Always Here

"WHERE IS HE?" Hermione sat straight up in bed. That voice - that was the voice that haunted Harry in his dreams, that the entire wizarding world lived in fear of. That was the voice of Voldemort. But what was it doing in her living room?

"You heard me ask once, and I don't like to repeat myself. Where is he?" She crawled silently out of bed towards the trunk sitting at the foot of her bed, still unpacked, as she had only returned home from Hogwarts two days ago. She knew that practicing magic outside of school was strictly forbidden, but surely she could be excused if the Dark Lord himself was downstairs, threatening her parents.

"Don't be an idiot, Granger! Of course you know whom I'm talking about! Her father! Their father! And on that strain, where is SHE?" Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion as she rifled quickly through her things, wishing she had packed her wand last, so it would be on top.

"This is your last chance." Hermione gulped and gave up trying to be quiet, throwing her hands wildly through the trunk. Her fingertip landed on what felt remarkably like - her wand! Pulling it out triumphantly, she turned and headed towards the door.

"Tell me where they are! TELL ME!!" Grabbing the door handle, Hermione began hyperventilating, the breaths coming in too-short gasps. Her hand, drenched with sweat, slid right off to fall by her side. Pulling herself together, she dried it and grabbed the handle once more.

"That's it! Ava- " No! She flung the door open, then ran to the top of the staircase. For the first time in her life, she wished she didn't live in the attic room of her house, three flights of stairs above the living room.

" -da- " The sounds of her pounding feet and pounding heart seemed to echo through the third floor hallway as she reached the stairs. She had to make it. She just had to.

"Ked- " What she would do once she got there was not the concern. Simply getting there was the current issue. Perhaps she'd simply throw herself between the curse and her parents. It would be a terrible way to die, wouldn't stop him, and it would greatly upset her parents, but surely she deserved it more than they. After all, she had made the choice to become friends - best friends, almost more - with Harry Potter? She shoved all thoughts out of her head as she began leaping through her parents' room to the stairs down to the first floor.

" -av- " Oh, good God. Merlin. Jesus. Buddha. Allah. She was calling to all the gods she could think of. Zeus, Jupiter, won't you help? Do something? They've done nothing. They've just raised me, housed me, loved me. Why should they have to be killed by the worst part of the wizarding world, let alone send their daughter into it alone at the tender age of eleven? She was throwing herself down the stairs now, practically flying. Huh. Flying. Wouldn't Harry be proud of her, finally learning to fly? And without a broom even. But no. She couldn't think thoughts like that right now. She had to focus. Must get there. Must get there.

" -ra!" No. It couldn't have just happened. No. She rounded the corner into the living room, still flying, not caring that he was still there. And there they were. Her parents. The Grangers. Who had never done any wrong, never even known what they were getting into when an owl had tapped on their kitchen window four years earlier. And now they were dead. Slumped against the wall across from the fireplace. As soon as her brain registered their death, Hermione ceased to defy gravity, falling abruptly to the floor. She turned an ashen face towards where she knew he stood.

"Go ahead. Kill me. What do I care? You're here, I'm here, so let's just do it, shall we?"

"Ah, no, my dear." His voice sounded raspy and ghost-like, but she could tell by looking at him that he had more strength than he had had in almost fourteen years. "You see, you must be around to help your little boyfriend. You'll be the perfect bait for him one of these days, I'm sure you will. And I'd like to kill you together. Or perhaps one at a time. I can't decide which would be more enjoyable - to have you watch him die, or to have him watch you die. Au revoir, mademoiselle." He touched his fingertips to his head with a sarcastic smirk on his face, in a pantomime of tipping his hat at her. In the next instant, he and his companions vanished from sight.

Hermione stared at the spot where he'd been for half a minute, appalled at his words. The sick, twistedness of what he'd said! Not knowing which would be better, having Hermione watch Harry die, or having Harry watch Hermione die? He was a terrible, terrible - Had he really referred to Harry as her boyfriend? She'd thought about it before, wishing it, but it wasn't currently so. Not that it would ever be. He would date some gorgeous, blond beauty, and Ron would reveal his not-so-secret crush on Hermione and they would date. And so it would be, Hermione never being with the one she truly loved... No, no. She couldn't be thinking disparaging thoughts about her (non-existent) love life while her parents sat three feet away from her, dead.

Dead. She played around with the word in her head. Ha! That rhymed. Dead, and head. Dead. Awful word, she decided. Terrible, unhappy, dull-sounding. A bit of an abrupt word, too. But seriously, though. She had to deal with the current situation.

So she stood, letting her stiff body un-stiffen. Walking slowly back up the stairs to her room, she let all thoughts fly from her head and merely contemplated the differing patterns on the carpets on the stairs. When she reached her room, she walked to her trunk, an absolute mess, with things thrown everywhere. Ignoring the mess, she picked out two pieces of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Sitting down at her desk, she began writing, choosing her words carefully.

