It was a warm, October morning, fresh and crisp. Mrs. Weasley was already in the kitchen, flipping pumpkin pancakes and getting ready to bake pies that afternoon.
The Burrow was awfully quiet. What with Bill and Fleur in Egypt, Charlie and his wife Emmy in Romania, Percy still not talking to them â“ Mrs. Weasley wiped a tear from her eye. It hurt her that her third son had still not made up with the family.
And then Fred and George were in their shop, Ron and Hermione were missing, and Harry and Ginny were in Brazil, so the Burrow hadnât seen much activity lately. Now, Arthur had rushed off to the Ministry (âYou are retired, you know,â she had argued) and she was alone in the house.
As she sat down to her breakfast, a barn owl came soaring through the window.
âWhy, youâre a post office owl!â She exclaimed. All her children owned owls, so they wouldnât have to use the post office ones. Curious, she slit open the parchment and read:
Dear Molly,
I hope this gets through to you, but I donât have much hope. Iâve been trying for years and havenât gotten an answer. For some reason, every time I go outside our village, I get disoriented and canât remember what I was going for. More if I see you.
I need your help. I canât say anymore, in case this gets intercepted. Please reply as soon as possible.
Hermione
âHermione?â gasped Mrs. Wesley. âHermione Weasley?â
She needs help. And I donât care what she says. Iâm going to her.
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Using the return address on the note, Mrs. Weasley Apparated to a village ninety-nine percent of the worlds population does not know the name of. Walking up to a small, cottage-ish house, she knocked twice. On the second knock, a very thin, but still recognizable women cracked open the door. When she saw who it was, Hermione nearly screamed.
It was not, as she had expected, a muggle tax collector, or some solicitor advertising who knows what. Standing on her doorstep, of all people, was Molly Weasley.
But no, this couldnât be. After Ron had disappeared, she hadnât heard from any of the Weasleys or Potters. She had still sent out notes, to the Burrow, to Grimmald place, any- and everywhere someone might receive one. None, before now, had been answered. Yet, here her mother-in-law was, sanding plain as day on her doorstep.
Molly seemed to be harboring similar thoughts, even though she was the one who had knocked on the door in the first place.
âHermione, is that really you?â
âYes, Molly. Yes it is.â
And before either one knew what they were doing, they were locked in a tight embrace, which held in it the anxiety, sorrow, and finally joy, of the past four years. Tears were running thick and fast off of each of their faces, though no attempt was made to stop them. And at the same time, they were laughing, partially from the joy of the occasion and partially because they knew how funny they must look, standing on a cold doorstep in the middle of October, Hermione without a coat on.
And indeed, they were attracting quite a few stares from the neighbors, until good sense (and cold) prevailed, and Hermione invited the older woman in.
âOh here, Molly, have a cup of tea, you must be freezing, I â“ ouch!â
âLet me do it, dear,â said Mrs. Weasley kindly. Hermione had never been very good in the kitchen.
After the tea was made, and Hermione had unearthed a tin of biscuits, Molly said:
âNow that we are comfortable, tell me the whole story. From the second Ron disappeared (she had been able to gather this from Hermioneâs otherwise incoherent mumbling whilst she was digging in the cupboards for the biscuit tin). And donât stop until you get to this very second. Please, of corse.â
So Hermione told her the whole story, from them buying the house to Ron disappearing to her surprise that one of her notes had finally been answered.
âMum?â
A small face poked out from one of the doors leading off the kitchen.
âHow do you spell â“? â
Just then she caught sight of Mrs. Weasley and stopped short.
âOh, Anna dear, come here. Molly, this is my daughter, Andromeda.â
The girl scrambled up onto Hermioneâs lap, staring avidly at Mrs. Weasley.
âHello, Andromeda. Iâm Molly Weasley, your grandmother.â
Anna still was staring at Mrs. Weasley.
âAnna, be polite.â
âHi,â said Anna in a small voice. âGrandma,â she added.
But Mrs. Weasley wasnât really listening. A plan was forming in her mind.
âYou know, Hermione, why couldnât you come live at the Burrow? Itâs probably safer then this house â“ we know that Death Eaters have been sighted not far from here. â
âOh, thatâs very kind of you, but what if â“ what if Ron comes back, and no one is here?â
âWell, most likely the second place heâd look is the Burrow, and if youâre there then itâs only a bit of time lost. Nothing compared to four years, anyway.â
âYes, I suppose youâre right. It does make sense.â
âWhat is the Burrow?â Anna asked
âItâs where Molly â“ your Grandma lives.â
Her next question was rather unexpected.
âDo I have any aunts or uncles?â
âSix uncles and three aunts, at last count,â answered Mrs. Weasley.
âSpeaking of which, have you heard from Harry or Ginny lately? Iâve been really out of it, as far as family goes.â Hermione had been dying to ask this question.
âTheyâre in Brazil â“ Auror mission,â she added.
âGood for them. Well, I suppose that if we are moving to the Burrow, we should get a move on. I had a man offer to buy this house not to long ago for a vacation home. Iâll phone him back and get that settled, so we can move in about a month.â
Mrs. Weasley looked slightly perplexed about how you could âphoneâ someone, but decided not to ask.
âGood, good. Arthur should be getting home right about now, so Iâd better get back. Good rediscovering you! Bye, Anna!â
And with a crack, she Disapparated back to the Burrow.
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âBut Mum, I like this house!â
âI know, Anna dear. But it is for the best. And it will only be for a little while.â
Actually, it would most likely be until Ron showed up, and since he hadnât in the past four years, Hermione didnât have too much hope for the next four, either. But it was possible.
Unlikely, but possible.