A/N: Published in honour of her birthday, here is my love letter to Hermione Granger. It also focuses on her relationship with her parents and Harry – not to exclude Ron, who is awesome and under-appreciated, but simply because I like Harry and Hermione's brother-sister relationship and don't see it written about much.

31 July 1997
Hermione Granger
The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole
Devon, England

Dear Mum and Dad,

This is my proper goodbye to you – unless you count that horribly stiff and fake one I gave you the day you left, when you didn't know who I was. I know that we talked it over, and I convinced you that this is for the best, but looking back, it's highly possible that I'll never see you again. So many things might happen – your aeroplane could crash, or Harry, Ron and I could be captured by Death Eaters ... I've been trying to focus on the positives, as you always tell me to, but they're so hard to pin down. The possibility of the end of the war seems more and more far-fetched, while the task of tracking down and destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes is a near-impossibility.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing to you, but it's probably because old habits are hard to break, and I miss you so much that it's difficult to concentrate on much else. In the end, packing everything we might need on our search into that beaded bag you gave me last Christmas helped keep me focused.

It was Harry's seventeenth birthday today – he's the youngest of the three of us, and the last to come of age. Mrs Weasley threw a small party for him, complete with a cake in the shape of a giant Golden Snitch (I know that much about Quidditch – one can't help it with two enthusiasts for best friends!). Just before we ate, the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, paid us a visit. I shan't write what it was about, in case this gets into the wrong hands, but suffice to say, it raised more questions than it answered!

Do you remember the 'novels' I used to send while I was at Hogwarts? I remember writing my very first letter on the night we arrived, because so much had happened in one day that I simply had to tell you everything. I know I never said it, but I appreciated the way you would always thank me solemnly – regardless of length or quality – for every single one of the hundreds of epistles I must have exhausted the poor Hogwarts owls with. You never once made fun of me or my ideas, either – always took me seriously. Now that you're gone, I'm only just now understanding how much that meant to me.

By now, you should have settled into Australia, out of danger on the other side of the world. (Don't worry; I'll spell this letter secret.) It reminds me of the little story you used to tease me with when telling me about before I was born: 'We were happily married and madly in love, and yet something (somebody!) seemed missing.' But it's not really like that at all, because my charms ensure that you've no idea who I am or that I ever existed.

I do hope nothing goes wrong tomorrow at Bill and Fleur's wedding, but that's almost certainly a given, what with the war and travelling with Harry. He does have a rather unfortunate knack for attracting trouble, but we can't afford for things to go wrong, not when so much is at stake.

In one way, I'm glad that this letter will never be sent, because it's fearfully muddled. Nothing's in the proper order, but that seems like everything nowadays.

Love, Hermione

1 September 1997
12 Grimmauld Place
London, England

Dear Mum and Dad,

It's been just over a month since I last had the urge to write to you. Then, it was the day before we left The Burrow; now, it's the day before we break into the Ministry of Magic. So much has happened in that time – Snape became Headmaster of Hogwarts (I can't call him 'Professor', not after what happened last year), we discovered who has the locket and Remus paid a visit – that I feel I have to leave some record, in case it all goes horribly wrong. Then again, I've charmed this parchment and keep it in my bag when I'm not using it, so it's unlikely something will. Even Harry and Ron don't know I write letters to you – I'm rather good at keeping secrets, as you know!

Harry's scar's been hurting for weeks, though he won't let us see if he can help it. Today, though, I saw him rubbing his scar just before he ran to the bathroom and passed out from a vision. He tried to pass it off as nothing, but he should know such an act is futile to Ron and me – the two people who know him best in the world. It sounds like the kind of thing Aunt Maude would pass off as 'a bad omen' ... not that I believe in such nonsense, of course.

It's incredibly risky, what we're going to do tomorrow, and I can't help feeling the way I do before exams, like there's something that I've forgotten to prepare for; even if it's a little thing, I worry all the same. Dumb luck won't help us now, not when the whole of Britain is on the lookout for Harry Potter and his friends.

