FicWad

July 1997

The train window was flooded with sunlight, its golden hues breaking through the veil of my anxiety as we drew closer to London. The warmth against my skin felt like a gentle kiss, a moment of comfort amidst the swirling thoughts in my mind. I glanced sideways at Ron Weasley, who sat beside me, his comforting grip on my hand a beacon of solidarity. He had been animatedly observing the countryside unfold beyond the glass, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of returning home, while Harry Potter appeared burdened by invisible chains, his shoulders heavy with worries I could almost see but never quite grasp.

I had been so eager for this day—reunion, home, a fleeting respite from the chaos of our lives. But as I took in Harry's distant gaze fixed downward, worry bloomed in my chest. I felt a familiar ache, one I had grown to understand over the years. How many times had I watched him navigate a world littered with loss? Sirius Black had been ripped from him far too soon, only to be replaced by Dumbledore's heartbreaking death. The very thought of Harry enduring such heartache made my stomach twist. Two years had passed, but it felt as if we had been trapped in a relentless storm, each wave more ferocious than the last. Even the search for the Horcrux in the cave had failed, a cruel turn of events. Why was life so unfair to him?

I reached out, instinctively placing my hand atop Harry’s, hoping my gesture would offer some infinitesimal comfort. For an instant, his emerald eyes met mine—a flicker of gratitude before he retreated into silence once more. It was a bittersweet reminder that while he was the brave hero of our story, even heroes need saving sometimes.

“Harry’s strong,” Ron murmured, nudging me gently. I could see the concern etched across his face—even with his cheerful demeanour, he wore his heart on his sleeve. “He’ll be alright, Hermione.”

I hoped he was right. But the uncertainty of our plans loomed like a black cloud, feeding my anxiety. Harry had refused our offer to join his quest for the Horcruxes, his stubbornness a shield against the very friendship that had always been our greatest strength. He was determined to protect us, pushing us away to shield us from the darkness. I admired his bravery but also felt the pang of helplessness that came with it.

My heart raced as I realised how willing I was to put my friend's well-being first, even at my own risk. Harry's determination to protect us was comforting, but we were equally concerned about his safety.

“Harry,” I implored one night, “we’re in this together. You don’t have to carry the burden alone.” His refusal felt like a fracture in our trio, and the idea of being apart in the face of danger tore at my heart.

As the Hogwarts Express slowed, weaving through the familiar sights of home, I closed my eyes, taking in the comfort of the moment. The cacophony of laughter and chatter from the other students faded into a distant hum. Soon, we would step back into our lives, a realm free of the wizarding world and dark magic, at least for a moment.

On the platform, a sea of familiar faces greeted us—all waiting and hoping. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley beamed at us, their arms wide and hearts open, while my own parents waved eagerly, blissfully unaware of the tumult brewing just outside their bubble. My heart surged at the sight, an overwhelming rush of love and gratitude washing over me.

I approached them, ready to embrace the warmth of home and the comfort of safety. I wanted to share everything I had experienced and the horrors I had witnessed. But what words could encapsulate that weight? Guilt swept through me, a reminder of the burdens my friends bore—the grief, the loss, and the shadows lurking at the edges of our lives.

As I clung to my parents, tears of both joy and sorrow streamed down my cheeks. They held me tightly, forgetting time and place. Even the enormity of our experiences could not extinguish the joy of being together.

Reluctantly, I released them from my embrace and turned back to Ron and Harry. I could see the unspoken tensions lingering between us, heavy in the air.

“Keep in touch, alright?” I said, reaching for Ron and then Harry. Our farewells were tinged with both promise and uncertainty.

“Stay safe,” I whispered as my parents began leading me towards the exit.

As I sat in the backseat of our car, gliding through the bustling streets of London, I could hardly hear my parents' chatter about school and upcoming exams over the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in my mind. They tried to engage me in conversation, but I was miles away, lost in plans and possibilities. I was still reeling from the weight of what it meant to be friends with Harry—the Chosen One, they called him. It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t trade my place beside him and Ron for anything in the world.

I rolled down the window, allowing the cool breeze to tousle my hair. The gentle wind felt like a breath of fresh air, encouraging me to relax and forget the worries that came with being swept into a world of magic, danger, and destiny. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the sunlight streaming down on me represented more than just warmth—it represented hope. Today was beautiful, with clear skies and the soft buzz of summer lingering in the atmosphere, and I couldn’t afford to let it slip by while I was busy worrying over duels and plans.

Finally, we arrived home. It was a scene that would appear ordinary to most—a charming, ivy-covered Georgian house. But to me, it held a special magic. The gravel path crunched under my parents' feet, a sound that etched itself into my memory like a favourite song. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Mr. Weasley discovering our automatic sprinklers—what a delight that would be! Only he could turn something as mundane as watering the garden into a fantastical spectacle.

As I stepped through the door, I was greeted by an all-too familiar sight. The soft lights glowing through our tall windows wrapped the room in a warm embrace, casting gentle shadows on my plush carpet. Everything felt just as it had when I left for Hogwarts—scattered family photos, the neat stack of books on my desk, and my iron canopy bed draped in rosebud wallpaper. My room was anything but cluttered—unlike Ron’s with his Quidditch posters and magical memorabilia. I took pride in my organised space, especially now as I prepared for the journey ahead.

With thoughts racing, I began to pack, my mind a flurry of anticipation and trepidation. I focused on the essentials I couldn't take with me, items I would miss, and those that would remain untouched in my room: my beloved library of spell books, treasured notes from friends, and all the comforts of home. Dates danced across my mind—Harry's upcoming birthday and the long-awaited wedding of Bill and Fleur. I felt a warmth flutter in my chest at the thought of celebrations amidst the turmoil—the trivial magic of love and commitment that could still shine through the darkness.

It amazed me how, even in the midst of war, the Weasley and Delacour families could find joy in such moments. The upcoming wedding would be a patch of comfort, a brief escape from our harsh reality. It inspired hope—a flicker of light in an otherwise dim world. I could see it now: the laughter shared, the family gathered around, the sense of normalcy that would momentarily wrap around us like a protective cloak. Though we faced challenges that would surely try our resolve, this celebration would remind us of what we were fighting for—the love binding us all together.

Instead of unpacking, I decided to take a shower. The warm water cascaded down my back, releasing the tension in my muscles. I wished that all of my worries and fears could be washed away as easily as the water flowing down the drain. However, the familiar clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen interrupted my thoughts.

When I stepped out, the delicious aroma of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding wafted through the air, wrapping me in a comforting embrace. I just knew my parents had gone overboard again with the amount of food they prepared—Ron would undoubtedly appreciate their hospitality.

As I walked downstairs, my heart lightened at the sound of their friendly banter. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching them argue over trivial matters, like which side dish complemented the roast and which china plate matched the table setting. Their light-hearted bickering had a way of making the world feel right again, if only for a moment.

At the kitchen entrance, my mother glanced up at me, and her face lit up with a smile that warmed my heart. "Your dad and I thought we’d cook your favourite dishes for dinner tonight," she said cheerfully.

Sitting comfortably at the table, my father added with a wink, "We thought you might be missing it," as he reached for his water glass. His gaze travelled to the expression on my face, and I couldn't help but grin.

"Thanks," I replied, though a part of me felt guilty. I had indulged in more than my fair share of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at Hogwarts, but the familiarity of home made every bite tastier. "You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

While my mother sliced the roast beef and piled it on my plate, I caught a glimpse of her freckled hands and the way they deftly manoeuvred the knife with culinary precision. The familiar scent of freesia filled the air, unmistakably her signature fragrance, and it triggered fond memories of our garden blooming in the summertime. This was our favourite flower, one that she tended with the same care she showed in nurturing me.

"You look a little pale," she noted suddenly, her usual calm demeanour giving way to concern as her emerald eyes searched mine. For a fleeting moment, her gaze was intense, a stark resemblance to Harry when he was caught in thought, focused and unwavering.

"It’s nothing," I said after a moment of hesitation. "Just a little tired," I explained, hoping desperation didn’t ooze from my words. I needed to mask the whirlwind of emotions surging within me.

However, to my surprise, my parents reacted differently than I had expected. There was tension in their bodies as they shared worried glances.

"Your time at Hogwarts must have really taken a toll on you," my father ventured, leaning closer to examine me. "It seems like the workload you took on to excel has left you completely exhausted. So, I thought it would be a good idea to cook your favourite meal tonight to relieve some of your stress."

I smiled back at him, appreciating the effort behind his kindness. But the gratitude barely scratched the surface of my swirling anxiety. Deep down, a storm raged. I wanted to tell them everything, to reveal the secrets I held close—the heavy burden of my friends and me preparing to fight against You-Know-Who. The weight of responsibility felt suffocating, as if a boulder had lodged itself on my chest, and I struggled to breathe, slumping slightly in my chair.

