A Long Way from Home

---

To seek, to know and to wield
that which shall return the balance of the darkness and the light,
One must bear the Burdens of Eternity.
Wisdom, love and truth are often sought and almost never truly known.
Shades of these are well known to man and yet the true meaning of each is lost to all,
But those who seek to return harmony to the world.
To achieve balance is know intimately all sides,
And to understand the necessity of one to the other.

Eternal wisdom is to know that peace is blindness,
That to know all is to never rest.

Eternal love is to be treated to the absolute best,
And also to the absolute worst.
It is to love unconditionally.

Eternal truth is to know loyalty,
And to know greed.
It is the ability to see through,
To the heart and soul of all that is.

He who shall wield the power to right the world,
Shall be willing to carry the burden of that world.
To carry that burden means to allow always for the
Balance of the darkness and the light.

---

Chapter I

July 14, 2003

Hermione Jane Granger stared at the wall. It was a rather nondescript wall, definitely not worth any extra notice on her part, but nonetheless, it held her rapt attention. There was a slight crack in the off-white plaster, about four feet from the ceiling, six feet from the left wall and right over the center of her desk. She knew its exact location, had already figured its approximate length and depth and recognized that if it was not soon fixed, she would hex the plaster right off the wall.

A solid knock shook her thoughts from the offending crack and she waved her hand gently at the door of her office. “Come on in, Mum.”

“Hermione? What are you doing in here?”

Hermione turned her head slowly to look at Carole Granger, who was standing just outside the door of her office with a worried look on her face. Carole Granger was the inspiration for her daughter’s looks. Their eyes weren’t the same color, and Hermione had her father’s fair skin tone, but Carole’s face was the same shape, with bright, inquisitive eyes, an understated nose, and an expressive mouth. Hermione often felt as if she was looking at a more perfect version of herself, unmarred by too many years of sadness, hurt and just blatant fear.

Carole Granger knew only bits and pieces of her daughter’s harrowing school stories and knew that if she really understood the reasons behind Hermione’s worry-lined forehead and the subtle lines that formed around her mouth when she frowned, it would give her nightmares and restless nights for the remainder of her life. It could not be denied that Carole Granger had experienced a sudden hurt so drastically that it threatened to tear her mind to pieces, but there was a deeper knowledge in her daughter’s eyes. The brown irises betrayed wisdom beyond her years, perhaps beyond everyone’s years.

“I’m just…sitting here, Mum.” Hermione’s eyes were now downcast and her tone was from a faraway place.

“Well, I don’t recall you telling me that would part of the plan. It’s a long trip this far north, Hermione, and you’ve done nothing but sit in this office and stare at that crack in the wall since I arrived.”

The frown lines appeared on Hermione’s face and she sighed, finally turning her attention fully to her mother. “I know. I’m sorry, I really am.”

Sitting on the long sofa that stretched opposite of Hermione’s desk, Carole looked carefully at her daughter before speaking again. “Can’t you tell me what’s wrong? You used to be able to tell me everything when you were little. I know you’re twenty-three, but surely there’s not some rule that says you can’t tell me about your problems past age eighteen.”

“Mum…”

“Is it Harry again?”

. Hermione looked at her hands. “Yes.”

“What’s happened this time?”

“Oh, it’s just- he responded to my letter, about Ron. He can’t, or won’t, come to the Burrow. He still thinks it’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what, exactly?”

“I guess, to be there, to be a part of everything again.” Her gaze had shifted first to Harry’s letter, a crumpled piece of parchment on her desk and then to the picture frame just behind it, holding a candid shot of Harry, Hermione and Ron after a Quidditch game in first year. They looked far more innocent than she could even imagine.

Carole’s followed her daughter’s eyes to the same photo and she looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. “I wish that you could tell me what happened to tear you all apart like this,” she held up a hand to stop Hermione interrupting her, “and I know that your Professor McGonagall has her reasons for forbidding you to tell me anything about it, as she can be a very compelling woman, but I can’t possibly imagine what has…changed you so much. It’s like – like I hardly know you anymore.”