Love, Hermione

31 October 1997
Somewhere in Albania

Dear Mum and Dad,

Lost. That's what we are. Harry doesn't want to admit it, and Ron's becoming irritable from the constant travelling and less-than-stellar conditions, but guess what? This is war, and you have to face the facts. Just don't have another argument in the process – the last thing we need is for us to be fighting (or worse, to split up).

Today is Hallowe'en – the sixteenth anniversary of the end of the First Wizarding War and the day Harry became an orphan. He wants to go to Godric's Hollow – has wanted to for months – but we all agreed that it was much too risky. Instead, we've settled for visiting places that might have had a connection to Voldemort, all in vain. It's frustrating the way Harry won't take control and set out a plan of what to do. It's almost like he's reaching the end of his tether. He's never been one to give up, and I can't imagine him doing it now, but all the same, I'll be glad when this is all over, if ever.

This is probably the shortest letter I've ever written anybody in my life.

Love, Hermione

Christmas Day, 1997
A snowy hillside

Dear Mum and Dad,

You don't know what I'd give to have you back with me. I know that you're as safe as you can be, and away from this awful war, but I can't help thinking that something else will go wrong, on top of everything else. You could get in a car accident, or you might have never arrived in Australia, or …

But it's no use dwelling on what might be, when we've got so much to do. There are still three more Horcruxes to track down, and we're no closer to destroying the locket than before we got it.

Harry and I went to Godric's Hollow. In the end, I think I wanted to go as much as he did. In hindsight, it was the lure of possibly doing something instead of going round in circles that tempted me. But the whole experience was worse than either of us could have imagined.

It started out all right – we spent a minute at the grave of his parents (which only served to remind me of you, unfortunately) and then we were approached by Bathilda Bagshot, who made it clear that she wanted us to follow her to her house. Harry was so caught up in the idea of actually getting somewhere, discovering something new, maybe even finding the sword – that I should have known the whole thing was too fantastical and simple to last. But I didn't listen to my own misgivings. Instead, I let Bathilda Bagshot lead Harry away, up the stairs and out of my sight.

She never spoke in front of me. Harry told me afterwards that she was speaking Parseltongue, and he hadn't realised because he'd been too excited at the prospect of finding the sword. (Well, he didn't say that last bit, but it made sense.) I stayed downstairs, growing shakier and more worried by the minute, until a loud noise from above made me race up the stairs. Bathilda Bagshot was gone, and in her place was an enormous snake, which had wrapped itself around Harry, almost suffocating him.

After that initial shock, my memory of that whole scene is a blur. I do remember throwing a Blasting Curse, because we discovered afterwards that it broke Harry's wand. I'm sure Voldemort must have arrived as well – Harry felt it, and I just barely managed to Apparate us away. I was fine, and set up the tent and protective spells as soon as possible, but Harry wasn't at all. He was out for hours, and I was so worried – he wasn't still and quiet, either, but screamed and muttered and moaned until I was worried that he was actually ill, not just having another vision or being affected by the Horcrux or the snakebite on his arm. I did the best I could to take care of him, but in the end, he didn't wake up until it was almost dawn.

He didn't tell me, but it didn't take me long to realise that he'd relieved the night Voldemort killed his parents, only through Voldemort's eyes. I know he still feels horrible about it, but so do I. It's my fault, after all, that his wand got snapped.

Love, Hermione

5 January 1998

It was beyond midnight when Hermione awoke. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she checked the time. It was ten minutes past the end of Harry's watch. She hoped he hadn't dropped off like last time.

His eyes were open, but he was staring straight ahead, so still – daydreaming, probably – that he didn't register her presence until she had settled down next to him against the side of the tent.

'Is there anything wrong? You can go inside and warm up now,' she added, as an afterthought.

'Do you ever,' Harry said slowly, not getting up or turning to face her, 'wonder what it would be like if You-Know-Who never existed?'

'Harry, I don't …'

He didn't appear to be listening to her. 'Just think about it.'

She closed her eyes and permitted herself to daydream for one blissful moment. Her eyes snapped open.

'I'd have my parents back.' And then she and Harry looked at each other. For they had both said the same thing.

Harry's eyes widened, the faraway look disappearing.

'Oh,' he said. 'Blimey, I forgot. Sorry, Hermione, I didn't think –' He was looking at her as if he were expecting her to burst into tears at any moment.