"Dear Professor Dumbledore,

My parents were killed this morning by Voldemort. He asked them where 'her father,' and then, 'their father,' was, and also where 'she' was, before using the Unspeakable Curse. I thought you ought to know, as you might have the foggiest notion whom he was talking about. I don't. Anyhow, I would like your advice on what to do next, as I am currently sitting in a very large, very quiet house, with two dead parents in the living room. Thank you very much.

Sincerely,

Your devoted student Hermione Granger"

Knowing precisely what his advice would be, she placed the other blank piece of parchment in front of her.

"Dear Ron,

My parents are dead. It was You-Know-Who. This morning. I've written to Dumbledore, and, though I haven't received a reply yet (seeing as how I haven't sent it yet), I know he'll tell me to come to the Burrow. That is all right, isn't it? Assuming it is, I'll be there in an hour. I have some things to take care of here first. I'll be coming by Floo powder, so keep your fireplace empty and don't worry about coming to get me.

All my love,

Hermione"

Sighing, she went to the cage sitting beside her trunk. Admiring her new owl, Athena, for the hundredth time since she had received the early birthday present the day before, she opened the door. "Come here, 'Thena," she whispered. The bird stepped out grandly onto the girl's hand. "Now I need you to take these to two different places. This one's to Hogwarts, and this to the Burrow. You might as well wait for me at the Burrow. Introduce yourself when you get there, all right? Good girl." Hermione walked to the window, opened it, and leaned against the sill, watching her owl fly into the gray dawn.

Sighing and turning around, she walked back to the trunk and began re-packing it, after talking out a small piece of paper, which she placed on her bed. After she had finished replacing every item that had been in there before, she began to pack other things from the room as well. The Muggle picture of her and her childhood best friend, laughing in the cliché field of daisies. That would come with her. And she also packed, with tenderness, the magic picture taken only about a week ago, of her and Harry and Ron. Ron was grinning widely at the camera, waving and pointing outside the picture at the calendar, bursting with excitement that the year was almost over. Harry was less exuberant, understandably. He had a quiet smile on his face, but his eyes looked extraordinarily burdened and sad. The luster they normally had was missing, and the brilliant emerald had been reduced to a dull green. Hermione was in the middle, with one arm thrown over the shoulders of each of the boys. She was looking at Harry, though, her smile occasionally fading as she would purse her lips in concern and brush his hair with her hand. The real Hermione smiled a crooked smile at the picture, ran a finger over the image of Harry's cheek, and tucked it into the bottom of the trunk, laughing at Ron's antics.

When everything was packed, including various items belonging to her parents that had sentimental value, and a large sum (well, all) of her parents' Muggle money, Hermione sat down on her bed, picking up the slip of paper she had placed there earlier. She read over the complex spell, muttering to herself as she read it out loud. She shook her head. "Professor Flitwick thought this would be a challenge? I could do more complicated spells in my sleep! Although, he didn't give it to me to perform, now did he? He wanted me to figure out WHY it worked. I suppose I should tuck it into my pocket, then, before I go."

Standing, she picked up her wand and began speaking the incantation in a clear, loud voice. Five minutes later, she took a deep breath, astounded at how draining the spell had actually been. "Well, it just needs to be set off, now, I guess," she murmured softly. She picked up the handle of her trunk and headed towards her bedroom door. When she reached it, she turned around to face the room. "Good-bye, room," she whispered tearfully.

She headed downstairs, her trunk making a dull, clunking noise on each step. When she reached the living room, she dropped her trunk and walked, unbelievingly calmly, to her parents. Kneeling between them, she turned to face her father.

"You were a remarkable dad. You still are. You supported me in everything I ever did, and I'll miss hearing you reprimand me for even thinking of going to bed without brushing my teeth." She lowered her head to his and pressed her lips softly to his forehead. "Good-bye, Dad."

She turned to her mother. "Mum. Oh, Mum. I don't quite know what to say. I suppose you would have wanted me to call all your patients and tell them. Could you bring yourself to do a thing like that? Call several hundred people and say, 'Oh, I'm sorry, your dentists won't be seeing you any more. They've died.'? Well, I couldn't. So I didn't. The fire department will come to the house, and, for all extents and purposes, it will seem as though all three of us are gone. From the Muggle world, that is. I suppose we really are, though, now. I love you, Mum. You and Dad. Good-bye, Mum."

Kissing her mum's forehead, she stood slowly, brushing the tears from her cheeks. No time for that nonsense, not now. She dragged her trunk and herself across the room to the fireplace, and checked to make sure the jar of Floo powder on the mantle was open and ready. She wouldn't have much time, not after she set the spell off. She knelt and lit the flame. Grabbing her wand and turning back to face the rest of the house, she shouted the final word of the spell. She waited half a moment, half-hoping it hadn't worked. But then a voice began echoing through the house, as though on a Muggle speaker system, letting her know it had worked.

"This house will self-destruct in 30 seconds," the voice stated, quite calmly, as though this weren't a person's entire childhood and life about to go up in flames. Hermione pulled herself together, stuffed her wand in her pocket, blew her parents one last kiss, and turned back to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, she tossed it into the fire, shouted "The Burrow!" as loud as she could, and stepped in, along with her trunk, just in time to hear "5...4...3...2...1..." In more ways than one she was exceedingly happy that she had missed the sound of her house exploding. It felt like her head was about to do that anyway.