Then, a gentle hand touched my shoulder, as comforting as it was questioning. "What’s bothering you, sweetheart?" my mother asked, her concerned gaze piercing through the veil I had draped over my emotions. She held my gaze longer than usual, her eyes searching for something—an honesty, a piece of my struggle I wouldn’t allow myself to share.

My stomach churned at the thought of what I had kept hidden. "I guess today's journey back home just exhausted me. But I’m better now," I admitted, forcing a smile that felt like a paper mask, ready to crumble beneath the weight of the truth.

They exchanged another worried glance, and I could practically feel the knot tightening in my throat. Here they were, wrapping me in love and warmth, and yet I was caught in a stranglehold of fear and silence. I wanted to reach out, to let them in on the second life I was leading, filled with potions, spells, and looming danger. But the fortress I had built around myself seemed insurmountable.

My mother always knew how I felt. Her intense gaze felt as if it could see right through me. I shifted my attention to my plate, avoiding her gaze, feeling as if the delicious roast beef I had been so looking forward to was now a mountain of uneaten thoughts.

“That's good,” she said, giving me a knowing glance. “But I have a feeling there’s more to it.”

Before I could respond, she asked, “Is it about a boy?”

I looked at her, surprised. “What? No, Mum! Why would you think that?” My voice came out a little too defensively, but for some reason, the thought of Ron immediately made my heart race, and not in the way I wanted.

Her smile returned, warm and knowing. “Oh, honey. Ron’s glances at you in the train station said it all. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. That means something, doesn’t it?”

I furrowed my brow, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. “Ron…” I trailed off, struggling to find the right words to convey my complicated thoughts about him.

My mum tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting as if probing deeper. It was partially endearing, partially terrifying. While I admired Ron’s unwavering loyalty and felt comforted by him, I couldn’t escape the worry that being in a relationship with him would make us more susceptible to You-Know-Who’s manipulations. I knew far too well that love could be weaponised, and my heart ached at the thought of not being able to protect him if something went wrong.

I let out a heavy sigh and avoided eye contact with my parents. The clinking of forks faded into a blur. The room felt suddenly smaller, filled with unspoken words and heavy tensions.

“We understand that you may not be ready to talk about it,” my dad said calmly, his voice soothing. “And that’s okay. We respect your privacy.”

I lifted my head and saw my mum offering me a reassuring smile, her eyes softening with understanding. “Just know that we always thought highly of Ron. We know he deeply cares for you. If you two decide to date, he has our full approval.”

My dad nodded in agreement, his expression mixed with pride and a hint of worry, perhaps sensing the gravity of the conversation.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My face froze in shock, my mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. Approval? From my parents? I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether to leap or retreat.

“Uh, I—” I stammered, trying to find the right way to respond. I wanted to force a smile during this delicate conversation, but it felt more like an awkward grimace.

“Let’s not let the food get cold, shall we?” My mum suggested, gently squeezing my cheek before planting a kiss on my forehead. Her comfort was a slight balm against my tangled feelings.

As we resumed our meal, I couldn’t shake the disconnect between my heart and my mind. Ron was a friend, a fierce ally, someone who had been there through the darkest times. But could he become something more, knowing all the dangers that lay ahead of us? What if loving him put him right in the crosshairs of the very danger we were trying to fight against?

I looked up from my plate, stealing a furtive glance at my parents. Their expressions were casual, blissfully unaware of the battlefield in my head. In that moment, it hit me—perhaps the most dangerous part of it all wasn’t the prospect of losing Ron to You-Know-Who but losing my chance at happiness because I was too afraid to take that leap.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing despite the comforting aroma. Gathering my courage felt like trying to lift a mountain—heavy but necessary. I couldn’t keep Ron a secret any longer, not after the quiet months of shared smiles and stolen glances.

Clearing my throat, I finally managed, “I’m dating Ron.”

The words hung in the air like firecrackers on a still night, waiting to explode. My mother’s eyes widened, and a smile split across her face. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, turning to my dad with that gleeful delight that only a parent can summon. “We should invite him over for dinner sometime, so we can get to know him better.”

I don’t know what startled me more—her enthusiasm or the sudden crashing realisation of how serious this was becoming. My fork slipped from my hand, clattering against my plate in protest. “Wait, what? Hold on—”

But Dad interrupted my spiralling thoughts with an approving nod. “That’s a great idea. We haven’t had a chance to talk to young Mr. Weasley yet, have we?”

My heart sank as my mother mused aloud. “I reckon the last time we chatted with the Weasleys was four years back at Diagon Alley, right?”

"I think you're spot on," my dad replied. "I quite like them—they strike me as really pleasant folks. Although meeting the father was a bit peculiar." He suddenly turned to me and asked, "His name is Arthur, isn't it?"

“Uh... y-yes,” I stuttered, feeling cornered by their thoughts and memories. Their interest in my life was heartwarming but overwhelming.

Dad nodded thoughtfully. “When I mentioned that we’re dentists, he had this blank look on his face—”

Unable to contain myself, I cut him off, chuckling softly. “Dad, he’s a pure-blood wizard. Most wizards have no clue about Muggle professions. Our world is vastly different. Not many witches or wizards would bother associating with Muggles.”

“Muggles? I feel like I’ve heard that term before.”

“They’re people who lack magical blood or aren’t born into magical families.”

“Oh, right. I remember now.”

Mum finally put her fork down, glancing at her untouched plate, and her voice softened. “I really think the Weasleys are lovely. You and Ron would make a great couple.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Why did the room suddenly feel so warm? “It’s not official yet, Mum. We’re still—”

“I don’t see any reason to delay the inevitable,” she interrupted, her voice imbued with a mother’s certainty. “It’s obvious that he likes you and you like him... or am I mistaken?”

I didn’t know how to respond. In the turmoil of our world, with the threat of You-Know-Who looming over us, keeping my feelings hidden felt like playing a dangerous game. I wasn’t indifferent, but expressing my emotions was complicated.

“It’s alright,” Mum reassured me as if reading the flickering worry in my eyes. “I know it’s not easy, and I don’t want to make it harder. But soon, your true emotions will overcome the confusion.”

Before I could think about it more, Dad chimed in, “We could go to Australia!” Seeing my confusion, he explained, "You need to clear your head. Plus, we haven't taken a trip in a while, and—"

I blinked, caught off guard. “Why Australia?”

My mum shot my dad an exasperated look. “Your father got hooked on those reality shows about beautiful houses in Australia,” she explained, shaking her head with a fond smile. “And he kept bugging me about going there.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Dad suggested, his pride barely contained as he grinned. “We have a couple of weeks off, so why not take a trip?”

Staring at them in disbelief, I tried to process this sudden idea. “You guys are both taking two weeks off work?”

“We were thinking you could come with us...” Dad offered gently, his eyes sparkling with hope. “Spend some quality time together... We were supposed to go skiing last Christmas, but you had exams.”

The prospect was thrilling, yet the weight of responsibilities lingered in the back of my mind. And then, a worrying thought struck me: would being away help hide my family from You-Know-Who?

“What’s up, honey?” my mother asked, concern etched across her face.

I hesitated, gauging the warmth in their eyes, the support I always sought. “Can we hang out here a bit longer until I sort out my plans?” I requested, craving a few more moments of familiarity before plunging into the depths of uncertainty.

Dad laughed. “What plans? It’s summer vacation! School doesn’t start until September.”

“I know it’s still a couple of months away,” I began cautiously, “but we were given a bunch of summer assignments.” I wanted to sound convincing but felt myself faltering. “I’ll finish them quickly,” I assured them with a half-hearted smile. “Let me wrap it up first, and then we can go on a trip.”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” Mum said kindly, her tone soothing. “Just give us the word when you’re ready.”

After a satisfying meal, my parents turned down my offer to help with the cleanup, telling me to relax instead. With no plans for the evening, I headed straight to my room, the silence wrapping around me like an old, familiar blanket. It wasn't the kind of silence that felt uncomfortable but one that invited introspection. As I stepped inside, Crookshanks was there to greet me, his big yellow eyes shining like lanterns in the dim light.

"Oh, Crookshanks..." I murmured, bending down to stroke him. He pressed himself against my legs, making that comforting purring sound, and for a moment, everything felt right. He had a way of sensing exactly what I needed—his affection was like therapy, softening the sharp edges of the day’s worries.

How would I ever manage without you? The thought crept in unexpectedly. In a few weeks, I would be leaving for the Burrow, and Crookshanks would have to stay behind. I could hardly imagine a summer without him by my side. But I pushed the thought aside; at least I had Ron and Harry to rely on. They were my anchor, and I knew we’d have our adventures, even if Crookshanks wouldn’t be there to witness them.

