A/N: Since I don't want people reading under false pretenses, I think I should be clear now that this is not going to be an H/Hr story. Sorry, it's just not a ship that's ever made sense to me. So if you absolutely need that relationship, this story is not going to be for you. That said, none of the principle characters in this story are going to pair up for quite some time and romance is never going to be the focus of the story, so if you enjoy gen fic then please come along for the ride.
Reviews are always welcome!
Obligatory disclaimer: Not mine. I do not reap any pecuniary benefits from writing this story.
Chapter 1: Goodbyes
Harry was in a rather strange state of mind when he accompanied his friends first to breakfast and then down to the train on the following morning. On the one hand, he was elated not to be returning to the Dursleys and thus avoiding one of the most unpleasant cornerstones of his life. But on the other, he was devastated to be parting from his friends. Elation warred with devastation, while a sense of unreality threatened to overwhelm both: it didn't seem quite real that he wouldn't be returning to the Dursleys, and it seemed equally unreal that he wouldn't be sharing a compartment with Ron, Hermione, and a giant bag of chocolate frogs on the Hogwarts Express come September 1.
Neville, Dean, and Seamus sat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at breakfast, but Luna was lost in her own world at the Ravenclaw table, and Ginny sat with her friends from her own year—comfortable in the expectation that she would be seeing Harry and Hermione over the summer. Harry tried to savor every moment, but felt himself oddly disconnected from the chatter of the table, as if some part of him was already gone.
Ron and Hermione were somber too, neither of them speaking much, while Dean and Seamus expounded loudly on their summer plans. Hermione looked tired, as if she hadn't slept much, and seemed at moments to be on the verge of tears. Ron too looked unhappy, tongue-tied after the long flow of words the night before. But they sat on either side of Harry, and he was comforted by the familiar feeling of their bodies on either side of his. Neville sat across from Hermione, also silent. He was usually quiet at meals, and everyone knew that Harry wasn't fond of summer away from Hogwarts, so the group's silence went unremarked.
After breakfast Harry took a carriage down to the train station with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, though unlike the others he left his packed luggage in Gryffindor tower. During the ride Harry told Neville that he would be going into hiding, keeping his eyes fixed on the thestral pulling their carriage because it was easier than looking into Neville's face.
When they arrived on the platform, Neville surprised Harry by pulling him into a tight hug, after which he volunteered to go find a compartment to share with the others, kindly giving the three friends their privacy.
Time seemed to slow as they stood on the platform, looking into each other's faces for a moment that seemed both long and infinitely short.
It was Hermione who pulled away, squeezing the boys' hands extra hard before murmuring "I'll be right back" and darting away.
Harry was left with Ron, staring at his first friend and wondering how he could live without him. "I'll write as often as they let me," he promised, voice cracking.
"I'll try to write you novels like Hermione does," the redhead replied, his attempted humor falling flat.
Thirty meters down the platform from where Ron and Harry stood, Hermione came up behind Ginny and grabbed her wrist. "Ginny! Harry's not coming on the train. Come say goodbye."
"What?" Ginny turned and stared at her, startled.
"Harry's not coming on the train with the rest of us," Hermione repeated. "I wanted you to have a chance to say goodbye." Turning, she gestured back the way she had come. "This way." Ginny grabbed her hand and followed, weaving between piles of luggage and clumps of students on the crowded platform until they reached Ron and Harry.
"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, shooting Hermione a look of intense gratitude. He had wanted to say this goodbye, but hadn't quite known when or how to seek her out.
The youngest Weasley stopped an arm's length short of Harry and Ron, Hermione next to her. "Harry! Hermione said you're not taking the train?"
"Dumbledore said it wasn't a good idea."
"Oh. Will we see you this summer, at least?"
"No. Er, Dumbledore wants me to go into hiding, thinks I'm too much of a target as it is. I'm, um, not sure when I'll see you again." Harry grimaced, wondering if he could have broken the news any more awkwardly.
