Hermione's parents were happy to see her at King's Cross, and Hermione was thrilled to see her parents. Her mother swept her up in a hug while her father ruffled her hair, getting his hand stuck in the process. They laughed as they went to the car, Hermione chatting happily about her term so far.
"It's good to hear you're making more friends," her mother said, smiling. "We were worried, you know."
Hermione made a face. "I have many friends now. I even have different groups of friends."
"Oh?" her father said, getting into the car. Hermione climbed into the back seat and buckled herself in, missing her father's wink at her mother. "Like what?"
"Like Blaise, Millie, and Tracey are all my Slytherin friends," Hermione said. "We all hang out in the evenings and in classes. Then I have my Gryffindor friends, Harry and Neville, and I guess Ron, now, now that he's not being a berk…"
Her father coughed, though it sounded more like a snort of laughter.
"…and then I have my coven," Hermione finished. "And that's Harry, Blaise, Luna, and me so far, though I need to pick another."
"Didn't you already say a couple of those names?" Hermione's mother asked.
"Well, there's a little crossover," Hermione admitted. "But still!"
"A coven," her father mused. "Is that a special witchy thing?"
"It's a group of witches and wizards who practice ritual magic together," Hermione said promptly. "The circle-and-candle kind, like we did to protect the house over the summer."
"Oh, how nice!" Her mother smiled. "Did you get to pick your groups, or were they assigned?"
Hermione blinked in confusion, her mother's words taking a moment to make sense.
"Ah– it's not a class thing," Hermione clarified. "Wands replaced rituals a long time ago. This is just an extracurricular thing I'm doing with my friends."
"And your professors are okay with you lot cutting yourselves and bleeding all over the school?" her father asked dryly, casting a glance back at her in the rearview mirror.
"It's not like that!" Hermione objected. "…well, maybe a little. But I got us a faculty advisor and everything! And we've already learned how to talk to snakes!"
That got her parents' attention.
"You can talk to snakes?" her mother repeated, her eyes wide.
"How on earth do snakes talk?" her father wanted to know. "They don't have any lips."
"It's… err… it's hard to explain." Hermione paused. "It's… it's like the ritual magically dumped the snake language into our heads. When I speak to them, it sounds like I'm hissing, not like the snake is speaking English."
Both of her parents looked impressed.
"Even though I know you're off at school studying magic, you still manage to surprise me," her mother said, smiling. "It's good to see you blossom like this."
Hermione flushed.
"It's only because I've finally found where I belong," she admitted. "I always felt out of place in primary school."
"Well, we miss you like mad," her mother said, her eyes a bit wet, "but we're happy you've found your place, dear."
Hermione couldn't agree more.
Hermione's plan for holiday shopping was complicated by her parents' inability to get away from work until the weekend, when Diagon Alley was packed with shoppers. Hermione's parents accompanied her, clad in their robes to blend in, and to her dismay, they weren't letting her out of their sight, intent on running their own errands with her before they'd let her free to shop.
"I know you don't want to, but you need new robes, Hermione," her mother chided her. "You're not a little girl anymore."
"I've stopped my growth spurt, though," Hermione said, trying to keep a whining tone out of her voice. "They're all still long enough."
Her mother gave her a sharp look.
"They're too tight on you, Hermione," she said. "You're developing into a young woman, you know, and you need to dress accordingly."
Her mother marched her off to Madame Malkin's to be fitted for new clothes while her father went exploring in Diagon Alley, and Hermione resigned herself to getting mostly clothes again for Christmas. At least Madame Malkin's wasn't cold, Hermione thought, as her mother opened the door and warm, sweet-smelling air hit her in the face. The Alley was blusteringly cold today.
Once Hermione's mother filled Madame Malkin in on what was needed, Hermione was up on the dais again, measuring tapes floating around and measuring.
"You are filling in, aren't you?" Madame Malkin said, circling her with a critical eye as a measuring tape encircled Hermione's bust. She glanced over at Hermione's mother. "And still a bit to go, I'd venture."
"I'm thirteen—!"
"Probably another few inches," her mother agreed. "Though it might take a decade to get there."
Both Madame Malkin and her mother laughed, leaving Hermione confused as to what was so funny, before Madame Malkin resumed her critical examination.
"You're still in school, so you'll be expected to wear uniform-style robes regardless of your figure," the proprietor told her. "There are a few styles that you can wear after classes, though." Her eyes paused on the Slytherin crest Hermione had pinned prominently to her robes, before flickering up to meet hers. "Especially if you're in Slytherin."
"So new uniform shirts and robes," Hermione huffed. "I shouldn't need new skirts, now that I've finished growing?"
"On the contrary, these hips of yours, young missy, have certainly not finished…"
Hermione groaned and closed her eyes as Madame Malkin fussed around, picking out uniform clothes with her mother, stacking a pile high. When they finally returned, Madame Malkin was carrying a few different hangers.
