Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Hermione stared at the four-poster beds that contained her boyfriend(?) and their best friend flopped on top of the duvets. She was sitting on another bed in the seventh-year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor tower, and from the look of the sky out the window to her left, it must be nearing the end of 2 May, 1998. It seemed strange that such a meaningless date would now always carry weight, not unlike 5 Nov or 11 Nov. How long would it take, she wondered, for the numbness to turn into horror to turn into... something. Would 2 May become largely irrelevant and marked only by the Ministry of Magic like Armistice Day, or would it become a people's holiday where we will create effigies of Vol--, no, Riddle-- to burn like Guy Fawkes Day? Hermione shuddered in simultaneous horror and schadenfreude at the image. She might end up a bit more traumatised if she had to bear witness to malicious effigies of Riddle burned every May. Maybe she could take an annual holiday to avoid it.

     Hermione was awake again, solely because the list of her responsibilities seemed endless. Of course, large in her mind loomed the fate of her parents; they were currently safe and healthy under their pseudonyms in Australia, and she missed them dearly, but even if she could try to restore their memories and their lives, should she? She knew, of course, though Harry had made comments insinuating the war was "over" that the cleaning up had hardly begun. She scarcely believed Mr. Shacklebolt had already been declared temporary Minister of Magic. In one day? The entire magical system continued to reveal its systemic deficiencies and add to her overwhelming list of responsibilities. Speaking of, she really ought to set up a list. Hermione summoned some lined paper and a felt-tip pen from her beaded bag. Screw "wizardly expectations"; she wants to embrace her heritage now. And pens are SO MUCH more practical. She then summoned a thin, hard-covered book to act as a lap desk as she chewed her lip and stared at her boys. 

MUST DO:
- return to Hogwarts for seventh year
- pass NEWTS in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures (complete Muggle Studies NEWT in private study?) with at least an EE, ideally an O
- make a decision about the "Wilkins" personas 

     That one made her sigh. Hermione NEEDED her parents to be safe from any remnants of the Death Eater cult. She WANTED to have a relationship with her parents, and she wanted them to be able to make their own decisions about their life with all the real facts: that they have a daughter, that they love the UK and their home in Swindon. It would require some additional thought, perhaps some research, discussing with temporary Minister Shacklebolt, and definitely some hard conversations with Harry and Ron. Hermione continued her list:

- double check the wards (and the structure/ safety) at the Swindon house
- get Harry to claim his Wizengamot seat(s)
- get Harry to hire a Law Wizard
- get Harry, Ron, and herself set up with a (squib?) psychologist
- do further research into healthy ways to process trauma
- set up resources at Hogwarts: healers, psychologists, tutors? (Talk with Professor McGonagall)
- decide what I want from my relationship with Ron
- have a discussion with Ron about our hopes for the relationship and plans for the future
- set up a new 1-, 5-, and 10- year plan (make sure to include Ron!!)
- talk with Ginny and try to set up healthy supports for her (probable?) romantic relationship with Harry
- encourage everyone to write down their experiences for the trials (!!)
- write down her own experiences, and meditate on them, for the trials 
- prepare to speak at Ms. Malfoy's and Draco Malfoy's trials
- clean up and repair Hogwarts building
- clean up and repair Hogwarts grounds
- clean up and repair Hogwarts wards

     Hermione knew Professor McGonagall was heading those three tasks, but she had a list somewhere of the additional changes she needed to bring about. No more acromantulas under beds or students sneaking into Hogsmeade-- Hermione had wanted to address SO MUCH of Hogwarts' infrastructure, but that had needed to take a back seat to ensuring the survival of her friends and family. Now, though, she has a summer and a school year to help fix the egregious systemic deficiencies (while she's working on her relationship with Ron, setting things up for Harry and Ron, and winning passing her NEWTS with excellent scores). Maybe the title for this portion of her life should now be called "Addressing Systemic Deficiencies". 

- MAKE RESTITUTION TO THE GOBLINS!!! -- try to get artifacts from the Potter vault, from Ron's Great Aunt Muriel, from Neville? Also talk with Professor McGonagall, and maybe see if the Room of Requirement is completely trashed. Try to get access to wandlore for a new treaty? Discuss with temporary Minister Shacklebolt
- DEAL WITH THE ELDER WAND

     That one was another huge issue on her to do list. Harry was... somehow under the misapprehension that placing the wand back into Professor Dumbledore's tomb would protect it? And he also, somehow, believed he wouldn't be "defeated" before his death, despite, last Hermione knew, wanting to BECOME AN AUROR. And being him being SEVENTEEN (at least, until July). Pardon her French, but FUCK THAT. She needed to find someone to take Harry's wand in a duel or something, and then she needed them to break the Elder Wand. Could it even be broken? She needed to find a way to talk with Thanatos, if he exists. ("Death" did not feel like an appropriate name for the entity; Hermione privately had named him after the Greek deity of Death.) In fact, she might as well add:

- try to protect or destroy the Resurrection Stone
- mitigate the leak about the Deathly Hallows
   -- headmaster portraits
   -- Mr. Lovegood
   -- Mr. Ollivander
- mitigate the leak about the Horcruxes....

     WHY had Harry decided to say that word in the duel in front of EVERYONE at the battle? Hermione loved him, that idiot, but they needed to address that leak. Maybe she could find someone to add it to some Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks with some notes about the probable insanity, disfigurement, and soul consequences? Just enough that when someone goes to look up 'horcruxes' there is a brief overview and enough detail to explain why making one is a terrible choice (beyond the, you know, murder and atrocities required). 

     Hermione continued jotting down tasks as they popped up in her mind, but more of her attention lingered on the last few days. It has all been so intense that she hadn't had the ability to truly comprehend what's happened. Harry... died. Granted, he was here now, but that didn't mean they were okay. Hermione was sure that none of the people involved in this conflict would be okay again. Well, no, that's not right. "We WILL be okay. We just won't be the same." She whispered it out loud so it would be louder in her head than something she didn't think was true. 

     After her brain quieted about tasks, she started spiralling about the current reality. She, Harry, and Ron were alive, and physically unharmed. So many people were dead, more Death Eaters needed to be rounded up, and the entire magical community of Britain needed to be redressed. Harry had DIED. She had kissed RON. Voldemort-- no, Riddle-- was DEAD. That was still a marvel to think about-- some former Unspeakables (who apparently considered themselves to be separate from the Ministry of Magic, and therefore who never actually stopped working or researching the Mysteries? Something she needed to look into later...) came to Hogwarts and acquired Riddle's body. In full view of the crowd, an Unspeakable from the Death Room took the sword of Gryffindor and stabbed Riddle's corpse in the heart and then the head. They then cast some spells that proclaimed his body's age (5 years, disconcertingly) and time and date of death (05:24:31 GMT 2 May 1998). Someone then brought in an investigator from the International Federation of Warlocks, who appeared with an international journalist and photographer (Hermione hadn't even known the Order was in contact with the ICW, but thank goodness they had been. It is so nice when there are adults who take care of some things.), and after many photos, some investigation, and a lot of evidence-gathering, the ICW investigator and the Unspeakables took Riddle's corpse. Temporary Minister Shacklebolt confirmed that they were going to send his corpse through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and that he himself would ensure the body was disposed of properly (and not kept for study or veneration).  

     Hermione reviewed her memory for how to heal from trauma. She had been doing some research on it since first year, when one of her best friends showed some mysterious scars, a decided lack of self-preservation, and a concerningly low body fat percentage. First up: Safety. Is their current environment safe? Hermione had surrendered to the desire to sleep here in Gryffindor tower, especially since she assumed this would be her boys' last night here. She knew it would be wise to have some happy, or at least homey, memories here after the battle, since they could not avoid the castle for the rest of their lives. And she understood that Harry and Ron wanted to have one night of rest here when they were not running for their lives or expecting a murderous attack here. But this would not be a safe place for her boys tomorrow, or for them to stay for a while. They needed a home base. Hermione wasn't sure: The Burrow would be full of grief and more people than they've talked with for a year, but it would feel like home for her boys. Grimmauld Place had made its way into their hearts, and she was sure it could feel like home, but it was so empty and had a To Do list of its own to be truly safe. If the Swindon house was still standing, well-warded, and livable, they could use that as a base. She knew it hadn't been safe with the war because of its association with her, but now that the majority of the Death Eaters were either dead, arrested, or on the run again, perhaps it would be safe?

     Hermione decided she would encourage them all to go to the Burrow for a brief respite, and later they could use the Swindon house as a respite where no one could find them. That would be where they could do some intense healing. She also made a note to include Ginny in those plans-- and she debated if she should arrange to switch bedrooms at the Burrow with Harry so she could sleep next to Ron and Harry could sleep next to Ginny. Though, Ginny was still not of legal adulthood yet. Hermione took a moment to ponder and then changed her mind again: Mrs. Weasley and the Weasleys needed less stress, not more. She would encourage Ginny to spend time with Harry, but she would encourage them to keep to their original rooming. Hermione did not want something so irrelevant as sleeping arrangments to impede Mrs. Weasley's grieving for Fred. Fred. Hermione couldn't believe he was gone. In fact, all those they lost still didn't feel gone yet. Hermione supposed that some of it was probably numbness after the battle, and for her, the fact that she was alone with her boys for most of the last year. 

     So, Safety. The Burrow would provide physical safety: it was intact, and physically safer than Hogwarts at the moment. It was magically safe: the wards were all intact, and she had a feeling that the wards she had last placed on it had been strengthened by Bill and other members of the Order. After all, she was hardly a warding professional. The Burrow would also provide food for them, water, and shelter for them to sleep. She would have to be careful with feeding herself and the boys. Kreacher had brought up food yesterday that was suitable for people suffering malnutrition, but she needed to brew some nutrition potions for herself and her boys and have a tough conversation. She didn't want to worry Mrs. Weasley, but if Ron started stuffing his face with the usual fare, he would get horribly sick, and maybe even get refeeding syndrome. So, lightweight meals, nutrition potions, and Kreacher to help. Hermione was sure that Kreacher would be delighted to help out at the Burrow, and she was sure he could be sneaky enough to offer lighter meal options until they're healed up without offending Mrs. Weasley.
For emotional safety, Hermione was a bit worried. The Burrow could be emotionally volatile at the best of times, and right now was decidedly closer to the worst of times. Hermione remembered Harry's horrified comments about Mrs. Weasley's boggart, and she was struck again by the weight of the loss of Fred. Every person down in the Great Hall was loved: a child, a sibling, a friend, a parent. The pain that the Weasleys were feeling was being felt by every single family involved. No one here had escaped unscathed.

     Hermione was grateful again that Professor McGonagall and temporary Minister Shacklebolt were taking the primary responsibility for the upcoming funerals. She would be even more overwhelmed if she needed to arrange to notify the families, arrange burials or other body arrangements, and set up the funerals for all the people who had passed, especially since she knew and loved too many of them. Her heart caught again at the thought of Colin Creevey, no longer tiny at age 16 but still lanky and far, far too young. She couldn't imagine telling Dennis or their father of Colin's death, and she wasn't sure how to let Mr. Creevey see his son or put him to rest. Thank Merlin she was not responsible. She would want to send condolences, though. And especially for any Muggle-associated deceased, she needed to reach out and offer some help with navigating the future. 

      For emotional safety, Hermione would have to surrender that it might just come with time. She would try to be a buffer for her boys at the Burrow, and she would try to get the others to take time and try to grieve healthily. But emotional safety will most certainly be more difficult at the Burrow than her other safety considerations. Next category: financial safety. The Burrow wasn't particularly necessary to contribute financially: Harry had the contents of his vaults emptied already, and she had access to her inheritance (she had executed their will as they had intended when she had sent them away). Ron would be somewhat financially dependent, though they would certainly have some added finances from the Ministry of Magic once the MoM decided to award the Orders of Merlin (because the magical community of Britain would be incapable of ignoring their most favoured celebrity, and Harry would certainly drag Ron and Hermione into it. And probably Neville, too, if Hermione knew Harry). 

     Out of the corner of Hermione's eye, she noticed the faces of her boys were starting to pinken in the barest glow of sunlight from the window. She couldn't believe she'd been in her head for this long. Well, that wasn't unusual. But it didn't feel real that it was the dawning of a new day. The day after the Battle. Hermione decided to darken the window-- her boys needed more sleep. Not that she didn't need sleep also, of course, but her brain was going too quickly for that at the moment. She needed some dreamless sleep potion, and she was sure her boys would need some for the coming weeks. Probably some of the other Weasleys too, now that she was thinking about it. With the Hogwarts potion dungeons being used to brew potions for other victims of the battle and to support St. Mungo's stores, Hermione decided that the wards of Hogwarts were broken enough that she could get out the cauldrons and ingredients she had brought in her beaded bag. She carefully used her wand to write on the walls of the dormitory in a text that would glow gold when either of her boys woke up.

"Gone to brew in the dungeons; we are safe and it is over! Call for Kreacher for some more food when you get up before finding me-- the Marauder's Map should show me in one of the abandoned dungeons to keep the potions out of sunlight. Do NOT worry! Everything is okay!
Love,
Hermione"

     And with that, she swept out of the room. Or rather, Hermione tiptoed out of the dormitory, second-guessing her plans. But for now, her boys were safe, and asleep, and they had access to food and water and privacy and Kreacher. Hermione took some slow, deep breaths as she descended the stairs into Gryffindor Common Room.

     It really was remarkable the level of sound-proofing she had managed in her wards after the last year or so-- Hermione was somewhat surprised by the cacophony of noise from revelers. It seems some people had found their grief best expressed through large quantities of firewhisky and cheap currant rum, no doubt provided by either Mr. Dumbledore or Madam Rosmerta. Hermione's eye caught on some rowdy older students-- a hodgepodge mix of largely Gryffindor graduates, mostly around the Weasley Twins' age. That explained that. George wasn't in sight, no doubt he was with the other Weasleys for private expressions of grief, but it seems that many of Fred's friends and acquaintances had decided that his memory would be best served by engaging in various shenanigans (as exhibited by the large quantity of canary feathers and other detritus strewn around the group). Weaving around the chaos, Hermione waved cheerful, silent approval to the surprised revelers. There were not going to be exams this year, and people need to express their grief after everything, she decided.