"Oh." Ginny's eyes flicked over to Hermione and the two shared a look of mutual exasperation before turning back to Ron and Harry. "I—"
The silence stretched, both knowing that they wanted to say something but neither sure of what they wanted to say. Finally, Harry spoke.
"Dumbledore said I won't be able to exchange letters very often, but I'll write."
Ginny smiled. "That'd be nice." She darted forward and gave Harry a quick hug. "Take care of yourself, will you?"
Harry pulled a face. "That's the whole point of this, isn't it? You take care too."
Turning to Hermione, Ginny promised that she'd come visit them on the train. Waving at Harry, she turned to go back to her year mates.
"Ginny!" Harry called out belatedly, "I'll miss you."
She paused and looked back, a small smile on her face. "I'll miss you, too." And then Ginny was gone, darting around a clump of second year Ravenclaws and disappearing behind a group of sixth year Hufflepuffs.
It was at this point that Luna wandered up. She greeted them dreamily: "Oh, hello Harry, Ronald, Hermione. Are you not going on the train, Harry? You don't seem to have any luggage."
"No, I'm not." Harry sighed, feeling like every time he explained the situation it became more real. "Dumbledore reckons I'd better play least-in-sight for a while."
"Yes, that might be wise. The wrackspurts are so thick around you that you're rather like a beacon at the moment."
Ron's jaw dropped at this statement and he goggled at the peculiar Ravenclaw. Hermione made a gurgling noise that might have been strangled laughter, though it was hard to say. But Harry felt some of the tightness in his chest ease, and he smiled broadly back. "Have a good summer, Luna."
Hermione added, "Neville is saving a compartment, if you want to sit with us." Ron sent her a dirty look at this invitation, but luckily Luna didn't notice.
"Oh, what a lovely offer. It will almost be like having friends!" Luna beamed at them and wandered onto the train, presumably to find Neville and their compartment, dragging her trunk behind her. The three friends found themselves alone for one final time.
The three of them stood in a circle with their arms around each other, throats tight. Long minutes passed as the chaos of the platform swirled around them and finally thinned. They said little, for what is there to say in such a moment? Instead they stared into each other's faces, memorizing details they already knew by heart. Ron was unusually pale, making his freckles stand out more strongly than ever. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were wet with the tears that had been threatening all morning. Harry committed the details to memory, promising himself that he would always remember exactly how they had looked at this moment. Memories, he reflected with some bitterness, were too often the only thing he got to keep.
Finally they were the only students left on the platform. A whistle blew, and the stationmaster shouted out a warning that the train would be leaving in one minute.
As she had so often before, Hermione broke the silence, whispering, "I love you both so much."
Harry responded, voice cracking with the pent-up emotion of the last day. "You two are the best friends I could have asked for. Even when I can't see you, I'll think of you every day."
"I'll miss you, Harry," added Ron, his own voice rough with emotion, and the three tightened their embrace.
"Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger! On the train now!" interjected Professor McGonagall. She was standing at the nearest entrance to the train, obviously waiting to check the last two students off the list.
Giving Harry one last hug, the other two turned towards the train. Hermione grabbed Crookshanks' wicker basket, and together the prefects levitated their trunks and guided them onto the train (Ron's bumping rather hard against the side of the train along the way). They scrambled onto the train just before it began to move, Professor McGonagall firmly shutting the door after them.
Harry watched the train pull away, the lump in his throat expanding so that it seemed to encompass his whole chest. He did not cry, because life with the Dursleys had taught him not to. At best, his childhood tears had been met with contempt, more often with cruel taunting and threats—often acted upon—that whichever Dursley was present would give him something to cry about. So Harry did not cry, and was not even conscious of any urge to do so. But he felt as if he had put his heart on the train with his friends, and he fancied that he felt the train carrying it further and further away as it disappeared into the distance.
