Christmas Eve at the Burrow came quicker than Hermione had anticipated. She found herself standing at the kitchen counter, elbow to elbow with Ron and Harry as they peeled a mountain of potatoes. Muggle Christmas carols were playing on the Wizarding Wireless, much to Mr Weasley's delight, and her stomach was full of Cauldron Cakes. She felt… content. Happy.

'I still don't understand why you can't use a spell, Hermione. You're of age now,' Ron grumbled.

'You've missed a spot.' She chucked a potato at him. 'Just because you can use magic doesn't mean you always should.'

'But that didn't stop you this summ—'

She cut him off with an elbow to the ribs, glancing sharply at Mr Weasley who was reading his paper in the corner. 'Yes well, sometimes we make silly mistakes.'

Ron stared at her as though she had grown a second head. 'Harry, did she just admit that she made a mistake?'

Harry lifted his glasses to squint at her. 'I think so. Do we think she's been Polyjuiced?'

'Hard to tell. Does she have a tail?'

Hermione's cheeks were flaming. 'Oh shush you two.'

Ron looked over Harry's shoulder at his father before leaning in close. 'Have you had any more thoughts on what Snape and Malfoy might be up to?'

'Not this again…' Hermione groaned under her breath.

'No, but Malfoy said Voldemort gave him a job. It's big, whatever it is. I know it,' Harry replied, ignoring her.

'And we're sure Snape is helping him,' Ron asked for the third time that week. First when Harry recounted the story to Ron on the train, then again as they were decorating the tree. It was exhausting hearing them drone on and on about the same thing.

'He was trying to, anyway. Malfoy was refusing, saying Snape was trying to steal all his glory.'

Ron snorted. 'That certainly sounds like something Snape would do. Finally, even the Slytherins are starting to notice how big of a git he is.'

'Ron!'

He made a face at her. 'Well it's true.'

Hermione huffed loudly and went back to peeling her potatoes. She attacked one with so much vigour it slipped out of her hands and shot across the room, tumbling under the dining table with a heavy thunk.

'Did you ever think that maybe Snape was pretending to offer help to Malfoy so he could learn what he's up to?' She asked finally.

Harry smirked. 'So you agree Malfoy is up to something?'

She exhaled sharply. 'That's not at all what I was saying. Don't twist my words.'

Ron rubbed at the tip of his nose. 'I think you're right Harry. He's a Death Eater, isn't he?

Harry gave him a look that plainly said I told you so.

'If you're trying to have a conversation on the sly, might I suggest somewhere other than the kitchen? You do realise I can hear everything you're saying.' Mr Weasley commented, not looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet. The three of them shifted awkwardly in silence and he chuckled. 'Who's a Death Eater now?'

Hermione cleared her throat. 'It's just one of Harry's theories, there's no proof that —'

'Draco Malfoy's a Death Eater,' Harry told him firmly.

Mr Weasley folded his paper with a sigh, placing it carefully on the dining table before giving them a stern look. 'I thought we nipped this idea in the bud already. I'm sorry to disappoint you Harry, but Draco isn't a Death Eater. He can't be.'

'But Borgin and Burkes…' Harry protested

'I checked into Borgin and Burkes.' Mr Weasley shook his head. 'I even went back to the Malfoy's estate after our conversation last summer. They're clean. Everything is as it should be.'

A muscle worked along Harry's jaw. 'It still doesn't mean he isn't hiding something. I overheard him and Snape. Malfoy is up to something and Snape wants to help him.'

Mr Weasley's mouth drew into a thin line. 'If Draco was up to something Severus would tell us. He has a duty to the Order.'

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes darting between Harry and Mr Weasley. Snape might have a duty to the Order, but that didn't necessarily mean he had to provide them with every piece of information, all of the time.

'Let's—' Her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat. 'Let's think of this logically. Professor Dumbledore knows nearly everything that goes on inside Hogwarts. If Malfoy had been recruited, surely he'd already be aware. And realistically… do you really think he'd allow a Death Eater into the school?'