     Hermione made her way down to the Great Hall on her way to the dungeons, though she couldn't decide if her curiosity was morbid or merely typical for the circumstances. The tables that Professor McGonagall had placed in their normal locations yesterday were stripped of colours and symbols, but covered in comfort food and surrounded by people. It seems that over the last day or so, most of the magical families with Hogwarts students had heard of the battle, its outcome, and that Hogwarts was a safe rallying point. Professor McGonagall had sent letters to each family on the school parchment list to let them know it was safe to come around midday yesterday, once all the Death Eaters left behind had been dealt with. Temporary Minister Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall had come to an agreement that Hogwarts could serve as a halfway house of sorts for this summer. The school term was declared over, not that much academic learning had taken place; the house elves were clamouring to help (and Hermione privately understood the form of grieving where you make yourself useful); and many people in the magical community of Britain had become displaced, injured, or impoverished. Hogwarts, the stalwart companion she was, would be more than sturdy enough to serve as a base of operations for the rebuilding, especially since the magical castle and her house elves still had the desire and capacity to provide ample food and bedding. 

     Hermione picked her way through the oddly quiet Great Hall, somewhat appreciating that the atmosphere was more subdued than the Gryffindor Common Room, yet still hopeful. Hermione spotted a little cluster of familiar faces by what was normally Hufflepuff's table: Luna, Padma, and Susan, surrounded by younger students who looked a touch worshipful. It seems the work of the DA had brought the girls together, and they had also offered a way for the quieter students to resist the Carrows. Or perhaps some of these students merely gravitated towards the aura of quiet capability these warrior women projected. 
   "Hey, Luna! Padma! Susan! It's so good to see you here. Did you sleep well?" she asked
   "We mostly worked on arranging people into the Hufflepuff dormitories, but it was a good night. No one got hurt, which is always a bonus." Luna's offhand comment caught Hermione off guard, and she awkwardly chuckled.
   "Yes, it was a successful night. It was good for us to get things started for this summer." Susan spoke quietly, in a lovely alto voice that Hermione had rarely heard. 
   "Do you have news?" Hermione wanted to know mostly about Lavender: she had seen Parvati over Lavender's prone body, and it seemed that though Lavender had been savaged by Greyback in the battle, she was still alive.
   "Yes, Parvati stopped by St. Mungo's again this morning-- it sounds like the healers think Lavender might pull through, but she's not quite stable, yet. At least it sounds like they got her bleeding under control, and they packed the wounds with silver. Still no news as to whether or not she is infected with lycanthropy, unfortunately, but she's in better shape than some of the other people who encountered Greyback or the other werewolves You- Know- Who brought."
   "I'm so glad to hear that. Is Parvati still helping up in the Hospital Wing for the people who didn't need to go to St. Mungo's?" Hermione asked.
   "Yes, she is, and that's where I'm headed after breakfast." said Padma.
   "Thank you so much! Do you know if you need potions brewed? I was thinking of heading down to brew to put myself to use for a few hours while Harry and Ron sleep." asked Hermione.
   "If you have the cauldron space, I know we're running a bit low on Wiggenweld potion, Sleeping Draught, and Calming Draught. I know that some of the others are still brewing those in the Hogwarts potions dungeons, but I'm assuming we'll need even more as the refugees continue to arrive." said Padma. 
   "That sounds perfect-- those were the potions I had planned on starting anyways. Maybe some Dreamless Sleep, but I know we have to be careful with it since it's so addictive. Would you let Harry and Ron know where I am when they come down? I left a note, of course, but I also know them." Hermione said as she slathered some choc-hazelnut spread on eggy bread to take with her.
   "Of course!" said Luna, "We wouldn't want them to think you encountered a Blibbering Humdinger!" her eyes bulged, perhaps in mischief, as she took a bit of fried tomato on sausage. 
   "Thanks!" said Hermione, "Please let me know if there's something else that would be more helpful I could be doing; I just can't sit still any longer!"

     Susan and Padma nodded while Luna looked a bit confused, though that could be partially due to the tiny piece of fried egg that fell off her fork and seemingly disappeared into her lap. Hermione grabbed a small bowl of dried fruit and a carafe of apple juice and made her way out of the Great Hall. It felt stifling as everyone looked at her and called out to her and wanted her to talk with them, and she couldn't imagine how bad it would be for Harry. She and Ron definitely needed to provide some buffer for him, or Harry might just portkey to New Zealand. But she supposed they had been protecting Harry for as long as they've been friends.

     Infinitely slowly, feeling like she was inching through hordes of people, Hermione made her way into the dungeons. After a day of restless witches and wizards had worked on it, the castle looked more whole than she felt. All of the exterior walls had at least temporary barriers, and all the exterior windows had glass fitted so the castle was protected from the elements at least. The dust and blood and piles of glass had been vanished, and the piles of rocky debris had been somewhat organised. And all the people she saw were vertical and mostly intact. Hermione looked down a side hallway she had fought in, and for one gasping breath she could feel the haze of dust and offensive charmwork on her skin and in her lungs. As she walked, Hermione found herself checking piles of debris for bodies, even though she had been part of the group that had combed through Hogwarts yesterday to find every last human, acromantula, house elf, and centaur, whether they were alive or dead. But maybe she would be checking for bodies on the ground for a while to come. 

     Finally, Hermione made it to the level of dungeons where the air was still and the sunlight couldn't contaminate her potions, and she found an old, abandoned potions study room that was intact. All the tables were stacked gracefully along the wall, so the centre of the room had enough space for five whole cauldrons. Hermione pulled one table over to the side and placed down her breakfast (since she hadn't been able to sneak a bite yet with all the conversations on the way down). She went back to the door, and used her wand again to write her golden message on the outside face:

"BREWING
Caution - enter with care!
HJG"

     They had cleared the castle of the Death Eaters (both alive and dead), and all of the Slytherins and people who had engaged in combat on Riddle's side were being housed (imprisoned?) in Longbottom Manor while the Ministry of Magic began sorting out the mess that Riddle left. At least the families were being kept near each other, and they were being cared for. Though Hermione somewhat shuddered at the care Mrs. Longbottom was sure to be providing with the help of some of Temporary Minister Shacklebolt's deputised aurors. Mrs. Longbottom's formindable care of Neville had been a topic of worry for her for many years, and Mrs. Longbottom had strong opinions on Death Eaters. Since the castle had been thoroughly searched, Hermione was quite certain it would be safe to leave the door to this room open with her name and blood status inscribed on it, but for some reason, the thought of such thoughtlessness left her anxious. She loosened her grip on her wand, locked and warded the door with just two charms, and then Hermione started summoning pewter cauldrons and her brewing supplies from her beaded bag to set them up in a semicircle facing door. The thought of brewing with her back to the door, even locked, was unpleasant.

     Hermione decided Wiggenweld first, then Calming Draught, then Sleeping Draught, and when she was finished with those three, she could start a nutrition potion and then Dreamless Sleep. She hadn't brewed in a while, and Wiggenweld was the easiest and also a healing potion; she figured the people here at Hogwarts probably needed minor healing, calming, and sleep above anything else. Hermione then filled each cauldron with the appropriate potions base and created small-flame burners under each. She would be able to manage starting the other potions while she finished Wiggenweld; it shouldn't take too long with staggered brewing. As the cauldron to her left started warming the aqua vitae potions base, Hermione stepped away to eat her breakfast. 

     She conjured a bottle, and spoke a spell of her own, "Bullaquamente," with a tiny circle of her wand. To her satisfaction, the bottle filled up with bubbling spring water she could mix with her apple juice. Apfelschorle always tasted like home since her parents had never lost the habit. The silence was a bit uncanny and a bit restful now, as she ate her choccy eggy bread and dried mango slices. It was nice to have another moment to herself, but it was also so strange to be alone again. It was the perfect time to start thinking through her 1-, 5-, and 10- year plans. 

Chapter Text

     Hermione continued her brewing for a few hours, feeling like she was being put to good use. Her Wiggenweld potion was a perfect turquoise, her Calming potion was a homey, cool-toned brown, and her Sleeping Draught was a beautiful aubergine by the time Harry and Ron found her and knocked on the door. 

     "Hermione! It's us! It's lunchtime!" Ron's voice seemed to practically boom in the empty room with her, and she couldn't help but squeak from surprise.
   "Let me open the door!" She said, standing up from bottling her tenth dose of blood-replenishing potion. Hermione checked all the burners, placed a protective bubble charm around the still-full cauldron of blood-replenishing potion, and walked to the door. One quick moment later and her boys were there, looking tousled from sleep. "Did you just wake up?" 
   Harry grinned at her from underneath the chaos that was his hair. "Hi 'Mione. Yeah, we woke up maybe an hour ago. Called for Kreacher like you suggested." His smile warmed her a bit. It was so, so good to see him, alive and awake and not carrying the weight of all of Britain. 
   "Harry didn't even panic that much when you were gone!" Ron's blue eyes twinkled in mirth as Harry blushed. 
   "I-- I was just confused for a second!" Harry looked a bit awkward. Maybe this had something to do with her changing relationship with Ron. She hoped it wouldn't change their friendships-- her friendship with her boys was quite literally the most important thing in her life right now.
   "I was disconcerted when I woke up, too! Even after cleaning up yesterday after you both went to bed, it still feels surreal that the war is over." Hermione tried to soothe the tension she thought she felt in the air. "You said it's time for lunch?"
   Ron cackled a bit. "If you think lunch should be served at 2pm!"
   "I didn't realise I'd been here that long! Did you eat?" Hermione asked.
   "I could eat," said Ron, the infinite void, "and I bet Harry could have something! You should definitely eat, though, 'Mione."
   Hermione nodded. "I just need to bottle the rest of this and tidy up, then we can go. Are you thinking to the kitchens?"
   "I am not going NEAR the Great Hall," said Harry, "unless all three of us are under the invisibility cloak."
   "Did you get swarmed on the way down?" Hermione busily conjured more dose-bottles and siphoned blood-replenishing potion carefully in each one. Harry began disassembling her impromptu brewing stations and putting away the chopping boards and stirring sticks into her potions kit, and Ron settled his lanky body onto one of the empty tables by the door. 
   "It was a mad house, 'Mione." said Ron. "We were using the map to avoid most people, and I still think it may have taken us an hour to get down here." Harry grimaced, but said nothing. As the last stopper went into the last bottle, Hermione patted Harry's shoulder in commiseration. "But that's what you get when you save the world," joked Ron. Harry rolled his eyes, and Hermione banished all her remaining potions brewing supplies to her beaded bag, which she promptly stuck in her sock. Harry caught her eyes, and she noticed the similar mokeskin pouch around his neck. 
   "We're going to be okay, and we won't be the same as before. Both are true, Harry." Hermione said gently. Ron looked a bit confused over the comment, but let it pass as they tidied up the last of Hermione's hard work. She banished some of each batch into her beaded bag, and the bulk of her potions up to the Hospital Wing. "Lunch?" she suggested, and they traipsed into the hallway.

     The path from her chosen dungeon room to the kitchens was rather quick, and they used the Marauder's Map to avoid the clump of people at the junction to Hufflepuff's Common Room. Eventually, Harry tickled the pear in the portrait entrance, and the trio was surrounded by the busy clatter of a kitchen and the smell of freshly baking sourdough bread. Hermione's stomach clenched as she realised that she was starving. Well, not literally anymore.

     "Harry, Ron, we'll... have to be careful eating. If we eat too much right away, we're probably going to get sick, unfortunately." Ron looked positively aghast, but Harry looked merely resigned. She supposed he probably had experience getting back into eating once each term started. Even the food she and Ron had sent him over the summers wouldn't be enough to feed a growing teenage boy. But now, they were safe. Hermione went over her refeeding plan-- mostly, prioritising light foods, like soups, and getting lots of extra electrolytes. Bread was also good, as long as they didn't eat a tonne, and if they stuck to more whole wheat options. Again, Harry sighed in agreement, but Ron looked about ready to start another war.
   "Hermione. You cannot seriously believe I will eat only soup and porridge for the next month or two." Ron's face was becoming blotchy and red, but he did a good job keeping his tone even and polite. 
   "Ron-- " Harry tried to step in. 
   "No, Ronald. I expect you to eat soup and porridge for the next few days while drinking these nutrition potions." Hermione summoned three glittering black potions from her bag. Ron looked sheepish as he grabbed one, and downed it. Harry looked at her with quiet thanks, and then he, too, downed the potion. While Hermione sipped hers, the Hogwarts kitchen elves who had overheard the conversation brought over steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup, cups of lemon ginger tea, and just a few slices of warm sourdough.
   "Thank you!" Harry and Hermione chorused, while Ron began eagerly dredging his slice of bread into his soup and practically shovelling carrots and noodles into his mouth. With his mouth full, Ron said, "Phank oo!" Hermione winced a bit, but she also hungrily dove in.
   "Remember to try to be slow and chew more," Harry said, looking at them with a bit of trepidation. Hermione nodded her head and slowed down a bit, while Ron rolled his eyes and continued his meal.
   "Have you talked with anyone today?" Hermione asked.
   "Too many people," Harry groaned, "but no one you're asking about. All the Weasleys--" Ron snorted, and Harry continued, "all the OTHER Weasleys are back at the Burrow. Ginny sent Pig with a letter when she woke up. But most of the DA are running around organising people, fixing things, and generally being helpful."

   Hermione laughed lightly. "I was actually wondering if we wanted to go to the Burrow tonight. Kreacher can help with our laundry and with grocery shopping so Mrs. Weasley can cook and take care of us, and that way we're out of the crowds for the night. I can't imagine we'll be able to escape into a dormitory room privately again." Hermione suggested.
   "I didn't want to..." Harry mumbled.
   "Mate, you're family. You're both family." Ron interjected, pointing between them with his spoon. "I think Mum would be thrilled to fuss over you, and Dad loves you, too." Hermione and Harry smiled at that. Mrs. Weasley would undoubtedly love to have someone else to take care of right now.
   "Actually," Harry said, "what do you think about Andromeda and Teddy coming over, too? I bet her house is awfully quiet and awfully noisy right now." Hermione bit her lip. She had forgotten about Mrs. Tonks and Teddy... 
   "Mum loves babies, and she loves Andi. I say it's a great idea." said Ron. 
   "Maybe we should send owls, though?" asked Hermione. "At least to let Mrs. Weasley know we're coming home for dinner?" Ron's face practically glowed when he realised she had said 'home' about the Burrow. Hermione blushed a bit, but Harry shoved her affectionately.
   "Great idea, 'Mione." Harry said.
   "Mrs. Tonks and Teddy probably want to go to their home for bed, but I bet being somewhere more lively during the day would be helpful. And that way, Mrs. Tonks has some more help with Teddy, too. She's not old, but babies are always tough." said Hermione. 

     Ron offered to go to the owlery to write and send a letter to Mrs. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley, and Harry decided that he should go offer his condolences and at least show up to the Great Hall this afternoon. He wasn't going to stay a figurehead, he insisted, but he wanted to honour the people who had passed away and show support for Hogwarts' halfway house project. Hermione decided to follow him and try to round up some of the DA to offer additional emotional support (and to act as an additional buffer for Harry). They ran into Neville, Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Dennis Creevey in a hallway near the Great Hall as they were working on reassembling some of the interior walls and stairways. After some dusty hugs and a few tears, Neville and Justin decided to stop by the Great Hall for a snack and to offer support while Ernie and Dennis found another toppled stone wall to tackle. 