When the train had faded into a blob on the horizon, Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and cleared her throat. "Come along, Mr. Potter. The headmaster is expecting you back at the castle."
Numbly, Harry allowed himself to be led, though he was grateful that his head of house did not seem to expect him to talk, as he rather suspected that the power of speech was beyond him.
When they arrived at the castle, Professor McGonagall led Harry to a portrait on the third floor, one corridor away from nearby classrooms. The portrait was old and depicted a dark-haired witch dressed in a simple gown of deep orange, with autumn leaves woven into her long hair and a grove of trees in late autumn depicted behind her.
Professor McGonagall introduced the woman in the portrait. "This is Horatia, Mr. Potter. Horatia, this is Harry Potter." She turned to Harry. "The headmaster asked me to tell you that you will be staying in this guest suite for a few days, while you remain here. We can't have you rattling around in Gryffindor tower on your own, and besides the house elves are itching to start scrubbing it from top to bottom now that the students are gone. The password is Quidditch and chocolate frogs."
At this, the portrait swung forward, and Professor McGonagall gestured for Harry to precede her through it. He found himself in a comfortable-looking sitting room. The décor—mostly various shades of brown, beige, and cream with silver accents—was decidedly more restrained than that of Gryffindor tower, but the sofa and armchairs looked quite as inviting. His trunk and Hedwig's cage sat against the back of the sofa, while Hedwig herself sat on a perch near the far wall, next to an open window.
At the sight of his owl, something in Harry's chest eased, and a corner of his mouth turned up. But before he could walk over to greet his owl, Professor McGonagall was talking again. "You have your choice between the bedrooms, so I'll leave you to choose a room and get settled. The headmaster suggested that you oughtn't unpack too fully, as you won't be here long, though he didn't give details. Lunch will be in the Great Hall at noon, and the headmaster would like to see you in his office after. Do you have any questions?"
Harry found his voice enough to say, "no, ma'am." His head of house bid him good day and left, leaving him alone.
Curiosity momentarily overruled despondency as Harry went to investigate the bedrooms. The bedroom on the right was decorated in gold, cream, and pale blue, with oak furniture. Its bath was done to match in cream-colored marble, with gold fittings and pale blue towels and rugs. Harry chose the bedroom on the left, which was done in darker blue, grey, and silver, with furniture that appeared to be ebony. His bath was grey marble with silver fittings and dark blue towels and rugs, and with the exception of the prefects' bath (which he'd used clandestinely during his fourth year) it was the most luxurious bathroom he'd ever seen.
Dragging his trunk into his chosen bedroom (where he was pleased to see that it fit underneath a convenient bench padded in grey velvet that stood at the foot of the bed), Harry unpacked enough for a few days, then set to organizing and neatening the contents of his trunk, more because it was in front of him and something to do than because he was really bothered by the mess within.
#
Much to his disappointment, Harry didn't learn much from his after-lunch meeting with Dumbledore. The headmaster gave him an armful of books—Magical Plants of Ireland, Ireland's Most Magical Creatures, A History of Wizarding Ireland, A Wizard's Guide to Magical Cork, and Principles of Magical Warding—and explained that since it would take a few more days for everything to be ready, Harry might as well use the time to start reading, as he would need to know the contents.
It was evident to Harry from the array of books he'd been given that Ireland was somehow involved—perhaps he'd be living there?—but Dumbledore gave no other details, so he returned to the guest suite on the third floor feeling as though he had learned nothing.
The next few days passed quietly for Harry. He did spend several hours each day reading, though probably not as many as Dumbledore had intended. The book on magical creatures was the most interesting of the lot in Harry's opinion, and the book on warding was also pretty good, but after five years of Binns he couldn't summon any enthusiasm for wizarding history, and herbology was not among the subjects he cared to read about on summer holiday.
To Harry's slight surprise, most of the teachers were gone within twenty-four hours. Half had disappeared by dinner on the first night. Professor McGonagall stopped in to say goodbye to him after breakfast on the morning after the train departed, gifting him with a tin of ginger newts and a watery smile.
