Hogsmeade Station, Hogsmeade, Scotland

"You alright, 'Mione?"

"Yes, Ronald. Just wondering who's going to be our Defense against the Dark Arts professor next year," answered Hermione while looking out of their train cabin towards the bustling platform. And also thinking how to 'decompress', as her parents would put it, during the summer. She still needs some time to process everything they've experienced. And in just their first year! What more in the years to come?

"Guess we need to wait and see. Just not excited for the summer honestly," intoned Harry, which brought sympathetic smiles from the other two while he petted Hedwig.

"I'd say we'll owl you every week but I think Ron needs to do that on my behalf. I still haven't decided yet if I should get my own." She's thinking more along the lines of getting the feline variety of familiars.

Harry contemplated for a few moments, still brushing the feathers in his hand before his expression brightened.

"I'll let you borrow Hedwig! So you absolutely have to send me letters. You can write as many or as long as you like. What do you think?" Harry asked, turning to the snowy owl. She blinked slowly while hooting as if to say 'are you sure?'

"Oh but Harry. I can't do that! You need her while dealing with your, er, relations." Hermione absolutely refuses to call them his family after learning how horribly they treated him.

"But, Mione, you know I'm not much of a letter writer. And you're closer to Harry so it won't take long for Hedwig to get to him."

"Ron, you're still going to write to him. Don't be so lazy! But Ron's right, Harry. You're in Surrey, right? I can mail you. The muggle way."

"But the Dursleys will intercept them. Burn them in the fire place. And even if I get them, they won't help me pay to reply." Harry said matter-of-factly. "And I can't go out to get mail from a PO Box because one, we don't rent one. Two, they don't let me out of the house unless absolutely necessary."

"That won't be a problem. We'll use 'Prepaid Envelopes'. I'll send those along with my letters so you can use them to reply back and they're already paid for," explained Hermione, more for Ron's sake than Harry's. "If you're worried about the cost, don't. You can pay me back in those Sugar Quills that Fred and George gave last Christmas and dedicating at least four hours of your day in school every day studying."

"Since when have you been chummy with my brothers?" Ron puzzled. He remembered Hermione was one of their favorite targets for their pranks last year.

"Since I helped them figure out a problem in their school work and had a funny discussion about one of their pranks. They warmed up to me eventually I guess." They didn't have to know that the twins were impressed that Hermione wasn't such a stickler for the rules after all and didn't hesitate to offer her guidance in their ways, especially with that brain of hers that could open up so much possibility in the world of mischief.

Hermione turned them down naturally but offered to give some insight in case they have something new. Keeping them as friends rather than enemies have their advantages, Hermione thought wryly, a flash of remembrance from her younger years passed through her mind before she shook it off.

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Granger. Let's make that a school year-long supply of the quills and two hours of study and you've got yourself a deal."

"I second that study duration and I'll add that I'll write at least once a week to you two the entire summer," pledged Ron, knowing he'll be dragged into the study sessions and he'd like for them to be as short as possible.

"Deal!"

"Agree!"

King's Cross Station, London

"Won't be long now. We're just ten minutes ahead and I know you know how it's supposed to work."

A teasing tap to a nearby wall was the answer.

"Please stop knocking on walls to 'check if there are other shortcuts'," a low mutter ended with exasperation amongst the busy din of the station.

The tall, serene fellow with wavy dark head of hair carefully secured the hand at his elbow, eyeing his adventurous companion with practiced vigilance.

The tight-curled brunette beside him smiled beguilingly, breezily sidestepping a grouchy teen on their path. "We won't know until we try! There are so many mysteries afoot."

"And not all of them are meant to be answered. You don't want Mr. Weasley to lose his job over your curiosity, would you, Dee?"

The woman pouted. "No, no. Of course not, Will. I won't do him a disservice. He's such a kind man. Odd, but kind. I don't understand why the bowl we keep at the foyer is so fascinating. I'd understand our light fixtures or our appliances but the pottery?"

William Granger chuckled. "His fascination with the exact function of our key bowl aside, we should follow his explicit instructions for 'subtlety'," he carefully worded, making sure not to trigger anything with the "M" word now that they're in the know through their daughter. "Like how we don't look like we're trying to find portals to mystical places?"

"But I am being subtle, dear. I'm not calling out to the station guard for directions,"

"You would have."

"Or talk to that gentleman with the tin cup about his theories,"

"You almost did," replied William with another squeeze of her hand on his arm.

Cynthia was about to continue with a rejoinder when she noticed a small shimmer coming from her husband's jacket pocket.

