Disclaimer: I don't own HP, which should be blatantly obvious, but enjoy the proverbial flashing neon sign.

A/N: I know; I suck! I haven't posted a new chapter for The Closure of Knowing in months. I will give no excuses, I've just been too lazy to write. I will hopefully be posting another chapter very soon. Until then, here is a little one-shot about Hermione leaving her parent's house. I like writing from Hermione's POV, she is just easy to relate to, and I will probably be writing more stuff from her POV. This isn't really a song fic. The song plays a part in the story; it's more than just background music. So without further ado...

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Hermione sat with her back against the wall. The decision she had to make was difficult, but truthfully there was no decision; it had to be done.

Downstairs, her mother and father were reading in the den. They had no clue about the war raging on in their daughter's world. It was their daughter's world; they had no part of it.

Over the years, Hermione had told them some of the smaller details about her troubles at school; nothing so severe that it would alarm them. She honestly didn't want them to know anything about the mishaps over the years but some slips became unavoidable. When she was petrified by the basalisk in her second year, Professor McGonagall had retrieved her parents and calmly explained the situation. Even with assurances that their daughter wold be okay, the Grangers had been shaken and had asked for more information ever since.

Hermione had learned over the years what she could tell her parents and what she couldn't. She had told them about Viktor Krum and the Yule Ball because it seemed harmless enough. She told them about her row with Ron after the ball and the return of Voldemort at the end of that year, but she downplayed the situation a great deal. She did not tell them about Cederic Diggory's death or anything about the Department of Mysteries, including her injuries.

The last year had been such a blur that the only thing that she was able to tell her parents when she got off the train was that Dumbledore had died. She did not tell them that he had been killed nor that there had been a battle at the castle. They knew nothing of the war or the Order and Hermione preferred it that way.

Times had changed, though, and things were coming to a close in the Granger household.

Hermione exhaled a shaky breath and walked over to her dresser. A photo album was perched precariously on the edge. She opened the leather binder and began to flip through the pictures, searching for a few in particular. The first one she found was of her, Ron, and Harry after a Quidditch match last year. She had her arms slung over both boys' shoulders and the three were laughing merrily and waving to the camera. Hermione set aside that picture and resumed her perusal.

The second picture she found was of the DA during their fifth year. The Room of Requirement was decked out in Christmas decorations and twenty or so people were crammed around a large tree. Hermione was strongly reminded of the Order picture Moody had showed them before their fifth year and she wondered how many people in this photograph were going to die.

Wiping another wave of tears off of her face, Hermione pulled the last photograph from the album. Her parents sat in their den, flanking a three year old Hermione, teaching her how to read. This picture was not moving for it was of muggle origin, but that didn't mean that it had any less animation to it. The family look extremely happy and content.

Hermione placed the three photos in an envelope and dropped them into her beaded bag. Surveying her room one last time, she picked up her bag, retrieved her coat off her bed, and walked into the hallway.

She crept down the stairs and paused at the landing, listening to her parents. They were talking quietly about their dental office and the new equipment they needed to get. Hermione knew that they would never order that equipment.

She took another deep breath, placed her coat and bag by the front door, and went into the den.

"Hello, Hermione!" Mr. Granger said after spotting his daughter. "I've just found one of my old records today. Its brilliant. Come and have a listen; see if you remember it." Hermione smiled at her father and sat in the chair next to him. Sure enough, the music coming out of the record player was familiar and melodious. After a few moments, she was able to place it: Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends"

"Yes, I remember it." she said, near tears. She had to do this now if she were ever going to.

"Mum, Dad. I need to talk to you both." Her parents turned to her, looking worried. It was not like their daughter to make announcements.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"A lot, I suppose..." Hermione began quietly. "You remember how I told you that Voldemort had returned?" Her parents nodded. "Well, he has been gaining strength for some time. He's pretty powerful now and the war is beginning again." She said this all very quickly as if word speed would lessen the blow.

"War?" Mr. Granger asked, leaning forward in his armchair.

"A war between his followers, The Death Eaters, and the resistance." Hermione said, carefully choosing her next words. "The resistance was doing a good job at keeping Voldemort at bay but then Professor Dumbledore was killed..."

"Killed!? You said he had died." Mr. Granger interjected.

"Well, he did die didn't he? I just didn't say it wasn't from natural causes. Look, a lot of us are part of the resistance; its called The Order of the Phoenix. I'm not really a member but I help out and they need all the help they can get right now." She was coming up on the main point of the conversation. "I have to leave. I have to help."

Mrs. Granger looked at her husband for a few moments and then grasped her daughter's hands. "I don't want you to go and get hurt. I want you to be my little girl forever."

Hermione was crying now; hot tears were rolling down her cheeks but she refused to give into sobbing. "Mum," she said shakily. "I have to go but I will be alright. Really, I will."

"You're really going aren't you?" Mr. Granger asked.

"Yes. I am. I don't want to do this but I can leave if I want. I'm an adult by wizarding standards."

Hermione's mother narrowed her eyes at her daughter's statement but Mr. Granger spoke before his wife had the chance. "We love you and we aren't going to force you to stay. Just be careful, eh! Stay safe."

"I will. Don't worry, it will be completely safe." Hermione vowed, knowing that she was lying through her teeth but having no other option.

"There's one more thing." She bit the inside her lip. "I can perform a spell that will let you keep in contact with me. If you want, of course."

"Of course we do!" cried Mrs. Granger.

Hermione pulled her wand out of her back pocket. "Okay. Mum, you first." Mrs. Granger situated herself in her armchair and smiled at her daughter. Hermione extended her arm and yelled "Obliviate!"

Mrs. Granger slumped in her chair as Hermione rounded on her father. The look on Mr. Granger's face stopped her cold, though. He was afraid; afraid of his own daughter.

Knowing she had only minutes, Hermione whispered, "I'm so sorry" and performed the same spell on her father.

She then spoke very slowly and clearly, "You are Wendell and Monica Wilkins. You are dentists who have always wanted to have a practice in Australia. You have just sold your home and plan to pursue your dreams. You have no living family or friends." Her voice shook on the last sentence, but she managed to get it out.

Hermione stood up and started backing out of the room. The sobs that she had been holding back, broke free and she was gasping loudly. It was only when she reached the foyer and was no longer able to see her parent's unconscious forms, that she was able to gain control of herself.

She picked up her bag and coat and opened the front door. She placed her forehead on the door jamb, breathed in one last whiff of home, and walked out into the dark street.

As she made her way to a nearby alley so she could apparate, Hermione kept hearing the song from her father's record echo in her head. Never have those words been more true. The time of innocence had passed long ago and all she had left of that time were photographs. She hoped that it would be enough to sustain her. She supposed that it was going to have to be enough.

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Hopefully you liked. If you didn't, thats cool too. :P I will never turn down reviews but I wont hold stories hostage until I meet some imaginary 'quota.' I find that whole practice to be completely ridiculous.