Hermione felt as if her heart was breaking at the look on her mother’s face. There was a part of her that wished desperately that she could curl up next to her mother, tell her the whole story and have a good cry, but the bigger part of her knew that she would die to spare her mum the pain of the truth. At that thought, Hermione steeled her resolve and stood abruptly from her spindly desk chair. After all, Carole was right in one thing: sulking about in the office during her mother’s holiday had not been a part of the plan.

“Mum, if I could put any of it into words, I would. But I can’t and you’re right about it being too long of a trip to sit round the house and do nothing. Get your cloak, and we’ll walk to the village.”

A wide smile crept over Carole’s face and Hermione matched it as best she could. Carole knew better than to dwell and wonder over the causes that wouldn’t allow that smile to reach her daughter’s eyes, and she wordlessly left the room to retrieve her things.

***

Braeridge Village was nestled along the rocky coast of the North Sea and hidden from unknowing Muggle eyes. It was far enough off the beaten path that her face was anonymous and untouched by the modern world enough that Muggles and wizards co-existed inside its stony walls. The village had once been a castle, its origins long forgotten and all that remained were three of the outer walls that formed a sort of crescent and butted against the Scottish coast. Passersby, the few that there were, along the winding sea road saw only stone ruins and quickly lost interest in the surrounding coastline. The cliffs that dropped off into the choppy coastal waters were dramatic and dark and fit Hermione’s mental state quite well. The villagers were kind to the young brunette witch who lived in the cottage full of books at the edge of the town and minded their business.

It had been the safest place the Order could find for Hermione that was well away from the goings-on of the wizarding world, but also within their sight. They knew that she was safe and well-taken care of; many of the local village women often left various local dishes on her doorstep. She had tried several times to thank them for their kindness, but no one ever acknowledged the gifts. The women waved her away, shaking their heads and avoiding her gaze.

Hermione was as happy as could be expected. Research commanded a great deal of her time. The Order had long ago set her the task of studying the foundations of magic. She spent her time poring over ancient tomes, usually covered in cryptic runes whose meanings were long forgotten. Slowly, a timeline was beginning to emerge in her research and each day, she was closer to understanding the very essence of that which had so shaped her life.

She often exchanged owls with the Weasleys and her own mother often wrote via Muggle post. There was a friendly pub in the village and she enjoyed her cottage garden, full of useful herbs and wildflowers. Her day was a balance of her research, long hours working with potions and time spent learning how to cook. Her world was almost wholly domestic and its simplicity brought her unexpected comfort.

It was never enough, however, to take away the pain of being alone and only one-third whole. After the expulsion of Voldemort’s powers from their world and the Last Battle, Harry had hastily left everything and everyone behind, retreating to a place that only McGonagall and Professor Lupin knew about. Hermione was relocated to her cottage by the sea. Only Ron had walked back into the world. His family surrounded him and brought him back into a regular life. He offered no excuses for his best friends, but simply ignored the reporters’ questions as he began his adult life and tried to live as normally as possible.

The Trio led quiet lives after That Night: they were not super stars or celebrities. They shyly moved away from the public life, where no one could possibly understand everything they had given up and more importantly, the burdens that they had willingly taken up.

When Hermione had received the wedding invitation only a few months prior, she began to wonder if it was about time that she left her hiding place and resumed her life. The nightmares that had plagued her were now few and far between. She no longer jumped at any little sound. She no longer spent useless hours contemplating the thoughts that bounced endlessly through her mind. Slowly, she was beginning to strengthen her resolve, and each day, she wondered if the world wasn’t a little bit lighter than it had been the day before.

Ron Weasley was marrying a colleague, Andromeda Dickens. He affectionately called her Andie and professed his undying love for her in a long, personal letter that accompanied Hermione’s invitation. It was finally seeing what allowed Ron to live his life that made her decide to go. The memories that his scratchy handwriting had evoked made her hope that some of his normalcy would rub off on her and she could finally survive in the world she’d given so much to save.

***

The Wand & Witch sat nestled between the local chemist and a small witch’s apothecary shop. A husband and wife owned the building that housed the three storefronts and lived in the small, upstairs flat. She ran the apothecary shop and he had been the village’s chemist for over thirty years before training his son in the science. Their joint pub was run by the old man and he spent his day cooking homemade food and passing round steaming mugs of butterbeer. Hermione was aware of the legal gray area the establishment resided in, but no one else seemed to mind the clash of cultures. The couples’ daughter kept the books for the three businesses at night and spent her day teaching Arithmancy at a school in Ireland.

