Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ When Freesias Bloom ❯ Main Story ( Chapter 1 )

[ A - All Readers ]

July 1997

The Hogwarts Express rumbled along the tracks, its windows glowing with soft afternoon sunlight. Warm rays spilt across my lap, brushing my skin with gentle heat. For a moment, it felt like the world was calm again. But inside, I couldn’t shake the tight knot of worry twisting in my chest as we sped toward London.

I glanced at Ron beside me. He was holding my hand, his fingers warm and steady. He watched the passing countryside with a kind of peaceful excitement, his eyes bright. Being with him helped, even if just a little. But Harry—Harry sat across from us, shoulders slumped, his expression far away. He looked like he was carrying a weight no one could see, one that pulled him deeper into silence.

This was the day I’d been waiting for. Coming home. A break from everything, if only for a short time. But watching Harry sit there, lost in thought, made it hard to feel anything but dread. I recognised that look. I’d seen it too many times. It was the same grief that had followed him ever since Sirius died. And then Dumbledore… I still remembered the horror in Harry’s eyes after that night. It hadn’t left him—not really. Two years had passed, but the pain still lingered like a shadow.

Even their search for the Horcrux in the cave had ended in disaster. I still saw the haunted look on his face after they barely made it out. How much more could one person endure?

I reached across and placed my hand gently over his. A simple touch. Just a reminder that he wasn’t alone. For a second, he looked at me—really looked. His eyes met mine, and in that brief moment, I saw something flicker there. Gratitude. Pain. Maybe both. But just as quickly, he pulled his hand back and looked away, closing himself off again.

It hurt. Not because he rejected me, but because he always felt like he had to fight alone. He was the bravest person I knew, but even heroes need help sometimes.

Ron noticed too. He leaned in close, his voice low and serious. “Harry’s strong,” he said, trying to sound confident. “He’ll make it through. You’ll see.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t so sure. There was so much we didn’t know. So much we weren’t ready for. And Harry—he didn’t want us to come with him. He’d made that clear. He was set on going after the remaining Horcruxes by himself. As if pushing us away could somehow keep us safe.

I understood why he did it. But that didn’t make it any easier.

I hated the feeling of being left behind. Not because I wanted the danger—but because I wanted to be there for him. To fight beside him. To help carry the burden he always tried to carry alone.

“We’re in this together, Harry,” I had told him. My voice had cracked with emotion. “You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

But he wouldn’t hear it. He’d shaken his head, quiet and firm. It stung more than I wanted to admit. The three of us had always been a team. Now that bond felt like it was breaking, little by little.

Ron squeezed my hand again. I leaned into him slightly, grateful for the contact. But my eyes stayed on Harry, who stared out the window, his reflection barely visible in the glass. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to fix everything. But most of all, I just wanted my best friend to know he didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

As the Hogwarts Express rolled to a smooth stop, I closed my eyes and let the soft motion of the train settle in my chest. I knew this moment wouldn’t last—this in-between place where we weren’t quite home yet but were far from the danger we’d left behind. Around me, voices rose in laughter and excitement. Bags were pulled from racks, friends called out to each other, and for a few seconds, everything felt almost normal.

I sat still for a moment longer, just breathing. After everything that had happened this year, this ride felt like the first time I could exhale. We were safe—for now. The war, the pain, the fear—it was all behind us, at least for the length of this platform. I wanted to hold onto that peace as long as I could.

When I finally stepped off the train, the bright light of King’s Cross made me squint. A wave of people stood waiting beyond the steam—parents, siblings, guardians—all scanning the crowd for their children. Some faces were smiling, some were tearful, and some were just relieved. I searched for mine.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were near the front, arms open wide. Their presence was like a lighthouse—steady, warm, and familiar. I smiled at them, then turned my eyes again—and there they were. My parents. Mum was waving both arms, beaming. Dad’s smile was tight with worry, but it softened the second our eyes met. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. Not really.

To them, I had just finished another school year. To them, I was just Hermione—their clever, curious daughter who always came home with a stack of books and stories. Not someone who had faced death. Not someone who had watched the world crack and didn’t know how to explain it.

I ran to them. Mum caught me in a hug so fast and so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t pull away. I needed this. Dad wrapped his arms around both of us, and suddenly I felt smaller—like I was eleven again, like the world could still be simple.

I wanted to tell them everything. I wanted to say, We almost didn’t make it. People died. I was so scared. I still am. But my mouth wouldn’t open. The words sat heavy in my throat, impossible to form. How could I ask them to understand something I didn’t even fully understand myself?

Tears slid down my cheeks without warning. I wasn’t even sure if they were happy or sad. Maybe both. Mum stroked my hair and said something soft and gentle, but I barely heard her. I just held on. In their arms, the world felt quiet again.

Eventually, I pulled back, wiping my eyes. I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I turned back to look for Ron and Harry. They stood a few steps away, still near the train, looking like they weren’t sure what to do either. The three of us had been through so much together, and now we were about to part ways—at least for a little while.

I walked over and stopped in front of them. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Full of everything we didn’t know how to say. We were closer than ever, and yet there were wounds that hadn’t healed yet. I knew we’d talk soon. I hoped we would.

“Write to me,” I said, voice soft but firm. “Both of you.”

I stepped forward and hugged them, one after the other. Ron’s hug was warm and unsure. Harry’s was tighter, lingering. I didn’t want to let go of either of them.

“Stay safe,” I whispered. My throat tightened. “Please.”

My parents were waiting a few steps behind me now. I felt Mum’s hand gently rest on my shoulder, guiding me away. I didn’t want to go, but I nodded, took a deep breath, and followed them.

As we walked toward the exit, I looked back one last time. Ron and Harry were still there, standing side by side. For a second, it felt like everything froze. Like the moment would last.

But it didn’t.

As I sat in the backseat, watching London’s bustling streets blur past, my parents’ conversation about school and exams faded into the background. Their words were drowned out by the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind. I was miles away, lost in a haze of plans and possibilities. The weight of being friends with Harry—the Chosen One—still lingered heavily. It was a lot to process, but I wouldn’t have traded my place beside him and Ron for anything. Despite the challenges, I felt immensely grateful and honoured to be part of their world.

The cool breeze rushed in as I rolled down the window, playfully tousling my hair. The gentle wind felt like a refreshing breath of air, inviting me to unwind and momentarily forget the worries that came with being swept into a world of magic, danger, and destiny. Sometimes it was easy to overlook the deeper meaning behind the sunlight streaming down—it represented not just warmth but a glimmer of hope. Today was a truly beautiful day, with clear skies and the soft, soothing hum of summer lingering in the atmosphere. I couldn’t bear to let it slip by while I was consumed by thoughts of duels and plans. Instead, I decided to simply relax and savour the moment.

As we finally arrived home, a familiar and comforting scene came into view—a charming, ivy-covered Georgian house that held a special magic for me. The gravel path crunched beneath my parents’ feet, a soothing sound that etched itself into my memory like a beloved melody. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Mr. Weasley discovering our automatic sprinklers—how delighted he would be to witness something so mundane transformed into a fantastical spectacle. This humble, ordinary house was a sanctuary, a place that filled me with a sense of warmth and belonging that was difficult to describe.

As I stepped through the familiar threshold, a sense of comfort washed over me. Soft, ambient light filtered through the tall windows, enveloping the room in a warm, soothing glow. Gentle shadows danced across the plush carpet, creating a cosy, inviting atmosphere. Everything remained exactly as I had left it before departing for Hogwarts—the scattered family photos, the tidy stack of books on my desk, my iron canopy bed, and walls draped in delicate rosebud wallpaper. Unlike Ron’s cluttered space, filled with Quidditch posters and magical memorabilia, my room exuded an air of organisation and tranquillity. I took great pride in maintaining this serene, ordered environment, especially now as I prepared for the journey that lay ahead.

With thoughts racing, I hurriedly began to pack, my mind a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation. I meticulously focused on the essentials I couldn’t take with me—the beloved library of spell books, treasured notes from friends, and all the comforts of home that would remain untouched in my room. A pang of sadness gripped me as I contemplated the items I would miss. Yet, amidst the turmoil, my heart fluttered with warmth at the thought of the upcoming celebrations—Harry’s birthday and the long-awaited wedding of Bill and Fleur. In those moments, the trivial magic of love and commitment still managed to shine through the darkness.

The upcoming Weasley-Delacour wedding shone like a beacon of hope in the darkness of war. Though the world around us crumbled, these two families found joy in their union, a brief respite from the harsh realities we faced. I could envision the laughter, the loved ones gathered, a fleeting sense of normalcy wrapping us in its warm embrace. Amidst the trials that threatened to test our resolve, this celebration would remind us of the love binding us together—the very reason we continued to fight.

Exhausted from my travels, I abandoned the packing and stepped into the steamy shower. The soothing warmth enveloped me, melting away the stress that had knotted my muscles. For a blissful moment, I imagined my burdens dissolving down the drain, carried away by the rushing water. But the clanging of cookware from the kitchen soon shattered my tranquil reverie.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, the comforting smell of slow-roasted beef and warm, flaky Yorkshire pudding wrapped around me like a blanket. My parents had outdone themselves again. Their habit of going all out for dinner, especially when I came home, never changed. I knew Ron would be thrilled—he always appreciated their cooking even more than I did.

Coming down the stairs, I could already hear their familiar, cheerful voices. They were chatting in the kitchen, playfully arguing about something small—probably what side dish went best with the roast or which plates to use for the meal. Their light-hearted banter made me pause at the bottom of the steps, listening with a soft smile. In moments like this, everything felt normal again—safe, like it used to be.

But that sense of normalcy was so fragile now. Like a spell just waiting to be broken. I didn’t deserve this comfort—not when Harry was still hurting, not when danger crept closer every day. How long could I keep pretending everything was fine?

When I walked into the kitchen, Mum looked up from the counter and smiled so brightly it made my chest ache with warmth and guilt. “We thought we’d make all your favourites for dinner tonight,” she said, her voice filled with joy.

Dad was already sitting at the table, relaxed and smiling. “Figured you might be missing the taste of home,” he added with a wink.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks,” I said softly, though a twist of guilt pulled at me. I’d had plenty of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at school, but nothing ever tasted quite like Mum’s. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

Trouble. If only they knew what real trouble looked like—what I’d seen, what I’d done. They had no idea how close we were to the edge of something terrible. No idea that I might not make it home again next time.

