Tree Houses and Daisies

little_bird

Story Summary:
Ron and Hermione, in the months after the war.

Chapter 05 - Smile For Me

Chapter Summary:
Hermione tells her parents about the past year.
Posted:
02/04/2008
Hits:
2,102


Jane sat up, rubbing her forehead. 'Richard, I just had the strangest dream...'

'Mum?' Hermione whispered, frozen to the spot.

'Hermione?' Jane looked up. Her expression changed to one of open confusion as she took in the unfamiliar kitchen. 'Hermione, where are we?'

'It's a long story, Mum.'

Hermione realized she was still clutching her wand. She shoved it back into a pocket and stood nervously in front of her parents. The corner of her mind that still managed to operate in complete rationality noted that her knees were about to buckle. She took a step to the side and leaned against the counter. The sound of her father clearing his throat made her tear her gaze away from her mother, and squarely meet her father's eyes. 'Hermione, what's going on?' Richard asked. 'And here, child, sit down before you fall over,' he said, pulling a third chair out from the table.

Hermione gratefully dropped into the chair Richard offered, clasping her hands together in her lap. 'It's a little complicated,' she confessed.

Jane closed her eyes. 'Just start at the beginning. Where are we?'

'Australia,' Hermione whispered so softly, hardly any sound escaped her lips.

'I'm sorry, you'll have to repeat that, Hermione,' said Richard, leaning forward slightly. 'Didn't quite get that one.'

'Australia,' she repeated, louder.

'Australia?' Jane said blankly. 'What on earth are we doing in Australia? What part of Australia?'

'Adelaide. And I sort of made you come to Australia.' Hermione dropped her gaze to the table's surface.

'I'm confused,' began Richard. 'I don't seem to remember you convincing us to come to Australia. In fact...' Richard's brow creased in thought. 'The last thing I remember is you telling me you had been invited to your friend Ron's brother's wedding.'

Hermione's heart was pounding so hard, she wondered that her parents couldn't hear it. She thought it felt like it was going to beat its way through her chest. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. She nodded, confirming what Richard said.

Jane pulled the morning paper across the table and looked at the date. 'July 21, 1998?' she read softly.

'Yes,' Hermione choked.

Richard gave her a sympathetic glance and picked up a glass from the drain board and filled it with water. He wordlessly handed it to his daughter, and Hermione gave him a grateful, if shaky smile. 'So did you go to the wedding?' he asked, as she gulped half the contents.

'Yes, I did.' Hermione traced a finger around the rim of the glass. 'But before I left for Devon, I...' Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. 'I modified your memories,' she confessed.

'You did what?' exclaimed Jane.

'I modified your memories. Made you think you were someone else. Someone else without a daughter. Richard and Jane Granger couldn't exist anymore.' Tears slid down her face, dotting the collar of her shirt with patches of dampness. 'I did it to protect you,' she said, her voice breaking.

'Protect us from what?' Richard asked as Jane's voice overlapped.

'Why would we need to be protected?'

'I don't know where to start with that. There's so much to say.' Hermione leaned back in the chair, already exhausted and it wasn't even noon. 'There was this wizard, Tom Riddle. He hated anything and everything non-magic. Especially non-magic people and witches and wizards with non-magic parents.' She rubbed her eyes tiredly. They felt gritty. She hadn't slept much the past few days. 'And he targeted my friend Harry. Anybody associated with Harry wasn't safe. Riddle knew Harry and I were friends, and if you had been in Oxford, he would have found you and killed you.'

'But, why?' asked Jane, flabbergasted.

'Because you are my parents,' Hermione answered simply. 'That was his modus operandi, if you will. Tear your enemy apart bit by bit by killing everyone they love.'

Richard had been examining his hands. 'But why did you make us want to go to Australia? It's so far away.'

'Because it is so far away. The further I could get you away from England, the better. I couldn't take the risk of modifying your memory, then letting you stay in Britain or somewhere else in Europe.' Hermione shuddered, hearing Harry's hollow voice recount how Riddle had found Grindelwald and murdered him. 'He would have found you.'

Jane pushed her chair back from the table with a harsh grating sound. 'I need to go for a walk,' she said flatly. Before she left the kitchen, Jane whirled around and looked at Hermione. 'I assume you gave us a name?' she asked.

Hermione nodded. 'Monica and Wendell Wilkins.' Jane nodded shortly and left the kitchen.

'Mum, wait!' cried Hermione, but the only answer was the front door closing with a resounding thud. Hermione laid her head on the table in front of her, trying not to lose the control she held onto with her fingernails. 'Oh, God... She's never going to forgive me, is she, Dad?'

'Yes, she will. She might be angry for a while, but she'll forgive you,' Richard assured her.

'Dad, I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you any of this before.'