By the third morning after term ended, the castle was almost deserted. Dumbledore was still there, of course, as was Hagrid, and the house elves. Snape appeared sporadically for meals in the Great Hall, leaving Harry uncertain about whether Snape was staying in the castle or just visiting a lot.
Harry spent a great many hours lying in bed, or occasionally lying on the couch in the sitting room of his guest suite. He read when he remembered to, but more often stared into space and tried to let his mind go blank. On a few occasions he visited Hagrid for tea, but it was clear that the gamekeeper had a lot of work to do now that the students were gone, so the visits were shorter and further apart than Harry would have otherwise chosen.
Without anything of consequence to do (in Harry's opinion, reading did not count) and without anyone to distract him, Harry was completely overwhelmed by his grief for Sirius. He did not cry, as he had forgotten how to do so. Instead he was engulfed by listlessness, and sat for hours staring into space, thinking about everything he had done wrong in the events leading up to Sirius's death. He was angry, far angrier than he'd been last summer when he felt shut out by the order. Harry was angry with Dumbledore for not telling him the prophecy sooner, angry with Snape for allowing it to happen, angry with Sirius for dying when Harry needed him.
But most of all, Harry was furious at himself. Why hadn't he realized sooner that it was a trap? Why hadn't he fought better (never mind that the Death Eaters were fully-trained adult wizards and he was not)? Why hadn't he worked harder at occlumency? He asked himself the same questions over and over, never reaching resolution or conclusions but stewing in his own anger and self-loathing.
Still, by the time Harry woke up on Monday his anger had largely burned itself out. He was still angry and he still loathed himself, but the energy was gone now, and with it the immediacy of his fury. The questions and recriminations that had circulated through his mind over the past few days were not gone, but they were firmly lodged in the back of his mind. To start with, Harry's anger was replaced by numbness, and he went through the day mechanically.
He spent most of the afternoon with Magical Plants of Ireland open on his lap (mostly out of guilt that he hadn't started it before now), but read only a few pages and remembered even fewer. As the day wore on and faded into evening, Harry found himself wondering more and more often how much longer he would stay here in this limbo, and whether being more or less alone at Hogwarts like he was now would turn out to be better or worse than whatever was going to happen to him.
For the first time since the Hogwarts Express had departed, Harry did not fall asleep thinking about Sirius's death. He was too consumed by wondering when Dumbledore would tell him how he was going to be hidden to focus on his grief or his feelings of guilt.
# # #
When Hermione accompanied Harry and Ron to breakfast after a short and restless night's sleep on the morning after her conversation with Dumbledore, it took most of her self-control not to spend the entirety of the meal gazing around the Great Hall. It was her second favorite room at Hogwarts (the library was her favorite, of course), and she felt a sharp pang at the realization that she didn't know when she would next get to see it.
The enormity of last night's decision was beginning to hit her, and while she was certain of her choice she also felt a profound sense of loss.
Like Harry, Hermione felt more at home at Hogwarts than anywhere else in the world. While her childhood had been far more loving than Harry's, it had still been a lonely one. She was an only child, and had been bullied mercilessly by her classmates at school for her precociousness, her blunt and often ill-considered honesty, and lack of talent for sport.
After her nearly disastrous run-in with the troll in her first year, she had found an acceptance at Hogwarts unlike what she had found anywhere else. She was not popular, but she had Harry and Ron, and looser friendships with Neville, Ginny, Luna, Susan Bones, and a smattering of other students from Dumbledore's Army. It was, in many ways, a richer life than her eager 11-year-old self had ever dared to hope for when she first boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Of course, in a way that was why she was going: she owed so much of the happiness in her life to her friendship with Harry. If his friendship had given her so much, it was only right that she leave it all behind on his account. But that did not make the leave-taking easy.