Mum was slicing the roast with practised ease, her hands moving steadily, freckled and familiar. The scent of her perfume—freesia—floated through the room, and for a second, I was a child again, running through our garden in the summer sun. That smell was a piece of her, like the flowers she cared for so carefully, just like she cared for me.

And I was lying to her. Every moment I stood here, smiling and nodding, I was hiding everything. Hiding how afraid I was. How every night I lay awake, planning for battles I had no idea how to survive.

Her smile faded slightly as she glanced up again, concern flickering in her eyes. “You look a bit pale,” she said, her gaze sharpening with worry. It reminded me of the way Harry looked when he was deep in thought—focused and intense.

I hesitated. “I’m fine. Just tired,” I said, trying to sound normal, to hide the storm inside me.

Still, their worry didn’t fade. I noticed the way they looked at each other, how their postures had subtly stiffened. It wasn’t like them to be so openly anxious.

Dad leaned forward slightly, studying my face. “You look worn out, sweetheart. All those hours studying and everything else you’ve been taking on at Hogwarts… it must be catching up with you.” His tone was gentle, trying not to push too hard. “That’s why we thought a good meal might help you relax.”

I nodded, grateful for the gesture. But my smile was tight, and the thanks I gave only scratched the surface. They didn’t know how hard I’d been pushing myself—not for grades, but to prepare. To be strong enough, smart enough, and fast enough. If I wasn’t, someone else might die. And I couldn’t let that happen.

A warm hand touched my shoulder, grounding me. Mum met my eyes, searching them carefully. “What’s wrong, love?” she asked softly. Her voice was kind, but her eyes were sharp, like she could see through me. She knew something wasn’t right. She always did.

For a heartbeat, I almost told her. I almost broke. I wanted so badly to tell her everything—the Horcruxes, the fear, the way Harry flinched when he thought no one was looking, and the way Ron and I argued because we were all so exhausted and scared.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t drag her into this world. If she knew, she’d never sleep again.

Panic twisted in my stomach. I swallowed hard. “Just tired from the trip,” I said, offering a weak smile that I knew didn’t quite reach my eyes.

She didn’t press me, but her worried look lingered, making it even harder to keep everything locked inside.

And as I sat down, pretending to enjoy the meal I used to love, a quiet dread settled in my chest. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep pretending.

Tension crackled between my parents like static. They exchanged another glance—one of those silent, loaded looks parents are unnervingly good at. I could practically feel the pressure building in my chest, like a balloon about to burst. Their love was comforting, yes, but it also made the tight knot of dread in my stomach even harder to ignore. I wanted to tell them everything—about magic, about the war, about the fear constantly crawling beneath my skin. But the words felt trapped behind walls I wasn’t sure I knew how to lower.

Mum’s sharp eyes locked on mine, calm but piercing. I squirmed, suddenly fascinated by my dinner. The roast beef I’d looked forward to now sat heavy and untouched. It may as well have been a pile of rocks.

She gave me that look—the one that always meant she knew I was hiding something. “That’s good,” she said lightly. Too lightly. Then her voice shifted just enough to make me flinch. “Is this about a boy?”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What? No, Mum! Why would you even think that?” My voice rose before I could stop it, sharper than I meant. For reasons I didn’t understand, just hearing Ron’s name made my heart thud hard in my chest—and not always in a good way.

She smiled then—soft and knowing. “Oh, Hermione. The way Ron looked at you at the train station? He was practically glued to your side. That kind of thing means something, doesn’t it?”

I stared at her, my fork frozen in midair. “Ron…” I echoed quietly, unsure how to explain the mess of feelings bubbling just under the surface.

Mum tilted her head, watching me the way she did when I was little and trying to lie about brushing my teeth. It was sweet… and terrifying. The truth was, I did care about Ron. A lot. He was brave and loyal and could make me laugh even in the darkest moments. But there was also this fear—this ever-present worry that if we crossed that line, it would paint a giant target on both our backs. Love was dangerous in our world. Voldemort knew how to twist it, how to use it against you. And I didn’t know if I could protect him.

I looked away, the air thick with all the things I couldn’t say. The sound of silverware faded until the only thing I could hear was the pounding in my ears.

Dad spoke softly, his voice gentle like always. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. We just want you to know we’re here.”

I glanced up. Mum gave me a warm smile, eyes full of understanding. “We’ve always liked Ron. It’s obvious how much he cares about you. If something ever happens between you two—he has our blessing.”

Dad nodded beside her, the hint of a proud smile on his face. But there was a shadow of worry in his eyes, too. Maybe he could feel the weight behind their words—the danger they didn’t even know existed.

I blinked at them, completely stunned. Blessing from my parents? That was… unexpected. My thoughts tumbled over each other like a collapsing bookshelf. One second, I felt like a child craving safety. The next, I felt like I was standing at the edge of something terrifying and real.

“Uh… I…” I tried, but the words felt clumsy and wrong. I attempted a smile, but it came out twisted—like I couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or cry.

Mum leaned over and gently cupped my cheek. “Let’s not let dinner get cold, okay?” she whispered, planting a soft kiss on my forehead.

That small gesture—the warmth of her hand, the calm in her voice—unravelled something inside me. For a moment, I felt safe again. Not completely. But enough.

Ron.

Just thinking his name made something flutter in my chest—and then twist. What even was this feeling? I wasn’t new to strong emotions—frustration, worry, guilt—but this was something else. Something fragile. Something dangerous.

I started eating, trying to calm the racing thoughts, but they kept coming.

Ron made me feel… seen. Even when he was being an idiot. Especially when he was being an idiot. He listened to me when it mattered, stood beside me when things fell apart, and never once made me feel small for being the way I am. But there were moments, lately, when I caught him looking at me differently. Like I mattered more than just a friend should. And I wasn’t sure if that terrified me or thrilled me more.

What scared me most wasn’t the possibility of loving him—it was the risk of losing him.

Voldemort was still out there. Watching. Waiting. We were all walking targets already, but to love someone openly in times like these? It felt like giving fate a map to your weakest spot.

Could I let myself feel something like this when the world was falling apart? Was it selfish? Was it stupid? Or was it the only thing keeping us human?

A soft breath escaped me. I didn’t have the answers. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. But tonight, at least, I could admit the truth to myself:

I cared about Ron more deeply than I ever had before.

And that terrified me more than anything.

I drew in a shaky breath, my heart pounding despite the comforting scent of roasted beef drifting through the air. It was a familiar smell, tied to so many childhood memories of safe evenings and quiet dinners. But tonight, that comfort only made the words harder to say. Speaking them felt like lifting something impossibly heavy, like dragging a truth I’d been guarding too closely into the open. It had been months of quiet moments with Ron—his hand brushing mine when he thought no one noticed, long talks by the fire, and the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. There wasn’t a label on what we were yet, but it was real. It mattered.

And I couldn’t keep hiding it.

I cleared my throat, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m dating Ron.”

The words hung between us like a fragile spell, untested and trembling. For a moment, no one moved.

Then Mum’s face lit up, a delighted grin spreading across her features like sunlight breaking through a cloudy morning. “I knew it!” she said, eyes sparkling as she turned to Dad with giddy excitement. “We should invite him over for dinner. It’s about time we got to know him properly, don’t you think?”

Her happiness landed like a thunderclap. I hadn’t expected disapproval exactly, but I also hadn’t expected… this. The thought of Ron sitting at our dinner table, here in our Muggle kitchen, with my dad asking him questions and Mum fussing over dessert—it was too much. Too fast. I felt the ground tilt under me, and the fork slipped from my fingers with a loud clatter against my plate.

“Wait—what? Hold on—”

But before I could say more, Dad spoke up with an approving nod. “I think it’s a great idea. We’ve never had a proper chat with the young man, have we?”

Mum leaned back in her chair, already planning ahead. “The last time we saw the Weasleys was in Diagon Alley, right? That summer we went shopping for your school things.”

Dad chuckled. “Yes. They struck me as a very warm bunch. I enjoyed speaking with them.” He paused, thoughtful. “Although, I did find the father a bit… peculiar.”

He looked to me, curious. “Arthur, is that his name?”

I nodded slowly, the weight of their interest pressing down on me. “Yes. That’s right.”

Dad smiled faintly. “When I mentioned we’re dentists, he looked completely baffled. As if I’d told him we were dragon tamers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, just a little. “That’s Arthur. He’s fascinated by Muggle inventions and things, but it’s all so foreign to him. Pure-blood wizards… they live in a completely different world.”

He nodded, absorbing that. “Muggles,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s what you call non-magical people, right?”

“Exactly,” I said, keeping my voice even, hoping the conversation would veer away from the storm of nerves building inside me.

Mum gently set her fork down, her expression softening. “I always thought the Weasleys seemed lovely. So kind. I think you and Ron would make a wonderful couple.”

My face flushed, and the room seemed to close in around me. “It’s not official yet,” I said quickly. “We’re still figuring things out.”

But Mum wasn’t having it. “Sweetheart, it’s obvious how much he cares for you. And I see it in your eyes too. Unless I’m wrong?”

I looked down at my hands, searching for words that didn’t make me sound foolish or scared. But everything came up short. The truth was, I did care for Ron—more than I ever expected. And that made it terrifying.

Being vulnerable felt dangerous right now. With the war outside growing darker every day, letting myself hope, letting myself feel—it felt reckless. Like offering my heart up to a storm.

“I’m just… trying to be careful,” I said at last, my voice barely above a whisper. “With everything going on, I don’t know how to let my guard down.”

Mum reached across the table, her hand warm as it wrapped gently around mine. “I know, love. And I don’t blame you. The world is heavy right now. But love still matters. Especially now.”

I blinked fast, trying to keep my emotions in check.

She smiled, quiet and steady. “You’re strong. And so is Ron, from what you’ve told us. I think the two of you will find your way—whatever that looks like.”

I didn’t respond right away. But somewhere beneath the fear and confusion, her words settled inside me like a small light—flickering, but steady. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

“We could go to Australia!” Dad said suddenly, his voice full of energy. He must’ve noticed the look on my face—tired, distracted, not quite present. “You need a break, something to clear your head. And we haven’t taken a proper family trip in forever. This could be just what you need.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Australia?” I repeated, unsure.

Mum sighed and gave him a familiar, amused look. “Your father’s become obsessed with those TV shows about dream homes on the coast,” she said, shaking her head with a fond smile. “He’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Dad grinned. “Can you blame me? The beaches, the weather—come on, wouldn’t it be amazing? We’ve got a couple of weeks off coming up. Why not finally go?”

I stared at them both, trying to take it all in. “Wait… you both have time off from work?”

