A/N: This was going to be a Practical Magic type story. Little more than a drabble now, but I think it's fun to think of Hermione as a half-blood with an intuitive mother.

Come on Home: Kind of a Drabble

"I don't like this one bit, Hermione Jean."

Hermione took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to steady the wave of agitation she felt for her mother. Persephone Granger was a practical woman, but she, along with her sister, Chloris, were heavily weighed down by superstition. Hermione felt that any truth to superstitions were mere happenstance or coincidence and less evidence.

"Mehen was there in his terrarium when we went to bed last night. I'd just fed him a little field vole I wrenched from my garden yesterday!" Persey replied, worry wrinkling her brow as she checked under the pantry cupboards for any sign of her beloved serpent.

With a petulant roll of her eyes, Hermione wrapped her scarf around her throat and replied, "Perhaps he went out for some fresh air."

"Don't be ridiculous," Aunt Chlo chided, leaning on her hands and knees to search under the couch. "Mehen knows not to leave without one of us."

Her mother and aunt had their quirks and their beliefs and they were sure to never be swayed. Hermione's familiar—an ink-colored little Sphynx with wide, all-knowing eyes of turquoise—sat at the door leading to the back garden and stared up at the swaying curtains above her. "What is it Hecate? What do you sense, girl?" Persey cooed, reaching down to scratch the soft skin behind the cat's ears.

Opening the door, Persey's eyes scanned the stormy horizon beyond their cottage. Chlo came to stand next to her, hugging her arms around herself. "I don't like this. Meh going missing and the clouds churning so violently. Trouble is coming."

Hermione put an arm around either woman and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be okay. Meh probably went to hunt more voles in the flowerbeds or something. He'll be back tonight. And it's Britain. The sky always looks like that."

"Be careful. Persey's right—there's something amiss."

Agreeing to humor their pleas, Hermione planted a kiss on either of their cheeks and pushed between them. "I've got to go—I'm relieving Pansy in the shop."

Hermione had worked hard and saved the money for a restored Triumph Stag, painted in the darkest shade of black on the market and nearly two decades old. Climbing into the auto, she wished she would have also had the heating system revived. Her hands were already stiffening in the brisk air as she listened to the engine rumble to life.