     Ron quickly joined them in the Great Hall, shooting thumbs-up at Hermione. Mrs. Tonks and the trio were headed to the Burrow shortly, apparently. But before then was a whirlwind of hugs and thanks and condolences and expressions of hope and tears. So many tears. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all shuffled basically into the center of one open hall adjacent to the Great Hall, and they attempted to weather the storm as they were buffeted by students, professors, students' family members, and refugees alike. Hermione found herself lost in a crowd of weepy faces, and tried to will herself to bear up against the overwhelm. Ron, used to Quidditch crowds, and Harry, unfortunately too used to fame, seemed to be doing better. But after a couple hours, the chaos slowed. Everyone who was desperate to see them, to thank Harry, to hug or shake hands or pat shoulders, had come and gone. Now, Hermione was surrounded by the people who had stayed. The people who had fought beside her. The people who knew how it felt to still be here. Her friends. Her family.

     Even Ron looked weary, and Harry looked half-dead by the time they emerged into Hogsmeade. They had decided to Floo to a wizarding pub up in Ottery St Catchpole so they could apparate to the Burrow from there. The small amount of energy they had gained from last night's sleep and today's food had disappeared into the crowds, so trying to apparate the whole way would be a bad idea at best. But Hermione steeled herself-- she knew that there was still more to this day. The trio walked in the golden light of the evening up through the wards towards the Burrow. Ottery St Catchpole had been full of revelry: the small wizarding population had generally been far enough away from everything that they didn't see the bodies of teenagers and family members every time they closed their eyes. It was exhausting. 

     "Kreacher." Hermione said, tiredly. 
     "What about him? We can call him at the Burrow--" Harry started before trailing off. "We could've asked him to apparate us in, huh." His voice sounded almost empty. A moment of silence later, and they all burst into exhausted laughter. It was the kind of laughter that sticks in your belly, that usually happens at 2am, or, Hermione supposed, at 5pm the day after a war is won. They laughed and laughed as they trudged the final steps into the front garden of the Burrow. Cheeks hurting and bellies cramping, Hermione and her boys quieted. She could tell the wards were strong when they passed, but she knew the house wouldn't be warm and homey right now. She braced herself as Ron knocked a pattern into the door.

     "Mum, it's us!" he called through the solid wood.
     "RONALD!" Mrs. Weasley's voice sounded... almost light? Soon, the door swung open, and Hermione was proved wrong. The Burrow was just as warm and homey as always, and Mrs. Weasley looked at them with such welcome even with her tears still sticky on her face. Even as a house in mourning, the Burrow was home. Not the same kind of home as her parents' house in Swindon, of course, and her parents weren't here. But still, the warm crush of a hug from Mrs. Weasley and the steaming mug of tea practically shoved into her hands felt like home. It felt like Grand-Mère and Grand-Père's home, and she knew she would always be welcome. 

     Hermione ended up seated on the plush sofa next to Mr. Weasley, one hand gently rubbing his thin back. He seemed numb, but he welcomed her touch and her presence as they cried. The whole family piled into the living room-- Harry and Ginny were sitting on the floor over by the fireplace, just holding hands. Ginny's head started slumping onto Harry's shoulder as the light continued to dim outside. George was squeezed in between Percy and Charlie on the other sofa, and Fleur perched on Bill's lap in one cushy armchair. Mrs. Weasley bustled around uselessly, stacking the coffee table high with finger food and hot beverages. Ron, however, was over by the bed they had placed in the bay window, his hand on Fred's still arm. His tears were running freely, and Hermione could see his mouth moving, but no one could hear what he was whispering to his brother. Fred was tucked into a bed, covered by the quilt Mrs. Weasley had sewn for his first birthday with glowing animals that symbolised the patronus charm gently roaming the blanket. Crookshanks was curled on Fred's unmoving stomach, still and quiet while his watchful eyes flicked around the room. It was nice that Crookshanks had bonded with the Weasleys while Hermione and her boys were away. And it was good that he would also get to say goodbye to Fred. 

     By the time the light of day faded, the room settled into quiet. Mrs. Weasley alone couldn't settle, so Hermione stood up and gently guided her into the kitchen. "Mrs. Weasley," she said, "everyone needs to go up to bed. Would you like a sleeping potion? You need to get some rest, too. Fred won't be left alone." Mrs. Weasley puffed out a breath of resignation.
   "Yes, dear. I won't be able to sleep without one." she said. Hermione grabbed her wand and summoned one of the basic sleeping potions she had brewed this morning from her beaded bag.
   "It won't keep you from dreaming, but it will help your body and your mind to get some rest."
   "I know, dear. I'll make sure to meditate on some happy memories of Freddie before taking it. Thank you, Hermione. It is so good to have you here." Mrs. Weasley gently took the bottle and crushed Hermione into another motherly hug. Hermione took a second to breathe in the feeling of family and love and home, and squeezed Mrs. Weasley back. Hermione wasn't going to let go first-- Mrs. Weasley needed a good hug, and Hermione did, too. Two full minutes later, Hermione made her way back into the living room with her shoulder quite a bit wetter, but her heart warmer. She gently corralled Mr. Weasley into standing, and he gathered up Ron's sleeping body with smooth spellwork to go up the many flights of stairs. Charlie used his shoulder under George's arm to help George stand, numb and quiet, and the two also made their way up the stairs. Bill and Fleur squeezed Hermione's shoulders as they passed, stopping by the kitchen to give Mrs. Weasley some hugs before apparating home for the night. Harry gently lifted Ginny up bridal style, and Hermione smiled at Ginny and her prince. Percy sat still, unseeing, on the sofa and Mrs. Weasley came in.

     "Mother. I am going to stay up with Fred tonight." Percy's voice was quiet, but determined.
     "Yes, dear." Mrs. Weasley's voice got stuck in her throat. "I'm sure he appreciates it as much as I do." Percy stood up and held his mother for a moment, his tears wetting the top of her hair while she pressed her face into Percy's thin shoulder. Hermione cast some stasis charms over the food and drinks, stoked the fire, and moved a cushy armchair closer to Fred's body for Percy. They didn't need the warmth from the fire tonight, but they all needed the comfort of the crackling wood and the rich smell of home. Mrs. Weasley let go of Percy, went over to Fred's body and kissed his forehead, and then went and joined Hermione. Hermione grabbed her hand and wove their arms together as Percy sat down, and the two women slowly moved upstairs. Hermione gently guided Mrs. Weasley towards the master bedroom while Mr. Weasley stepped down the stairs, wand mindlessly vanishing some clumps of orange fur instead of carrying a sleeping son. Hermione guided Mrs. Weasley into Mr. Weasley's arms, where Mrs. Weasley clung with choked sobs. Mr. Weasley mouthed thanks at Hermione, and then brought his wife into their domain, speaking quietly and massaging her back. The door shut, and the silence was deafening. Hermione slowly made her way up to the room she shared with Ginny where Harry loitered in the doorway. Hermione could see Ginny's sleeping body tucked under a starry quilt.

     "Everything ok, 'Mione?" Harry asked almost silently.
     "Everyone is ok for now, Harry. I gave Mrs. Weasley a sleeping potion, and Mr. Weasley has her now. Percy is going to stay up with Fred tonight, so I think we should go to bed, too. I'll be here with Ginny; would you like a sleeping potion?" Hermione tried to whisper, too, but her voice sounded loud in the unusual silence of the Burrow. Harry nodded, and then mimicked Mrs. Weasley by accepting a bottle and catching Hermione into a tear-damp hug. Harry turned and stepped up and up toward the room he normally shared with Ron, disappearing from view in near silence in what felt like a single moment. Hermione cast a charm that would buzz to wake her up if anyone went past the hallway, went into Ginny's room, then closed and locked the door behind her. In the dark, Hermione could see the conjured bed for her next to Ginny's sturdy bed. Hermione quietly entered the en suite bathroom, changed into a soft cotton nightgown that brushed her knees, brushed her teeth, and braided her hair. Some habits wouldn't be broken, and she would brush her teeth at least twice a day for the rest of her life, even if her parents never... Hermione stopped that thought, tucked her beaded bag into her nightgown's pocket, and made her way to the cosy bed next to Ginny's. Hermione smoothed out one of the beautiful guest quilts, a stunning Cathedral Window quilt in gemstone blues and purples. Hermione tucked herself under the quilt and closed her eyes. It was time to practice clearing her mind for occlumency.

Chapter Text

     Hermione woke the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. She had spent maybe an hour clearing her mind and meditating, trying to place any memories that came up into the catacombs she had built to house her memories. It might be macabre, but she hoped that if someone tried legilimency on her, they might be distracted by the piles of bones or get lost in the twists and turns. At least, she figured it was unlikely that most British wizards and witches were as familiar with the Paris catacombs as she was. After Professor Dumbledore's death, she had decided she needed to practice occlumency. And it had already served her well in the war. Piling her memories of the war inot usable defences would only be helpful for the future. She still needed to create proper memory traps so she wouldn't be helpless again. « Quoi qu'il arrive, la flamme de [le phénix] ne doit pas s'éteindre et ne s'éteindra pas. » Her mum would be delighted Hermione had co-opted the French rebellion's phrase from World War II. Mum never quieted about Grand-Mère and Grand-Père taking her to deface military posts in war-torn France as an infant. Mum was born a rebel, after all.

     Ginny kicked and caught Hermione's shin. "Ge' up or go back t' sleep, Miney." Ginny mumbled around her quilt. Hermione chuckled, and decided to get ready for the day. It was still early-- her wand had been silent all night, so presumably everyone who went to bed stayed there, but Ginny always said that Hermione's thoughts could fill the entire bedroom with noise. A quick shower and some cleaner jeans made Hermione feel like a whole new woman. She snuck out the door, quietly walking past Ginny, who was deep asleep again already. On Hermione's way down, she took a leaf from Mr. Weasley's book and tidied the stairs and the landing. It was remarkable how much fluff Crookshanks produced, though she had a suspicion that some of the orange hair on the floor came from humans instead of her fluffy half-kneazle. Hermione vanished a few cobwebs in the corners of the hallway. How they appeared, she never knew, since Mrs. Weasley was fastidious about keeping their home clean.

     Hermione popped into the living room, where Percy sat uncomfortably on a wooden chair he had pulled from the kitchen. He was half-covered by his own quilt, but the clutter of mugs around the plush chair he pushed away attested to his tiredness. Hermione patted him on the shoulder, greeted Fred's body and Crookshanks, and then gathered up the empty dishes around. She decided to pile most of the dishes to the side of the sink after rinsing out the mugs. Mrs. Weasley definitely wanted to wash those by hand later, if only so her hands could stay busy. Hermione decided she could make hot drinks-- Mrs. Weasley would no doubt want to make breakfast and tidy the kitchen, but Hermione could make coffee without getting in the way. Hermione flitted around the kitchen, warming up the water and setting up a large pot of coffee to brew. She also brewed some breakfast tea, set out the sugar and milk, and even made a small pot of lemony ginger tea. Once the drinks were brewed and hot, she poured herself a mug of the lemon while making (another) cup of coffee for Percy. She knew he wouldn't want to go to bed now, but his tiredness was obvious after staying up to be with Fred.

     Hermione grabbed a small plate of biscuits Mrs. Weasley had made presumably yesterday and padded in her socked feet out to the living room with Percy. She silently handed him a biscuit and the coffee she sweetened, and he sighed in gratitude. Hermione stepped over to the sofas to set down the plate of biscuits and her steaming mug before resetting the sofas and armchairs into their normal configuration. The fire had gone out while she was asleep, and she decided to leave it be for now. Two quiet taps of the window beside Hermione startled her, so she let in the two owls carrying newspapers. One dropped its paper into her hand, and the other happily dropped its newspaper onto Percy's lap. Crookshanks made a threatening groan, and the owls quickly exited the window.

HE-WHO-MUST-BE-NAMED KILLED BY BOY-WHO-LIVED

     The headline alone made Hermione groan a little, but it seems that the journalists who were at Hogwarts after the battle ended had finally been able to publish the photos and story. The main photo for the paper highlighted the largest hole that had been crushed into the main entry halls of Hogwarts as seen in the broad daylight. It looked horrifying, and Hermione hoped that anyone who needed a safe place to stay wouldn't write off Hogwarts after seeing the rubble. She smoothed open the rolled paper to read more.

     "Multiple sources in the British Ministry of Magic and in the International Federation of Warlocks have confirmed that the once-man who has ravaged magical Britain known as He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named is truly deceased. Harry James Potter, best known as the Boy-Who-Lived for his encounter with He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named in 1981, faced down He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named in single combat after a battle between students and Death Eaters at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A single spell each, and the corpse of He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named fell to the ground. Sources inside the Department of Mysteries have confirmed that He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named is truly dead-- his soul no longer exists in this world, and his body has been disposed of by a special task force inside the Department of Mysteries.
     "Sources inside the Ministry of Magic have also commented on the previous regime. 'It seems clear,' stated temporary Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt (see page 4), 'that the Thicknesse regime was neither honest nor democratic. As temporary Minister for Magic, I promise that I will tackle the forces that alligned with He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named, including any and all forces in the Ministry of Magic or associated with the late Minister Thicknesse. We will continue to release statements as changes come, but for now, we ask that the public remain careful and quiet. If anyone needs a place to go or a meal to eat, Professor Minerva McGonagall has opened the doors of Hogwarts to all as a refuge. If anyone has any news about possible Death Eater activity or allegations against anyone in particular, the temporary Auror taskforce has asked that you send a letter by owl labelled "EVIDENCE" directly to them at the Auror taskforce. We will be investigating allegations and pursuing evidence for some time, so do not become disheartened if you do not receive an immediate response from the task force. That will be all, thank you.'
      "Supreme Mugwump Themis Ouranopaulou has also released a statement confirming the death of He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named from an independent investigator associated with the ICW. 'We have been told the abomination known as [He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named] has been killed in single combat with Harry Potter at 05:24:31 GMT 2 May 1998. The ICW has been working in close conjunction with the interim regime and will be supervising the trials for all suspected Death Eaters in addition to supporting the manhunt for all suspected combatants. The British Wizengamot will reconvene at the conclusion of the trials, as it seems a significant plurality of members were affiliated with [He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named]. Until the time when the British Wizengamot reconvenes and selects a new Minister for Magic, all posts within the Ministry of Magic will be completed in conjunction with the ICW. I myself will continue collaborating with interim Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. With all due process, we will be able to support Britain as they close this very unfortunate chapter.'
      "Further information on the Battle at Hogwarts on 1 and 2 May can be found on page 2, and details about the selection of interim Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt can be found on page 4."