Dad nodded, his voice softening. “We were hoping you’d come with us. Just the three of us, some time away. We were supposed to go skiing last Christmas, remember? But your exam schedule got in the way.”

A part of me wanted to say yes right away. To get away. To be far from the fear that clung to me every time I opened the Daily Prophet or overheard a whisper in Diagon Alley. The idea of Australia—of sun and peace and safety—sounded almost too good to be real.

But that was just it. It wasn’t real. Not now. Not with everything happening. Not with You-Know-Who out there. Could running really keep them safe? Or would I be leading them into more danger?

“What’s wrong, love?” Mum asked quietly, watching me closely.

I looked at them—both so hopeful, so kind—and wished I could tell them everything. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not without putting them at risk. “Could we… maybe wait a little bit?” I asked carefully. “Just until I’ve sorted a few things out.”

Dad chuckled. “What things? School’s out till September.”

“I know,” I said quickly, trying to sound casual. “But we were given some work to do over break. Research, reading—things to prepare for next term.” I hesitated. “I just want to get that done first. Then maybe we can talk about going.”

Mum gave me a gentle smile, reaching over to touch my hand. “Of course, sweetheart. Just let us know when you’re ready.”

After they left the kitchen—Dad humming some tune under his breath, Mum reminding him we still had groceries to put away—I sat in silence.

The house felt too quiet all of a sudden.

I stared at the spot where they’d just stood, still hearing their voices echoing faintly in the walls. A trip to Australia. Beaches, sunlight, freedom. It sounded so lovely… so impossibly distant. Like a memory from a life I didn’t have anymore.

I stood up and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside just enough to peek out. The street was calm. A cat lounged on the garden wall. Everything looked normal. Peaceful.

But I knew it wasn’t. Not really.

Every day, there was another name in the papers. Another family has gone missing. Another “accident” no one wanted to explain. The ministry insisted things were under control, but we all knew better. Dumbledore was gone. And Voldemort… Voldemort was out there, growing stronger by the day.

I wrapped my arms around myself.

They didn’t know. Mum and Dad. They had no idea how close danger was. How close he was. How much I’d already seen. Done. How much more I might have to do.

Could I really take them with me? Would leaving the country even make a difference?

Or would it just paint a bigger target on their backs?

A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down. I couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The safest thing I could do… might be walking away from them entirely.

I turned from the window, my chest tight, and sat back down on the edge of the sofa. The air felt heavier now.

For just a moment, I let myself imagine it again. Sunlight. Ocean waves. Laughter. Mum’s freckles darkening in the sun. Dad insisting on a ridiculous hat. The way things used to be.

But I couldn’t stay in that dream. Not when war was coming.

Just a little longer, I told myself. I’ll keep them safe. Even if it means lying. Even if it means leaving.

I slipped into my bedroom without a sound, needing the quiet more than I realised. It wasn’t the heavy, suffocating kind of silence I’d been feeling lately. This was softer—gentler. The kind that gave me space to breathe, to think. Crookshanks was already waiting for me, perched near the edge of my bed, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light like tiny lanterns.

I knelt down, and he immediately rubbed against my legs, his body warm and familiar. I ran my fingers through his thick fur, and he purred low and steady, that comforting sound vibrating through me like a lullaby. Somehow, he always knew. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he just was there. Steady. Solid. A quiet, living reminder that I wasn’t completely alone, even when I felt like I was.

The idea of leaving him behind made something twist inside me. I’d be heading to the Burrow soon—just a few more weeks—and the thought of being without him for months sent a wave of unease through me. Who would curl up beside me when the nightmares came? Who would listen without asking questions? I knew Ron and Harry would be there, and that gave me some comfort. But still—Crookshanks was mine. He understood things no one else could.

I sat on the floor and began unpacking my trunk, trying to push the thoughts away. The smell of old parchment, worn leather, and dusty ink met me like an old friend. I pulled out my textbooks and robes, carefully setting them aside, but it didn’t take long before the room was a mess. Books stacked in unsteady towers, parchment half-rolled and forgotten, and clothes tossed across the bed and floor. I thought about casting a quick tidying charm, but when I flicked my wand, the spell fizzled and faded like a weak sparkler. My magic felt tired, like I did. So I cleaned by hand instead, slowly, without much focus.

When the room finally looked somewhat organised again, I sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence wrap around me. But this time, it wasn’t soothing. It pressed in, empty and dull. I stood up and walked to the window, needing something—anything—to fill the stillness.

The night outside was glowing. Moonlight slipped through a break in the clouds, pouring into the garden in silver streaks. The grass, the hedges, and even the old wooden fence shimmered like they’d been dusted with stardust. I leaned my forehead against the glass, watching the soft wind ripple through the leaves. It looked like the kind of dream you didn’t want to wake from—quiet and glowing and far, far away from everything that hurt.

For just a little while, I let myself be still. The ache in my chest didn’t vanish, but it eased. The moonlight didn’t fix anything. But it reminded me that there was still something beautiful out there.

The cool night air brushed against my skin as I stepped outside, tugging my pyjama sleeves down and burying my hands into the pockets. I walked over to the old wooden swing and sat down, its soft creaking immediately calming my nerves. Dad had built this swing when Mum was pregnant with me—something to help her relax while she waited. It had always been my favourite place, my quiet corner to think. I liked imagining her here back then, her hands resting on her belly, gently swaying as she dreamed about the future.

Leaning my head against the rough rope wound around the oak tree, I glanced back at the house. Through the window, warm yellow light spilt into the night, and there was Mum, curled up in her favourite chair with a book in her hands. She looked peaceful, completely lost in the story. The sight made something in me settle.

I ran my fingers through my hair, closing my eyes as a soft breeze moved past, carrying the fresh scent of leaves and summer air. I held my breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. The tension in my chest loosened. When I opened my eyes, the world looked different—gentler, quieter. Everything felt full of possibility. The trees whispered above me, their leaves rustling like they were sharing old secrets.

Then Crookshanks jumped up beside me, landing with a soft thud. He stretched once before curling up against my side like he’d known I needed the company. I scratched behind his ear and smiled as he started to purr.

“Ready for another summer adventure, Crookshanks?” I whispered, letting my shoulders drop as I leaned back into the swing. His soft warmth beside me, the quiet around us—it was exactly what I needed.

The sliding door creaked open, and I heard Dad step onto the deck, like he was stepping into a dream. The warm glow from the house lit his face in soft amber, but when his eyes found me sitting beneath the old oak tree, hidden in shadow, I saw the worry settle in instantly.

“Hermione? Is that you?” He called out gently. There was something in his voice—something careful and quiet, like he was afraid I might break. “What are you doing out there all alone?”

I tried to smile, though my heart wasn’t in it. “Just needed some fresh air,” I said, my voice thinner than I meant it to be. I already knew they’d come join me. They always did. Nights like this were never meant to be spent apart.

The night air was cool, laced with the scent of grass and warm earth. A moment later, Mum stepped outside, holding two bowls of ice cream. She handed me one without saying a word, but her touch lingered on my hand, and her eyes—those soft, knowing eyes—held a tenderness that nearly undid me. They both sat down beside me, Dad resting his back against the thick oak trunk, his gaze drifting toward the moon.

“I remember the last time you sat right here,” he said after a while, his voice low and distant. “You were eleven, and your Hogwarts letter had just come. You were practically floating, running circles around the yard, squealing like it was Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one.”

I couldn’t help but smile. The memory was so vivid—how wide the world had suddenly felt, how bright. That letter had opened a door I never even knew existed. It had led me to a life of spells, friendships, and endless wonder… but it had also brought fear, pain, and loss I never could’ve imagined back then. Sometimes, it felt like the girl from that day wasn’t even me anymore.

Dad glanced at me again, his eyes soft but searching. “When that letter came, we knew everything was going to change. And even if we didn’t always understand it all, we’ve been so proud of you. You’ve always made us proud.” He hesitated, the crease in his brow deepening. “But you’ve been quiet lately. Distant. Like something’s weighing you down. Did something happen, Hermione?”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I looked up at the stars, hoping they might somehow make it easier to breathe. The truth pressed hard against my chest, but saying it aloud felt impossible. How could I explain the nightmares, the fear, and the things I’d seen and done that no one should have to at my age?

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad,” I said quietly, my voice almost breaking. I took a bite of the ice cream, but the sweetness turned bitter on my tongue. I forced it down anyway.

Dad raised an eyebrow, the way he always did when he knew I wasn’t being honest. “You only come out here like this when something’s on your mind. When you’re hurting, but you don’t want to talk about it.”

I lowered my gaze, letting my feet brush against the ground beneath the swing. My hands trembled slightly around the bowl. The truth was there, just under the surface. But I wasn’t ready to say it—not yet.

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” Mum said gently, her voice soft but cutting through the silence like light through a fog. “You haven’t written much about school… or your friends. Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

Her concern hit me harder than I expected. I looked down, fiddling with the spoon in my hand. Part of me longed to tell her everything—to finally let it out. But the other part clung tightly to the burden I carried. The fear. The secrets. The war was coming closer every day. If I said it all aloud, it would become too real. Too terrifying.

“I just don’t have much to say,” I murmured, careful to keep my voice even. “I’m focused on my N.E.W.T. exams. It’s my final year at Hogwarts.” The words came easily, but they didn’t feel true—not really. The exams were important, yes, but they weren’t what kept me awake at night. It was the constant worry, the growing danger, the shadow of Voldemort looming over everything.

Dad peered over his glasses, sensing there was more I wasn’t saying. “Are those exams necessary for a specific career?”

I hesitated, choosing a safe path through the conversation. “Not for everything, but for some jobs, yes. They’re very difficult, and I want to do well. I’ll probably be living in the library until it’s done.” I tried to smile, imagining Harry and Ron teasing me for saying that. It brought a flicker of warmth.

Mum’s brow creased with curiosity. “And what career are you thinking of?”

That question felt like a lifeline—something I could talk about without falling apart. “I’m thinking of applying to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It’s part of the ministry,” I said, watching their expressions shift to confusion.

“Magical creatures?” Mum echoed, blinking.

I nodded. “Yes. I’ve had… a lot of experience with them. Dragons, unicorns, phoenixes, werewolves—even giants. It might sound dangerous, but some creatures aren’t aggressive at all.”

Dad looked stunned. “You enjoy that? Doesn’t it scare you?”

The image of Fluffy—the three-headed dog from first year—flashed in my mind. So many memories like that now. I shook my head. “Some are scary. But not all. Even Flobberworms are just harmless little things that love lettuce. What matters is understanding them. That’s how we stay safe.”