'He let Snape roam around for years,' Ron pointed out.

'Yes but that's different. Snape is working for Dumbledore,' she reminded him.

'You're right, Hermione,' Mr Weasley agreed. 'Dumbledore would never allow a Death Eater to roam free amongst students. It would be too dangerous. If he thought there could be even the slightest chance that Draco had been roped into anything, you'd better believe there would be eyes all over the school watching his every move.' He folded his hands on top of the table. 'Severus is Draco's Head of House. Have you considered that maybe they were simply discussing something related to school? Where were they when you overheard this conversation?'

'Slughorn's Christmas party. Malfoy tried to gatecrash and Snape escorted him out,' Harry explained.

Mr Weasley nodded and smiled. 'There you have it. Severus was simply doing his duties. Maybe he was trying to understand why Draco had been sneaking around.'

'But the vow—' Ron started.

'You're probably right, Mr Weasley,' Harry interrupted.

Mr Weasley stood up and gave Harry a very knowing look. 'Not everything in life has to be a mystery. Sometimes things are exactly as they seem.' He waved his wand toward the pan and the potatoes jumped out of their skins. 'Go enjoy yourselves before Hermione heads home.'

Ron rounded on Harry after his father had left the room. 'Why didn't you tell him about the Unbreakable Vow? It changes everything.'

Harry sighed and sat down at the dining table, his head in his hands. 'Because he's not listening.'

'So?'

'It's always the same. The Order doesn't care about our theories. We're going to have to find out what Malfoy and Snape are up to on our own.'

Hermione put her hands on her hips. 'There's nothing to find out. This is ridiculous, you heard what your father said. The Order investigated the Malfoys and found nothing.'

Ron leant against the counter. 'Unless Snape's covering for him.'

'He wouldn't do that. He's Dumbledore's agent, Ron. He's on our side,' she said exasperatedly.

Harry ran a hand down his face, groaning. 'That's what he says.'

'Yes. That is what he says. That's what everyone says, including Dumbledore. We have to trust him.'

'And what if he's lying? Dumbledore said it himself, Snape is a highly skilled Occlumens. He could easily hide the truth.'

'Unless Snape's so far out of the loop he doesn't know the truth,' said Ron after a beat.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Harry's eyes took on a feverish look. 'What are you saying?'

Ron ran his hands through his hair, nodding to himself. 'Think about it, Harry. If he's as close to You-Know-Who as he says he is, then wouldn't he already be in on the plot? It would explain why he was so angry with Malfoy, wouldn't it?'

It was as though a bucket of ice had been tipped over her head. Her mouth went dry as her brain raced through every possible scenario, hurtling toward the suggestion that Ron had flung out into the open.

'You could be right,' Harry said slowly, 'Maybe Voldemort is excluding Snape because he doesn't trust him anymore.'

'That's…' she shook her head furiously, a slow feeling of panic swelling inside her. 'That doesn't make any sense.'

Ron tilted his head. 'Doesn't it though? Everyone knows Snape has been a bit more of an arsehole this year than usual, even though he's finally got the job he's always wanted.'

'It makes Snape look even more suspicious. Who knows what lengths he'd go through to stay in Voldemort's good graces,' Harry pointed out.

Her stomach heaved and she grasped the side of the counter, convinced she was about to be sick. 'Stop trying to make him out to be something he's not!'

'We're only pointing out the facts,' Ron stated.

'They're not facts, they're accusations,' she cried.

Harry's brow furrowed. 'Why are you defending Snape?'

'I'm not defending him! I just— I don't—' She let out a noise of frustration. 'I'm not having this conversation with you anymore!'

Hermione stormed off to the living room, letting the kitchen door swing shut with a bang. Ron was wrong. Snape had been a spy for Voldemort for so long, surely that meant he had to trust him? Except… Snape had been furious the night they fought. He said he was safe from Voldemort, but then again he owed her no explanation or truth. He barely even tolerated her. Could he really be in danger?

