In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic
by Meladara

The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB.

I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Hermione sat at the table, a cup of tea before her. Her elbows rested lightly on the table, while she slowly brought the steaming cup to her lips and sipped, her eyes staring fixedly out into the Muggle neighbourhood. She was alone in the quiet house and had been so for two weeks now.

Peering through the sheer curtains, she could see the shapes of her neighbours going about their morning business, silhouettes of the lives that surrounded but never touched her. As they undertook the daily tasks of life that she simply could no longer grasp, she watched. She recognised Mrs. Siegfried, waddling out to the curb with the rubbish bin; then Mr. Hayes also exited his house, carting his rubbish behind him. For a moment Hermione was amused, watching her two oldest neighbours greet one another. They had, for countless years, been meeting in such a manner, and it soothed her to see that there were still constants in the world. Then she remembered and the amusement faded abruptly. Sighing, she watched her neighbours turn and retreat into their houses, oblivious to the presence of the mourning war heroine.

War heroine. That was what they called her in the Daily Prophet, not that she read that tripe. Since the end of the war nearly six weeks ago, she, Harry and Ron had been thrust completely into the spotlight. It was only due to her ability to fall back on her Muggle heritage that she had any privacy available to her right now.

Setting down the cup, her hands moved to her head and rubbed against her eyes. She was tired and drained from weeks of crying. The pressure of her warm palms against the tender red flesh was soothing, and for a moment she took in deep breaths, allowing the stress and grief of loss flow out of her with each exhale.

Part of her felt completely foolish that she had fallen into such a state. For truly, when the end of the war had come, no one particularly close to her had been lost. When the dust of the battle had cleared, she'd found herself and her best friends alive and safe, much to her relief. Sure, there had been many lives lost and she had mourned with the rest of their world, but no one had had a close enough relationship with her to account for the acute depression she now found herself facing. It was almost as if something inside her had broken somewhere along the way, and now that she was no longer fighting a war, she couldn't figure out how to put herself back together again.

It was this house. She could find no strength here, in this lonely silence. It was filled with ghosts and memories of her past and the lives of the people who meant the most to her. Deep down she knew that until she found them and restored their lost memories, she would be stuck, floundering in a sea of depression and grief.

Once again memories of the past flooded her. A distant echo of her mother's voice, calling her inside to lunch played through her mind, the memory of her father sitting across the table doing the Sunday crossword puzzle flashing before her eyes. A deep shuddering breath escaped her; she felt her palms and cheeks start to dampen and by the time the tears were streaming down her cheeks, she had descended back into crushing grief.

She was so alone, and if she didn't do something about it soon, she was afraid that she would never be able to make it back to the person she'd once been.

Her hands moved to dash away the tears with harsh swipes as she struggled to hold back the sobs which were threatening to escape her. Breathing in a slow, steadying breath, she closed her eyes to the world around her.

Another memory flooded her.

"Hermione, are you sure this is what you want?" Harry asked her, for what seemed like the twentieth time.

She sighed and looked up from the book she'd been pretending to read. They were the only ones sitting the Gryffindor common room so late in the evening.

"Yes, Harry," she said with slight irritation. "As I told you last time, I just need to get away for a while. I simply can't think here; there are too many people and too many memories haunting me. I need to take a step back from the war and allow myself some time to heal. Everywhere I go here I see-," her voice cracked before she fell silent, she couldn't or wouldn't voice what terrors haunted her here.

Silence stretched between them for a moment before she heard Harry speak. "Are you sure you'll be okay alone? I could come with you, or you could come to the Burrow, or even Grimmauld Place, if you'd like?" he offered earnestly.

"Thank you for the offer, but I think that it will be best for me to go at it alone for a while. Besides, Ginny isn't going to let you out of her sight for quite some time; she needs you too, Harry. And I don't think I could face Ron right now, so the Burrow is just out. He expects something from me that I cannot give him, and after that display last night, he is the last person I want to see," Hermione told him.

"I'll talk to Ron for you, if you want. He was out of line last night and shouldn't have done that, especially in front of everyone else," he offered.

"That he was. Do you realize that Ron and I haven't even gone on a single date? He's never even done something as simple as asking me to walk around the lake with him, or... I don't know... go to Hogsmeade! He was way over the top doing that. You can talk to him, if you think it will help. Although I'm not sure it will do much good."