Mum smiled faintly, but her eyes were full of surprise. “I always thought you’d become a dentist like us—caring for people’s teeth, not dodging fire from dragons. What made you change your mind?”

I laughed, but it came out softer, a little sadder. “I could never picture myself in a dentist’s chair, Mum. I want to do something that helps in a different way—something that really matters. Like helping house-elves.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “House-elves?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice tightening with emotion. “They’re magical beings who serve wizarding families. They’re bound to obey—like slaves. Most people don’t even question it.”

Mum’s smile faded into a worried frown. “That’s horrible. What are you doing to help?”

I felt my heart speed up. I wanted them to understand—really understand. “In fourth year, I started a group. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. S.P.E.W. But… no one really joined. Just Harry and Ron, and I think they only did it because I kept bringing it up.”

Dad smiled kindly. “If they joined, it means they believe in you. Even if they didn’t understand everything.”

I looked down, suddenly unsure. “Maybe. Or maybe they just wanted me to stop going on about it.”

He chuckled, his voice warm. “Either way, they stood by you. That says a lot.”

Mum reached out and rested her hand gently on my knee. That small touch made something loosen in my chest. “Your heart’s in the right place, Hermione. Even if others don’t always see it, they can feel it. That’s why they support you.”

I gave her a shaky smile. “Thank you, Mum. I’ve been leaving little knitted hats and socks around for the house-elves to find. It sounds silly, I know… But it works. If they pick one up, it sets them free.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “Just like that?”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s a symbol. Freedom, wrapped in wool.” The thought brought a spark of hope to my heart—small, but real.

He hummed, thoughtful. “That’s… clever.”

“Finish your ice cream, darling,” Mum said, gently nudging me from my thoughts. “Before it melts.”

I scooped up a bite, the cold sweetness grounding me. For just a moment, I let myself feel safe.

I pulled my gaze away from the whirlpool of thoughts in my head. Just then, a splash of colour outside the window caught my eye. To my surprise and delight, bright little flowers were starting to bloom in the window box.

“Mum,” I said, turning to her with a smile. “Are those the freesias I’ve been admiring lately?”

She followed my gaze, her expression softening as she looked at the flowers. “Yes, they are,” she said proudly, eyes shining. “I planted a whole batch, hoping they’d bloom this season. I’ve been trying to keep up with the watering and everything else they need.”

Dad smiled at her, clearly impressed. “Well, it’s paying off. They look wonderful so far.”

Mum reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks, love. Just seeing a few of them bloom would make me so happy.”

“You will,” Dad said warmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe by tomorrow, they’ll be blooming like mad.”

We stayed outside a bit longer, the earlier talk of Hogwarts and exams fading away as we shared quieter stories. Mum and Dad started reminiscing—laughing about silly moments from their younger years and sharing strange little happenings from while I’d been away at school.

Later that night, wrapped up in the cosy comfort of my bed, my mind wandered again. Worries about my N.E.W.T.s still buzzed at the edges of my thoughts, but deeper down, I felt something steadier. A quiet determination. I knew I wanted to make a difference—to help magical creatures, to stand up for house-elves, and to follow the path I believed in. That thought comforted me, and before long, I let sleep take me.

The warm sunlight streamed through the window, gently coaxing me from sleep. I blinked slowly, reluctant to leave the comfort of my dreams, but my thoughts were already racing ahead to what was coming. For the past few days, I’d packed and repacked, checking every last detail—potions, sleeping bags, spellbooks—making sure Harry, Ron, and I were ready. We had to be. There was no room for mistakes now.

My eyes drifted to the stack of dog-eared books on the floor, their cracked spines and faded covers oddly comforting. I’d read them each so many times, I practically had the pages memorised. They weren’t just books anymore—they were familiar voices in the chaos. They reminded me of who I was… or maybe who I used to be.

But despite all the planning, I already felt drained. Overwhelmed. The trip hadn’t even started yet, and I was so tired. There was still so much to do—spells I hadn’t mastered, magical theory I needed to understand, and dangerous scenarios I kept running through in my mind. I’d practised the hardest wand movements until my wrist ached, but I still wasn’t sure it would be enough.

And I missed Harry. If he were here, he’d know exactly what we needed. He always had that instinct, that focus. Without him, it all felt heavier—more uncertain.

With a long, weary sigh, I pushed back the covers and got to my feet. The scent of warm pancakes drifted in from downstairs, and my stomach rumbled in response. At least breakfast would be a small comfort.

In the kitchen, Mum stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with practised ease. I slipped into a seat at the table, and she turned to me with a bright smile.

“Pancakes or waffles?” she asked lightly.

“Pancakes, please,” I said softly, the words thick with quiet gratitude.

She paused for a moment, watching me closely. I could feel her concern before she even said a word. Her eyes studied me like she used to when I came home upset from school. I looked up at her, heart heavy, and hesitated before speaking.

“Mum… about the trip we planned. Do you think… maybe we could just stay home instead?”

Her expression softened instantly. “Of course, sweetie,” she said, her voice warm and steady.

I looked down, fingers twisting in my lap. “Do you think Dad will be upset?”

“Don’t worry about your father,” she said gently. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll understand.”

I hesitated, guilt creeping in. “But he was so excited about going to Australia…”

Mum let out a quiet scoff, half amusement, half disbelief. “Just because he saw a few nice houses doesn’t mean we need to drop everything and fly across the world. That would be ridiculous. Honestly, I think he only brought it up because he saw how conflicted you were. He just wanted to help.”

I felt my shoulders sag as exhaustion pulled me down into the chair. I leaned forward, resting my forehead on the cool tabletop. It was a small relief—something solid when everything else felt so fragile. Mum watched me, concern deepening as she saw the way I folded into myself.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, not even sure why I said it.

She frowned, stepping closer. “What on earth are you apologising for?”

The soft calm of morning shattered with the sudden, jarring ring of the phone. My mum glanced over, curiosity flickering in her eyes. I sat upright, heart thudding. It was far too early for a casual call. Dread curled in my stomach.

My eyes shot to the clock. Who would call this early?

I tried to think of something reassuring to say, something that wouldn’t make Mum worry. But the damage was done—the sound alone had pierced the quiet moment we’d been sharing.

Still, curiosity stirred inside me, tugging at my nerves. I reached for the receiver with a shaky breath.

“Hello, Hermione Granger speaking,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

“Hey, Hermione!” Ron’s familiar voice hit me like a wave—warm and unexpected. For a second, I froze, caught between surprise and the strange comfort of hearing him again.

“Hello?” he said again, a little unsure.

“Hey, Ron,” I managed. The relief in my voice came out before I could hide it, along with the concern I hadn’t even realised was there.

“How’s it going?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But I could hear it—something forced beneath the friendly tone.

“I’m alright. Just surprised to hear from you so early. Is everything okay?” I asked, dread quietly growing.

“Well… that depends on how you look at it,” he replied vaguely.

A chill ran down my spine. “Ron, what’s going on?”

“There’ve been Order meetings,” he said, like it should be obvious.

“And?” I pressed, standing up straighter.

“They want you at Grimmauld Place. There’s a plan to get Harry out of Privet Drive.”

The words landed like a blow. My pulse quickened. It was happening. Everything we’d prepared for—talked about in whispers—was finally starting.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, leaning forward, bracing myself.

“Not sure yet. Mad-Eye wouldn’t say. He wants you to come over first. He’s being… really secretive.”

“Did he say when they’re going for Harry?” My voice tightened with worry.

“Somewhere near his birthday. But he wasn’t specific.”

It was all happening so fast. I felt like the ground beneath me was shifting.

“When do they want me there?”

“Soon. Maybe this weekend? You could stay at the Burrow until it’s time. They want everything settled quickly.”

My chest tightened. I glanced at the small calendar on the table—things I’d meant to do with my parents this weekend. I wasn’t ready to leave them. Not yet.

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice softened. “Are you alright?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Yeah… I’m just—” but the rest caught in my throat.

“Just what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” I said quietly. But it did. I just couldn’t say it out loud.

“Hermione…” he said again, more gently this time.

I swallowed hard. “I was hoping to spend a little more time with my parents. Before we start looking for you-know-what.”

There was a pause. Then his voice came in a rush. “Oh—right. Sorry. I forgot.” He slowed. “I get it. I’ll talk to Mad-Eye. He’ll understand.”

A quiet sigh slipped out of me, the tension easing a little. “Thanks, Ron.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you soon.” A pause. “And, Hermione?”

“Yes?” I said softly, sensing something unsaid in the air between us.

“I—” His voice faltered. “I miss you.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I opened my mouth, searching for something to say—but before I could, the line clicked and went dead.

I stood there in silence, phone still pressed to my ear, the weight of what was coming settling heavy on my chest.

Mum looked over at me, her brow furrowed with concern as I slumped back into my chair. “Was that Ron?” she asked softly. “Is everything alright?” Her eyes searched mine, hoping for comfort, but I couldn’t give it.

I nodded stiffly, my voice caught in my throat. There was too much inside me to explain, a storm of thoughts and fears I didn’t have the words for.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice gentle. I hated how much I wanted to tell her everything and how impossible that felt. There were things she couldn’t know—secrets I had to carry, no matter how heavy they were.

“He’s fine,” I said, barely more than a whisper. The lie tasted bitter. “He told me Bill’s wedding is in August.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mum said brightly, her face lighting up as if that bit of news could chase away whatever clouded my expression. But it didn’t. I felt a growing pressure in my chest, like something terrible was coming and I was the only one who could see it.

“Yeah… there’s a lot to get ready for,” I added, voice hollow. “And Harry’s turning seventeen soon.” I hesitated. “Ron invited me to stay with them this summer… until school starts.”

The words felt strange as they left my mouth—like I was still pretending I’d be going back to Hogwarts in September. Like everything was normal.

Mum smiled, touched by the offer. “That’s really lovely of them. You should go.”

I looked away. I wanted to say yes, to feel the joy she expected. But all I could think about was what I couldn’t tell her—what I was planning, what we were preparing for. This wasn’t just a summer visit. It might be the last time I saw home.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, voice soft but insistent. She could always tell when something was wrong—always.

My heart pounded. I hadn’t lied… but I hadn’t told the truth either. The idea of not returning to school, of stepping into danger I couldn’t explain—it sat like ice in my stomach.

“Hermione,” Mum said gently, “it’s just a wedding and a birthday. You’ll be with the Weasleys. With Ron.” She paused. “You’re not doing anything that would… break our hearts.”