“Good day, miss, what’ll you and your mother have today?” Rupert Kingsley smiled at Hermione and Carol kindly.

“I’ll have the fish and a butterbeer, “Hermione responded with a grin. Her order was the same each time, as Wand & Witch had the best fish and chips she’d ever tasted.

Carole placed an order for the roast beef and a pint of pumpkin juice before following her daughter to one of the tables that looked out over the lane.

“Tell me what you know about Ron’s fiancée.”

“Well, not much really. She teaches at Hogwarts with him, Defense against the Dark Arts, I’m told.”

“How long have they known each other?”

“Since he started at the school in the fall. She’s been there four years though.”

“Seems awful fast. A little over nine months is a short time to know someone.” Carole frowned slightly, as if the idea of such a speedy courtship didn’t settle properly with her.

Hermione just shrugged and looked into the golden frothiness of her butterbeer. “I suppose. A lot in our set seem to be marrying young. Dean Thomas married that American witch and they’d only known each other for three weeks!”

Carole shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

Again, Hermione just shrugged. “Maybe it was everything we saw. There was so much death and sadness. I think a lot of them are just looking to reaffirm life and be happy.”

“What about you? What are you looking to do?”

“I’m just happy to exist, Mum.”

Carole looked at her daughter sadly before taking her hand across the table. “Don’t you have to have a reason to exist, Hermione?”

Hermione was delayed from answering as Rupert brought their meals to the table. She was thankful for the distraction and began to quickly eat her food in the hopes that Carole wouldn’t say anymore on the topic.

Carole looked at Hermione carefully a moment before clearing her throat and cutting a piece of chicken. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment and spoke again. “I’ve decided to take a holiday.”

Brightening, Hermione smiled and asked, “Where to?”

“Italy, to Florence.”

“Any reason why?”

“Well, your father and I always said we’d visit Florence for our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Seeing as that’s in May, I’ve decided to go.”

“He’d want you to go.”

“I absolutely agree. It’s just… time. I need to do this, for me. And for him, I think.”

Hermione just nodded. She admired her mother’s ability to smile as she talked about Jerald Granger. Hermione’s own heart ached at the very thought of her father and it had taken her years before she could think of him without feeling immense guilt.

“So you’re really going to the Burrow?”

“Yes, Mum. I’m really going to the Burrow.” The look on Hermione’s face was one of pure steel and resolve. Carole knew in that instant that the pending trip was requiring her daughter to take drastic steps inside of her own mind. This was not just a reunion; it would be a milestone in the healing process.

“You’ll need something new to wear, is there a place you can buy clothes here?”

“There’s a small shop a little further down that carries robes. I could go there.”

“We’ll go after we finish eating. I want to help you.”

The smile on Hermione’s face finally reached her eyes.

***

“Yellow is simply an awful color on you.”

“Mum! What a right terrible thing to say!” Hermione was laughing as she hung the offending garment back on its rack.

“Well, I’m just being honest. What about this one? Blue is nice.”

The light blue gown was sleeveless and of a medium-weight cloth. It would be perfect in the warmer environs of the Burrow. Her own little village was still quite chilly, but she expected that the weather in Ottery St.Catchpole would be lovely.

“I like that.” She took the robes from her mother’s outstretched hand and quickly walked to the small dressing room in the corner of the shop. She undressed quickly and the silkiness of the fabric sent a shiver down her spine as it slid over her bare arms. She smiled slightly as the cloth began to tug and settle itself until it fit her perfectly. The self-tailoring cloth would be expensive, but as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she decided it was worth every penny.

“There are shoes to match!” Carole called through the door. Hermione grinned as she slid out of the robes and changed.

“Will I need something to cover up with?” she called back.

“I’ll see what I can find.”

Opening the door, Hermione trailed her mother as she flitted about the store, looking at long scarves and cover-ups. Finally, she settled on a flimsy, silky bit of blue cloth that shimmered as she moved it through her fingers.

The wedding began at dusk in just four days. As she paid for her new clothing, she felt a small boost of confidence. This would work after all.