Richard's hand rose and from the table and came to rest on the back of Hermione's head. 'You don't have to apologize to me,' he said firmly, pulling Hermione into a tight embrace.

'I didn't have a choice, Dad. I had to protect you. You understand, don't you, Dad?' Hermione knew she was babbling, so she didn't break down completely.

'I do understand, Hermione. It's all right,' Richard soothed. 'I promise, it's okay.'

'It's weird what stays, even with the Memory charm,' Hermione murmured.

'What do you mean?'

Hermione sighed and leaned her head on Richard's shoulder. 'Like you and the roses,' she said, indicating the trellis outside the kitchen window. 'You chose to live in a house surrounded by rose bushes. Even though you didn't remember the rose garden in Oxford.' Hermione pulled a section of the paper closer to them, in order to display a portion of it. 'Mum still did the crossword in ink. Because she always did it in ink. They're small things that nobody but someone who knew you well, like me, would notice.'

They sat in silence for several minutes before Richard spoke. 'How was the wedding?'

Hermione blushed slightly. 'Well... One of Ron's evil great-aunts told me I had skinny ankles. It wasn't a compliment.'

'She sounds... Interesting,' commented Richard.

'Muriel Prewitt is an evil-tempered, bitter, old cow.' Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She never said anything like that in front of her parents.

'Don't sugar-coat it, Hermione. Tell me how you really feel,' said Richard dryly. 'So how was the rest of the wedding?'

'It was nice. Lovely. Ron and I danced. A lot.' The blush on Hermione's cheeks deepened.

'Ron, eh? How is Ron?' Richard grinned at Hermione.

'He's... Fine,' she said carefully.

'Just fine?'

'Well... we, uh...' Hermione bit her lip, as she trailed off. 'We're sort of...'

'Dating?'

'Something like that,' she admitted.

'It's about time,' Richard said smugly.

'You knew?' Hermione asked weakly.

'Yes, we did your mum and me. For years. Since that Christmas the school had a ball. What was that? Your fourth year?' Hermione nodded. 'You were so angry when you wrote home about it, that your mum said you had to like him.' Richard chuckled. 'So you and Ron. When we get back to Oxford bring him round for dinner, okay? I want to make sure he's good enough for my girl.'

'I'll try.' Hermione smiled.

Richard sobered. If Hermione had been telling the truth about the last year, it must have been terrible for her. 'How bad was it?'

'Bad enough.' Hermione didn't want to talk about the last year, but she knew she would have to at least give her parents the quick version. 'Not now, though, Dad. I'm done in, and Mum needs to hear it, too. Maybe it'll help her see it from my side of things.'

'You know she loves you, Hermione. She's just never been comfortable with the magic. Doesn't think things should be so easy.'

'It isn't, always. Morally or ethically sometimes.' Hermione propped her head on a hand and struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt a tug on her other hand.

'Come on, then. Why don't you go lie down? You look like you haven't slept in days.'

'I haven't, really.' Hermione wearily pushed herself to her feet and followed Richard into the sitting room. He held a blanket in his hands, and indicated the overstuffed sofa. Hermione sank into the cushions, and bent to untie the laces of her trainers. She pulled them off, and set them aside, falling into sofa's embrace. Richard spread the blanket over her, and in minutes she was asleep.

******

The low murmur of voices drifted into Hermione's consciousness. She pulled her arm up to eye level, and squinted at her watch. It was four in the afternoon. She'd been asleep for hours. She had been dreaming about Ron to the sounds of a song her parents liked. Something about leaving on a jet plane.

Hermione closed her eyes, and searched her memories. Jane sang it with her every year as she packed her trunk for school. Even when Hermione left Oxford early to go to Devon. Snatches of the lyrics floated through her brain until she clearly heard:

-Dream about the days to come/When I won't have to leave alone/About the times that I won't have to say/Oh, kiss me, and smile for me/Tell me that you'll never leave/Hold me like you'll never let me go./I'm leaving on a jet plane./I don't know when I'll be back again./Oh, babe, I hate to go.

'Every place I go/I think of you/Every song I sing/I sing for you/When I come back, I'll wear your...' Hermione sang to herself, before shaking her head. It wouldn't make her miss Ron less. She rubbed her eyes, and slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, the blanket pooling around her waist.

'You're awake!' Richard's cheerful voice said. Hermione twisted around to see her father's head poking through the kitchen doorway. 'Are you hungry at all? I've got some sandwiches for tea.'

Hermione had thought she wasn't feeling up for food, but her stomach rumbled in a way that reminded her of Ron, and the way he was always up for food. 'I could eat,' she said cautiously, before she got up and trailed into the kitchen.

'You used to do that after your nap when you were a baby,' said Jane.