Her words cut through me. I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I wanted so badly to be the girl she believed I was. Safe. Honest. Ordinary.

“I’m just… overwhelmed,” I said, my voice cracking. A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I brushed it away quickly, embarrassed at how easily the mask slipped.

Silence settled between us, thick and painful. I could feel how much I was hurting her—how much I wanted to fall into her arms and cry and beg her to hold me like she used to. But I couldn’t. If I did, I’d never be able to let go again.

She reached out and gently squeezed my shoulders, her touch warm and steady, but also anchoring me to the very life I was about to leave behind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

I met her eyes. She was trying so hard to understand, to reach me. But I couldn’t let her in—not with everything that was at stake.

I shook my head and gave her the smallest smile I could manage. She looked sad for a moment, then nodded, letting it go—for now.

“Well,” she said, trying to brighten her tone, “why don’t you finish your breakfast? After that, I’ll show you the dress I think would be perfect for the wedding. How does that sound?”

I nodded again, grateful for the distraction. I forced myself to eat, though I could barely taste the food, and then followed her to the bedroom, a flicker of something like hope rising through the weight in my chest.

The moment I walked in, my eyes were drawn to the lilac dress hanging carefully against the warm, vintage décor of my parents’ bedroom. It looked like something out of a dream—soft, silky fabric that shimmered under the light, layered with delicate lace along the neckline, shaped into elegant scallops. I couldn’t help but stare.

Mum’s whole face lit up when she saw me notice it. “You’re going to have the time of your life in this dress,” she said, practically glowing. “Just wait until you put it on!”

“It’s… it’s perfect,” I breathed, my heart skipping a beat. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course!” Mum said, waving me toward the bathroom, her eyes twinkling.

I hurried off, clutching the dress, my hands trembling slightly. As I pulled it on, the fabric slid over my skin like water. I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts—how would Ron react? Would he notice me? Really notice me? My heart thudded in my chest. I shook my head, trying to quiet the nerves and just enjoy the moment.

When I stepped back out, Mum’s expression was full of love and pride.

“You look stunning,” she whispered. “Honestly, if Ron doesn’t trip over his feet when he sees you, I’ll be shocked.”

I laughed, though a blush spread across my cheeks. The idea of impressing Ron—it was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. I wasn’t used to wanting to be seen like this, to hope someone might look at me and… feel something.

Just then, Dad walked in, eyebrows raised as he looked between us. “What’s going on in here? Looks like a fairy tale exploded.”

He came to sit beside Mum on the bed, and when he saw the dress, his eyes widened. “I haven’t seen that dress since… wow.”

Mum chuckled softly. “I wore it once when we were dating. Thought it was time to pass it on.”

Dad smiled at her with that look he always gets when he’s feeling sentimental. “You were breathtaking that night. I remember thinking, ‘If she says yes to a second date, I’m never letting her go.’”

Mum rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re such a hopeless romantic.”

Then her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh, and Ron called earlier! He invited Hermione to his brother’s wedding. She’s staying at the Burrow through September!”

“Really?” Dad said, clearly impressed. “Sounds serious.”

I cleared my throat. “What do you think of the dress, Dad?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but the nerves were back. I bit my lip.

He looked at me for a long moment, then smiled softly. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. It’s hard to believe my little girl is already growing up.” Then he put a hand over his heart. “And someday, some charming bloke will sweep you off your feet—and leave me with a broken heart and an empty wallet.”

I burst out laughing. “Dad! Honestly.”

Before I could recover, he grabbed my hand and spun me in a playful twirl. I laughed so hard I nearly tripped into him.

“I demand the first dance,” he declared, bowing dramatically. “Before some red-haired boy tries to steal the spotlight.”

“He’s always been light on his feet,” Mum said with a giggle.

“You bet I have,” Dad grinned, striking a silly pose that made us both laugh all over again.

Mum stood up suddenly, eyes wide with a flicker of excitement. “Oh! I almost forgot…” She crossed the room in quick steps, opening the top drawer of her dresser and pulling out a small, velvet box. Her hands shook a little as she held it out to me. “Before you leave for the Burrow… your father and I wanted to give you something. For your birthday.”

I took it gently, feeling the softness of the box beneath my fingers, but also the weight of the moment pressing in. I opened the lid.

And the air left my lungs.

A necklace rested inside, so delicate it seemed almost too fragile to touch. The pendant was shaped like a teardrop, clear and shimmering, and inside it—suspended like a memory frozen in time—were tiny freesia blossoms, glowing softly where the morning sun caught them. I remembered it. I remembered being little, sitting on Mum’s lap, playing with that necklace as it dangled near her heart.

And now… it was mine.

“It would look beautiful with your dress,” Mum said quietly. Her voice trembled just a little, like she was trying to stay strong.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak. The necklace wasn’t just jewellery. It was a piece of my childhood, of them, of safety. A thread connecting who I’d been to who I was now—fraying, trembling, but still holding.

“Thank you,” I breathed, barely getting the words out as I leaned forward and pulled them both into a hug. I held on tight. Too tight. Because I didn’t know how many more hugs like this I’d get. I didn’t want to let go.

“We’re so proud of you,” Dad whispered. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on my back.

When we finally stepped apart, his eyes were glistening. “Eighteen. It feels like just yesterday you were begging us for bedtime stories about unicorns and stargazing with your toy telescope.”

I tried to smile, but it hurt. “It’s all gone so fast,” I said, and my voice cracked. “Too fast. Sometimes I wish I could slow it down. Or… go back.”

“Go back?” Mum asked softly, tilting her head. “What would you change, darling?”

The question hit too close. I looked down, blinking hard, but the tears were already slipping free. “I’d spend more time with you. I wouldn’t take any of it for granted. I’d sit at the table longer, stay up talking, ask more questions, listen harder…” I trailed off, swallowing the ache in my throat. “I didn’t know how much I’d miss it until it was already slipping away.”

The silence that followed wrapped around us like a blanket—warm, but heavy with sadness.

Then Mum reached for me again, cradling the back of my head as if I were still that little girl playing with her necklace. “Oh, Hermione,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You’ve never stopped being our little girl.”

I let the tears come. I didn’t try to stop them this time. I didn’t have the strength.

And for a while, we just stayed there, wrapped in the quiet, in the ache, in the love.

But when I finally looked up again, their faces were different. Loving, yes—but worried too. They could see it. They could feel it. The weight I hadn’t been able to hide.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Dad asked, and those words—so gentle—splintered the fragile calm inside me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. How could I tell them? How could I explain that the world they thought I lived in—safe, ordinary, full of books and dreams—wasn’t that world anymore? That there was a war coming. That it was already here.

The fear of hurting them, of making them afraid, squeezed around my chest like a vice.

My fingers closed around the pendant, clutching it like a lifeline. I thought of Harry, how betrayed he’d felt when Professor Dumbledore kept things from him. How that silence had hurt him more than the truth ever could.

I didn’t want to make that mistake. Not with them.

“I know I’ve been distant,” I finally said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so caught up with school. And I haven’t written… not like I used to.” I paused, staring down at the sunlight pooling on the floor. “And it’s not because I don’t care. It’s the opposite. I just didn’t know how to explain any of it.”

Dad reached out and rested a steady hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to explain everything. You just have to know we’re here. Always.”

Mum nodded, her voice tender. “Whatever happens, Hermione… you’ll never go through it alone.”

Something inside me cracked then. A little of the fear gave way, just enough for me to breathe again.

And then Dad smiled softly, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Besides,” he said, with a hint of his usual playfulness, “I’ve got another surprise for you. And I think this one will really make you smile.”

Curious, I followed Dad out to the garage. He popped open the trunk of the car and pulled out a big, heavy-looking box. As he passed it to me, I frowned slightly, unsure what to make of it.

“Um… thanks, but you didn’t have to get me anything, Dad,” I said, expecting another one of his thoughtful but random gifts.

He laughed. “It’s not for you. It’s for your organisation.”

My heart gave a strange little jump. “Wait… you mean for the elves?”

“Who else?” he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I thought you were serious about helping them.”

“I am; it’s just—” I hesitated, caught off guard by the gesture. “You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it. I asked a few people at the clinic if they had anything to donate, and they were happy to help. It’s all for a good cause.” He gave me a quick wink and walked back toward the house, leaving me standing there, caught between surprise and gratitude.

I lifted the lid of the box and found it full of colourful clothes, all neatly folded and clean. It was for the elves. He’d actually done it. I felt a rush of warmth in my chest. Dad had always supported me, no matter how odd or ambitious my ideas seemed to others.

I thought back to something he’d told me once: “The true measure of a man isn’t just what he does—it’s what he gives.”

Running my fingers over the fabric, I felt something shift inside me. Maybe I really could help change things. And with parents like mine standing behind me, I didn’t feel so alone in the fight.

I carried the box up to my room and set it gently on the bed, planning to go through it later. Just as I was about to turn back to packing, the phone rang downstairs. My shoulders tensed—my mind immediately jumped to Ron. Could it be about Mad-Eye’s decision already? Probably not. It felt too soon. Still, I held my breath until I heard my dad’s cheerful voice.

“Henry! What a surprise!”

I didn’t need to listen in to know he was talking to Henry Montgomery, one of his long-time patients. I tried to return to packing, but a moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs and then my name.

“Hermione! You’ll never guess who just called!” Dad said, bursting into my room like a beam of sunlight.

I looked up from the scattered mess of books and clothes around me. “Henry Montgomery?” I asked, half-smiling.

“That’s the one!” Dad said proudly. “You remember him, right? Great guy. Well, he has some clothes he wants to donate, and I figured I’d drive over and pick them up. Want to come?”

I glanced around my chaotic room, the mess reminding me of everything I still had to do. The hunt for Horcruxes was looming over me, heavy and real. But a little outing with Dad sounded… nice. We hadn’t done something like that in ages.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I’d love to.”

As soon as we stepped outside, the heat wrapped around us—thick, heavy, and impossible to ignore. Still, the sound of children laughing from the park nearby made it easier to bear. Their joy was like a cool breeze against the sun.

The drive to Mr. Montgomery’s house was mostly quiet. The steady hum of the tires on the road filled the silence, along with the occasional happy comment from Dad. He looked content, clearly excited about our visit.

“They’re going to be so happy to see you, Hermione,” he said, glancing over at me, his eyes bright with pride.

I’d only seen the Montgomerys a few times before, and only in passing. Usually just a quick hello while Dad was busy treating one of them. But they were always kind, always asking how I was doing. It meant more than I’d let on, especially since I hadn’t exactly gone out of my way to connect with them.