I began the tedious task of unpacking my trunk, the familiar odour of old parchment and books wafting up to meet me. Item by item, I removed my belongings, but soon enough, my room resembled a small tornado’s aftermath. Books lay stacked precariously on the edge of my desk, clothes found their way onto the floor, and for a brief moment, I considered casting a cleaning spell to restore order. However, my wand flicked ineffectively, and the spell fizzled out like a damp firework, leaving me with no choice but to tidy up manually.

Once I managed to create a semblance of order, I realised I was left with nothing to do. Restlessness crept in, so I glanced out the window and was surprised to see the moonlight streaming into our backyard garden through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the night like a blanket of silvery stars.

I made my way outside, shoving my hands into the pockets of my pyjamas as I walked. Settling onto the sturdy wooden swing, it groaned slightly as it protested under my weight, its creaking a welcome reminder of its history. This swing, crafted by my dad for my mum during her pregnancy with me, had become a cherished piece of my childhood. I could picture her sitting here in her sun-soaked afternoons, dreaming and waiting for the sunset.

Leaning my cheek against the rough rope that looped around the ancient oak tree, I peered through the window and caught glimpses of my mum, engrossed in her book, the warm glow of the lamp wrapping her in a cocoon of light. She always managed to lose herself in novels that took her far away from our little world, yet somehow she always returned just in time to comfort me.

Closing my eyes, I ran my fingers through my hair, the gentle breeze brushing against my cheek like a loving whisper. Taking a deep breath, I held it for a moment, feeling the tension in my shoulders melt away as I released it slowly. Opening my eyes, I marvelled at the beauty surrounding me. The evening had a particular charm; the delicate scent of summer leaves danced on the air, and the rustling of the trees whispered sweet secrets that only I could hear.

In this moment of solitude, I felt deeply connected to my surroundings: the moon hung high in the sky, a glowing guardian, and the stars twinkled faintly like the far-away laughter of friends. The world felt immense yet intimate, cradling me in that fragile balance.

I didn’t know what awaited me at the Burrow—what adventures my friends and I would weave or what trials we would face. But I felt grounded, knowing that the memories of these quiet evenings would nourish my spirit as I stepped into whatever came next. Crookshanks jumped up beside me, as if sensing my thoughts, and I smiled, grateful for the companionship that ground me in this fleeting moment of peace.

"Ready for another summer adventure, Crookshanks?" I asked softly, scratching behind his ear. He purred in reply, and as I sat there on the swing, the comforting weight of his presence beside me, I knew that I was ready too.

My attention was momentarily diverted by the sliding door opening to reveal my dad, stepping onto the deck as though he were entering an entirely different world. The warm glow from within our cosy house cast a soft light on him, but as he spotted me tucked away in the shadows of the old oak tree, concern washed over his features.

“Hermione, is that you?” He called out, his voice gentle but laced with the unspoken worry that tugged at my heart. “What are you doing over there?”

“Just enjoying some fresh air,” I replied, forcing a smile that I hoped masked the storm brewing within. I knew he would join me soon—he never missed an opportunity to spend time together.

Sure enough, my parents emerged, each one balancing a cup of chocolate ice cream in hand—a sweet game we played on warm nights like these. My mum handed me one, her eyes dancing with the warmth that I loved so much. They settled down next to me, my dad leaning back against the tree with his treat while casting glances at the moon.

“I was just thinking...” he started, watching the silver glow above. “The last time you were out here, you were eleven. That’s when you received your Hogwarts letter. You were so excited, giggling and jumping around.”

I felt a smile creep across my face at the memory. It was a whirlwind of excitement, a cascade of confetti emotions—fear, joy, wonder—that I’d never quite known before. That letter had been the beginning of everything for me. Harry, Ron, the adventures that shook the very foundation of my life as a witch. It felt like a lifetime ago.

But amid the nostalgia was a more pervasive feeling, a deep longing that seemed to sit heavy in my chest. My parents had watched me evolve, and I knew they must sense I was not the same spirited girl running in circles back then.

“When you got your acceptance letter,” Dad continued, tipping his head back slightly. “We knew you had a special gift. While I may not know all the details of your school achievements, seeing your grades has filled us with pride and happiness. But as I see you lost in thought now, I can’t help but wonder—has something important happened lately?”

Concern etched his features, and I could see the line between worry and understanding upon his brow. My gaze drifted to the stars, twinkling overhead like little eyes trying to peer into my soul. My heart felt heavy with repressed anxieties; it would take another tidal wave of courage to lay my troubles bare.

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad,” I lied, taking a small bite of my ice cream. The taste was sickly sweet, and I forced down my emotions along with the chocolate.

Dad arched an eyebrow, not buying my half-hearted assurance. “Getting fresh air usually means something’s bothering you that you don’t want to share with us.”

I slouched deeper into the swing, letting my feet drag across the wooden floorboards. My nerves began to play a familiar game of tug-of-war.

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” Mum intervened, her soft voice like a touch in a storm. “You haven’t talked about school or friends, not even in your letters. Is everything alright?”

I hesitated, caught between my desire for privacy and the warmth of their concern. Bringing up recent events would only invite more questions, and the last thing I wanted was to relive the weight of those moments.

“I don’t have much to share,” I replied slowly. “Just focusing on our N.E.W.T. exams in our final year at Hogwarts.” I winced at my own words. While exams were looming, surviving the upcoming war was a bigger concern. More than the tests, the threat of You-Know-Who pressing on our lives filled my mind.

"Is that necessary for a career in the wizarding world after graduation?" Dad enquired, adjusting his glasses as though trying to read between the lines of my gaze.

"No, not really... but only certain professions require passing the exams," I explained, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy. "It’s incredibly challenging... and it’s crucial for me to pass them. I'll practically be living in the library now that I’ve mentioned them," I added with a self-deprecating chuckle, picturing Harry and Ron’s amused reactions to my study habits.

"What career are you considering?" my mum asked, her brow slightly creased with intrigue.

“Well...” I began thoughtfully, grateful for the distraction. “I’m thinking of applying to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—that’s part of the Ministry of Magic,” I clarified, noticing my parents’ puzzled expressions.

"Magical creatures?" Mum echoed, her curiosity piqued.

“Yes. This might surprise both of you…” I cautioned before slowly revealing some of the creatures I'd encountered. "There really are dragons, unicorns, giants, phoenixes, and even werewolves living in our world."

Dad’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You enjoy working with these creatures? Aren’t they dangerous?”

I shook my head, the image of Fluffy, Hagrid’s three-headed dog, whipping through my thoughts. “We try to keep our distance from any dangerous ones, but not all creatures are aggressive. When you think about it, we all have our own forms of defence. Even the most colourful Flobberworm just wants to munch on some lettuce in peace."

"Why did you decide to apply to that department?" Mum asked, surprised. “I never expected you to have an interest in working with magical creatures. I thought you would follow in our footsteps as dentists, taking care of people’s teeth, not dealing with talons or extracting poisons.”

I laughed, imagining myself in a dental chair, trying to tell someone they need a root canal while dodging a hungry Chimaera. “I won’t be extracting anything, Mum. But I do want to contribute to the better treatment of house-elves.”

“House-elves?” she questioned, tilting her head as if I’d mentioned a new breed of iguana.

“House-elves are magical beings who are bound to serve wizards and witches. It’s like they’re enslaved," I explained, my voice faltering. The thought of their plight swept over me like an eerie fog.

Mum’s expression turned serious, a frown creasing her forehead. “That sounds awful. How do you plan on helping them?”

“Well,” I began earnestly, my heart fluttering with both excitement and anxiety. “I started a group called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare at Hogwarts during my fourth year. It didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped. Not many people wanted to join… Only Harry and Ron did.”

“If your friends joined, it means they believe in what you’re doing,” Dad chimed in, his eyes lighting up with encouragement.

“But they’re my friends,” I retorted, still unsure. “Maybe they only joined to make me stop bothering them.”

Dad chuckled as he scooped another spoonful of ice cream. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Mum placed a comforting hand on my knee. "They know you have good intentions. It’s nice that they joined, regardless of your opinion."

I grinned, pondering her words. "Thanks, Mum. I believe I’ve made progress in freeing house-elves by leaving knitted hats and socks around for them to find—and they did."

Confused, Dad inquired. “What happens when they find them?”

“It sets them free.”

He tilted his head in thought. “Hmm.”

“Better finish your ice cream before it melts,” Mum reminded me with a smile, breaking my momentary stare into the abyss of my thoughts.

As I savoured my ice cream, I saw, to my surprise, the vibrant buds adorning the flowerbed that hung near the window.

"Mum," I said, drawing her attention. "Are those flowers freesias?"

"Yes, they are," she confirmed, noticing where I was looking. "I planted a bunch of them, hoping they would bloom this season. I've been making more of an effort to stay on top of watering and other plant maintenance."