"Will!" Cynthia whispered. "It's glowing!"

William glanced down in confirmation while leading her to the space between platforms nine and ten.

After a flick of a wrist and glide of their feet, the unassuming couple smoothly disappeared behind a boisterous pack of people that burst out of the trains that arrived on time.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters, King's Cross Station, London

Cynthia bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet, waiting for her daughter to disembark the train while her husband neatly put their Guardian Station Admittance Voucher back in his jacket pocket.

As a mother of an only child, despite seeing Hermione just last Christmas, Cynthia isn't quite ready to be used to not seeing her daughter for long periods of time. There's just so much to talk about Hermione's magical learning and experiences; and just generally Hermione's well-being over all.

William on the other hand tried valiantly to distract his dear, animated wife by reminding her of their planned family activities for summer break; any and all magic-related dialogue should be summarized unless she plans to go to Hogwarts herself.

Cynthia was interrupted from making a point when she saw their daughter walking towards them at last. William noticed her faced smoothed over with a delicate crease of her eyebrows before he turned to study Hermione himself.

From an outsider's point-of-view, she would look like she always has. Arm around a book, curls playfully bouncing as she walked, and head pointed straight ahead.

As her parents, they knew better.

Shoulders are rounder for one; eyes were unseeing, looking down on the ground, and her feet shuffled along the pavement. Their only child looked very tired. Rolling up closer with her luggage, she seemed thinner than they expected and had some bags under her eyes.

William felt a slight squeeze on his arm before he followed his wife that quick stepped to greet their daughter. Hermione gave a strained but happy smile when she looked up at them. She returned their greetings and heart-felt hugs with some fatigue.

The couple glanced at each other as they gently guided their daughter through the crowded station, with William towing the heavy luggage himself. They parked at St. Pancras so they had the time to ruminate over Hermione's unusual mood as they walked.

A few minutes later, they arrived at their car, packed their belongings and drove off. Cynthia turned to look at Hermione's reflection from the car's side pane and pondered.

She always knew her daughter is special. Aside from having a brilliant memory, Hermione's comprehension and application is exceptional. They couldn't be more proud.

She and her husband felt lucky Hermione takes to manners and good conduct quite well, despite the, let's say, setbacks, she experienced at school during her younger years. Cynthia shook her head. Emotions in younger children can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how they're brought up. Envy among peers has plagued Hermione for most of her school life back then. She fears it might plague her still.

Cynthia's heart ached at the thought of Hermione struggling to form meaningful relationships with school mates because of her cleverness. They hoped her admittance to Hogwarts wasn't a decision they'll regret; that it would be different. Then again, their own excitement and curiosity about a new accessible world and Hermione's excited begging pushed them to agree in the end.

As much as they would like to know all her goings-on at a magical boarding school, the older Grangers noticed in her early avian-delivered letters that Hermione would condense and highlight only good things: Exceeds Expectation grades, a bountiful amount of food during meals (which doesn't show in Hermione's figure honestly), the magnificent library, the teaching style of each professor, and so on. She never really mentions until her last few letters that she found friends to socialize with.

Shaking the lethargy from her shoulders, Cynthia noticed Hermione regarding her, probably feeling her stare. Her only child looked back at the reflection and raised a brow in question.

Cynthia smiled with her eyes while physically waving away the sober mood. "Any thoughts of what you want to eat for supper, my heart?"

Hermione tilted her head with a droll expression, understanding immediately her mother is up to something, especially when she called her that. It's endearing but Hermione's aware she's being led to a false sense of security. "Two bangers with some mash is good, mum. Or curry. I don't mind either."

"Oh~ I don't mind me some curry too, Dee. But I think we're out of cumin. We need to do the groceries this week," added William, carefully but smoothly swerving into their street.

"Sausages it is then."

Cynthia Granger has a remarkable trait about her. They just call it "The Knowing" within their family unit. It's not quite a woman's intuition per se. As far as they know, it is something she inherited from her mother – Hermione's grandmother. Father and daughter has always trusted it, trusted that certainty; which was a great relief for William's sake as that certainty led him to be happily married after years of fretfulness on whether his suit to the woman of his dreams would pull through or not.

Bless him.

An example of this was the time when Cynthia would suddenly blurt out that it will rain heavily despite the opposing report on the telly. Rain it would that day.

And then that time Cynthia quickly put down the fish package back on the shelf at the marketplace. The next day, around forty people had food poisoning that shopped at the same section.