“You’re going to love meeting the twins!” Dad said, his voice full of enthusiasm. He looked like he could barely sit still. “They’re absolutely adorable.”

“Twins?” I turned to him, surprised. “I didn’t even know they had kids!”

The news caught me off guard, but in a good way. Warmth bloomed in my chest just thinking about it. I knew how much they had wanted children, how long they’d waited and hoped. “If anyone deserved to have a family, it was them,” Dad added, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. I nodded. I couldn’t agree more. The Montgomerys had always seemed like genuinely good people—kind, patient, and hopeful.

When we pulled up to their house, I stepped out and took in the view. Roses lined the walkway, and there was a small swing set in the backyard. It felt peaceful. Homey. On the porch, Mr. Montgomery stood smiling, waving as he arranged a few small boxes on a table.

“Hello, Mr. Montgomery,” I said as I approached, reaching out to shake his hand. Something about him put me at ease right away.

He laughed and shook my hand warmly. “Mr. Montgomery? Oh, come on—call me Henry. It’s wonderful to see you, Hermione.”

“Good to see you too,” Dad chimed in, smiling wide. “How’s life treating you?”

Henry grinned and nodded toward the front door. “It’s a bit of a madhouse in there. Two babies means twice the mess—toys everywhere, bottles, overturned chairs. I almost tripped earlier, so be careful when you go in!”

A twinge of anticipation stirred in my chest as we stepped into the house. The moment I crossed the threshold, a wave of cheerful baby laughter and scurrying footsteps greeted me. The living room was a vibrant mess of toys, blankets, and cushions scattered everywhere—alive with the joyful chaos that only toddlers can create.

Henry’s twin sons were utterly enchanting. As soon as they saw me, their eyes lit up with excitement, and they rushed toward me with tiny arms flailing, babbling joyfully. I dropped to my knees, instantly swept up in their energy. They didn’t know me, and yet somehow, they trusted me. That innocence tugged at something deep inside me—a longing for simplicity, for a world where trust wasn’t dangerous.

“Boys, don’t go scaring Hermione off,” a woman with cropped brown hair called from the sofa as she got up. She had a tired but kind smile, the kind I imagined came from sleepless nights and unconditional love. She held out a bowl of cookies. “I’m Nancy. Help yourself. Sorry about the mess—these two are small but fierce. I would’ve tidied up, but honestly, I’m outnumbered. Sometimes I wish magic were real. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” my dad replied warmly, his eyes flicking to me. I saw the tension in that glance. Familiar. Unspoken. We both felt it—the quiet, constant pressure of pretending. The line between truth and secrecy was razor-thin when we were around Muggles. I was used to the performance by now, but that didn’t make it easier. It was exhausting. Especially when people were kind.

The Montgomerys didn’t know what I was. What I could do. And they couldn’t. It wasn’t safe. Not for them. Not for us. Not with everything happening in the world—especially not now.

Still, something about Nancy’s comment lingered in my mind like a spark. “Do you believe in magic?” I asked, unable to resist, my voice softer than I expected.

Nancy paused, the question hanging in the air. She gave a small smile, but her eyes… they flickered with something more. “Not at first,” she admitted. “But that changed when Finley…” She scooped up one of the boys and sat down, cuddling him close. “He did something I still can’t explain.”

I felt my breath hitch.

“Let me guess,” Dad said with a teasing grin. “He ended up on the roof?”

The reference wasn’t random. He was thinking of what I’d told him—Harry’s stories. Stories about magic slipping out before we even understood it. Accidents. Instinct. I shot him a warning look, but I already knew it was too late.

Nancy didn’t laugh.

“He actually did,” she said quietly.

My whole body went still. Even Finley stopped fidgeting in her arms, as if the weight of her words had settled over him too.

My heart pounded against my ribs. She was serious. Not just remembering—but reliving it. I could see it in her eyes. The disbelief. The fear. The need to understand.

Dad gave a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the moment. “Well, kids do strange things. Doesn’t always mean magic.”

“But how else do you explain it?” Nancy leaned forward, voice tight with conviction. “It was just me and the boys. No noise. No thumps. Nothing. I turned around for seconds, and suddenly he was gone. I panicked. Looked everywhere. And then I heard this… this little noise. I looked up, and there he was. On the roof. Calm. Smiling.” Her voice broke for a moment. “There’s no ladder. No one could have put him up there. Not me. Not Henry. It just… doesn’t make sense.”

Her words felt like a wave crashing over me. I wanted to reach out to tell her. She wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t imagining things. It was real. Magic was real.

But I couldn’t.

To say anything would be to risk everything. My world couldn’t afford cracks. You-Know-Who was back, and with him came danger, darkness, and suspicion. If the Montgomerys knew the truth—if they even guessed—it would make them targets. And I couldn’t live with that.

Nancy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Henry thinks we should never tell anyone. That people will think we’re cursed or delusional.” She looked straight at me, her gaze sharp, searching. “But what do you think, Hermione?”

I froze.

The question pierced right through me. What did I think? I thought she was brave for asking. I thought she deserved the truth. But truth was a luxury we couldn’t afford.

A thousand thoughts crowded my head, fighting for space. I wanted to take her hand and tell her she wasn’t crazy. That what she’d seen did happen. That her son wasn’t cursed—he was special. Like I’d been. But to say that would put a target on his back.

So instead, I sat there—heart thudding, throat tight—and said nothing.

Because sometimes, silence is the only way to protect the people who don’t know they need protecting.

“Did anyone see Finley when he was up on the roof?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady. It was a small question, but behind it was a need—a desperate grasp for something concrete, something safe. If we could confirm who saw what, maybe the damage could still be contained. Maybe we hadn’t already gone too far.

Nancy hesitated, her face clouded as she reached back through the chaos. “I was panicking, honestly. I barely remember. But I got him down, thank Merlin. A few neighbours were outside… I think they saw.”

“I’m just glad he’s okay,” Dad said gently. His eyes flicked to me for a heartbeat, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. We couldn’t afford attention—not now.

I sank deeper into the couch, trying to disappear into the cushions. The air in the room was thick, not just with worry but with something colder, something that prickled just beneath the surface of the ordinary. This wasn’t supposed to be more than a visit—just tea and conversation. But the tension that clung to my skin felt like the quiet before a spell goes wrong. Too still. Too quiet.

Finley let out a soft, sleepy sound. He lay curled in Nancy’s arms, impossibly small. His fingers twitched, reaching for something only he could see. I watched him, heart aching. He had no idea what could be coming. No idea that somewhere out there, people were hunting—watching—waiting. A flicker of instinct made me reach for my wand in my coat pocket, just to feel the weight of it. I didn’t draw it, but I needed to know it was there.

I opened my mouth to speak—to ask Nancy if she’d noticed anything strange, anyone out of place lately—but she turned her attention to Finley just then, gently rocking him. He gave a soft sigh, like he was reassuring her.

But it didn’t reassure me.

The air shifted again. Not much—just enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up. I glanced toward the window. The wind rustled the trees, and golden leaves spiralled down like whispers. A chill slid through me. I didn’t know why. No one was out there, but still… it felt wrong. Like something old was moving beneath the surface of our world—gathering strength. Watching for cracks.

I thought of baby Harry, marked before he could speak. I looked at Finley and saw how easily that could happen again. Innocence meant nothing to the people who followed You-Know-Who. A baby was just another pawn—another weakness to be used. My throat tightened. The spellwork we were taught at school suddenly felt laughably inadequate.

How could I protect them when even the strongest spells might not be enough?

“Don’t worry, Nancy,” Dad said, his voice low and soothing. “Some people just love to stir trouble and pretend they’re innocent. We’ll handle it.”

Nancy let out a slow breath, her shoulders sagging. “You’re probably right. I don’t know what’s got into me lately—jumping at shadows, second-guessing everything. I suppose that’s just what motherhood does.”

She smiled down at Finley, her fingers brushing his downy hair. There was so much love in her eyes and so much fear just behind it. I could see it clearly. And I knew—if they ever found out what Finley meant to me, what he’d seen, what he could see—it would be enough.

Muggles didn’t have shields or wards. Just instincts. And the ones who loved deeply, like Nancy, would fight to the end with nothing but that.

“My wife and I understand,” Dad said. “We worry too. All the time. You ever need anything—anything at all—just say the word.”

Simple words. But they rang with quiet magic. The kind that didn’t come from wands or books but from love and desperation.

I wanted to believe it would be enough.

But the weight in my chest said otherwise. We couldn’t go on like this. Secrets were slipping, protections thinning. Magic left traces, no matter how careful we were. What if someone had sensed it? What if someone had already followed it here?

A breeze passed through the room—just a faint draught from the hall, or so I told myself. But it carried with it the unmistakable scent of something burnt. Not smoke. Not wood. More like ash after spellfire.

I stiffened.

The others didn’t notice.

Just then, Henry walked in, arms full of clothes. “I’ve got the donations sorted. Want me to load them in the car now?”

Dad nodded, grateful for the change of focus. “Perfect. Let’s get to it.”

The moment passed, but it left its mark. I watched the door long after they stepped outside. I gripped my wand tighter inside my coat pocket, still staring at the space where no one stood.

Because something had brushed through here. I was sure of it.

And it hadn’t come for clothes.

The ride home passed in silence, wrapped in a heavy stillness that settled over the car like a thick fog. Dad kept his eyes on the road, calm on the outside, but I could feel his unease radiating off him in waves. Neither of us said what we were thinking, but I knew. We were both bracing for what was coming.

I stared out the window, watching the world blur past, and tried to untangle my thoughts. So much had changed in so little time. It felt like the world I knew was slipping further away with every mile. I could feel it in my chest—a dull ache, like something was being pulled out of me. It wasn’t just fear. It was a sense of duty. Of finality.

Raising a witch in a non-magical household was never easy for my parents. And now, with everything becoming more dangerous by the day, I felt the urgency clawing at me. I needed to protect Finley—needed to protect all of them. Even if they didn’t fully understand what they were up against.

Nancy had made the right decision by listening to her husband. She did what she thought was safest for her family. I couldn’t fault her for that. But as I folded clothes into my trunk later that evening, my stomach twisted. Was staying silent really the right thing to do? Part of me thought yes—it was safer that way. But another part whispered that silence could also be a form of surrender.

The sudden ring of the phone startled me, cutting through my thoughts like a sharp breeze. I rushed downstairs, trying to push everything aside, only to find Mum handing me the receiver with a warm smile.

