Requital by Msscribe
Rating: R- (edited version). Full NC17 version on www.portkey.org.
Ships: H/Hr
Type: Angst\ Romance
Summary: A story of Hermione Granger coming to terms with her greatest loss, finding her own voice and strength, and coming of age in a world battered by a never-ending war.
Disclaimer: No profits are being made off the fiction on these pages. Harry Potter, associated characters and the associated Harry Potter universe is © J. K. Rowling and respective publishers. Fanfiction is fiction--it is not meant to be taken seriously in the least.
Chapter 1 - Consumed
The blackness almost overtook her. It almost ate her alive bit by bit as she sat in silence watching her childhood home being consumed by a fire so bright, it looked as if a second daylight had arrived. A miserable ache clawed around inside of her and her head felt heavy and dark.
Her heart pleaded for any sign of life. Perhaps her mother was in one of the ambulances, crying desperately for her. Maybe her father had to work late, like she had, so he hadn't been home when…they…came. She knew that her parents were gone. Her life was gone. She felt as if she were sinking into the ground below her. She could taste her tears now. She should have been there to protect them.
The Muggle police swarmed the area. She recognized some of those faces as Wizards who worked in the Muggle world. They were here to clean up the mess, the overwhelming evidence of what had actually happened at the Granger house that night. They would most likely fail. There was too much. The Dark Mark was burned into the grass. There was no hiding that. The death of Voldemort didn't mean the end of the war. The enemies' celebrations were short lived when a new leader emerged as quickly as the old one fell, and their ranks remained true to their cause.
The enemy had come, and they had taken everything she had.
"Miss…are you all right, Miss? Are you hurt, Miss?"
Questions. There were too many going through her head to answer anyone else's.
"Hermione?"
Harry. It was Harry. His voice cut through the chaos like a ray of light, but she couldn't seem to find her own will to speak. Nothing would come out.
She turned to look at his face. She could read it like her favorite book. She felt his misery, his sadness. His eyes were apologetic and sorrowful. Behind him were Ron and his father. They must have known the attack was coming.
Harry read her mind.
"We didn't get here in time," he said. "We didn't make it. I'm sorry."
All she could do was stare into the flames looking for faces…for anything. A low and painful noise escaped her as she felt Mr. Weasley's cloak around her shoulders and Harry lifting her from the ground.
She fought him. She struggled against his embrace, not ready to give in to its comfort. She wanted to feel the pain of her loss. Tears ran down her cheeks, flowing like two small rivers through the caked-on soot that had only moments ago blackened everything in its path.
But he was stronger than she. He held her so tightly, she could barely breathe, and after a brief attempt at breaking free from him, she slumped against his chest as he carried her farther away from the house. Everything smelled like death. Even him.
The inside of Mr. Weasley's car was warm. She was between Harry and Ron now. They both held her, Harry stroking her hair lightly, and Ron holding her hand, trying desperately to catch her glance. They rode. Fast.
"Hermione…we can't let the Muggle police get a hold of you. They already suspect it was something other than a typical house fire. You'll need to be with us. I've already asked Ginny and Mrs. Weasley to pack up essentials from your apartment. They will certainly get your address quickly and come looking for you…I'm sorry dear," he said quietly.
She understood. If this were linked to witchcraft it would be linked to her. Many witches and wizards had already been sent away for testing, or marked for death. Since massive attacks had been launched, keeping the two worlds happily separated had become virtually impossible.
Hermione Granger was forever changed. When the change came, it ripped through her like the fire that had consumed her world, and she silently grieved for her innocence lost. The sadness and anger Harry had lived with day in and day out was now hers to share. For the first time she understood why he fought with every ounce of his being, not fearful of his own death.
#
For three weeks, they left her in precious silence, occasionally popping in to fill her in on small details. The funeral was lovely, they told her. Her relatives grieved their loss, and many came out. According to the papers, they were all feared dead -- although only two bodies were found. To the Muggle world, she was now a statistic. To the Wizarding world, she was someone to be pitied. She wasn't sure which felt worse. She felt like letting go…
Her job as Lead Researcher at the Ministry was there when she wanted to go back. Arthur Weasley was head of the Ministry now after all, and he knew what a state she was in first-hand. She could barely manage coherent thought, let alone work. She was afraid of what she had stumbled onto to make them attack her family. What had provoked this? She couldn't even remember her last assignment very well because it seemed so long ago. The only thing worse than the pain of loss was the pain of guilt.