'It's OK,' she lied, willing herself not to cry. 'It's just … ever since Godric's Hollow, I can't stop thinking about them. They don't even know who I am.'

Harry was quiet. Then he said, 'They're in Australia, yeah?'

She nodded.

'I'll come with you,' he said, 'to help find them. After the war. Just the two of us. You helped me find my parents –' His voice cracked. 'It's only fair I help you find yours.'

'You don't have to.'

'I know. Remember, in first year, how you said there are more important things than books … like friendship –'

'And bravery,' she said, smiling a little. 'But I'm not very brave.'

'Yes, you are. Come on, Hermione, you charmed your own parents so that they'd forget you, just to keep them safe. God, I couldn't have done it. You're amazing, you really are.'

'We talked it over, before I did it,' she said. 'It was a mutual decision. I didn't just … do it behind their backs, or surprise them, or something …'

'Yeah, but still …'

In response, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a Muggle photograph, much creased from frequent handing. It was of the three of them – her father, her mother and her – a few days before she'd left. Although the whole business was risky enough, she was terrified that she'd lose track of who she was fighting for, afraid she'd forget them … her mother's freckles and glasses, her father's frozen smile … And there were tears glistening on her own still dark cheeks. Tears …

'Isn't – isn't it a bit dangerous?' said Harry, watching her cautiously. 'Carrying around pictures of people who aren't supposed to know you, I mean? What if we get caught, or you drop it, or –'

'I don't know about you, Harry, but I happen to be able to do magic.' She tried to sound haughty, but her voice was shaking and sobs were rising in her throat. Harry's arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her.

Obviously trying to cheer her up, but not really knowing how, he busied himself in quailing under her look. 'Sorry, Hermione, I should have known you think of everything. I guess I'm just getting paranoid, like Moody.'

'Constant vigilance,' they said together, and she smiled.

15 April 1998
Shell Cottage

Dear Mum and Dad,

I won't describe what happened – it's too awful for words – but suffice to say, we're at Shell Cottage and Ron won't leave my bedside. Such a strange parallel to last year, when he was unconscious in the hospital wing after drinking poisoned mead. Back then, we had no clue what was going to happen, and all we could do was tell Harry he was being ridiculous and paranoid for believing Draco Malfoy to be a Death Eater at sixteen years old. Those times seem so carefree, so full of insignificant worries compared to now, when we're literally fighting for our lives.

Seeing Fleur take care of me and nurse me back to health has been a real eye-opener, I must admit. Before, I always saw her as a little shallow and affected, and never objected when Ginny called her Phlegm. (Looking back, I can't deny that some of the resentment was jealousy concerning Ron.) But she's clever and brave and patient and forgiving that I feel ashamed of my spiteful words. I go on and on about rights and fairness and equality, but I put down another woman because she's French and beautiful! What kind of person am I? I wish you could tell me, for I thought I knew and it turns out that I don't at all.

Love, Hermione

2 May 1998
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Scotland

Dear Mum and Dad,

We won. That's all there is to say. For once, I have no words – you find that hard to believe, I know – just complete relief and joy. It was all over so suddenly – the fighting, the deaths, the battle, the final showdown between Harry and Voldemort – and was so full of shock and terror and revelations that a sort of numbness has set in. I'll tell you all about it properly, as soon as I can, now that I know I'm going to be able to see you again.

Love, Hermione

12 May 1998

After a short search, Hermione found the person she was looking for. He was alone, sitting on the front steps of The Burrow and twiddling his wand absent-mindedly.

'Harry, can I have a word?'

He started, relaxing when he realised who it was. 'Sure,' he said easily, moving over to make space for her. 'What's up?'

She settled on the hard step beside him and got straight to the point. 'Harry, I've been thinking … I want to go to Australia and get my parents. You don't have to come, I'm just …'

Harry sat up straight, almost bumping her elbow. 'No,' he said quickly. 'I promised to come with you. When do you want to go? Today? Tomorrow?'