“It’s Ron,” she said, before heading back upstairs.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Hermione,” Ron said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how I’d respond. I could still hear the tension from our last conversation lingering in the spaces between his words. “How are you?”

It should have been comforting, hearing him. But it wasn’t. My chest tightened. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I hadn’t told him—about the Montgomerys, about Finley, about the burden I now carried. Was it right to keep it all from him? Ron had always been honest with me, especially when it came to his fears and frustrations. Shouldn’t I give him the same in return?

“I’m alright,” I said, choosing my words with care. I hoped it sounded natural. I hoped he wouldn’t ask for more.

A pause. I could hear the tension on his end too—like he was holding something back, unsure how to say it.

Then, quietly, he said, “I talked to Moody. He said no.”

Just two words—but they sank deep, like stones in water.

“Oh. Okay.” I tried to sound unaffected, but inside, my disappointment curled tight in my chest. I’d known it was a long shot, but part of me had hoped—really hoped—that I could stay longer, do more, and make my own decision.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron said, and his voice cracked a little. “I really tried. I told him you should have a choice, but he said your role’s too important. You’re the brains of the whole thing, really.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t understand. I did. But understanding didn’t make it any easier. I didn’t ask for this responsibility. I never wanted to be anyone’s “key to the plan.” I just wanted to help my friends. I just wanted a little more time.

“I get it,” I said. My voice came out flat, quieter than I meant. I wasn’t angry—not really. Just tired.

Silence again. It stretched between us, full of everything we weren’t saying.

“Just a few days left,” Ron said softly.

“I know…” I whispered. But it didn’t feel real. I’d imagined this moment so many times—leaving my parents, walking into danger, possibly never seeing them again. But now that it was here, it felt distant, like I was watching someone else live it.

“Are you going to be alright?”

Was I? I didn’t know. I thought about telling him the truth—that I felt like I was standing on a cliff, blindfolded, waiting to jump. That no amount of planning or knowledge made this feel any less terrifying. But then I thought about Harry and everything he was going through. I thought about Ron, stuck between loyalty to Harry and the chaos in his own family. Who was I to complain?

“I’ll manage,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it. “Anyway, we need to start planning. Finding the Horcruxes… I don’t think Harry even knows where to begin.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Dumbledore must’ve said something. But it took him forever to figure out that cave. We’re going to have to guess a lot, aren’t we?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Probably. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Harry mentioned Godric’s Hollow once. Maybe we can start there.”

“But that’s dangerous,” I added, frowning. “If You-Know-Who’s watching, he’ll find Harry the second he shows up.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Ron asked. He sounded frustrated, and I couldn’t blame him. The unknown was maddening.

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “We’ll just have to stay alert. Look for anything that might point us in the right direction.”

“That could take forever,” he groaned.

I straightened my shoulders, forcing myself to stay grounded. “We’ll find something. We always do. We just have to keep going.”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, sounding steadier. “You’re right.”

I drew in a long breath, trying to calm the anxious flutter in my chest. The words sat on the tip of my tongue, heavy and tangled. I had gone over them in my head dozens of times, but now, speaking them aloud felt harder than I’d expected.

“Ron,” I began, my voice softer than I meant it to be. “I visited some family friends recently. They just had twins. And… I think one of the babies might be magical.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Ron’s sceptical tone came through the phone. “Magical? At that age? Isn’t that… a bit of a stretch?”

I clenched the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. “They found the baby on the roof, Ron. No one saw how he got up there. It made me think of the stories Harry told us about his childhood. About all those unexplainable things that happened before he knew he had magic. We’ve all had moments like that too. I can’t explain it exactly, but I feel it—something about this child is different. And if I’m right… we might need to involve the Order.”

My heart pounded faster just saying it. It sounded ridiculous when spoken aloud. But the fear was real, clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

Ron exhaled. “Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s magical. There could be other explanations.”

“Like what?” I snapped, before I could stop myself. I rubbed my temples, trying to hold it together. “They’re Muggles. They don’t know anything about our world. If someone finds out I know them—and if that baby is magical—they could be in danger. Real danger.”

There was a pause before he asked, more gently this time, “Have they said anything about being targeted?”

My throat tightened. “No. Nancy hasn’t mentioned anything like that. No weird letters, no suspicious people hanging around. But that doesn’t mean they’re safe. We both know how subtle things can get before everything goes wrong.”

Ron didn’t respond right away, and in that silence, my thoughts spiralled. What if I was overreacting? What if I was right? The uncertainty was unbearable.

“Hermione,” he said, voice calmer now, “I know you’re scared. But you’re also overthinking. Magical kids aren’t easy to trace—especially not newborns. If he is magical, there’s still time before anyone would even suspect it.”

His words were logical, reassuring. Still, my anxiety didn’t vanish—it just quieted to a hum in the back of my mind.

“I know,” I murmured. “I just… I can’t help it. It feels like there’s danger everywhere lately. I jump at every shadow.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Ron replied. “The Order’s working nonstop—planning, meeting, trying to stay a step ahead. Moody’s always storming in and out of Grimmauld Place. Everyone’s tense.”

I smiled faintly. The image of Moody growling orders, Tonks tripping over her own boots, and Mrs. Weasley fretting in the kitchen was oddly comforting.

“Do you know what they’re planning next?” I asked, drumming my fingers against the table. The rhythm helped me think and helped me stay grounded.

“I’ve heard bits and pieces. I think the next big move is getting Harry out of Privet Drive. But it’s complicated. We can’t Apparate yet, and the Ministry’s watching the Floo Network like hawks. So that’s out.”

He snorted. “And you can bet no one’s taking the Knight Bus or hitching a ride on the train with Death Eaters about.”

Despite myself, I laughed. Just a little. “Knowing You-Know-Who, he’s probably predicting our every move. We can’t afford to be sloppy.”

“I keep thinking about Harry,” Ron said, his voice dipping quieter. “Seventeen years in that house, treated like dirt. And now it’s finally over. I just hope he’s okay.”

“Even if he’s relieved, I imagine it’s complicated,” I said, the lump in my throat returning. “No matter how awful they were… they were his family. Kind of. I think Harry’s strong enough to carry all of that. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

Silence again. I could feel the weight of everything hanging between us—Harry’s pain, the war, the helplessness we all tried to ignore but never really could.

Then Ron asked, “You finished packing yet?”

“Almost. Just checking everything one more time.”

“Of course you are,” he chuckled. “You probably have colour-coded lists.”

His teasing made my chest tighten—not from irritation, but from something warmer, something I didn’t want to name just yet.

“Ron…” I hesitated. The words hovered on my lips. “What do you think this weekend will be like?”

He didn’t answer right away. I held my breath, wishing I could see his face, read his expression.

“Busy,” he said at last. “Everyone’s on edge. But Harry’ll be there. That’s what really matters.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Somehow, that answer was enough. For now.

“I should let you go,” he said. “You’ll need to rest before the chaos begins. See you Saturday?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “I’ll be there, Ron.”

After checking my packing for the third time, I took the beaded handbag from its hiding spot in the drawer. It amazed me how easily it held everything—clothes, supplies, books, and more. The Undetectable Extension Charm had worked perfectly, letting the small bag carry far more than it seemed possible. I still found it hard to believe something so tiny could store nearly all my essentials.

The next morning, the rain tapped steadily against the window, soft but constant, like it was trying to say something I didn’t want to hear. I stayed curled under the duvet, my face pressed into the pillow, as if the blanket and darkness might protect me from last night’s conversation.

Ron’s words echoed in my head, sharp and uncertain. He hadn’t meant to hurt me—at least, I didn’t think so—but it still stung. Things between us were always complicated, especially now with everything falling apart around us.

With a long sigh, I sat up, the chill in the room wrapping around me. The sky outside was grey and heavy, and the corners of my bedroom were still cloaked in shadow. I didn’t want to move. But I had to. I couldn’t afford to stay in bed while the world outside was slipping deeper into chaos.

Downstairs, the warm scent of toast and coffee filled the air. I found Mum and Dad in the kitchen—Mum stirring her tea, half-listening as Dad chatted animatedly.

“Can you believe it?” Dad said, waving a leaflet in his hand. “The Montgomerys donated their entire winter collection. All of it! I told them they didn’t have to—”

“But they did,” Mum said, smiling faintly. “They always do.”

Dad nodded. “Well, the least I can do is offer free check-ups. It’s the right thing to do.”

I sat down quietly, watching them. They didn’t know. Not really. They’d heard things, of course—odd reports on the news, strange disappearances—but I hadn’t told them the worst of it. Not yet. How could I? How could I explain You-Know-Who to people who still believed the biggest threat out there was rising energy bills or a broken boiler?

I envied them—their optimism, their goodness. The Montgomerys too. They were the kind of people who believed kindness would always protect them. But I knew better.

“Morning, Hermione,” Mum said, glancing over. “Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

Just then, I caught sight of a shadow flicking past the kitchen window—an owl. My heart gave a jolt. I stood up.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I said quickly, already turning toward the stairs.

Up in my room, I opened the window and let the breeze in. The owl landed on the sill, eyes bright and amber. It let out a soft hoot, like it was waiting patiently—for what, I wasn’t sure. Hope, maybe.

Tied to its leg was a package—my Daily Prophet subscription. I untied it, paid the owl, and watched it disappear into the grey morning sky.

My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the paper. I scanned the headlines fast, looking for any mention of Harry, the Order, or recent attacks. Lately, every page felt like a warning.

And there it was.

Dark Mark Sparks Panic.

My throat tightened.

I read quickly, dread building with every word. A Muggle family. No signs of struggle. Just the Mark left floating above their home, glowing green against the clouds.

As I turned the page, my breath caught.

A photo. Four smiling faces.

The Montgomerys.

I froze, the world narrowing to the image on the page. They were standing outside their little house, surrounded by a neat garden. Just yesterday, I’d sat with Mrs. Montgomery in her kitchen. The children had been playing with their toys. Mr. Montgomery had offered me an extra coat to take for the donation bin.

And now… they were gone.

My eyes burnt as I stared at the picture. I reached out and touched the edge of the photo, as if I could pull them back from whatever darkness had taken them.

It wasn’t fair.

They didn’t even know what was coming. They hadn’t stood a chance.

And it was getting worse. Every day, You-Know-Who grew bolder. The ministry wasn’t doing enough. They were pretending everything was under control—but it wasn’t. Not even close.

And here I was—still living at home. Still pretending I could split my time between studying for N.E.W.T.s and helping Harry destroy Horcruxes.

