not right now. Right now, it's better if Hermione stays wherever she is."
A silence clouded the room, the only sound being the footsteps of the Auror's searching the empty house. "Are you aware of what she did?"
"I have an idea," Harry didn't look up from his tea, "She wrote me a letter; you can see it if you wish, but you may not take it."
"I don't need it."
Harry nodded absently. "She hinted to my parents and Sirius. Remus, Tonks, Fred..." he finally looked up to meet the ministers' eyes, "Did she do what I think she did?"
A grave nod was his answer.
"Where are they?"
"Being checked over by the Unspeakables. Everyone should be free to go come this evening."
"Does anyone else know?"
"No."
"Merlin.."
A heavy-footed Auror clobbered into the room and addressed Kinsley. "She isn't here, Minister."
Harry snorted as he stood, his chair scraping on the ground. He ignored how the Auror moved for his wand as he brushed past him and reached for the whiskey and two glasses. When he walked past him again and he still had his hand on his wand he rolled his eyes."Just leave," he told him, "She's not here, your job is done. The Minister and I need to speak."
Though he didn't move immediately, at Kingsley's nod the Auror left the kitchen and called for the other two to follow. After the sound of the apparition, Harry poured two thumbs into each glass and slid one to Kingsley as he sat, where no more words were exchanged. They just sat at the table silently sharing a bottle of whiskey until the light outside darkened and the floo flared to life and voices flooded the house. Harry knew he should get up. He wanted to get up and run to the living room, but he couldn't. He felt glued to the spot. Even as the Minister looked expectantly at him. Even as he heard footsteps on the stairs and Sirius calling his name. Even as he heard his father call his name. With his back to the kitchen door, he knew when they had found him. Seated at the table across from the Minister, almost ten sheets to the table, was his mother's voice that undid him.
"Harry."
April 18th, 2003 - Waning
The water felt like heaven on her still sore joints. Almost five years of turning monthly and the ache still stayed in her bones a few days past the moon. Which made the stream that ran through her property perfect. It was wide for a small stretch and pooled deep enough that she could wade out to the middle and float until the chilled water took away the ache. It never failed to help her feel more like herself, the sun above her was telling her it was time to head back to the cottage. She'd found it while backpacking through New Zealand, the area making her think of how Tolkien described the Shire in his books. The area just emitted peace and that was something Hermione craved. She found the run-down cottage and with her converted galleons she'd been able to buy the property and the rundown cottage on it outright.
It took her a few months after but with magic she was slowly able to fix and rebuild it into how it was the end of the first year it was complete with a large garden that housed her vegetables and potions ingredients and the cellar that was her cage once a month. Not a literal cage mind you. She liked to think she'd outgrown that when she managed to perfect her brewing of the Wolfsbane potion which came months after planting her garden. The restrictions on the Wolfsbane Potion and the ingredients to make it she knew were sure fire ways that Aurors could trace her therefore it was not a risk she was willing to take. She'd taken the time before her first transition to find the majority of the ingredients, enough for a few months supply but also to plant and harvest if need be. The others had taken more creativity to obtain.
But those days were long gone as her garden now flourished. As she reminisced she waded back to the streams bed where her shorts and top lay though she didn't bother to button the shirt after shrugging it on. She preferred to let the sun bake the water off her skin on her walk back home. Setting out on bare feet she took her usual path, enjoying the scenery as she did. Given the moon was over she was taking the next few days to recuperate fully before she needed to make the trek into to town for her bi-monthly groceries. While she grew most of what she needed, she didn't have the heart to raise livestock just to slaughter it for food. So trips to town became a necessity. Beyond those trips, the majority of the time she was what many in town deemed a hermit.The village was small enough that everyone knew everyone, most of them having been raised in the village. Her arrival five years ago had been the biggest culture shock to the village since Gods knew when. But over time the towns people came to accept her solitude and while they knew her name, just Hermione, and they often exchanged pleasantries. She was still very much she preferred it, having come to make peace with her solitude. Caught up in her own wandering thoughts she made it into the garden before noticing the dark-haired man seated on the wooden bench she'd commissioned from the town's woodworker.
