The front door of the Granger house creaked open and Hermione slumped into
the house, barely managing to shut the door before she slid to the floor in
exhaustion. Breathing deeply, she ran her hands up to rub her face, wiping
away the sweat that had caused her hair, having fallen from its pony tail,
to stick to her forehead and the sides of her face. She leaned back into
the door, pressing her shoulders into the wood, trying to stretch her
aching rib cage.
"Darling, what in heaven's name are you doing?"
Hermione looked up, her mouth opened as she took in raged breaths. Her
mother was standing ahead of her, her hands upon her slim hips in a
questioning manner. Her mother continued down the stairs until she was
finally on the ground floor and smiled at her.
"I went running," Hermione muttered, her tone betraying what her mind was
trying to convince her of.
Harry had never made a rude comment about her weight. Neither had Ron, nor
had Adrienne, whom Hermione personally thought was much too thin for her
own good, but every time Hermione stared into the mirror, she got a sinking
feeling in her gut. No matter what Lavender and Parvati had said about her
svelte figure, Hermione kept mulling over the idea of losing weight. And
naturally, as the summer always posed more free time than the school year,
Hermione had made it her goal to begin running at least four times a week.
She developed a mantra, and repeated it to herself as she ran, thinking
over and over again, "Running is good. Running is healthy. I like running."
And now, as she sat leaning against her front door, her entire body
exhausted and crying out that it hated running, no matter what she tried to
tell herself, her hatred of the sport came through loud and clear.
Her mother laughed slightly, a smile breaking across her porcelain like
face. "Darling, you have a wonderful shape. I hope that you taking up
running isn't because you feel you need to change how you look." Hermione's
mother had a soft voice, one laced with caring and sweetness that twisted
through the air and engulfed the listener. Hermione loved her mother's
voice.
Hermione leaned forward, pleased to notice that her heartbeat had decreased
substantially, and that her breathing was almost back to normal. "No,"
Hermione lied, "You're supposed to exercise regularly. I thought perhaps
I'd try to do that."
"Is that so?" Her mother had closed the distance between them with quiet
footsteps. She knelt down before Hermione, suddenly feeling that this was
one of those mother-daughter moments that she just couldn't mess up. "You
have never mastered the art of lying, Hermione."
Hermione searched her mother's face, and grinned slightly at the innocent
expression staring back at her. Her mother wasn't angry. Hermione's mother
rarely got angry, well, angry with her at least.
"I remember when you were five, darling, and you so wanted those cookies
before dinner. Do you remember."
Mrs. Granger had stood up, pulling Hermione up with her and placing an arm
around her daughter's sweaty shoulders.
"Vaguely," Hermione replied, suddenly aware of how horribly sticky she
felt. "Ugh, I'm going to take a shower."
"After you get something to drink," her mother ordered, in the same tone of
voice she'd use with one of her patients. "You were determined to get those
cookies, no matter what I said. So when I went to answer the door - I was
expecting a package - you snuck into the kitchen and pulled the cookie jar
off the table."
"And it shattered all over the floor!" Hermione moaned, suddenly
remembering the story. "It was that beautiful cookie jar too. the one from
Italy."
"You remember when we bought that? I don't believe it. We went to Italy
when you were only two," her mother exclaimed, stopping in her tracks,
Hermione too.
"No, I just remember it was from Italy because that's what you said when
you wailed about it being broken," Hermione answered, looking up at her
mother with an impish grin, and then continuing into the kitchen.
Hermione had always wondered why they had such a large kitchen. There were
only three people in her family, and yet the kitchen was large enough to
cook for the entire Weasley family, and allow them all to help cook at
once. The floor was tiled in a terra-cotta tile, the orange color accented
by the light brown cabinets, which had glass covered doors, the frame of
each glass pane outlined in alternating blue and green stained glass. The
appliances were all a reflective stainless steel, and paintings that
Hermione had done while in primary school still adorned the refrigerator.
The kitchen never showed its full ability except when her parents hosted
dinner parties, and then the family's cooks were called in, the large stove
lit, the counters lined with dishes, and the large windows lining one side
of the kitchen were decorated with brand new linen drapes.
"And I ran into the kitchen, wondering what on earth had happened, and
there you stood, crying your eyes out, with the shattered remnants of my
beautiful cookie jar lying all around you. And for years afterwards you
claimed you didn't break it. You held onto that lie like there was no
tomorrow." Hermione's mother smiled again as she directed her daughter into
a chair at the oak table. "You never were good at lying."
Hermione watched as her mother danced through the kitchen, pulling down
glasses, and opening the refrigerator. As a child, Hermione had thought
herself to be a princess. A princess in disguise that is. She lived in a
large house, unlike those that usually adorned London's streets. It was
spread out, only three stories, but a mansion none the less. They had maids
who came three times a week to clean, wonderfully polite and fun maids who
had taught Hermione how to make her bed, how to sort clothes, and how to
dust. They were well paid too, unlike House Elves.
Hermione would accompany her parents to dinners, wearing frilly lace
dresses, and behaving like a good little girl should. She was quiet,
reserved, always smiled. She knew how to amuse herself at even the dullest
parties and never spoke unless she was spoken to. At her primary school,
students would whisper about her, whisper about how much money she had,
about how she was rich enough to be royalty. It had been a horrible
disappointment when Hermione finally realized at the age of eight that she
was just a regular girl, except she was rich.
Although Hermione had long understood that she wasn't a princess, that
indeed she was just a regular girl - though, she was a witch, so perhaps
not so regular - she could never shake the feeling that her mother was
royalty, or at least could pass for royalty. Her mother was perhaps the
most intriguing person Hermione knew. Sure, she had great respect for
Professor McGonagall, and especially Professor Dumbledore, but no matter
whom she met, she always found herself comparing them to her mother. Her
mother carried herself in such an assertive and yet subdued way. She wore
her hair tied behind her head in the latest fashions. Her clothing was all
designer made, and when she put on her white lab coat, and pulled on her
thinly framed reading glasses, she looked more prestigious than anyone
Hermione had ever seen.
