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See Chapter 1 for Disclaimer.
The next day, Harry was released from the hospital wing. He was told to go back and join his house, and he seemed very happy to be able to leave. Hermione, however, had to stay for another day, to get her strength back. Harry had left, with the same goodbye as always, but Hermione could have sworn that she saw him wink, even through his grief. It was now, after having some time to recuperate, that the two of them were beginning to feel the losses from the battle that seemed so far in the past.
Hermione looked around the now quiet room. It felt so empty, so isolated now, without him there. She gazed at the white, the blankness, the purity of the room. Scooting down in her bed, she sighed and relaxed in the silence. She reached for a book, and curled up to read. She was right in the middle of Chapter 3 of Melodious Mysteries: Musical Maladies and Wizards Blessed With Them, when she got the odd feeling that she was being watched.
Cautiously, but remembering her vigilance, she pulled her wand from under the sheet and looked around. There beside her, was Albus Dumbledore.
"Oh, Professor Dumbledore! I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."
"That's quite all right, I was enjoying watching you read. Melodious mysteries, eh? I've always been partial to music myself, it's just a pity that I can't carry a tune."
Hermione laughed. She had a mental image of Dumbledore in a Viking cap, singing an aria.
"I would demonstrate, but I don't believe that you really want to hear. Really, though, the reason I came here was not to observe your reading, nor to discuss my musical prowess. I came to inform you that you have visitors. Your parents are here, and they wish to speak to you alone."
She smiled as she thought of the first time that they had come to visit her. Not only were they faced with their injured daughter, but also with the entire brood of Weasleys- and the proposition of magic. That was the first time that her parents had been in a wizarding building, and they, being the practical and intelligent people that they were, were both fascinated and terrified of all of the odd contraptions.
"Your mother and father will be here shortly. They wish to speak to you alone because they feel that now you will be old enough to understand. You see, Hermione, you already know that when you were a baby, Lily Potter's protection spells changed your destiny, and determined that you would most likely allow your life to be taken, for Harry to live." Hermione's eyes lowered. Dumbledore went on. "I know that you probably have many questions to ask your parents, questions only they can answer. You may want to know why they have waited a week to come talk to you about this. We know that it will be emotionally draining, and we wanted you to have most of your strength back beforehand. This is necessary, for both you and them. Questions need to be answered, and you need to understand." He nodded at her. "They will be here shortly. Take the opportunity, Hermione." She nodded and smile her thanks. He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.
Hermione thought silently. She did in fact have questions, and she was glad that she would have a chance to ask them now. Time would just make the answers hurt more. She sighed, and steeled herself for what she knew was going to be an emotional discussion.
Her silence was interrupted when Mr. and Mrs. Granger softly knocked on the door. Hermione smiled to herself. 'They are coming in the door like normal people, not jumping through the fireplace.' She paused then, remembering that her parents couldn't go through the fireplace. "Come in," she called.
Hermione got up and crossed the room as her parents came in. She greeted them with warm hugs. Her father was tall and kind-looking, with sandy brown hair. Her mother was kindly, too, and had the same brown curls as her daughter. She was beautiful, and seemed to defy the rules of traditional beauty. Both had the look of intellectuals, with inquisitive eyes. They hugged their daughter, and looked around for chairs. Hermione understood what they were looking for, and picked up two empty bottles. With a simple and deft swish of her wand, she transfigured the bottles into chairs. Her parents jumped.
"I will never get used to that," her mother sighed, while her father simply looked fascinated. "That really comes in handy, doesn't it? Don't have to bring in chairs, just make them, with just a wave!" Hermione smiled. Her parents really reminded her of the Weasleys sometimes. Mrs. Weasley was practical, and Mr. Weasley was always wrapped up in some Muggle fascination. Mrs. Granger was practical and affectionate, too, and Mr. Granger thought that wizarding things were truly incredible. Hermione settled back onto her bed, and her parents took their seats next to her. There was a moment of silence.
"Hermione, this week has been very hard for us. We knew how close to death you were. Headmaster Dumbledore has been so kind to us, letting us stay here, but we haven't really gotten to talk to you... about what happened, and what we knew. We somewhat hoped that the prediction wouldn't come true, but in our hearts we knew it would. It's long past time for us to tell you. Headmaster told us that he told you about the protection, and how you were involved." Hermione's mother sighed quietly. It was very unlike her to be so quiet, so unfeeling, but Hermione knew that inside, Mrs. Granger had so much that she was dying to say. They had always been honest with each other, and had both a mother-daughter and a friendly relationship. Hermione could feel that it had pained her mother to withhold this terrible truth from her.
Hermione took a deep breath. "He told me some. He said that he went to you and told you what had happened... explained the scar and the spell. But he didn't tell me exactly what happened that night."
