Chapter Two

The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB.

I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Sitting at the table with a cup of tea before her, she did not gaze catatonically out the window at the neighbourhood today. No. Today, Hermione could see and feel. Today, she could find strength in this house.

It seemed to Hermione, who was surviving at this point on pure emotion, that the depression she'd experienced only twenty-four hours before had been a lifetime ago. She sipped her tea as her parents went about preparing a morning meal, watching with an outward expression of serenity. Her eyes followed them closely, logging each moment, step, breath, and look.

During the war she had stood helpless as so many of her friends lost their loved ones, and though she was beyond happy to have her parents home, she was wary of their surprise return.

Hermione had cautiously confirmed the identities of her parents just moments after their reunion. The war had irrevocably changed her, and she understood it would be foolish to abandon all she had learned simply because the war appeared to be over. So, when she realised the potential for danger in their mysterious return, she had quickly questioned her parents to establish that they truly were who they were claiming to be.

These two people were definitely her parents. It helped to soothe her suspicion that they looked just the same. Though, if she were being honest with herself, they really looked better than before she sent them away. Their eyes were vibrant and full of energy. Their all-around aura seemed healthy and happy. Hermione guessed that their lifestyle in Australia had suited them well. But still, a nagging deep inside her told that there was much here she did not yet understand. Something in them had fundamentally changed; she simply had yet to identify what it was.

They moved about the kitchen while Hermione watched, her mind full of hazy wonder. It was unexplainable. They shouldn't have their memories back. Had her spell work been faulty?

No, she thought vehemently, her head shaking.

Feeling the anxiety attached to that line of thought, she pushed back the question. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time to bask in the glow of being with her family and enjoying the comfort that they brought her. Holding up the still steaming cup up to her face, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She allowed herself to enjoy the scent for a moment before exhaling. Taking a sip of tea, she let the rich flavour roll over her tongue, and the familiar hints of the anise, clove, vanilla, and cinnamon in her mother's special blend of chai tea relaxed and reassured her. As her shoulders relaxed, the emotional turmoil that resided deep within her finally began to uncoil.

Whatever it was that had changed in them, they were not currently a danger to her. Thankful for the blessings in her life, even if she didn't understand them, she left the questions for later.

Hermione chuckled lightly into her cup as a feeling of giddiness settle over her, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. It was such a different type of feeling, one that she'd not known for months, maybe even years. It was a relief to allow herself a bit of happiness. Hermione's heart swelled as she assured herself, once again, that her parents really were home.

Jean Granger looked up from the eggs and sausages she was cooking and smiled at her beaming daughter. Hermione had changed so much since she had last laid eyes on her. Nearly ten months had passed since Hermione had sent them away, and during that time her baby had grown into a woman. However, there was something about the manic joy and confusion their daughter was displaying that unnerved her. In the past, Hermione had always been what Jean considered a bit emotionally repressed. Their daughter had always found it difficult to connect with others, and even at home, it was rare for her to display emotion. Now, however, she practically beamed them, so clearly written were they across her face. For what certainly would not be the last time, Jean wondered what horrors her daughter had been forced to face during their time away.

Breakfast passed quietly as they enjoyed each other's company. When the meal was finished, Hermione rose and mutely cleared the table as she'd done in her days as a child. Then, after the food was cleared away and the dishes cleaned, the family moved to the sitting room. Jean and Richard sat together on the sofa while Hermione perched on the tufted ottoman in the middle of the room.

"I think, my dear, that it is time we have a little talk," her father said.

Hermione knew this confrontation needed to happen. They needed to address how they came to be at this point. So many things remained unknown to both parties. She did not looking forward to explaining her own actions, but she hoped that, if their emotional reunion was anything to go by, she really didn't have any true reason to fear her parents' reaction. She hoped that they would never exile her from their lives or love. With a nod, Hermione fixed her eyes on the carpeting at her parents' feet. She suspected that this would work best if she spoke first. After all, she held the beginning of the story, whereas they held the end. However, no matter how much she wanted to speak, the words wouldn't come out.

The trio sat silently for a moment before Jean sighed and spoke. "My dear, we need you to know that no matter what, we love you. We always will. You did what you thought best. We understand your motives. You acted in good faith and out of love. If there was anything to be forgiven in your actions, we willingly give you that forgiveness." Jean paused as her daughter once again began to weep, though with more dignity than she had displayed the previous night.