"Darling, I know what you're thinking. It's natural to question yourself,
to question how you look. Today's world is so visual, but you cannot let
that rule your life." Mrs. Granger had returned to the table, carrying two
glasses of ice water. "Look at you, you are as thin as anyone would want.
You know how many times Dr. Kingman has told me he thought you would do
well to gain a little more weight."
Hermione lifted her glass and took a large gulp, feeling the cold liquid
running down her throat, cooling her chest and her neck. She quickly downed
the glass as her mother continued talking.
"I'm thrilled, Hermione, that you've taken an interest in exercise. but
really, don't worry yourself so."
This was a conversation typical of Hermione and her mother. Her mother
reads too much into Hermione's actions, and then Hermione listens quietly
to her mother's soft lectures. Most likely the conversation would have
continued until her parents had left for work, but that morning, Hermione's
all too predictable home life was in for a dramatic turn.
"Darling, where's my blue tie!" Hermione's father had entered the kitchen,
wearing a frustrated expression. "I can't find my tie."
"Did you check your closet?" Hermione's mother asked, turning around to
look at her husband with a soft but unmistakably annoyed look.
"If my tie was in my closet, then I wouldn't be asking you where it was,
now would I?" her father said tightly, raising his eyebrows to make his
point.
"Well, wear another tie, Richard."
Hermione glanced away. Another aspect of her life had just surfaced. her
parents. She had always wondered why her parents had never had any other
children, and over the years she had came to the horrible realization that
this was due to the fact that her parents rarely got along. They didn't
even sleep in the same bedroom, which wasn't public knowledge, and the
maids had been given direct orders that if they ever revealed this, they
would seriously regret it. But, her parents had stayed married, to
Hermione's relief. There had been several times that she had questioned
their future together, including her third year. She had never told Harry
and Ron. She had just let them assume that her third year was only plagued
by challenges associated with the time-turner. She had never told them that
her father had moved out right before she left for Hogwarts. That was the
real reason she had spent the night in Diagon Alley. The truth was, her
parent's dental practice was far too successful and far too complicated to
split, thus if they were to separate, they'd have to work with each other
everyday. so they had just stuck through it.
"Elizabeth, I don't want to wear another tie. I want to wear my blue one."
Had it not been for the doorbell ringing at that precise moment, Hermione
was willing to stake her academic reputation that this quibble over her
father's favorite Armani tie would end up in a ruthless row that would
culminate in her parents resorting to arguing in another language, so that
Hermione couldn't understand everything they were saying.
"Who would come this early in the morning?" her mother asked as she stood
up and strode toward the front door. "Are you expecting a package,
Richard?"
Hermione watched as her father raised a hand to rub his forehead in
frustration. But before he answered, he noticed Hermione watching him, and
smiled at her, a rather forced smile, but a smile none the less. "No,
darling. besides, they wouldn't be delivering packages at 7:30, now would
they?" he asked in a false voice as he turned to follow his wife.
Hermione fingered her glass, staring at the rim, slightly happy that she'd
be leaving for part of the summer, and slightly afraid. Her parents always
fought more when she wasn't around. how she knew that, she wasn't exactly
sure, but leaving for Hogwarts always plagued her with horrible visions of
returning to find her parents living in separate homes, and herself,
another divorce statistic.
"Um, Hermione, dear, you have a visitor," her mother said slowly. Hermione
turned around in her chair.
"Now who would be visiting me," she whispered, and then she remembered
Harry's letter. "No, he didn't come here. did he?" she whispered with mixed
excitement. "Coming."
She was suddenly aware that her hair was a horrible mess, that strands were
still sticking to her neck, and that her body was glistening with sweat.
She was wearing an old cut T-shirt and black running shorts. and she hadn't
yet brushed her teeth. Her first vision of the entryway was both her
parents standing side-by-side in the doorway, and then suddenly they
weren't standing side-by-side, but had rushed forward.
"He's fainted," her mother said in surprise.
"Who's fainted!" Hermione ran forward, only to halt as her father stepped
back into the house, with great difficulty, carrying an extremely pale
looking Harry.
"Harry!" Hermione said, raising her hands to her mouth in horror. "What's
wrong with him?"
"Well dear, he seems to have fainted," her mother said, stating the
obvious.
Hermione bit her tongue before responding. "Why?" she finally asked as she
followed her father into the sitting room, where he lay Harry down on the
sofa.
"Darling, I can't carry the trunk, would you be so kind to do so?" Hermione
watched as her father stood up, casting one last glance at Harry, and then
hurried over to help his wife.
Forgetting that she was waiting for an answer on why her boyfriend had
suddenly lost consciousness on their doorstep, Hermione knelt down next to
him and ran her hand along the side of his face. She stopped when she
reached his jaw and slowly turned her hand over, so that the back of her
hand was on his cheek, and then, just as her parents had always done to
her, she felt his forehead.
"Mum," Hermione said, not looking away from Harry, "Mum, he's sick."
There was a loud clunk as her father set the trunk down at the foot of the
sofa, and Hedwig hooted in protest as Mrs. Granger carried her cage into
the sitting room, holding it at arm's length, a horrified expression on her
face. She had never grown accustomed to the fact that wizards used owls to
communicate and had always hated when Hermione let the owls into the house,
or worse, into the kitchen to feed them.
Hermione ran her hand down Harry's cheek again and then down his neck to
his chest, where his shirt was damp with sweat.
"Hmm. I hope he doesn't think that he gets free medical treatment here,"
her father said as he motioned for her to move, but he couldn't fool
Hermione. Both her parents had been very impressed with Harry, and several
times during the trip to America, while they were pretending to be the
perfect example of a happily married couple, they had hinted not so subtly
that they wouldn't be opposed to him and Hermione pursuing a relationship
further than friendship.
