Chapter 9
Hermione stood in the small balcony outside her room in the Granger Chalet, breathing in the fresh early morning air, waiting for the rest of the house to wake up for their traditional Christmas morning breakfast. While she had agreed to go to France to flee from Malfoy and the unfamiliar and disturbing emotions he evoked from her, after a few days in the company of her family, she realised that it was the best decision she had made all year. Being with her parents, spending time away from her Wizarding life, was just what she needed. Hermione admitted to herself that in the past few years, as she turned into one of the best witches Hogwarts had ever known, she had tried to hide where she had come from under a list of her achievements and accomplishments as a witch. That's why Malfoy's words that day hurt so much. They reminded you that underneath it all, you were still Muggleborn, that you would never be good enough.
For the first time since September 1, Hermione did not feel that cold anger and bitterness at the memory of those words and that scene. And it felt good. She admitted that there was something very tempting about letting anger fester and brew inside, something very satisfying about it. Perhaps it was the rush of heat followed by the biting freeze in her veins. Or the frantic internal scramble to get a hold of herself to justify her anger, to relish it, to begin to enjoy it. It made her feel alive. That was why she had allowed that feeling, why she held on to it for the past few months.
But the moment she let it go, that instant when she took a deep breath and released her anger, there was a lightness in her heart she had not felt in a long time. A calmness that washed over her, and made her feel human. She knew enough about that old calmness that descended on her during times of peril and danger, that calmess that allowed her to think and plan in an emergency, to know that the calmness she felt now was different. Deeper. More lasting.
She smiled as she recalled the event that triggered this change in her.
"Mum, is there something I can do before we leave for Paris tomorrow? I've already packed and gift-wrapped all the Christmas presents," she said as she walked into the master bedroom where Anne was packing for their trip. Hermione had been home for a day and already she was going batty with nothing to do. With her wand tucked away in her chest, and knowing that she wasn't allowed to do magic whilst on vacation, she had frantically looked for activities to occupy her time: she cleaned her room, alphabetised her books and her CD collection, even tried swimming a few laps in their heated indoor pool. Nothing worked. She was still bored out her mind and itching to do something, anything, to occupy her time and her mind.
"Would you like to sort out the box of photos your Grandmother has asked me to bring to her in France? It's for her new hobby. She joined a scrap-book making club of some sort," her mother replied.
"Sure, Mum. Where?" Hermione answered eagerly, then headed for her parent's study to retrieve the box when her mother told her where it was.
The box was filled with the Granger's memories -- photographs of every birthday, every wedding anniversary, every trip, every important event in their family's life. For Hermione, who had grown accustomed to moving wizarding pictures, it was quite strange to look at photographs where the people remained still. At first, she had organised the hundred or so pictures by rote, stacking them by date and labelling them. Eventually, as she categorised the pictures, memories of the different events they captured began flashing through her mind.
A photograph of her and her mother during their trip to China when she was nine, made her smile. She remembered the day that picture was taken. Her mother made them all laugh with her attempts to speak Chinese, especially when the interpreter they had hired finally but hesitantly told Anne that she had just called the elderly lady who was selling them silk "an old horse" when she meant to respectfully call her "mother". That embarassed and flustered look on Anne's face, so out of character for the perenially-composed woman, may not have been captured on film, but had remained in Hermione's photographic memory.
Another photograph, this time of her parents' tenth year anniversary, brought a poignant smile to Hermione's face. A few minutes after that picture was taken, they had received a call from Aunt Constance, tearfully letting them know that her Grandfather had passed away. Hermione remembered the look on her father's face at the news. It was the first time she had ever seen a man cry, and for a few seconds, she saw him in a different light. Gone was the strong, successful and loving father she had always known; all that was left was a son grieving for his father.
As she looked at the photographs and relished the memories they brought, Hermione realised that even moving magical pictures could not replace the feelings and memories evoked by a still picture. It didn't matter that a picture did not have moving images, what mattered was the story behind a still picture.
"I know that must be a bit boring for you," her mother said. Hermione looked up to see her mother standing at the doorway of the study, and a quick look at the clock on the mantle told her that she had been organising the pictures for the past two hours.
"No, it's not, Mum. It's fun looking at our old photos," Hermione answered.
"I meant that it was boring because the pictures are ... well quite still... I know you've gotten used to those that move," Anne said, walking towards the couch to sit beside Hermione.
