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 �“ 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 hadn’t seen much activity lately. Now, Arthur had rushed off to the Ministry (“You are retired, you know,” 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.
“Why, you’re a post office owl!” She exclaimed. All her children owned owls, so they wouldn’t 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 don’t have much hope. I’ve been trying for years and haven’t gotten an answer. For some reason, every time I go outside our village, I get disoriented and can’t remember what I was going for. More if I see you.
I need your help. I can’t say anymore, in case this gets intercepted. Please reply as soon as possible.
Hermione
“Hermione?” gasped Mrs. Wesley. “Hermione Weasley?”
She needs help. And I don’t care what she says. I’m 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 couldn’t be. After Ron had disappeared, she hadn’t 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.
“Hermione, is that really you?”
“Yes, Molly. Yes it is.”
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.
“Oh here, Molly, have a cup of tea, you must be freezing, I �“ ouch!”
“Let me do it, dear,” 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:
“Now that we are comfortable, tell me the whole story. From the second Ron disappeared (she had been able to gather this from Hermione’s otherwise incoherent mumbling whilst she was digging in the cupboards for the biscuit tin). And don’t stop until you get to this very second. Please, of corse.”
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.
“Mum?”
A small face poked out from one of the doors leading off the kitchen.
“How do you spell �“? ”
Just then she caught sight of Mrs. Weasley and stopped short.
“Oh, Anna dear, come here. Molly, this is my daughter, Andromeda.”
The girl scrambled up onto Hermione’s lap, staring avidly at Mrs. Weasley.
“Hello, Andromeda. I’m Molly Weasley, your grandmother.”
Anna still was staring at Mrs. Weasley.
“Anna, be polite.”
“Hi,” said Anna in a small voice. “Grandma,” she added.
But Mrs. Weasley wasn’t really listening. A plan was forming in her mind.
“You know, Hermione, why couldn’t you come live at the Burrow? It’s probably safer then this house �“ we know that Death Eaters have been sighted not far from here. ”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but what if �“ what if Ron comes back, and no one is here?”
“Well, most likely the second place he’d look is the Burrow, and if you’re there then it’s only a bit of time lost. Nothing compared to four years, anyway.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. It does make sense.”
“What is the Burrow?” Anna asked
“It’s where Molly �“ your Grandma lives.”
Her next question was rather unexpected.
“Do I have any aunts or uncles?”
“Six uncles and three aunts, at last count,” answered Mrs. Weasley.
“Speaking of which, have you heard from Harry or Ginny lately? I’ve been really out of it, as far as family goes.” Hermione had been dying to ask this question.
“They’re in Brazil �“ Auror mission,” she added.
“Good 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. I’ll phone him back and get that settled, so we can move in about a month.”
Mrs. Weasley looked slightly perplexed about how you could ‘phone’ someone, but decided not to ask.
“Good, good. Arthur should be getting home right about now, so I’d better get back. Good rediscovering you! Bye, Anna!”
And with a crack, she Disapparated back to the Burrow.
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“But Mum, I like this house!”
“I know, Anna dear. But it is for the best. And it will only be for a little while.”
Actually, it would most likely be until Ron showed up, and since he hadn’t in the past four years, Hermione didn’t have too much hope for the next four, either. But it was possible.
Unlikely, but possible.
Searching by Nadia Malfoy
Chapter Notes: Hey! Please reveiw! I literaly live on reviews-- So if you don't review, I will die Therefore, I will no longer write fan fiction, so you will not know how it all turns out.