She would lie in bed dreaming of her mother's voice singing her into sweet slumber when she was a child... Her father would call out to her that he had finally managed to do the crossword puzzle she'd put together for him. She visited them each night, remembering her life. She would garden with her mother, and cry on her father's shoulder after nasty fall from her bike. She was only alive when she was asleep. She'd wake up suddenly, praying to find herself back in her apartment. It was just a nightmare, she'd hope. But when she'd wake in Ron's old room, the sadness would sink in again, and hope would fade away, blackness once again creeping up around her.
Her only pleasure was when, every evening, Ginny would run her a bath and wash her hair. She craved Ginny's delicate fingers running through her long brown locks. It was a temporary escape from madness. Sometimes Ginny would talk about her last year at school, careful not to mention the almost daily affronts, and sometimes Ginny would just sit in silence and run the warm sponge down Hermione's back, stopping only to soak up more of the soothing water and hypnotic blend of rosewater she used. The warmth would momentarily soothe Hermione's anxiousness, and allow for her to drift off into sleep under the homemade quilts on Ron's bed.
Harry and Ron sometimes came to visit, but Mrs. Weasley insisted they not stay too long. There apartment was nearby, but the Ministry had them working overtime almost every night. When they did come to visit, Harry's eyes would plead with her to talk to him. He'd bring her flowers and books to read. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn't. She wanted to embrace him, but her skin felt sickly. She had overheard Ron commenting to Harry about how quiet she had become. She couldn't hold back a smile as she thought of the irony of Ron actually missing their constant bickering.
Hermione's days and nights blended together. She managed to eat enough to stay alive and occasionally come down for dinner with the Weasleys. Most nights it was just herself, Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but winter break was coming to an end, and Ginny would be going back to school soon. She knew it was time to leave.
#
With a trembling hand, she reached for the suit that hung neat and pressed in Ron's closet. Ginny had tended to all of her things quite nicely, and until that moment, they had sat untouched aside for a few tattered and comfortable clothes she wore to lounge around all day.
"Are you sure you're ready?" Ginny asked, handing her the items she had requested from the store.
"Yes." Hermione answered, her voice wavering.
Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist and kissed her cheek.
"Call me if you want to talk at work. All right?" Ginny offered, turning to leave her to her task.
Hermione sighed, and pulled at her hair again, taking one last look in the mirror at who she had been before.
#
Mrs. Weasley couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped her as Hermione came downstairs. Hermione was dressed in her best suit, but had traded in her normal free-flowing brown curly locks for shoulder-length straight red hair. It was necessary if she had to go into Muggle London. She mustn't be recognized, and although she was assumed dead, she had to leave her Muggle identity behind. In the Wizarding world, she would still be Hermione Granger. In the Muggle world, she was no one. Mr. Weasley stood, and looked on for a moment.
"Now you really do look like one of my own. I would love nothing more to accompany you back today Hermione, if that's what you'd like," he offered.
"Thank you. I'd love that."
She glanced over at Ginny, who was sitting on the couch. The lovely redhead smiled reassuringly at Hermione. Hermione thought she caught a flash of disappointment in her eyes.
"Are you leaving tonight too?" Ginny asked quietly.
"No…but hopefully by next week. I'm looking for an apartment. I think it's time I went out on my own again," Hermione said, staring back.
Mrs. Weasley came over to hug her tightly.
"I'm proud of you dear. I know you'll get through this, but if you need to come back, you have a home here."
"Thank you."
Hermione and Mr. Weasley nodded goodbye and they apparated. She knew he wouldn't be pleased at the request she was going to make. She knew he would give in to her, but it wouldn't be easy. Especially since…well, she'd deal with that later.
She held tightly to the necklace her parents had given to her for Christmas, only three days before their deaths. She would have to find the strength. She didn't want anyone else fighting her battles for her.