"No, Mum. They're anything but boring... Sometimes still pictures can capture a moment better than any moving picture can," Hermione responded, realising the truth to her words as she spoke them.
"Hermione, you don't have to be polite," Anne smiled a bit sadly at her. "I know that... Muggles and Muggle things are nothing compared to what you've seen as a witch."
Hermione kept silent, pondering her mother's words. Yes, over the past few years, she had had considered everything Muggle as too... ordinary, too boring compared to the wonders of the wizarding world. "Mum, I'm sorry."
"No, dear. No, don't apologise. I can only imagine what it's like for you... your wizarding life... it must be amazing. And there's nothing wrong with that. You were eleven when you first entered that world, a child! I remember the first letter you wrote to us from Hogwarts and how excited you were at everything about your new life. I have seen the way your face lights up whenever that wall to Diagon Alley disappears and you see that place again. I know how proud you are of everything you've accomplished as a witch. Don't apologise for discovering a world that's far beyond any of your childhood imaginations and dreams." Anne said. "I am so proud of what you've become, Hermione. There are no words for how your father and I feel about your accomplishments. Our only regret is that we can't share your world. That we're not magical enough to fit into your life."
As her mother spoke, Hermione began to realise just how arrogant she had been for the past few years, believing that her parents could not possibly grasp her experiences as a witch and keeping the details of her life from them. The reason why they had grown apart was not because they couldn't accept her as witch, it was because she had kept herself from them, making them feel not worthy to share her life with. She had been too busy becoming the brilliant Muggleborn witch that she was that she had forgotten all about her Muggle life and home.
Hermione began to cry, "Mum, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you and dad out. I didn't realise I was so... arrogant to think that you couldn't possibly understand or appreciate what I was going through. And I never imagined how it must feel to you and dad that I devoted so much of myself to my wizarding life that I had left behind my Muggle life. I never meant to hurt you and dad, Mum. I was just too caught up in trying to fit in and to be the best witch in Hogwarts that I forgot to think about you and dad. I'm sorry for being so selfish."
Her father came home to a sight that he had never thought he would ever see again: his wife and his daughter hugging and crying.
After that moment, she and her parents had spent hours talking and just catching up. Making up for lost time. Forgiving each other. Allowing her parents to get know who she had become. She had told them everything about her life in Hogwarts: the fun she had with her friends, the adventures she had been part of, danger she was in, the pressure she felt to prove herself. Talking about all of it helped Hermione more than she would be able to express with words. It helped her sort out her issues as a Muggleborn witch, her fears about Voldemort, her anger at Malfoy for being the constant reminder of what she was and what she could never be.
Admitting and realising just how much she had shunned her parents for the past few years made Hermione take a good look at herself and assess what she had really become. In her fear of Voldemort's onslaught, in her anger and hurt at the prejudice she had encountered as a Muggleborn witch, she had lost herself in trying to bury her fear, her anger, her hurt under a multitude of tasks, accomplishments, and projects. She had believed that by doing enough, she would be enough. Enough to help Harry defeat Voldemort. Enough to prove to everyone that she was just as good as any Pure Blood witch. In doing so, she had forgotten who she was and cast aside people who loved her. More importantly, she had begun to let the prejudice against Muggleborns take over her. She had become a person who had ignored her family, forgotten her roots, and had allowed her arrogance and anger to consume her to the point that she had relished the idea of decimating Malfoy.
She knew she was better than that. She knew she was not that person. She knew that she did not want to be that kind of person.
At some point during their time together, her father said something that she would never forget: "Hermione, every person has a list of non-negotiables. These are things that you would never compromise, never negotiate on, never barter for anything. Your non-negotiables define who and what you are as a person, as a young woman, as a witch. It's up to you to decide which aspects, which values, which parts of you, will go to that list. If you are clear on your non-negotiables, nothing can hurt you enough to destroy you. But, the moment you start negotiating on your non-negotiables, you lose yourself, you become less of the person that you want to be, that you can be, that you are."