Mr. Granger took his daughter's place, kneeling next to Harry. After
several minutes of examining the unconscious boy, he began to speak to his
wife.
"His pupils are dilated," he said, turning to look at Mrs. Granger, who
tilted her head to indicate to her husband that Hermione was still in the
room. "Oh," and then the conversation continued on in French, one of the
many languages Hermione's parents spoke. Hermione scooted over next to
Harry and swept his damp hair off his forehead, her eyes lingering on his
scar.
"I'll go get some smelling salts," Mrs. Granger finally said, walking
toward the large staircase, her feet shuffling quickly over the carpet.
"What's the matter with him?" Hermione asked in concern, her hand still on
his forehead, her thumb gently sweeping across Harry's skin.
Her father didn't look at her when he spoke, but continued to stare at
Harry's face. "We don't practice this kind of medicine. sure occasionally
someone has a heart attack at the office, or faints from pain, but mostly
we just deal with teeth," her father said distractedly, "I'd say he has a
bad bout of flu."
Within minutes, her mother had returned with a package of smelling salts,
and quickly Harry had woken. His eyes fluttered opened and he stared up at
the three people hovering over him, his mind finally registering who they
were.
"Hermione," he said in a soft voice, and then smiled at her. "Sorry I
didn't tell you I was coming." He winced slightly and held his stomach.
"Do your aunt and uncle know you're here?" Mrs. Granger asked, placing a
cool washcloth on his forehead, her eyes staring at the scar before she
covered it.
Harry smiled slightly, though even this action looked painful to Hermione.
"No," he replied, "And I doubt they care."
Hermione sat silently at Harry's side as her parents continued questioning
him, asking him how he felt, exactly where he hurt, and so on. Eventually
they decided that he didn't need medical attention, but could do with a
good nap to let his body fight off whatever was ailing him.
"We have a guestroom on the first floor, you can have that room," Mrs.
Granger said as Harry sat up. "That way you don't have to worry about the
stairs."
Once Harry was settled in the guestroom, and Mrs. Granger had taken his
temperature and Mr. Granger had decided that he really didn't need to wear
his blue tie after all, Hermione's parents kissed her good-bye, checked
once more on Harry, and then headed off to work, making excuses that they'd
much rather stay home and make sure Harry was all right.
Once Hermione was sure that her parent's Mercedes had left the drive, she
ran through the house and skidded into the guestroom. Harry had sat himself
up in the large bed, having propped large, amply stuffed pillows behind his
back, and was running his hand over the sateen sheets.
"I wasn't sure if this was your house when the cab pulled up," he said as
Hermione entered. She blushed.
"Well, it is."
"What kind of sheets are these? They're. slippery," Harry asked, smiling at
her, his face still pale.
"Sateen, the only kind my mother buys," Hermione answered. "Here, you need
to drink lots of water, mum said so." She poured him a glass of water from
the picture on the bedside table, and then handed it to him. "Do you feel
better? You're not going to pass out on me, are you?"
Harry smiled and shook his head.
"Good." Hermione sat down on the bed and tucked her legs behind her. "Ok,
as much as I love the idea that you've shown up at my house, what's going
on?" Her face was serious now that she was convinced that Harry was just
suffering from the flu and wasn't going to keel over any minute.
Harry lowered the glass from his lips and looked at her with a sheepish
expression. "They made me get a job," he replied in a sullen voice.
Hermione stared at him for a second. "Ok, so, you ran away?" she asked. She
had expected a more dramatic catalyst for Harry's actions.
"They made me get a job at the dump," Harry clarified.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"That is so unsanitary. No wonder you're sick, Harry! There are so many
viruses and bacteria living in dumps. it's a breeding ground for everything
disgusting," Hermione answered, her face bearing a sympathetic frown.
"My thoughts exactly," Harry replied, slouching down in the bed so he was
lying down. "And, we're supposed to be leaving for Ron's house in a few
days; has he told you a date yet?"
Hermione shook her head, "No. I was going to write to him today. though, I
didn't know how since I don't have an owl. I really should get one, Harry,
it would be the most practical thing to do. But, as you're here, I suppose
I could just use Hedwig. But what if you hadn't shown up, I'd have had no
way of contacting Ron, and then I'd have to brave the horrors of ringing
you, and ask you if you could write Ron for me," Hermione would have
continued to ramble on, but Harry had shut his eyes. "Are you all right?"
Harry reopened his eyes and smiled, "I already have a headache," he
muttered, another sheepish expression crossing his face.
Hermione blushed again. "Oh, sorry. So, back to talking about you. You ran
away."
"I didn't want to work at a dump. We're supposed to be going to visit
Adrienne sometime soon. And, well, I didn't want to work at a dump," Harry
repeated.
Hermione laughed. "I don't blame you. I'll owl Ron today and ask when his
dad can get us a port-key. Have you heard from Adrienne at all?"
"She owled me yesterday to give me the dates of the Dueling Championships.
They're in Guatemala. She said that Professor Hartel can get us tickets."
Hermione's face brightened. "That would be such a wonderful experience,
Harry! The International Dueling Championships! We could see the best
duelers in the world, and pick up a few tricks for next year. Think how
beneficial that would be. What an exciting learning experience!"
"I was kind of going for the vacation experience, myself," Harry replied.
Hermione glared at him.
"That too," she conceded. "Well then, that's settled. We'll go to
Guatemala."
The two sat quietly for a moment, Harry staring up at Hermione, and
Hermione suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
"Dare I ask what you were doing before I arrived, because - " Harry wasn't
able to finish his sentence, which he had tried so carefully to word.
"Do not say anything! I was out running," Hermione snapped, crossing her
arms before her.
As ordered, Harry didn't say anything, but just stared at Hermione with an
amused expression.
"You need to sleep, and I'm going to go get cleaned up. I'll be back
shortly."
