A cold autumn wind blew over the roofs of Mandrake Street. Five houses stood on each side of the street, that were ungently hit by the breeze. The residents hurried to close the windows, which had been opened before to enjoy the fresh air from outside.
Mandrake street was by no means a dodgy or strange area. Most of the people living there were families with an high income and social status, resulting that the visual appearance was much better than the London average. Beside the anomaly of having a cold autumn wind in summer, everything seemed to be normal that day. Everything but a barely lit room in one of the houses.
It was already dark, so there was nothing odd about a turned on light. But it appeared to be non-electrical, almost as if somebody has lit a candle during a blackout.
Hermione Granger was lying on her bed, facing a plain grayish wall. Guests wondered why she hadn't put up any posters or pictures, her reply usually containing the lie that she likes her room minimalistic.
Well, one the one hand she really liked the idea of such a design, on the other hand she didn't possess much stuff to decorate her room with. The Status of Secrecy from the Ministry of Magic didn't allow her to expose magical objects to Muggles, as people without magical abilities are called.
Of course she still owned posters from her muggle childhood, but it seemed rather silly to her to have pictures of horses and fairies on her walls. Something else was far more important. Books. During her summer holidays from Hogwarts, Hermione has been mostly reading. She liked books from the wizarding world much better, their pages thicker and more parchment-like than the cold and soulless muggle equivalents.
A pile of them were safely hidden underneath her bed to protect them from the view of muggles. She also became used to read with light emerging from her wand. When she stayed at her parents, Hermione had to use candles to get a similar dim and warm light. Of course it was possible to turn on the ceiling lamps but the emitted rays were too cold and unpleasant for Hermione Granger's taste.
Although being highly annoyed by checking the candles every few minutes to make sure nothing catches fire, she usually enjoyed reading at home as much as at Hogwarts.
But today was different. For over an hour Hermione tried to read the same page about a potion which name she has already forgotten or simply didn't save in her brain while reading the headline.
During her holidays she usually prepared for her upcoming year, getting all the materials earlier and studying hard to start off with an advantage compared to the other students. Also a good knowledge about potions would surely help her with the class, in which they always had to deliver perfect results to satisfy Severus Snape.
But today was different. Hermione couldn't concentrate at all, her vision blurry and unfocused. Also school seemed to be far away in a distant cupboard of her brain. Something else covered the important parts of her thalamus now, even though she couldn't tell what it was. Hermione hadn't really left her room for nearly two weeks, just for eating and the bathroom.
Her parents were worried and asked her daily if she wanted to talk. Appreciating the efforts Mr. and Mrs. Granger made to help her daughter, she couldn't talk to them about wizarding related issues. She needed her friends to talk things through. Her friends that often led Hermione straight into danger and life threatening situations, this year barely escaping some Death Eaters and even worse Lord Voldemort himself in the Department of Mysteries.
Obviously she could use an owl to send a message, but it just wasn't the same as speaking to someone in person. Especially when you don't want to talk about your trip to the beach, but serious matters concerning the Order of the Phoenix for example. In these dark times, there was also the chance that owls got intercepted. How can she go on another two weeks without seeing Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter?
Hermione was certain that it would have helped if some pictures of her friends were hanging on the walls in her tiny and lonely room. They would help remember everything they lived through, their friendship, how their lives were already bonded together. And with that last thought, she drifted off to a restless sleep.
She woke up to a loud voice emerging right above her head.
"How often did I tell you to not light candles in the middle of the night? You are not a child anymore!"
Hermione raised her head slowly, being far too tired to respond immediately. When her eyes met the wax, that was spread all over the floor and a small blackened area where the candle had burned the wood, she sighed and felt guilty immediately.
"What is wrong my dear, why don't you just turn on the light?" her Mother asked in an already less severe tone.
"It – it – ehm I just don't like the cold light okay?" responded Hermione clearly knowing that her argument wouldn't even persuade a five year old child.
Her mother approached her, giving her a kiss on the forehead and sat down next to her on the bed.
"You told me several times that wizards and witches usually don't use electricity and a lot of places are lit by magically enchanted candles and fires. But you can't use magic here, Hermione, you know that. You have to be careful."
"Mom, I know that these are non-magical candles. I dozed off. I am sorry."