Mr. Granger nodded. "Well, to begin at the beginning, you were already an intellectual child, even as a baby. You were always learning something. There were some times, though, where something would happen around you and we wouldn't be sure how. Even before you were a year old, you got a bad cut on your leg, from running outside in the rain. You loved the rain as a baby. Anyway, you got a horrible cut, and the doctor's office was closed for the night, so we cleaned it up were planning on taking you to get stitched up the next morning. But when we came in your room the next morning, you were happy as anything- and your cut had completely disappeared."
"Early signs of magic," Hermione said, happily.
"Yes," Mrs. Granger added, "but we didn't know it then. Odd things kept happening, though. You had a sense of humor and a sense of wisdom that made it hard to believe you weren't even a year old yet. You really didn't cry much. When you did cry, it was for a split second, before you found another thing to explore. But one night, at midnight, you screamed out. We thought you were horribly hurt, by the way you cried. We ran in, and you looked so pale and like you were in a great deal of pain. You screamed for a few more minutes, but then fell into an oddly peaceful sleep. We, as fist-time parents, were terrified. We didn't know what was wrong."
"And the plot thickens," Mr. Granger added with a grin. "A very old man rang our doorbell. Imagine, an old man with a long beard in odd robes, ringing our doorbell at midnight. We were very confused. He introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, and, of all things, asked us if we wished to join him for tea and a lemon drop. At our house, at midnight. It was quite odd."
"He talked to us for a while, and something about him told me that he was a good man, and sent to us with a purpose." Hermione was mildly surprised. Her parents were so protective usually about who came into their house. Dumbledore must have made quite a good impression.
"We invited him in, and he said something, and a tea set and a basket of lemon drops appeared in front of us. He had said something about being a wizard, but it hadn't made sense. After a long chat, and after he explained that he really was a wizard, he told us that he believed that he knew what had ailed you. He told us about the existence of a terrible wizard, and told us this wizard had killed many people, but that he had just been weakened, after trying to kill a child, the same age as you, Hermione. He told us about Harry Potter and what had happened. We didn't understand, though, what all of this had to do with you." Mrs. Granger looked down. "He asked us whether you had any unusual birthmarks. We told him that you had none. Then he asked to see you. He went right to your ankle, and looked over it, like he'd lost something. He sighed then, and placed his finger over a small area on your ankle. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it looked like he was about to cry. He showed us what he had been looking at- a lightning-bolt shaped scar. He told us that his thought had been confirmed, and he needed to speak to us."
Mr. Granger took over. "He took us into the living area, and sat us down. He told us then that you were a witch. We've known since you were a baby. Then he told us about the scar. He said that Harry Potter had one that was quite similar. Then he told us that the evil wizard hadn't been killed, and would probably return again. Harry would then be the hope for the wizarding world, to defeat him. We still didn't understand what this had to do with you. That's when he described the charm itself. He told us that Harry Potter was going to become a close friend of yours, and that the scars bound you together. Then," he paused, "he told us that the scar foretold that you would save Harry Potter's life, by giving up your own." Mrs. Granger teared up, but Mr. Granger continued, trying to just get it all out. "Headmaster Dumbledore told us that, indirectly, you were the hope for the survival of their world. But then he gave us a choice. He told us that when the time came for you to go to Hogwarts, we might keep you back. You would save them, he said, but we had the choice of whether to send you to school. If we didn't send you, you wouldn't have met Harry."
Hermione's eyes burned. "You could have kept me home, and never told me that I was a witch?"
"Technically, yes, but I think Dumbledore perceived from us that we would not be so cruel, either to you, or to your world. But Hermione, the reason we never told you prior to your letter was that we couldn't bear the thought. You leaving for Hogwarts..."
"... would have been like sealing my fate," Hermione sighed, very softly. Soft tears were falling now. "But you let me go. Why?"
Mrs. Granger took a deep breath. "We had to," she said, "for several reasons. First of all, we couldn't deny you that part of yourself, we had to let you learn. Never think, though, that we were willing to sacrifice you, never. We weren't. In fact, when you were little, we didn't want to ever tell you. But you got older... there was something about you, and a wisdom about you that is not typically found in children your age. You almost seemed to be missing something. You were always excelling, but you always seemed to know that there was another frontier that you should explore, somewhere. When the letter came, we knew we could never hold you back."
"You were able to let go, for me. How were you able to, knowing... what you knew?" Hermione was whispering now.
"We knew there was a chance that you wouldn't make it, but we had faith in you. We had faith in your decisions, and we knew that in your heart, if we had given you the decision to make, you would have gone in a heartbeat. We were terrified when you began writing us about Harry Potter, we had been hoping that the predictions would be wrong. But in our hearts, we knew that it wouldn't be. It was your destiny, and you had to figure it out yourself. You, in fact, made the final decision, to go out there, with Lily's help. We had to let you go. We couldn't play God. This was your destiny, and nothing can change fate. Nothing." Mrs. Granger looked up. "But you lived. It was your destiny to live."
Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a crushing hug, and Hermione tried to smile through her tears. Mr. Granger joined in the embrace.
Inside Hermione's head, her mother's words echoed.
"Nothing can change fate. Nothing."