     Hermione sighed a little, and looked towards Percy. He grimaced back at her. "Better than Skeeter?" He asked.
     Hermione chuckled. It would be more funny if people (including both Percy AND Mrs. Weasley) hadn't actually believed the disgusting slop Rita Skeeter published in the name of journalism. But at least she knew Percy had realised he had believed lies. "Yes," she murmured, "definitely better than her. And it seems quite factual so far, but I hope that people still go to Hogwarts despite the photo. It doesn't look like that anymore, thank Merlin."
     "Most people will know that's right after the battle, I think. 'Magic moves mountains', after all." His eyes were kind, and then he cleared his throat and shook the paper open (to page 4, it looked). Hermione smiled, and she, too, turned back to her copy of the Daily Prophet as she sipped her tea and appreciated the sun's slow rise above the horizon.

     She finished The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler before the next people came downstairs. Charlie and Harry walked quietly downstairs, taking care not to wake their sleeping siblings or parents. Charlie came immediately to Hermione and Percy, gave them each a gruff hug, and the promptly kicked Percy off the wooded chair he had claimed in order to sit next to Fred. Hermione saw Charlie's eyes were still red-rimmed and sore from crying, but he wanted to be near his little brother again. Harry likewise hugged Hermione and Percy, but he silently slipped into the kitchen to grab two mugs of tea. Harry grabbed a biscuit for Charlie and handed it to him with the sweet and creamy tea Harry doctored. Harry then slipped into the seat next to Hermione with his own mug, with just a little milk lightening his tea. They settled in, hip to hip, and then Percy slid in next to Harry. The early risers of the family all sat in comfortable silence, keeping watch over their brother's still body.

     Once Harry and Charlie looked more awake from their mugs of tea, Mrs. Weasley bustled down the stairs with Mr. Weasley stepping behind. "Hello, dears. It's good to see you." Mrs. Weasley spoke quietly, but her voice still sounded froggy. "Full English for today?" Charlie agreed with enthusiasm, and Hermione, Harry, and Percy all nodded their agreement. Hermione knew she and her boys should be careful with the food, and when she caught Harry's eyes, she knew he understood. Ron was another matter; he was always starving when he woke up, and it would take some fast talking to get him to agree to slow down and eat a lighter breakfast before he had eaten enough to get sick. But cooking a big breakfast would soothe Mrs. Weasley, and at the very least, Ginny and Charlie would be able to eat most of it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley moved into the kitchen to fix some coffee and start breakfast, and Hermione pulled out two more nutrient potions to hand to Harry with a raised eyebrow. He grimaced, drank one, and stashed the other in his jacket pocket. Percy gave them an odd look, but said nothing as the two got up to ask Mrs. Weasley to doctor up some coffees for Ginny and Ron.

     Hermione took Ginny's coffee and a delicious- looking pastry Mrs. Weasley had churned out. She walked quietly into the bedroom, set the coffee and pastry under a bubble on the vanity by the door, pulled back the green-and-gold curtains, and sat on the bed next to her sister. "Ginny. Ginny. It's time to get up." Hermione kept her voice gentle, yet firm. "Ginny, I brought coffee and a pastry."
     "Go 'way, Miney," Ginny groaned.
     "Ginny, your mum needs you to get up." Hermione pressed. "Ginny, your mum needs you."
     Ginny flopped gracelessly under her quilt, waking slightly. "Mum's up? She needs me?"
     "Yes, she's making breakfast for everyone. Bill should be here soon, and we'll wake George up in a bit." Hermione said. "Harry's upstairs waking up Ron now."
     "Waking up Ron?" Ginny blinked, taken aback. "Why--" as she stretched, her brain caught up. Hermione saw when reality registered in Ginny's brown eyes, and she threw herself into a hug. "Oh..."
     "We're going to be okay, Ginny." Hermione said. "We're not okay now, but we're going to be okay."
     Ginny sniffled wetly into Hermione's shoulder, "It's not going to be okay ever again, 'Mione." Her voice broke again.
     "Ginny, it always feels like that. But--" Hermione tried, but Ginny stopped her with a scoff.
     "Save the theatrics, Hermione! You don't have ANY idea what we feel like. You don't even HAVE a brother." Ginny's voice was venomous. "Stop pretending you've been through everything. KNOW everything. Get over yourself. My brother DIED. Fred is DEAD." Ginny's voice caught in her throat, and she began to sob. "GO. AWAY." Ginny choked out the words, barely understandable.

     Hermione, feeling stung, stepped away. She closed the door behind her as she left, and leaned back against it. Her eyes were surprisingly dry. Was Hermione actually 'family', like Ron and Mrs. Weasley claimed? They had never treated Hermione like Harry, but she thought she had a place here. She thought of the Weasleys as her family. She had thought of Fred as a brother. Of Ginny, a sister. Perhaps even triply so: in her own right, as Harry's sister, and as Ron's... something. Hermione swallowed painfully, stood up straight, and filed these emotions and thoughts deep into the Paris catacombs. Harry stepped down the stairs, and he looked as pained as she felt. Hermione felt bad that she had made Harry the bringer of bad news (and a nutrition potion) to Ron, but if Ron was nasty to Harry sometimes, he could be outright cruel to Hermione when he was hungry, tired, and emotional. Just like Ginny, she thought.

      Harry and Hermione brushed shoulders as they made their way back into the living room. Mrs. Weasley and Percy were talking in the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley moved in the elegant dance of cooking she had mastered years ago. Mr. Weasley was standing, one hand resting on Charlie's shoulder and the other gently on Fred's hand. Bill was sipping from a steaming mug standing near the kitchen, and Fleur was bundled on a sofa, looking chilled from the morning. Harry and Hermione passed more hugs around, and then they settled on the sofa across from Fleur.

     Hermione felt the uncomfortable curl of guilt in her stomach. She had been just as nasty to Fleur as Mrs. Weasley had been to her, and for no reason. Just because Ron recognised Fleur was pretty and asked her out before even thinking of Hermione didn't mean Fleur was shallow or mean. Fleur had shown her strength, loyalty, and bravery undoubtedly in the last few years. Hermione smiled tightly at Fleur, and spoke quietly, « Je peux parler en français un peu, s'il vous plaît. Ma mère est française, mais elle me parles en anglais. »
      Fleur looked at Hermione in shock. « Vraiment?? Pourquoi est-ce que vous ne parlez pas avec moi avant? »
     « Je suis très, très desolée, Fleur. J'étais jalouse que mon ami, il avais un béguin pour vous. Et j'étais superficielle. J'ai cru que vous ne peux pas être intelligente ou loyale, et que vous devez être superficielle et vaniteuse, parce que vous êtes tellement jolie. » Fleur's eyes flicked to Harry, who looked completely lost, so Hermione flicked her eyes up to the ceiling. « Pas-il. Mon petit ami maintenant. » Fleur's eyes widened a bit in horror when she realised her new brother-in-law had been infatuated with her. Or perhaps it was horror that Hermione had been so shallow-- so jealous, that Hermione believed Fleur was stupid and vain.
     Harry cleared his throat. "Erm, Hermione? When did you learn French?" Hermione looked at him in shock.
     "Harry, my mum's French. How did you not know this?" Her voice was a little frail. Her best friend, her BROTHER(?!) didn't even know her mum's nationality or Hermione's second language. It seemed that the morning was going to be full of nasty surprises for them all.
     "Not know what?" Ron's voice cut in. He looked profoundly grumpy to be awake, and his mouth curled into a sneer at the sight of all the sweets he couldn't eat sitting on the coffee table.
     "Ron, did you know Hermione's mum is French?" Harry asked, a bit blank- faced.
     "Mate, what? No, she isn't." Ron's voice rang with authority that seemed to shake the foundations of Hermione's life.
     "Yes. She is." Hermione's voice was small, but decisive. "My mum was born in France." Charlie, Mr. Weasley, Fleur, and Bill looked like they were watching a car crash. "She was raised in France. She didn't leave the country until she was 18 when she went to Switzerland for uni. My grandparents still live in France. I visit twice a year." Harry's face paled as he realised this wasn't a small detail. The rest of the Weasleys in earshot began looking like they were watching a train crash instead of a car crash. "Ron, do you even know my parents' names?" Hermione's voice was even, and neutral, but the atmosphere hung in tension.
     "Erm. 'Mione." Ron's face started registering the serious nature of the conversation. "I think we've always just called them Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Like you call Mum and Dad 'Mr. and Mrs. Weasley'".
     "Harry?" At her query, Harry looked like he was on the chopping block.
     "Hermione. I don't think so." Harry's voice was serious, and quiet.
     "Harry. What are Ron's parents' names?" Her voice was smooth now.
     "'Mione. That's not fair! He's met my parents!" Ron interjected.
     "Ronald. Have you ever met my parents?" Hermione's voice started sounding fierce. Ron gulped, and uneasily tried to look at Harry. Hermione continued, quiet but firm. "We have been friends for eight years. We have saved each other's lives countless times. We lived together. We fought in a WAR together. We ARE together romantically. And you can't even remember meeting my parents, much less tell me their names?" Her gaze flicked between Harry, who was a pale puce colour, and Ron, who was turning reddish-purple up to his ears.
     "C'mon, 'Mione. You're making a big deal out of nothing again. And we were never 'together', exactl--" Ron tried to deflect.
     "Children--" Arthur tried impotently to deescalate.
     "Arthur, do YOU remember my parents' names?" Hermione addressed Mr. Weasley directly with a smooth, strong voice. Under her intense gaze, Mr. Weasley shrank.
     "I--, I mean--," Mr. Weasley cowed under Hermione's unimpressed expression like he did under Mrs. Weasley's sharp voice.
     "You mean to tell me that NONE of you have the decency to even remember my parent's names after EIGHT years together and spending DAYS with them?" Hermione definitely lost her neutral tone, and that question came out quite shrill.
     "Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley and Percy had stepped into the room at just the wrong time, and Mrs. Weasley looked wrong-footed, "what are you going on about? Of course they don't remember your parents' names. Your parents are just some Muggles that we talk to while waiting for the train, dear."

     At that, Harry's face lost all colour, and Hermione felt her heart break. Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Harry, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all stared at Hermione as she stood up.
    "Well." Hermione said, her voice a bit weak.
    "Oh dear, you know I didn't mean it like THAT. Merlin, we just fought a war about THAT. But is this really the time?" Mrs. Weasley continued somewhat helplessly.
    "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley, you're right." Hermione said. "This isn't the time. Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, everyone: thank you for your hospitality. Please let me know when the funeral is so I can attend." Hermione's voice was still shrill, but it was understandable as she started walking to the door. Mrs. Weasley began weeping again, and just then Ginny and George came down the stairs.
     "Hermione, fucking get over yourself." Ginny's voice was all the more impactful because of how nonchalant she sounded. "None of this is about you." At that, Hermione walked quickly to the door and grabbed her shoes. She opened the door and turned around, looking one more time at the people she had thought were family. Harry, sitting like a Grecian statue, and Fleur, who had her hands over her mouth in horror, were the only ones not to look at her blankly as Hermione went out the door.

Chapter Text

     Hermione made it out of the Burrow's wards before she started crying. Overwhelmed, she bit deeply into her lip, and apparated 200 kilometres to the east towards Swindon. At least she had another place to go, one that didn't rely on Ron and Harry. Somewhere she didn't have to worry about people. Somewhere safe. The late mid-morning light caught her by surprise as she arrived in the bushes that separated Broome Manor Golf Course from her parents' house. It didn't feel real that her fight with the Weasleys had begun and ended before breakfast had even started. A moment later, Hermione felt the magic around her parents' house soften with familiarity. She could tell that the wards were in place, although if they were STILL there or if they had been replaced she couldn't tell. Carefully, Hermione began to try to unweave the wards. She had started building her own wards into the property after her fifth year, after passing her OWLs and fighting in the Department of Mysteries. Even though she was there for the Triwizard Tournement in year three, Hermione hadn't truly understand that she was a target in this war until the battle at the Department of Mysteries. She also had been afraid of making mistakes when casting and warding, but the consequences on her parents of her making a mistake were far less dire than the consequences of remaining so unprotected. After years of layering and the effort she put into hiding the house when they went on the Hunt, though, the complexity of her past work soon overwhelmed her, and Hermione gave up, slumping into the bushes. She tapped her head with her want to wordlessly disillusion herself, and then Hermione let herself cry for a solid minute before she started muttering to herself.

     "Stupid girl. What were you expecting. You knew who he was. You knew who they all were. Get over it. Pull yourself together. This shouldn't be a surprise." Hermione clenched her jaw, and squeezed her eyes shut. Down, down, down, into the Paris catacombs. She mentally stepped into the ossuary, surrounded by structures and decorations made out of millions of corpses. Down, into the ossuary, Hermione stuffed her hurt. Her betrayal. Her hope for a family.

     Into walls made of bones, Hermione buried her romantic feelings for Ron, her sisterly love for Harry and the rest of the Weasleys, and her daydreams of a world where her children played in the kitchen of the Burrow surrounded by their grandparents, uncles, and cousins. She thought of Harry's children, if he should ever choose to have them, tiny and beautiful-- the perfect mix of Ginny and him, but the image of her being their doting aunt fizzled away as she shelved her dreams. She wouldn't be seeing much of any of them now that they had left school, and she certainly wouldn't be an aunt to Harry or Ginny's children. She had never been their sibling.

     And that was the crux of the matter: this entire fight had been building for a while. Hermione was certain that once Harry and Ron recuperated physically, they would be off to join the Auror taskforce associated with finding, catching, and gathering evidence on any of Riddle's supporters. But Hermione? She was headed back to Hogwarts, and there was no way Harry or Ron would come. They would be going their separate ways. Her time with Harry and Ron was coming to a close, just like her time as a child had. Hermione's parents had spoken fondly of dear friends from secondary school and uni, but they had emphasised that it was a rare few who were able to keep friends from school. Hermione had thought she was one of the rare few, certain that her friendships with Ron and Harry were unshakable, but now, Hermione was beginning to doubt that a foundation had ever been laid. Hermione had the horrifying realisation that the relationships had never existed as she had thought. Hermione hadn't thought of herself as family to the Weasleys or Harry until they brought it up after the Quidditch World Cup. She decided in year two, after learning that Harry was not ignoring her, that she was truly friends with Harry and Ron, not just acquaintances. In year one, she had high hopes of befriending everyone, from the girls in her dormitory to all the students in her year. But she quickly learned that people she thought were her friends didn't perceive her in that way, so she tried to intentionally lower her expectations. But Hermione had thought that by now, after years of being declared best friends and years of being declared family and years of fighting a war together that perhaps she could trust the declarations. So Hermione had trusted that these people were her family.

