|| ''Even if, I don't know, your memories got wiped and you had no idea who I was?'' Hermione twisted at a loose thread in the blanket, feeling it stretch taut. ||
We all know Hermione washed her parent's memories before going on the Horcrux Hunt wi...
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Hermione's kitchen used to big as in spacious. It used to be big as in roomy. It used to be big as in large enough to fit extended family into the room and still feel cozy. Now, it felt big like a problem—a problem she didn't know how to deal with.
Hermione licked her dry lips nervously, regretting not bringing the chapstick Ginny had lent her, as she slipped her house key back into her pocket, the same house key that she had spent three hours looking for earlier. All of her stuff was disorganized, a thing that annoyed Hermione intensely, to prepare for the upcoming Horcrux Hunt.
The layout of her childhood home was such that the kitchen was the first door after entering the house. As such, the kitchen had always been a place where she and her parents naturally drifted to. For now, it was empty except for the merry figure of her mother, stirring a pot on the stove.
Jean Granger, dressed in a huge brown sweater and faded jeans, hummed a song that might have been popular—Hermione wouldn't know, she never listened to a Muggle station anymore unless it was to check the news. Despite not knowing the song, Hermione could tell immediately that Mum was humming it off-key. Some thigns never chance.
Hermione drank in the sight of her until she had enough energy to pretend to sound happy.
"Hi, Mum!" Hermione said, finally crossing the threshold into the kitchen. Mum turned around, startled, dropping the wooden spoon.
"You're here!" She wrapped her arms around her daughter, resting her chin on Hermione's head. Hermione soaked up the hug like she was the sponge and her mother the water. She inhaled the familiar warm scent of mint and lavender soap, tangled together with her father's wool and cologne hand sanitiser, a side effect of working at a dentistry.
"Your journey was good?" Mrs. Granger asked finally, pulling back to study her daughter carefully. She brushed some stray hairs out of Hermione's face, tucking them behind her ear.
"Yeah," Hermione reassured her mother. "I took the train from the Burrow; Mrs. Weasley was concerned about the Death Eaters, so I cast a few spells on myself. I'm perfectly fine, though." Hermione twirled around to prove it, her finally-tamed curls flying out in a circle, and her mother smiled.
She could have Apparated home, but she wanted a little taste of Muggle life. The gentle rocking and the back-and-forth of the Muggle Underground took Hermione back to simpler times: camping trips, a very cold beach vacation, riding into the city with her father. Times before Death Eaters and war and death pressed down on her with a vise-like grip. Unshakable.
Those memories felt like precious stones now, ordinary moments that she didn't know if she would ever experience again.
"Good," Mum said, turning the stove off and placing a lid on top of the rich red soup she was cooking. "I almost wish..."
