No Turning Back

Hermione stood in front of a two-story stucco home, staring up the cement front path. The first thought that struck her was that it looked nothing like her family's home in London. It was bland, for one: a grey boxy house with narrow windows and a large garage on the left. The garden was well groomed and bordered by a concrete and iron fence, but it did not look well used or well loved. There was no tangle of plants against the fence, no weeds sticking out of the path, no rose bush that she and her mother had planted when she was seven. The home looked sterile; there were no children here, no steps to jump off the front porch into the puddles in the rain, no pink paper stars hanging in a large front bay window.

She knew that her parents' home in Australia would look different, but she was not prepared for how much. As she stood staring at the black front door, Hermione suddenly wondered if her parents were happier living this way謡ithout her.

No, she thought, shaking her head to rid herself of her negative thoughts. They love you. They will be glad to have you back in their life, no matter what their house looks like.

Gripping her wand, she took a careful step forward, followed by several more, and before long, was standing in front of the black front door, pressing the bell. She heard it ring inside, a bright, cheery tone, and then the muffled call of her mother's voice; she almost cried at the sound, it had been so long since she'd heard it, but pushed her feelings down. There would be time to cry later when her parents were in her arms, having become her parents once again.

A moment later, the door was open, and she was staring into her mother's sweet brown-sugar eyes, which matched her own.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked lightly, and Hermione felt her heart break just a little as she realized there was no recognition on the woman's face at all.

Fighting back tears, Hermione gave herself a determined mental push and squeaked, "Hello, Mum," wishing nothing more than to hug the woman in front of her.

"I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person," said her mother, looking confused.

"No, I'm sorry, but I've come to fix it," said Hermione, raising her wand and casting the spell she knew would reverse her memory charms.

"What are you doing?" said her mother, her face unchanged, though looking slightly more worried. "Who are you?"

Hermione blinked, startled, wondering why her spell hadn't worked. It should have. She'd done the research. But then why was her mother staring at her as if she was considering calling the police?

Hermione cast the spell again, waving her wand more forcefully, willing her magic to work, and yet her mother stood before her, beginning to look truly frightened now.

"I think you need to leave," she said warily. Hermione could not move, her feet cemented in place on her parents' doorstep.

"I don't understand," she said, unable to accept what was happening in front of her. "Mum, it's me! It's Hermione, your daughter!" She reached out to try and hug her mother, but the woman jumped backwards, clearly afraid.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said her mother, her voice shaking. "I don't have any children. Please leave." She made to shut the door, but Hermione bolted forward, pushing past her into the square front hall. Her mother screamed, and then her father was stomping down the stairs that emptied into the foyer, asking what was going on.

"Dad!" said Hermione, casting the spell again as he turned towards her. "It's me, Hermione!"

"Well, Hermione, you need to leave this house right now. I don't know who you are, but you are scaring my wife預nd me," said the sandy-haired man who had tucked her into bed every night as a child, read her the same stories over and over at her behest. Except instead of his normal loving gaze, his chocolate eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and anger as he spat the words at her.

"Get out, or I'll call the police!" he shouted. Something triggered in Hermione's mind at his words, and she bolted out the door, not looking back.

Her feet pounded blindly against the pavement until her leg muscles and her lungs screamed at her to stop. She slowed to a walk, still gripping her wand in her hand, letting the tears fall freely from her eyes.

She kept moving, her feet tapping against the ground, not caring what direction she was travelling. She knew if she stopped, she would be overwhelmed by it all, get sucked into the grief like a strong riptide that could carry her out to sea.

Seeing her parents again, bringing them back to a world in which they could exist together without fear, was the only thing that got her through the past year. The torture, the searching, the frustration, the fear and the hurt耀he could have handled it all except for this moment.

She would grieve, eventually, but not here. Not in this place that was so foreign to her that she wondered how she could have thought to send her parents here in the first place.

Because you love them, her mind reminded her. Enough to protect them. Enough to let them not love you back.

It nearly sent her over the edge, but she forced her feet to keep moving, choked back the scream that was building in her chest with every step.

As she reached the end of a dark street and turned into an alley, she knew she had to get back to England quickly. She needed to be back somewhere she could cry, somewhere she could piece together her now infinitely more broken life. Maybe there she could find a way to restore her parents' memories, but even as she thought it, she knew it was hopeless. There was no other spell; she'd read all the books last year before performing the initial memory charms. She'd simply done too good a job, and for the first time in her life, she wished she was not so talented at magic.

Without pausing her feet at the end of the dark alley, she spun to the left and Apparated, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life.