"You're probably right there," Harry agreed.

"I really think he's lost in grief over the loss of Fred and latched on to the idea of an "us". He's thinking himself in love, when he is not. I can't do it this time, Harry. I can't be his or your strength any more. I need what strength I have left for myself."

She knew he wasn't happy with her plan to leave the post-war sanctuary of Hogwarts, but there was really no other place that she particularly wanted to go, and staying certainly wasn't an option. The Battle of Hogwarts, and the violence she had witnessed there, were still too close to the surface. She knew it wouldn't fade until she left Hogwarts altogether. Faced with the fact that there were simply too many people at the Burrow, Ron included, and the Order Headquarters had too much residual dark magic to make it a desirable home, she found herself left with only option: her parents' house.

"Harry, please. I have healing I need to do, and I need to make arrangements to retrieve my parents. Not to mention the war has only been over for three weeks and the media is already driving me nuts. They've turned us into a bloody circus act and I don't know how much more I can take. That drivel they have written about Ron and me is just plain wrong. I know we kissed, but that was in the middle of a battle, and I am smart enough to know that now is not the time to get involved with someone. Especially Ronald!" The words flew from her mouth quickly and full of irritation. When she finally fell silent she was slightly breathless.

Hermione took a calming breath and waited a moment before continuing. "Please, I've just got to go for a while. I'm not running away, and I promise you I will come back." A desperation that she rarely displayed crackled through her voice.

Harry had, over the years, learned enough of Hermione's body language to understand that she was reaching her breaking point. He'd watched her over the past week as she struggled daily. He saw how she hesitated to walk the halls and would purposely take circuitous routes through the castle, avoiding the locations which had seen the more gruesome parts of the battle. At meal times it became apparent that she was eating only sparsely, and the circles under her eyes, which were growing more pronounced with each passing day, suggested that her sleep was kept to a minimum.

Then had come the disastrous display the previous evening, where Ron had expressed his undying love in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry was sure that those who had heard her shrieks were in no doubt of Hermione's feelings toward Ron. Everyone but Ron that is, he simply wouldn't take Hermione's words at face value, believing that she would come around eventually. Though Harry had been rather amused at how thoroughly she had laid into their clueless friend, it was clear that she needed a break.

Knowing that Hermione would share her struggles with him when she felt ready, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. Giving it a comforting squeeze, he nodded his acquiescence. "If you ever need me, any time, I'm just a Patronus away. You are my best friend and I love you like the sister I never had, don't ever forget that. Please, just... call me if you need me. Promise me?"

She gave him a weak smile, as tears filled her eyes. Nodding to him, she spoke, "Thank you, Harry. I promise that if I need you, I'll call."

"Alright then. You promised, don't forget that."

That had been the last time she'd seen or spoken to anyone. She had watched as Harry left the common room that night, and by the time he had awoken in the morning, she had fled.

Her plan had worked, partially. Settling into her parents' home had allowed her to escape the horrors that were brought on by the halls of Hogwarts; the violent memories faded into the background almost immediately. Everything was still bubbling just under the surface, ready to erupt at any reminder, but living in her parents' home allowed her to, mostly, escape the daily reminders of the horrors she'd seen. Save one.

It had been an unexpected development for Hermione when she realised that it was his eyes that she was seeing each night. Just days after the battle she'd had the nightmare the for the first time, although she had been so mentally drained that it hadn't been immediately apparent just who was featured in this new horror. Then, one night later, as she was slowly robbed of sleep and sanity, it became clear exactly whose eyes were staring and pleading with her, whose blood was draining from a gaping wound. It was this knowledge that had finally broken her.

They frightened her, these vivid recollections of the horror she had witnessed that night in the Shrieking Shack. It had been a ghastly scene, and if she had taken a moment to examine her motives more closely, she would have known that the nightmares had truly been the catalyst in her decision to flee the school. A wild, desperate hope that, should she be able to escape Hogwarts, the nightmarish dreams would leave her as well.

She couldn't understand why she was dreaming about him of all people. Why him? He was no one to her, truly, and although she had witnessed his final breath and gone so far as to wish him peace in his final moments, she didn't feel anything special for him. He was simply another pawn in a war of nasty people, another victim with a tragic story. There was no denying, though, after five weeks of the repeating nightmares, that it was his eyes that haunted her each night. His pleading eyes of midnight. She only dreamed of him and never the other deaths she'd witnessed. How could the death of her surly professor fill her with such grief?