* * * * *
Harry spent most of the day sleeping, and each time he woke up, he woke up
to Hermione's smiling face, whether she was working on her holiday
assignments, or writing to Ron, or waiting with a bowl of chicken noodle
soup. During the times that he was awake, they talked about all sorts of
things. whether McGonagall had ever dated, whom Dumbledore had married,
whether anyone had been unfortunate enough to be kissed by Snape, what the
Dueling Championships would be like, what sort of disaster Adrienne might
be causing at that same exact moment.
Crookshanks had made his way into the room and had settled next to Harry,
having curled into a ball, sometimes purring in his sleep. After lunch
Hermione sent Hedwig to Ron and then went back to watch Harry sleep.
At six, Hermione excused herself and went into the kitchen to start making
dinner. That was where she was when her parents came home.
"Elizabeth, of all the stupid things you could do!"
The water for the spaghetti had just begun to boil when her father's voice
boomed through the house.
"Excuse me? Excuse me? Me? I asked you first, Richard, and you agreed. You
know very well that I wouldn't make such a decision without asking you."
"This is going to cost us thousands, Elizabeth, thousands!"
"Damn it, I know exactly how much it's going to cost. Don't speak to me
like I'm a child."
Hermione closed her eyes in horror and then stomped out of the kitchen. "Do
you two have any sense? Have you forgotten that Harry's here?" she hissed
angrily, her hands balled at her sides.
Hermione had stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchen, her face was
flushed in anger and embarrassment, and hanging down from one hand was the
spatula she had used to stir the spaghetti sauce, which was now dripping
onto the clean floor, leaving spots that looked remarkably like blood.
Her parents turned around and stared at her, their expressions quickly
changing from ones of anger to embarrassment.
"Oh, yes, your boyfriend is here," her father said slowly, a sheepish
expression falling on his face.
"Does he feel any better?" her mother asked, throwing her husband a "we'll
discuss this later" look and walking toward Hermione to give her a hug.
"I don't know, why don't you ask him," Hermione murmured as she noticed
Harry walking down the corridor toward them, Crookshanks at his ankles. He
was holding something in his hand.
"Ron wrote you back. I didn't know you two lived so close together," he
said, an innocent expression on his face as he entered the room. Hermione
couldn't tell whether he had heard the entire conversation or not, but with
her parents yelling, she was sure he had heard something. He was wearing
blue and white striped pajama bottoms with a matching top. Hermione had
seen him in these before, as he often wore them into the common room at
night.
"We don't live horribly close. Hedwig must have caught a favorable wind,"
Hermione responded somewhat irritably, pulling away from her mother.
"Well, someone looks alive now," Mr. Granger said, patting Harry's back.
"Do you feel better?"
"Yes, I do. Thank you both for letting me stay here. I didn't really plan
on passing out on your doorstep. that just kind of happened," Harry
answered, smiling at both Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were standing on
opposite sides of the room. "So." Harry was about to ask 'how was work' but
thought better of it. "So. what's for dinner? Can I help with anything?"
Hermione shook her head and raised the spatula. "I'm making spaghetti. If
you don't want it, there's still some soup left."
"Spaghetti sounds fine," Harry replied, folding the letter up and walking
toward Hermione. "I'll set the table."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged skeptical looks and then followed Hermione
and Harry into the kitchen.
"Harry, are you sure you're feeling better?" Mrs. Granger asked as she
caught up with him. She grabbed his arm and felt his forehead. Then, leaned
forward to look into his eyes.
"I feel better, honest," Harry replied. "You're not hot and your eyes look normal." Mrs. Granger turned around to look at her husband, who was leaning against the kitchen door. He shrugged. "Well, if you're feeling all right. but you don't have to set the table, you're our guest." "I don't mind," Harry said as he scanned the glass-covered cabinets for the plates. "No, we insist, have a seat and tell us about your school year. Hermione's mentioned some interesting things since she's been home." Mr. Granger indicated a chair, and Harry, although regretfully, followed his instructions. Harry told Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Granger who was setting the table, and Mr. Granger who was sitting at the head of the table with his arms crossed before him, about the previous year. He told them about meeting Adrienne, about the start of the dueling team, which Hermione had no doubt already relayed. He discussed where he, Hermione, and Ron would be going this summer. Hermione listened intently from her position before the stove, keeping an eye over the spaghetti sauce, which she thought she had burned while leaving it unattended earlier. Finally, both Mrs. Granger and Hermione sat down, Hermione sitting across from Harry, and Mrs. Granger, across from her husband. "So, your friend Ron has written you about traveling to America. How exactly do you plan to get there?" Mr. Granger asked as he heaped another helping of spaghetti onto his plate. Harry looked up at Hermione, his mouth completely filled with spaghetti. She smirked. "A port-key, daddy." Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "It's a normal object, like a shoe or a paper-weight. something you can hold. though, I'm quite sure you could use water as a port-key, lets say if you were jumping into a pool or - " Harry kicked her softly under the table and gave her one of his patented "you are leaving the topic at hand" faces. "You take the object and place a charm on it, so, when you touch it, you are transported magically to a prearranged place," Hermione finished, saying all this rather quickly, and then reaching for her water. "Is this safe?" her mother asked. "Because I wasn't too thrilled about this whole travelling through the fireplace idea. you could have been burned." "Perfectly safe," Harry replied, then his face darkened, "well, depending on who made it, and why it was made. but Mr. Weasley will see to it that it is completely safe." This didn't seem to reassure Mrs. Granger, but she let the topic go. "So, when is this expedition to take place?" Mr. Granger had now cleared his plate and had pushed it away from him. "Well, Ron says that we can leave tomorrow. Mr. Weasley has your fireplace hooked up to the floo-network for only tonight and tomorrow. It was the only days his friend is working, as I guess he's going to Majorca soon," Harry replied, his face buried in Ron's letter. "So, we have to be at Ron's house by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. And knowing Ron, he'll want to get to Adrienne's as soon as possible. they're kind of an item." Hermione snorted into her water. "What's so funny?" Harry asked, smiling as she wiped her face with a napkin. "If we're staying at Salem, he's going to be around that Professor Glenn an awful lot I think, whether he wants to be or not," Hermione said softly, trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow? But Hermione, darling, this is only your third day home. I did want to see you this summer," her mother said, lowering her fork to her plate and staring at Hermione. "But I'll be back, mum. We're only going for a few weeks, or at least I am. I don't know what Harry's doing. If I don't come back I'll never get my holiday work done. Merlin knows that I won't get an ounce of anything accomplished with them trooping around Guatemala," Hermione said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Elizabeth, she is sixteen. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself," her father said airily, leaning back in his chair. Mrs. Granger sighed and pushed her plate away from her, suddenly no longer hungry. "Well, I suppose, your friend competing in this dueling game is an important experience," her mother answered, her tone as if it wasn't important at all, but perhaps the dullest event Hermione could ever attend.