---

July 16, 2003

Despite the warm temperature outside, Harry Potter couldn’t help but light a fire in the grate of his small home. He liked the light it gave off better than regular lamps and something about a cheerful fire reminded him of Hogwarts. Was it all the long hours studying in the Gryffindor common room? Was it the conversations that occurred when his friends gathered around the large hearth? Was it the promise of warmth and goodness in a place where he felt safe?

Potter, tone down the sentimental bullshit. The thought came from nowhere and the voice sounded distinctly like Ron. That was definitely something Ron would say.

Frowning, Harry settled himself deeper into the sofa and stared into the orange flames. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps Hermione was right and he’d been cooped up here for far too long. Sure, he got out plenty. Work against dark wizards stateside was no easier than it was in Britain. They organized; they planned supposedly cunning, supposedly devilish and supposedly disastrous schemes, but mostly they got caught. After Voldemort’s power and core group of Death Eaters had been scattered to the wind, the Dark Side (as Harry had come to think of it- he was rather fond of Star Wars) was mainly disorganized and dispirited. There was a balance restored; Harry and his friends had seen to that. For once in his life, Harry thought the world was mainly as it should be. At least, the world outside of him was as it should be.

The house by the ocean had been a rare sanctuary when Professor McGonagall had first brought Harry to it over five years ago. It had been remote: it was a good four or so months before Harry saw another living person and the closest town was a good thirty-minute drive. He was lulled to sleep each night by the surf crashing on the beach and he’d walked up and down the coast to settle his nerves almost daily. It was only a two-room house, plus a toilet, and sparsely furnished. Best of all, the house and its environs looked nothing like Hogwarts or Great Britain.

Harry had not set foot in Great Britain, let alone at Hogwarts since May 24th, 1998. That had been the last night of a long battle and an even longer war. When Harry, Hermione and Ron took down Voldemort on May 8th, 1998, the wizarding world had celebrated with greater enthusiasm than anyone had ever seen. It had been a Friday, and Saturday and Sunday were filled with endless celebrations. The shooting stars and flocks of owls from so many years ago seemed fairly mild against the antics over those two days.

On May 11th, seventeen school children were killed in a Death Eater attack in East London. A mediwizard clinic outside of Newcastle had been leveled by another group, killing four doctors and thirteen patients. Various other attacks, on libraries, primary schools and even the Knight Bus resulted in over 350 casualties in a single day. It was by no means the largest death toll of the war, but it was the one that hurt the most.

Havoc broke out, families fought in the streets and neighbors hexed each other over imagined slights. Once again, Harry and his friends rushed into the fray. It took just two weeks for the Death Eaters to be destroyed, but those two weeks changed everything.

A light tapping at the window drew Harry from his reverie. A familiar owl bobbed outside, looking excited and irritated at having to wait.

Rising from the couch, Harry moved to the window to let the spastic bird into his house. The infamous Pigwidgeon stared at him as it hopped around on the kitchen table. There was a piece of parchment tied to his left leg and it took a great deal of coercing from Harry to get Pig to settle down enough to let him untie it. He handed the tiny owl a treat from the center of the table and settled down to read the letter.

Harry,

I’m writing to you as a last-ditch effort. Ron and everyone have given up hope that you’ll attend the wedding. Hermione has finally agreed to come; we expect her sometime before tea tomorrow. I know that it’s been a long time and that there’s a lot here you don’t want to come back to, but won’t you please reconsider? Andie is really great – I know you’d love her and you’d make Ron very happy if you were there.

I’m sorry if I’m out of line writing you, Harry. We just miss you. This is the biggest family event since Fred married Angelina and it didn’t feel right without you there. I can’t imagine Ron’s wedding would be any different – it’d probably be far worse.

I’ve enclosed a Portkey if you change your mind. It activates tomorrow at midday your time. You’d arrive here just after five, right in time for tea. We love you Harry and hope to see you sooner rather than later.

Your Friend,

Ginny

Harry felt, surprisingly, very little reaction to Ginny’s note. She was right, of course she was right. But did that make it any easier? Of course it didn’t. There were a thousand reasons why he couldn’t go back and the biggest were his two best friends. The guilt he felt over what they had been through had in no way lessened over the years. It had probably worsened. Ron was working at Hogwarts full-time now, but it was only two years ago when he’d worked in his father’s division, hiding out behind stacks and stacks of reports. Hermione lived in the bloody middle of nowhere, for crying out loud. She hadn’t gone on to any university – she’d simply gone into hiding like he had. And everything with her father…

Down that road lies madness, Potter.