“Your hard work has paid off—they’re now budding beautifully.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Seeing even a couple fully bloomed freesias would delight me greatly.”

“You will, my dear," Dad said reassuringly. "You never know—perhaps the flowers will start blooming like crazy tomorrow.”

We continued chatting outside for a little while longer. We no longer discussed school or the Wizarding world; instead, my parents shared stories about their lives while I was away, tales of their younger years, and odd encounters they'd experienced. It was comforting.

That night, I went to bed late, comforted by the knowledge that my parents were doing well. As I settled into the familiar contours of my bedding, my mind drifted. Underneath the surface of my worries about N.E.W.T.s, I found solace in my determination to forge a path that was my own, one where I could protect magical creatures and those like the house-elves before I surrendered to the gentle pull of sleep.

Sunlight poured into my room as I wiped away the sleep from my eyes. I lay in bed, contemplating the couple of days I had already spent meticulously packing for the long journey with Harry and Ron. Going over my checklist, I made sure we had all the essentials—potions, sleeping bags, and the like. My gaze shifted to the stack of books on the floor, which I had read countless times and deemed necessary to bring along; they could prove to be invaluable during our adventure.

Just the thought of the trip already left me feeling drained. There was still so much preparation to be done, not to mention mastering new defensive and offensive spells. I had tackled some complex ones and practiced the wand movements, but I couldn't help but wish Harry was here; he would know exactly what we needed in case we encountered a Death Eater or any other life-threatening situation.

Letting out a deep sigh, I stretched and got out of bed, catching a whiff of sizzling bacon that instantly made my stomach growl. Breakfast first, then.

As I entered the kitchen, I found my mum standing by the stove, flipping pancakes. I took a seat, and she asked, "Pancakes or waffles?"

“Pancakes, please,” I replied, grateful for the simplicity of such a comforting choice.

My mum paused her cooking and looked at me expectantly. I glanced at her with a tinge of sadness, mustering up the courage before asking, "Mum, about the trip… could we just stay home instead?”

"Of course, sweetie," she responded, warmth enveloping her voice.

"Do you think Dad will be upset?" I nervously asked.

"Don't worry about your father," my mum reassured me with a smile. "I'll have a talk with him. He'll understand."

“But he was so excited about going to Australia,” I pushed back, the weight of disappointment heavy in my chest.

"Just because he saw some nice houses there doesn't mean we have to rush and visit right away. That would be ridiculous!" My mother scoffed. "No, I'm sure he only suggested it because he noticed how conflicted you seemed."

I slouched deeper into my kitchen chair, my head finding refuge on the table's cool surface. My mum blinked at me, utterly confused by my sudden bout of weariness. "I’m sorry," I muttered, an apology that felt detached from its intent.

“Why are you apologising?” she asked, her brow knitting closer.

Before I could muster up a reason that wouldn’t alarm her further, my mum’s curious expression was interrupted by the sudden jingle of an early morning call. I shot up, startled, glancing at the clock. Who could be calling at this hour?

Curiosity bubbled within me, urging me to grab the phone. "Hello, Hermione Granger speaking," I answered.

“Hey, Hermione!” came Ron’s deep voice, a sound that washed over me like a wave of familiarity. I froze momentarily, caught off guard, and yet comforted.

“Hello?” He repeated, breaking through my fog of surprise.

“Hey, Ron,” I replied, a mixture of relief and concern surfacing through the confusion that had clouded my morning.

“How’s it going?” he asked casually, but I could detect the underlying urgency.

“Good, just a bit shocked that you’re up so early. Is everything okay?” I prodded, sensing something was unsettling behind his chipper tone.

“Well, that depends on how you see it,” he said mysteriously.

I furrowed my brow, an involuntary premonition of anxiety creeping in. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Order meetings,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

"And?" I pressed, impatient for clarity.

"And they need you at Grimmauld Place. Apparently, they've come up with a plan to rescue Harry from Privet Drive."

A rush of emotions stormed through me, all jumbled. “What’s the plan?” I demanded, leaning against the sofa as my heart raced.

"I don't know yet. Mad-Eye wants you to come over first before he spills the beans. He's being super secretive about it."

"Did he mention when they plan on getting Harry?"

“Something close to his birthday,” Ron said. “He wasn’t very specific on the date.”

My chest tightened. How could they ask me to leave now, on the brink of something—I almost said monumental, but I didn’t want to think that way. “When do they want me there?” I asked, dreading the answer.

"Would you be able to come as soon as possible? Maybe this coming weekend? They want to finalise the plan quickly.” His voice was hopeful. “You could stay here at the Burrow until it’s time for us and Harry to—” he lowered his voice, “—leave.”

A heavy sigh escaped me, carrying the weight of my conflicting feelings.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Ron’s voice was softer now, tinged with concern that made my heartache worse.

“Yeah... I’m just—” I trailed off, choosing my words with caution.

“Just what?”

“Nothing... it—it doesn’t matter.” My voice broke, betraying the laughter and plans I had made with my parents.

“Hermione...”

Surrendering to a moment of vulnerability, I murmured, “I’m thinking of spending more time with my parents before we hunt you-know-what.”

“Oh... right. Sorry, I forgot,” he said quickly. “I understand. I could talk to Mad-Eye. I’m sure he’ll say it’s fine.”

The relief that washed over me was a soothing balm. I smiled, hoping it radiated through the receiver. “Thanks, Ron.”

"Don't mention it... See you soon... Oh, and—Hermione?"

"Yes?"

Another pause hung in the air, a space filled with unsaid words and feelings.

“I—” Ron hesitated; the silence suddenly heavy and almost melancholic. “I miss you,” he said softly.

Before I could find the words I wanted to say—or even find a response that felt appropriate—the line went dead.

My mum glanced at me with worry as I slouched back in my seat, feeling dazed. “Was that Ron? Is everything alright?” she asked, her eyes searching my face for reassurance.

I nodded, unable to find my voice. The knot in my throat tightened, making it impossible to elaborate on the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

“How is he?” My mum’s concern was evident, and it pained me not being able to share with her what Ron had told me. There were things my parents couldn’t know—secrets I had to guard fiercely, especially now.

“Fine,” I responded simply. The word tasted stale on my tongue. “Ron’s brother Bill is getting married in August.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” My mum exclaimed, her enthusiasm brightening the room, but I felt the weight of an impending shadow.

“Yes... but there’s a lot of preparations going on... and Harry’s seventeenth birthday is approaching soon." I paused, taking a breath, battling the questions forming in her mind. “Ron invited me to come over whenever I can and stay with them until term starts in September.”

I bit my lip, fully aware of how that might sound. The warmth of the Weasley household was inviting, and part of me wanted to dive into it completely. Yet, the icy grip of reality held me back.

“That’s really kind of him,” my mother remarked, beaming with motherly warmth. “You should go.”

I stared blankly, unable to summon the happiness and excitement I knew I should be feeling.

“What’s the matter?” my mum asked, noticing my silence, the concern now deepening into something more profound.

My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice. I hadn’t technically lied, but the uncertainty of our survival gnawed at me. The very fact that I wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts this year settled like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

“Honey, it’s just a wedding and a birthday party, not a funeral. And you’ll be with the Weasleys—with Ron,” she said firmly, her voice almost a plea for me to align with the excitement that radiated from her. “It’s not like you’re doing anything that could break our hearts.”

Her words hit me like a gust of wind, nearly stopping my heart. I wished I could claim ignorance and be the carefree girl she believed me to be, but I couldn’t. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed," I confessed, wiping away a stray tear, the wetness a betrayal of my stoic facade.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. I felt like I was falling, like I was letting them down. I longed to escape, to bury my face in my mum’s embrace and plead for forgiveness without uttering a single word. But I understood that it wasn’t that easy.

My mum gently squeezed my shoulders, her touch both comforting and constricting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I knew it was her subtle attempt to coax me into revealing my heart, though I had never felt comfortable doing so. She was perceptive and could read people well, especially me. I was certain she would persist with her gentle prodding until I finally shared my thoughts, but I couldn’t bear the thought of speaking the truth. Not yet.

When our eyes met, I shook my head and gave her a weak smile, letting her know I still wasn’t ready. The enormity of my internal battles loomed like the heavy clouds that threatened a storm, but for now, I needed to keep that tempest under wraps.

Mum’s gentle smile faltered ever-so-slightly when I didn’t open up about my feelings. She seemed a bit disappointed, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she suggested, “Why don’t you finish your breakfast first, and then I’ll show you the perfect dress for the wedding? How does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful for the diversion. I finished my meal quickly and made my way to my parents’ bedroom, excitement bubbling in my chest.

When I stepped inside, my eyes immediately landed on the beautiful lilac dress hanging against the backdrop of their vintage decor. It had a silky slip that shimmered under the light, elegantly overlaid with delicate antique lace that formed a charming scalloped neckline. It was stunning.

