"You place too much importance... on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!' " - J.K Rowling (Harry Potter And The Goblet of Fire)

"Slowly now I'm broken down, and I am wearing thin." - "Love Found Me" by New Heights

Home

After several weeks at the Burrow, the Grangers decided the time had come for them to return to their home and to bring Hermione with them. Of course, she would go, but if she could have chosen, they all would have stayed put. Truly, she felt just as "at home" with the Weasleys; they were her family too, now more than ever. Her parents knew that, but Hermione didn't want to upset them, especially not after what she'd already put them through. She knew they'd already stayed at the Burrow longer than they would have liked. If circumstances had been different, they would have viewed their stay as a lovely holiday in the magical world, but seeing as they'd just returned from abroad and from under the clutches of a memory spell, they were keen to get back to normal.

It would be strange to sleep in her old bed again. A comfort, to be sure, to be back in her childhood home, but she worried how she'd fare without Ron. She'd grown accustomed to sleeping near him over the past few months, save when he'd left her and Harry for those awful, empty weeks. Those were dark days she chose not to remember. Ever since she'd discovered how the Horcrux had tormented Ron, the lies it had fed him (and having destroyed one herself), she no longer blamed him. Really, she'd forgiven him as soon as he'd returned, she just hadn't wanted him to know it right away. Though at the time, the weeks without him had seemed to never end, in the grand scheme of their long journey, he'd been absent very little. And now, since the war had ended, they'd spent every night together. Her parents, of course, were unaware of that fact and even Mrs. Weasley held her tongue. It was her house and she allowed it, so that was that. Hermione knew at home, the rules would be different. She realized she'd been assuming Ron would come with her and maybe that was folly, but the thought of going anywhere without him...well, she just didn't think she was ready for it after all they'd faced.

"Suppose someone else bought our house?" Hermione's father mused over an ale. He'd bought a muggle brew in town that made Mr. Weasley positively giddy.

"No. They couldn't have done. I bewitched it. If muggles looked at it, they only saw a boarded up pharmacy."

"Clever," said Mr. Weasley, taking in a sip of the ale. Her father looked at her with an odd expression. Her mother's eyes looked watery. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt for saying 'muggles' in front of her parents, something she'd never felt before. But after the war, it just seemed...wrong. Now the word 'muggles' felt almost as bad as 'mudblood." Of course it was not meant to be derogatory, especially not the way Mr. Weasley would say 'Oh, bless these muggles,' or some other such affectionate thing. But the Malfoys, Bellatrix, and other Death Eaters would pronounce the word as though it were a disease. Voldemort would have purged the world of muggles had he been victorious, or at least used them as pets or slaves. Hermione nearly sickened thinking of it, she could feel her insides twisting. The Death Eaters had all placed too much importance on the purity of blood. Voldemort and his followers thought blood-status was the great determiner of worth, that pure-bloods were better, more deserving. Hermione knew that was utter rubbish. It mattered not how one was born, but what they grew to become. The Death Eaters had never recognized that fact, instead giving into the lies. S She recalled the portrait of Sirius's mum that hung at Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Black been no true Death Eater, though she'd spawned them and had been just as deluded. That way of thinking was dangerous. Some considered it tradition, but Hermione called it fear of the unknown.

Hermione now felt so disconnected to the child she was who lived in both worlds. Now she was without doubt a full-grown witch and she was hyper aware of how different their worlds could be. When she'd been at school, it was just that, she was at school. Now she'd been immersed completely in the magical world. She'd gone to drastic measures to keep her parents safe from a threat they knew nothing about, could know nothing about, and there were still many secrets she needed to keep from them. It was an odd feeling. She'd always skirted around telling them of the dangers they'd faced during their years at Hogwarts, but it had never quite bothered her until now. It only added to her guilt, knowing that she wanted to return to to school with all her heart. Thinking of Hogwarts made her think sadly of Ginny, who was now the one who'd locked herself away in her room.

"I can't go back to Hogwarts, Hermione," Ginny had told her in tears after she and her mother had stopped shouting at one-another one afternoon. "It's where...he died." Ginny hadn't spoken Fred's name since the funeral. "I know you want to go back, and I'm all for it, if you think it's right for you...but you weren't there last year. After what we had with the Carrows..."

"Professor McGonagall..."

"I know what you'll say... Nothing like that will ever happen again...it'll be just like old times...but that's just it. Not for me it won't. It can't. It can never be what it was. And I'm sorry, but I have the chance to train with the Harpies...I'm going to take it! You have to start young in the pros, look at Viktor!" Hermione had no good argument. She knew education was important to her, but not necessarily to others, at least a formal education. She certainly realized now that there were many different types of educations, and different kinds of intelligence. It must be terribly hard for Ginny to consider returning, she knew that. Selfishly, though, Hermione knew she wanted her friend there with her. Harry and Ron wouldn't go back, that was certain. Possibly Luna would consider it, being a Ravenclaw. She wouldn't press Ginny, though, not now when her grief over Fred was at its zenith.