Jean realised that her fears were right. Hermione's conscience had got the better of her. From the moment Jean had understood the situation that Hermione had been forced into, her thoughts had centred around the great burden her daughter carried. It was too much for one so young.

Neither parent moved to comfort her as she wiped away her tears; they simply sat and observed with silent approval as their daughter grieved and healed.

Raised to believe in and rely on her own strength from a young age, Hermione intuitively understood that self-reliance was the Granger way. This understanding of this internal strength and self-trust had kept her sane throughout these past years. Only in the last few weeks, after the conclusion of the war, had she felt her strength faltering and slipping. Now, however, with her parents here to accept and validate her grief and remorse once more, she felt that strength start to rebuild.

Into the quiet she spoke, her voice still shaking with emotion. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I have wanted to hear those words. How much I needed to hear them." A watery smile spread across her face. Carefully, taking measured, calming breaths through her nose, she slowly re-established her composure.

When she felt her emotions more fully stabilised, she continued, "I knew... What I did, I knew it needed to be done. There was no other way to protect you. Also, I knew you wouldn't have understood the urgency. I should have explained the war before I took action, but I couldn't figure out how. I searched for weeks to find a better way, and then, before I knew it, the war was coming fast and the chaos escalating. Things were out of control. In the end, I simply broke down and Obliviated you. It was safer for me to know that you were out in the world, somewhere safe and alive. Even if it was without the knowledge of your daughter."

Hermione's words came, quiet and quick, from her mouth, full of earnest emotion. When she finished, the room fell into an unnatural silence while everyone waited for someone else to speak. This time Hermione broke the silence, voicing the questions that were plaguing her mind.

"I don't understand, though. How are you here? How do you know what I did? About the war, me, Harry?" she asked.

"It is an odd story, really," Jean said with a laugh. "It is one of many stories I am sure we will share at a later date, but for now the short version will suffice. We were found by a silver-robed wizard, Tilinus. He reversed the Memory Charm and helped us arrange things for our return home. During the days that it took to make the arrangements, he helped us piece together a picture of what you went through. He explained the climate for Muggle-born witches, the danger that placed us in, and your involvement in the war itself. As soon as everything was arranged, we took the first Portkey home."

Hermione, who at first felt surprised at her mum's nonchalant use of the words 'Memory Charm', was now stunned. "A Portkey?" she blurted aloud.

Richard smiled at his daughter's uncharacteristic loss of decorum. "Yes," he chuckled. "We happily took a Portkey, Hermione. We were loath to allow another day to pass without getting home to you, love. You've been through so much, and we wanted to return as quickly as possible. It isn't a bad way to travel, even if it leaves you a bit green around the gills."

This was too surreal. Surreal that only twenty-four hours ago she'd sat here in this house alone and lost. Surreal that, somehow, her parents had returned with their memories intact and were set on embracing her wholeheartedly in a way they'd never done. However, the most surreal part of it all was the way her parents were treating the magic they'd experienced. It was as inexplicable as the surprise return itself.

The small, newly reunited family passed the rest of their first day together with a peaceful quiet about them. Often, Hermione found herself paired off with one of her parents while the other performed the necessary tasks of the day. It was a day of reflection for Hermione, the first time in ages she felt as if a normal life was within her grasp. Yes, there was still a lot of healing for her to do, but for today, her internal demons were at rest. In that fact Hermione found comfort.

When the light of the evening sun faded from the room, Hermione bade her parents good-night and headed upstairs, the fatigue that had plagued her for weeks driving her to the bed. She hoped that, for the first time in many nights, true and peaceful sleep would find her.

*~*~*

Hermione walked through the room, the sound of a slow wheezing breath all she could hear.

Requiescat In Pace, Severus

With a wet face and swollen eyes, Hermione shot up in her bed. It had happened again. She had watched him die, helpless to do anything about it. Growling in frustration, she dashed away the her tears with an angry swipe. That was it. Her parents were back, and for the first time in months, she could feel the touch of happiness nearby. Apparently, not even that could break the pattern of tormenting nightmares.

It was time. She needed to tell Harry and find out what the hell was going on.