'Everything okay?' Lupin asked from his spot by the window. She had barely spoken to her old professor all week. He had spent the majority of his time looking particularly miserable or in deep conversation with Bill and Mr Weasley.

She shrugged a shoulder and threw herself into an armchair by the fire. 'Do they ever grow up?'

He offered her the ghost of a smile. 'From my experience? Only when they're in their thirties. And even then it's questionable.'

She snorted softly and pulled her book bag into her lap. 'Good to know.'

She was still curled up in her armchair, absorbed in her book nearly an hour later when Ron's voice by her ear made her jump.

'Blimey Hermione, what on earth are you reading?' He peered over her shoulder, his face a mixture of horror and fascination.

She stared at the shaded drawings of wizards in various states of distress. One was holding his entrails, another's head was twisted halfway around. She blinked at the pages as though truly seeing them for the first time.

'It's…'She swallowed thickly. She had promised Snape to keep things quiet, and here she was openly flaunting her lessons.

Ron lifted the book from her hands, flipping through it. 'What is this?' He asked again, his tone serious.

'Advanced battle magic.'

'Battle magic? Bloody hell, this stuff is dark. Like… Dark Arts dark. Where did you even get this?'

'The restricted section,' she lied smoothly. 'It's not as bad as you think.'

'Not as bad —' he echoed incredulously. He shoved the book in her face. 'Hermione, this bloke's skin is inside out! Why would you ever need to know any of this.'

She pulled the book away from him and shoved it into her bag. 'Okay yes, it's a little graphic. I'll admit that chapter was a bit gruesome, but it's not all like that. There's some really good strategies on Charm links and offensive Transfiguration for close combat.'

Lupin looked up from his own reading. 'That's quite serious stuff, Hermione. Who signed that book off?'

She flushed. Even though he hadn't been her professor in years, the thought of lying to him made her feel queasy.

'It's a little extra reading for a project, that's all.'

His brow furrowed and she tried not to squirm.

'Anyway, Hermione, Harry and I were about to play a game of exploding snap. D'you want to join?' Ron asked, oblivious of the tension.

She folded her arms across her chest. 'Are you going to drop the Malfoy thing?'

He inhaled and closed his eyes, appearing to count under his breath. 'Yes,' he finally grunted.

Hermione leapt out of the chair, pulling her bag over her shoulder before Lupin had a chance to rummage through her things. Not that she thought he would, but equally she couldn't be too careful. 'Great, then let's go.'

Christmas Eve dinner at the Burrow was as loud and vibrant as she expected. She somehow found herself sandwiched between Fred and George and spent the meal laughing or rolling her eyes in equal measures as they recounted stories of Christmases gone by. Mrs Weasley continually shovelled food onto everyone's plates until they were ready to burst, and Bill, Ginny and Mr Weasley broke into a noisy rendition of 'Accio Christmas' in front of the fire.

After getting her bag ready for her parents' house, Hermione sought five minutes of peace on the front porch. She was sitting on the bench with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, watching the snow fall when Lupin appeared in the doorway. Her stomach sank.

'I was looking for you,' he said quietly.

'It was all a bit..' She gestured vaguely at the house behind them.

His mouth twisted into a faint smile. 'You would hate pack mentality.'

She turned to him, intrigued. Aside from the general talks about Wolfsbane, he had never openly spoken about his affliction. 'Really? What's it like?'

'Like living with the Weasley's all the time. With less democracy, of course,' he added ruefully.

'Do you mind it?'

Lupin pushed his hands into the pockets of his cardigan and stared out into the snow. 'No. It's a different world, but you get used to it. In a way I almost prefer pack life.'

She stared at him with wide eyes, before reminding herself that she didn't know the Werewolf. Not really, anyway. 'I always assumed you were a—'

'Lone wolf?' He laughed. 'Private more like. But we can be introverted and still want company, wouldn't you agree?'

Hermione hummed and finished the last of her hot chocolate, allowing the dregs to warm her to her toes. There was something to be said for Wizarding hot chocolate; it just hit different.

