Author's Note: This story is written for the final round of the QLFC Season 4. I am Beater 2 for the Falmouth Falcons, and had to have another character say Vernon Dursley's famous quote "No post on Sundays." I also used the bonus prompts 2. (quote) "We accept the love we think we deserve." - Stephen Chbosky and 13. (word count) 2017. I used google docs to confirm the word count.

Thank you to Mal, Arty, and Tiggs for betaing this story, and a huge thank you to the entire Falcon team. Love you, girls! Thanks for bringing me in and being such an amazing group!

1999

Hermione took one step out of the fireplace before rushing out of the flat, down the stairs, and outside to the post box. The handle squeaked as she pulled it open and grabbed the thin pile of post. "Oh, thank God," she sighed when she saw the simple white envelope with her name scrawled across in her mum's loopy script.

"Hermione?" Ron stood in the doorway of the flat complex, half hidden behind the door to keep his Auror uniform out of sight. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, everything's perfect," Hermione called back as she hurried back up the path and inside. She clutched the letter to her chest, feeling her heart finally slow to a normal beat after an entire day of racing.

They hadn't forgotten.

Since she'd first gone to Hogwarts, Hermione's parents had always sent a letter on her birthday. It was never anything fancy or heartening, but the simple acknowledgement always made Hermione smile.

Then they'd 'had their holiday in Australia'—at least that's what the Grangers preferred to refer to the year leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. After spending two whole months reversing a spell that had only taken a few days to prepare and a few hours to perform, Hermione had lived the past two years in a constant fear that her parents would once again forget her. After tampering with such dangerous magic on something as fragile as unsuspecting minds, Hermione never hoped to have her mother and father back in perfect mental condition. She expected something to go wrong, some effect that would show up over time. How could she think she deserved anything else?

She remembered the exact moment when she'd opened last year's birthday card. For the first time since returning to England, Hermione had felt hope that all would be well for her parents. They hadn't forgotten, not even without any reminders from Hermione. Things would be all right.

The holes in their memories only began appearing after Hermione graduated and was able to spend more time with them. They'd forgotten her dislike of mushrooms and the name of her only friend in primary school. Crookshanks had completely disappeared from their recollection. None of the memory fragments seemed that big a deal to Ron or Harry or Ginny, but each new one stabbed at Hermione's confidence. What if the reversal spell hadn't stuck? What if their memories were slowly fading away again?

These questions surrounded Hermione every week when she visited, even though she hadn't had to fill in any missing memories for over a fortnight. The notebook pages she'd filled tracking her parents' memories seemed to be pointing towards a positive conclusion, but still, Hermione fretted. The letter in her hands, nearly identical to the one from last year, calmed her worries in a way no amount of note-taking and careful observations could.

"What's that?" Ron asked, peeking over her shoulder at the envelope. "Oh, that's your parents' address, right?"

"It is," Hermione said. "I think it's my birthday card." She turned over the envelope, in no rush to break the seal. She knew it would say the same things these cards did every year—'We're so proud', 'Have an amazing day', 'We will always love you.' They were all the things she didn't deserve to hear. Honestly, would she ever feel grateful that her plan had worked without that tug of guilt souring it?

"But it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it?" Ron asked. "Wait, wasn't it? What's today?"

Hermione grabbed his arm before he could rush to a calendar, chuckling as she said, "It was yesterday, but Muggles don't deliver letters on Sundays."

"Muggles set aside a day to not have post?" Ron asked with a raised eyebrow. "But what if you really need to get a letter to someone?"

"Then you just have to wait another day," Hermione said with a shrug. "Though if it's something urgent, most Muggles are capable of using the telephone."

Ron cringed at the word. "Yeah, forgot about those things. No idea how anyone gets anything done with them."

"We'll work on that."

Hermione walked to the table and set the letter down beside the plate of sandwiches Ron had made for their lunch. They only had a short amount of time before having to return to the Ministry, and with her stomach no longer in knots, Hermione did not want that food to go to waste.

"Hold on," Ron said, leaning against the table beside Hermione instead of taking the chair opposite hers. "You seemed a bit put out yesterday for it being your birthday. Was that why?"

Hermione's fingers tapped against the table top. Had she really been so noticeably on edge yesterday? She glanced at Ron, seeing the same concerned look he'd worn the previous day as he asked her if she was all right the whole day. "I…" she started, not sure how to explain. "I knew that I wouldn't get the card until today, but… I guess I was worried that they'd forget."

There weren't many things Hermione kept from Ron, but fear of her parents losing their memories was one of those things she liked to keep to herself. It was an illogical fear disproven by her own meticulous observations. That should have been enough reassurance, but she still felt crippled with anxiety each time she saw them.

Ron wrapped Hermione in his arms, pulling her from her chair and into a tight embrace. She felt an instant comfort that always washed over her when he held her. "You did the right thing," he said. "They won't ever forget you again."

Hermione nodded her head against his chest, but her thoughts still wondered how many years would pass until she believed him.