     Hermione knew that grief struck people in strange ways, and that they might not even mean what they said. She tried to mentally remind herself that maybe, just maybe, some of this dispute was based solely in the grief and horror of the past month. Maybe some of the problem was even that the grief made it hard to remember even important things. But none of them, Harry aside, seemed to think it was important in the slightest that Hermione's life, her family, her heritage, had all been completely irrelevant to the family. As Ginny said, none of it was even about her. Hermione wasn't part of the family. She never had been. And she never would be.

     Those feelings, too, went down into the ossuary of the Paris catacombs. Her fear that she was unlovable. Her pain, her loneliness, her uncertainty, her trust for people she thought loved her as much as she loved them. Hermione stuffed it all down, filing her feelings with all the memories of the people she used to think of as her family. The boy she thought she loved. Hermione had too much to do to think about this, and she wasn't safe right now. She let her mind latch onto that word. Safe. That's where she would start again. How could she be safe right now? Could she untangle the wards around the Swindon house and inspect it? She realized that right now, she was not going to be able to handle it. She didn't have the brainpower for arithmancy right now, and she couldn't be trusted to actually inspect the house before breaking down again. Her emotions, even dampened by layers of mental barriers, were breaking through her thought processes.

     Hermione came to a decision, and apparated to Muggle London into a shaded corner she used to fit easily into. Hermione pulled out her beaded bag, and summoned from it a Muggle backpack, her pocketbook, and her worn copies of Austen's Persuasion, Dickens' Cricket on the Hearth, and Voltaire's Zaïre to offer comfort. She carefully pulled out £200 in bank notes, stuffed the pocketbook and books into the backpack, and carefully tucked her beaded bag back into her jacket pocket. Hermione smoothed her hair, puffed out a frustrated breath, and then braided it back again into her sleep style. She took a deep breath, and stepped out to walk to St. Pancras railway station.

      Two hours later, Hermione was tucked into a seat on the next Eurostar train from St Pancras to Paris, her two-way ticket tucked into the dustjacket of Persuasion. Hermione fell into the rhythm of looking out the window for the brief time the train was above ground, and then she turned away from her reflection in the window as they descended into the Channel Tunnel. She didn't want to see her worn brown eyes, her hair frizzily trying to escape its braid, or her skin that still felt grimy from the battle and too dull from lack of food and time on the Hunt. Her mother's luminous dark skin had always entranced Hermione, but Hermione's skin tone took more after her father's pasty tone now that she hadn't been on holiday in years. Hermione remembered with bittersweet joy her time in the sun with her parents just a few summers ago, where her father hid from the sunlight like a profoundly British vampire while Hermione and her mum basked on the beach. Hermione and her mum had shared their sun cream, a moisturizing yet lightweight blend, while Hermione's dad had needed to be slathered in thick zinc paste every two hours (or suffer the consequences). Hermione did miss those moments on holiday with her parents, filled with sunshine and light-hearted teasing, but she missed the little moments more: lounging on the couch at home while Mum and Dad read side-by-side in silence.
Hermione even missed the way her mum dramatically posed in the doorway when Hermione had overslept, orating from The Winter's Tale:

"Music, awake her: strike!" (At this point, Mum would start the cassette in my cassette-alarm clock, more often than not blasting the overture to Bizet's Carmen.)
"’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
"Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come!"

     Hermione's mum usually looked to effortlessly chic that when she pulled out the stops and embraced the sheer silliness of her love for theatre, Hermione found herself entranced and giggly. From the kitchen where he was cooking breakfast, Dad would call out, "Come feast and make merry in my house, dear Hermione, fair as gold Venus herself! Helen, your mother, came down from her high vaulted and perfumèd room, looking as lovely as Diana herself. Come, fall to, and welcome!"
Mum would roll her eyes and call back, "You know that's not actually the quote from the Odyssey, right?"
And Dad could be relied upon to call back, "Well, technically--" often enough that Mum and Hermione would say it along with him, and then the house would echo with laughter. Hermione missed those simple moments with her parents the most, the ones that would never be repeated.

      Hermione settled into reading Persuasion; her three favourite Muggle books always offered her a comforting escape, but Cricket in the Hearth and Zaïre were both a bit too tragic for her current mood. Instead, Hermione started Persuasion, letting herself become entrenched in the daily strife of Anne Elliot.

     Another three hours later and a train change at Paris Gare du Nord, Hermione was settled into her train ride to her grandparents' holiday home in the south of France. Grand-Mère and Grand-Père were long done with the skiing season, and they wouldn't return to the Alpine chalet until their other home warmed up to an uncomfortable level in June or July. Hermione knew their chalet would be safe, and she could be alone. She needed to spend time working on her life plans and decide if her parents were better off as childless Australians. Safer. At least now she knew she needed to make plans that didn't rely on Ron, Harry, or any of the Weasleys-- she had made excuses for each of them for years, and every cruel word Ron had said to her tried to spin around in her brain on the train. Thank goodness for the Paris catacombs and the fact they could swallow every bitter thought, memory, and feeling that popped up without complaint.

      Hermione pulled out the baguette de jambon she'd purchased in Paris and the bottle of white wine that was cheaper than water. Not that she couldn't conjure water, but she certainly couldn't do it on the train. Hermione began eating, basking in the familiar tastes of childhood, and trying to make her brain shut off. It felt like a forlorn task, so she picked up Persuasion again. Time for the millionth rereading.

      By 18h, Hermione was walking from her apparition point south of Chamonix up to her family's chalet, carrying enough groceries to last a week. Hermione was done being hungry. She pulled out her key for the chalet, unlocked the door, and made herself at home. She opened up the windows to let the evening air sweep out the dust that wasn't allowed to settle on the furniture. She went upstairs and grabbed a fluffy, lightweight duvet to air out on the railing outside. Then, Hermione got started on making her dinner, white fish in a lemon caper sauce. Another bottle of wine opened, and a glass in hand, Hermione found herself slightly dancing to the radio her grandparents kept here as she cooked.

     Hermione had fulfilled her duties. She had kept herself and her parents alive. Ron and Harry were alive. Riddle was dead. The Death Eaters were dead, captured, or on the run. Her vows had been fulfilled. And her goals... they were wiped clean. Tomorrow-- tomorrow, she would pull out that To Do List and start planning. For tonight, the cool Alpine breeze and crisp white wine kept her company as she cooked up a familiar meal for dinner, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

     Hermione woke up to a tapping on the window with a pounding headache. It had been a while since she had been drunk, and her body was so different now after being on the Hunt without food, not to mention the torture and war she had withstood. Hermione's sense of her own limits was clearly completely off. She blearily looked at the window that was making a clatter, and was only half-surprised to see a brown owl tapping at the windowpane. Groaning (whether from her Alpine hike and enthusiastic dancing last night or from the overindulgence of wine, she couldn't tell), Hermione peeled herself out from underneath her duvet and over to the window. When she opened it, the owl swooped in with a practiced grace, perched on the raining by her window, and offered Hermione its parchment letter. The owl looked to be squat, with smooth plumage on its head and broad wings, so she decided it must be a tawny owl.
     "Thank you. If you wait here, I can get some meat for you. I'm presuming you've had a long flight." Hermione kept her voice low and even, and the owl watched her with shining black eyes. 

     Hermione made her way downstairs to the kitchen to get some meat from the fridge. By chance, she had purchased a whole chicken for tonight's dinner, and she had enough to share with her new guest. Hermione sliced off some thin, long strips of the raw meat onto a plate and also grabbed a heavy ceramic bowl and a plush towel on her way back to her bedroom-- she was sure the owl was also quite thirsty and perhaps in need of a bath. Hermione set down the towel, the bowl (which she filled with conjured water), and the plate of raw meat on her vanity; she tilted the long-necked brass lamp over to create a makeshift perch; and she invited her new friend over. Satisfied her owl friend was taken care of, Hermione moved to sit back on the bed with the letter, her back leaning against the plush headboard.

"Hermione Granger" was of course written on the envelope, and it was not particularly surprising that the writing was in a familiar messy scrawl. Harry.
"Hermione,
I am so, so sorry that I didn't come with you when you left this morning. I don't know what I was thinking.
I am so sorry. For everything. 
Can we talk? Where are you? I'm at Grimmauld Place now.
Harry"

     The letter was so much more and so much less than she had hoped. Harry had reached out, and yesterday. He had made a decision to leave the Burrow-- where Ginny, Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys were-- to head to Grimmauld Place. Was it so she would be more comfortable and they could talk together? Or was Harry just uncomfortable that Mrs. Weasley had seen her parents as "just Muggles"? He was just as muggle-raised as she was, despite his half-blood heritage. 

     Hermione put down the letter and closed her eyes so she could think. She was so angry with the Weasleys. Not just with Ron, for dismissing everything that matters to her; not just with Ginny, for rejecting her completely and cruelly when she was trying to help; not just Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for treating her parents as objects... placeholders. Her mind settled on that. The way the Weasleys dismissed her family-- who Hermione had been forced to disown, enchant, and send away for their own safety-- made her feel like none of them saw her parents as whole people. Mr. Weasley probably didn't know Hermione's mum and dad spent the 60s travelling around Western Europe in between each term of uni. Harry definitely didn't know her mum loved eating shortbread for breakfast and drank only instant coffee just to annoy her dad. And Ron. Did Ron even know her parents were dentists? And what did that mean about Hermione? If Harry or Ron didn't know the first thing about her-- or about her parents-- was she even a real person to them? 

     Was she even a real person to Ron? Hermione thought over the last year with Ron: the planning, the risk-taking, the splinching, the starving, the fighting. Him leaving. Hermione couldn't have followed Ron when he left even if it had been just a simple decision of choosing him over Harry instead of a question of fulfilling her vow to herself, of saving Britain, of making the world safe for the people she loved. How could Hermione have followed Ron when he was throwing a tantrum? He was immaturely lashing out at her and Harry, and he wasn't even willing to listen.

     But even more than that, their purpose WAS a matter of life and death, of saving Britain safe for her and everyone she loved. Ron had genuinely expected her to leave Harry alone in a tent, 'Undesirable No 1', with muggle-born witches and wizards being rounded up, imprisoned, and presumably tortured and killed. Ron was always the only one of their trio who COULD have left; Hermione had a target on her the moment she was born with magic, and Harry had a target on him from that first dreadful Halloween in 1981. She had made the excuse for Ron at the time that it was just because he had gotten splinched, because they were starving, because he was wearing the locket. But looking back, she didn't see him acting out of character in that moment. She really only saw Ron acting like Ron always did. And Hermione had truly hated Ron when he left. 

     Hermione and Ron had kissed once, in the middle of the battle. He had shown concern for the house-elves, and she had thought her heart would burst: Ron was showing her that maybe he genuinely cared for the oppressed and the marginalised. It was indisputable that Ron's loyalty was steadfast to Harry, to her. He would have gladly taken her place to be tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor. But if it had been Luna being tortured, would he have cared as much then? Did Ron hate what happened to Hermione because it was evil, or did he hate what happened to her because she was HIS-- his to claim, his to protect, his to earn? Was Hermione just a damsel that the dashing hero would earn for his honourable deeds? The more Hermione thought about her relationship with Ron, the more her stomach twisted. Ron would die or kill for anyone he thought of as his. But if she wasn't his... Hermione didn't think he would care about her well-being. And she didn't think that belonging to Ron would look like how she thought. She had thought they could build a relationship of love and respect, one built on friendship where she won Ron's heart with her passion and intelligence. She had thought that they could belong to EACH OTHER. But now? 

     Hermione couldn't think clearly with the pounding in her head and the dry, stale feeling in her mouth. She needed to drink some water, take a long shower, brush her teeth, and probably take an excessive quantity of paracetamol. When she was more alive again, she would think about Ron. About love, about friendship, and about what her relationships actually were like.

     Hermione decided to use her parents' ensuite bath instead of hers-- she was always weirded out by the idea of being naked in front of wizarding animals and even more so since this owl was most certainly hired by Harry to make the journey. She knew most witches and wizards didn't seem to care, but her British Muggle childhood had not equipped her to cope with either sapient animals or casual nudity. Besides, her parents' bath had a steam shower, so she could take a luxuriously long shower and sweat out all of the dust and debris she felt deep in her pores. Hermione decided to make today an 'everything' shower-- she hadn't had the luxury to do a deep clean of her hair or shave in far too long. Such things felt frivolous while on the Hunt, even though they helped her to clear her mind. 

     Later, Hermione-- thoroughly scrubbed, shaved, moisturised, and dried from head to toe-- re-entered her bedroom feeling truly refreshed for the first time in months or maybe years. She had forgotten what it felt like to be fully clean, to be able to take care of herself without being afraid her wasting of time would make the difference between life and death. Even Hermione's curls (which had exploded into an unwieldy frizz worse than ever before throughout the last year) had been styled into tight, springy curls that hit her shoulder blades. She looked like herself on vacation. Or maybe, it was that she looked like herself with access to her mother's extensive hair product selection. 

     In just a moment, Hermione had pulled on a pair of her mum's loose trousers and a soft button-up shirt belonging to her dad. She, too, had some clothes stored here, but they likely wouldn't fit her current frame. The last time she had been here, she must have been two stones heavier and some centimetres shorter. Better to bask in the comfort of her parents' clothes than to start feeling self-conscious about her body because she had tried to fit into old clothes. In her room, her tawny owl friend had eaten its fill of raw meat, and the water bowl was filthy with dust and feathers. The owl was tucked onto the lamp near the warm bulb, eyes closed and basking in the warmth. Grimacing, Hermione vanished the soiled water and fallen feathers, and then she took the empty bowl and plate downstairs to the kitchen.

     Hermione made herself some of her mum's instant coffee to jumpstart her brain, and she forced herself to drink another nutrition potion as she made herself an omelette, cut some strawberries and cherries, and sliced some bread up for breakfast. By the time her meal was ready, Hermione felt much more awake, and she was able to go find one of her Dad's spare notebooks to make some more lists.

MUST DO:
- MAKE RESTITUTION TO THE GOBLINS!!!
- inspect the Swindon house
- find a psychologist & get help
- do further research into healthy ways to process trauma
- mitigate the leak about the Horcruxes

WANT TO DO:
- attend the funerals & memorial
- reach out to D. Creevey
- set up a new 1-, 5-, and 10- year plan
- return to Hogwarts to complete a seventh year
- pass NEWTS in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures (complete Muggle Studies NEWT in private study?) with at least an EE, ideally an O
- set up resources at Hogwarts: healers, psychologists, tutors? (Talk with Professor McGonagall)
- clean up and repair Hogwarts building
- clean up and repair Hogwarts grounds
- clean up and repair Hogwarts wards

NO IDEA:
- decide what to do about my parents
- decide what I want from relationships with:
   -- R. Weasley
   -- H. Potter
   -- The Weasley family (as a whole)
- Deathly Hallows? esp. Elder wand...