The final tell, according to her father, was at a football game that Cynthia and her then-fiancé attended for his birthday. She stared at the opposing team for a few seconds and said without prompt, "They'll win".

For the affianced gentleman himself at that time, William just gave her a bemused smile and declared, "If my team loses, I'll take care of the cleaning for the rest of our marriage."

Granger Residence, Heathgate, Hampstead, London

Arriving home with grumbling stomachs in tow, they all left their shoes at the foyer in special shoe cabinets and exchanged them for their house slippers – those Asian sales ladies had the right of it!, declared the noble man of the house of devoted hygiene and sanitation – while Hermione's luggage was left next to the staircase to be taken care of later.

Father and daughter made a beeline to the living room to rest up while Cynthia breezed into the kitchen to prepare a pot for tea and the table for their late dinner.

While waiting for the whistle, Cynthia looked at her family thoughtfully while leaning on the counter. She watched as William tried to coax Hermione to talk more about her magical term.

Hermione meanwhile was splayed across the couch arm, debating with herself how much she should say. But knowing how persistent her parents are, it's better to 'get it off her chest' as soon as possible.

In the family, they make it a point to always be candid with each other. This was a promise made by her parents ever since their days of courtship. From what she gathered from their stories, her father's parents were quite traditional; which was appreciated by her mother's. What wasn't appreciated was the roundabout ways of polite conversations that created more frustrations than clarity.

They knew firsthand what happens when you bottle up negative feelings for too long, even without Magic churned into the mix. All the thoughts that is said but shouldn't, all the hurt spoken without filter or delay. Although they themselves are quite clever people, they'd rather save the energy and effort into finding a solution as quickly and logically as possible than muck about in unnecessary information.

It's one of the reasons why Hermione's blunt in any situation. Outspoken, others would say. Although, as it turns out, she still needs to work on reading the atmosphere before giving her opinion. What may be ok with her parents may not go well with her more sensitive peers. Or maybe that's just with boys.

Girls do mature faster than boys, Hermione thought.

As Hermione continue to weigh the pros and cons, she didn't notice until it was too late that her mother swapped places with her husband at the couch, tea on hand while he started prep work.

Straightening up and bracing herself, Hermione took a deep breath, watching her mother finish taking her first sip of tea while she took a tentative one from hers.

"Hermione. Darling. Dearest girl. I know you're exhausted and maybe wanting to collapse on your soft, downy bed after supper."

She couldn't have described that wonderful activity more –

" – but you never really got around to tell us…Were you bullied? Have you been eating much throughout the past months? Were you injured? How are your friends? Harry, right? And Ronald? Are they treating you well?"

Hermione choked on her tea, staring at her mother like a rabbit stares at a raptor's shadow closing in on its location in the snow.

Hearing her croak, her dad hummed in humor while mashing some potatoes. "You should know by now your mother is all encompassing; the all-knowing. We might as well call her Aletheia."

"Hush you." said Cynthia, raising her nose high in jest before directing a gentle expression to her daughter. "What your father is trying to say is that we know you're doing great at school. You always have. But we worry sometimes that when you're so focused on your studies, you tend to forget to take care of yourself—you need to work on your letters by the way as if they're essays, dear – You forget to interact with people even.

And no, answering your professor's questions is not considered a conversation," Cynthia added in a deadpan. Hermione snapped her mouth shut with a click and slumped down her seat.

Cynthia kissed her daughter's cheek affectionately.

"Cheer up, buttercup. Can you humor us at least with what's troubling you? It might make you feel better," William suggested with a gentle smile, seating himself at Hermione's other side, kitchen prepping done.

Hermione took another bracing sip and sheepishly began.

Presently as licensed Dental Surgeons, Cynthia and William are well practiced with keeping a level head, with nerves and hands rarely off balanced. Patients who are normally very anxious over people coming near their mouth with sharp implements are relaxed in their presence.

This countenance was put to task as countless emotions ran through the couple in response to their daughter's account of her misadventures.

"…there are students in one of other houses that stare at me funny because they found out I'm not born to magical parents. I thought it was my correct recitations during class. Or maybe that adds to it. It might be a cultural difference. I'll ask when I get back…"

"…there's a castle poltergeist that absolutely terrorize anyone anywhere. Don't worry. I keep careful account of my surroundings whenever I hear his cackle. I wonder though if he could be exorcised. I'm not sure yet if that can be arranged or requested or if it has been attempted before..."

"…and then the toad leaped in front of the Professor, startling her enough to transfigure it on the spot to a goblet. Which is conveniently the lesson for the day."