'Can I sit down, Hermione?'

There it was… the moment she had been dreading since that afternoon. She nodded once and Lupin took a seat on the bench beside her. She ran her finger aggressively around the rim of her mug, determined to look anywhere but at him. What was she supposed to say that wouldn't give everything away? Lupin had taught Defence Against the Dark Arts himself, he probably knew the curriculum well enough to call out her bluff.

'I'd like to talk to you about that textbook, if it's alright with you.' When she only shrugged he went on. 'You don't owe me anything. I'm not your teacher anymore, but I still care about your wellbeing.'

'There's nothing to discuss,' she replied coolly.

'That's fairly heavy reading material, even for a bright student like yourself. You'll have to excuse me if I'm a little concerned.'

An unexpected wave of guilt rattled through her. Lupin had never been anything but kind to her, and there she was, trying to push him away for caring. 'I promise, it's not as bad as it might seem.' She leaned back against the bench, her head resting against the wall. 'It's complicated.'

'Alright. Is it something to do with Harry and Dumbledore's private lessons?'

She rolled the idea over in her head. 'It's… nothing to do with Harry. I mean, it was in the beginning but—' she closed her mouth with a snap, inwardly groaning at what she had already revealed.

The silence stretched on between them. Lupin's voice was incredibly tender when he spoke. 'I know how difficult it can be to live in a world where you don't feel as though you belong. It's even more challenging when your peers, however well-meaning they are, don't share the same experiences as you. Whatever it is, you can talk to me, Hermione. I won't judge.'

Hermione took a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by how accurate his statement was. She suddenly felt like she was eleven years old all over again, standing at the front of the Great Hall waiting to be sorted. As wonderful as her friends had been there was always the subtle reminder that she wasn't quite like them. They would never truly understand the uphill battle she faced, always on the back foot of society. But Lupin, an outcast on multiple levels, could appreciate what it was like to not completely fit in.

'I asked Professor Snape for additional lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts,' she blurted out.

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. 'I know it's not your forte, but I didn't think you needed remedial lessons.'

She shook her head. 'I wanted to learn how to fight properly. After what happened at the Ministry.'

She scratched at her wrist, slightly amused as he studied her carefully. It was a bizarre luxury to meet someone's eyes without feeling like they were trying to absorb her soul.

'Why didn't you ask one of the Order members?'

'Professor Snape is a member of the Order of the Phoenix.'

'Quite true,' Lupin said with a wry laugh. 'I can't believe Severus would agree to that.'

Hermione bit back a grin. 'If I'm completely honest, I couldn't believe it either. But here we are.'

'Here you are, reading Magical Warfare. Although I still stand by my comment that it's quite heavy material for a girl of your age.'

She shrugged. 'It's interesting.' And not the worst of what Snape had exposed her to.

'Well, I suppose if you're going to learn how to defend yourself against dark wizards, Severus would be the best choice. He always did want that job.' He rubbed at the stubble forming on his chin. 'What's he like, anyway?'

'About as horrible as he was teaching Potions,' she admitted with a smile. 'No one can deny that he knows his stuff, though.' He was beyond knowledgeable: despite his bark, Hermione secretly thought he was brilliant.

Lupin scoffed. 'That doesn't surprise me. I'm fairly certain he knows more about the Dark Arts than Dumbledore himself.'

She set her mug down on the ground and folded her legs under her, leaning towards him with burning curiosity. 'You went to school with Professor Snape, didn't you?'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Yes. We were in the same year. We didn't exactly get along, though, as you've probably gathered— too much bad blood. He really had it out for Harry's father.'

Hermione considered this. 'It would explain why he detests Harry so much.'

He stretched his legs out and stared down at his worn shoes. 'If only Severus could see we are not the sins of our fathers. Harry may be the spitting image of James, but they are not one and the same.'

