RP: Things Change
Date: November 21, 2004
Characters: Hermione
Location: The Grangers’ house
Status: Private
Summary: Sometimes, you can’t go home again
Completion: Complete
Everything felt different. It was difficult to explain, but Hermione couldn’t help feeling like a stranger as she walked down the sidewalk of her old neighborhood. She tried to explain it by blaming Apparition, which could occasionally make one dizzy or feel peculiar. That was just an excuse, though, to avoid accepting the truth: she was a stranger.
It had been seven years and four months since she’d last been home. The memory of her argument with her parents, futile as it was, echoed in her mind with every step. We thought you’d go to university after leaving that school. We’ve tried to be supportive, Hermione, but you need to make a choice. Why can’t you grow out of this phase and just be normal? Her parents, as much she loved them, never understood. From the moment she received her Hogwarts letter, she’d felt as if she finally knew why she was different from everyone else. She had no desire to be normal, not when she knew about this whole other world where she belonged, even if some didn’t want her there.
They’d tried to understand, had allowed her the opportunity to go away to learn magic, but, in the end, they’d expected her to return to their world, forget her childhood indulgence, go to uni, and probably become a physician or solicitor. When she told them she was leaving and didn’t know when she’d be back, they’d forced her to choose. She could complete school nearby and go to university, or she could stay in the wizarding world but lose them because they couldn’t deal with it anymore.
It probably said something horrid about herself that it took barely any hesitation before she chose Harry. She’d tried to explain about the war, tried to make them understand, but her choice, difficult as it was, had ended the discussion. There were no loud words or threats. Instead, they’d looked at her as if they no longer knew her, as if they expected this time to come since she first received her letter, and they’d let her go.
During the years, she’d called them a few times, never knowing what to say, but they never said anything more than her name before sighing and quietly hanging up. She’d made her choice and, even now, knew she’d make the same one again because Harry and Ron needed her. After Voldemort’s death, she’d decided against returning home or trying to see them. She wasn’t sure she was ready yet, and honestly didn’t think she could handle their rejection if they were still firm about her choice.
Now, though, she had to go back, if only to get her things. There were books and clothes that she really could use, considering she had few of the former save for what she’d lifted from the library and hardly any of the latter, as well as a box of jewelry that she’d inherited from a grandmother she barely remembered.
The jewelry could be sold for pounds, which would help pay their expenses and possibly give her a little to help with the garden and her bookstore and press idea. While some people would be horrified at her matter-of-fact planning to sell off something she inherited, she was pragmatic enough to know that her grandmother would most likely rate her having money for food and a future far above her keeping some jewelry that she never wore anyway. If not, well, food on the table, and even a small amount of money to help with the store made up for any long dead ancestor’s anger. She’d keep the locket, the one she actually wore, but the rest could be sold.
When she reached her street, she felt the anxiety begin to build. It was early, as she’d resolved to get this done as soon as she determined that it was necessary, so her parents might not yet have gone to work. She tried to ignore the fact that she’d not waited a little longer just in case she could see them. They might have parted due to an impasse but she loved them even if their lives were different now.
There was a ‘for sale’ sign in old Mr. Lowery’s lawn and a child’s toys were scattered all over the porch of Mrs. Carmichael’s house. Hermione once again had the odd feeling that she didn’t belong here anymore. She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders before continuing down the street. As she approached her childhood home, she was taken aback to see that it was painted. Her parents had loved the old brick exterior, that being one of the reasons they’d bought a rather rundown home instead of something new and closer to their practice. Now, it was an awful coat of white paint over the brick.
There were other differences, too. The lawn obviously hadn’t been tended in awhile, there was an unfamiliar old automobile in the driveway that was leaking oil, and the front window of the house was broken with a plastic bag covering the hole. She crossed the street and stood outside, staring at it as if it was going to suddenly become the house she remembered.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Hermione’s hand had tightened on her wand when she heard footsteps approaching. She glanced to her right and saw an elderly woman wearing a large flowery hat standing by the car. Appearances could be deceiving, of course, so she didn’t relax her grip. “No, thank you,” she said politely. “I’m here to see the Grangers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, love, but they moved months ago,” the woman said. “I’ve been living here since early spring.”
“They moved?” Hermione blinked and tightened her grip on her wand. “Where---where did they go?”
“They didn’t say.” The woman studied her a moment before asking, “Would you be their daughter? Hermione, right? They showed me a photo, though you were much younger.”
“Yes, I’m Hermione,” she said slowly, watching the woman suspiciously.
“Ah! Well, they left some things for you,” the woman said. “Put them in the shed out back, just in case you happened to come by. Told me they weren’t sure if you would or not.”