Mum’s face lit up, her joy radiating like the sun. “Oh, you’re going to have the time of your life once you put on this dress. I just know it!”

“It’s absolutely perfect!” I gasped, unable to contain my excitement. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course! Go ahead!” Mum encouraged, her eyes sparkling with delight.

I hurried into the bathroom, my heart racing as I slipped into the dress. I couldn’t help but picture everyone’s reaction, especially Ron’s. Would he like how I looked? Would I finally feel confident enough to talk to him without second-guessing myself? I shook off the nervous thoughts and focused on how the dress felt against my skin.

A few moments later, I stepped back out. Mum’s anticipation was clear. “You look stunning,” she breathed. “I’m sure Ron won’t be able to take his eyes off you when he sees you in this.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and butterflies danced in my stomach. The idea of impressing Ron was intertwined with an anxious hope. I’d never had that inside me before—this desire to not only look beautiful but to captivate someone I admired.

Just then, my dad burst through the door, and I felt my heart skip a beat at his surprised expression. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, settling beside Mum on the edge of their bed. “I haven’t seen that dress in ages.”

Mum chuckled, pride evident in her voice. “I only wore this dress once when your dad and I were dating. Now that it doesn’t fit me anymore, I thought I’d pass it on to you.”

“I still remember the first time I saw you in that dress,” Dad said with a touch of nostalgia. “It was one of the happiest moments of my life.”

My mum glanced at the vintage dress I was wearing, then looked back at my dad, a hint of shyness in her eyes.

"You're such a hopeless romantic," Mum teased before changing the subject. “Oh, and Ron called! He invited Hermione to his brother’s wedding! She’ll be at the Burrow until September!”

"Really?" my dad exclaimed.

“Dad, what do you think of the dress?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me as I bit my lip apprehensively.

He met my gaze, his warm, brown eyes glowing with fatherly love. “You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart. It’s hard to believe my little girl has grown into a young woman.” With theatrical flair, he added, “Before I know it, some lucky guy will come along and sweep you off your feet. That’ll surely break this old heart of mine.”

I burst into laughter. “Come on, Dad. Don’t be so dramatic!”

But just as I tried to compose myself, Dad grabbed my hand and twirled me around, causing me to giggle uncontrollably. “Well, I demand the honour of having the first dance with my daughter.”

“Your father has always been light on his feet,” Mum said with a warm chuckle.

“You bet!” Dad declared proudly, puffing his chest out in mock seriousness.

Mum stood up suddenly, her eyes lighting up as she remembered something. “Oh! I almost forgot..." She reached into her dresser drawer and pulled out a small box. “Since you’ll be staying at the Burrow before heading straight to Hogwarts, your father and I wanted to give you this—a little birthday present.”

As I lifted the lid, a delicate necklace caught my eye. It captured my breath—the pendant shaped like a teardrop, sparkling with a magnificent glass design. Tiny freesia flowers danced gracefully within, illuminated by the sunlight that streamed through the window.

“It would go perfectly with your dress,” Mum exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion.

I was at a loss for words. The necklace, a cherished family heirloom, felt like a tangible piece of love and tradition. I’d seen it before when I was just a child, and I never imagined it would one day belong to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, tears misting my eyes as I embraced my parents tightly, wanting them to know just how much they meant to me.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been almost eighteen years, huh?” My dad’s voice seemed to echo in the quiet room as we pulled apart from the hug. “You’re practically an adult now.”

The familiar pang of sadness hit me, forcing my heart to clench tightly. “I can’t believe how fast time has flown,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I wish things were different.”

“Different? What would you change?” My mum asked, curiosity lighting her eyes.

I turned my gaze away, trying to mask the tear that threatened to spill. “If you mean in my life, I think I would have cherished the moments more with you and Dad when I had the opportunity.”

The truth hung between us like a fragile thread, and suddenly, the tears began to fall before I could hold them back. I quickly wiped them away, but my cheeks still felt damp.

“Oh, Hermione…” Mum whispered, gathering me into a tight embrace.

It took a while for my heartbeat to slow and for the warmth of their love to wash over me until I felt steady again. As I glanced up, I was met with the concerned expressions on my parents’ faces, their eyes reflecting a tenderness that made my heart ache more.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Dad asked, and his question shattered the calm silence enveloping us.

I hesitated, my breath hitching in my throat. I had to be honest with them after days of anxiety clawing at my insides. Concealing the truth felt heavy and lodged in my chest like a stone. How would they react to the news of You-Know-Who’s comeback? Would it lead to understanding or set forth a current of pain that would tug us all under? That thought pressed down on me.

As I lowered my head, tracing the outline of a glass pendant my dad had given me on a whim, I struggled to find the right words. Some truths are beyond words. I felt like I was betraying them. Harry’s frustration with Dumbledore’s secrets echoed in my mind, and I feared losing trust—like Harry had. I didn't want the past to repeat itself.

“I know I’ve been really busy with school,” I murmured, my gaze following the sunlight streaming through the window, as if it would somehow illuminate the path ahead. “I haven’t been writing letters like I used to. I mean…” I trailed off, knowing nothing I said would ease the tension.

Dad placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “Your mum and I never thought any less of you,” he said softly. “Actually, we’re proud of how well you’re doing in school.”

Mum smiled warmly, interjecting, “And we still have lots of time to plan new adventures!”

I let out a sigh and began to relax, the weight easing just a fraction.

Dad glanced at me, his expression suddenly more playful. “Don’t worry too much. Everything will work out. Plus, I have a surprise for you that I think you’ll like.”

Curiosity piqued, we made our way to the garage. Dad flung open the trunk of the car and pulled out a large, mysterious box. As he handed it to me, my brow furrowed.

“Um… I appreciate it, but you really didn’t have to get me anything, Dad,” I said, expecting yet another casual gift.

With a chuckle, he responded, “It’s not for you; it’s for your organisation.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Huh? It’s for the elves?”

“Who else?” Dad replied with a smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought you wanted to help them.”

“I do; it’s just—” I paused, suddenly overwhelmed. “You really don’t have to do this, Dad.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal if that’s what you’re worried about,” he waved it away, his enthusiasm radiating off him. “I asked a few people at work for donations a couple days ago, and they were more than happy to help your charity. Plus, it’s for a good cause.” He grinned and winked at me before heading back inside, leaving me standing there, lost in a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

Touched by my dad’s kindness, I opened the box, revealing a jumble of colourful clothes, all neatly packed for the elves. His unwavering support for my aspirations—whether they were big or small—made my chest swell with pride and love.

I remembered the words he once shared: “If there’s a true measure of a man, it’s not just by what he does, but by what he gives.”

As I stroked the fabric inside, something within me stirred. I could fight for a world where the marginalised could be treated with dignity. And with parents like mine cheering me on, I felt braver than ever.

I gently set the box down on my bed, planning to go through its contents later that evening. The sound of the phone ringing made me tense up instantly, my mind jumping to Ron. The thought he might be calling with news about Mad-Eye’s decision crossed my mind, but it felt a bit early for that. Just as my heart rate began to settle, I heard my dad exclaim, “Henry! What a pleasant surprise!”

I didn’t need to eavesdrop to identify Henry as one of my dad’s patients. Just as I was about to focus on my packing, footsteps approached, and my name floated through the air, filled with my dad’s unmistakable excitement.

“Hermione, you won’t believe who just called!” he announced, bursting into my room like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

I looked up from my chaotic sea of clothes and knick-knacks strewn haphazardly around me. “Henry Montgomery?” I guessed, surprised but curious.

“Exactly!” my dad beamed. “You remember him, right? He’s one of my regulars. Great chap! Well, Henry mentioned he has some clothes to donate. I’m thinking of swinging by his place now to pick them up. Would you like to join me?”

I glanced around my room, filled with half-packed boxes and the dread of organising my life before hunting. Horcruxes. The chore loomed over me, but the prospect of a little adventure had my excitement bubbling. It had been too long since Dad and I had gone anywhere together—a brief road trip sounded like the perfect reset.

“Sure!” I replied, a smile creeping onto my face.

As we stepped outside, the heat hit us like a wall, heavy and relentless. But the joyous laughter of children playing in the park nearby made it all feel manageable.

The drive to Mr. Montgomery’s house was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of tires on the asphalt and the occasional chatter from my dad. He was clearly in his element, relishing the thought of sharing good news about our visit.

“They’d be thrilled to see you, Hermione,” he said, glancing at me, his eyes twinkling with pride.

I’d only met the Montgomerys briefly, always exchanging pleasantries while my dad was busy tending to his patients. They seemed lovely, though, always asking after me. It was touching to know that they cared, despite my aloofness during those quick moments.

“You’ll love meeting the twins!” Dad exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “They’re absolutely precious.”