Hermione looked down, and realized she still clutched the blanket from the sofa in her hand. 'Oh. I'm sorry. I'll just go...' She turned and started to go back into the sitting room, when a soft hand landed on her arm. She turned her head to see Jane standing next to her. 'I really am sorry, Mum. It wasn't an easy thing to do to you. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't have much of a choice, if it meant sparing your life. And even if I couldn't reverse the charm, at least I would have been able to find you, and know you were still alive.'

Jane gently tugged the blanket from Hermione's hands. 'I know. But, Hermione, it's just... Too easy.' Jane folded the blanket neatly, and held it against her chest for a moment. 'It shouldn't be that easy to make me forget you.'

'It wasn't,' Hermione replied quietly. 'You have no idea how guilty I felt for doing that.'

Jane reached out with a trembling hand and brushed a curl from Hermione's face. Hermione leaned into the brief caress for a moment before Jane turned and took the blanket back into the sitting room.

It wasn't forgiveness yet.

It was a beginning, at least.

******

The next morning, Hermione was awake before sunrise. She tried to turn over and go back to sleep, but it was no good. Once she was awake, that was it. She scrubbed a hand over her face, and groaned softly as she looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. It was six in the morning. Five in the afternoon the previous day at the Burrow.

Hermione wondered what everyone was doing. Had George smiled or laughed yet? Was Harry still avoiding everyone? Had he talked to Ginny at all? Were Molly and Arthur all right? The Weasleys were just as much her family now as they were Harry's.

Shrugging mentally, Hermione pushed the bedding back, and sat up, shoving her feet into her slippers. She might was well get the newspaper off the front walk. She grabbed a jacket from one of the hooks by the front door, and swiftly made her way to the end of the walk, where the newspaper lay. Hermione ran lightly back into the house, and quietly closed the door. She hung the jacket back up and gasped when she heard Jane say, 'That's quite an eye-catching shirt.' Jane stood at the end of the hallway leading to the front door, a slight smile on her face.

'Mum! I thought you were asleep.'

Jane shook her head. 'No. I heard you go out the door.' She examined the front of the shirt with a puzzled expression. 'Chudley Cannons? Sounds like a footie team. When did you start to like football?' she asked bemusedly.

'It's not football,' Hermione mumbled. 'It's a Quidditch team.'

'Quidditch... That's the one with the balls that fly? And the players, too?'

'Yes.'

'I didn't think you particularly cared for sports.'

'I don't.' Hermione made her way into the kitchen and laid the paper on the table.

Jane followed her daughter, eyeing the shirt. It was crumpled and looked like it had a few grass stains on it. It was also several sizes too large. 'Is it your shirt?'

Hermione busied herself with the kettle. 'No,' she said, her eyes fixed on the water streaming into the kettle. She felt her cheeks burn.

Jane noticed the blush, too. 'So... Who does it belong to?' She had a good idea, but wanted Hermione to admit it.

'Ron.'

'Ron?' Jane was shocked. 'Ron, as in Ron-doesn't-notice-girls-are-girls? Ron Weasley? Tall, redheaded Ron?'

'Yes.' Hermione let the kettle drop to the stovetop with a clatter.

'I take it he finally noticed you are indeed a girl?'

Hermione blushed even more. 'I'd say so.'

'Does he know you have his shirt?'

'Erm... No.' Hermione grinned ruefully. 'He's probably torn his room apart looking for it by now.'

Jane sat quietly for several moments, watching Hermione prepare a pot of tea and collect two cups, before bringing it all to the table. 'Are you going to tell your dad and me about the last year?'

Hermione's hand froze on the handle of the teapot. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly lifted the pot, and poured out two cups of tea, and nudged one to her mother. 'Later today, maybe? It's going to take a while, though,' she warned. 'And it's not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.'

******

Hermione settled on a cushion on the floor, her parents looking at her expectantly. 'So... I'm not sure where to start.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'I guess maybe I should start back in my first year of school.'

'Back that far?' Richard asked.

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'It even goes back farther than that. There was once a young boy, who had been abandoned by his father before he was born. His mother, who was a witch, died when he was born. His name was Tom Riddle. When he found out he'd been abandoned by his Muggle father, it seemed to twist something inside him. He hated everything about Muggles. Didn't think Muggle-born witches and wizards were good enough to teach them magic. He became pure evil,' she whispered. 'The epitome of evil. He learned how to literally split his soul into different pieces.'

'How can you split your soul?' Jane wondered.

'By committing a horrible, terrible act. Murder. He learned how to store parts of his soul in other things. It made him nearly invincible.' Hermione passed a shaking hand over her eyes. 'Until one Halloween in 1981, when he found where James and Lily Potter and their one-year old son Harry lived. He murdered James, and then found and killed Lily, who died protecting Harry. He then turned the Killing curse on Harry, but it didn't work. Harry survived, and Riddle... He vanished.'