'Has Snape always been so…'

'Cold? Bitter?' He supplied. 'Unfortunately so. If he had another side I don't think anyone saw it. Aside from…' he trailed off, then made a movement like a dog shaking off water. 'He was mostly alone, until he joined the wrong crowd.'

It was a haunting image; a young Snape going through school alone without many friends. How similar their lives could have been, if it wasn't for that stupid troll. She twisted a curl of hair around her finger. 'By crowd do you mean…'

He gave her a calculating look. 'How much of his past are you aware of?'

'Only that he was a Death Eater at some point, before he changed his loyalties to Dumbledore.'

The shadows under Lupin's eyes grew. 'It wouldn't surprise me if Severus took the Mark before he finished school. He always had a thing for the Dark Arts, and I think that made him a very attractive prospect for Voldemort.'

No friends, wrapped up in the Dark Arts with so much anger towards Harry's father. It certainly wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. Along comes Voldemort offering him a ready-made family of sorts… The thought left a metallic taste in her mouth, somewhere between pity and revulsion.

Lupin placed a gentle hand on her knee. 'If lessons with Severus helps you fight whatever demons you have inside your head, then do it. Only… be careful Hermione. He may be Dumbledore's now, but never forget that Snape chose Voldemort first. We don't know what brought him over to our side, and that makes him a very unpredictable man.'

Hermione arrived at her parents house in a flurry of soot.

'Goodness, I don't know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn't that,' her mum gasped. Hermione looked up to see her standing politely to the side, her hands clasped together with a mild look of shock on her face.

Hermione dusted the ash out of her hair before throwing her arms around her mother like a tiny child. The emotions and rush of the past several months finally caught up with her, and the comfort of her mother's arms were enough to bring her to tears.

Her mum rubbed soothing circles down her back. 'It's alright darling, you're here now,' she murmured.

Hermione pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me,' she said, her breath hitching.

Her mother smiled. 'I think I have an idea.' She rested a finger on the purple smudge under her daughter's eye. 'You've been working too hard again.'

Hermione rubbed her cheek into her mum's hand, soaking up the familiar touch. 'So I've been told.'

Her mum threw an arm around her and steered her toward the kitchen. 'Let's get you a cup of tea and you can tell me how your friends are doing.'

It was always a startling feeling, coming back home. She stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes roaming over the polished wood countertops and clean white cupboards. It was a stark contrast to the chaos at the Burrow. There were no pots in the sink washing themselves up or floating knives chopping carrots. Instead there was only the quiet ticking of the clock over the hob, and the stillness of a world without magic.

'You father was just finishing up with an emergency. His band are playing carols around the tree later and I thought it might be nice for us to go together. Unless you're too old for that now?'

Hermione offered a smile that couldn't quite reach her eyes. 'Never.' She busied herself with the domestic routine of pulling two mugs out of the cupboard and readying them with tea bags while her mum put on the kettle. 'I wonder if being a workaholic is a hereditary trait.'

Mrs Granger snorted softly. 'It'd certainly make a lot of sense. He says he can't help himself but…'

'I know the feeling,' she replied.

The front door closed with a thud and her mum rolled her eyes.

'Emma?'

'We're in here!' Hermione called.

Her father came bowling into the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. Hermione always thought his larger-than-life presence could put Hagrid to shame, despite the fact he was about the same height as her.

'Hermione, you're early. He placed a kiss on her cheek and she scrunched her nose up from the soft scratch of his evening whiskers.

'No, you're late,' her mum teased, pressing a mug into his hands before turning to make another. Hermione collected her own; a chipped Beauty and the Beast mug from their visit to Disneyland Paris when she was nine.

He leant against the opposite counter and Hermione blinked at the vision of Ron doing the same only hours ago. It felt like days — time had taken on a weird, warped feeling.

'So I am. Apologies ladies, dental emergencies don't stop for Christmas.'

Clutching her tea to her chest like a talisman she tried to reorient herself. 'It's alright Dad, I only just got in.'

'Shall we go into the living room?' her mother suggested.