“Twins?” I blinked in surprise, attempting to process this new information. “I had no idea they had kids!”

My heart warmed at this turn of events, especially knowing how desperately they had longed for children after years of trying. “If anyone deserved to have children, it was them,” my dad mentioned, his tone softening with empathy. I couldn’t agree more; the Montgomerys were kind-hearted people who had weathered so much just to find happiness.

When we arrived at the Montgomery home, I stepped out of the car, absorbing the sights—the roses lining the walk, the swing in the backyard. I spotted Mr. Montgomery waving from the porch; a smile spread across his face as he carefully arranged small boxes on a table.

“Hello, Mr. Montgomery,” I said, stepping forward and extending my hand, intrigued by the warmth of his demeanour.

He chuckled, shaking my hand warmly. “Mr. Montgomery? No need to be so formal! Call me Henry, Hermione. It’s great to see you and your dad here.”

“Same here,” Dad said, grinning. “How’s everything going?”

Henry gestured towards the front door and chuckled, “It’s a bit chaotic inside. Having two babies is like having two little bulldozers running around—toys and baby bottles everywhere, chairs overturned. I’ve been swamped! I almost tripped earlier, so watch your step when you go in.”

A rush of anticipation bubbled inside me as we went inside the house. The moment I stepped through the door, I was greeted by the cheery sounds of baby laughter and the rush of movement. The living room was a colourful explosion of toys, cushions, and everything else needed for little ones.

Henry’s twin sons were nothing short of enchanting; their giggles resonated with a playful charm that filled the room. As they spotted me, their eyes lit up, and they rushed toward me with their tiny hands stretched out to say hello. I knelt down to their level, instantly enveloped by their energy.

"Boys, don't scare Hermione off," the woman with short brown hair cautioned. I assumed she was the mother. She got up, grabbed a bowl of cookies, and offered it to me. "Help yourself. I’m Nancy, by the way. Sorry for the mess. I would have tidied up before you came, but with these two, I’m practically powerless. I wish magic was real—it would make life so much easier, don’t you think?"

"Oh, it's no problem at all," my dad responded cheerfully, exchanging a knowing glance with me for a brief moment. There it was again—the tension in the air that always followed me when we mingled with Muggles. I had grown accustomed to this game of charades—the delicate balance of keeping my true nature a secret while trying not to be a total weirdo.

The Montgomerys were completely unaware of my magical abilities and the existence of magic. To ensure our safety, my family decided to keep these secrets to ourselves. With You-Know-Who back in action, I didn't want any harm to come to the Muggles I knew, no matter how casually.

"Do you believe in magic?" I enquired, the curiosity tingling at the back of my mind.

"Not initially," Nancy responded quietly, but then her eyes sparkled with excitement. "That all changed when Finley here—" She paused to scoop up one of her fluffy-haired babies and embrace him on her lap as she settled back onto the couch. "—did something I never would have imagined a small child, let alone a baby, could do."

"Did he end up on the roof?" My dad teased, and a surge of recognition shot through me. I understood the origin of his joke. I had shared with him all the strange incidents from Harry's childhood, when our magic would cause inexplicable events to occur. It simply happened.

I thought Nancy would brush off his question with a denial, but instead, she gave an awkward smile, uncertainty blending into her expression. She looked tense and fragile under the weight of the memory she was about to share.

I quickly gave my dad a stern look, and he immediately understood what I meant. "That’s a terrible joke,” he said. “Surely, it’s nothing that serious.”

"He actually did," Nancy murmured softly.

Silence enveloped us before I could respond. Even Finley stopped pulling his mother’s hair, as if he understood the seriousness of our conversation.

My dad let out a soft chuckle, a wavering attempt to lighten the mood. "You know, there are some things that happen that we just can't explain. But that doesn't automatically mean it’s magic, right?"

"But how can you explain what happened?" Nancy pressed, the excitement in her voice rising. "I couldn't think of any logical reason. Henry wasn't even home. It was just me and the boys. No one could have lifted Finley onto that roof, not even Henry or I. It's impossible without a ladder, and those are heavy. Even if someone did use a ladder, why would they leave Finley up there alone?"

A swarm of thoughts crashed through my mind. Nancy was opening a door I didn’t want to step through, yet I felt rooted, striving to find the right balance between honesty and protection. If I even hinted at my magic ability, I could expose us all, and suddenly they wouldn't just be oblivious neighbourhood friends. They'd be in danger.

I had to hold back, but the urge to explain everything was intense.

"Henry thinks we should keep quiet so people don’t think we’re a bunch of lunatics or cursed," Nancy replied, her brow furrowing. She glanced at me, her eyes glinting with both fright and curiosity. "What do you think about that?"

I was torn, caught in the middle of a dilemma. Should I step into the light and reveal my world, or should I lock it away, perhaps letting them live in safe ignorance?

“Did anyone catch a glimpse of Finley when he was on the roof?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to solid ground. Maybe there was still a way to defend the truth without exposing it entirely.

Nancy pondered for a moment, her expression shifting as she recalled her panic. “Well… I was in a state of desperation, but I managed to get him out of there. A few neighbours witnessed the commotion outside.”

“I’m glad that he was safe,” my dad said, casting a glance at me.

As I nestled deeper into the comforts of the worn-out sofa, I felt a familiar twinge of anxiety knotting my stomach. Today was supposed to be a simple visit with the Montgomerys, but instead, an unsettling sensation of invisible eyes watching us clung to the air like mist. I could hear the soft cooing of baby Finley as he sprawled in his mother’s arms, his small fingers grasping for comfort. Part of me wished that he could sense the danger too—a way to protect his innocent little heart.

Just as I was about to voice my concerns to Nancy, Finley's gentle sounds pulled her focus away from me. It was like he was trying to comfort her, assuring her that everything would be okay. But I wasn’t so sure. The looming shadows of the world outside our cosy bubble threatened to engulf us. What if Death Eaters found out about our connection? Would they harm Finley’s family or manipulate them against me? Dark imaginings wrapped around my mind, each thought heavier than the last.

I glanced out the window, the summer leaves dancing in the wind, seemingly unaware of the darkness brewing in our reality. I pictured baby Harry, helpless and defenceless, just as I was now afraid Finley might become. He was so innocent, so cherished, but like every child in our world, he was not immune to the peril that lurked just beyond the threshold of our safe spaces. How could I ensure the safety of Finley and the Montgomerys? Breathing lightly, I couldn’t shake the worry that any moment could plunge us into chaos.

“Don’t worry, Nancy,” my dad soothed, his voice steady despite the tension brimming in the room. His calming nod struck a contrast to the spiralling thoughts in my head. “Some people just can’t resist poking their noses into other people’s business, but then act like they’ve done nothing wrong.”

Nancy sighed; her relief was evident. “You’re right. It’s probably nothing. I don’t know why I’ve been so on edge lately… always fretting over every little detail. I suppose it’s just my motherly instincts kicking in.” She adjusted her grip on Finley, her worry momentarily eclipsed by the love she had for her son.

I could see it in her eyes—a concern that mirrored my own. After all, non-magical parents didn’t have the advantage of spells and charms as shields; they fought battles with instincts and hope. My father gave her a reassuring look that, while calming, didn’t eliminate the lingering unease that cloaked the air around us.

“I understand where you’re coming from. My wife and I are the same way; we always prioritise our kids’ safety. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.” And there it was—an uncomplicated promise that carried weight in uncertain times.

But while Nancy and my father exchanged mutual comforts, my mind raced ahead. Making a call to warn the Montgomerys might draw unwanted attention; what if Death Eaters showed up out of nowhere? How could I protect them without exposing the wizarding world they were blissfully unaware of? The Order of the Phoenix was stretched thin, battling the darkness left by You-Know-Who, especially with Professor Dumbledore at the helm.

Henry walked in just then, a stack of clothes piled in his arms, a hint of pride in his voice as he said, “I’ve organised the clothes for donation. I can load them into your car now, if that works for you.”

“Sure,” my dad replied, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. As he shifted his focus to the task, I felt the atmosphere soften, if only a little.

The trip back was wrapped in a cloak of quiet. My father and I were adrift in our own reflections, wading through thoughts of what lay ahead. He appeared composed, but I felt the underlying tension simmering beneath the surface; it wove through us like a common thread. It’s not easy for non-magical folks to raise a wizarding child, and I felt a growing urgency to protect Finley.

Nancy made the correct choice in heeding her husband's guidance; I completely support that decision. Yet, as I started packing my bag, I couldn't help but feel uneasy about the idea that keeping quiet might not be the most effective strategy in this situation.

The phone downstairs rang loudly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I rushed downstairs to find my mom greeting Ron cheerfully before handing me the receiver with a warm smile and heading back upstairs.

“Hello?”