Over the years, many parts of Hogwarts had become mundane. The moving staircases had ceased to be amusing by October of her first year, and she now considered them a profound nuisance. With time she had become accustomed to stone passageways, suits of armor, courtyards and crenellations. They had become so ordinary that she often failed to notice them.
But there were a handful of places in the castle that still seemed as magical as they had when she first saw them: the library, which she only appreciated more with every book she read from the collection; the Gryffindor Common Room, with its cozy armchairs and welcoming fire; Professor McGonagall's classroom, though she never would have admitted it to Harry or Ron; the Prefect's bath, which she'd only gotten to use this past year, and was unspeakably luxurious besides; and of course the Great Hall, with its enchanted ceiling and floating candles. Hogwarts, for Hermione, was those places. And she was dearly attached to them, much as she was attached to the people she shared them with.
But much as she wished to, Hermione could not afford to look around the Great Hall, allowing her eyes to linger on the ceiling, the candles, the high table (now blessedly free of Umbridge). Dumbledore had not said anything explicit, but it was clear that she could not behave in any way out of the ordinary. So she could not make a last visit to the library, either, though she had allowed herself one last trip to the prefect's bath this morning.
#
Saying goodbye to Harry on the platform was hard, even knowing that she was likely to see him again in a few days. If she was not saying goodbye to Harry she was (secretly) saying goodbye to Ron, and if she wasn't saying goodbye to Ron then she was (truly) saying goodbye to Harry.
In either case, Hermione was keenly aware that she was saying goodbye to the three of them as a unit. Dumbledore hadn't said how long Harry (and thus Hermione) would be in hiding for, but she suspected that it would be at least six months, if not a year or longer. As the trio stood on the platform with their arms around each other, she wondered how long it would be before they stood that way again, and how much would have changed by then.
#
The train ride back to London was enjoyable, if bittersweet. For once Hermione did not spend the majority of the train ride with her nose buried in a book, telling herself sternly that there would be plenty of opportunities to read later.
Instead she talked and played games with her friends, giving Ron the opportunity to trounce her three times in a row at wizards' chess. She was glad to have Neville and Luna in their compartment, and many other members of the DA came by to say hello to the four of them. Ginny stayed the longest at almost half an hour, much to Hermione's delight. Since she couldn't risk making her goodbyes seem unusually momentous Hermione felt that she couldn't particularly seek anyone out, but was grateful for the chance to spend time with her first female friend at Hogwarts.
The more she enjoyed herself on the train, the greater Hermione's sense of loss grew. In the present moment, she was not only content but acutely aware of her own contentment—and just as aware of its transience.
Part of her willed that the train ride would last forever. But of course it couldn't, and before she knew it Hermione was giving quick hugs goodbye to Neville, Ron, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before following her parents off of the platform and out to their car. The goodbyes were too brief, as the Weasleys expected that she would come stay with them in August, but they were something, and Hermione told herself that they would have to be enough.
#
Hermione's parents had taken the afternoon of from their dental practice to pick her up from the train, but they were back to work the next morning, leaving her home alone all day to pack, plan, and reflect.
In her childhood Hermione had been close to her parents, and she still loved them to the moon and back. But after five years at Hogwarts, they were not close any longer, and Hermione found it exhausting to interact with them.
Brilliant as they were, her mum and dad did not understand magic. More to the point, they did not understand the magical world. Oh, they were pleased that their daughter earned top marks, and they had been thrilled last year when she had been named a prefect. But they had no idea what she learned at school, and had no idea what a magical career path might look like. (Much as she was going to miss them, Hermione couldn't help feeling relief that she would not have to explain to them that there was no such thing as university in the magical world.)
Most importantly, they did not understand about Voldemort or the Order. To be scrupulously fair, it is impossible to say for certain that they did not understand about Voldemort, because Hermione had never told them.