     Hermione decided that while she was abroad, there wasn't much on her "Must Do" or "Want to Do" lists that she could do. She could certainly try to make restitution to the Goblin Nation in their banks here in France, but she only had her money from her inheritance. She believed that the other members of the Order of the Phoenix might be able to help her make a plan for an appropriate restitution, and she needed to talk to temporary Minister Shacklebolt about the implications of their escapade in Gringotts for wizarding Britain. She could mitigate the leak about Riddle's soul a bit-- she still had her school book lists for each year, so it should be easy enough to reach out to the authors and publishers of the fifth, sixth, and seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks and explain the circumstances. Postage would definitely be more affordable back in Britain, but she could start on the letters' content here. She could also write her letter to Dennis now, and work on figuring out how to deal with the trauma from the war. She had no idea how to even find a normal psychologist, much less one she could be honest with about the wizarding world or the war she just participated in.

     An idea struck her-- she had let her correspondence with Viktor die out in the summer before sixth year, and it had been such a pleasant surprise to see him at Bill and Fleur's wedding; he seemed quite happy to see her. She decided she would add him to her correspondence list to see if he had any further information on seeking psychiatric care as a wizard or on making restitution to the Goblin Nation. Thoughtfully, she added Neville, Luna, Susan, and Padma to her correspondence list. She knew they wouldn't judge her, and maybe their different childhoods or various networks could offer the essential solution for her dispute with the Goblin Nation.

     Her list helped her crystallise her plan, as they always did. She needed to regain emotional and physical strength before she could complete a full inspection of the Swindon house, and though she couldn't complete most of her list here, she could certainly get started on a number of tasks. She would stay here for just a few more nights, and dose herself liberally with water, good food, extra sleep, and whatever potions she had on hand that would be of use to her. After a few days, she would travel back to London the muggle way (since she had already paid for return fare), post her letters, and then head up to Swindon to continue her plan from there. Well, it would actually make more sense to send Viktor's letter from here-- presuming he was in Bulgaria preparing for the next Quidditch season, the flight was much shorter from here than Paris or London. Hermione decided to start with his letter and hire the tawny owl upstairs to take it to Viktor from here.

     With that, Hermione decided to spend most of the day out on the Alps themselves. It had been a while since Hermione had just sat and enjoyed the sunshine, and her mum always said that sunshine was one of the best medicines. Hermione packed up a bag full of easy snacks and her dad's spare notebook and headed out to enjoy the sunshine. She could write letters outside just as easily as inside, and she should heal faster in the fresh air and warm sun.

Chapter Text

Добър ден, господи́н Виктор Крумов!

     I know it has been far too long since we have had a chance to catch up, and I wanted to reach out to see how you are doing. In Britain, things have been quite tumultuous, particularly over the last two years. My friends, Harry and Ronald, and I were given some information on how to combat You-Know-Who, and we decided to act on it. Thus, I have been on the run with Harry and Ron for the past year working to defeat You-Know-Who. Harry was able to defeat You-Know-Who in the early hours of 2 May after You-Know-Who began a battle at Hogwarts school (it's been confirmed by an investigator from the ICW; he's really gone this time).

     I am so sorry for allowing our correspondence to end; I have spent many times wishing to hear your advice and updates on your life. I hope you understand that I ended our correspondence not out of any lack of regard for you nor for a lack of care on my part; I had decided to prioritise the possible defeat of You-Know-Who, and I hope you forgive me for my silence.

      How are you doing? Are you still playing for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team? How are your studies in arithmancy and ancient runes progressing? Have you released any new papers? I would also love to hear if you have found any interesting details in your previous paper on how the early Cyrillic script affects warding in modern Slavic wizarding communities; the ideas you brought up about how different warding symbols could affect the arithmantic divining of threats helped me to better understand my own usage of Elder Futhark in my warding! Have you come to any conclusions about if non-native symbolic/ runic wards would be effectual? We had talked about running some experiments, and I would love to hear if you have any results or interesting findings.

     I also wanted to ask you for some advice. I know we talked about your struggle with joining the national team so early in life and how the pressure caused some problems for you, and I remember you said something about finding a mind healer to help. How would I go about finding a mind healer who could help me deal with my role in the war?

     Also, in some news that is even less positive, I also need to ask your advice for making restitution to the Goblin Nation. I know the dealings between the Goblin Nation and Bulgaria are still so new after the fall of the Iron Curtain, but I believe you may be able to offer some additional advice. I don't know if you saw, but Harry, Ron, and I were involved in an incident at Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley, London. One of the tasks we needed to complete in order to combat You-Know-Who involved removing an artifact from the vault of one of his loyal followers. Viktor, I broke into Gringotts bank. And I removed an artifact from one of the deepest vaults. And then, we were discovered. In order to escape, Harry, Ron, and I released one of the security dragons from the lower vault levels. Unfortunately, the dragon broke through many tunnels and cart paths, and then it broke through the bank front and teller counters before exiting the area.

     All that to say, I need to find a way to make restitution to the Goblin Nation, not just for breaking in, not just for removing an artifact from one of the most secure vaults, but also for breaking the majority of the bank's infrastructure and removing their security dragon.

I eagerly await to hear back from you.
Your friend,
Hermione J. Granger

Chapter Text

My Dear Hermione,

Good day to you as well! There is no need to be so formal with me. I know it has been so long, but I am always happy when hearing or seeing from you.

I have been watching the news from Britain since our friendship was birthed, and I am so happy to hear that you have worked with Harry and Ron in order to defeat the dark wizard we all feared. I wish I would have given help, but I did not known that you were so involved in this case. I had believed the idea that Headmaster Dumbledore would be involved. When I heard he was at rest, I had thought he would choose a successor who had matured. I ignored the talk that Harry would participate when I heard it, and I hoped you were focused on completing schoolwork. I am so sorry.

Thank you for your works. Your effort is wonderful. The world is better for your works.

I also apologise for not keeping writing. I have thought of you often, as well, but I had not made my home wisely the last few years. I must admit, I have been caught up in some debauchery associated with my role in the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. It is too easy now to spend time being prodigal now that I am housing with some team members, especially here in Sofia. I am still the first line seeker, and we have been playing games throughout the European Quidditch Union and making acquaintances. I have been playing in qualifying matches for the upcoming World Cup later this summer, where I will go to Brasil to observe since we did not place in the final.

As for my studies, I am also afraid I have ceased my study into old Cyrillic warding numerology after publishing the paper we last discussed, 'Utilising Local Symbology for Improved Threat Analysis in Designing Building Wards' (I did attach this paper, translated into English at my best). My work in symbology working with numerology struggled because my dyscalculia makes calculating discouraging. I have spent some more time learning how to properly utilise other symbols than old Cyrillic, though, and that has been interesting. You can also find attached the thesis and notes for a paper I am working on I have called 'Cyrillic Symbology in Non-Slavic Regions', but I need to zoom in on a more small topic. I spent time in Geneva for the EQU, and I explored some effects on my common wards and some small talismans by using their sigils in my familiar casting. I would love being given your thoughts and advices, whether on the practice or on the paper. As you will see, the sigils did work stronger in Geneva than Sofia, and the old Cyrillic script was more stronger in Sofia.

I am so heart happy to hear our discussions from before helped you with your wards. Please stay safer. Have you completed schoolwork? You said you were running with Harry and Ron, but I know how you are. What is your plans now?

I remember talking about finding the head healer, and I am so glad you ask. My head healer is a part of network, and he gave me some names of head healers to recommend:
Head Healer Saoirse Gallagher - Galway, Ireland
Head Healer Margot Blanchard - Paris, France
Head Healer Gerda Boelen - Utrecht, Nederlands
My head healer said those three were the best start for your position and renown, but he offered more if you wish.

Hermione, why am I not surprised to hear your adventures have such big consequences. The Goblin Nation is proud, and breaking in would be losing reputation. The fact you also took an artifact, broke infrastructure, and released their security dragon is big news, unfortunately. The goblins local will be losing reputation with the rest of the Goblin Nation, but the Goblin Nation may also feel losing reputation with all wizards. I do not know what would be valuable enough for restitution, and I suggest you waiting to talk to the Goblin Nation until you are having something worthwhile. Even goblin-made artifacts are not restitution, because the Goblin Nation possesses artifacts always. In fact, reminding the Goblin Nation of other goblin-made artifacts they possess but do not have might make the situation more bad. I talked with Fleur about the goblins some; we send some few letters still, and she worked with the Goblin Nation. Perhaps she would have more good ideas. Would you feel comfortable me reaching out, or would you feel more comfortable you reaching out? I know you are familiar with her husband's family, and she lives in the UK now.

Please let me know if I could give help in any way, and tell me news of your life.
Viktor

PS. Please forgive my English. I have not been speaking in it much, and I need practice.

Chapter Text

Здрасти, Виктор!

     It is so good to hear from you again, Viktor. Like you said, it's always good to hear from you. Thank you for replying so quickly to my letter! I hardly expected you to reply, much less so soon. And there is no need to apologise for anything: not for your English, not for your distance or decision not to write, and certainly not for not participating in a foreign war. Your company is always welcome, of course, but the defeat of You-Know-Who required a few specific British wizards, unfortunately. Thus, I am so glad that you were safe and able to continue your career in Quidditch. 

     Congratulations on remaining first line seeking for the Bulgarian National team! I know you want to brush off the achievement, but it is an achievement you can be proud of. I did not keep up with the World Cup matches, unfortunately, but I hope you found the experiences enjoyable and profitable despite not achieving the outcome you wished. And I am excited on your behalf that you have the opportunity to go see the World Cup final in Brazil so soon! I hope you have a wonderful time and make a lot of acquaintances.

     Being in your twenties is the perfect time to explore and have fun and make lots of friends and acquaintances. I know I can be somewhat of a prude, but I hope you know that I am genuinely glad you are having an enjoyable time housing with your Quidditch teammates and meeting all sorts of different people. But, since it is me, I do have to remind you to be very explicit in your communication: you don't want anyone to have hurt feelings over a misunderstanding. And for Merlin's sake, make sure to use protection every time! (Please forgive my audacity; I worry about you, like I worry about all my friends.)

     Thank you also for all your kind words about my involvement in the war. I'm certain your opinion of my role is much overblown, but I appreciate the support nonetheless. No matter how small the contribution, it is gratifying to be thanked for one's effort.

     I'm so glad that you were able to complete your paper! It was a delight to read. The idea of combining the power of local and foreign runes and symbols in order to cover a broader variety of security threats is fascinating, and I will have to reread your paper again when I have the leisure of doing some of my own arithmantic computations. I always found the mathematical nature of arithmancy so calming, since it breaks the possible futures into different likelihoods, unlike other divination, but I know your dyscalculia affects your computations in a way that makes it so much more frustrating. I am still so thankful you were able to get your diagnosis at the beginning of our friendship.

     Thank you so much for speaking to your head healer on my behalf. It was so kind of you to reach out to him, and so kind of him to offer such wonderful recommendations. Please thank him for me when next you see him, and I hope you know how grateful I am to you. I have reached out to all three suggestions to see if they are accepting new clients and when their next appointments would be, and I am hopeful that at least one of the three will be a good match for me. 

     Your thesis on using Cyrillic symbology in non-Slavic regions was fascinating to read. I would love the chance to look at your data more closely! I also attached some of my notes on the matter-- and some suggestions for your paper-- to this letter. 

     As for your analysis of my issues with the Goblin Nation, I came to the same conclusions you did. Unfortunately, as much as I wanted to send a letter right after the war was won letting them know why I infringed upon their domain, I knew enough about politics to know that an explanation would likely only infuriate them. I do appreciate your insight again about goblin ownership; I hadn't considered that bringing in wizard-held artifacts might also be inflammatory. That will remain a project for a future date, once my relationship with the Goblin Nation is improved. 

     Asking Fleur for some advice is a wonderful idea, and I would appreciate you reaching out on my behalf if you are genuinely comfortable with the idea. My relationship with Fleur herself has never been particularly close, and I had a recent incident with the Weasley family that makes reaching out via her husband an ill-advised choice at the moment. Thank you so much for the suggestion and the offer. 

     As far as my current situation is going, I am afraid I do not know what to say. I did not attend school this last year, though I did attempt to maintain my skills in each subject through independent study when I could. I had initially planned on returning to Hogwarts school to complete the seventh year program and to take the NEWTS exams, but I am struggling with some indecision as of late. 

     I sent my parents abroad to keep them safe from the war, and I have not been in contact with them. I have not decided if I think it is better for them to return or to stay where they are for the moment, so I am not currently in contact with them. After my incident with the Weasley family a few days ago, I decided to find alternate lodging; Hogwarts is being offered as a refugee house, but because of my proximity to Harry, I find it to be somewhat uncomfortable to be around so many people. I have spent some time at my family's chalet in France, but I am headed back to the UK in order to attend the funeral services and the memorial service for the people we lost in the battle. I plan to return to my parents' address in Swindon, but I need to do an inspection to ensure its safety and habitability prior to my stay; I knew that You-Know-Who's forces would be able to find my parents' address all too easily, and I am not yet certain they did not find it. I will let you know if the warding was sufficient after my inspection!

Thank you again for your dear friendship, Viktor.
Your friend,
Hermione

Chapter Text

     Hermione spent a few whole days trying not to obsess over her life as she healed. Her body felt stronger and more familiar again, and her ribs no longer stuck out like the bars of xylophone, so the time was not wasted. Her hired owl had left with her second(!!) letter for Viktor, and she would post her other letters in London when she arrived. Her hair felt shiny and healthy again after days of intensive care (and some charmwork to trim the split ends), her skin glowed from good food and warm sunshine, and her eyes looked bright and full of life. She felt like a completely different person from the girl who arrived here: bedraggled, tear-stained, and carrying too much on her underfed shoulders. But Hermione knew she wasn't fully healed; her dad always said that trying to deal with the hard events of life was a marathon. Holding first place in the first kilometre doesn't mean you're going to win. She needed stamina, supplies, and a good support system to run this race to the end. Hopefully, she would soon have at least one of those, Hermione thought ruefully.

     Hermione left her family chalet early in the morning on 9 May. She carefully closed up the house behind her, bringing all her rubbish to take to the village tip. Her time in the chalet had been a needed respite, and a part of her wished she could just stay. But of the few things Hermione was certain of at the moment, the most pressing was that she wanted to do good things. She wanted to make a difference, not run away. She didn't know what that looked like, but she knew it was a part of her. If she was alive, if she was doing anything, then she wanted to be doing something that mattered. Something to help people. 