”Hey, Hermione,” Ron replied, his tone still thick with the weight of our last conversation. “How are you?”

I should have felt relieved to hear Ron's voice when I held the phone to my ear, but for some reason, I felt a shot of nervousness at the memory of the Montgomerys and the secret I was burdened with. Was it fair to keep things from him, especially when Ron had shared so much about his struggles?

“I’m alright,” I said, evaluating the words carefully, hoping that my simple response would be enough.

There was a moment of silence; I could almost hear Ron wrestling with his concerns. He cleared his throat. “I talked to Moody right away, and he flat-out refused.” There it was—my heart sank.

“Oh, okay,” I replied with a feigned lightness, though his sadness echoed through the phone like a drumbeat, reminding me of my own disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron added, the regret evident in his voice. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted your presence was vital for the plan to work.”

His words felt like a knife, cutting into my resolve. I understood, but it still stung to know I was being forced into a role I hadn't signed up for. “I understand,” I replied, my voice calm yet distant.

Again, we fell into a silence that stretched like an elastic band, ready to snap. “Just a few days left,” he whispered gently, a reminder of the limited time I had left with my mom and dad.

“Yeah…” I breathed out. The idea of leaving them felt almost surreal, like a fleeting nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.

“Are you going to be alright?”

Uncertain of how to answer, I hesitated, contemplating whether I should simply say "I don't know" and hope for the best. How could I handle this situation when it felt completely out of my control? Harry was dealing with his own struggles, battling against Voldemort and enduring his dreadful relatives. Ron, too, had his own personal issues to contend with while supporting Harry's survival. Did I really have the right to be upset when they had so much on their plates? I felt torn about whether I should express my disappointment over not getting what I wanted.

His concern weighed heavily on my heart. I hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ll manage,” I finally assured him, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. “Besides, we should really start researching how to find the Horcruxes. Honestly, I don’t think Harry has any clue where to even begin searching for them.”

“Yeah… Dumbledore must’ve mentioned anything about where the horcruxes might be hidden to Harry,” Ron mused. “But it took him ages to crack the code on that cave one, didn’t it? We’re definitely going to have to do a lot of guessing.”

“Harry did mention Godric’s Hollow as a possible starting point,” I chimed in, but even as I did, worry tightened in my chest. “But it’s risky. If Voldemort ever caught wind of it, he’d be there in a heartbeat to find Harry.”

“What’s the plan then?” Ron asked, his voice laced with frustration.

I let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the uncertainty. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled for any possible clues along the way.”

“Ugh, that could take forever, Hermione.” His irritation stung, but a part of me understood. Time was running out, and this felt like an insurmountable challenge.

I squared my shoulders, unwilling to falter. “We’ll find something, Ron. We always do. We just have to keep pushing forward.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice steadying with my assurance.

I took a deep breath to calm myself before bringing up the difficult topic that had been swirling in my mind like a storm cloud refusing to budge. “Ron, I recently met some family friends who just had twin babies. I think one of them might have magical abilities, like us,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I ventured into uncertain territory.

“Magical? How can you tell at such a young age?” He asked, scepticism lacing his tone.

“They found the baby on the roof all by himself,” I explained, spurred on by the urgency of the situation. “It reminded me of when Harry had a similar strange incident as a child. We all did strange things before we got our Hogwarts letters, without even realising we had magic. There’s just something in my gut telling me this child is special. I can’t prove it yet, but if it’s true, we might need the Order’s help to protect him.”

“Hold up,” Ron interjected, confusion echoing in his voice. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean the baby has magical abilities. There could be other explanations.”

“Other explanations?” I sighed in frustration, rubbing my temples as if I could massage away my mounting anxiety. “How else can you explain it? They’re Muggles, and they have no idea about our world. If Death Eaters get wind of my connection to them, they could be in danger!”

“Have they mentioned anything about being targeted?” Ron pressed, and it was hard to miss the concern buried in his question.

I hesitated, the weight of his inquiry crashing down. “I... I’m not sure,” I admitted, grappling with the truth. Nancy hadn’t reported any suspicious activity, but that didn’t soothe the gnawing worry in my stomach.

“Listen, Hermione,” Ron said gently, his voice attempting to smooth the jagged edges of my anxiety. “Try to stay calm. I’m sure everything will be fine. Plus, babies born with magic can’t be tracked immediately. There’s a good chance the baby will be safe from Death Eaters.”

Taking a few deep breaths, I realised he was right—I was spiralling, overwhelmed by the enormity of all we had faced and continued to face. “You’re right,” I confessed, the rush of relief tinged with embarrassment. “I’m getting overly anxious about minor things with all that’s going on.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one,” Ron said, his tone shifting to one of camaraderie. “The Order is busy planning how to fight against You-Know-Who... lots of meetings, strategies… Members are constantly coming and going from Headquarters at all times...” He paused, letting out a huff that made me smile a little. “I’m curious about the plans Moody and the rest have in mind.”

“Do you have any clue?” I enquired, tapping my fingers on the side table, the rhythm helping me refocus.

“Not exactly... but when it comes to getting Harry out of Privet Drive, our options are pretty limited, right?” he replied. “Apparating is off the table since we can’t do it yet. And the Ministry is keeping an eye on the Floo Network, so that’s a no-go too.” I could hear Ron snicker through the phone before he added, “Taking the Knight Bus or using Muggle transportation is definitely not an option, I’m certain.”

I chuckled despite my worries. “You-Know-Who probably has the same plan as us, so we need to be cautious.”

“Can you imagine the suffering Harry endured for almost seventeen years with his relatives? And now he’s finally free from them. I wonder how Harry is handling it,” Ron mused, his voice suddenly softer as if he were picturing his best friend.

“If Harry’s happy about it, I can’t blame him. Regardless of how they treated him, they did take him in, and I believe Harry is wise enough to appreciate that,” I responded, hoping more words of reassurance would bolster my own fears.

A silence fell between us, hanging in the air like an unspoken understanding. In this moment, it felt as if the world outside our conversation faded into a distant whisper—beyond our worry, the Order, the looming threat of You-Know-Who, and the innocence of new life awash in uncertainty. I could see the paths diverging—one leading to past traumas, the other sparkling with the flicker of hope.

“Have you packed yet?” Ron’s voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts.

”I’m almost done,” I replied. “I just need to double-check everything.”

“You’re pretty good at it. I’m sure you won’t miss anything,” he said, a hint of fondness lingering in his tone that made my heart flutter.

“Ron…” I hesitated, struggling to articulate the thoughts swirling in my mind. “What do you think this weekend will be like?”

The silence on the other end stretched too long, and I held my breath, wishing I could read his thoughts as easily as I could read a book. Finally, he spoke. “Busy, I would say. Everyone’s on edge about the war. But Harry will be with us, and that’s the most important part.”

Ron’s lightness seemed to be an attempt at maintaining normalcy, but there was apprehension layered beneath his words.

Reflexively, I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. I understood what he was saying.

“Alright, I should let you get back to packing. I’ll see you Saturday, right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll be there, Ron.”

After triple-checking my packing, I retrieved the beaded handbag hidden in my drawer. I recalled how easily the bag had accommodated all my belongings, from clothes and supplies to books and more. The Undetectable Extension Charm I had cast proved remarkably useful, allowing the seemingly small bag to hold a surprising amount. Who would have thought such a compact accessory could carry such a diverse assortment of my possessions?

The next day, the relentless patter of rain against the window created a melancholy symphony that mirrored the mood weighing on my heart. I buried my face in the pillow, hoping the steady rhythm of the droplets might dull the bitter memory of last night's conversation that sat heavily in my chest, swelling with each replay of Ron's words.

With a resigned sigh, I rose from the bed, the shadows in my room threatening to envelop me. But I pushed myself up and trudged downstairs.

The scent of toast and coffee permeated the kitchen as I entered. Dad, already immersed in conversation, animatedly discussed the Montgomerys with Mum, who listened absentmindedly. "Can you believe the Montgomerys donated all those clothes?" he asked, his voice brimming with pride despite the dreary weather. Flipping through his patient list, he continued, "The least I can do is offer them free checkups—a small gesture of thanks, don't you think?"

I couldn't help but envy his infectious enthusiasm and his remarkable ability to extract positivity from an often bleak and overwhelming world.

The clinking of his mug snapped me back to the present conversation, but my own weighty thoughts continued to churn in my mind like the heavy rain battering the window. The Montgomerys were practically the model of good citizens in our town, always giving back to the community and brightening the days of those around them.

"Morning, Hermione!" Mum said warmly. "Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Tea, please."

Just then, I saw an owl swoop past the window. I excused myself from the kitchen and hurried upstairs to my room. Gently pushing the window open, I was greeted by a mottled brown and grey owl with amber-coloured eyes. It hooted softly, its patient posture reminding me of the hopeful times when I received letters from Ron and Harry.

