"Done playing outside?"
Hermione glanced up at her father, who was looking down at her from over the chair back.
"For now," she admitted. Tom's body had finally run out of power, and he'd been drawn back into the diary once more. She hated how she felt a twinge of regret and pity as he was pulled back in, ruthlessly stomping down on the idea that she would miss him, and she'd immediately decided to preoccupy herself with her sketch book. "It's muggy out."
"It is," her father agreed with a chuckle. "Summer storms, I'd imagine." He paused. "Are you busy, Hermione? Or do you have some time?"
Something odd in his voice or the way her father phrased his query made Hermione stop and look up at him, paying more attention to him.
"I'm not that busy," she said slowly. "Why?"
"Your mother and I wanted to talk to you," he told her. "Or, well, I wanted to talk to you. Your mother thinks we should wait."
Hermione sat up straight, her eyes wide.
"I can talk now," she said. "Why? What's going on?"
Her father sighed and took a seat on the sofa across from her, and Hermione felt her chest tighten. What would her parents possibly need to talk to her about, she wondered. They both seemed so happy with each other, still – surely they weren't getting a divorce? Were they?
Maybe there was a problem with the dental clinic. That was possible – they were always frustrated about the NHS for one reason or another. If her parents were afraid about her affording her schoolbooks and tuition for the next year, Hermione could—
"Do you remember this past Christmas?" her father said finally. "Where we took you and your friend to the playhouse?"
Hermione startled in surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, this wasn't it.
"Of course," she said. "We all went with Blaise to see A Christmas Carol."
"Right." Her father blew out his breath, seemingly searching for words. "That night…"
"What about that night?" Hermione pressed, alarmed. "Did Blaise offend you?"
"No, no. No, nothing like that." Her father paused, then groaned. "I'm no good at this. Hang on."
To her astonishment, her father got up and went into the kitchen. After a vague conversation Hermione couldn't make out, he returned a couple minutes later with her mother in tow, her mother looking exasperated but fond.
"Your father tells me he wanted to talk to you about what he and I have been exploring recently," her mother said, taking a seat on the couch.
"Exploring?" Hermione was confused. "He said nothing of the sort."
"I started with the play," her father said.
"Ah," her mother said. "Right. That's where it all started, after all."
She straightened up, looking directly and Hermione, and Hermione found herself mimicking her mother's posture, straightening up and looking at her while she bit her lip.
"After the play that night," her mother said. "You and Blaise were laughing about the ghosts. Do you remember?"
"I remember," Hermione said, thinking back on it. "You talked about how it was a literary device in the play…"
"I did," her mother agreed. "But then Blaise said something very interesting. He mentioned ghosts were the same in the wizarding world."
"How they didn't move on?" Hermione asked. "Yeah. They are, pretty much. They—"
"Not that, Hermione," her father interrupted. "He mentioned ghosts."
Hermione frowned. "Yes…?"
Her mother sighed.
"As easy as you please, this boy mentioned that ghosts were real, Hermione," her mother said. Her eyes held hers, intent. "And not only were they real, but you could talk to them, and that the ghosts had some memory of a choice. That they chose to be ghosts."
Understanding was slowly starting to percolate, and her mother looked at her softly.
"Hermione, for two agnostics who had never truly believed in the possibility of an afterlife," her mother said gently, "do you see why that sudden revelation might have shaken us?"
"I…" Hermione faltered. "I…"
She hadn't.
It had never occurred to her. Even when she had been sorted and seen ghosts for the first time, they had blended into the overall backdrop of the magical world as just a thing that was. She'd neatly slotted their existence into her world view as easily as everything else; her world view had been expanding so much already as it was, incorporating the magical world and all of the wonders it held within…
But for her parents, who were on the outside of the magical world, it had been very different, she realized. Ghosts weren't just a magical thing – muggles had concepts of ghosts, too, that had endured through the ages. And while wizards might be the only ones who could see ghosts, anyone could ostensibly be a ghost, muggle or magical alike. Right?
"So… that's why you've been going to church?" Hermione ventured, gnawing on her lip. "Because you think there's an afterlife now?"
Her parents exchanged a glance.
"Not quite," her father said. "It's more that now that we know that there's something more, we want to know what that something is, so we can prepare to face it one way or another."
His tone sounded almost fatalistic, and Hermione began to feel alarmed.
"I—I don't think there's a Hell," she said, speaking very rapidly. "I helped a couple ghosts move on, and they—there was a feeling of wonder and bliss, not of fear or fire—"
"We don't know what we face when we die, Hermione," her mother said gently. "No one does. But the fact that we know that we'll face something has your father and I curious. We've been exploring different traditions and faiths to learn what different people think, comparing the similarities and analyzing the differences."
Hermione blinked.
"Wait," she said. "What?"
"We've been going to different churches," her father told her. "Different faiths and traditions, trying to figure out what each one believes. Some of them publish what the sermons will be on in advance, so we've been going to the ones when the minister talks about the afterlife."
"Are you serious?" Hermione said, astonished. "You two have been doing this since Christmas?"
