After the revelation about Finnegan being a wizard, Hermione tried a few more times to get some more information out of the postman. She also tried a few more times with the iron on her hair. Both endeavours were complete and utter failures.
On one very particularly hot and humid day, Hermione was at her wit's end. Not even a brush could tame her frizzy locks. The brush got stuck, and the handle nearly broke. Her mother was no help, nor was the town beautician. If only Hermione had someone in the Wizarding World that could give her some advice.
And then it hit her: Mrs Weasley.
In Hermione's opinion, Ron's mother, Mrs Weasley, was the quintessential Witch. Hermione was always impressed by how Mrs Weasley handled life in general, not to mention somehow keeping all of her children in line. In addition to being a remarkable mother, she also seemed to instinctively know what each person in her orbit needed at all times. Her kindness and vast knowledge were incredibly impressive.
It was only in recent years that Mary Granger (and Bert, for that matter) and Hermione had a semblance of the mother-daughter relationship she saw between Mrs Weasley and Ginny (the youngest Weasley sibling and Hermione's good friend). Molly Weasley was warm and inviting, whereas Mary tended to be more hardened and practical. Hermione was glad to have a relationship with her parents finally, but she still wished it was better than it was. Being a Witch and having a whole separate life from her parents only made it more difficult, but Hermione wouldn't want it anyway.
She rushed to her room and pulled open her desk drawer to get some parchment. Hermione always loved the feeling of fresh parchment. The blank silky coolness was just begging to be written on. Hermione's current favourite quill (she had many) was a sleek, pearly white swan feather with a crisply sharpened tip. She carefully unscrewed her ink jar and dipped the pointy nib into the blackness. The sound of the quill against the parchment was like music to her ears.
Dear Mrs Weasley,
I hope this letter finds you and the rest of the family well! I'm sure your hands are full with everyone home for the summer holiday. I've been quite busy trying to get a head start on next year's classes; fourth year should be a great one!
I do have a rather odd question and thought you could help me. I wondered if there was any magical salve or potion I could use on my hair. My hair has been quite frizzy my whole life, and I'm sick of it. My mother and I have tried almost all of the muggle solutions out there, but nothing has worked.
I know how knowledgeable and well-read you are, so I thought you might be able to help. Please let me know if you have any ideas. I really appreciate your help in advance.
Sincerely,
Hermione J. Granger
She put the letter into a small envelope and sent it by owl later that evening. To her great delight, she received a reply the very next day.
Dear Hermione,
It is so lovely to hear from you, dear! I hope you are having a wonderful holiday as well. I would be happy to help you with your hair; there are a lot of different products and spells available that we could experiment with when you come for the Quidditch World Cup.
Speaking of that, you are coming, right? As you probably already know, Ronald is not the most forthcoming with information; therefore, I am unsure what plans were discussed and what plans were not. Regardless, please consider this your formal invitation to be our guest at the Quidditch World Cup. Mr Weasley has managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I've also included a letter for your parents.
I will also send Harry's family a letter closer to the date. Ronald has told me that they are dreadful people. Hopefully, they will allow him to come. I will offer to keep him for the rest of the summer holiday, which also extends to you, dear! You are more than welcome to come any time between now and the Quidditch World Cup.
Let me know your plans, and we can go from there. I'll make sure to have some of my favourite hair potions ready!
Much love,
Molly Weasley
Hermoine smiled widely and wistfully remembered those last few moments at King's Cross Station at the end of their third year. Ron had run back to Hermione and her family at the train station before heading home for the summer. She could picture his goofy grin as he extended the invitation to the Quidditch World Cup and then shouted the same question to her parents. Ron could be incredibly frustrating, but something in the way his eyes twinkled mischievously seemed to melt Hermione's annoyance. When he smiled, a cute little crease in his nose made Ron's freckles scrunch together in one of the cutest little patterns Hermione had ever seen.
Now that she was almost fifteen years old, Hermione logically knew hormones would be taking over most of her rational thoughts, though she hoped that by admitting it, she'd be able to control it a bit better. On the one hand, she loved Harry and Ron like brothers and couldn't imagine them as anything but that. On the other hand, she couldn't ignore her feelings when Ron smiled at her. Hermione only could hope that she would be able to ignore her feelings long enough to get her schoolwork done.
It didn't help her crush that Ron's mother was everything she ever wanted in a mother. Again, Hermione loved her mother and father very much and appreciated everything they had ever done for her. Mary and Bert fostered a love of learning that Hermione couldn't put into words. Her need to understand and evolve was one of her most cherished qualities about herself.
Nonetheless, her parents were cold and distant for most of her life. They weren't cruel like Harry's aunt and uncle, but they still seemed to keep Hermione at a distance. It wasn't until Mary had caught Hermione having a panic attack one day that they seemed to snap out of their detachment to the best of their ability. Hermione had tried many times to figure out why her parents were so distant most of her life, but there was no real rational explanation.
As a fellow intellectual, Hermione knew that it was sometimes difficult to succumb to feelings over facts, but she thought it'd be different in a parent-and-child relationship. Hermione always had issues with empathy, but not to the extent her parents displayed for the first ten years of her life. Was her lack of compassion because she was highly logical or because she hadn't been exposed to it during her formative years?