But there was no balance anymore. The war didn’t care about my future. It had already arrived on our doorstep.

“Hermione!” Mum’s voice floated up the stairs. “Your tea’s ready!”

I blinked hard, wiping at my eyes. “Coming, Mum!”

I looked down at the paper once more. At the Montgomerys. At what You-Know-Who had done.

This was the cost of waiting.

And I couldn’t wait any longer.

It should’ve been just another morning. But nothing was normal anymore. Not when You-Know-Who was out there, slaughtering innocent people for nothing more than being Muggle.

I looked down the hallway, toward the kitchen. I could hear Mum humming quietly. Dad was probably talking about the Montgomerys again, still proud of their generosity, still unaware they were gone.

Would he still smile like that if he knew?

I turned away, heart pounding. The image of the Dark Mark flashed behind my eyes. I could see it rising over my own house. I could hear them screaming, not understanding why someone had come for them. And I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I couldn’t protect them.

But maybe—I could make sure they were never targeted at all.

My chest tightened as I sat at my desk, the idea forming fully in my mind for the first time. I had read about the spell months ago, tucked between chapters on advanced memory magic. I hadn’t dared consider it then. But I knew now—it was the only way.

I didn’t even have to say it aloud. The decision had already been made.

They’d forget me. Everything about me. I’d rewrite their memories, give them new names, and new lives. They’d move to Australia, far away from the war. Far from me.

They’d be safe.

My eyes filled again, but I blinked the tears back. There wasn’t time for crying. I pulled open my drawer and found my wand, fingers shaking as they closed around it. I still had to plan how to do it—carefully, precisely. No mistakes. This wasn’t just magic. This was goodbye.

A quiet voice inside me whispered, They’ll hate you if they ever remember. But I pushed it away.

They wouldn’t hate me. They’d be alive.

I stood slowly, crossing the room to look out at the rain-slicked street. Mum and Dad were laughing now, their voices blending with the soft clatter of breakfast dishes. They sounded so normal. So alive.

And I knew I’d never hear that sound the same way again.

Because after today, they wouldn’t remember me. And I would have to remember them enough for all of us.

Trembling, I picked up my beaded bag and wand from the desk. The polished wood felt unfamiliar in my hand, even though I’d held it thousands of times. I tried not to think—tried not to remember reading in this very chair or the soft laughter that used to echo through this house. My house.

I forced myself to walk. Each step down the stairs felt heavier than the last. Everything around me—the pictures on the wall, the creak of the bannister, the smell of toast still lingering in the air—blurred at the edges, as though I were moving through a dream. Or maybe a memory. I felt like a ghost in my own home, already halfway gone.

At the bottom of the stairs, I paused. I leaned against the wall just outside the kitchen, heart pounding in my ears. Mum and Dad were chatting inside, their voices warm and light, like nothing in the world was wrong.

For a second, I wanted to freeze time. Just stand here and listen to them; let it all stay the way it was. But I couldn’t. You-Know-Who was out there. He had eyes everywhere. If he found out who I was—who they were—it would all be over. I couldn’t risk that. I wouldn’t.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. My wand felt impossibly heavy. I stepped into the kitchen quietly, unnoticed. Their backs were turned as they stood by the sink, chatting about groceries. So ordinary. So safe.

I raised my wand, pointing it at the two people I loved most in the world.

“Obliviate,” I whispered.

A soft light flared from the tip of my wand. I felt the magic rush from me like a wave, and for a second, it almost took my breath away. Behind my closed eyes, memories surged—birthdays, bedtime stories, Mum brushing my hair, Dad dancing with me in the kitchen when I was small.

And one memory rose above the others.

I was seven years old. The house was full of sunlight. I had just finished reading The Secret Garden, and I burst into the kitchen with wild excitement, talking so fast Mum couldn’t keep up.

She knelt beside me, brushing my curls from my face. “You loved it that much?”

I nodded furiously. “Mary was so brave, and she helped the garden grow. She made everything better.”

Dad laughed from the sink. “Just like our Hermione.”

Mum smiled and kissed the top of my head. “You’ll do something amazing one day, darling. Something only you can do.”

I had no idea how true her words would become.

But then the spell began to slip that memory away too.

The spell unravelled their connection to me. I could feel it—their laughter, their love, all of it drifting beyond reach. My knees nearly buckled, but I forced myself to stay standing, to keep watching.

Their faces went blank. The sparkle of familiarity faded from their eyes, replaced by something hazy and faraway. They looked around the room like it was the first time they’d ever seen it.

And just like that, they were no longer my parents.

I stumbled back a step, hand over my mouth. The silence in the room was deafening. My heart ached—split wide open—but I said nothing. I couldn’t.

The tears came anyway, slipping down my cheeks without permission. The storm outside had started up again, rain tapping the windows like soft, steady reminders. I wanted to scream. To turn back time. To take it all back. But it was too late.

I had done it. To keep them safe, I’d erased myself from their lives.

They stood quietly, calm and unaware. A gentle fog hung behind their eyes, the kind of peaceful blankness only magic could create. I looked at them—really looked—and realised they wouldn’t know me anymore. They wouldn’t remember anything about the girl who loved books, who got her Hogwarts letter, and who cried when she left for the first time.

I cleared my throat and tested the names I’d chosen. “Monica?” I said softly.

Mum blinked. Slowly, she turned toward me, her expression polite, distant. Not unkind—just unfamiliar.

“Wendell,” I added, glancing at Dad.

He gave a small nod, then looked around, puzzled, as if wondering why he’d come into the kitchen at all.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the delicate silver pendant in my pocket. I had already prepared it—a small magical container, enchanted to hold memories safely. I held it tightly for a moment, then placed it gently around Mum’s neck. The glow from the charm was faint, but I felt it pulse—felt it accept the memories I had stripped away.

Inside that pendant were the pieces of our life together: family holidays, school mornings, and hugs goodnight. Everything they’d ever known about being my parents.

I stepped back again, wiping my eyes quickly. I couldn’t afford to fall apart now.

“You’re moving to Australia,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ll have a good life there. A quiet one. Just the two of you.”

I closed my eyes and whispered the last part of the spell, anchoring it with hope and love. I imagined them walking on sunny beaches, building a new life—safe, untouched by war. Free from fear.

The magic flowed from my wand again, wrapping around them like a breeze. Their faces relaxed. Mum smiled faintly, and Dad placed a hand on her back, steady and kind. They looked at each other, completely unaware of the weight I had just carried alone.

I stepped forward and hugged them both, wrapping my arms around them tightly. Just once. Just for a second. Neither of them reacted, but I didn’t care. I needed it. I needed to feel that closeness one last time.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing my face into Mum’s shoulder. “This is the only way. I love you so much.”

They didn’t answer. Of course they didn’t.

I let go.

“You should pack right away,” I said softly, backing away.

They nodded and walked out of the kitchen together, heading upstairs to pack for a trip they didn’t remember planning. Their footsteps faded, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the gentle rain outside.

I didn’t follow them. I couldn’t. Watching them disappear up the stairs felt like watching part of my soul vanish with them.

I leaned against the wall, heart pounding, the tears finally breaking free again.

They were safe now.

But I wasn’t sure I’d ever be whole again.

The silence left in their wake wasn’t just quiet. It was loud. Crushing. It pressed in on me from all sides, making my lungs feel too small, my skin too tight, like the house itself was mourning with me.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, surrounded by shadows of a life I had just erased.

My feet moved on instinct—just a few steps forward—but even that felt wrong, like I was trespassing in a place that no longer belonged to me. The living room still looked the same. The photo frames on the wall still hung straight, holding moments that once defined our lives. But now… they felt like lies. Glimpses into a life that had ended, though no one else knew it.

I raised my wand. My hand trembled.

With a flick of my wrist, I whispered the charm to erase every lingering trace of me. The photos shimmered, their edges softening, their images fading like breath on glass. Our family holidays vanished. Birthdays disappeared. Every clumsy, joyful, loving moment we had captured together blurred out of existence.

As each memory dissolved, a new wound opened inside me.

My knees gave out, and I sank onto the couch—the one we’d curled up on every Christmas Eve to watch old movies, the one where Mum used to braid my hair while we talked about school and dreams and silly little worries. The fabric still held her scent, faint and floral.

I clutched a cushion against my chest and sobbed into it, the sound small and broken, like I was trying to grieve without waking the past.

They were safe. That’s what mattered. I told myself that again and again. But it didn’t quiet the ache.

What kind of daughter erases herself?

I didn’t have an answer. Only pain. Only the empty echo of a goodbye they would never remember saying.

Then—footsteps. I looked up, startled. My heart leapt and shattered all at once.

It was them.

They stood in the doorway, their bags in hand. They looked content. Calm. Their smiles were soft and easy, untouched by the pain I was drowning in. They didn’t know me anymore. They had no reason to look at me twice.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My throat closed around the words I wanted to say.

I love you.

Please remember me.

Please—just once—say my name.

But they wouldn’t. They were already gone.

And when they turned and stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind them, the finality of it all struck me like a curse. They would board that plane to Australia and build a life free of fear, free of magic, and free of me.

I stood slowly, dragging my feet toward the window like I was moving through molasses. My hands pressed against the cold glass as I watched them walk away. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t afford to miss even one last second.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The sun broke through the clouds, casting golden light over the flowerbed.

Freesias.

Mum’s favourite. She planted them every spring, whispering stories about what they meant—innocence, thoughtfulness, and trust. She used to tuck one behind my ear as I read in the garden, smiling at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Now she wouldn’t remember the flowers. Or the stories. Or me.

My eyes found a single freesia—violet and wild—standing tall in the breeze. It looked like it had no business blooming in this late season, yet there it was. Defiant. Just like her. Just like me.

My lips parted, the breath catching in my throat. “Mum,” I whispered. The word cracked as it left me.

There would be no reply. No comforting hug. No warm tea waiting on the kitchen counter.

Just a girl who loved too much, who gave too much, who had nothing left but ghosts.

I pressed my forehead to the glass. The sun was warm, but it couldn’t reach me. Not where I was now—not in the hollowed-out place this choice had carved into me.

It was time.

I took one last look—burning it all into memory: the couch, the walls, the photos that were no longer there, and the single freesia blooming against all odds. I wanted to remember this moment forever, even if it tore me apart.

I turned, lifting my wand. My breath shuddered as I exhaled. The world swirled around me—colours melting into each other, the room slipping away like a fading dream.

And then I was gone.

The house was empty.

The memories were erased.

But my love for them… that would never leave me.