"More or less," her mother said, shrugging. "We've covered most of the Abrahamic religions and sects, at this point. We're having some difficulty finding places to learn about the Eastern beliefs – I'm particularly curious about the different ideas of reincarnation – but we've been learning all we can about all the possibilities."
Hermione bit her lip.
"So… you haven't joined a cult?" she asked.
Her father laughed. "Is that what you feared?"
"It was very strange, you going to church all of the sudden!" she defended. "I didn't know what to think!"
Her mother was trying not to laugh as well, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"No cults," she reassured her. "Just curiosity and some particularly poignant theological reflection."
Hermione's smile was relieved, and her mother smiled back.
"But," her father said, "while we've been learning all about the non-magical beliefs and theories, we don't really know anything about yours."
"What magical people think?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening. "About ghosts?"
"Not just ghosts, but about life, death, and what comes after death," her mother clarified. "If magical people can see ghosts, can talk to them, we thought they might have some better insight on what we face when we pass away."
"Oh," Hermione said. "They—umm—"
She faltered.
"I don't know what all they believe," she admitted, her eyes going wide as she searched through her memories. "I know that there are ghosts, and that there's fairly definitive proof of the soul, but other than that…"
Hermione scrambled through her thoughts, realizing that despite the vague impressions of rituals to honor magic and the idea that ghosts faced some sort of afterlife, she knew nothing, knew nothing of the greater concept of what magicals believed—
"That's okay." Her mother's voice was reassuring, and Hermione's eyes instinctively leapt to her mother's for comfort. "It's the summer. Perhaps you could look into it, next time you go to Diagon Alley to get some books?"
"Yes!" Hermione was so grateful to her mother. Trust her to have a calm, smart suggestion to channel her energy into. "I can stop at Flourish and Blotts. I'm sure they'll have something. And I can ask around with my friends this summer, too, if I can't find anything in books. I'm sure they'll know something…"
Her father grinned.
"That's all we're hoping for," he told her. "Any more information we can get will help."
"In the meantime, don't be alarmed if we mention going to a temple or various services, okay?" Her mother smiled. "We're approaching this scientifically: we're learning each tradition, taking notes, and looking for common elements and threads in between."
"We're going to start exploring the ghost element a little more, too." Her father looked proud. "I've applied to the University of Edinburgh for correspondence courses – they've started a parapsychology track, did you know? – and we're going to go to a séance in a few days to see what that's like."
"A séance?" Hermione said, astonished. "You're going to ask a muggle to summon a ghost?"
"Channel a ghost, but something like that," her mother clarified. She paused. "…would you like to come along? If she actually manages it, you might be able to see a ghost in the room and verify her claims."
"It's going to be a pain sorting out the genuine people from the quacks and scam artists," her father snorted. "We'd appreciate your help, if you're willing."
Hermione blinked. This was getting more and more surreal.
"Um, sure," Hermione said. "What day?"
"Saturday evening," her mother said promptly.
The day after the full moon rituals she was going to do with her coven. She'd be tired from staying out all night, but if she slept in until past noon…
"That works," Hermione said. She ventured a smile at her parents, unsure. "Thank you."
"Thank you?" Her father was startled. "For what?"
"For trusting me with this," Hermione said. "This is… it's all very complicated, and I'm sure very confusing and emotional and weird, but thank you for talking to me about it and trusting me to understand."
"Oh, Hermione." Her mother took her hand, pulling Hermione up from her chair onto the sofa in between them, where she wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. "Of course. You know we try and treat you like an adult."
"I know," Hermione said. She burrowed her head into her mother's side, hugging her back hard. "But this sort of thing is really confusing and kind of hard and scary to think about. I don't think I would have wanted to bring it up with my daughter, if I had one."
"Well, it helps that you're already comforted by the knowledge that there's something waiting for you that's not bad," her mother admitted, "so contemplating what lies after death is probably less scary for you than it is for us. But you're right – it is a very adult topic. But it's one you're mature enough to contemplate and understand."
"Besides," her father remarked, rustling her hair, "we know how you like to know the answers to everything just like us. Figured you'd want to know what will happen to us when we go long before it actually happens, too."
Hermione burrowed further between her parents, hugging them fiercely. Her parents seemed to understand her anxiety and worry without her saying a word, and they hugged her back, sweet murmurings and reassurances slowly comforting her. She was dismayed to realize somehow tears had started dripping from her eyes – she hadn't realized she'd been crying, and certainly not consciously with sobs.
She was touched that her parents trusted her with something so acutely personal to them, but even as Hermione was touched by it, she was scared. Thinking about her parents dying was upsetting, even if it wouldn't happen for many years. She didn't want to think about them ever dying, didn't want to acknowledge that would ever happen, but at the same time, she didn't want them to have to face a scary unknown if she could help them figure it out.
"Am I going to need a special dress or something?" Hermione's voice wavered, and she dashed the tears from her eyes as she sniffed. "If I need a funeral outfit or something gothic for this séance, I'm not going to have anything but my school robes…"
"Oh, Hermione…" Her mother laughed, giving her a hug. "I'm sure we'll find you something appropriate to wear."