'So that was good,' interjected Richard.

'Yes, and no.' Hermione nibbled a fingernail, frowning. 'It was good, because the wizarding world was free from his tyranny. But bad, because there were some people knew he wasn't really dead, and it was only a matter of time before he came back. And because it forced Harry to go live with his relatives who didn't really want him.'

'So why did he have to live there?' exclaimed Jane indignantly. 'Couldn't someone else take him in?'

'Well, no... His aunt was his mother's sister, and because of some rather old and complex magic, as long as he could live with his aunt, he was safe. And his godfather was accused of murdering thirteen people the day after his parents died... So...' Hermione shrugged. 'He stayed with his aunt and uncle until Harry turned seventeen. That's when witches and wizards are considered adults,' she explained.

'What does this have to do with your first year of school?' Richard asked, learning forward a bit.

'He tried to come back, then. Harry, Ron, and I stopped him. He tried again my second year, but we stopped him. My fourth year, he did come back. My sixth year, he tried to have Professor Dumbledore killed.'

'Didn't Dumbledore die at the end of that year?' Jane's hands were clenched together in her lap.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes. But he was dying anyway. It just hastened the inevitable. That year, he and Harry had been doing "research", for lack of a better word. They were trying to find out which objects Riddle used to hide his soul. If they could be found, and destroyed, it would be possible to kill Riddle.'

'Since you're here, you found them, I suppose.' Richard looked at Hermione. 'That's what you did this last year, isn't it?'

'We found them. Two had already been found and destroyed. We needed to find five more. We found one, and had to carry it around with us for weeks. It was awful. It was a locket and we wore it to keep it safe. It made us think all sorts of horrible things. The worst things we ever thought about ourselves.' Hermione shuddered, remembering. 'The others were just as difficult to find, and you might say they were slightly less stressful. At least we didn't have to wear them. Harry was one. He had to die.'

'Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry,' said Jane, reaching for Hermione's hand.

'Oh, no, Mum. He's fine. Well, physically fine. I can't explain why he's still alive, because according to all logic, he should be dead, but he's not.'

'This is all well and good, Hermione, but it still doesn't explain why you felt like you had to send us out here, with no memory of who you were,' Jane reminded her.

'Riddle knew Harry and I were friends. And like I said, he hated all things Muggle. He would have tried to basically read your memory to find out our plans. He would have killed or tortured you to try and get me to give up Harry. I could not risk that. And even if he did find you, as far as you were concerned, you were not Jane and Richard Granger, with a daughter who was Harry Potter's best friend. You were Monica and Wendell Wilkins who had no daughter. Even if you looked like Jane and Richard, you weren't them.'

Hermione gazed out a window watching the play of sun and shadow. She was quiet for so long, Richard tentatively said, 'Hermione?'

'It was the worst year of my life. We were constantly in danger. The Ministry fell to Riddle the night of Bill's wedding. Harry, Ron, and I fled the wedding and went to the house Harry's godfather left him when he died the year before. We stayed there for a while. Then we had to run when they found us. We were cold, hungry, depressed, scared. And that was a good day. Ron left us at one point. It almost broke Harry and me. It felt like something was missing, but I couldn't put my finger on it until Ron came back right after Christmas. We came close to being captured and nearly died a few times. We were captured in March. And taken to Riddle's supporters' headquarters. Harry and Ron were thrown into a dungeon, and one of them tried to torture me into confessing everything before we were able to escape.' Hermione bit her lip and tried to keep the tears from falling down her face.

'Are you... Injured in any way?' Richard's face creased with concern, as Jane grasped his hand.

'No,' gulped Hermione. 'They don't use normal means of torture. But believe me; it hurts like nothing you've ever felt, though.'

'Who did it to you?' Jane's eyes were blazing with the same look Molly had worn when she dueled Bellatrix. 'I'll find them, and I'll...' She clenched her jaw angrily.

'She's dead,' Hermione replied dully. 'In a battle at the beginning of May at the school. When Riddle was killed.' Her face crumpled. 'Over fifty people died. People I knew. People I sat next to at meals at school.' Hermione slowly pushed herself to her feet. She was shaking. 'I had nightmares for a month afterwards. I still do. I keep trying to think there was something we could have done differently. And I really hope you got all the answers you need, because I don't - I can't - talk about this again.' She started to walk toward the spare bedroom, but stopped in front of Jane and Richard. 'I just want to wake up tomorrow, and find out it's all been a horrible dream, but it's more real than anything else I've ever known.'


'Leaving on a Jet Plane' was written by John Denver. The version Jane Granger sings with Hermione is by Peter, Paul, and Mary.