"And educational. We'll be among the best duelers in the world, mother. The best. We can only improve by attending. Why, think of all the advanced spells and tricks we might learn?" Hermione was in her element. No longer were the up-coming Internationals about Adrienne competing; no longer was the up-coming Internationals about a vacation in Guatemala. But instead, Hermione was fixated upon the benefits that attending such a fair of dueling genius could bring upon her own technique. "And, it should be quite entertaining to watch Adrienne: It's going to be really crowded, and, well, she really isn't a people person," Harry added, taking in Hermione's serene face with surprise. "Oh yes, and watching Adrienne will be fun too," Hermione added as an after thought. * * * * * After dinner, Hermione left to go begin packing her trunk, leaving Harry with her parents, who were now quizzing him about Quidditch and what it was like to fly on a broom, as Hermione never told them anything exciting about broom flying. Crookshanks had followed Hermione, and watched with growing suspicion as she began to neatly stack shorts and T-shirts atop her bed. His worst fears were confirmed when she opened her closet door, pulled out her school trunk, and began to pile her clothes into the corner, taking care to make sure that her packing wouldn't leave any unsightly creases when she arrived at Salem. When she neglected to pick up his bag of cat food and place it in along with the school texts she was bringing, Crookshanks let out a loud meow of protest, and stood up in alarm. "Crookshanks, you can't come with," Hermione cooed, reaching forward to stroke his head. "Going to Guatemala isn't going to be something you'd like. What would I do if you got lost?" Crookshanks didn't seem impressed with her reasoning. Hermione picked the big cat up and placed him in her lap, holding his scrunched face before hers. His nose was wrinkled up as if he had smelt something putrid, as was his way of displaying his displeasure with one of her decisions. "We're going to go visit Adrienne. You wouldn't want to come, because she lives at the school. which means she gets to use her magic during the summer, which means, she'll likely want to practice transfiguring you." Hermione said this very nonchalantly, as if she were just mentioning it in conversation. though her real intentions were to frighten Crookshanks and make him happy he wasn't coming along. Crookshanks looked at her for a second and then bristled slightly as if the very thought of spending more time than necessary with Adrienne was more than he could stand. "Knew you'd see it my way," Hermione said as she lowered Crookshanks to the ground and stared into the trunk, wondering exactly what she was forgetting this time. Last summer she forgot toothpaste; she hoped what ever she was forgetting this summer would be as easy to replace. She was just closing her trunk when there was a knock on her door, and then it creaked open, Harry's head appearing in the crack. "What, finally escape my parents?" she asked in amusement as he walked into her room. She expected him to take a seat or sit on the floor, or comment on her bedroom, but he didn't. "Mr. Weasley called," Harry said with mixed surprise, having stopped just inside the doorway. "He what?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raising in disbelief. "Why would he do that?" "Something's wrong, Hermione." This direct statement took her by surprise, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What do you mean something's wrong?" she asked slowly. "He wouldn't say over the phone, only said we need to leave for Salem tonight," Harry replied. Hermione slowly stood up, suddenly feeling cold. For the months to come, she'd remember this night as vividly as she had experienced it. She'd remember the feeling of foreboding, for it would surface again, and she'd remember how she didn't need to be told exactly what was the matter, she already knew it was bad: She could feel it. "How are we to get there? I don't know how to get to his house by road. so my parents can't drive us," Hermione whispered. Crookshanks hand stood up again and was rubbing the side of her ankle reassuredly. "Ron sent a vial of Floo Powder with Hedwig when he wrote you back," Harry answered, shifting his feet nervously. A silence had befallen the room, and suddenly, for a rare moment in her life, Hermione didn't know what to say. She turned back to her trunk and closed and locked the lid, pocketing her key in her jean shorts. "My parents aren't going to like this," Hermione muttered as she stood up, giving Crookshanks a kiss on the top of the head before putting him onto her bed. "You're parents opened a few bottles of wine an hour ago, Herm." Harry answered, an amused expression adorning his face. Hermione blushed with embarrassment. "Oh? Well then, they might not care at all," she answered, "Will you help me with my trunk?" Harry wouldn't let her carry her trunk, and had insisted that he alone lug it down the corridor. Hermione following behind, anxiously reminding him that he had been sick all day. "What did you pack in here, rocks?" he asked as he repositioned his hands for the trip down the stairs. "My texts," Hermione replied, following him down the stairs, her hand ready to fly out and grab the back of his shirt, as he had changed out of his pajamas, in case he were to fall forward. "Hermione!" but Harry stopped there, realizing that there was no reason to chastise her. she'd bring her homework anywhere, even to Guatemala. "The fireplace in the Great Room will work fine," Hermione directed, pointing in a direction of the house Harry hadn't yet explored, or at least she thought he hadn't explored. "How many rooms do you have?" he asked as he followed her through, quickly losing grip on the trunk. "I've never counted," Hermione replied dully. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were already in the Great Room; a fire already started in the fireplace. Harry must have told them we'd have to leave, Hermione thought. Her parents were standing on the Oriental rug in the middle of the floor, but they weren't looking at each other, but staring very pointedly in opposite directions. "There they are!" her father exclaimed as Harry unceremoniously dropped Hermione's trunk to the ground, unable to hold it any longer. Harry's trunk was already by the fireplace, a small glass vial lying atop it. "The fire good enough for you, Harry?" Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Well. I think that will do. Never have prepared a fire for travel myself, but it looks fine to me," he answered. "Darling, I'll miss you dearly," Mrs. Granger said, suddenly rushing forward to wrap her arms around Hermione's neck. Hermione gagged in protest. "Let us know when you'll be back." "I will," Hermione managed, massaging her neck where her mother had almost strangled her while hugging her goodbye. Hermione watched as Harry shook Mr. Granger's hand, and then made his way to his trunk. Hermione noticed that Hedwig's cage wasn't in the room. "Where's Hedwig?" Hermione asked, rubbing her arms. She still had goosebumps, and by the look of Harry's pale face he was worried about something too. She wondered what Mr. Weasley had said to him, because Harry didn't usually express worry this quickly. "Harry's been kind enough to let her stay with us. We promised to feed her and let her go off and do all her owl-ly things. that way we'll be able to get a hold of you should anything come up," her father said, and Hermione was struck by the tone of his voice. She glanced at her mother, who had quickly crossed her arms before her, as if his statement had stung. "Oh, ok," was all Hermione managed to say, realizing something for the first time. something Harry had missed. Her parents hadn't opened the wine to celebrate or to enjoy themselves, they had done so to drown out whatever they were itching to yell at each other, hoping that they'd get drunk enough and forget they're newest problem until after Hermione and Harry left. They had done this before, and sometimes it worked, and other times it just made them argue with increased vigor. "We'll miss you darling," her mother whispered, hugging her again, this time kissing her cheek. Hermione kissed her mother back, and then went to hug her father, who bent down to whisper in her ear that he'd miss her. "Be careful," her mother said, biting her lip, something she never did. "What's going on?" Hermione asked, staring at them with a confused expression. "Well, naturally we'd be worried. you're going to Guatemala without us," her father replied. Hermione didn't say anything; she just turned around and moved to turn her trunk on its side to better facilitate putting it in the fireplace. "What are they on about?" Hermione whispered to Harry as he approached to help her. "They talked to Mr. Weasley before I did. They asked me to leave the room. I don't know," Harry answered in a low voice. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Hermione hissed back, and then noticed that her parents were watching them closely. Harry didn't reply. He pulled the top off the Floo Powder and then looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "I really appreciate everything, thanks," he replied, smiling at them. "And feel free to owl us. Hedwig won't mind the long trip: She likes them." "She likes chocolate-chip cookies too," Hermione added. "We'll see you later, love," Mrs. Granger replied. She had taken a seat in a rocking chair and had folded her hands in her lap, rocking nervously. "Learn some good dueling moves," her father instructed. Hermione stared at her father for a second, realizing that allowing her to go was going against all his instincts. His face gave away his true feelings, and by his expression, Hermione realized that he too was worried. Harry turned around and tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Immediately the flames turned green. "Here you go, Hermione," Harry said, handing her the vial, and then, with a smile at the Grangers and an order of direction to the fireplace, Harry and his trunk stepped into the green flames and disappeared. "Hermione." Hermione had been watching the fireplace, waiting for the green flame to die down. She turned around, wondering what else her father had to say to her. "Listen. I'm not going to tell you much. I don't understand it, all right? It's your world, not mine, understanding it isn't my privilege." Her father, despite his red face, was talking fluently, but he didn't approach her, he continued to stand in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets. "But no matter where you are. with the wizards or with us, you have a good head. trust your instincts, Hermione. I don't know if you'll be able to trust much else." "What?" she asked, her voice caught in her throat. "What's going on?" "Have fun on your trip, Hermione, and be careful, please," her father continued, "Go, on, Harry'll be wondering where you are." Hermione stared at her parents, a horrified feeling resting in her chest. Her parents could tell something was wrong. Mr. Weasley wanted them to leave Britain that night. "Mum, Dad?" Hermione asked again, hoping for some clarification. "Go, Hermione." Her mother was staring at her in an imperial fashion; her lips pursed together, her hands clasped in a death grip. As if under the Imperious Curse, Hermione turned around, her body moving without her mind needing to tell her to. She dragged her trunk right before the fireplace, tossed in the Floo Powder and yelled "The Burrow." And as she stepped into the green flames, as she began to spin, and as she pressed her trunk to her body to keep a good hold on it, she watched the world as she knew dissolve into a memory.
