Slow Grenade

Chapter Forty-Six - Year Seven

The Deathly Hallows (year seven)

Hermione Granger stood outside her childhood home in Hampstead and attempted to commit every inch of the small, detached property to memory. Her stomach clenched with anxiety and a wave of nausea washed through her as she thought about what she had to do.

She had agonised for weeks over how to keep her mother and father safe during the upcoming war, knowing it was likely Voldemort would seek to find and torture them for information. Obliviating them was an unwanted idea that she tried desperately to ignore, willing another solution to present itself, but time had run out and it was now her only option.

Her parents had always wanted to go to Australia and that was some small comfort at least. Assuming she survived the war, Hermione planned to find them and lift the enchantment. Hopefully. There were no guarantees she could bring back all of their memories, but she wouldn't allow herself to think about that yet. The thought of losing them permanently was too much for her to bear.

Steeling herself, she unlocked the pale grey front door and stepped into the entrance hall for what might be the last time.

A voice called from the kitchen, "Hermione?"

"Just coming, mum."

She had spent a long time considering how their last evening together should go. Should she have dinner, stay the night, pretend like everything was normal? Or should she do the deed without announcing her presence at all? In the end she had decided that sharing a cup of tea was an acceptable compromise.

Hermione looked around at the cosy interior as she walked to the kitchen. She gave her mother a tight hug before leaning across to fill the kettle with water.

"Why don't you take a seat, dear, I'll bring out the tea when it's ready."

She nodded and went into the lounge.

A few minutes later, Jean Granger placed a pot of tea on the table as her husband, Richard, followed with the teacups. "It's a good thing you sent that owl to us when you did," she commented. "We were meant to be going out this evening."

"Oh, I'm sorry mum, you should have said!"

"Nonsense," Jean smiled. "We weren't expecting you home for a while yet, so it's a lovely surprise."

"How's school been, love?" Richard asked.

Her voice was somewhat shrill as she nodded, "Yep, all fine, fabulous, fab."

Hermione couldn't miss the look that passed between her parents. "That good, hey?" Richard chuckled.

"It's just been... busy."

"I can imagine," Jean said, nodding sagely. "You're going into your final year now, after all. Your teachers will have had to make sure you're all prepared for the T.O.A.D.s."

"Close," Hermione laughed. "They're N.E.W.T.s."

They continued to chat comfortably about nothing in particular for a while longer. Eventually, Jean stood up from the sofa and collected their teacups together. Looking at Hermione she asked, "Lasagne okay for supper, love?"

Hermione swallowed. "Sounds great, thanks mum."

Her father got to his feet as well and headed into the kitchen to help his wife, ruffling Hermione's hair fondly as he walked past. Hermione stayed seated for a long moment, willing away the hot tears that had begun forming behind her eyes. She knew she had to stop stalling. It was time.

Padding silently into the kitchen, she smiled sadly at her parents backs as they stood together by the sink, looking out at the garden. Her mother laughed at something her father said and she lay her head against his shoulder.

Hand trembling slightly, Hermione whispered the dreaded word.

"Obliviate."

With another wave of her wand, she removed all trace of her existence from the house. A silent tear rolled down her cheek as the family photographs corrected themselves, now depicting just one smiling couple rather than a family of three.

She made her way back to the entrance hall and placed two new passports and two Australian visas on the console table. Hermione didn't look back as she left the house, quietly pulling the door shut behind her.

Choking back a sob, she walked quickly down the quiet suburban street until she came to a small park they used to visit as a family. Beneath one of the large willow trees stood a weathered bench that had been dedicated to her grandfather. Hermione sat down heavily, running a finger across the small silver plaque, and let herself cry. She cried for everything she had already lost and everything that was yet to come.

The sun was low in the sky when she finally came back to herself, the park was empty and shrouded in an orange-gold glow. Shivering, she checked the time and swallowed painfully against her raw throat; it was later than she had anticipated.

Before another wave of grief could drown her, she reminded herself of who it was causing the pain: Voldemort. Anger flared suddenly inside her, dampening the sorrow. He would pay for all the atrocities he had committed, all the suffering he had created.

A steely determination took over her as she slowly put herself back together. The feeling wouldn't last long, she knew, but it was a welcome reprieve.

Hermione spun on the spot to Disapparate back to the Burrow, there was work to be done.