She had thought about her non-negotiables, and had come to conclusions about the kind of person she really was and the kind that she wanted to be. She had come to terms with what she could never be, and had re-learned the things that were really important to her. She thought back on the 11-year old Hermione Granger who had just discovered she was a witch -- how excited she was, how eager to learn about the new world that was just revealed to her, how hurt she was when no one liked her during her first few months in Hogwarts, how happy she was when Harry and Ron had finally accepted her into their fold. She re-traced how she had grown up in Hogwarts, focusing on the events that made her feel really happy -- the times she helped Harry and Ron and the other Gryffindors figure things out, the moments spent with the Weasleys who had bourne their financial difficulties with grace, honour and a sense of humour, the moments when Harry Potter's kindness, bravery and inherent humility awed her, the conversations with Hagrid, who had never failed to always make her feel better with a kind word and his childlike simplicity, the endless hours spent in the library discovering new spells and charms for the simple joy of learning something new. The real Hermione Jane Granger was not the Muggleborn Head Girl with unmatched academic achievements, who was constantly proving her naysayers wrong about their prejudice. She was so much more and so much less than that. She was, simply, a loyal friend, a dedicated learner, a vulnerable teenage girl, a wise and intelligent witch, a staunch crusader against Voldemort and everything the monster stood for. The moment that she accepted the real Hermione Jane Granger, it was so much easier for her to let go of her false pride as a witch, her anger and hurt at the prejudice against her in the Wizarding world, and her fears about Voldemort.
So now here she was, breathing the fresh early morning air, calmer and happier than she had ever been in the past few years. She didn't doubt for a minute that Voldemort would attack and probably kill her, or that the discrimination against Muggleborn witches like her would go away upon her return to Hogwarts. She knew those things would still be there, but she also knew that there nothing Voldemort or Malfoy and his ilk could do that would take away the things that made her Hermione Jane Granger.
She went back inside to her room and took out her Pet Project notebook. She considered throwing it in the fireplace but then decided that she needed to keep it with her to remind her just how close she had gotten to losing herself because of her anger and need to prove herself. She accepted that no matter how horrid Malfoy had been to her, no matter what he represented in her life, the real Hermione Granger would not have abided by the cruelty she had been prepared to dish out to him. He may have deserved it, but being true to herself, regaining that part of her that made her human and humane, was more important than besting Malfoy and teaching him a lesson.
So instead, she wrote on the last page of the leatherbound notepad: Pet Project Aborted. Then she put it back in her bag.
Besides, Hermione. YOU might not be the kind of person who would be cruel enough to follow through on your Pet Project, but there might be someone who is. Would be good to provide them with reference materials, wouldn't it.
Hermione chuckled. It was good to know that her little imp was still with her.
Draco scowled as he made his way to the library. Damn Snape. Why couldn't he get that bloody potions book himself? Damn lazy bastard. The last thing Draco needed right now was to spend time in the library. He had been successfully avoiding the library over the holiday break, glad that he had finished all his homework in advance so he would not have to go to the blasted place. If his mother had not left the country soon after Lucius' arrest, and if Draco genuinely liked spending time at the Malfoy Manor or any of their other mansions, he would not have spent the holidays in Hogwarts. Besides, Dumbledore and Snape forbade him to leave the school in fear of Draco being attacked for his betrayal of the Dark Lord and his followers. All throughout the break, Draco had either flown for hours on his Wind Horse over the Quidditch pitch or hung around in the Slytherin Common Room, flirting with the 5th, 6th and 7th year girls who had not gone home for Christmas.
Now the greasy old bastard ruins my fun because he's 'too busy' to get a blasted book himself. So what if he's brewing batches of Skele-Grow for the Hospital Wing? That's no excuse for getting me to go back to that blasted place where I almost had Granger before she ran away. Merlin, she was so beautiful that day. So hot. So--
"Harry, that's a really cool quill. Where'd you get it?" one of the Creevey brothers, Draco could never tell them apart, interrupted his thoughts as he entered the library. Potter and the other Gryffindors were sitting near Madame Pince desk.
"Hermione gave it to me for Christmas. Says it's called a Whistle Quill. It makes a whistling sound when you write down a mispelled word. Neat, huh?" Harry responded.
"How come Hermione didn't spend the holidays with you and Ron? She hasn't spent the holidays away in years, hasn't she," the other Creevey brother asked.
"She decided to spend the break with her parents in France. She said she wanted to have a bit of quality time with her parents," Harry answered.
Ah so that's the excuse Granger has given everyone and possibly even herself, Draco thought snidely. But I know her real excuse, don't I. I think I'll remind her of it when she gets back.