'I was thinking the day after tomorrow,' she explained. 'That'll give us enough time to prepare. I've asked Kingsley to arrange an intercontinental Portkey. It'll take us to the Australian Ministry of Magic, which is in Canberra. I know where my parents moved to – it's a little place in southeast Melbourne. From there, we can –'

'How come you –?'

She gave him an 'are-you-joking' look. 'Do you really think I wouldn't have sorted it all out beforehand?'

'Sorry,' Harry said sheepishly. 'Go on.'

'From the Australian Ministry of Magic, we can take a Portkey to the Victorian Ministry branch in Melbourne. There'll be no need to book one; it's a first-come, first-serve basis. Then we'll need to get to their house – the only trouble is, I don't know what it looks like, so we can't Apparate there. I'm thinking of using Muggle transport instead – there's a train line to the suburb we want to get to, and then it's just a matter of following a map to 1 Jacaranda Court. Does that make sense?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, after a moment. 'Did – have you said anything to Ron about any of this?'

'I haven't really spoken to him much recently, to be honest,' she said. 'He's taking Fred's death really hard. But he'll be all right. I know he's not jealous of you … he's got over that … but …' She knew she was blushing, but she couldn't help it. She watched as a grin spread over Harry's face.

'Are you two going out? Come on, you can tell me, I won't blab to the Prophet –'

'I don't – shut up!'

'Yeah, that'd be right,' said Harry impishly. 'You don't shut up.'

She settled for giving him such a look that he backed down at once.

'OK, back on topic,' he said hastily. 'Day after tomorrow, right? Sure thing. No worries. I'll pack, and you'll do … that thing that you do.'

'That thing that I do,' she repeated.

'Well, I dunno, do I?'

Ron noticed what she did, she thought. Back in third year, Ron had been the one who saw her struggling with her workload and had taken over research for Buckbeak's case. Harry, though he was braver than any of them could ever be, did not look out for her in the same way that Ron did, hadn't almost shut down when he heard screams of her being tortured, hadn't stayed by her bedside while she convalesced at Shell Cottage under Fleur's caring eye. But he nevertheless showed the strength of his loyalty in other ways; they were best friends, and that was enough.

13 May 1998

On the day before they were going to leave, Hermione again met Harry on The Burrow's porch. It was long past twilight; any and all long shadows had long since vanished into the darkness. Harry lit his wand when he heard her footsteps, and hence was able to see the pair of what looked like binoculars in her hands.

'What are those?' he asked, foregoing a greeting.

'They're like Omnioculars, but for looking at the sky,' said Hermione. 'They're a present for my mum. She's – well, she had a telescope that she'd set up in the garden, and on clear nights, she and I would look at the stars. Here, I'll show you.'

She handed the binoculars to him and pointed up at a bright star to the left. 'See that one there?'

Harry moved to focus on the star. 'Yeah?'

'That one's Sirius. The Dog Star.'

'You're kidding me!' Harry said, lowering them away from his eyes and staring at her.

'No, I'm really not.' She pressed a button on the binoculars. 'They should all be labelled now. That's definitely Sirius. It's the closest star, other than the sun.'

'Blimey,' he breathed, in that instant sounding like Ron. Hermione smiled.

'And if you look over here,' she said, steering the binoculars in his grip, 'there's the constellation of Andromeda – you know, like Mrs Tonks – and there's also a star called Regulus. I'm pretty sure there's even one named Draco.'

'I … wow …'

'You don't remember any of this from Astronomy?' she said suspiciously.

'Come on, Hermione, you know I only got an "Acceptable" …'

'Yes, and you could have got a better mark if you hadn't got distracted.' But her heart wasn't in the conversation – he wasn't Ron, after all; he didn't constantly surprise her with stimulating arguments that had an annoying tendency to fluster her because it was Ron.

If you tried to have a light argument with Harry, he'd either fold up to avoid conflict, or take the whole matter way too seriously. She didn't think less of him for it. It was simply his way – but it was one of the things that she had missed about Ron during his absence.