Hermione could feel herself getting more and more upset. Different memories of her childhood kept popping to the surface: drawing her mum a picture and then finding it in the rubbish later, skinning her knee as a toddler and having her father hand her a first aid kit without looking up from his book. The more she remembered, the angrier she became.
Finally, it was all too much. Hermione grabbed the letter to her parents from the Weasleys in her fist and stormed out of her room. She made up her mind that she would go to the Weasleys within the week, her parents be damned.
Mary and Bert were both in the sitting room, reading. Neither looked up as Hermione entered. "I just wanted to let you both know that I am going to stay the rest of the summer with the Weasleys so we can go to the Quidditch World Cup game," Hermione said, holding the letter from Mrs Weasley out to her parents.
"I didn't think the game was until mid-August," Bert said over the top of his book.
"It isn't," Hermione said, her heart pounding in her chest, "but I want to go sooner rather than later… so I can get all of my school things." She scolded herself for adding the end part to soften the blow, but there was no taking it back now.
Mary took the letter from Hermione and read it quickly. "I suppose that's fine, but we thought we'd have you a few more weeks," she said sadly, which only made Hermione's blood boil.
"Nope, sorry," Hermione said, cringing at the fake platitudes in her voice. She wanted to speak her mind, but her anxiety was physically barring her from being confrontational.
"So, is this comparable to the FIFA World Cup?" Bert asked.
"I guess you could say that," Hermione said, her voice unnaturally high.
"That sounds fascinating," Bert said uninterestedly and returned to his book.
Hermione's growing panic attack was mixing with a fit of intense anger. Why couldn't her parents be more normal?
"Can I ask you both a question?" Hermione blurted out, surprising even herself.
"Of course, dear," Mary said, her eyes still on her book.
"Why are you guys so distant sometimes?"
The question hung in the air like a lead balloon.
"Not so much now," Hermione said hurriedly, "but when I was younger. You two never seemed to care about what I did or how I was. It's much better now, but-" Hermione knew she was rambling and forced herself to stop. "Anyways, I was just wondering."
It took a few minutes for her parents to say anything. "The owls," Bert said sadly, looking at his wife with sad eyes.
"Owls?" Hermione asked confusedly. "What on earth do owls have to do with anything?"
"It's a very long story," Mary started.
"I have time," Hermione spat.
"Hermione," Bert scolded.
"What?"
"You can be a wee bit more sympathetic," Bert said with anger in her voice.
"Sympathetic to what?" Hermione said. "The fact you guys hate owls? I don't understand what-"
"Before you were born," Mary said in a small voice, "I was pregnant. We lost the baby while I was giving birth. She would have been your older sister, Jean."
"While your mom was pregnant, we'd joke that the baby felt like a flock of owls were in her stomach," Bert continued.
"That's why we don't like owls," Mary said plainly.
"But when your sister passed away, we were devastated," Bert continued.
"And didn't think we wanted to try again," Mary added. "But then the 'owl feeling' came back."
"And we realised your mom was pregnant with you."
"And-" Mary stopped, her voice seemingly stuck in her throat. "And… we didn't want to get attached in case…."
"In case we lost you," Bert finished sadly.
Hermione didn't know what to say. She felt foolish for believing her parents had been distant just because they could. Of course, there would be a rational explanation for their detachment.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said, her heart heavy.
"We should have told you sooner," Bert said.
"Even if we had, it isn't an excuse for how we may have treated you," Mary said.
Hermione was at a loss for words. Even though adding the word "may" triggered her anger to rise again, the most overwhelming emotion she was currently feeling was pity. She felt horrible that her parents had to experience such a loss.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said finally. "I can't even imagine."
"But we're so glad to have you now," Mary said with tears in her eyes.
They chatted a bit more before Hermione could escape to her room. Her emotions were all over the place. She felt horrible for her parents' experience and knew that, rationally, losing a child would make even the strongest people distant. However, Hermione couldn't stop the ever-present anger creeping in: should it really take a mother and father ten years to stop being completely absent from their surviving child's life? For ten long years, Hermione had been cast aside because of the ghost of a daughter that never was. Was it possible to empathise with her parents' horrible experience while still being angry at how she had been treated most of her life? Was it fair to her? Was it fair to her parents?
Hermione felt like crying and screaming all at once but forced herself to breathe instead. Whenever she had a panic attack, Hermione had two different coping methods: the aforementioned repetitive chorus of the Postman Pat theme song and repeating facts and figures as if reading flashcards. She felt as though she was too far gone for Postman Pat, so Hermione's mind went random facts about Hogwarts:
"Hogwarts castle has one hundred and forty-two staircases. Most of the one hundred and forty-two staircases moved, thanks to one of Hogwarts' founders, Rowena Ravenclaw. Hogwarts is unplottable and appears as ruins to Muggles." Hermione continued rambling in her head until her heart rate started to slow. She took a few deep breaths and shut her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, she grabbed her quill and started her reply to Mrs Weasley, letting her know she'd like to come to the Burrow as soon as possible.