Each night, as she retired, there would be a moment where she would allow herself a sliver of hope. Hope that tonight would be good one, free of the horrors of war. That she would be spared watching him bleed out at her feet. Alas, most nights she was not so lucky and would awaken drenched in sweat and tears, the scent of his phantom blood lingering about her.

Hermione looked down at the cup before her and noted the cold tea. She sighed. Yet again, another morning had passed her by and not a single thing had been accomplished; yet again, she had retreated into her thoughts and despair, causing her to waste yet another perfectly good cup of tea. Her life felt like a dangerous balancing act that was liable to teeter too far at any moment. She'd repressed the memories of the others, only to be haunted by Snape and her parents. Her grief was palpable; she felt immobilized and lost, her brain dull, her heart and will broken. Absently, she picked up and swirled the cool tea, watching the few tea leaves at the bottom of the cup whirl around.

Again the phantom image of her stalwart father flickered before her, her tired mind once again reminding her of what she'd lost. She remembered all the times they had sat at this table together. He would work quietly at his puzzles and read the paper, while Hermione read her lofty texts. It was one of her favourite things to do when home, sharing the peaceful communion between the equally studious father and daughter. Her mother would bustle around the house, sometimes admonishing the bookish pair to trek outdoors for some fresh air, sometimes simply smiling fondly at their camaraderie and providing them fortification in the form of afternoon tea.

Her eyes drifted, unseeing around the room, until fixing on the window once again. Dazed and lost to recollection, her hands began to loosen their hold on the tea cup. As the cup began to tilt, the final dregs of tea began to spill onto the table. The tan liquid was tinted gold by the light of the late afternoon sun, now shining through the window. Suddenly, the cup clattered down to the surface before her, jarring her from her thoughts.

Hermione jumped and quickly righted the cup, then sopped up the spilled tea, shaking her head at her head-in-the-clouds behaviour.

She really missed her parents and was afraid that she was running out of time to fetch them. It was already nearing the middle of June. If she wanted to have them settled back in England before she returned for her final year of schooling at Hogwarts, she would need to get moving soon. There was no doubt in her mind that it would be a difficult task, because when they realized what she had done, they would be less than co-operative. She would need to be able to take as much time as possible explaining and coaxing them back into her life and country.

It had been her only choice at the time, in the midst of war; Hermione knew that her parents were Death Eater targets, and as Muggles, terribly vulnerable. They never would have agreed to let her perform any magic on them, she knew, but with time being of the essence, she'd taken matters into her own hands.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger, although loving and attentive parents, had never embraced their daughter's magical nature. It seemed there was something, fundamentally, that they were incapable of understanding when it came to her magic. It was like trying to explain to a blind person what colours were made of; it was something their brain simply couldn't compute.

In her early years at Hogwarts, Hermione had enthusiastically shared stories of her magical education with her parents, only to find that they responded with frowns and quick changes of subject. As Hermione grew older, she often thought her parents treated her magic as if it were a boyfriend of whom they disapproved: showing it a distant, slightly wary, respect while clearly not understanding how it held her so enthralled. They never questioned her about the incongruous family secret; it was spoken of only in the abstract and never directly referred to. Still, never did they question her decision to immerse herself within the magical world, understanding that even if they couldn't comprehend her magical gifts, it was important to her future in the magical society.

It was because of this that Hermione never doubted her parents' love for her, no matter how much they misunderstood, and perhaps even feared, her magic. Until she had been forced by circumstances to use her magic against them, she believed wholeheartedly that her parents would never exile her completely from their lives, as so many other Muggleborns' parents did. They were after all, good people, in an extraordinary situation. But now, knowing what she'd done to them, she feared they wouldn't take kindly to her presence in their lives and that regaining their trust would be nearly impossible.

Hermione pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Taking up the tea cup and now wet tea towel, she walked into the kitchen, where she quickly washed the cup by hand and placed it on the rack to dry. Then, looking around, she realized her wand was no where to be found. She must have left it on her bedside table. Silently summoning her wand from her bedroom, she snatched it out of the air as it floated through the door. Turning to peer out the window at the back garden, she watched the setting sun colour the sky.

