Chapter Text
Before…..
In Hermione’s mind there would always be the before, and the after.
In the before, Hermione had been full of hope. Hope for a better world, hope for equality, hope they would win the war, and hope Harry would finally notice her the way she noticed him.
It had all started the day he had rescued her from the troll. He had shown up like a night in shining armor to save her, just like all those fairytale books she had read as a little girl. It had felt like a dream and when he had offered his hand to her and helped her up her heart had skipped a beat and it was love. She had been so focused on him she hadn’t even realized Ron had been there as well.
Hermione had vowed that day to always be by his side and help him.
That vow had proven difficult over the years as he ran headfirst into danger without a care in the world.
In their second year when she had been petrified by that damn Basilisk, he had visited her often, sneaking down in his cloak to sit by her. Harry hadn’t told her this of course, but she had known. The entire time she had been petrified she had existed in some weird half state, not quite asleep but not quite awake. Time had been a weird thing to grasp ahold of, but people had she had been able to recognize. Each time Madam Pomphrey did her checks, each time a new student came in, and each time Harry came down and talked to her, holding her hand.
Third year had nearly killed her. Not the dangerous parts, but those parts when Harry had decided Ron would always be more important than her. It was during that time when his new broom had been taken away that she had realized he would never feel the same as her. She was a convenient friend and that was all. It had broken her heart, and she had used the time-turner to find a secret place and cry for hours over her broken heart before locking those shattered pieces away and throwing away the key forever. He had eventually extended an olive branch of friendship to her yet again, and she had taken it, but had left that piece of her heart far behind her.
In fourth year when his name had come out of the goblet and everyone had turned their backs on him; she had stayed firmly by his side. Evan Ron had left him behind and she had thought, for a very brief moment that maybe he would recognize just what he had standing beside him. Of course he hadn’t. He had turned his attention to Cho and when Viktor asked her to the ball, she had said yes. It had felt incredible, to be someone’s first choice, to have someone who desired her above anyone else, and the Yule Ball had been fantastic. That was until Ron had ruined it and Harry hadn’t even bothered to check if she was alright. And then the second task had come, and Ron had been chosen as the thing Harry would miss the most and it had felt as if he had ripped out all those shattered pieces of her heart and stomped all over them.
Fifth year had been a shit storm, starting to finish and she had simply stopped. Thoughts of romance had been tossed out the window, and she had stopped caring if he would ever notice her. War had come and it was no longer even a possibility, death seemed more inevitable than love would ever be.
Sixth year she had tried, when Ron had started flirting with her, she had, metaphorically, shrugged her shoulders and gone alone with it. Only to realize he was simply playing with her, he wanted to keep her on retention while he chased after other girls. It had hurt but the sting from Ron’s rejection had been nothing compared to the pain of Harry’s indifference.
And then it happened.
The hunt, the long months spent cramping together in that stupid tent. Ron had gotten sick of it and left them, and it was like Harry had finally opened his eyes and realized who had been standing before him the entire time.
It had started with a dance.
They had always kept the radio on, listening desperately for any sort of news when a song had come on and he had walked over to where she sat curled up. He had taken her hand and pulled her close and spun her around the tent until she had smiled for the first time in what felt like years.
The song had come to a close but he had kept her close, kept his arms around her and they had looked into each other’s eyes and she couldn’t really say who had leaned in first but soon their lips had met and it seemed like all the pieces of her shattered heart had saddle clicked back together and started beating once again for him.
They had been given a few short weeks of bliss. Days wrapped around each other that soon led to so much more.
She had been stretched out on the bed, reading the book Dumbledore had given her for the dozenth time when he had appeared as if out of nowhere and come to her. Slowly he had settled himself next to her and when she turned to face him, his eyes had almost glowed with desire before pulling her close.
Hermione had always dreamed of her first time, had always secretly pictured it being with Harry after some romantic date and declaration of love. She had pictured it being gentle and passionate, of murmurs of adoration and sweet touches.
It hadn’t been that at all. It had been quick and desperate, as if Harry was afraid that if he let her go for even one moment, she would vanish and he would find himself all alone. It had felt more like comfort than anything else, but she didn’t care, he had chosen her and she would give him anything he wanted.
Over the weeks they had been alone, it had got better, he became softer, more gentle and less desperate. Then Ron had returned and it had seemed after all those moments had simply been a dream. Things escalated and they had been captured; she had been tortured.
They had escaped and found themselves at Hogwarts, ready to end the war.
