Bill and Fleur’s wedding was a joyous one. It was a relief for everyone that inhabited the Burrow once the day finally arrived and Mrs. Weasley was no longer viewing anyone’s resistance to assist in the millions of tasks for the big day as a personal insult.

The last few days since Hermione had returned from obliviating her parents had passed quickly and slowly all at the same time. She found herself many times staring off into space as she wove flower garlands or folded napkins, thinking of how she could now help Harry through her position within Voldemort's regime.

Of course, she could not quit being a Death Eater, but she could ensure that Voldemort would regret the day he’d forced her to watch her family – both of them – be harmed. So she threw herself even more into the task of preparing to find horcruxes. She’d read all about their properties and how they could be destroyed – and to her horror realized it was near impossible without the sword of Gryffindor.

Two days ago a somber looking Kingsley had entered the Burrow and looked around. His kind brown eyes softened as they landed upon Hermione who had been assisting Ginny in arranging one of the many flower bouquets that would be placed around the reception tent.

“Hermione, might I have a word?” Kingsley said, his hands gripping his hat nervously.

She’d exchanged a look with Ginny, whose blue eyes widened.

“What is it, Kings?” Hermione asked, after their night on the thestral she had grown much closer to the wizard.

Kingsley looked between her and Ginny while Harry strode into the room.

“Hey Kings,” Harry said, shaking the large wizard’s hand. “What’s up?”

Kingsley cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

“I need to speak with Hermione about… her parents…” he trailed off.

Slowly, Hermione set down the hyacinth blossom she held in her hands and turned to him fully, while Harry’s eyes widened. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders and she couldn’t help but cover one of his with her own. She’d been working to forgive him for what he’d done to Draco – to understand where he had come from. It had helped that he carried so much guilt about it. He’d spoken to her many times of wanting to make amends with Draco for it, which softened her anger considerably.

“Go ahead, Kings…” Hermione said softly, her voice beginning to waver.

She knew what he was going to say – she didn’t need to hear the words. But even so – even knowing that her parents were, in reality, safe and oblivious in Australia – it didn’t stop them from hurting. Both memories were fresh in her mind.

“We just got word that Death Eaters attacked your parents last night… Hermione…” Kingsley stepped over to her, dropping to one knee and pressing the photo that had usually resided on her dad’s bedside table into her hands. It was a smiling portrait of the three of them at the ocean – the bright beach huts in the background – with a large crack in the glass from where it had fallen. “I’m so sorry… They…” He took a deep breath. “They didn’t make it.”

Harry’s arms wound around her as the tears slipped across her cheeks onto the cracked glass. Kingsley gave her arm a squeeze before Ginny took his place, guiding her head to her shoulder.

They had stayed like that for a long time while Hermione cried her last few tears for her parents and everything she had lost while in service to Voldemort.

It was easy to get lost in that memory as she sat at a small, round table with Harry – who was currently polyjuiced to look like a far-removed Weasley cousin – while she watched Bill dance with Fleur’s mother and Mr. Weasley dance with Fleur.

If they survived this, was it possible to one day be dancing with Lucius while Draco danced with her mother? Or would Narcissa have to stand in?

“You all right?” Harry asked, brushing a curl from her shoulder.

She gave him a weak smile.

“Just thinking about my parents.”

Harry nodded, grasping her hand tightly.

“Me too,” he said just as softly. Then his eyes caught the sight of Ron trying to dance with a dreamy Luna who looked as though she had no interest in a partner. “What a prat.” Harry laughed, pointing to him.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at Ron’s bewildered face with him.

“He never could get a hint,” Hermione mused, adjusting her beaded bag and groaning when she heard the faint sound of books tumbling inside. “ Shit .”

“What’s up?” Harry asked.

As she opened her mouth to explain, a glowing blue lynx bounded into the middle of the dance floor, Kingsley’s deep voice booming around the tent as it opened its mouth.

“ The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming. They are coming.”

Hermione gaped for a long moment at the patronus. She had had no idea this was happening – Draco had given her no indication in their notes via the two-way journal which must mean Voldemort was keeping them in the dark.

“Hermione!” Harry cried, jumping to his seat and pulling her along with him. “We have to get to Ron, we have to get out of here!”

“Harry! Hermione!” Ron yelled, pushing through the panicking guests towards them.

Harry’s hand was tight around hers as he reached for Ron. Already were the popping sounds of apparition as guests fled.

“Where do we go?!” Harry asked over the screams around them.

“I’ll guide us,” Hermione answered. “Hold on to me, Ron.”

Ron grasped her other hand as she turned on the spot just as she felt the wards break and dozens of masked Death Eaters and Ministry officials apparated into existence.

…

Grimmauld place was quiet as they stepped into the darkened sitting room. Hermione was still slightly trembling from the ghostly apparition of Dumbledore that had swirled from the dust on the floor as they’d entered. She could still hear his voice bouncing through her skull.

“ Severus Snape… ”

Wrong name , she’d though in terror. It was me… It was me…

Harry had a comforting arm around her as he lit the lamps and guided her to a seat while Ron surveyed the room.

“We’ll all stay in here tonight,” Harry said, looking between her and Ron. “In the morning we’ll discuss what to do next.”

Ron nodded, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Ron asked, his face pinched with worry as he gazed out the dusty windows.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Harry said. “Most had already disapparated by the time the Death Eaters got there.”

Ron nodded again, not looking any more comforted as he looked between them where Harry still had his arm around Hermione. Seeming to get the hint, Harry dropped his arm and pushed his black fringe off his face.

“Come on, let’s wash up and get some rest, yeah?” Harry said, getting to his feet as Ron followed after him, but not before giving Hermione a long, yearning look. She sighed, reaching for her beaded bag and drawing out the two-way journal.

Are you safe?

Salazar’s left tit, Hermione, please tell me you’re okay.

Hermione couldn’t help but snort at that before she drew a pen (much more practical for traveling than quills) from her bag.

We’re safe.

Thank Merlin. I was so worried. We had no idea anything like that was happening or I would have warned you.

I know, I believe you.

Where are you? Can you come to the manor?

I don’t think it’s safe to say. I’m with Harry and Ron, we still have a mission to do. I have to help them.

I understand, love.

As soon as I can get away, I’ll come to the manor.

Until then, remember to use your bracelet if you run into any danger. I love you.

I will. I love you too.

Just as she’d closed the journal and placed it deep into her bag, a bright shimmering weasel patronus glided through the window.

“Ron!” she shouted. “Harry!”

The boys came skidding back into the room only seconds later, water dripping from Ron’s face onto his shirt.

The weasel came to a stop and opened its mouth, the voice of Mr. Weasley floating out.

“ Family is safe. Stay where you are. Do not return home. ”