As Hermione went on from the seemingly mundane to the fantastical, Cynthia gestured them all to relocate to the dining table as she fixed up their dinner. William presented his daughter a glass of water, which she guzzled down quickly as she became more animated in her telling.

"…and I honestly didn't hear the troll until it bashed into the lavatory and…"

"…a baby dragon, mum! But then it's actually illegal to own one so we decided to help get it somewhere else. Ron said his brother studies them in Romania. A Dragonologist I think? Or was it a Dragon Keeper. Hold on…"

"…I read about it in one book that said 'Struggling or resistance to it will cause the plant to exert a greater force of constriction'. But if the victim relaxes, it also eases its grip…"

"…that puzzle was quite tricky and it felt exhilarating to solve! Of course, self-preservation was at the forefront of my mind since some of them are poison…"

"…with a last minute reprimand from our Head of House. Her name's Professor McGonagall. We boarded the train and continued to eat Harry's leftover treats. I used the Toothflossing Stringmints, don't worry. And…here we are?" she finally finished, albeit lamely.

Hermione breathed out, nervously glancing at her parents while playing with a forkful of her meal. They seem to be still processing; deliberating...

Her father slowly stood up and silently took the dishes for washing while her mother took Hermione back to the couch. Mother and daughter waited until he joined them.

After a few more minutes of staring at each other over their daughter's head, the couple suddenly kneeled at either side of Hermione and wrapped their arms around her, making her squeak in surprise.

Her parents remained quiet, letting the stillness of the evening wash over them. Their warmth made Hermione remember why she cried into her pillow at her dorm bed on the third night of her stay. Alone. For the first time. On her first and second nights, she was too overwhelmed and excited to see all the new sights and sounds of the castle, but that got old quickly once she realized she couldn't click that well with the other girls.

Hermione slowly relaxed into the group hug, comprehending that her parents weren't going to scold her about reckless behavior, or forbid her from coming back to school, like she expected. She should have remembered how supportive they've always been and how they trusted her good sense. She hugged them back, just as fiercely.

She knew this wasn't what they prepared her for. They made sure she's up to date with muggle news, local and international, despite her young age. Movies and plays would dramatize or exaggerate but the fact remains danger still exists to threaten any life. And despite the guilt she felt for delaying telling any of this to her parents, she felt abundantly relieved now.

Cynthia and William meanwhile have similar thoughts running through their minds. They never imagined something like this would happen on school grounds. In a castle. With a loch. Surrounded by a forest of the dangerous kind – if Hermione's account was accurate, which almost always was.

Plotting aside, they loosened their hold on their daughter to give her matching comforting smiles.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it? I meant taking a load of your shoulder, not the life-threatening bits." William jested as he took one hand and ran it through Hermione's hair gently, untangling some stubborn knots as he went.

Hermione giggled demurely with a watery gaze, nudging her head towards his fingers, feeling affectionate. Cynthia kissed her on the forehead and softly moved everyone to Hermione's room to help unpack her luggage before resting for the night.

As she was putting out the lights, Cynthia spotted a corner of a shiny paper peeking out of her purse. She smiled impishly in remembrance and walked to the master bedroom with a spring in her step.

Flask Walk, Hampstead, London

Hermione sighed as she jogged towards her energetic mother, who's waving at them in front of an upscale-looking building. Her father patted her shoulder good naturedly alongside her; his languid strides long enough to cover the distance for her every hurried step.

The morning after her refreshing talk with her family, Hermione rubbed an eye while walking into the kitchen with a pocket book. She caught her mother wearing very form-fitting work-out clothes, humming a cheery tune while preparing breakfast.

"Mum..? Are you going somewhere?" Hermione spoke slowly, blinking twice, still processing the uncommon sight. She never pegged her mother as someone that would pursue athletic activities. Ever.

Her mother smiled brightly. "Good morning, my heart. We're going out!"

"We?" Hermione emphasized with raised eyebrows.

"Yes. We. As a family, darling. At least once sleeping handsome comes down from his pillowy tower," replied Cynthia, trying to keep a straight face.

Hermione was about to quip about kissing the deep sleeper awake but then stopped with a slight blush on her cheeks. As much as she values how loving a couple her parents are, she draws the line on actually imagining them doing any displays of intimate affection. She asked instead, "Where? Does dad even know?"

"He'll understand once he sees the clothes I strategically placed at our room."

