It had been more than a week since the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had yet to hear from any of her friends — neither from Ron, who was, well, Ron and not usually inclined to write anyway, nor from Harry. She hadn't even heard from Luna or Neville. That is, of course, unless you considered her newfound subscription to the Quibbler to be hearing from Luna. How she ended up subscribed to the odd periodical, she hadn't a clue, but assumed it was the doing of her odd new friend.
The post arrived like clockwork every third day at dusk. The forwarding system to muggle households was infuriatingly complicated. It often left her days behind on news and, worse yet, ensured she was always the last to know about anything. She had already been expecting it and was already bounding down the stairs when her mother shouted for her.
"Hermione, dear, could you come downstairs?"
The words were barely out of her mouth when her nearly-seventeen-year-old daughter appeared behind her. Jean Granger nearly dropped the plate she was drying in surprise. Her daughter had always had a knack for surprising her. It seemed magical when she was a child, how she could nearly materialize out of thin air. How she chuckled when she learned the truth about her special girl! But, in all truth, Jean believed it to be more a talent of intuition than of magic.
"Do you need a hand, Mum?"
Hermione had already grabbed a dish rag and begun drying the silverware.
"Thank you, my love."
Her daughter hummed with anticipation as she dried and tossed aside fork after spoon.
"How was work?"
Hermione was trying so hard to seem nonchalant. Jean pursed her lips to suppress a chuckle and dipped into a story about seeing Jaime Brown in office that day. That boy from first year, you remember? Her daughter nodded unenthusiastically. Her eyes were darting towards the rather obvious pile of post on the dining room table as Jean pressed on. Jaime still had a horrible penchant for sweets, but she imagined his days of piggy tail pulling were over. She hoped.
"Is that so?"
Jean could hear the teenaged eye-roll.
"Alright already! Go, go. Check the post." Hermione was already zipping out of the kitchen by the time Jean shouted after her. "And thanks for the help with the dishes!"
She put on the kettle and watched as Hermione's face fell for the third time since she'd been home. Her little hands flipped through the three newspapers issued since her last delivery. She found nothing else but a small magazine featuring an odd animation of a miniature flying creature.
"Cup of tea?" Jean consoled, as she walked into the room with a pot of tea and two cups.
Hermione nodded yes.
"I've not heard from any of them, Mum!" she said, "Not a single one of them! We've just ––"
Hermione faltered. We've just witnessed the rise of a dictator-to-be? We've just started a training group to prepare us for the impending war? We've just all become targets of a powerful dark arts collective? How could she possibly explain the situation to her mother? She took a moment to add a splash of milk to her cuppa.
"We've just finished the biggest exams yet and no one seems to care!"
Jean might not have known the truth, but she knew when her daughter was hurting.
"Oh, darling," she crooned, giving her a soft smile, "Not everyone has as fast a mind as you. They need to be able to process in their own time, but they'll come around. I promise, by next delivery, you'll have heard from someone."
And right she was.
Three days later, the post arrived just as the Grangers were sitting down to dinner.
"I'd like to go to the Burrow," Hermione announced, "Just for the weekend, until we leave for France next week."
"You can't invite yourself, Pumpkin," Mr. Granger said with a stern nod.
"But you haven't phoned Arthur in a while," Jean suggested, hoping her husband would be amenable to easing the girl's obvious loneliness.
"Well, I suppose it has been a while," he said, "and I could suggest an outing."
"Right, perhaps Ron and Ginny might want to join us at that pub on Diagon Alley for lunch on Sunday. I could even take you girls shopping while Richard and Arthur catch up."
A pecking on the glass sliding door slowed conversation to a halt.
"I'll grab it," Jean offered.
As soon as she slid the door open, the rather droopy barn owl swooped toward the dining room table and dropped the mail right where it usually did. Unfortunately, that spot was currently occupied by the mash.
Hermione grabbed the post and began to flip through it once again.
"Err, I think you've forgotten one, Dear," Jean said, handing her a letter covered in potato.
The name was completely smudged, but Hermione would recognize the handwriting anywhere.
Harmonica,
I hope you are doing well after the latest news. Our friend Fleur wrote me to share stories of your courage.
I write with light-hearted news of a party, celebrating the recent solstice. The Malfoys, as you know, were rather busy on the Eve of Midsummer, but nonetheless intend to host a belated Litha ball on the 6th of July.
It seems you've found far too much trouble in my year of absence. You must accompany me and bring some of this excitement along.
Yours,
Viktor
Of course Viktor still kept to their old habits. After growing tired of Hermioninny at the end of fourth year, she vowed to never again call him Viktor until he could manage to pronounce Hermione. It ultimately resulted in the two of their letters being addressed to more and more ridiculous pseudonyms as they conversed the following summer.
Attached she found a plus-one invitation:
The Society for Preservation of Historical Magicks
.
Honorary Chairs Narcissa of Houses Black and Malfoy and Marianna Zabini di Linosa
Junior Chairs Daphne and Astoria of House Greengrass and Clémence de Montfort
formally invite you to celebrate the ancient rite of Litha on
.
Saturday, the sixth of July
at seven o'clock post meridiem
The Green at Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England
.
Dress robes requested
Portkey arrival provided
A party? At Malfoy Manor? She could laugh! There is no way she'd be welcome.
"Is it Ron, dear?" Jean asked.
"No," Hermione said hesitantly, "it seems I've been invited to a ball."
A/N: I hate to sound desperate, but I need the encouragement to not end up a bread-eating lump during this quarantine! (send reviews/follows/PMs!) That being said, I plan to write 1,000 words every day of this quarantine (and longer! Yay for extended summer hols). So be ready for frequent, potentially obsessive updates. I hope you're holding up okay during this time! Stay safe, review and wash yr goddamned hands!
PS: I am very much so looking for a beta reader chapter-by-chapter so HMU
PPS: Put an asterisk at the end of your review for a PM with encouragement and a poem sent straight to you * all my love!