The journey from fireplace seemed to take longer than usual. Hermione stood her ground fast as bits and pieces of magic matter flew around her like dust. She closed her eyes tight, refusing to let herself be bothered by one of the simplest ways of wizard travel. Closing her eyes was no help, though. Inside her head was even more chaotic. Pieces of the world she was now leaving for good zoomed back and forth across her mind. The sound of her parents laughing together. The smell of her mother's shampoo. The smell of her father's favorite after-shave lotion. The sound her bedroom floor made when she stepped on it for the first time each morning. The way brand-new snow looked out on her front lawn. The feel of the sunlight pouring in on her through the window of the second floor study, her favorite place to sit and read. The way their Christmas tree always looked, shining so bright with glass ball ornaments that her father would always say, "All right, loves. Now that December has arrived, it's time to get out your sunglasses." The feel of her father's hand on her back, rubbing in circles to get her o fall asleep. The sound of her mother's footsteps coming up the stairs to her bedroom when she just knew that something was wrong with her baby. The way her mother's pumpkin pie tasted, and the dry, brittle texture of any meal that the male Dr. Granger had ever tried to took. Every image, scent, sound, taste, and feel that had anything to do with her parents or her house was there, floating around in her head. No wonder it felt like it was going to explode. If something didn't happen right now, she very well might scream.

But then something happened. She felt herself and her trunk drop with a thunk into what she hoped with all of her being was the fireplace at the Burrow. She didn't think she had the energy to deal with having showed up in the wrong place right now. Peeling her eyes open slowly, she breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as she saw Ginny and Ron sitting in the chairs facing her. She stepped out of the fireplace, leaving her trunk there for Fred or George to drag out later. Ron jumped to his feet.

"Hermione, are you all right? I mean, your letter got here, with your owl - beautiful owl you've got there - and we all read it, and I just - I just couldn't believe it! You-Know-Who's killed your parents? You've got to be kidding me. I mean, that's the kind of stuff that only happens in books, or -"

"Ron, I don't think you're helping," Ginny muttered softly. It might have been too softly, though, for her brother appeared to take no notice.

" - or something totally fantastical, like those Muggle films you and Harry have told me about. I mean, honestly. It's bloody terrible. Did he try to hurt you, Herm? O, Merlin, he'll be sorry if he did."

Hermione thought of Voldemort's last words to her. "No. No, he didn't try to hurt me, Ron."

"Ah. I suppose you were being clever and wise and hiding somewhere, eh, Herm?"

"Er...yes. Exactly. Umm, Ron, I don't really feel like -"

"Talking right now. Of course you don't, Herm. My brother is just the most insensitive git in the world." Ginny pulled Hermione's arm until they were standing very close, and then threw her arms around Hermione. "I'm so sorry, Herm. I can't imagine what it would feel like, I mean - oh Merlin, Hermione! I'm so sorry!" Although she knew Ginny's words were well meant, she didn't particularly feel like listening to them at the moment. She felt a bit like being alone. Gently extricating herself from Ginny's embrace, she turned to go, but came face to face with Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, dear. You poor, poor thing. What a terrible, awful thing to have happened. And the fact that he's out there in the Muggle world now - that can't be good. Now, come along dear. Come with me into the kitchen. I'll fix you whatever your favorite meal is. Even if it's something Muggle. You'll just have to help me along with instructions and the like." The pounding in Hermione's head was getting worse. She needed to go lie down somewhere, alone and quiet. Sitting here in the loud kitchen was not helping. "Or, of course, if you're not feeling up to it, Harry could help me with it." Hermione's head shot up. "After all, he cooked for those horrid Muggles for all those years and -"

"Harry's here?" Hermione's eyes were wide with relief. Mrs. Weasley began to reply, but was interrupted by a warm voice behind Hermione.

"Yes, Herm. I'm here. I'm here."

Hermione whirled around and stared at him in amazement. Dumbledore had said he was to spend, or at least start, the summer with the Dursleys, but here he was, on the third day of summer. "But when did you -"

"Yesterday. Dumbledore changed his mind. I don't know why, but then again, does anyone ever know why Dumbledore does anything? I'm here, Herm, I'm here." He pulled one of the other kitchen chairs up so it was next to Hermione's, then sat down. "I'm here."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, pondered his words, and then found herself falling forward onto him, sobs already pouring out of her throat. "Oh, Harry, it was - it was terrible!" Her wails, though muffle by Harry's shirt, still would have woken anyone left asleep in the Burrow.

"Shh, Herm. It's all right. You don't have to talk. I'm here." Harry's arms circled around her back, rubbing it. "I'm here, Herm."

As the sobs continued, Mrs. Weasley looked at Harry. He nodded, and she gathered her children and herded them outside. "Come along dears. It's about time to de-gnome the garden again, don't you think?"

Harry and Hermione were left alone in the kitchen, Harry rubbing Hermione's back as she let out the grief she'd been holding in all morning. "It will be all right, Herm. Everything will be all right."