"I feel better, honest," Harry replied. "You're not hot and your eyes look normal." Mrs. Granger turned around to look at her husband, who was leaning against the kitchen door. He shrugged. "Well, if you're feeling all right. but you don't have to set the table, you're our guest." "I don't mind," Harry said as he scanned the glass-covered cabinets for the plates. "No, we insist, have a seat and tell us about your school year. Hermione's mentioned some interesting things since she's been home." Mr. Granger indicated a chair, and Harry, although regretfully, followed his instructions. Harry told Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Granger who was setting the table, and Mr. Granger who was sitting at the head of the table with his arms crossed before him, about the previous year. He told them about meeting Adrienne, about the start of the dueling team, which Hermione had no doubt already relayed. He discussed where he, Hermione, and Ron would be going this summer. Hermione listened intently from her position before the stove, keeping an eye over the spaghetti sauce, which she thought she had burned while leaving it unattended earlier. Finally, both Mrs. Granger and Hermione sat down, Hermione sitting across from Harry, and Mrs. Granger, across from her husband. "So, your friend Ron has written you about traveling to America. How exactly do you plan to get there?" Mr. Granger asked as he heaped another helping of spaghetti onto his plate. Harry looked up at Hermione, his mouth completely filled with spaghetti. She smirked. "A port-key, daddy." Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "It's a normal object, like a shoe or a paper-weight. something you can hold. though, I'm quite sure you could use water as a port-key, lets say if you were jumping into a pool or - " Harry kicked her softly under the table and gave her one of his patented "you are leaving the topic at hand" faces. "You take the object and place a charm on it, so, when you touch it, you are transported magically to a prearranged place," Hermione finished, saying all this rather quickly, and then reaching for her water. "Is this safe?" her mother asked. "Because I wasn't too thrilled about this whole travelling through the fireplace idea. you could have been burned." "Perfectly safe," Harry replied, then his face darkened, "well, depending on who made it, and why it was made. but Mr. Weasley will see to it that it is completely safe." This didn't seem to reassure Mrs. Granger, but she let the topic go. "So, when is this expedition to take place?" Mr. Granger had now cleared his plate and had pushed it away from him. "Well, Ron says that we can leave tomorrow. Mr. Weasley has your fireplace hooked up to the floo-network for only tonight and tomorrow. It was the only days his friend is working, as I guess he's going to Majorca soon," Harry replied, his face buried in Ron's letter. "So, we have to be at Ron's house by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. And knowing Ron, he'll want to get to Adrienne's as soon as possible. they're kind of an item." Hermione snorted into her water. "What's so funny?" Harry asked, smiling as she wiped her face with a napkin. "If we're staying at Salem, he's going to be around that Professor Glenn an awful lot I think, whether he wants to be or not," Hermione said softly, trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow? But Hermione, darling, this is only your third day home. I did want to see you this summer," her mother said, lowering her fork to her plate and staring at Hermione. "But I'll be back, mum. We're only going for a few weeks, or at least I am. I don't know what Harry's doing. If I don't come back I'll never get my holiday work done. Merlin knows that I won't get an ounce of anything accomplished with them trooping around Guatemala," Hermione said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Elizabeth, she is sixteen. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself," her father said airily, leaning back in his chair. Mrs. Granger sighed and pushed her plate away from her, suddenly no longer hungry. "Well, I suppose, your friend competing in this dueling game is an important experience," her mother answered, her tone as if it wasn't important at all, but perhaps the dullest event Hermione could ever attend.
"And educational. We'll be among the best duelers in the world, mother. The best. We can only improve by attending. Why, think of all the advanced spells and tricks we might learn?" Hermione was in her element. No longer were the up-coming Internationals about Adrienne competing; no longer was the up-coming Internationals about a vacation in Guatemala. But instead, Hermione was fixated upon the benefits that attending such a fair of dueling genius could bring upon her own technique. "And, it should be quite entertaining to watch Adrienne: It's going to be really crowded, and, well, she really isn't a people person," Harry added, taking in Hermione's serene face with surprise. "Oh yes, and watching Adrienne will be fun too," Hermione added as an after thought. * * * * * After dinner, Hermione left to go begin packing her trunk, leaving Harry with her parents, who were now quizzing him about Quidditch and what it was like to fly on a broom, as Hermione never told them anything exciting about broom flying. Crookshanks had followed Hermione, and watched with growing suspicion as she began to neatly stack shorts and T-shirts atop her bed. His worst fears were confirmed when she opened her closet door, pulled out her school trunk, and began to pile her clothes into the corner, taking care to make sure that her packing wouldn't leave any unsightly creases when she arrived at Salem. When she neglected to pick up his bag of cat food and place it in along with the school texts she was bringing, Crookshanks let out a loud meow of protest, and stood up in alarm. "Crookshanks, you can't come with," Hermione cooed, reaching forward to stroke his head. "Going to Guatemala isn't going to be something you'd like. What would I do if you got lost?" Crookshanks didn't seem impressed with her reasoning. Hermione picked the big cat up and placed him in her lap, holding his scrunched face before hers. His nose was wrinkled up as if he had smelt something putrid, as was his way of displaying his displeasure with one of her decisions. "We're going to go visit Adrienne. You wouldn't want to come, because she lives at the school. which means she gets to use her magic during the summer, which means, she'll likely want to practice transfiguring you." Hermione said this very nonchalantly, as if she were just mentioning it in conversation. though her real intentions were to frighten Crookshanks and make him happy he wasn't coming along. Crookshanks looked at her for a second and then bristled slightly as if the very thought of spending more time than necessary with Adrienne was more than he could stand. "Knew you'd see it my way," Hermione said as she lowered Crookshanks to the ground and stared into the trunk, wondering exactly what she was forgetting this time. Last summer she forgot toothpaste; she hoped what ever she was forgetting this summer would be as easy to replace. She was just closing her trunk when there was a knock on her door, and then it creaked open, Harry's head appearing in the crack. "What, finally escape my parents?" she asked in amusement as he walked into her room. She expected him to take a seat or sit on the floor, or comment on her bedroom, but he didn't. "Mr. Weasley called," Harry said with mixed surprise, having stopped just inside the doorway. "He what?