Hermione nodded and blinked away tears as she followed the woman to the back. They were gone. Really, she had no right to feel betrayed or upset considering the choice she’d made, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she wanted to curl up into a ball and have a good cry. She was strong, though, and tears wouldn’t solve a bloody thing. She’d learned that lesson during the years, so she saved tears for dark nights when she could cry quietly.
“Here we are, dear. They left these three boxes and this animal.”
Animal? Hermione looked past the woman and saw a familiar ball of orange fur, now tinged with grey, lying beside one of the boxes that had her name written in her mum’s precise handwriting. “Crookshanks?” His name caught in her throat, and she discreetly wiped the back of her hand across her eyes as she knelt down on the dirty floor.
“I’ll be pleased to see that cat go. No offense, dear. He’s quite ornery and downright mean,” the woman murmured. “Anyway, these are what was left for you. Can’t offer you help carrying them, but you can fetch them any time you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Hermione muttered, still looking at Crookshanks, who was giving her a ‘it’s about bloody time you remembered me, girl’ look. She heard the woman wander off, thankfully, and reached down to pick him up. “Hey you.”
Crookshanks scratched her cheek hard enough to make a mark before he licked her and purred. “I missed you, too,” she said softly, feeling guilty now that she’d assumed he probably hadn’t survived the years.
She looked at the boxes and reached out to trail her finger over the sharp lines of her name. “They really left,” she whispered before dropping her hand. She sighed and rubbed her chin on Crookshank’s head before she looked down at his ugly face. At that moment, he was the most beautiful thing she’d seen lately. “Harry and Ron are going to throw a tanty when they see you.”
He yawned, and she could have sworn that he smiled evilly. She stood up, holding him against her side, and checked one of the boxes. It was secured with heavy tape that hadn’t, fortunately, been tampered with. She looked inside and saw clothes on top of some books. The other two boxes contained similar contents, though one also had her photo album and jewelry case hidden in a false book front. “My life fits into three boxes,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “Small boxes, at that.”
She pulled her wand out, shrunk the boxes, and put them into her coat pocket. When she left the shed, the woman was standing by her car again and looked up with a friendly smile. Before she could ask anything, Hermione whispered, “Obliviate.”
The woman blinked and rubbed her eyes, which gave Hermione time to walk away. She held Crookshanks tightly as she walked away from her childhood house. It was time to go back to Stoatshead Hill...to go home.
Characters: Hermione
Location: The Grangers’ house
Status: Private
Summary: Sometimes, you can’t go home again
Completion: Complete
Everything felt different. It was difficult to explain, but Hermione couldn’t help feeling like a stranger as she walked down the sidewalk of her old neighborhood. She tried to explain it by blaming Apparition, which could occasionally make one dizzy or feel peculiar. That was just an excuse, though, to avoid accepting the truth: she was a stranger.
It had been seven years and four months since she’d last been home. The memory of her argument with her parents, futile as it was, echoed in her mind with every step. We thought you’d go to university after leaving that school. We’ve tried to be supportive, Hermione, but you need to make a choice. Why can’t you grow out of this phase and just be normal? Her parents, as much she loved them, never understood. From the moment she received her Hogwarts letter, she’d felt as if she finally knew why she was different from everyone else. She had no desire to be normal, not when she knew about this whole other world where she belonged, even if some didn’t want her there.
They’d tried to understand, had allowed her the opportunity to go away to learn magic, but, in the end, they’d expected her to return to their world, forget her childhood indulgence, go to uni, and probably become a physician or solicitor. When she told them she was leaving and didn’t know when she’d be back, they’d forced her to choose. She could complete school nearby and go to university, or she could stay in the wizarding world but lose them because they couldn’t deal with it anymore.
It probably said something horrid about herself that it took barely any hesitation before she chose Harry. She’d tried to explain about the war, tried to make them understand, but her choice, difficult as it was, had ended the discussion. There were no loud words or threats. Instead, they’d looked at her as if they no longer knew her, as if they expected this time to come since she first received her letter, and they’d let her go.
During the years, she’d called them a few times, never knowing what to say, but they never said anything more than her name before sighing and quietly hanging up. She’d made her choice and, even now, knew she’d make the same one again because Harry and Ron needed her. After Voldemort’s death, she’d decided against returning home or trying to see them. She wasn’t sure she was ready yet, and honestly didn’t think she could handle their rejection if they were still firm about her choice.
Now, though, she had to go back, if only to get her things. There were books and clothes that she really could use, considering she had few of the former save for what she’d lifted from the library and hardly any of the latter, as well as a box of jewelry that she’d inherited from a grandmother she barely remembered.