Hermione stood in the small balcony outside her room in the Granger Chalet, breathing in the fresh early morning air, waiting for the rest of the house to wake up for their traditional Christmas morning breakfast. While she had agreed to go to France to flee from Malfoy and the unfamiliar and disturbing emotions he evoked from her, after a few days in the company of her family, she realised that it was the best decision she had made all year. Being with her parents, spending time away from her Wizarding life, was just what she needed. Hermione admitted to herself that in the past few years, as she turned into one of the best witches Hogwarts had ever known, she had tried to hide where she had come from under a list of her achievements and accomplishments as a witch. That's why Malfoy's words that day hurt so much. They reminded you that underneath it all, you were still Muggleborn, that you would never be good enough.
For the first time since September 1, Hermione did not feel that cold anger and bitterness at the memory of those words and that scene. And it felt good. She admitted that there was something very tempting about letting anger fester and brew inside, something very satisfying about it. Perhaps it was the rush of heat followed by the biting freeze in her veins. Or the frantic internal scramble to get a hold of herself to justify her anger, to relish it, to begin to enjoy it. It made her feel alive. That was why she had allowed that feeling, why she held on to it for the past few months.
But the moment she let it go, that instant when she took a deep breath and released her anger, there was a lightness in her heart she had not felt in a long time. A calmness that washed over her, and made her feel human. She knew enough about that old calmness that descended on her during times of peril and danger, that calmess that allowed her to think and plan in an emergency, to know that the calmness she felt now was different. Deeper. More lasting.
She smiled as she recalled the event that triggered this change in her.
"Mum, is there something I can do before we leave for Paris tomorrow? I've already packed and gift-wrapped all the Christmas presents," she said as she walked into the master bedroom where Anne was packing for their trip. Hermione had been home for a day and already she was going batty with nothing to do. With her wand tucked away in her chest, and knowing that she wasn't allowed to do magic whilst on vacation, she had frantically looked for activities to occupy her time: she cleaned her room, alphabetised her books and her CD collection, even tried swimming a few laps in their heated indoor pool. Nothing worked. She was still bored out her mind and itching to do something, anything, to occupy her time and her mind.
"Would you like to sort out the box of photos your Grandmother has asked me to bring to her in France? It's for her new hobby. She joined a scrap-book making club of some sort," her mother replied.
"Sure, Mum. Where?" Hermione answered eagerly, then headed for her parent's study to retrieve the box when her mother told her where it was.
The box was filled with the Granger's memories -- photographs of every birthday, every wedding anniversary, every trip, every important event in their family's life. For Hermione, who had grown accustomed to moving wizarding pictures, it was quite strange to look at photographs where the people remained still. At first, she had organised the hundred or so pictures by rote, stacking them by date and labelling them. Eventually, as she categorised the pictures, memories of the different events they captured began flashing through her mind.
A photograph of her and her mother during their trip to China when she was nine, made her smile. She remembered the day that picture was taken. Her mother made them all laugh with her attempts to speak Chinese, especially when the interpreter they had hired finally but hesitantly told Anne that she had just called the elderly lady who was selling them silk "an old horse" when she meant to respectfully call her "mother". That embarassed and flustered look on Anne's face, so out of character for the perenially-composed woman, may not have been captured on film, but had remained in Hermione's photographic memory.
Another photograph, this time of her parents' tenth year anniversary, brought a poignant smile to Hermione's face. A few minutes after that picture was taken, they had received a call from Aunt Constance, tearfully letting them know that her Grandfather had passed away. Hermione remembered the look on her father's face at the news. It was the first time she had ever seen a man cry, and for a few seconds, she saw him in a different light. Gone was the strong, successful and loving father she had always known; all that was left was a son grieving for his father.
As she looked at the photographs and relished the memories they brought, Hermione realised that even moving magical pictures could not replace the feelings and memories evoked by a still picture. It didn't matter that a picture did not have moving images, what mattered was the story behind a still picture.
"I know that must be a bit boring for you," her mother said. Hermione looked up to see her mother standing at the doorway of the study, and a quick look at the clock on the mantle told her that she had been organising the pictures for the past two hours.
"No, it's not, Mum. It's fun looking at our old photos," Hermione answered.
"I meant that it was boring because the pictures are ... well quite still... I know you've gotten used to those that move," Anne said, walking towards the couch to sit beside Hermione.