     Hermione's ramble down the mountainside brought her some more joy. She appreciated the dawn light colouring the hints of green on the plants, and the warmth on her skin filled her heart. She supposed that her brain was going to be stuck trying to consider her friendships with Harry and Ron now, anyways, since she had finished her letters' drafts and wouldn't have much to do on the trains up to Paris and then London. So, Hermione settled into a walk towards the train station and let her brain wander.

     She thought she must have first started to have a crush on Ron in year three, even though that year had been full of awful fights. Before that, she had a crush on Professor Lockhart (ew.) and a muggle boy from primary school, Jack. By year three, Hermione had started noticing Ron's sunny smiles and skill at Wizard's Chess. Hermione now thought that maybe her burgeoning crush on Ron was one of the many reasons why her fights with him were so emotional in third year, in addition to all the problems with Harry's safety, their pet squabbles, . Then, in their fourth year, Ron had gotten so worked up about Harry's name being placed in the Goblet of Fire that he had practically abandoned the friend group. Hermione remembered it like in year two, when everyone thought Harry was the heir of Slytherin. It took Harry's completion of the first task for Ron to be willing to apologise or even try to help Harry. Even if Ron had been right, and Harry had placed his own name in the Goblet, how could he have let Harry try to handle it without them? Hermione knew that even if it came out that Harry had placed his own name in the Goblet of Fire that she still would have tried to help him make it through the Tournement.

     That made Hermione think a little bit differently about Ron leaving during the Hunt, too. When he left them in the woods, it hadn't been the first time he abandoned their friendship. Ron had a habit of getting offended by something that wasn't even a real concern and then just... heading off on his own. Hermione self-consciously wondered why that was different than what she had done when she walked out of the Burrow. Maybe it was different because they had completed the tasks they agreed on? Maybe it was different because no one was in danger? Or maybe it wasn't different at all. She would have to think on that more, too.

     Hermione thought about Ron and their romance together. Ron hadn't exactly been obvious in showing he was interested in her. In fourth year, he had asked her to the Yule Ball, but only last minute. It was like he thought she wasn't even an option until he thought all the 'good' options were gone. But nonetheless, Ron had gotten so jealous and upset that she was with Viktor. She had thought that maybe he had realised he'd wanted to ask her to the ball, but had he? Or had Ron just not wanted her to go to the ball with anyone else? If Ron had found a date, would he have expected her to sit alone in Gryffindor tower, pining for him? If Fleur had said yes to Ron, would Ron have cared what Hermione had done? 

     In fifth year, Ron hadn't really shown any romantic interest in anyone. She remembered talking with Harry and Ron about Harry's dates with Cho, but it seemed like Ron had thought romance was silly. Or maybe it was that Hermione was more focused on her OWLs? Either way, Ron certainly hadn't show her that he had a crush on her at all. He did still seem upset and jealous that she was even writing to Viktor, even though their relationship had become just a friendship by then. Hermione and Viktor had been little more than pen friends, but Ron was still weirdly upset on the matter. Was that jealousy-- because he had a romantic crush on Hermione, or was it just possessiveness because he felt like Viktor was encroaching?

     And sixth year was such a shitshow. Hermione did blame Harry for some of it (like the stunt with Felix Felicis that had caused a huge rift in between her and both Harry and Ron) and she blamed Ginny for some of it (like bringing up her relationship with Viktor from fourth year to Ron; there was NO NEED for Ginny to break Hermione's confidence, much less since Ginny KNEW Hermione had a crush on Ron at the time), but Hermione also knew a lot of the problems that year were on Ron and Ron alone. Ron was the one who got upset about being 'left out' of the Slug Club (even though he's the only one who even wanted to participate in it), and he was the one who behaved so poorly about it. Ronald was the one who overreacted that she had just KISSED Viktor. Hermione had to laugh at the hypocrisy regarding his relationship with Lavender-- Ron and Lavender had been snogging in the middle of the Common Room or in the middle of the hall for months (and, she might add, it seemed like he needed to improve his technique). 

     The entire relationship he had with Lavender... He hadn't exactly pursued her, either. Had he genuinely been interested in Lavender as a person? Hermione strongly doubted it. She knew it might be due to an overblown sense of her own importance, but it certainly seemed like he only acceeded to Lavender's attentions because he was flattered that she liked him and because he was frustrated with Hermione for her so called 'relationship' with Viktor. She and Viktor had kissed a few times before the Yule Ball, and Hermione hadn't kissed him once she had realised that Ron might have feelings for her. She had liked Viktor well enough back then, and maybe could have developed a crush on him at the time, but she was so deeply invested in Ron at the time. She knew that kissing Viktor didn't mean that she didn't like Ron, but she also knew that if Ron found out about it when they were together, he would be upset.

     And that's another problem. Why on Earth was Ron upset that Hermione had kissed someone else, before they were together romantically at all? Was it just because it was Viktor? Hermione didn't think so. She had an awful, sinking feeling that maybe Ron was the kind of person who would always hold someone's sexual past over them. Well, a woman's sexual past, anyways. Heaven knows he certainly never expected his male friends to maintain their 'purity', but his behaviour around Ginny and Hermione seemed to imply that he thought women should not be sexual in the slightest (not that kissing is even necessarily sexual!). Hermione wondered if Ron would identify as a feminist, if he ever found out about the muggle concept. In some ways, he had certainly said that he thought Hermione was brilliant and capable. But on the same hand, it always seemed like he had these rigid ideas about 'woman' and 'man' and what kinds of roles or behaviours would be acceptable. Thinking about it, Hermione wondered if it as like the Weasleys' opinions on muggles; they thought they were more progressive than they actually were. Did Ron think he was progressive about women's equality, and if so, did he think he was more progressive than reality could prove?

     With some disgruntlement at where her thoughts were going, Hermione found herself outside of Les Houches, in the south of Chamonix Valley's skiing and market villages. She quickly disposed of her rubbish, got herself a tasty-looking viennoiserie and a café au lait and made her way to the bus stop to double check her apparation route. After a brief consultation with the information packets, Hermione found a temporarily closed bus stop in Annency near the transit station. Hermione slipped herself into a quiet lane out of sight, and then she quietly apparated the sixty kilometres to Annency. A brief walk, and she arrived at the Annency transit station in enough time to catch the next train direct to Lyon. Not even 7h yet, and she was on her way; a good start!

     On the train to Lyon, Hermione decided to think about what she actually wanted in a relationship. Her ramble this morning had led her to some conclusions about Ron's behaviour in a relationship (both in general and with her specifically), but she needed to confirm for herself if her desires lined up or not. (Though, with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach, Hermione thought that she knew the answer to that). 

     Hermione had always wanted someone to joke around with, someone to go to the theatre with, someone to quote Shakespeare with. She had thought of late mornings where her mum and dad worked together in the kitchen bringing together a feast of waffles and cut fruit and fried eggs, and she had wanted a marriage with that easy camaraderie. Granted, Mum and Dad weren't exactly traditional in terms of British marriages: they had lived together in Bern for almost 5 whole years before getting married, and that was in the 1960s. And they hadn't had her until their mid thirties. Mum and Dad always said it didn't matter if Hermione got married, or even to whom. And Mum was quite progressive about romance, despite her Afro-Caribbean heritage and her casual Catholicism. Dad's only addendums (to not purchase property or have children without legal protection) also made sense to Hermione. Nonetheless, Hermione had daydreamed about grand romance: every cheesy trope, from long walks on the beach to candlelit dinners. She had daydreamed both about lounging around in just her pants and reading rubbish novels curled up with her partner and also getting dressed up in full evening dress to go to the Royal Theatre before enjoying fine dining and good wine. Hermione herself didn't know how to envision her dream partner: tall or short, thin or stout, male or female. All she cared about was finding her dearest friend, her lover, her partner. More often than not, she noticed someone's smile or capable hands instead of their gender or body type. Hermione thought she could fall in love with almost anyone, if they were the right kind of person.

     And Hermione didn't want a partnership of only romantic love. She wanted familial love, of always having someone on her team. She wanted the deep love of true companionship, of bonds forged in wildfire. And, Hermione wanted erotic love. She wanted to be partners with someone who was interested in tiny bits of lace and leather, in long days spent in bed, in intense kisses tasting every part of one another's bodies. 

     Of course, Hermione had to make a list. She pulled out her dad's spare notebook that she had liberated from their family chalet (in addition to some of her parents' clothing and toiletries) and started writing. After some brainstorming, she listed the most important attributes:

My Partner
- kind
- advocate for the marginalised
- hard-working
- driven by personal convictions
- affectionate
- curious
- able to navigate the wizarding and muggle realms
- egalitarian

     Hermione looked over her list, and then laughed a little. Ron did not fit any of it. In fact, she didn't know anyone who would at the moment. Maybe she would never know anyone who fulfilled her list. She let the pessimism sit for a minute, and then she imagined her life single. She thought about cooking only meals she wanted to eat, of coming home to just herself. There were some good parts to being single, Hermione supposed. And certainly, she would rather be single than be in a relationship with someone she disliked. But she did want romance and sex in her life. Hermione decided she needed to acquire a good vibrator, and then she needed to go on dates to try to find a partner she could love and respect. Hermione would hold out hope for a partner who actually was kind, egalitarian, affectionate, and all the rest.

     The train arrived in Lyon Part Dieu just before 9h. The next train to Paris left in an hour, so she had enough time to wander the train station. The building improvement work was being a bit of a bother, but one of the nearby cafes had some delicious looking patisseries. Hermione grabbed herself another coffee and viennoiserie, thinking it was going to be a long day. Eventually, she made her way over to the platform, and then onto her comfortable seat on the train. Another few hours to think, this time on her way from Lyon to Paris.

    Hermione then tried to think about what she wanted the practicalities of life to look like in ten years; in twenty. She wasn't sure if she wanted to raise children. Hermione liked the idea of children, but she felt rather overwhelmed at the thought of tiny people depending wholly on her. She knew she could fall so deeply into a book that no one could break into her attention, and she worried that she wouldn't necessarily be a good mother. So parenthood: a possibility, but no strong feelings one way or the other. For a career? Hermione struggled with herself. She knew that almost all institutional change was done either through internal work-- primarily legislation-- or by social force. Hermione was never very good at navigating the difficulties of social waters, and she was never charming or affable. She knew her skill lay largely in passion, in writing legislation, in supporting someone who could be the head of change. But Hermione knew she didn't actually want to become a figurehead of herself. Were she to enter the Ministry of Magic, she could see herself enjoying being the head of a department, but she would never truly want to be Minister for Magic. Again, no firm answers. 

     Hermione thought about how she wanted to live. Theoretically, she could just enter the muggle world, and leave wizarding society behind altogether. There were some tempting things about that, but she really would miss how spectacular magic was. A part of Hermione would be cut off if she tried to remove her part in the wizarding community altogether. Likewise, Hermione could leave the muggle world behind entirely. Her family was gone, at least for now, and her sole contacts with the world were undoubtedly in the wizarding world. However, Hermione started to realise that a part of her would also be cut off if she left behind her muggle heritage. Thus, Hermione was bound to walking in between both worlds.

     Regarding location, she had never considered permanently moving abroad. Even moving to France felt like it would have been too far from Harry and Ron should they need her. And she had wanted to stay nearby for her parents, too. But now, they didn't need her. Hermione needed herself, and she needed to be there for herself. Maybe it would be good for her to go on to university or get an apprenticeship on the Continent! Her French was rusty, and certainly not technical, but she might be able to make it in France or Belgium. She could also go to Canada, or even Australia. But Hermione realised for the first time that maybe she should consider moving abroad.

     With that, Hermione had come to some conclusions. She had not made her lifelong plans, but at least she had about a year's plan. She decided to write it down:

One Year Goals:
- pass NEWTS in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures (complete Muggle Studies NEWT in private study?) with at least an EE, ideally an O
- go on lots of dates with lots of different people
- complete her seventh year at Hogwarts
- make new 5-, 10-, and life goal lists
- determine a career path (and uni/ apprenticeship)

     Hermione's brain was fried at that point. She decided to look out the window on the rest of the way to Paris; she needed to have some ability to process information and problem solve to loosen the wards at the Swindon house. The French countryside seemed almost prosaic in comparison to the beautiful stretch of mountains Hermione had just left, but she could still see the beauty in the rolling hills dotted with towns and farms. France held a portion of her heart, too, she thought. Maybe she ought to make a joke about motherlands, but it didn't feel the time. 

     The train's arrival into Paris felt familiar and welcoming. Hermione already felt a bit tired from the travels, or maybe it was mental and emotional tiredness. Either way, she loaded up with another coffee and a sandwich for lunch before getting onto the Eurostar to London. She was almost back. And, Hermione must have been quite tired still, either from the battle or from her depressing thoughts, because she ended up half dosing the rest of the way to London. 

    The train arrived at St Pancras without fanfare, and Hermione comfortably set off for the wizarding quarter. She had to decide: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, or venture through the maze of other streets in hopes that she wouldn't get recognised. Unfortunately for her mental health, Diagon Alley seemed to be the only choice until the auror force is reinstated and purged of Death Eaters and blood supremacists. Hermione decided to transfigure herself a smidge to become less noticeable, though she supposed her shiny hair in ringlets and golden skin were miles away from what most people expected from her. Either way, she changed her eyes and hair to an inky black, shrank and upturned her nose, and found some casual day robes to put on inside. Feelings simultaneously more and less self-conscious, Hermione made her way into the Leaky Cauldron. 

     Hermione made her way quickly to the owl post office. She walked with purpose, but she still felt eyes on her back. Hermione couldn't help but feel her skin crawl, and she gripped her wand tightly in her sleeve. London did not feel safe, but she knew she was here for a reason. With a practiced casualness, Hermione selected owls for her letters: Dennis Creevey; Healer Saoirse Gallagher; Healer Margot Blanchard; Healer Gerda Boelen; Mr. Arsenius Jigger (C/O Luca Books); Mr. Wilbert Slinkhard (C/O Puresa Publishing); Ms. Galatea Merrythought (C/O Hagnýtur Holdings); Mr. Quentin Trimble (C/O Ubiquitous Books); Mr. Neville Longbottom; Ms. Luna Lovegood; Ms. Susan Bones; Ms. Padma Patil; Mr. Daedulus Diggle; Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt; Professor Minerva McGonagall; Mrs. Andromeda Tonks; Mrs. Augusta Longbottom. The price for postage was a little painful, and Hermione had not yet had the opportunity to look up some additional publishers and Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks or reference guides that might make some mention of the matter. But, needs must. Hermione made a mental note to consider purchasing an owl familiar now that she was going to graduate Hogwarts soon (and therefore, not have easy access to owls). 