Harry had sent her with Ron to collect Basilisk fangs while he found the Diadem. She hadn’t wanted to be separated but had gone and done as he asked and it had been the worst mistake of her life. Her and Ron had destroyed the cup and had gone to join the battel and to find Harry when Ron had grabbed her roughly and kissed her. She had frozen up completely and just stood there, unsure what to do as he held her close and kissed her deeply. He had only let go when Harry interrupted them, a dark look on his face before he slapped Ron on the back and congratulated him on finally getting the girl.
Harry had soon after walked to his death and a part of her had gone with him, died with him, and he came back and finally killed Voldemort, that part of her stayed dead.
Especially when as the dust cleared and the small crowd cheered in victory, Harry had pulled Ginny close and kissed her, his eyes open and on Hermione the whole time and she couldn’t do it anymore.
Hermione couldn’t stay and live the life everyone seemed to expect of her. She couldn’t join the ministry, marry Ron and pop out little ginger babies. She couldn’t stand by and watch Harry and Ginny get married; she couldn’t watch another woman live the life she had secretly dreamed and hoped for with the man she loved.
So, she left.
Before anyone had even realized what had happened, she was gone.
Hermione bought a one-way ticket to Australia and hadn’t even bothered packing a bag, had simply boarded the plane and disappeared.
She went straight, to the Australian Ministry of Magic, after she had discovered her parents would never remember her and finished her exams than enrolled to become a healer. She was done with war and pain and wanted to do something that would actually help people, and part of her hoped that in healing others, she would also find healing.
“Hermione, can you come here a moment?” Head healer Janson called from her office as Hermione finished up some paperwork on her current patient. Setting the papers down she slid out from behind her desk and walked down the hall, popping her head into the spacious office.
“Is something the matter?”
The head healer of the long-term curse and spell damage ward was a rather intimidating looking Māori woman from New Zealand who had been at the hospital for several decades. While she looked as if she could take out a herd of wild hippogriff all on her own and managed the ward with near military precisian, she was also one of the kindest woman Hermione had ever gotten the pleaser of knowing.
So, it surprised her when the woman looked rather upset and asked Hermione to come in and close the door. Sitting slowly, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.
“I got a letter from the Ministry this morning and I’m not really sure how to go about this Hermione.” She started, fiddling with the parchment in front of her, that small movement made Hermione’s anxiety spike.
“Is there something wrong with my paperwork or something?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice evan.
Janson took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “Unfortunately, the ministry is having the revoke your visa Hermione. A new program has been instituted in Britian, and everyone is being required to go back to the British ministry and apply for a weaver in person.” She held up a hand when Hermione opened her mouth to stop her from interrupting with questions. “That’s all the information I have, I’m sorry Hermione.”
Hermione slumped back in her seat, confusion and irritation filling her. How dare they demand everyone go back there?! She hadn’t really kept up with the news from there, only hearing little snippets here and there or whatever Minerva had decided to write and tell her during the last four years. She hadn’t wanted to hear anything, had wanted a complete fresh start and Minerva had been the only person she had told where she went. She had only told her because she needed a reference for her academic achievements, and the woman in question had sworn to never tell anyone where she was.
Rubbing her hand down her face she let out a groan before straightening up. “How long have they given me?”
Janson winced slightly “Mandatory port keys for everyone tomorrow at three.” She got up and walked around her desk before sitting in the chair next to Hermione and taking her hand, a move Hermione had seen her make on countless family members when the head healer had had to give out bad news. It was something she now found comfort in, but also sadness. Like a terminal prognosis she knew there was no getting out of this alive. She would have to go back.
“It’s a marriage law Hermione. I’ve heard talks from people who have been there recently. Its not just Britian doing it either, a lot of Ministries are having to take drastic measures.” She gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll write a letter and hopefully they will take it into account and give you a weaver. I’m sorry Hermione, there isn’t anything I can do.”
Hermione sat in shock for a moment. A marriage law… She had heard rumors of course, whispers of places like Korea and Norway where the magical birth rate had hit alarmingly low levels, but she had never thought her own country would do something like that.
Had things really gotten that bad since she had left?
Her heart nearly dropped out of her chest as she thought about the possibility of them not granting her a weaver. Would she be forced to marry someone? What if they forced her onto someone like Malfoy? Or some sixty-year-old man?
Her thoughts started to spiral until she felt cool glass against her lips and a soft voice. “Drink this.” Taking a mouthful of the slightly bitter calming drought helped her catch her breath. It would be okay, she was Hermione Granger after all, she had made it through much worse things and lived to tell the tale, she could find a way around this was well.