2021

Hermione rushed through the atrium, jostling Ministry employees that might have had a thing to say to her if she hadn't been Minister for Magic. The grumbles passed by Hermione with little acknowledgement. Hardly any noise could make it over the pounding in her ears from her frantic heart.

The crowd parted to let Hermione through, allowing her into the first Floo she came to. She muttered her address so fast, she was surprised to land in her lounge's fireplace with no misdirections.

"Evening, Mum," Hugo mumbled from behind his canvas, the same place he'd been all of September since not returning to Hogwarts. "Have a happy birthday?"

Hermione thought she said something in reply, though she couldn't remember what or if words had actually left her mouth. All she could concentrate on was her quick footsteps as she jogged through the house and out into the garden.

The Granger-Weasley mailbox sat at the end of their garden path, far enough away to not be affected by any of the enchantments on the house. Hermione felt a bit of perspiration along her forehead by the time she reached it and scrounged around inside.

Empty.

"No," Hermione muttered, feeling that sharp twist of pain in her chest that comes when a long-held fear finally unfolds. Over twenty years had passed, but it had happened. Her parents had forgotten.

All the courses of action that she could take spun around her mind. She should go to their house now and figure out how much memory they'd lost so far. But what if it was worse than just a forgotten date? She couldn't just Apparate into their house if they wouldn't recognize her or had forgotten about magic. Oh, why had it been so long since she'd last seen them? She could barely remember if they showed any signs of forgetfulness the last time she visited. Maybe she could call and check in? Would that be enough?

"Mum?" Hugo's shout from up the path broke through Hermione's thoughts, grounding her back in the moment. Hugo hurried towards her. "Is everything okay?"

Hermione had no idea how to answer him. She and Ron tried to keep their children away from the war as much as possible, so the story of her parents in Australia was one of many Hugo and Rose had never heard. "I… yes, it's just…" Hermione gestured towards the mailbox. "There's no mail. You haven't fetched it today, have you?"

"No, of course not," Hugo said with a slightly bewildered look. "It's Sunday."

Hermione blinked. "It's what?"

"It's Sunday. No post on Sundays." Hugo's face scrunched into a more and more concerned look the longer Hermione took to process his words. He put on a smile and added, "The Muggles haven't changed that, have they?"

"No they haven't," Hermione said, her own smile lifting up her face. Of course. Of all the simple explanations, how could she have forgotten the day of the week?

Hugo rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet, probably wondering if the Ministry had finally driven his mother mad. "So, uh, expecting something important?"

"Sort of important," Hermione said, closing up the mailbox and leading the way back up to the house. "I'm waiting for a letter from your grandparents."

"That's important?" Hugo asked. His long legs carried him past Hermione, so he turned to walk backwards up the path.

Hermione's heart was too light to tell him to walk forwards before he tripped over a rock. Instead, she said, "Sometimes little things like that are."

Hugo nodded, staring down at the ground and fiddling with his trouser pockets. "Does it…" he started, then stopped to spin himself around to walk beside Hermione again. "Is this some war thing that you and Dad don't like to talk about?"

Kids really do notice everything about their parents, don't they? "Yes," Hermione said, choosing to at least be honest than try to make something up. "Now let's leave it at that."

Hugo shrugged and kicked a rock off the pathway. He had on a pout that made him look just like Ron despite his brown curls and round nose. At Hugo's age, she and Ron had already faced Basilisks and Acromantula and giants and Death Eaters. She was so grateful that her kids didn't have to grow up in the midst of a war. She was amazed at what she had done in order to keep her parents out of harm's way, but it was nothing compared to what she would do for her kids.

"Hugo," Hermione said, "you know I would do anything to keep you safe, right?"

He glanced at her suspiciously. "Yeah…" When Hermione only nodded, he gave a relieved grin. "And I'd do the same for you," he said, putting an arm around her. "And Dad and Rosie too, I guess."

Hermione chuckled, enjoying the moment of affection from her son—they were rare during these teenage years—but as they walked up the path, his words grew in meaning. Hugo was sincere and said what he felt, but would he actually go to the lengths for her that she was willing to go for him? If the war she went through fell a generation later, with Hugo in her place and her in her mother's, would he send her and Ron to another country with no memories of their kids?

And if they were to come back completely restored, how would she feel to know that Hugo still felt guilty and anxious each time he saw them?

She would never want Hugo to feel what she felt. She would forgive him in an instant, nevermind whether it was wrong or right. He would only be able to feel the love he thought he deserved, but she would love him a thousand times more.

If her parents felt at all like that, Hermione could imagine how frustrated they were that she still kept them at arm's length, studying them like test subjects. If all she saw was worry in Hugo's eyes whenever he looked at her, she'd want to do anything to remove it.

"I hope you never have to," she said, talking as much about him as her.

Hermione remembered wondering how long it would take for her to stop worrying over her parents' memories. Perhaps two decades was long enough.