     With that, Hermione left Diagon Alley as quickly as she could be unnoticed. Her back still tingled with the eyes of others, but she felt much more comfortable once she changed back into her muggle trousers in the Leaky Cauldron and continued on her way. Hermione felt somewhat relieved, and she had enough energy to apparate back to her shaded spot by the golf course behind her house. It was time for some work.

Chapter Text

     Hermione had just arrived at the nexus of the protective enchantments over her parents' house when a quiet voice and a presence behind her shocked a little scream from her throat. 
     « Hermione , c'est Fleur (Hermione, this is Fleur) ».  The unexpected French surprised Hermione, but not as much as Fleur's presence. 
     « Fleur ! Ciao ! Comment puis-je vous aider (Fleur! Hello! How can I help you?) » ?  Hermione said, heart still pounding.
     « Nos ami Viktor me dit que tu avais des problèmes, et j'ai voulu t'offre mon aide. J'avais voulue te démarcher après de... du désastre à "the Burrow", mais je sus que nous n'avons été jamais intime, alors je veux ne dépasser pas. Cependant, Viktor me dit que tu venais ici d'inspecter votre maison et les apotropaïxies pour le presence ou influence de "Death Eaters". Depuis j'ai étudié brisant de sorts, j'ai pensé t'offre mon aide. Est-ce que tu veux que je t'aide inspecter (Our mutual friend Viktor told me you had some problems, and I wanted to offer you my help. I had wanted to reach out after the... the debacle at the Burrow, but I knew that we were never close, so I didn't want to overstep. However, Viktor told me that you were coming here to inspect your house and wards for the presence or effects of the Death Eaters. Since I studied curse-breaking, I had thought to offer you my help. Would you like me to help you inspect?) » ? Fleur spoke kindly, and she took care to speak slowly so Hermione could easily understand her French. 
     "Fleur, how kind!" Hermione was quick to answer, « J'apprécierais vraiment votre aide (I would very much appreciate your help!) » ! though she was still feeling quite unsure about the whole situation. She was rather surprised that Viktor had reached out to Fleur at all, to be honest, much less that he had done so with such speed; he must have reached out to Fleur as soon as he received Hermione's letter. 

     With quiet work, Hermione and Fleur began discussing all of the protective enchantments and runic matrices she had used to conceal and protect the empty house. Fleur looked at her with even more respect after talking through the arithmancy Hermione had used to weave different wards together.

     "I've never seen warding quite like this before! How did you determine to use Trogdorf's Dilemma as the binding agent?" Fleur's voice was even more impressed than her face had let on.
     "Oh! That's something that Viktor and I had theorised. Since his warding isn't based on the same symbols as British wizards' and witches', he offered a different perspective! Do you think it was sufficient?" It was rare Hermione could talk specifics about some of her more niche research, but she supposed that talking to a curse-breaker would offer lots of opportunity for in-depth discussion.
     "It's rather ingenious, actually. I would love to sit down and work out the rune matrices you used to see if it could be adapted for a dwelling where living beings are inside. I think it would revolutionise the expected wards around most wizarding dwellings here in Britain, if not across the world." Fleur trailed off, muttering some details about warding in French that Hermione didn't have the vocabulary for. Hermione's face warmed with pleasure. It was quite gratifying to receive such a compliment from someone with a mastery in curse-breaking, much less one that had been hired by and trained by the Goblin Nation.

     With Fleur's help, it took Hermione under two hours to loosen the wards enough to remove the most intense spells and allow them to enter the house. Hermione's vocabulary in French had greatly expanded (on both wizarding exclamations of surprise and protective enchantments), and she felt her cheeks were a bit sore from smiling so much. It turned out that Fleur had a very dry and deadpan sense of humour, and Hermione found they had a lot in common. Hermione had not unwound protective enchantments or runic matrices with someone outside of a classroom before, and it was surprisingly enjoyable even with the fear of Death Eater traps and the uncertainty of everything hanging over her. Together, Fleur and Hermione opened the wards into an arch of magic gracefully swooping above their heads. 

     Carefully, Hermione and Fleur began running scans through the opening. Fleur brought up a handful of glowing numbers with a single swish of her wand, and Hermione began running through her charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts detection spells. 
     "It seems no human, with or without a magical signature, has been inside the house since July 1997, and the last identifying marks match both the wards we just took down and your own magical signature. I'd like to do a full inspection, just in case they also had a cursebreaker involved, but I know such cowards tend to show off their crimes without shame." Fleur's voice sounded positive, and Hermione's heart lightened.
     "It's so good to hear that! I didn't see anything on any of my charms or detection spells, either." Hermione said, « Je suis reconnaissante vraiment à votre expertise (I am so grateful for your expertise!) » Hermione and Fleur carefully made their way through each room in the house, chattering all the while about topics as vast as magical creature rights in France to symbology in warding in Egyptian tombs. Hermione found herself liking Fleur more and more, appreciating her quick, dry wit and perpetual interest in Hermione's scholarly experiments.

     "Hermione, I'm happy to give the whole house my seal of approval. I doubt anyone got through those wards, and I see no evidence of issues." Fleur's voice sounded relieved, but also a bit disappointed to be done with the work.
     « Fleur, puis-je vous offrir le dîner et des verres en guise de remerciement pour votre travail (Fleur, may I take you to dinner as thanks for all your work?) » ? Hermione asked.
     "I would love to go! I can also try to answer some of your other questions while we eat, if that works for you?" Fleur replied immediately. With that, the two women laid some basic charms on the house to allow Hermione to return safely. With a grimace, Fleur then tried to cast the patronus charm. « Je n'ai maîtrisé jamais ce sortilège. Est-ce que tu connais où est le plus proche Service de hibou postal (I never did master that particular charm. Do you know where the nearest owl post hire is?) » ?
     Hermione grinned. "I can do better. I helped Harry teach the charm before, and I'd be happy to help you if you want?"
     "After seeing so many people use it during the battle, I do think it's a rather necessary charm, since you don't mind." Fleur's smooth face showed a flash of embarrassment, so Hermione smiled at her. 
     "Would you try to cast it again so I can see your wandwork?" Hermione asked.
     "Expecto patronum!" Fleur stated clearly.
     "It looks like your wand shakes a bit during the swirl. Maybe try using more of your arm as a balance instead of just using your wrist? And try to really picture your memory-- how did it feel? What did you smell? Try to put yourself back into your memory without fear or regret. No memory is perfect, but you chose one that is joyful and full of love. Let those emotions fill you up."
     Fleur closed her eyes, and straightened her wrist. With a delicate swirl, she said "Expecto patronum!" in a smooth voice. The wispy glowing she had previously produced coalesced into a big, fluffy shape that was definitely dog-like. Hermione peered at the form in wonder.
     "It's a Pyrenean Mountain Dog!" Hermione exclaimed in delight. 
     "So it is." Fleur spoke quietly. "Thank you, Hermione." With another twirl of her wand, Fleur prepared her patronus to take a message. « Mon lion, je suis avec Hermione encore, et nous départirons pour le dîner. Je t'aime beaucoup! (My lion, I'm still with Hermione, and now we're heading out for dinner. I love you lots!) » With a happy glint in her eye, Fleur sent off her corporeal guardian.
     "Are you excited for Bill's reaction?" Hermione asked. Fleur laughed and nodded.
     « Où est-ce que tu voudrais aller pour le dîner, mon amie (Where would you like to go for dinner, my friend?) » ? Fleur asked.
     « Il y a bon restaurant presque d'ici, si vous n'avez pas de problème de passer votre temps dans le monde moldu (There is a nice restaurant near here, if you don't mind spending time in the muggle world?) » ? asked Hermione.
     "I would love to. It's been too long since I spent some time out and about!" Fleur said.

     With that, Hermione and Fleur cleaned themselves up and headed to a nearby muggle restaurant Hermione's parents had taken her on occasion. They spent the walk to the restaurant in easy chatter, switching back and forth between English and French. It seemed Fleur did miss speaking in her native tongue with more than just Bill, and she seemed excited to help Hermione's stilted vocabulary. Hermione found it wonderful to learn more about the French wizarding community, but she felt a bit antsy waiting to talk about her issues with the goblins. Nonetheless, she forced herself to relax a little and enjoy the conversation. The solution for the issue with the goblins had waited this long, and could wait a few hours more. 

     Hermione and Fleur arrived at the restaurant as the sun was dimming into golden light. It was busy inside but still had enough space for the two women to find a slightly secluded corner where they could pull up some minor privacy enchantments to talk freely. Hermione ordered them a bottle of good red wine to start off the meal with their warm bread and rich compound butter. After ordering some appetisers and meals, Hermione and Fleur settled in to talk about the bigger issues.

     "So, Viktor tells me that you have a tale to tell and some troubles with the Goblin Nation?" Fleur asked.
     "Ah. Yes. Harry, Ron, and I were given instructions on how to combat You-Know-Who that involved removing an object from the vault of one of his loyal Death Eaters. We came to the conclusion that trying to remove the artifact from the vault secretly would be our best option. Well, if you recall, that did not turn out so well. We were responsible not only for removing the artifact we needed, but also were responsible for the release of their security dragon and the damage it created on its way out with us. I had hoped to come up with a way to make reparations of sorts to avert another war, but I do not have any ideas as to what would even be an option." Hermione's voice was a bit rueful. She was certain that if they had more time or resources, she would have been able to come up with an alternative solution to acquire the cup, but even now, she couldn't think of anything.
     « Ma Mère Hécate (My mother Hecate!) » ! Fleur exclaimed. "We had seen you afterwards, of course, on the dragon, but..." Fleur trailed off. "I think we had hoped that it was not the responsibility of any witch or wizard. No one wants another war, including the goblins." Fleur's face was the most serious Hermione had ever seen it, including during the Battle of Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament. "Hermione. For the Goblin Nation to not perceive this as an act of war..."
     "I know. I know that it will be quite difficult. And I'm certain that some other wizarding countries and even our interim Minister for Magic have made some compensatory actions. But I also know that a personal apology from me would go a long way to help matters. But only if I can find something that would be a worthy restitution for the damages of some sort." Hermione looked at Fleur with pleading eyes.
     "Hermione. I don't know anyone who made restitution to the goblins without it involving a life, either their own or that of a fugitive." Fleur spoke kindly, despite the blunt words. 
     Hermione's head bowed under the weight of confirmation. She had all but known that was the case already, but somewhere inside of her was a deep desire to find another answer. "And they wouldn't take the death of You-Know-Who?" Hermione's voice was quiet.
     "Hermione, they might accept his death for one of you. But it sounded like you wanted a solution for you and Harry and Ron... I'll keep thinking about it, but I don't have high hopes that we can find a solution that keeps the three of you alive. Our terms with the Goblin Nation are written in blood. The consequences for your actions affect the entire world, wizarding and « moldu » . I imagine the only reasons why we haven't descended into all-out war with the goblins are that You-Know-Who was seen as a threat to them and that your actions have presumably been condemned by all the wizarding governments who know about it." Fleur's voice had a bit of a chiding note. "I won't go on. I know you know what this could mean. Let us talk on other matters. How has your love-life progressed since I last saw you? I hope you did not accept Ronald back?"

     Hermione laughed. "No Ronald, and no love-life to speak of."
     « Louangeons Médée et Circé (Praise Medea and Circe!) » !
     "Ronald didn't even try to ask for me to come back to him, actually. He hasn't reached out for anything. But, after all, I suppose that we 'were never exactly together' anyways, as he said." Hermione heard her voice going a bit sad at that, despite her lists and conclusions. She tried quickly to shove those emotions back down to where they couldn't affect her.
     "Ah Hermione. I am so sorry. « Ceux qui n'aiment pas ont rarement de grands plaisirs ; ceux qui aiment ont souvent de grandes peines. (Those who don't love rarely have great pleasure; those who do love will often have great pain. -- quote from Pensées et Maximes 1791 by Jean-Benjamin de Laborde) » And Hermione, you love Ronald and Harry deeply." Fleur's voice was soft again. "And are you interested in creating a love-life?"
     "I am, actually. Do you have any suggestions?" Hermione joked, but she did believe Fleur found a good man in Bill. Maybe just not someone that Hermione would pick for herself.
     « Vraiment, Aphrodite nous sourit (Truly, Aphrodite laughs at us!) » ! Fleur's eyes danced. « Il faut sortir beaucoup et baiser tous les personnes qui tu veux (You absolutely must go out a ton and 'kiss' everyone you want!) » ! Fleur smiled with true camaraderie. "In fact, would you like to go out after dinner to see if you can meet someone? Not for anything serious, but maybe some fun?"
     Hermione's laugh was a little fragile. "I'm not much good at dancing. Or flirting."
     "If you're interested in trying, I would be happy to go with you. « Liberté, égalité, sororité, mon amie (Freedom, equality, and sisterhood, my friend!-- a play on the French national motto) » ! It's hard to learn how to do either without practice." Fleur's offer was so genuine Hermione could feel the friendliness in her bones. She had wanted to go out and meet some new people. Maybe it would be more fun or easier now, and maybe more so with Fleur's help and support.
     "I would actually appreciate it, Fleur. Thank you for all your kindness." Hermione's voice was full of heartfelt appreciation, and it made Fleur smile even wider. 

     Two hours later, Hermione and Fleur made their way back to the Swindon house to get ready to go out. They were both merry on wine and good company, and it was easy enough to change into some of Hermione's old clothing with some gratuitous transfiguration. Hermione ended up almost fully covered, with a lacey maroon top, a silky black skirt, and some kitten-heeled sandals, while Fleur happily put on a black mini dress and heels. Hermione had to laugh when she looked at them side-by-side, trying not to compare herself to her new friend. 
     "Hermione--" Fleur started.
     "Call me Maia, if you'd like. I know the British pronunciation of my name can be hard, and most of my friends call me 'Miney' or 'Mione' anyways." Hermione interrupted.
     "Maia, if you really don't mind?" Fleur's eyes studied Hermione's earnest face. "Then, mon amie Maia, would you like me to put some makeup on you?"
     "Go nuts, Fleur." Hermione said. She hadn't felt like she could just wear whatever, either with Harry and Ron or with her parents or muggle friends. But she knew Fleur wouldn't judge her, and she didn't really care what anyone in a club here would think about her.
     Hermione ended up looking glorious, her brown eyes framed in frosty eyeshadow and dark eyeliner and her lips a frosty mauve. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought, I look kind of pretty again. Hermione and Fleur worked together to get Hermione's thick curls up into a slicked-back puff on the top of her head with just a few loose curls held in shiny ringlets around her face. Fleur also charmed some makeup on herself, but deliberately used styles a bit aged. She wasn't going out to meet anyone; she was just along for the ride. And together, the two women apparated to Bristol to find a good club for dancing.