Starts With Goodbye

Author's Notes: Thanks to my BETA, HBPrincess922! This is a prequel to Almost. If you haven't read Almost, I recommend you go read it before you read this. It will make more sense.

It was a warm summer's day--the perfect day for Hermione to go for a walk in the park just down the street from her parents' house. She could invite Ron, and they could have a picnic, and--No. What was Hermione thinking? She stepped outside onto the porch, cradling the cordless phone in her hands. People--Muggles, of course--were walking along the sidewalk, completely unaware of the danger they had been in only a few weeks ago. A little girl with deep chestnut hair was holding a pinwheel and watching it spin, the colours sparkling in the sunlight as the wind blew through it. Hermione tried to remember what it was like to be that young and carefree. The girl couldn't have been older than eight. Eight. At age eight, Hermione had begun showing the first signs of magic--causing things to break unexpectedly, making things move with her mind, and repairing things without even touching them. She had realised that she was different from the other children, but never in her wildest dreams would she have dreamed that it would come to this.

Another child came down the street, this time a boy on his bicycle. Hermione recognised him. He lived up the street in the white house with black shutters. She couldn't remember his name, but he was probably about eleven. Eleven. Hermione sat down on the porch steps, staring at the numbers on the face of the phone. If she could go back seven years and make the choice between the Muggle World and Wizarding World, would she make the same choice, knowing what lay in her future? If she knew what she would face--death, destruction, murder--would she take the same path?

Tears stung at her eyes. She knew she'd choose the same thing she chose at the time. She would become a witch, even knowing that she would suffer in seven years because of it. She would fall in love all over again, knowing that this day would inevitably come. And she would make friends with the people she did, knowing that it would turn her into a murderer.

But what if she did it differently? What if she had given up the chance of a lifetime and gone to a normal, Muggle school with normal, Muggle kids? Would she have been happy, or would she wonder what would have happened if she had gone to Hogwarts? It was a no win situation, Hermione decided. Either way she wondered what would have happened, had she done it differently. Would she have been a murderer if she had taken the Muggle route? No. She'd be the murdered. If it hadn't been for her, Harry would never have made it so far. He never would have killed Voldemort. If it hadn't been for her, the last Horcrux would never have been destroyed. If it hadn't been for Hermione, Harry would still be alive and Voldemort would return. She'd be considered a hero if she'd tell everyone the truth. But she wouldn't. Telling the terrible story would make it real, and she'd never be able to live with herself. Not that she could now.

The tears were flowing freely now. She tried to imagine playing in the sun with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts, but the memories were already fading. Good. She didn't want those memories anymore. She didn't want any memories that reminded her of Harry. Because anything that made her think of Harry made her think of the last curse she had used. The green light, the way her wand shook with fury and finally the terrible look of triumph with which Harry had left her in his final seconds.

At last Hermione pressed the talk button on the phone she had brought outside. She held it up to her ear. The dial tone buzzed monotonously. Slowly she dialled Ron's number. Mr Weasley had connected the phone so that she and Ron could call each other; she hated to think that he had gone to so much trouble for nothing. She pressed the last digit and pressed the phone to her ear. The dull ring seemed to go on for hours. Five. The phone rang five times before Ron answered. 'Hermione?'

The knot in the pit of her stomach twisted painfully, and her mouth went temporarily dry. He sounded as bad as she felt, like he had been crying all day. He probably had. How could she do this to him?

'Hermione?' Ron repeated. She had been silent for far too long. But she had no idea what to say to him now.

'Ron,' she breathed. Saying his name was the only thing that she could manage. Nothing she could possibly say now would make any sense--not to him, not to anyone.

'How are you holding up?' he asked. It was the typical question to ask someone after a loved one died, yet it felt oddly romantic when Ron said it. He wasn't making this any easier on Hermione, but, then again, she had never expected it to be easy.

'All right,' she said. The words weren't her own. It was like someone else had said them. 'Fine,' she tried again. Still not hers. 'OK.' It still wasn't right, and she knew why. 'Not so good,' she said at last. 'Terrible.' They were her words, the truth. She liked the way it sounded. That was the way she was supposed to feel. Nothing could make that terrible feeling go away, not ever.

'Do you want to meet up?' Ron offered. It was his way of trying to help. 'We could talk about it.' She had expected it. And before she had made her decision, she probably would have accepted his offer. But that wasn't why she was calling.

'No,' she said quietly. 'I don't think so.' The silence between them was unbearable at this point. Nothing but the constant buzzing of the line.

'Are you sure you'll be all right?' Ron asked. It was the sweet boyfriend type of thing to ask, and Hermione appreciated it, but she also had to be honest with him.

'I doubt it.' The words were dry and meaningless. Another long silence rang in her ears. This was it. It was now or never. She had two choices, the same choices she had as a little girl, age eleven: the Wizarding World or Muggle World.

The Wizarding World was so full of life and so amazing. It was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. But while it was full of life, it was also filled with the memories of the death that she had caused. Was that a good enough reason to give up the magic and her friends and Ron?

The Muggle World was safe. She would never look in the newspaper and worry about whether someone she knew was found dead. She would never again hear Ron's voice as she opened The Daily Prophet: 'Anyone else we know died?'

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. She had grown so used to hearing it, that even when Ron wasn't around she expected him to appear out of thin air just to say it. No. Now wasn't the time for jokes. She gulped back the painful lump in her throat, but it wouldn't go away. Quietly she began to speak again.

'I'm sorry, Ron.' Her voice was empty of all feeling, just numb. 'I can't...' Her statement went unfinished, but Ron understood. Though she couldn't see him, she was sure he was silently nodding, his eyes staring at something that wasn't there--a memory, perhaps.

There was nothing left to be said. She had done what she set out to do. But now she wasn't sure how to say goodbye. She would never see him or hear his voice again. It was over.

'I love you, Hermione,' he said finally. Hermione could feel her eyes filling with tears once more. So, that's how it was to end? Yes. She had wanted it to end, and that was what she would get.

'I know,' was all that she could get out. Finally tears overtook her and she pressed the end button on the phone. She held the phone detachedly in her hand before it slipped from her grasp and fell onto the walk. A crack formed on the side of it, but she didn't pick it up. There was nothing left to do. She knew she had to let go if she wanted to even attempt to get better. Ron would never understand her reasoning; he would accept it because he knew he didn't have a choice, but he would never know what had possessed her to do it. And he would never know how much it hurt her to do it.

Hermione stared up at the sky, hoping the breeze would dry some of the tears so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge their presence. Many hours later, after the sun had set and fireflies began dancing through the night air, Hermione picked up the phone and stood up. It was time to move on with the rest of her life. She turned to the open sky one last time and sighed. 'Goodbye,' she whispered to the no one from her old life.