She can feel the fire licking at her feet as she tries to pull at the rope binding her hands. Exhaustion pulls at her, her wrists are rubbed raw, and the smoke has brought unwelcome tears to her face. She will not cry for these people. She cannot give them the satisfaction. She looks out at the crowd gathered around her and feels nothing. She picks out the faces of people she has known all her life. Jon the baker who used to sneak her treats every time she picked up her father's bread order. Miss Anne who would watch her whenever her father had to leave the village when she was little. Mr Murray who taught all the children in the village and who had jested more than once that she would take over for him one day. Mr and Mrs Sinclair the old couple who lived next door who she would often cook for. Elliot the cobbler who she would run errands for when things got busy. Penelope who she had grown up with but now had more mouths than she and her husband could feed. She would use any spare fabric for clothes, so they didn't need to spend their coin. People who have cared for her. People who she had cared for and helped whenever she could. They are all here. They cheer for her death, and she can't bring forth a single emotion.

Until she sees him. Even with his cloak up, she recognises him. Anger builds within her so quickly, it's all that she can feel. It burns so brightly inside of her that she can barely feel the fire around her as it travels up her legs. He tilts his head up, so their eyes finally meet. What she sees there causes her to scream. The fire roars to life around her as the magic, old and latent, inside of her rages out. She throws her head back, mouth wide open as she pushes out all her fury. He caused this. He tore away everyone she loved. He has no right to look at her like that.

"Hermione, dear, time to wake up!" The little girl jolts upright at the sound of her mum's voice. She's breathing heavily as she throws the blanket off her legs. Finding no burns, she throws herself back down on her pillows and lets out a sigh of relief. The dream felt so real. She swears she can still smell the smoke. She shakes her head, pushing away the thought as she gets out of bed. She has always had strange dreams. Her dad says it's because she reads so much. All that information gets stored away and then roams freely in her subconscious. Considering last night before bed she was reading Wizard and Muggle Relations Thru the Ages, she's poised to believe him.

She pauses at her Hogwarts trunk, which has been packed since her return from Diagon Alley. But instead of the eagerness she usually feels whenever she thinks of her new school, she can't contain the unpleasant shudder that rolls through her. Some of her dreams linger with her and it seems this one will too. She, again, tries to shake it away. Today is a good day.

She grabs one side and pulls it down the hallway to the top of the stairs. It's much heavier than she thought. She yells for her dad. He peeks his head up the stairs and quirks a brow. Her hands are on her hips, her curls pushed behind her ears with a few straying into her eye line, and a look of determination on her face. He spots the trunk behind her legs and breaks out in a grin.

"Need a little help?" He asks with a hint of humour. The trunk is almost the same size as her, and she still tried to carry it herself.

"Yes, please." She answers as she tries to blow the curls out of her eyesight. He jogs up the stairs and shoos her away when she tries to help. Only after she's down the stairs does he pick up the trunk. He lets out a grunt at the unexpected weight. He drops it at the front door before making his way back to the kitchen.

"Did you only pack books in that thing?" He asks with a chuckle as he ruffles her hair. Her cheeks turn pink and her mum notices right away and swats at her husband.

"Leave her be. Hermione just wants to be prepared. Right, dear?"

She nods her head before turning her attention back to her breakfast. Her mum made a full English and will not let them leave until she finishes her whole plate. Even though her parents are having their own conversation, every time Hermione looks up her mother's eyes are on her. It takes her a minute to decipher the look on her face. It's not one she often sees there and for a second, she's transported back to her dream. It's written all over her face just like it was written all over his. Sadness. Unlike her dream self, it doesn't make her angry.

She stands, rushes around the table, and pulls her mum into a tight hug. She starts crying as soon as Hermione rests her head on her shoulder.

"It's alright, mum. I'll be back for Christmas and Easter hols. You won't even have a chance to miss me before I'm back." Her mum just hugs her tighter, but the crying does quiet. They stay like that for a while longer before her dad pulls them apart with a hand on each of their shoulders. It's only after he swipes his thumb under her eye that she realises she was crying too.

"No more crying now. Hermione's right. Like always." Both of her parents laugh as Hermione nods. "Time to go now, dear. Are you ready?"

She takes a deep breath as she looks between the two people she loves most in the world. The people who have loved her no matter what. Even when she wasn't like the other kids. Even when others called her strange. Even when she started doing unexplainable things. Was she ready to leave them?

Her dad gave her a small smile and a nod. As if he knew what she was thinking, and he was telling her it was okay.

"Yes, I think so."