Her mother sighed and looked in her deep brown eyes. She sometimes wondered whether her daughter used a spell to create these beautiful structured irises, reminding her of brown marble.
She paused for a few seconds then asked "You really miss Hogwarts, don't you? I am very proud of you and your commitment to school but recently I sometimes had the thought, that you don't like staying here for the summer"
Hermione looked startled at her mother, as if she had said a swearword.
"Mum, no, you know I love being at home. How can you say something like that?"
Mrs. Granger looked away, her eyes resting at the spot on the floor where the candle had stood.
"You are barely leaving your room, you don't talk to us about what happened at school this year and you didn't want to come on holidays with us. What is wrong darling? I know I am not like you in some way, but I still have two open ears. I am your mother, you can tell me everything"
The girl on the bed looked as if she had lost an argument, a very rarely happening event in the life of Hermione Granger. Her eyes saddened and she took a deep breath.
"It's really nothing mom, I am just a bit exhausted."
Her mother sighed and looked worried.
"Is it, ehm, about a boy?"
Hermione stared at her puzzled for a moment then she cried "Mooom, noo, what are you thinking of me?"
Her Mother smirked. "Sorry my dear, I had to ask. You haven't told us much about, you know, these things".
"Well because there is nothing to be told", Hermione responded a little bit angry.
"Alright then, I actually wanted to let you know that we will have breakfast in a few minutes. See you downstairs. And clean up this mess on the floor."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were already sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for their daughter to join them. Also a fluffy ball was curled up in one of the wooden chairs. Crookshanks raised its head when Hermione was halfway down the staircase.
Even the cat seemed to give her that reproachful look Mrs. Granger had on her face a few minutes earlier. Crookshanks had already proven its remarkable intelligence to Sirius Black, who persuaded the cat to bring him a rat from inside of Hogwarts.
Hermione noticed this unusual behavior but walked straight to her favorite chair and sat down.
"Good Morning Hermione, had a good sleep?", her father asked in a cheerful voice from the opposite side of the table.
"Oh yeah, apart from – ehm – you know. Did you sleep well too?", Hermione answered carefully and trying not to bring up the topic from earlier that morning.
"Hm, what do you mean?", Mr. Granger replied looking unknowingly at his daughter and then at his wife.
"Oh I think Hermione meant, that she had a little nightmare this night. She told me when I woke her up.", Mrs. Granger explained to her husband.
"Oh well, that happens from time to time. I slept well too, thanks for asking".
Hermione became uncomfortable knowing that her mother had just lied for her. She reckoned that the talking about the little incident might bring up the topic about Hermione's mood again.
The girl with bushy brown hair felt a rush of affection streaming through her body. Talking about the feelings she had over the last few weeks hurt and her mother was well aware of that fact. A small portion of scrambled eggs was put on the plate of Hermione and it took her nearly ten minutes to finish eating.
Everyone seemed to enjoy the silence in the room, with the sunlight falling through one of windows right on their faces. The kitchen was small but had everything you need for a good meal. Mr. Granger was a impassionate cook and when he had enough time, he enjoyed preparing delicious and extravagant dinner.
Free of sugar of course, as both Hermione's parents were dentists. Today though, he left early for work, giving the other two women a quick kiss on the cheek and walking straight out of the front door.
"Mom you shouldn't have lied to him", Hermione began as she stood up to collect the used plates on the table.
"Don't worry, I know he would have taken it way more serious than I did. You know his security affinity, can't sleep before checking three times whether he turned off the stove or not.", her Mom replied her lips forming a smile.
Both chuckled and Hermione knew she was right. The thought of falling asleep while a candle was still burning must surely be one of the nightmares her father had. The house they lived in was old, maybe a hundred years and Mr. Granger was proud of the property that his parents had left him.
Hermione knew that her stupid accident could have burned down years of hard work from her ancestors and suddenly she felt guilty again.
"I don't know if you noticed but yesterday Alex was here."
Hermione looked around after she had put the forks in the dishwasher.
"You mean my ex music teacher Alex? What did he do here?"
"Oh yes, exactly him" Her mother smiled.
"He took care of our piano. You know how bad it was out of tune since you stopped taking lessons"
"You mean, he tuned it?"