A parcel was tied to the owl's leg with a delicate ribbon—my subscription to the Daily Prophet. I took the package, paid the owl, and watched as it flew back outside my window. As I tore open the parcel, the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof synchronised with the quickening of my heartbeat.

I quickly scanned the front page, searching for any mention of You-Know-Who or, more importantly, news about Harry. The past few months had taught me that every sentence could change everything. Then, a big, bold title jumped off the page like a dark specter—"Dark Mark Sparks Panic." My stomach sank, a foreboding weight settling in my chest.

Violence was creeping ever closer to the fringes of our lives. I read the article, turning the pages with increasing dread, my fingertips feeling the damp paper. Suddenly, a particular picture caught my eye, causing my breath to hitch in my throat.

There they were, four familiar faces captured in a photograph outside their quaint little house. Almost smiling, their beaming expressions were framed by the lush greenery of their garden—a stark contrast to the ominous world beyond. The title above the image read, "Violence Spreads: Muggle Family Murdered."

I froze, the floor seeming to shift beneath me. My heart raced as a surge of panic and dread overcame me. I had known the Montgomerys well—just yesterday, I had shared a biscuit with Mrs. Montgomery and her children in their cosy living room, while Mr. Montgomery packed boxes of clothes to donate.

An overwhelming sense of culpability pressed down upon me. What had I done? Why didn't I protect them? The questions spiralled through my mind like the wind whipping the rain against my window. The Montgomerys had lived quietly, keeping to themselves, yet they had still been caught in the storm. How many more innocent lives would be lost to You-Know-Who's relentless attacks?

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I traced my finger over the photograph, willing their spirits back into existence. The relentless rain outside tapped a harsh, rhythmic reminder of their absence. I never imagined I'd reach this precipice, paralysed by fear and loss. I could no longer pretend everything would continue as before—You-Know-Who had conspired against us, pressing in with suffocating urgency.

"Hermione!" My mum's call suddenly broke through my spiralling thoughts. "Tea's ready, darling."

"Coming, mum!"

I had no choice now. I had to do what I had to do.

Trembling, I reached for my beaded bag and wand on the desk, the polished wood feeling foreign in my palm. I willed myself not to think, not to recall the quiet moments spent reading in that very chair or the sweet sound of laughter that used to fill our home. Slowly, I descended the stairs, each step a reminder of what I was leaving behind. The world blurred around me; I felt numb like a ghost drifting through the familiar halls of my childhood.

Leaning against the wall outside the kitchen, I paused. I could hear my parents talking, their voices carrying a warmth that felt like a distant memory now. It was as if time had frozen, granting me one last glimpse of what I was about to sacrifice.

You-Know-Who had eyes everywhere. I couldn't let him find my family; I couldn't allow even a crack in the wall built around our lives.

I took a deep, steady breath, willing my trembling hands to still. Their backs were turned, leaving them unaware of my presence as my wand pointed directly at them. The mundane world I had struggled to preserve now felt like a delicate bubble, poised to shatter around us at any moment.

“Obliviate,” I whispered; the spell slipped past my lips, like the breath I had been holding.

A flash of light erupted from my wand, and I felt an exhilarating rush, as if gravity itself were wresting control from me. In that split second, the warmth of my love for them washed over me—a fierce affirmation of our bond. Memories flooded my mind: laughter around the dinner table, my dad's hugs, my mum's warm smile.

Though it was heartbreaking, I knew I had to strip them of these moments. The alternative loomed larger—I could almost feel them slipping from my grasp, the life I had known slowly disappearing, and with it, the love we had shared. And then came the quiet, swirling darkness, swallowing the last remnants of their memories.

Their expressions slackened, and I watched helplessly as the spark of recognition faded from their eyes. I felt the world tilt on its axis, a pendulum swinging between relief and sorrow. I staggered back; my heart cracked wide open with the weight of my actions.

I wanted to scream, to cry out in anguish, to beg for a different path. A shuddering breath caught in my throat as tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks. The intensifying rain outside seemed to mirror the universe's own weeping, reminding me of what I had sacrificed and would now have to bear alone. This was the price of my protection—in my quest to save them, I had irrevocably changed us.

The parents before me stood blissfully unaware, their eyes glazed in a soft, dreamlike trance induced by my own shaky incantation. I hadn't wanted this, but the risks were far too great—it was my only option, and now the moment had come. Trying to calm the rising tide of guilt that threatened to drag me under, I breathed deeply.

"Monica?" I asked softly, testing the name I had chosen for my mom. She blinked slowly, the silhouette of the woman I had known eclipsed by the new identity I had bestowed upon her. Next to her, my dad stared into the void, oblivious to the reality of who he truly was. Wendell, I thought, feeling a pang in my chest. The names felt foreign, and yet something deep inside whispered that they were just as real as the memories they had once held.

The heavy necklace trembled in my hands, its surface gleaming innocently. With delicate fingers, I transferred their memories into the small pendant, and I fastened it around my mother's neck. A gentle shiver skittered across my skin as the pendant glowed, sealing their memories within its cool surface. The cherished recollections of my childhood—birthdays, vacations, the comforting rhythm of daily life—would now drift away, fading into mere wisps of air.

Stepping back, I focused intently on the spell that would send them away. It had to be flawless. "You will go to Australia," I murmured, weaving my magic with a wistful longing that burnt in my throat. "You will be happy, unencumbered by your past, just a lovely couple chasing your hopes and dreams."

The final flick of my wrist sent the energy swirling, wrapping around them. I watched as their faces relaxed, a soft smile tugging at my mother's lips while my father nodded with a contentment I had long dreamed of for them. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms tightly around them, as if I could envelop them in the love I felt.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, barely managing to swallow the lump in my throat. "But this is for the best." Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I stepped back, allowing them to pull away from me, unaware of the anguish twisting inside me.

"Pack carefully," I told them. They climbed the stairs, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing in the silence behind me. I couldn't bear to watch; it felt like I was witnessing a part of myself slipping away.

As they disappeared from sight, the weight of my emotions crashed down upon me. I took a deep, steady breath, gathering my composure. I had cast a spell to erase my existence from their minds, but I couldn't bear the thought of them dwelling on the life we had shared in this house. The framed photographs, once brimming with the essence of cherished memories, now felt like a cruel joke. I didn't want any trace of myself to clutter their fresh start.

With a flick of my wand, I chanted the spell to erase the remnants of my presence from the walls. The photographs shimmered and blurred before fading into nothingness—the summer trips, the awkward family portraits, the milestones we had shared. Panic flickered in my fingertips, the urge to stop and reverse this decision flooding my mind. But I steeled my resolve and pressed on.

The silence was suffocating—thick and unyielding. I sank onto the couch, where my family used to gather for movie nights, laughter, and life. Tears streamed down my cheeks, pooling onto the fabric beneath me. I would miss them more than words could express.

Yet, in my heart, I knew they would be happier. They'd have a chance to start fresh, free from the burden I couldn't share.

The creaking floorboards interrupted my thoughts as I looked up to see my parents in the doorway, their bags packed. Their serene, content expressions and smiling faces lit up the remnants of the room we had shared. As their footsteps faded while they walked out of the house, a sense of finality washed over me. I was truly alone now, with no traces of the laughter, love, and life we had built together. This left me to face the uncertain path ahead—a path that no longer included them.

I turned my gaze towards the window. Outside, the sun had broken through the clouds after a lingering rain, illuminating the vibrant freesias my mother had carefully planted in the flowerbed. I recalled her gentle voice, explaining how the freesia symbolised innocence and thoughtfulness. But with her memories now gone, how could she appreciate the playful violet blooms or recollect the joy she'd felt tending to them? A single defiant flower stood tall, miraculously blooming against the odds.

My heart constricted with loss as I felt a painful grip on my insides. I took a shuddering breath, choking back my emotions. "Mum," I whispered, the word hanging in the air, for she could no longer hear me. There would be no more laughter over shared cups of tea, no more conversations about school or dreams of the future—it had all dissolved into nothingness.

It was time to go.

With one final glance, I etched the image of the flower—the last remnant of their world—into my heart, knowing I may never see it again.

Steeling myself with resolute determination, I turned my focus outward, and as I exhaled a breath laced with courage and sorrow, the world around me blurred into a swirl of colours.

And then I was gone—leaving behind my family, my memories, and the warmth of our home. I had erased my parents' memories, learning firsthand the sacrifice of forsaking those you love for their own safety. The ache that pierced me ran deeper than mere heartbreak; it was an indelible mark of sacrifice.

As I released the breath I hadn't realised I was holding, I knew that somewhere in the sunlit lands of Australia, Monica and Wendell Wilkins would forge new memories and perhaps find happiness. And that knowledge, however bittersweet, was enough.

Up Next: Epilogue