They sat down in the other room, her father in his armchair while she and her mother took up their favourite seats on the sofa.

'So Hermione, how is school? How are your friends? Are you remembering to eat?' Asked her father.

She took a deep drink of her tea. 'School is going well. Everything is a lot more intense now that we're N.E.W.T students — that's the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test we'll take next year, a little like A-Levels. The worst bit is we have to do everything non-verbally which is a lot more effort, but as Professor Flitwick says it'll only make you a better witch. Anyway, I've been doing loads of extra credit work, and if I work hard enough I might even be top in class again, except maybe in Defence, but that's fine. And then there Potions — ugh, you'll never believe it, but Harry has this book… and, I was going to tell Professor Slughorn—'

'Slow down Hermione.' Her mum's foot playfully bumped against hers. 'Who's Professor Slughorn? I don't think you've mentioned him before.'

Hermione put a hand to her mouth. 'Oh gosh, of course! I completely forgot to tell you. Professor Slughorn is teaching Potions because Professor Snape has taken on Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Mr Granger wrinkled his nose. 'Er, which one was he?'

'He's the...' The words died on her tongue. The cruel one? The one who used words as a weapon and a means to tear others down? If the sentiments were still true, why did she have the urge to deny them? 'He's the strict one. The one who has it out for Harry.'

'And how is Harry? You still haven't told us,' her father replied.

Hermione curled up further into the worn, familiar sofa. 'He's fine, the boys told me to say hello. And the Weasleys… Well, I'm fairly certain if it wasn't Christmas Mr Weasley would have followed me right through the Floo. You know how much he adores non-magic things.'

'I remember. Ron's parents are lovely.' Her mum smiled fondly. 'I still don't understand why you haven't asked your friends to come visit during the summer. I know our house isn't as exciting as the Weasley's, but there's nothing wrong with Norfolk.'

Hermione scratched at her wrist. 'I have asked, mum. It's just that everyone's been so busy.'

'Busy, or avoiding us?'

She blinked up at her, aware of her heart beating against her ribcage. 'What do you mean?'

'What happened last summer?' All the good humour had vanished from her mum's face. Hermione could make out the crow's feet around her eyes and the crease between her brows. She started at the brisk change in conversation.

'Nothing happened, I was just exhausted from my O. . I was so wrapped up in my studying, you know how I get.'

Her mother shook her head. 'Yes. I know exactly how you get, Hermione. That's the problem. You're my only child, I know you inside and out. I understand things happen at school and you can't tell me because we're… well, not like you. I don't like it but I let it slide. Then you come home to me with that dead look in your eyes.'

'Emma…' Her father warned.

'Don't you Emma me, Roger.' Tears welled up in her eyes. 'McGonagall promised us that sending her to Hogwarts was the right thing; that it would open up her world. Nobody told me that world would destroy her.'

'Mum.' Hermione's voice broke and she pressed her hand against her chest.

'What's going on? There's been… reports on the news. People are going missing without explanation. Don't lie to my face and tell me that everything is fine when it's not. I may not be a witch like you, Hermione, but I'm just as clever.'

It was too much. Hermione shook her head. 'I… can't.'

She couldn't bear to be in their presence anymore, disappointing them with partial-truths. A sob bursting from her lungs, she fled the room, seeking refuge in her childhood bedroom. The fact that it was just as she left it was the last straw — she sat down on the edge of her bed with its pink floral duvet and dissolved into tears.

She always looked forward to coming home in those early years, excited to tell her parents about her classes and share with them the new, exciting things she learned. She carefully edited out the stories about giant snakes and criminals on the loose. No matter how open-minded her parents could be, there were certain things she just couldn't share. With every lie a crack had formed between her and them, until there came a point she was standing across the chasm with no safe way home.

There was a knock at the door and her father stepped into the room. The bed shifted as he sat down beside her.

'Do you remember when you were five and we were visiting that castle in Wales with your Grandmother?'

She sniffed loudly and dried her face with the sleeve of her jumper. It smelled like the Butterbeer Fred had knocked into her lap. 'Conwy?'