"No, Mum. They're anything but boring... Sometimes still pictures can capture a moment better than any moving picture can," Hermione responded, realising the truth to her words as she spoke them.
"Hermione, you don't have to be polite," Anne smiled a bit sadly at her. "I know that... Muggles and Muggle things are nothing compared to what you've seen as a witch."
Hermione kept silent, pondering her mother's words. Yes, over the past few years, she had had considered everything Muggle as too... ordinary, too boring compared to the wonders of the wizarding world. "Mum, I'm sorry."
"No, dear. No, don't apologise. I can only imagine what it's like for you... your wizarding life... it must be amazing. And there's nothing wrong with that. You were eleven when you first entered that world, a child! I remember the first letter you wrote to us from Hogwarts and how excited you were at everything about your new life. I have seen the way your face lights up whenever that wall to Diagon Alley disappears and you see that place again. I know how proud you are of everything you've accomplished as a witch. Don't apologise for discovering a world that's far beyond any of your childhood imaginations and dreams." Anne said. "I am so proud of what you've become, Hermione. There are no words for how your father and I feel about your accomplishments. Our only regret is that we can't share your world. That we're not magical enough to fit into your life."
As her mother spoke, Hermione began to realise just how arrogant she had been for the past few years, believing that her parents could not possibly grasp her experiences as a witch and keeping the details of her life from them. The reason why they had grown apart was not because they couldn't accept her as witch, it was because she had kept herself from them, making them feel not worthy to share her life with. She had been too busy becoming the brilliant Muggleborn witch that she was that she had forgotten all about her Muggle life and home.
Hermione began to cry, "Mum, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you and dad out. I didn't realise I was so... arrogant to think that you couldn't possibly understand or appreciate what I was going through. And I never imagined how it must feel to you and dad that I devoted so much of myself to my wizarding life that I had left behind my Muggle life. I never meant to hurt you and dad, Mum. I was just too caught up in trying to fit in and to be the best witch in Hogwarts that I forgot to think about you and dad. I'm sorry for being so selfish."
Her father came home to a sight that he had never thought he would ever see again: his wife and his daughter hugging and crying.
After that moment, she and her parents had spent hours talking and just catching up. Making up for lost time. Forgiving each other. Allowing her parents to get know who she had become. She had told them everything about her life in Hogwarts: the fun she had with her friends, the adventures she had been part of, danger she was in, the pressure she felt to prove herself. Talking about all of it helped Hermione more than she would be able to express with words. It helped her sort out her issues as a Muggleborn witch, her fears about Voldemort, her anger at Malfoy for being the constant reminder of what she was and what she could never be.
Admitting and realising just how much she had shunned her parents for the past few years made Hermione take a good look at herself and assess what she had really become. In her fear of Voldemort's onslaught, in her anger and hurt at the prejudice she had encountered as a Muggleborn witch, she had lost herself in trying to bury her fear, her anger, her hurt under a multitude of tasks, accomplishments, and projects. She had believed that by doing enough, she would be enough. Enough to help Harry defeat Voldemort. Enough to prove to everyone that she was just as good as any Pure Blood witch. In doing so, she had forgotten who she was and cast aside people who loved her. More importantly, she had begun to let the prejudice against Muggleborns take over her. She had become a person who had ignored her family, forgotten her roots, and had allowed her arrogance and anger to consume her to the point that she had relished the idea of decimating Malfoy.
She knew she was better than that. She knew she was not that person. She knew that she did not want to be that kind of person.
At some point during their time together, her father said something that she would never forget: "Hermione, every person has a list of non-negotiables. These are things that you would never compromise, never negotiate on, never barter for anything. Your non-negotiables define who and what you are as a person, as a young woman, as a witch. It's up to you to decide which aspects, which values, which parts of you, will go to that list. If you are clear on your non-negotiables, nothing can hurt you enough to destroy you. But, the moment you start negotiating on your non-negotiables, you lose yourself, you become less of the person that you want to be, that you can be, that you are."