14 May 1998
The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole
Devon, England

Dear Mum and Dad,

Harry and I are coming to get you. If all goes well, this will be the last letter I write to you without the intention of sending. They've helped a lot over this past year, made me feel like you're always with me. Maybe I'll show these letters to you one day – I don't know. If I do, I want you to understand that just because these letters have been brutally honest, doesn't mean that I haven't been honest with you in person. I may have begun neglecting you shamefully once I started attending Hogwarts, but please realise that the thing I wanted most was to be fully immersed in the wizarding world, and if that meant cancelling long-planned ski trips to spend Christmas in a grim old place in London with my best friends, then that was what happened. That other me isn't fake; it's just that this me is more real than you'll ever know.

Love, Hermione

On the train ride through Melbourne's suburbs, Hermione finally allowed herself to relax, remembering her last night at home before leaving for her first year at Hogwarts.

'Hermione, dear, there's no use faking,' called Mrs Granger, knocking on the door of her daughter's bedroom. 'May I come in? I know you're awake.'

There was a thump, as if of someone startled, footsteps, and then the door opened to reveal a small girl with dense brown hair and large front teeth, looking unembarrassed as she clutched a wizarding book in both hands.

'Hello, Mum,' she said, and then continued talking. 'I've been re-reading Hogwarts, a History – just so I can get a feel for the place before I get there, you know. Did you know that the ceiling in the Great Hall is charmed to look like the sky outside?'

'I believe you've mentioned it once or twice,' said Mrs Granger, smiling.

'And that you can't ever pinpoint the exact location of Hogwarts on a map, because it's Unplottable? It's all so very exciting, I can't believe that I'm going to actually start learning how to do magic tomorrow –'

'Hermione,' said Mrs Granger gently, 'your father and I would like to talk to you.'

'Is it about last night?' Hermione asked, her eyes widening anxiously. 'I did try to go to sleep, like you said, but my new school books are just so interesting. And then I remembered that you said I shouldn't strain my eyes, so I had to turn the light on. I mean, I could have cast the Wand-Lighting Charm, but –'

'What's taking so long?' Mr Granger – tall, dark-skinned, kindly – peered over his wife's shoulder and looked solemn when he saw the book in Hermione's arms. 'Pop that down for a bit, would you, love? Hogwarts can wait, but we've only got one more night to spend with you.' He reached for Hermione's hand, and the three of them exited through the back door and sat on the porch overlooking the garden, Hermione sandwiched comfortably in the middle.

It was a warm, clear night; a faint glow of light pollution from the city could be seen in the distance, but overhead, the sky came alive with the pixie glitter of a million stars. Mrs Granger took a well-used telescope from its case and set it up on its spindly tripod.

Hermione knew what this was. Many times, after she was supposed to be sleeping, she had looked out her window and spotted her parents sitting together outside, taking turns at looking at the stars through her mother's telescope. It had been Hermione's mother, after all, who had started the tradition – Mrs Granger, who had always had a passion for maps and astronomy in particular.

'We thought, seeing that you're going to go off to school in Scotland, and we won't see you until Christmas, we'd give you something to remember us by,' said Mr Granger.

'You said one of your first-year subjects is Astronomy,' said Mrs Granger. 'Now, there'll be many things that you'll see and do as a witch that we'll never get to experience, but astronomy is its own kind of magic – stars are still stars, no matter where you are.' She moved the telescope so it stood in front of Hermione. 'How about you have a go.'

Hermione needed no second bidding. She swept her hair out of the way and put her eye to the lens, reaching for the dials to focus, as she had seen her mother do. There was one star that caught her attention.

'What's that star, Mum?'

'Which star?' Mrs Granger looked through the telescope.

Hermione showed her. Mrs Granger frowned for a second, then smiled at her.

'Trust you, Hermione, to ask about the one star I don't know the name of.'

'That can't be true; there are millions of stars, and you can't possibly know the names of all the others.'

To Hermione's indignation, her mother laughed, giving her a big hug.

'What will I ever do without you to correct me? I suppose you'll be so busy making potions and practicing spells that you'll forget about writing to us. No, that's not true – you'll make a special place on your timetable for letter-writing, won't you?'

'Of course she will,' said Hermione's father. 'She's your daughter.'

Mr and Mrs Granger smiled at each other over Hermione's head. Hermione wriggled impatiently; a quiver of excitement ran through her as she remembered that this time tomorrow, she would be tucked up in bed in a dormitory at Hogwarts, many miles north – how wonderful!

