The Houses Competition. Canon-Compliant. (Unlike me, right? I know)
Ravenclaw, HoH, Short, Prompt: Mrs Granger, WC: 1041
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My daughter is Hermione Granger. She's a witch, apparently. But not the kind with a green nose and bulbous eyes, evil running through her veins. She's like Glinda the Good. Frizzy hair, brown eyes, and intelligence in her gaze. Her father and I knew she would be brilliant whichever path she took in life – we just didn't expect Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The very first year we sent her off to Scotland was one of the most terrifying things Robert and I have done. Of course, the travels in our youth were interesting and we encountered much. Yet, my daughter leaving me for nine months of the year seemed completely inconceivable. I dreaded every night that something would happen while she was away and we would be unable to help her. Without telephone contact, I had no idea how I was supposed to remain as close to her as I wished to be. She suggested the school owls and little over a week later we received the first one, clicking at our window, an envelope clutched in its beak.
Her letter was written in a beautiful cursive, telling tales of the magic there, but without mention of any friends yet. I had hoped she would make friends quickly, with so many people there. She told us that she'd joined Gryffindor house, which was supposedly the place for the courageous and brave. She told us that she didn't feel as though she quite fit in there, which was not all that uncommon for our wonderful Hermione. She was used to feeling like she was alone and thus used her cleverness to look past the advantage of friends. She was perfectly attuned to being a lone wolf, but it didn't mean that she didn't crave friendship just like everyone else.
Meanwhile, our lives went on. We wrote her back quickly as possible, trying to include words of encouragement, and pieces of our own lives. She wanted to know about the mundanity of our lives, while we were eager to know about every extraordinary detail of hers. I tried to avoid asking too many questions, and instead spoke about funny little things that patients murmured to me whilst they were high on anaesthetic, and about how her father walked into the oven again that day, and how Mrs Baggins – the neighbour – watered her stones, forgetting she no longer had grass out the front of her house. I wanted to make sure she knew that home would always be there for her, in support.
Her second year, she didn't even come home for Christmas. Twelve years of age, and I wasn't going to see my daughter for 10 months that year. It would be our first Christmas apart. It was utterly heart-wrenching. Like every mother, I cherished my daughter. But I certainly wanted to allow her to grow and develop as a woman and a witch, whichever came first. If that meant not seeing her for a little while longer, then I could endure the heartache of an empty chair at Christmas and the family questions over why she was away for the holidays, where could Hermione be that she should miss Christmas Day?
Our gifts came in the post. We sent ours to her via the owl that came to our window a few days before Christmas. I hope she liked them.
Often it felt as though Hermione told us only half the story of what was going on at school; that she and Ron were fighting, that bad things were going on but they were doing something to help, homework was difficult, and something about Quidditch that everyone seemed to be extremely excitable about. We heard, I presumed, half of the true story. And that was okay with us, although it settled oddly in my stomach.
During her fourth year we had excitable letters about different cultures attending the school, and how they were all really looking forward to the Tournament. This was all following from a rather catastrophic summer in which there was some trouble at the World Cup. She hid the paper from us, claiming it was nothing, though we saw a change in her. There was something defiant and strong about her, and we loved her more for being the woman she had become. She was incandescent. But the change happened again throughout that year. Someone had died – she told us that much. A student had died in the competition, and everyone was supposed to be looking out for each other more. Her friend, Harry, had been involved. That was why she had to leave us during the summer to stay with wizards. She wasn't even going to stay for the summer holidays.
To say I was upset is a gross understatement. But I also knew that her heart and her mind were extraordinarily powerful, and that it must have all been for an excellent reason.
Our daughter grew more distant over the next couple of years. She was incredibly focused on research for school and extracurricular things. She turned away from us to her wizarding world. I was so concerned for her safety – because what on earth could make our daughter feel fear such as that? What on earth would make her behave so differently? She was sad, and I felt it. Robert and I were going to have a conversation with her at dinner. We sat down to eat, her favourite meal plated up, a few days after she told us she wasn't going to be continuing education at Hogwarts. And… And…
…
"Wendell, we're going to be late, dear!" I shouted through the house, casting my eyes over it for the final time. Everything was packed up – old family photos and memories in one large truck at the front of our home of eighteen years. I had no idea why we stayed so long, other than our excellent jobs.
But now it was time to fulfill our dream and move to Australia. There was nothing keeping us here anymore.
My husband trundled down the stairs, looking perplexed.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Dandy, my beautiful wife," he replied, smiling down at me and popping a desert hat on his head.
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Thank you for reading!