"These are not uniform compliant to wear during classes," Madame Malkin warned her. "But they are appropriate for you to begin wearing outside of classes, if you want."
Hermione examined the robes, feeling the fabric between her fingers. Most of them were very smooth and draped very beautifully. The cut of them was different, though, with more decoration and style around the neckline.
"And these are robes?" Hermione asked.
Madame Malkin raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
"Then… what's the difference between robes and a dress?"
Madame Malkin rolled her eyes.
"Robes button up the front," she informed her. "They can be worn open with an underrobe underneath, or they can be worn closed. They also have sleeves."
"And dresses don't?"
"They do not," Madame Malkin told her. She paused. "Many more witches nowadays are wearing dresses as if they are robes, but they are not proper robes. Styles do change over time, but these robes are traditional."
"Do you like any of them, Hermione?" her mother prodded gently.
Hermione fingered the fabric of some of them, considering.
"I kind of like these two," she said. "Can I try them on?"
The first was a black robe with a boat neckline, fitted to her waist before sweeping out in a dramatic A-line. The buttons were black and very small, and it took her a while to do them all up.
"I like this one," Hermione announced, leaving the dressing room and twirling around. "I like how it fits."
"Very nice," her mother admired, but Madame Malkin frowned.
"The sleeves on that one are tight," she said. "You should wear it with a cloak or over robe, really."
Merlin forbid someone see the shape of my arms, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes.
The second robe had a deep V in the front, decorated with two small strips of fabric mimicking the V just above it. It was cut nearly to her navel.
"That requires an under-robe," Madame Malkin warned when Hermione came out, carefully holding the neckline in place to keep from exposing herself. "Here."
With a silky sort of black slip under it, the robe looked much more traditional, and Hermione kind of liked it. She announced so and changed, while her mother and Madame Malkin began carrying things to the counter. Hermione joined them afterward, still looking at one of the new casual robes.
"These are so different than what I usually wear," Hermione said. "I see the older girls in these sometimes, but I never noticed how different they were."
"Your figure is different now," Madame Malkin said, ringing up her school uniforms. "Robes that are cut for a flat chest don't work anymore. Speaking of…"
Her critical eye fell on Hermione again, and she fought not to flinch.
"You're doing alright now, but not for long if you fill out like your mother," she warned. "Dahlia's is on the corner of Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. You might want to consider getting some stays."
Hermione's face flamed, while Hermione's mother laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, comforting.
"I'm sure we'll figure it out," she said calmly. "Thank you so much for your help today."
Hermione was muttering as they left the store, shrunken and wrapped packages in her mother's bag, and her mother laughed.
"Stays, mother! Like it's the 18th century!"
"Well, some witches do seem to draw their fashion from that era," her mother mused. "I've seen several women now with a corset on over their robes."
"But that's different! I don't want to wear stays and all those undergarments," Hermione argued. "We can just go and get me muggle bras another day."
Her mother looked amused.
"I thought you wanted to look as much like a traditional witch as possible," she teased. "Whatever will your beau say when he disrobes you to find you scandalously without stays?"
"Anyone lucky enough to see me without my robes had better be too distracted and grateful to care about anything else," Hermione informed her mother. "And if they do put up a fuss, I'll kick them from my bed without a second thought."
Her mother laughed. "Bras it is then, love."
They met up with her father at The Hopping Pot. He had a bag with several wrapped bundles inside of it and was perusing The Daily Prophet, looking every bit as much a wizard as anyone else in the place.
"We finally got the robes shopping done," her mother said, pressing a kiss to her husband's forehead and taking a seat next to him. "It wasn't that exhausting this time," she teased.
"I don't like clothes shopping," Hermione said sullenly. "It wasn't like I was misbehaving or anything. I just didn't want to be there."
"Fair enough," her mother said. "Just Hermione's gift shopping left, then."
"I think she's going to have to come back another day for that," her father said.
Both Hermione and her mother immediately objected.
"Oh, Dad, come on! That's not what we planned!"
"Richard, please. Surely it's better to get it all over with at once?"
"Perhaps." He glanced to his wife. "But I think we all need to go home and have a serious conversation first."
Hermione's mouth dried as her father slowly set down the paper, spreading it out on the table for them all to see.
MOUNTING TERROR AT HOGWARTS!
The headline blared, and there was a photo, too, even more damning than the words. Somehow, someone had gotten into the Hospital Wing and taken a photo of all the Petrified – Colin, Justin, and Lilian, as well as Nearly-Headless Nick. The photo captured all their expressions of terror, and the movement of the picture captured Nick's slow hover, up and down just a few inches, but not moving otherwise.
It was an eerie effect.
Hermione swallowed hard and looked up at her father, who was wearing a pleasant expression.
"Hermione?" he prompted. "Is there a reason you didn't tell us any of this was going on at your school?"
She bit her lip and looked down, not answering, and her mother sighed.
"You're right, dear," she admitted. "We'd better take Hermione home."