'That's the one. You were small for your age. And so curious. I was always amazed at how fascinated by the world you seemed, even then.' He cleared his throat. 'Anyway, we were exploring the ward, and suddenly you weren't there beside us anymore. We were terrified— ruined castles aren't known for being safe, after all. Your mother was absolutely beside herself, and we looked everywhere for you. Then… there you were, sitting at the top of the walls completely oblivious that you'd nearly frightened us half to death.'

She laughed. 'I just wanted a better view of the sea.'

He nudged her with his shoulder. 'It's our job to worry about you. Nothing will change that, no matter how big your adventures get.'

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. 'I'm sorry I can't give you the answers you're looking for.'

He held up a steady hand to silence her. 'I know. Your mother knows it too.' He let out a great breath of air. 'Now, it's Christmas Eve. Shall we get our wellies on and we can walk over to the tree? I told everyone we might pop round the pub after for a pint, I hope that's alright. Everyone's so excited to see you.'

Her heart still clenching uncomfortably she gave him a weak smile. 'I'd love that.'

The evening passed in a tiny storm. They attended carols around the tree, Hermione cuddled up next to her mum as they sung off the same hymn sheet. Her father had wrapped his euphonium in blinking fairy lights and she laughed when she was handed a set of sleigh bells to play along with a rendition of jingle bells. After they made their way to the local pub where they stood shoulder to shoulder singing 'Hail Smiling Morn' while the fire crackled in the corner, giving the small space a warm, welcoming feeling. It was delightful.

She was struck with how different the atmosphere felt. It wasn't only the absence of magic that tingled her senses, but how light and carefree everyone was. Even the excitement of Christmas hadn't brightened the mood at the Burrow entirely; there was still the darkness lingering like stale air.

Hermione loved her magic. It was a gift and a privilege she held close to her heart, refusing to give it up for no one. Returning to the Muggle world always brought with it a sense of wrongness she couldn't quite put her finger on, the world more muted and dull. But standing in that crowded pub, a thought wormed its way into her brain like an itch she couldn't scratch. What would happen if she didn't return to Hogwarts? What would it feel like to set aside her wand and return to the safe, comfortable life she had lived.

Back in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by her old books and cherished toys she let the fantasy wash over her. She could do it. It wouldn't be easy — she had been out of the education system for so long, it would take a lot of work to bring herself back up to speed on it all. She could get her A-Levels, and then what? She fondly recalled her childhood dream of attending university, of studying the sciences and medicine. Even as young as 10 she dreamed of becoming a doctor and was steadfast in her decision. Why not? She was intelligent enough for it, after all.

The fantasy was so vivid in her mind it took her breath away. She could see it… the life she could have lived if things had turned out so different. The other Hermione in a different timeline, happy and healthy, and not terrified of the thought of the coming war. Not worried that there would come a time when she couldn't protect those she loved most, because after all, in her alternative universe there was no Voldemort, no pureblood ideals, no death and destruction. Only happy memories of weekends spent by the seaside, eating fish and chips with her feet dangling in the cool water while her and a faceless partner argued about where to go on their next holiday.

Hermione curled up in her duvet, trying not to cry as she let the dream go. A world without Voldemort meant a world without Harry's bright eyes as he shared one of his many theories with her. Without Ron's carefree smile while he teased her until they collapsed in laughter. It was a world without the thrill she felt every time she mastered a new spell or learned a new fact.

It may not have been the world she was born into, but it was a world she would choose over and over, even if it meant she would die for it.

Thank you for all your comments! Your support gives me life :)

In my head cannon, Hermione's dad is a brass bander and if she had stayed in the Muggle world she would have followed in his footsteps and played flugelhorn or something cool. Also, I know Hail Smiling Morn is a Yorkshire thing and probably not sung in Norfolk but it gives me all the English-Christmas vibes.

This chapter killed me in more ways than one.

Playlist:
Runaway, AURORA