"She'll come around," said Ron, encouraging her. "You'll wear her thin soon enough and then she'll break down. Slowly perhaps, but she will. She's just having a rough time of it now."

"Well, maybe she should take the position with the Harpies..."

"She still can. Wasn't Viktor still in school and playing professionally?" said Ron. "You know he was and so I. If they want her enough, they'll make allowances, they're always making special arrangements."

"Well, maybe you should talk to her."

"She's having trouble looking at me at the moment. It's not just George, anymore. Percy knocked on her door last night to bring her tea and she started crying. We all remind her of Fred." It took Ron a lot of strength to speak his fallen brother's name, Hermione knew.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. How selfish of me to be worrying about how lonely I'll be at Hogwarts, when it was my idea to go back. You have much more important things to worry about..."

"Hermione, you've been through a war too. It's okay for you to think about yourself for a change. I'm sure if you explained to Ginny why you want her at Hogwarts, she'd change her mind."

"Even if it's for selfish reasons?"

"Maybe. Just tell her how you feel," said Ron, pulling her to him and kissing her lightly. She smiled. She could hardly believe it was Ron telling her to express her feelings. The Ron of a year ago wouldn't have been so bold. But none of them were the same as they'd been last year.

"Will you come home with me? To my parents' I mean. I know it may be odd, and maybe you're not ready to leave the Burrow yet, but..."

"If you want me there, of course I'll come."

"I need you there," she said sheepishly, embarrassed for some reason. She felt her face grow hot. "The dreams..." He hugged her tighter. "Do you think they'll ever stop?" she asked.

"I know they will."

"Thank you," she said, wondering how she'd breech the subject of Ron staying at their home with her parents. They might require a bit of wearing down as well, she thought.

But her mother was extremely understanding. Hermione didn't mention in detail her nightmares or Ron's, but she did explain that he comforted her...and that she still had troubles dealing with all they'd been through.

"I imagine there are challenges you faced that we can't help you with," said Dr. Granger with some sadness in her voice. "And I'm not so inexperienced in young love..." she said.

"Mum!" said Hermione, blushing.

"You just got together, you don't want to be separated...I understand that," her mother said giving her a hug. That was true, it was part of it. Ron worried he might have trouble getting his parents to let him go, but they said they understood as well, as did his siblings, though they all wanted him to Apparate back to see them at least once a day.

"Of course I will," he said. "It will just be for couple of weeks."

Hermione knew that after their nightmares subsided, she'd have to let him be alone with his family and she'd need to be alone with hers. Harry'd already said he wanted to return to Grimmauld place before Auror training began officially in August. Ginny had almost protested, but she knew he needed to be alone as much as she needed to be with just her family. These were all strange waters to navigate. None of them had ever had such experiences before. Still, as long as they all had each other, they'd find the way.

Indeed it was just as strange to return to her childhood home as she'd expected. It was just as she'd left it that day last July when she'd made her parents forget her. She found herself almost near tears as she entered the sitting room, thinking of that moment. So her spell had worked exactly right. The Grangers had become the Wilkins family, childless and anxious to move to Australia to make a new start of it. They hadn't packed their furniture, they'd decided to buy all new things. Hermione had known that if the Death Eaters were to come looking for her at that house, it needed to be in-tact, as though her parents were simply out for the day or on holiday. If it looked deserted, they'd know it figure out it was a ploy. Her mother gasped at the sight of the home she hadn't seen in year.

"It's clean," she said, wiping her finger along the mantle and catching no dust. Hermione wondered at that.

"Shacklebolt," Ron whispered, leaning in. Hermione thought she would like Kingsley as the Minister of Magic very much indeed, better than any they'd had so far during her lifetime. Upstairs in her bedroom, the bed was made, her school trunk lay at the foot of the bed, all as quiet and perfect as a museum.

"This is your room, eh?" asked Ron peering in, appraisingly. "Looks like you. What are these trophies?" he asked waltzing over to the dresser and picking up a small golden medal.

"All for academic achievement," she said. "Not from Hogwarts."

"You went to school before Hogwarts?" Ron asked incredulous.

"Yes of course. My parents didn't know I was a witch, I started out at primary school just like all my muggle peers. Harry did as well, you know."

"Oh yeah. I supposed I did know that, but...I've never really thought about it. So you've been in school for...

"Eleven years..."

"Eleven years...and you want to go back for another one. You amaze me. I reckon you were brilliant at all that as well..." he said examining all the trophies.

"I can't believe you've never been here," she said. "It's strange, but...I like it."

"It's brilliant!"

"Well, we'd better not stay in here too long, my parents..." Ron set down the last of the medals, looking around the room one last time.

"You could do with some color in here though...I'll give you one of my Cannons posters..." he teased.

"No thank you, Ron," she said play-punching him as they went back down the stairs. It was good to be home.