It was becoming clear to her that if she stayed here she would never be able to pull herself from this depression and certainly never get herself to Australia. Now that her theory that the nightmares would lessen if she left Hogwarts had been proven faulty, she knew it was time to move on. Whatever healing was going to be found here was small and ineffectual, especially without her parents support. The horrors of battle were still just below the surface of her mind, ready to show themselves at any moment, and the dreams were growing stronger and more disturbing. She knew that she could no longer do this alone.

For a moment she twirled her wand through her fingers in an idle movement. Then, as it landed deftly in her palm, she weighed it in her hands gently.
One of the first things she and Harry had done after the war had been to contact Mr Ollivander in order to obtain her a new wand. Bellatrix's wand made her feel physically nauseous, a sentiment Harry completely understood from his time using a borrowed wand. Hermione had been surprised that her new wand was so different from her original. The springy willow wand was light in her hand, ready to fly into action. The core had been a surprise as she'd never heard of a wand with a core of dragon scales. She had immediately begun pondering what magic must have been involved to get a dragon sized scale into the core of a wand. Some things about this world still amazed her - and who was she to argue? After all it was magic.

Hermione took a breath and closed her eyes, focussing on the moment when she'd found her new wand; the feeling of completeness that had momentarily surrounded her in a rush of magical energy. Then, when she felt ready, she chanted her spell and swished her wand.

Expecto Patronum!

A small burst of light flickered out of her wand before sputtering out.

Hermione frowned and shook her head. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Searching her mind for a stronger memory, she once again chanted the spell.

Again the same light burst forth, only to fade before it could form into the familiar otter that was her Corporeal Patronus.

"Damn it!" Hermione growled, throwing her wand on to the counter.

Tears flooded her eyes. Feeling defeated, she slowly walked out of the kitchen. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she decided to try again in the morning. In the meantime though, she would try and get some much needed sleep.

Hermione's heart raced as she tossed on her bed. The bed covers long since discarded, she was twisted in a tangle of damp sheets.

"No... no..." she groaned.

The sound of a door closing echoed through the house as Hermione shot up in her bed.

Frantically, a hand went to her damp face, wiping the tears and sweat from her eyes.

"Do you think she is here?" she heard a deep voice say quietly as she froze her movements.

"It looks that way. See, here is a wand. Although, it looks different from her old one," a female voice replied.

Shite!

She'd left her wand downstairs.

Stupid Hermione! Stupid! Stupid!

Hermione crept quietly out of bed and padded lightly to the door. Opening it gently, she listened.

"She's probably asleep upstairs, dear. I told you we should have waited until a little later in the morning."

There was no reply, except for the sound of feet on the stairs.

Still caught in the strange world between wakefulness and sleep, Hermione straightened and went into fighter mindset. She didn't know who those people were; no one other than Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall knew this place, therefore they had to be a threat. Backing away from the door, she ducked into a dark corner, awaiting her intruders. Her eyes were wild, resembling a cornered feral cat waiting to spring on it captors.

The footsteps fell silent just outside her door. Wild panic flashed through Hermione. How had these people known exactly which room belonged to her?

Before she could wonder further the door began to swing, slowly, open. Just before she sprang from her hidden corner to attack, a voice rang out.

"Hermione? Are you in here?" the woman called.

Hermione froze. Though she could not see who was standing at the door, there was no doubt that she knew the voice. How had she not recognised it before?

"Hermione?" The woman called again.

Tears began to prick at her eyes and sobs began to wrack her body. Suddenly, Hermione crumbled to the floor as a muffled, "Mum," fell from her lips. Before she could utter another word she found herself wrapped by four arms and pulled into a family hug.

Hermione continued to sob into the shoulder before her. She wasn't sure which parent she was clinging to, but that didn't matter, they were here. Listening to the comforting words of nonsense her parents used to soothe her, Hermione suddenly she felt that perhaps everything would be okay. Her Mum and Dad were home, and in that fact alone she could find hope.

This fic was first posted in the 2012 SSHG Exchange on Livejournal. It was a gift for lovely HBAR and would not be here today if it hadn't been for the support I received from Sixpence Jones. The banner is by talesofsnape. The original prompt will be posted at the end of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy!