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Assistant: Title: Obliviate
        Author: Starryskye14 Starryskye14 
        Chapter: 2/22 
        Summary: Hermione Granger has spent the last six years living with the consequences of a single, impossible choice. Now, back at Hogwarts as the new Transfiguration professor, she's determined to keep her head down and protect the fragile life she’s built for her daughter—even if it means facing the man she once loved.Harry Potter knows something is missing. He’s known for years, ever since the war ended and Hermione vanished from his life without a word. Now they’re colleagues, trapped in the same castle, and the holes in his memory refuse to be ignored—especially when he looks into the eyes of a bright, curious six-year-old girl with wild curls and his mother’s green eyes.Secrets are unraveling. Trust has been shattered. But love—deep, painful, and unfinished—lingers like magic in the air.And this time, Harry isn't walking away without answers.***** This is a rewrite of my first fic "Obliviate"
        Contents: Chapter 2: One
    

    


  

  
  
    
    “Miss Granger,” came the familiar, warm brogue—aged slightly, but still sharp with its usual clarity. “It’s lovely to see you again.”Minerva McGonagall smiled as she stepped forward, drawing Hermione into a firm, affectionate embrace that spoke of old battles and hard-won respect. Hermione stiffened at first, then melted into it, letting herself be held, just for a moment, like the girl she used to be. The one who had answers. The one who hadn’t lost so much.When they pulled apart, McGonagall’s eyes twinkled, though concern lingered just beneath the surface. “Well,” she said briskly, “I must say—once I received your owl, it was rather difficult to decline such an offer. Hogwarts has a way of calling us home.”Home.Hermione swallowed hard, a dull ache flaring in her chest like a familiar ghost. “Yes,” she said softly, “It always will be.”But even as the words left her lips, they rang hollow.Because home wasn’t what it used to be. Her parents were still alive—but strangers to her now, tucked safely away in Australia with new lives, new memories. Lives she’d rewritten with her own hand. They didn’t even know her name.And Ron... Ron was long gone. That wound had healed jagged and uneven, never quite closing the way it should have. In the quiet spaces between work and worry, it still throbbed.No, she didn’t have a home anymore.Not really.Except for Rosalee.Hermione’s gaze shifted across the room. The little girl sat curled in the window seat, tiny legs drawn up, her nose buried deep in the worn spine of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A halo of light caught the golden-brown strands of her hair, making her glow like something sacred. She was the only piece of Hermione’s life untouched by war.“I wasn’t aware…” McGonagall’s voice trailed off as she followed Hermione’s gaze. “That you had a child.”Hermione tensed. She hadn’t meant for this part to come up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Her hands clenched and unclenched by her sides, heart thudding beneath her ribs.“She’s… she’s mine, yes,” she murmured, the admission catching in her throat. She could feel the scrutiny in McGonagall’s glance, sharp and impossible to hide from. She cleared her throat and called, “Rosalee?”The girl looked up at once. Hermione’s stomach knotted as she watched her daughter slip a bookmark gently between the pages—always careful, always precise, just like her—and make her way across the room.“Rosalee, this is Headmistress McGonagall,” Hermione said, her voice tight. “She was a professor when I was a student at Hogwarts.”Rosalee beamed up at the older witch with bright curiosity, offering her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Headmistress.”Hermione smiled through the prickling behind her eyes. Her daughter’s manners were impeccable—she’d raised her well—but it was her smile that always got to her. There were moments when it felt like looking into a mirror of her own childhood.But others… others when that smile shifted.Tilted just slightly.And the resemblance became unmistakable.To him.McGonagall’s eyes, sharp as ever, didn’t miss it.“She favors you,” the Headmistress said gently, “but there’s something else there, too. The eyes, especially. They’re not yours.”Hermione froze, her heart thudding louder than before. Her blood turned to ice.“She has her grandmother’s eyes…” McGonagall went on, then paused—just for a heartbeat. Her tone was deceptively casual. “Or rather, her father’s.”Hermione’s breath caught.Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.It felt like the floor dropped beneath her. Her knees threatened to buckle.No one knew.No one could have known.She had erased the memory.Buried it deep. Hidden the truth so carefully that even those closest to her had never asked.McGonagall turned her gaze back toward Rosalee, watching the girl return to her corner and her book, oblivious to the conversation unraveling just feet away.“How old is she?” she asked quietly.Hermione blinked, the question like a tether yanking her back. Her throat was dry, but she answered anyway. “She’ll be six this September.”McGonagall nodded, not pressing, not prying—but knowing. Of course she knows.And Hermione—brilliant, meticulous, prepared Hermione—had no defense.Minerva chuckled softly, the sound warm but tinged with something knowing. “Oh, my dear girl… you forget—I watched all of you grow. I held him in my arms when he was just a babe. And that little girl?” Her gaze drifted to the window seat where Rosalee sat turning a page delicately. “She is her father’s spitting image.”Hermione stiffened.The words sank like stones in her chest. Her throat tightened as tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision.“My question,” Minerva continued gently, “is why no one knows. Why he doesn’t know.”The sob escaped before she could swallow it. Tears spilled freely now, hot and bitter against her cheeks. “Because,” she choked out, “I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell anyone. I kept her hidden. From everyone. From him.”McGonagall moved closer without hesitation, wrapping her weathered hands gently around Hermione’s trembling ones. “Miss Granger,” she said softly, but her voice held no reprimand—only grief. “Why?”Hermione shook her head, unable to meet her gaze. “Because he was my best friend. And I was so afraid—so d@mn afraid—of losing him.” Her breath hitched violently. “We’d already lost so much. I didn’t think he’d forgive me. I didn’t even know if I could forgive myself.”Minerva handed her a handkerchief without a word.Hermione gripped it tightly, dabbing uselessly at her soaked cheeks. “And Ron… Ginny… I didn’t want to hurt them either. It was all such a mess, and I—I thought I could fix it if I just kept it buried.”She gave a hollow laugh that sounded too close to a cry. “A lot of good that did me.”The silence stretched. Minerva studied her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, then crossed the small space and sat beside her on the threadbare sofa. She didn’t speak, just wrapped an arm around Hermione’s hunched shoulders, holding her like a mother might.“I Obliviated him,” Hermione whispered, her voice cracking like porcelain dropped on stone. “After the war… after that night… I erased it. The memory. The one night that changed everything.”The shame hit like a punch to the gut. She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest, trying to make herself smaller. Diminish the weight of what she’d done.“He never even knew it happened. Never had a chance to remember. And by the time I found out I was pregnant, it was almost March. I was nearly eighteen weeks along.”Minerva drew back slightly, her gasp audible. “You were pregnant during the battle?” Her voice was thick with disbelief.Hermione flushed with shame, nodding once. “Living on the run, sleeping in tents, rationing food… it was easy to chalk up the nausea and fatigue to stress. I didn’t even realize. And once I knew, I didn’t dare tell anyone. I kept fighting. Kept hiding. I told myself it was safer that way.”She stared down at her hands. “I skipped Ron’s wedding. Told him I was traveling for research. But really, I didn’t have a sitter and I was… terrified. Of Harry. Of facing what we’d done. What I’d done.”The memories came like a flood. She remembered receiving the cream-colored envelope for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. She had opened it, smiled at the formality of it, then sobbed for hours. Cried so hard she had made herself physically sick. Rosalee had just turned one.Then came Ron and Luna’s. She had smiled again. She had sent a gift. But she couldn’t bring herself to go.She saw Ron on occasion—always alone. Always with a sitter waiting in the wings. He never asked. Never noticed. But Luna… Luna had always looked at her too closely.“She knows,” Hermione whispered. “Luna. She never said it aloud, but the last time I visited, she sent me home with a stack of picture books. For the little one, she said. And then she kissed me on the cheek and hugged me so tightly, I thought I’d fall apart right there.”Minerva exhaled slowly, brows furrowed in quiet thought.“I learned through Ron that Harry and Ginny divorced,” Hermione continued, her voice a whisper. “They made it three years. No children. And… Ginny married Draco Malfoy last year.”“That must have been… complicated,” Minerva murmured.“I went,” Hermione said softly. “To the wedding. I had to. I smiled, made polite conversation. I even hugged Harry. Pretended everything was fine. It wasn’t.”She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat unbearable. “It still isn’t.”There was a pause.Minerva gave her a squeeze and finally stood, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. Her voice, when it came, was lighter—but not without weight. “Well, I’m very pleased you’ve decided to join us here at Hogwarts. Professor Longbottom is going to be absolutely thrilled.”Hermione forced a smile, still wiping her tears with shaking fingers.Minerva turned toward the window as if trying to soften what she had to say next. “But… there’s something you should know. I’d rather you hear it from me.”A strange chill crept down Hermione’s spine.“The start-of-term feast is tomorrow evening,” McGonagall said delicately. “And we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor joining us.”Hermione looked up sharply, breath snagging in her throat.Minerva hesitated just a moment longer.“Professor Potter will be arriving in the morning.”It felt like the world stopped spinning.Hermione’s blood ran cold. She couldn’t breathe.Her gaze snapped to Rosalee across the room—still reading, still blissfully unaware that everything Hermione had worked so hard to protect was about to unravel.And this time, there would be no spell strong enough to erase it. The late afternoon sun dipped low behind the spires of Hogwarts, casting long golden streaks across the grass as Hermione and Rosalee strolled along the familiar path that led from the castle toward the Black Lake. The breeze carried the scent of damp stone and wildflowers, and the distant call of a hippogriff echoed across the hills.Rosalee’s small hand was tucked in Hermione’s, her fingers swinging lazily as they walked. She had been quiet since lunch—observing everything with wide, curious eyes. The turrets, the staircases that moved on their own, the enchanted suits of armor that had bowed stiffly as she passed.“Are we really going to live here?” she asked at last, her voice small, hopeful.Hermione smiled down at her. “Yes, darling. We are.”Rosalee’s face lit up like a lantern. “Really really?”Hermione gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Really really. Our quarters are in the castle, just above the library. It’s a little smaller than home, but it’s cozy. And safe.”Rosalee wrinkled her nose. “But I liked our little cottage. Especially the garden.”Hermione’s chest ached at the mention of it. The tiny cottage outside Ottery St. Catchpole had been their sanctuary for five quiet years. It was where Rosalee had taken her first steps, where she had learned to read, where Hermione had first whispered her lullabies by candlelight while crying silently into her daughter’s hair.“I liked it too,” she said softly. “But I think you’re going to love it here. There’s magic everywhere. And books stacked taller than your head.”Rosalee giggled. “You always say that like it’s a good thing.”“That’s because it is,” Hermione teased, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You come from a long line of very curious women.”They walked a little farther in silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. The sun shimmered over the lake’s surface, painting it with liquid fire.“Did you go to school here, Mummy?”Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “I did. For seven years.”“What was it like?”She drew in a breath, and for a moment, the weight of memory nearly drowned her.“It was… magical,” she said finally. “Hard, sometimes. But also beautiful. I learned a lot. About spells, and books, and… people. I made friends who became my family.”Rosalee glanced up at her, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “Is that how you met my… my dad?”Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The question hung between them like a thread pulled too tight.She hadn’t spoken of him. Not really. Only vague explanations. A kind, brave man. A friend from long ago. A boy who had loved the world more than he loved himself.“Yes,” Hermione said quietly. “That’s where I met him.”“Was he nice?” Rosalee asked, her voice even softer now, as if sensing her mother’s fragility.Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. He was kind. He was brave. He… he made me feel safe.”Rosalee looked back out at the lake, her expression thoughtful. “Did he love you?”The question shattered something in her. She stopped walking, kneeling slowly beside her daughter, heart trembling beneath her ribs.“I think… in his own way, yes. And I loved him, too. Very much. Even if it didn’t end the way I hoped.”Rosalee studied her mother’s face with solemn eyes, then reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek.“It’s okay, Mummy,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be sad. You still have me.”Hermione let out a broken laugh and gathered Rosalee into her arms, holding her fiercely. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re my whole world. My everything.”They stayed like that for a long moment—mother and daughter beneath the towering shadow of the castle, the past pressing in from all sides, and the future inching closer with every heartbeat.Tomorrow, Harry would arrive. And everything would change.But for tonight, in this quiet space between secrets and sunrise, Hermione allowed herself to breathe.'
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