Hermione had not told her parents about Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone after first year. She had not told them about the Basilisk second year (as Muggles, her parents had only received a vague notice from the school that she was ill and recovering in the hospital wing). She had certainly never told them about helping Sirius Black escape in her third year, and while she had explained about the Triwizard Tournament in her fourth year she had carefully avoided explaining its potential lethality, her sojourn at the bottom of the lake during the Second Task, or Harry's misadventures at the end of the tournament. She had absolutely neglected to mention Voldemort's return. And Hermione had absolutely no intention of telling her parents about the recent debacle at the Ministry of Magic this year.
Hermione had good reasons for this, and Hogwarts school policies made it extraordinarily easy for students to hide facts about the magical world from Muggle parents and guardians. Technically, a muggleborn student's guardianship in the magical world was split between his or her Head of House and the Headmaster of Hogwarts, from the time he or she was sorted until he or she came of age. Muggle parents could sign forms for Hogsmeade, of course, and had control over the elements of their child's education with clear parallels with the Muggle world. But for many matters, it simply wasn't practical to give guardianship decisions to parents who did not have the necessary context to make informed decisions for their children, and so it was by design relatively easy to keep Muggle parents in the dark.
Harry had never bothered to look up the details, and presumably most other muggleborn students told their parents quite a lot about their lives at Hogwarts, but Hermione had read everything she could on the subject at the end of her second year in preparation for her return home, and she was fully aware that her omissions were legally allowed—just as she knew her parents would be both furious and deeply wounded if they ever learned what she had kept from them.
As a long awaited only child, Hermione had grown up with the sort of overprotective parents who would not allow her to climb the trees in their back yard for fear that she would fall. Despite being an unusually responsible child, she had not been allowed to visit the park one street over from their house on her own until the summer before she started Hogwarts. Even when she was allowed to do things, even simple things like the children's cooking class she'd begged to take one summer, her parents clearly worried.
While she had found enjoyable childhood pastimes within the constraints of her parents' fears—reading was always acceptable (except when she did it under the covers after light's out), rounded out by French lessons, piano lessons, and carefully selected and closely supervised children's science experiments—she couldn't remember a time when she had been unaware of her parents' anxieties.
So Hermione had at put off telling them about her various adventures and close calls at Hogwarts, until the gap between reality and what they knew was so large that she could not contemplate telling them at all.
At root, she feared that if her parents knew how much danger she had been in while a student at Hogwarts, they would immediately attempt to remove her from the school. And they would try, she firmly believed. Of course, if it came to it, she would fight to stay—and probably win. If her parents were to attempt removing her from school there would be a Ministry hearing, and based on the legal precedents the Ministry would almost certainly decide in favor of Hermione and Hogwarts.
After much thought, Hermione had decided several years ago that it was infinitely preferable to lie by omission about her experiences at Hogwarts than to break her parents' hearts by refusing to leave school. Whatever her parents might think and however strong their impulses to keep her close and protected, Hermione understood that she was far safer living in the magical world and continuing her education, with fully trained witches and wizards to protect her, than she would be attending a muggle school and living with her parents.
So the distance between parents and child widened, a gap fostered by silences and secrets. She did not love her parents any less, but spending long stretches of time with them had become more and more strained over the years. She had become only too eager to stay at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys over breaks, avoiding the emotional discomfort of time with parents who did not really either know or understand her.
And yet, despite all the awkwardness, all the distance, all the omissions, Hermione knew she would miss her parents. They had been her rock for the first twelve years of her life, until she'd found her place at Hogwarts. And she understood—as well as almost any teenager understands, at least—that their anxiety and over-protectiveness came from a place of love, however incompatible it might be with her life.
Hermione spent her first morning home alone going through boxes of family photos. She was grateful for her parents' tendency to get multiple prints of many (though not all) pictures, and for the disorganization of the boxes. They meant that she could take a handful—not perhaps the best handful, but still a good handful, a precious handful—to keep without much risk of their absence being noticed. (She wished that she might use magic to make copies, cursing the restriction on under-age magic for the thousandth time, but did not give in to temptation. Too much was at stake.) So she picked carefully, sparingly.