"Yes my dear, it is now functioning properly again. I thought that music might cheer you up. It helped me when I was younger. I sat down at the piano, thought about my problems and just played whatever came to my mind. Often it sounded horrible of course. But sometimes things get transferred from your feelings right into your hands resulting in a beautiful melody that echoes in your body and soul. That's how I released my overwhelming emotions. Just by pressing a few keys on a piano."
"Wow Mum, that would have made a good poem. Shakespeare would be proud"
They laughed at this. "Really Hermione, try it! You will not regret it"
"Well I guess I have no other choice after you have paid for the tuning?"
"You are right about that, smart girl"
The Granger's music room was on the ground floor, next to the kitchen. Hermione always wondered when she saw the big grand piano standing in the middle of the room how people even managed to get it in the house.
As a witch she could've used a charm to shrink it, pass it through the several doors and then expand it again. No problem. She came to the conclusion that you either had to move the piano in pieces and build it up in the room or you simply had to build your house around a piano. The second option sounded like her ancestors were crazy about music, something Hermione couldn't share a hundred percent with them.
But as she sat down on the stool and looked at the old and beautifully crafted instrument she felt a growing rush of excitement building up in her body. Three big shelves crammed with books about music were standing in a corner of the room.
Apart from that it was empty. When Hermione thought about the interior she had the feeling, that someone decorated the room with the hope that minimal interior would help to not get distracted too easily. To keep the creativity up. Hermione was never someone who considered herself to be creative, as most of her favorite things were done by her left hemisphere.
Rationality, science, logic, reading – that were her strengths and not creativity, art, spontaneity and all the other things that were associated with the other half of her brain.
Her music teacher Alex even said to her once that she should not focus that much on playing exactly what was written on the music sheets. She should try to interpret the song and modify it slightly.
Hermione never really got the hang of it.
She loved playing the piano but then the Hogwarts Letter arrived, putting her life upside down. She wasn't quite sure why nobody at Hogwarts seems to care about music. Of course there had been the Yule Ball with the "Weird Sisters" as a band but apart from that she never heard of a lot of music making inside of Hogwarts.
Her mother was right with her sentimental talk. As soon as she touched the first key and a high g note was echoing in the room a warm and emotional feeling hit her. Hermione was glad that her mother left to visit her sister, having all the house to herself now.
Nobody could hear her poor playing, nobody would interrupt her. She tried to remember some pieces she had played years ago, but the muscle memory of her fingers seemed to have forgotten the complex and swift movements. What was she supposed to be playing? Could she just improvise? Glancing at the door twice, Hermione made sure that indeed nobody was listing to her.
She then started playing with her right hand a simple but powerful melody. With the left she tried to find matching chords to it. At first the concentrated hard on the technique because of her lack of recent practice but after a few minutes her focus drifted off and thoughts kicked in. The music gradually changed.
When Sirius and the battle at the ministry came to her mind, the music slowly turned into a sad ballad. Shacking off the thoughts and thinking of her friends and family and what they would do at the moment, the music shifted to a more friendly and happy tune. Suddenly Harry occupied her thoughts and even Hermione wasn't sure how her playing would change.
It was like her subconsciousness was leading her to the suiting melody and harmonies. It changed, but only slightly. The tempo slowed down, her foot left the sustain pedal less often and the whole tune blurred a bit. It wasn't exactly like the sad ballad before. More dreamy, worrying but at the same time exiting and unpredictable.
(Listen to Hermione on Youtube here: /watch?v=Hs1fqilOcxg)
Two parents looked at each other in concern.
"Don't you think that she behaves a little odd?", Mrs. Granger asked her husband when they were sitting in the living room watching TV.
"Hm?", her husband groaned.
"Hey, are you even listening?"
"Sorry darling, what did you just say?"
"I asked whether you think Hermione behaves a little odd this summer. I tried to talk to her, but she didn't really want to tell me anything."
She looked worried, almost afraid. When her mouth opened again, she stuttered slightly, "What if, what if it has to do with that bad wizard she told us about last year? She was very worried about that guy that calls himself Lord Voldemort the last holidays."
"I don't know. But how much would you worry, when a terrorist broke out of one of our jails? I mean yes, he is a wizard, but so is their police. How bad can it possibly be?"