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raising in disbelief. "Why would he do that?" "Something's wrong, Hermione." This direct statement took her by surprise, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What do you mean something's wrong?" she asked slowly. "He wouldn't say over the phone, only said we need to leave for Salem tonight," Harry replied. Hermione slowly stood up, suddenly feeling cold. For the months to come, she'd remember this night as vividly as she had experienced it. She'd remember the feeling of foreboding, for it would surface again, and she'd remember how she didn't need to be told exactly what was the matter, she already knew it was bad: She could feel it. "How are we to get there? I don't know how to get to his house by road. so my parents can't drive us," Hermione whispered. Crookshanks hand stood up again and was rubbing the side of her ankle reassuredly. "Ron sent a vial of Floo Powder with Hedwig when he wrote you back," Harry answered, shifting his feet nervously. A silence had befallen the room, and suddenly, for a rare moment in her life, Hermione didn't know what to say. She turned back to her trunk and closed and locked the lid, pocketing her key in her jean shorts. "My parents aren't going to like this," Hermione muttered as she stood up, giving Crookshanks a kiss on the top of the head before putting him onto her bed. "You're parents opened a few bottles of wine an hour ago, Herm." Harry answered, an amused expression adorning his face. Hermione blushed with embarrassment. "Oh? Well then, they might not care at all," she answered, "Will you help me with my trunk?" Harry wouldn't let her carry her trunk, and had insisted that he alone lug it down the corridor. Hermione following behind, anxiously reminding him that he had been sick all day. "What did you pack in here, rocks?" he asked as he repositioned his hands for the trip down the stairs. "My texts," Hermione replied, following him down the stairs, her hand ready to fly out and grab the back of his shirt, as he had changed out of his pajamas, in case he were to fall forward. "Hermione!" but Harry stopped there, realizing that there was no reason to chastise her. she'd bring her homework anywhere, even to Guatemala. "The fireplace in the Great Room will work fine," Hermione directed, pointing in a direction of the house Harry hadn't yet explored, or at least she thought he hadn't explored. "How many rooms do you have?" he asked as he followed her through, quickly losing grip on the trunk. "I've never counted," Hermione replied dully. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were already in the Great Room; a fire already started in the fireplace. Harry must have told them we'd have to leave, Hermione thought. Her parents were standing on the Oriental rug in the middle of the floor, but they weren't looking at each other, but staring very pointedly in opposite directions. "There they are!" her father exclaimed as Harry unceremoniously dropped Hermione's trunk to the ground, unable to hold it any longer. Harry's trunk was already by the fireplace, a small glass vial lying atop it. "The fire good enough for you, Harry?" Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Well. I think that will do. Never have prepared a fire for travel myself, but it looks fine to me," he answered. "Darling, I'll miss you dearly," Mrs. Granger said, suddenly rushing forward to wrap her arms around Hermione's neck. Hermione gagged in protest. "Let us know when you'll be back." "I will," Hermione managed, massaging her neck where her mother had almost strangled her while hugging her goodbye. Hermione watched as Harry shook Mr. Granger's hand, and then made his way to his trunk. Hermione noticed that Hedwig's cage wasn't in the room. "Where's Hedwig?" Hermione asked, rubbing her arms. She still had goosebumps, and by the look of Harry's pale face he was worried about something too. She wondered what Mr. Weasley had said to him, because Harry didn't usually express worry this quickly. "Harry's been kind enough to let her stay with us. We promised to feed her and let her go off and do all her owl-ly things. that way we'll be able to get a hold of you should anything come up," her father said, and Hermione was struck by the tone of his voice. She glanced at her mother, who had quickly crossed her arms before her, as if his statement had stung. "Oh, ok," was all Hermione managed to say, realizing something for the first time. something Harry had missed. Her parents hadn't opened the wine to celebrate or to enjoy themselves, they had done so to drown out whatever they were itching to yell at each other, hoping that they'd get drunk enough and forget they're newest problem until after Hermione and Harry left. They had done this before, and sometimes it worked, and other times it just made them argue with increased vigor. "We'll miss you darling," her mother whispered, hugging her again, this time kissing her cheek. Hermione kissed her mother back, and then went to hug her father, who bent down to whisper in her ear that he'd miss her. "Be careful," her mother said, biting her lip, something she never did. "What's going on?" Hermione asked, staring at them with a confused expression. "Well, naturally we'd be worried. you're going to Guatemala without us," her father replied. Hermione didn't say anything; she just turned around and moved to turn her trunk on its side to better facilitate putting it in the fireplace. "What are they on about?" Hermione whispered to Harry as he approached to help her. "They talked to Mr. Weasley before I did. They asked me to leave the room. I don't know," Harry answered in a low voice. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Hermione hissed back, and then noticed that her parents were watching them closely. Harry didn't reply. He pulled the top off the Floo Powder and then looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "I really appreciate everything, thanks," he replied, smiling at them. "And feel free to owl us. Hedwig won't mind the long trip: She likes them." "She likes chocolate-chip cookies too," Hermione added. "We'll see you later, love," Mrs. Granger replied. She had taken a seat in a rocking chair and had folded her hands in her lap, rocking nervously. "Learn some good dueling moves," her father instructed. Hermione stared at her father for a second, realizing that allowing her to go was going against all his instincts. His face gave away his true feelings, and by his expression, Hermione realized that he too was worried. Harry turned around and tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Immediately the flames turned green. "Here you go, Hermione," Harry said, handing her the vial, and then, with a smile at the Grangers and an order of direction to the fireplace, Harry and his trunk stepped into the green flames and disappeared. "Hermione." Hermione had been watching the fireplace, waiting for the green flame to die down. She turned around, wondering what else her father had to say to her. "Listen. I'm not going to tell you much. I don't understand it, all right? It's your world, not mine, understanding it isn't my privilege." Her father, despite his red face, was talking fluently, but he didn't approach her, he continued to stand in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets. "But no matter where you are. with the wizards or with us, you have a good head. trust your instincts, Hermione. I don't know if you'll be able to trust much else." "What?" she asked, her voice caught in her throat. "What's going on?" "Have fun on your trip, Hermione, and be careful, please," her father continued, "Go, on, Harry'll be wondering where you are." Hermione stared at her parents, a horrified feeling resting in her chest. Her parents could tell something was wrong. Mr. Weasley wanted them to leave Britain that night. "Mum, Dad?" Hermione asked again, hoping for some clarification. "Go, Hermione." Her mother was staring at her in an imperial fashion; her lips pursed together, her hands clasped in a death grip. As if under the Imperious Curse, Hermione turned around, her body moving without her mind needing to tell her to. She dragged her trunk right before the fireplace, tossed in the Floo Powder and yelled "The Burrow." And as she stepped into the green flames, as she began to spin, and as she pressed her trunk to her body to keep a good hold on it, she watched the world as she knew dissolve into a memory.