"…You put them over his face again, didn't you?" Hermione held her giggles, tucking into the pancakes, and apple slices on the table. This particular stratagem of her mother's was a favorite. Since her dad never moves from his position sleeping on his back, he's often vulnerable to his wife's mischief.

"He'll wake soon enough. Besides, you're not the only one withholding information in your letters. We wanted to surprise you. We tried it first for ourselves – to check its legitimacy of course – before we thought it might be fun for you too!" continued her mother excitedly.

Apparently they've been attending a special class, twice a week, for the past five months. They've been signed up by a neighbor that raved about finding inner peace and calm in her life, especially as news and rumors of riots happening every once in a while has been happening in the country.

Hermione was intrigued. As highly fascinating as it has been to experience magic and how it makes things convenient for daily life, much as how science and technology has been the equivalent of, in her opinion, for the non-magical, it's always exciting to learn something that would help improve herself. It feels more rewarding when there is physical effort involved.

From her understanding and observation of her classmates that grew up in magical households, magic makes a person a little spoiled; too lazy even – a picture of Ron's bored face during lessons popped up in her mind. She rolled her eyes.

And from previous thoughts in her letters and discussions throughout last Christmas break, Hermione spoke about the intrinsic and extrinsic complexities of magic with her parents: Talks on the difference between pharmaceutical drugs, and draughts and potions; Dialogue on the differences of ordinary animals and magical beasts; Conversations on the similarities, differences, and history of Alchemy, Chemistry, Astronomy, Herbology, Horticulture, Potions, and, Molecular Gastronomy.

That last bit was a tossed in topic, honestly. Dad had an obsession about it back in his uni days.

How food science and dentistry relate, Hermione has no idea.

It was dad that actually encouraged the special class, her mother said, after doing his own research. He reasoned that the sessions they're taking adhere to self-improvement and self-discipline, not only of the body but of the mind – and for some people like their neighbor, of the spirit.

"He said 'It might help Hermione manage her magic!'" her mother relayed with a smile.

Hermione was ecstatic. "That's brilliant, mum!" She side-hugged her mother, feeling touched again by her parents thoughtfulness.

"Hey! Since it's my idea, don't I get a good morning hug too?" a voice pouted at the entrance of the dining area.

Hermione giggled, welcoming her dad with a bear hug.

"Now that's more like it. Any pancakes left? And thank you dear for that wake-up call. It took my breath away. Literally," said William lightly, kissing his wife at her temple.

"You're very welcome you ham. Now, sweetie, go up to your room and wear something comfortable," said Cynthia as she poured honey-lemon juice in a glass for her groggy husband. "And bring an extra pair just in case!"

Looking up at the building again as she got closer, Hermione frowned. Did I agree to go to a gym?

She got distracted from her brooding when she heard someone talking to her left.

A man was sat at a bench outside the building, talking into a device next to his head, which looked like a smaller version of a two-way radio. It was black, which contrasted well with his silver-grey locks – quite a similar coloring to a dove's now that she thinks about it. She also noticed she's just about as tall as him, sitting there upright. He doesn't seem to be as tall as Hagrid but his physique still hints of a towering figure.

He kept talking with rolling 'r's and a deeper 'l' sound. Like from the word "pull" but it's applied to most of his words that start with Ls. His language seems harsher than what she's heard from English or French – like there's a minimal amount of articulation happening on his lips because he feels cold? If that makes sense.

Maybe he's from somewhere way up north?

Definitely not Scotland though.

Her father was similarly transfixed but more focused on the device the man is holding than his nationality.

Cynthia walked over to them, still smiling but giving the stranger a discreet glance. She shrugged when they silently gestured if she knows him. She took their arms and pushed them off in the right direction.

"Come on you two. The session starts at nine and I want to introduce Hermione to the teacher before we start."

Author's Note: Hi I'm fairly new at writing but a long time reader. My brain just wouldn't leave me alone. Anyway, I pouted a little when we don't get to see much background story about the Granger parental units because they were, apparently, canonically, too boring. This is my way of doing a bit of character study and of course, wanting to give some joy to the world by adding to the fandom.

EDIT 10/10/2020: Requested translation / explanation:

Prepaid envelopes - they're a real thing not only in the UK but in the global postage system. They're just more frequently used in businesses. Buying postage stamps and sticking them on envelopes or packages yourself is still cheaper for personal mail.

Bangers and mash - 'sausages and mash potatoes' in English. Back in the early 1900s, meat had such a high water content that they literally 'bang' against the pots or pans while cooking them.

Alatheia - Greek Goddess of Truth / Roman Spirit of Truth

Onwards!

Reine