Harry shrugged off the Ron-voice in his head and read over Ginny’s letter once more. Hermione’s letter was on the sofa end table and it wasn’t that different from Ginny’s. He held them both in his hands and looked at each carefully.

The answer was still no. How could it not be? He’d put these people through enough pain. They didn’t need him at the wedding – it was supposed to be a happy occasion.

You’re wallowing in your guilt, Harry.

The unbidden voice of Hermione popped into his head and Harry let out a low sigh. Four thousand miles away and five years distance over time, but Ron and Hermione were still the voices of his conscience.

The answer was still no.

---

July 17, 2003

A large retriever/collie mix tore down the stairs to the kitchen of the Burrow and out through the open back door. Three young children followed quickly on her heels, laughing and screaming as they darted through the adults’ legs and collided with each other as they ran through the door.

“ANDIE! CONTROL YOUR DOG!”

Andie Dickens and Molly Weasley laughed as Ron stumbled down the stairs, looking dazed and not a little annoyed.

“She’s just excited Ron. Can you really blame her? Everyone’s excited.”

Ron grinned and came up to Andie to wrap his arms around her. “As they should be, I mean, what’s not to be excited about? I convinced the woman I’m madly in love with to marry me. It’s definitely reason to celebrate.”

She laughed at him and kissed his freckled cheek as she ruffled his bright red hair. “Been practicing, Weasley?”

“I can’t very well let you regret it, can I?” He smiled as he bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

“Oh, you two.” Molly Weasley had tears in her eyes as she beamed at them. “It’s good to have something to be happy about.”

Ron nodded and hugged Andie tighter to him. The Weasley family had been through too much and lost too much and therefore, sought happiness at every possible opportunity. Family, friends and home meant more with each passing year, as the family expanded to include spouses and children. Molly Weasley was a happy matriarch over her six children and six grandchildren. The future promised more grandchildren and comfort as she and her husband of thirty-four years settled into middle age.

The Sisters, as Andie had come to call them, were scattered throughout the kitchen, helping Molly prepare the large evening meal. Ron had been getting dressed so he could meet his brothers on the pitch when the dog and her followers had exploded into his bedroom. It had become a ritual at family gatherings that the women worked in the kitchen preparing the meal and the men worked at staying as far away from the kitchen as possible. At this moment, there were six women, and several of their babies, in the kitchen and he knew that both Ginny and Hermione would be arriving within the hour.

“Anyway, I’ll see you soon,” Ron said as he quickly released Andie back to the other women in the kitchen. “Fred and George are waiting on me.”

Andie just grinned wickedly at him, undoubtedly understanding the reason for his hasty departure. Ron kissed his mother’s cheek, and nodded at his sisters-in-law as he hurriedly went out the back door towards the Quidditch pitch.

His four brothers were awaiting him, on their broomsticks, at the edge of the old paddock. In recent years, they had cleaned it up and enlarged it to make room for a bigger Quidditch pitch. It was now about half the size as the pitch at Hogwarts, which was more than suitable for the Weasley men to play a pick-up match now and again.

Fatherhood definitely suited the oldest Weasley brothers. Charlie had begun working full time in Britain during Ron’s final year of school. He had met his wife, Annabelle, shortly after Bill and Fleur’s wedding and their son, Isaac, had turned four in May. Fleur had recently given birth to twin girls, Adelaide and Elise, and parenthood had forged a deeper bond between Bill and Charlie. The two families lived in Hogsmeade.

Fred and George were also fathers now, but seemed to take to it with a far different attitude than their older brothers. Indeed, they had not settled down much at all, but had rather taken up parenting as a great and fun adventure. Ron has personally seen Fred’s wife, Angelina, and George’s long-time girlfriend, Katie Bell, look on wearily as the twins invented some new game for their young toddlers, Sadie & Beatrice. Fred’s son, Colin, was still far too young to partake in his father’s antics, but Angelina seemed resigned to the fact that this would not last.