She loved that bench. Looking up as she approached the house she swore under her breath.
She'd long since gotten into the habit of not carrying her wand and in this single moment she regretted it as she noticed who her unwanted visitor was. Pulling her open shirt closed with her fist she addressed the bespectacled man on her porch.
"Not the Potter I was expecting."
The dark-haired man let his feet fall from her porch rail as her voice spooked him awake. It would seem he'd been waiting a while. She waited at the foot of the steps to her cottage as James Potter took her in. She knew how ridiculous she must look, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. This was her home. After a too long stretch of silence, James finally stood.
"You were expecting Harry?"
"Eventually."
"He doesn't know I'm here."
"Does he know I'm here?"
James smirked and it was utterly Harry. "No, me and the boys have been working on this on our own."
She considered him for a moment, "I take it they're on their way here too?"
"They went to check two other properties but yes, once they finish at there and they don't hear from me, they'll be on their way."
Nodding, she started up the steps and went into the house, "Leave the door open so they can come in when they get here."
James watched as the mysterious young witch he'd heard so much about disappeared into her little bungalow. She wasn't what he'd pictured or what he'd seen in pictures. The girl he'd seen in his sons picture album was visible in the woman he'd just encountered. None of the stories and descriptions he'd heard of her seemed to fit the witch he'd just met. There was something about her that he just couldn't place. Something wild lay beneath her attempt to look put together. Something that was so at odds with the consensus in the family that Hermione Granger was a brilliant, bookish, reserved, modest young witch. This witch didn't quite fit that description.
Following her inside, he took note of her home. The outside was the typical cozy English cottage with brickwork with natural wood accents like the small porch rail and bench he'd perched on for a half hour. They matched the window trimmings and window boxes. He'd taken a walk around the house and after seeing the potions garden he'd known it was her. Or at least hoped.
It was the first property they'd visited that showed any signs of witchcraft or wizardry. The inside of her cottage, however, was not what he expected it to look like inside. The wooden floors were unique in their own way. They looked like she'd cut slabs of trees and just fit them on the floor, somehow getting them to click together smoothly like a puzzle. The walls were a pleasant series of white tones that stood out against the natural wood that seemed to flow in from outside. He could only assume that was the theme throughout the house when he entered her kitchen and found it the followed her into the kitchen where she put on a kettle, one hand still clutching her shirt closed, before turning to him once more.
"I'm going to have a quick shower and change. Make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you, Granger."
She laughed suddenly, and when he looked at her strangely, she smirked. "It's been a long time since someone has called me that. Hermione is fine."
He smirked back at her, "Hermione."
"I'll be down in a moment."
"Take your time," he called as she walked out of the kitchen. He tilted his head to the side to watch her walk through the kitchen and up the stairs. Hermione released the tight grip she had on her shirt, letting the sides fall back open.
She could feel his eyes on her, but since he couldn't see her open shirt from his spot in the kitchen, she didn't mind. In her own room she left the door open out of habit and began shedding her clothes on her way into the bathroom.
Meanwhile, downstairs James, having found her mugs, sugar, honey, and cream, began preparing four cups of tea. Not knowing how Hermione liked it he simply left hers alone and put a stasis charm on it even as he heard two distinct cracks of apparation. It wasn't surprising that Remus and Sirius would arrive together. They'd been doing this long enough that they had a routine. They would go to their respective properties, check them for any sign of someone magical, and meet back at the Three Broomsticks. If an hour passed and one of them hadn't returned, the other two would go a tray, he organized everything on it and brought it to the living room just as he heard the thunder of feet on the porch.
"Come in, gents," he called when the muffled voices didn't seem to get the invitation that was her open door.