"Hm, maybe you are right. I asked her if it was about a boy..."
"WHAT?", Mr. Granger cried out. "Not our Hermione!"
His wife smiled at him and took his hands into her own.
"How old have you been, when you started caring about that stuff?"
Mr. Granger thought for a moment, the expression on his face softened.
"We have become old. Time passes too fast when you watch your children grow up. It feels like yesterday when the letter for Hogwarts arrived. And now she is dating someone"
"Ah stop it, you are only as old as you feel. And by the way she said that it wasn't about a boy and reacted with a similar outburst."
He blushed but at the same time looked relieved. "Well good to know. Although I would rather have Hermione thinking about a boy than worrying about some crazy terrorist of course".
They continued watching TV in silence. A rather boring thriller was broadcasted which plot was so predictable that the two knew after a few minutes that the mass murderer was one of the police officers.
Annoyed, Mr. Granger reached for the remote control and turned off the TV. They should really work on the program. If they continue like that, everyone will be watching Netflix in a few years.
"I think she feels lonely", Mr. Granger suddenly brought up.
"You think so? Well she hasn't got a lot of friends here. I mean how can she when her school is in Scotland?"
"Also in puberty children usually build up a distance to their parents. Sooner or later that that will happen", he added. Mrs. Granger scratched her head.
"I didn't know that my husband could be insightful and empathic"
She laughed and saw him rolling his eyes but continued, "We haven't really met her friends, did we? Sure at Kings Cross we have seen them several times, but didn't really get to know them. How about we invite them to stay here with us the rest of the summer? Hermione has always been at the burrow the last years, so we can at least invite them once"
Her husband smiled at her, knowing that they may have found a solution to lighten up Hermione's mood. He answered,
"And she hasn't told us that she is going to the burrow this summer. We could also invite them to go on a trip. According to Hermione that Potter boy has never been outside the country. Do you remember how angry his relatives looked when they picked him up from Kings Cross?"
"Yes I do, almost like it hurt them to have him back. Maybe they will be happy if we take care of their boy for a few weeks".
Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in!"
Hermione turned her head to see who has knocked on her bedroom door. This time her father entered. She has always had a good relationship to her father, though she must admit that she was closer with her mother. Maybe that is true for most of the children but nevertheless the loved her father just as much as her mother.
"Hey Hermione, sorry to interrupt your reading."
"Oh no worries, I just finished the chapter about useful applications of the tickling charm" the girl on the bed responded.
"Ehhh… The what?"
"Tickling charm. It makes people burst out in laughter. But here it has been applied to a dangerous creature which apparently became quite tame after that."
"Yeah, really interesting, I must say. But Hermione I wanted to ask you something", Mr. Granger said, even though looking a bit afraid that she might instantly know why he was proposing the following.
"We thought about inviting your friends over for the holidays. You have always stayed at the Weasleys and I think it is time to return a favor and have them at our place. I know they might feel uncomfortable at a muggle house, but it is big and you know how much I like to cook for people and receive their compliments after the first fork of my magically delicious food"
She chuckled for a few seconds about the pun, then turned her face to her father smiling.
"I would love that, this is such a beautiful idea. Did you come up with it?", she asked her father.
"Actually yes I did, and your mother agrees with me" he replied grinning proudly. He took a small step towards Hermione and lay a hand on her shoulders. "You think that it is okay, ehm, you know, that we are non-magical people?"
"Of course it is. Harrys aunt and uncle are muggles too."
"What about Ron?"
"Well he will have to live with it", Hermione grinned evilly looking as though she was planning the prank of the year.
"I suppose it will help him respect and understand more about the non-magical world".
"Oh well, if you say so. I already wrote letters to their parents but I didn't find someone called Weasley or Potter in the telephone book, neither could I find out their address. "
"Oh", Hermione said understandingly. "You can't find them because they only communicate by owl. And Harrys aunt took the last name from her husband, 'Dursley'.
"Ah I see. Can you use your owl to send the letters to them?", her father asked her slightly confused. Why the hell would someone wait days for an owl instead of just calling them on their telephone, he thought. He made sure to remember the question and ask Ron when he was here.
"Sure, it may take some time until I have the reply from both though"
"No problem, we are in no hurry", her father said, his head lowering slightly. "Time passes too fast anyway".