Ron jumped onto his broom and flew up to meet his brothers. Charlie would be playing seeker for both teams. Ron and Bill would alternate between chaser and keeper as Fred and George did the same. It had become their standard method of play over the years, especially after Harry left and Ginny moved to Paris. Fred grinned at his teammate as George released the snitch into the air. The tiny gold ball had been a gift from Harry right before he, Ron and Hermione had set out on their final adventure as a trio.

Fatherhood kept Charlie Weasley young, as evidenced by his flying. Fred and George shouted jokes across the pitch and made smart remarks as Bill missed an easy goal against George’s keeping. Ron darted easily between his older brothers, loving the rush of wind in his ears and the feeling of his hair being pulled back wildly. He had no doubt that Andie would have a good laugh at him once he was on the ground again. His shoulder-length hair had a tendency to get pretty crazy after flying on a broomstick.

“Oy! Weasley, you look like shit up there!” A loud, female voice rang out through the pitch. All five brothers looked down as their sister rose into their air on her own broom.

“Who are you talking to, kid?” quipped Fred, grinning at his cheeky sister.

“All of you, of course. You’re flying around up here like a bunch of old men! I’m pretty sure my hair grows faster than you can chase a Quaffle, Bill.”

“Ouch, Gin.” Ron was laughing as he flew closer to his sister. He grasped her hand in mid-air and grinned at her. “It’s so good to see you, just the same! I see that Paris hasn’t left you any less blunt, or mouthy,” he added with a smirk.

“Of course not. Growing up with you lot was just practice for what I have to deal with everyday.” Ginny worked as an assistant curator for a wizard’s museum in Paris. All day long, she dealt with moody artists and even moodier artwork. A particularly annoying statue had been grating on her nerves for the last week – it was never in the same place twice.

A furiously fast match commenced as Ginny settled into the game. She played opposite Charlie’s seeker and her brothers seemed to be flying much faster than they had been when she had first flown up. Ron laughed as they soared around each other, throwing more taunts and jabs as the game progressed. He was delighted to have his younger sister around, as her job left her little time for visiting.

“Ronald! You have a guest!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice cut through their loud game, even though Ron couldn’t immediately see where she was. As he slowed down and began to sink towards the ground, his mother came into view. She was walking briskly towards them and waving enthusiastically.

“Who’s here, Mum?”

“You’ll just have to come inside. Tea will be ready soon and I need help setting the table anyhow,” answered Molly, looking at Fred and George as she added the last part.

The twins groaned as they followed behind Molly and Ron. Ginny, Charlie and Bill brought up the rear, Ginny talking excitedly about the gifts she had brought for her nieces and nephews.

As Ron approached the garden, he heard a familiar voice and quickly matched it to a bushy-haired female standing and talking to his father.

“Hermione?”

The bushy-haired female turned, grinning widely. “Ron! Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

Without a moment’s pause, Ron was holding Hermione in his arms, threatening to hug the life out of her. She was laughing as she clutched his shoulders and as he set her down, he noticed that she brushed tears away from her eyes.

“Has it really been five years? You look so good, Ron. So much, well, older,” Hermione finished, laughing slightly as she looked at him.

“Thanks, I think. You look great, Hermione. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything, Ron.”

“And this has to be Hermione, or else there’s some unknown woman with her hands on my wizard.” Andie stepped next to Ron and smiled at the both.

“You must be Andie,” Hermione said, returning the smile and extending her hand.

Andie merely laughed and pulled Hermione into another hug. “I can’t just shake your hand. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s as if I’d known you as long as this one has.”

Hermione’s reply was lost as there was a loud thump from behind Mrs. Weasley’s rosebushes. Ron watched as the bushes shook violently and a body-less voice floated to them from the plants.

“Damn it, Ginny. Whoever heard of a Portkey throwing someone into shrubbery?”

“Um, hello?” ventured Andie.

A red-faced Harry jumped up from the offending rose bush to face a rather large group of people staring at him. Right in the center of the whole group, Ron and Hermione were simply gaping at him.

He pulled a twig from his messy hair and stepped from the flowerbed, brushing dirt from his robes. He looked right at Hermione and Ron before raising his hand.

“Hi.”

---

Thanks to my beta reader Neil for his help! I hope you all enjoy this fic, please review if you so desire.