The jewelry could be sold for pounds, which would help pay their expenses and possibly give her a little to help with the garden and her bookstore and press idea. While some people would be horrified at her matter-of-fact planning to sell off something she inherited, she was pragmatic enough to know that her grandmother would most likely rate her having money for food and a future far above her keeping some jewelry that she never wore anyway. If not, well, food on the table, and even a small amount of money to help with the store made up for any long dead ancestor’s anger. She’d keep the locket, the one she actually wore, but the rest could be sold.
When she reached her street, she felt the anxiety begin to build. It was early, as she’d resolved to get this done as soon as she determined that it was necessary, so her parents might not yet have gone to work. She tried to ignore the fact that she’d not waited a little longer just in case she could see them. They might have parted due to an impasse but she loved them even if their lives were different now.
There was a ‘for sale’ sign in old Mr. Lowery’s lawn and a child’s toys were scattered all over the porch of Mrs. Carmichael’s house. Hermione once again had the odd feeling that she didn’t belong here anymore. She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders before continuing down the street. As she approached her childhood home, she was taken aback to see that it was painted. Her parents had loved the old brick exterior, that being one of the reasons they’d bought a rather rundown home instead of something new and closer to their practice. Now, it was an awful coat of white paint over the brick.
There were other differences, too. The lawn obviously hadn’t been tended in awhile, there was an unfamiliar old automobile in the driveway that was leaking oil, and the front window of the house was broken with a plastic bag covering the hole. She crossed the street and stood outside, staring at it as if it was going to suddenly become the house she remembered.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Hermione’s hand had tightened on her wand when she heard footsteps approaching. She glanced to her right and saw an elderly woman wearing a large flowery hat standing by the car. Appearances could be deceiving, of course, so she didn’t relax her grip. “No, thank you,” she said politely. “I’m here to see the Grangers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, love, but they moved months ago,” the woman said. “I’ve been living here since early spring.”
“They moved?” Hermione blinked and tightened her grip on her wand. “Where---where did they go?”
“They didn’t say.” The woman studied her a moment before asking, “Would you be their daughter? Hermione, right? They showed me a photo, though you were much younger.”
“Yes, I’m Hermione,” she said slowly, watching the woman suspiciously.
“Ah! Well, they left some things for you,” the woman said. “Put them in the shed out back, just in case you happened to come by. Told me they weren’t sure if you would or not.”
Hermione nodded and blinked away tears as she followed the woman to the back. They were gone. Really, she had no right to feel betrayed or upset considering the choice she’d made, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she wanted to curl up into a ball and have a good cry. She was strong, though, and tears wouldn’t solve a bloody thing. She’d learned that lesson during the years, so she saved tears for dark nights when she could cry quietly.
“Here we are, dear. They left these three boxes and this animal.”
Animal? Hermione looked past the woman and saw a familiar ball of orange fur, now tinged with grey, lying beside one of the boxes that had her name written in her mum’s precise handwriting. “Crookshanks?” His name caught in her throat, and she discreetly wiped the back of her hand across her eyes as she knelt down on the dirty floor.
“I’ll be pleased to see that cat go. No offense, dear. He’s quite ornery and downright mean,” the woman murmured. “Anyway, these are what was left for you. Can’t offer you help carrying them, but you can fetch them any time you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Hermione muttered, still looking at Crookshanks, who was giving her a ‘it’s about bloody time you remembered me, girl’ look. She heard the woman wander off, thankfully, and reached down to pick him up. “Hey you.”
Crookshanks scratched her cheek hard enough to make a mark before he licked her and purred. “I missed you, too,” she said softly, feeling guilty now that she’d assumed he probably hadn’t survived the years.
She looked at the boxes and reached out to trail her finger over the sharp lines of her name. “They really left,” she whispered before dropping her hand. She sighed and rubbed her chin on Crookshank’s head before she looked down at his ugly face. At that moment, he was the most beautiful thing she’d seen lately. “Harry and Ron are going to throw a tanty when they see you.”
He yawned, and she could have sworn that he smiled evilly. She stood up, holding him against her side, and checked one of the boxes. It was secured with heavy tape that hadn’t, fortunately, been tampered with. She looked inside and saw clothes on top of some books. The other two boxes contained similar contents, though one also had her photo album and jewelry case hidden in a false book front. “My life fits into three boxes,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “Small boxes, at that.”
She pulled her wand out, shrunk the boxes, and put them into her coat pocket. When she left the shed, the woman was standing by her car again and looked up with a friendly smile. Before she could ask anything, Hermione whispered, “Obliviate.”
The woman blinked and rubbed her eyes, which gave Hermione time to walk away. She held Crookshanks tightly as she walked away from her childhood house. It was time to go back to Stoatshead Hill...to go home.