Hermione Time
Disclaimer for: the name and placement of the graveyard, since I have never been to Melbourne and only searched on Google
Warning for: minor character death
Grimmauld Place no. 12, 20th February 2002
“Harry… would you spare some time? I mean, a week or so? I…. Well, my parents are still in Australia, and I broke up with Ron before my training started, and I’ve got nobody else, and–.”
“Mione.”
“–You’ve got training to track down a person, even in the mundane world, and I checked, and Chief Auror Robards said you’ve got some accumulated leave time since you didn’t take it since you joined as a full Auror, and you could even take a sabbatical without jeopardising your accumulated leave time–.”
“Mione.”
“–And the latter would be good because I wouldn’t want you sacrificing yourself like that, and Chief Auror Robards agreed with me, so now–.”
“Mione.”
“Huh. Yes?”
“Breathe.”
“Harry! I’m serious!”
“Me, too, Mione. So breathe, and explain slowly, including why you didn’t ask before.”
And with that, Hermione, whose hair is frizzier than ever this afternoon, slumps into the armchair opposite me in the receiving room beside the entry hall.
“Honestly, I forgot,” she admits in a tiny voice, with her eyes firmly stuck on her robe-covered lap. “I…. The training wasn’t harsh. I had time. But there were so many new things to be discovered….”
I swallow back my twinge of envy, anger and acerbic response of, “Well, now I see why you’d rather get your parents out of the way,” and continue to listen as she scates round her oath of secrecy as an Unspeakable to tell me what she’s been doing these four years or so.
“Things are calming down there, now, so I’ve got time, and Ron broke up with me since I had little time for him all these years, and… well… I’ve been missing my parents for so long already,” she finishes plaintively. “I…. They’ll be so angry with me, and I don’t look forward to that, but I miss them so much.”
I let out a heavy, heavy sigh. I shan’t make myself yet again the reason why Hermione’s separated from her parents. But Andy’d rail at me if I got nothing from this, or any stipulation for my help. So, “Promise me you’ll do your best to be close to your parents if we find them? I know it’s not my business, but… well, it won’t be easy, finding them, in the first place, so I don’t want the effort to go to waste.” Damn. The words leave a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.
But she beams at me, all the same.
Oh, well.
Springvale Botanical Cemetery, 28th February 2002
I stand silently in front of the graves of Wendell and Monica Wilkins, as Hermione sobs hard into my chest and clutches me close.
Eight days. We were searching for eight days, using all the connections, influence and favours that we accumulated, only to find that we are more than a month too late.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger died on the first of January this year, killed on the spot by a drunk driver, as they walked on the side of a road after an overnight New Years party with their friends. These graves are the last hard evidence that neither of us can deny.
I even cast a spell to identify time of death on the bodies that we briefly excavated, and Hermione cast a spell to identify that they are truly human remains, instead of transfigured pieces.
And the results only made the evidence more unshakable.
I am responsible for yet another wrecked family, directly or not.