A photograph of her parents from their wedding, radiating joy. Not one of the pictures they displayed in the sitting room, but still a nice one.
A photograph of her parents on the day they opened their own dental practice, perfect teeth showing in both smiles.
A photograph of her mother, heavily pregnant with her and smiling broadly at the camera.
A photograph of Hermione and her mum's parents, taken when she was four.
A photograph of the three of them on holiday in France, the summer before her third year.
No more. More might be noticed. Except… her fingers trembled as she realized that the last box—the first one she had removed from the shelf—included extra Christmas card photos from her childhood, a small pile of copies for each year. She took one of each, greedily, thrilled with her luck.
She gathered them up carefully, tucked them into an empty envelope and put them into her trunk. Less than two-dozen Muggle photos to serve as a connection to her Muggle life. So little, and yet so much more than she'd hoped for. Of course, she had a small album of photos from Hogwarts, photos of her with Harry and Ron, a few of her with Ginny, most of them taken by Colin Creevy. Her parents didn't know that album existed, so there was no reason to leave it behind.
Deciding that it was too soon to do any more packing, Hermione turned to her summer homework. Knowing that even she would not be able to do all of her assignments in a few days, she chose to start with her favorite, transfiguration.
#
By Monday evening, Hermione had written essays for transfiguration, charms, and arithmancy, as well as letters to both Harry and Ron, asking how the starts of their respective summers were going (and badgering Ron to start on his summer assignments). True to the headmaster's instructions, she wrote out two copies of each letter as well as the rough drafts of each essay.
She had only unpacked her pajamas and underclothes from her trunk, and she had very few things to add from her childhood room, for fear that their absence would be noticed (she had inherited her sharp memory from her mother, after all). She added a small stuffed cat; a couple of favorite books; an old diary which she had used from the time she received it for her 10th birthday until the spring of her first year at Hogwarts, when it had occurred to her that it might be wise to stop recording her life on paper, at least for now; a necklace that had belonged to her grandmother; and a small bottle of her mother's perfume, which she had taken years ago when her mother was out of town for a conference, and whose disappearance had gone unremarked. Nothing more. Bringing too much was simply not worth the risk.
She had tried to enjoy the past few days, cooking with her dad, helping her mum in the garden, watching movies together as a family in the evenings. But it was bittersweet. Knowing the grief she would be causing her parents made it difficult for Hermione to find genuine pleasure in the time she spent with them.
As always, the weight of her secrets weighed on her as she relayed a highly edited version of the past school year to her parents' eager years. She told them brightly about what she had learned in transfiguration, charms, and herbology. She told them that the most recent defense teacher had been awful and would not be returning, but failed to mention Umbridge's ties to the Ministry, her sinister methods of punishment, or Hermione's own role in Umbridge's resignation. Hermione told her parents all about her OWL exams, except for Professor McGonagall getting attacked during the astronomy practical and Harry's vision during History of Magic. She did not tell them about the DA, or Dumbledore's suspension, or her recent misadventures at the Ministry, leaving her parents with the impression that she had found the year stressful primarily because of the pressure of exams. Her parents consequently worried that she was not as capable as she ought to be at performing under pressure, a topic they discussed with each other in hushed voices and with creased brows.
When they expressed this concern to their daughter, Hermione wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It was so absurd, and yet it demonstrated the disconnect between them with devastating clarity.
So while Hermione went to bed on Monday night with a feeling of apprehension for what was to happen the next day (she did not really doubt that Dumbledore had been able to make arrangements on her behalf), mingled with grief and guilt for the life she was about to leave behind, a significant part of her just wanted to be gone already. She felt guilty for her own impatience to leave, layered on top of the guilt she felt for the pain she would cause her parents, but she was honest enough—at least with herself—to admit that she was ready to go.