She had thought about her non-negotiables, and had come to conclusions about the kind of person she really was and the kind that she wanted to be. She had come to terms with what she could never be, and had re-learned the things that were really important to her. She thought back on the 11-year old Hermione Granger who had just discovered she was a witch -- how excited she was, how eager to learn about the new world that was just revealed to her, how hurt she was when no one liked her during her first few months in Hogwarts, how happy she was when Harry and Ron had finally accepted her into their fold. She re-traced how she had grown up in Hogwarts, focusing on the events that made her feel really happy -- the times she helped Harry and Ron and the other Gryffindors figure things out, the moments spent with the Weasleys who had bourne their financial difficulties with grace, honour and a sense of humour, the moments when Harry Potter's kindness, bravery and inherent humility awed her, the conversations with Hagrid, who had never failed to always make her feel better with a kind word and his childlike simplicity, the endless hours spent in the library discovering new spells and charms for the simple joy of learning something new. The real Hermione Jane Granger was not the Muggleborn Head Girl with unmatched academic achievements, who was constantly proving her naysayers wrong about their prejudice. She was so much more and so much less than that. She was, simply, a loyal friend, a dedicated learner, a vulnerable teenage girl, a wise and intelligent witch, a staunch crusader against Voldemort and everything the monster stood for. The moment that she accepted the real Hermione Jane Granger, it was so much easier for her to let go of her false pride as a witch, her anger and hurt at the prejudice against her in the Wizarding world, and her fears about Voldemort.
So now here she was, breathing the fresh early morning air, calmer and happier than she had ever been in the past few years. She didn't doubt for a minute that Voldemort would attack and probably kill her, or that the discrimination against Muggleborn witches like her would go away upon her return to Hogwarts. She knew those things would still be there, but she also knew that there nothing Voldemort or Malfoy and his ilk could do that would take away the things that made her Hermione Jane Granger.
She went back inside to her room and took out her Pet Project notebook. She considered throwing it in the fireplace but then decided that she needed to keep it with her to remind her just how close she had gotten to losing herself because of her anger and need to prove herself. She accepted that no matter how horrid Malfoy had been to her, no matter what he represented in her life, the real Hermione Granger would not have abided by the cruelty she had been prepared to dish out to him. He may have deserved it, but being true to herself, regaining that part of her that made her human and humane, was more important than besting Malfoy and teaching him a lesson.
So instead, she wrote on the last page of the leatherbound notepad: Pet Project Aborted. Then she put it back in her bag.
Besides, Hermione. YOU might not be the kind of person who would be cruel enough to follow through on your Pet Project, but there might be someone who is. Would be good to provide them with reference materials, wouldn't it.
Hermione chuckled. It was good to know that her little imp was still with her.
Draco scowled as he made his way to the library. Damn Snape. Why couldn't he get that bloody potions book himself? Damn lazy bastard. The last thing Draco needed right now was to spend time in the library. He had been successfully avoiding the library over the holiday break, glad that he had finished all his homework in advance so he would not have to go to the blasted place. If his mother had not left the country soon after Lucius' arrest, and if Draco genuinely liked spending time at the Malfoy Manor or any of their other mansions, he would not have spent the holidays in Hogwarts. Besides, Dumbledore and Snape forbade him to leave the school in fear of Draco being attacked for his betrayal of the Dark Lord and his followers. All throughout the break, Draco had either flown for hours on his Wind Horse over the Quidditch pitch or hung around in the Slytherin Common Room, flirting with the 5th, 6th and 7th year girls who had not gone home for Christmas.
Now the greasy old bastard ruins my fun because he's 'too busy' to get a blasted book himself. So what if he's brewing batches of Skele-Grow for the Hospital Wing? That's no excuse for getting me to go back to that blasted place where I almost had Granger before she ran away. Merlin, she was so beautiful that day. So hot. So--
"Harry, that's a really cool quill. Where'd you get it?" one of the Creevey brothers, Draco could never tell them apart, interrupted his thoughts as he entered the library. Potter and the other Gryffindors were sitting near Madame Pince desk.
"Hermione gave it to me for Christmas. Says it's called a Whistle Quill. It makes a whistling sound when you write down a mispelled word. Neat, huh?" Harry responded.
"How come Hermione didn't spend the holidays with you and Ron? She hasn't spent the holidays away in years, hasn't she," the other Creevey brother asked.
"She decided to spend the break with her parents in France. She said she wanted to have a bit of quality time with her parents," Harry answered.
Ah so that's the excuse Granger has given everyone and possibly even herself, Draco thought snidely. But I know her real excuse, don't I. I think I'll remind her of it when she gets back.