She had not thought of her parents during that whole train ride from King's Cross Station, but they had thought of her. And then, that first exciting night at her new school, she'd written them a letter at least a foot and a half long, detailing what had happened so far:

1 September 1991
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dear Mum and Dad,

Well, it's night-time at Hogwarts now, and I can't sleep for imagining what will happen tomorrow, so I decided to write a letter to you instead …

It had been years, but she could still remember most of what she'd written.

I was really worried about how the different houses are assigned – whether we have to pass a test, or do some spells, or what (It wasn't really mentioned in Hogwarts, a History) – but it turned out that we just had to put a hat, called the Sorting Hat, on our heads, and it would tell us which house suited us best. It sang a song about them, even. Gryffindor is for those who had daring, nerve and chivalry; Hufflepuff for the true and 'unafraid of toil'; and Ravenclaw is for those of wit and learning. The people in the last house, Slytherin, the hat said, use any means to achieve their ends.

After the hat finished singing, Professor McGonagall – you remember her; she took us to Diagon Alley – called out our names in alphabetical order. When she got to me, I was really nervous, but managed to stay calm. The Hat spoke inside my head and seriously considered Ravenclaw for a minute, but decided on Gryffindor in the end. I'm glad, because I was asking around when we were on the train and Gryffindor seemed by far the best. I suppose it's all subjective – maybe I just asked a lot of Gryffindors?

'Hermione?' Harry was peering into her face and frowning. 'It's our stop, I think.'

She sat up hurriedly and pushed her hair back. 'Burnet Gully?'

'Yeah, that's the one.'

They had to move quickly to get off the train, and by the time they were still again and Hermione was examining their worn map, the memories of her first year had faded from the front of her mind.

'You know, we could just take a taxi,' Harry suggested, watching yet another chequered yellow blur whiz past, splattering them with water. They were sitting alone at a bus stop, which mostly sheltered them from the drizzling winter rain.

'We've already spent enough Muggle money,' Hermione said tightly. She drew her coat closer around her.

'"Just a matter of following a map", you said.'

'If you say another word,' Hermione ground out, concentrating on the rain-streaked and dirty map in her hands, 'I will hex so you won't be able to talk for a month.'

Harry decided it was a good time to shut up.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out very slowly.

'All right, I think I've figured out where we are,' she said, more to herself than to Harry. 'We lost count of the number of roundabouts we passed; that's why we got mixed up. If we cross the road, then turn left and go right at the next roundabout, it should be the first house in the first court on the right. Any questions?'

Harry was looking at her with something akin to admiration. 'You'd make a great teacher, Hermione.'

She permitted herself a small smile. 'I'm not planning on teaching. I want to go into Magical Law, but before that, I'm going to go back to Hogwarts and get my NEWTs. Now, any questions?'

'All ten of them?'

'Right,' she said, folding the map tersely and standing up. 'Let's go.'

'I do have a question,' Harry said, scrambling after her and almost slipping. 'Would it be impossible to even consider using magic to stop us getting wet?'

'Yes.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, after they'd been walking for a few minutes. 'Guess I spend too much time around Ron … Hermione?'

They had stopped in front of a modest, one-storey house, which nevertheless managed to look dignified by dint of its position on a corner block of land.

'This is it.' Hermione was only vaguely surprised to find herself whispering as she looked from the map in her hands to the place in front of them as if she could scarcely believe her eyes. 'This is their house.'

'Oh.' Harry, too, seemed at a loss for words. 'D'you want … maybe … I mean, I've never … should I wait out here?'

'What? No! You're my best friend … how could you even …' Both suddenly aware of how incoherent they sounded, they burst into nervous laughter. Finally Hermione grasped Harry's hand and dragged him forwards.

'You're family,' she said firmly, 'just as much as my parents are to me.'

'What about Ron, then?'

Hermione merely elbowed him in the ribs. Together, they walked up the garden path, almost knocking each other into the neatly mown grass on either side. A sign in the window read 'Wendell & Monica Wilkins – Dentistry'. Harry waited at her side, saying nothing, just being there the way she had for him.

Then Hermione reached forwards and rang the doorbell.