Grey tiles stretched into darkness down a long hallway. It was silent except for the light squeak of rubber against tile as Hermione's legs moved under her. She was meant to be somewhere - she was sure she was running late - no - she was running from something. The tiles stretched behind her into infinite darkness. She picked up her pace and moved forward. As she walked, she counted her steps -one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four -wait, there were other footsteps, out of time with hers. She dared not look behind her to see who the steps belonged to. Something was coming into view ahead. As she picked up into a half-walk, half-jog, a plain wooden door appeared and the footsteps behind her were increasing in volume. Hermione reached a hand outwards for the brass doorknob. As her fingers grasped it, she heard a cry from behind her. Her head snapped around. Suddenly, she found herself in a circular room. Equally spaced around the walls of this room were twelve identical doors. The door immediately to her right rattled and she heard what she thought was a low, menacing, growl coming from the other side. Across the room green light flashed against the tiles at the bottom of a different door. Her other hand reached behind her grasping for her wand. But there was nothing in her back pocket. She let go of the door handle and began to wildly search herself. Her looking was interrupted by another cry for help, this time from the door to her left, and it made her freeze. It was a voice she recognised. Harry's voice. She ran to the door, grasping the handle, she tried to turn the knob - locked.

She looked around at the other doors, some of which were still rattling or had light sparking behind them. Working her way around the room, the next door's handle turned under her hand. The room behind was silent, there was no light or rattling coming from inside. Hermione gently nudged the door open and peered within. The room was dark save for a tiny spotlight that illuminated a wooden chest. She crept to the wooden chest in the centre of the room. The chest was made of dark walnut with silver metal work adorning its edges. The silver looked like scales and seemed to slither in the spotlight. She needed whatever was inside this chest. Her hands caressed the lid, the metal under her fingertips burned red hot and she pulled away with a gasp. No - she thought to herself - pain didn't matter, she needed to open it. She placed her hands firmly on the box and opened the lid. Inside, on green velvet, lay a dark wand. She picked it up and it seemed to shudder in her hand.

Hermione looked up from the chest as a door materialised in front of her. It was white and gilded, with intricate patterns she recognised from her arithmancy classes along the frame. Strange - she remembered no such door at the Department of Mysteries. This door was also locked. Hermione pointed the dark wand at the handle and castalohomora. Her magic radiated down her arm, and she felt the wand give followed by the door making an audibleclick. Behind this door was a misty room. Or perhaps it was not a room at all. Before her stretched a dark forest and she could see glimmering stars peeking through the canopy above. Now inside the space she could hear that she was not alone. There were gurgles, growls, and maybe the sound of tearing. She gripped the wand tightly and began to traverse the room. The wet earth was soft under her shoes. Hermione continued at a stealthy pace until her foot felt something crunch beneath her. Bending down she felt for what she had stood on, something sharp, but could not make out what it was. Bringing the wand close to the ground Hermione whisperedlumos. A tiny white light illuminated a shiny disc that laid in the earth. Hermione weighed the object in her hand, her eyes widening with realisation - it was a dragon scale. As if on cue, a low and terrible growl rumbled through the trees. Hermione needed to get out. Stuffing the wand in her pocket to conceal the light she began to carefully crawl her way through the forest. She wasn't sure how, but she knew Harry was on the other side of these trees.

The earth squelched under her hands and she thought she might sink through the forest floor. The mud rumbled under her as the sound of an approaching creature became louder. She came to stillness behind the trunk of an ancient tree just in time as the scaly beast came into view. Hermione could hear it smelling the air. Its silver scales reflected the starlight. From behind the tree, she saw a flicker of green light in the distance but the dragon in front of her seemed not to notice. When Hermione focused her eyes she could see the faint outline of a door not more than a few yards from where she was. She edged away from the tree, counting her stepsone, two, three, four.She was almost there,one, two, three, four.Only a few more steps,one, two, three -.Holding her breath she gently laid her fingers against the cold brass. She could see the creature wandering the darkness, stalking her scent. With a shaky breath she went to turn the knob - locked. Hermione steeled herself and reached for the wand in her back pocket. The beast was so close. Only paces from her. She pointed the wand at the handle. She could do this - she had devoured every book in the Hogwarts' library on non-verbal magic in fifth year. She feltalohamoraescape her lungs in nothing more than a slow exhale. The knob gave and with a quick turn, she was on the other side of the door. She closed her eyes, sunk down against the door, and leant back against the wood. Her breath came rapidly as she attempted to calm herself; relief washed over her.

"Clever little mudblood, aren't you?" Hermione's eyes shot open. In front of her loomed Dolohov. She went to grab her wand from the ground, but she couldn't feel it. She looked down, it was gone. Behind Dolohov Hermione could see the slumped bodies of her friends, Luna's ice-blond hair was singed, and Hermione couldn't see her face. The bodies of Ginny and Ron were tangled together, both slack jawed, blood oozing from their wounds. She was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest. Further in the distance Hermione saw Harry. He was scrambling on his back as a tall pale figure in long black robes glided towards him, wand outstretched. She called out to him, and his eye's met hers, bright, green, and pleading. Dolohov stepped between their gaze, severing her from her friend. He pointed his wand at her.

"Cleverness is not enough though, is it?" He taunted. His wrist made a slashing motion and purple flame streaked the distance between him and Hermione. The flame hit her in the chest. It was warm, so warm, it was searing. Hermione screamed as she clutched at her chest. The flame licked down her arms and legs, engulfing her in pain.

Hermione awoke drenched in sweat. She looked around for Dolohov, for Harry, and for Lord Voldemort. Instead, she found herself tangled in her peach-coloured duvet, the hot summer sun filtering through the window in her bedroom. She eased herself up to a seat, pushing back the covers. Birds twittered outside and Hermione surveyed her room. On her bedside table lay her wand, vine wood, 10 3/4" long, dragon-heartstring core. In summer holidays' past she would typically deposit her wand at the bottom of her trunk. She was afraid that having it at easy reach would make it too tempting to practice the magic she was learning about when she began her reading list for the following year. She would not break under-age magic restrictions. But she had not hidden it this summer. This summer her wand was never more than an arm's length away. Expulsion from Hogwarts was hardly her worst fear anymore. In fact, it barely registered on her ever-growing list of fears.

Next to the wand was a picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione taken in second year by Colin Creevy. Ron was pointing his wand animatedly whilst Harry and Hermione were doubled over in laughter. The three of them were tucked in the red sofas of the Gryffindor common room. Adjacent to the frame was a mug, this particular one was covered in little drawings of cats, gifted to her by her mum. The mug was complete with the left-overs of last night's tea. Chamomile tea, as Hermione had read that it could help with sleeping. Sprawled open on the bed next to her was theStandard Book of Spells: Fifth Year. Hermione picked up the book and attempted to flatten the pages which had been unintentionally dog-eared in her sleepiness the previous evening. She muttered a small apology to the text. Dog-earing was a truly cruel punishment for such a faithful companion. Each night during this summer she had poured over the standard book of spells until her eyelids were simply too heavy for her to continue. Crookshanks was curled up at Hermione's feet, nestled in the contours of the duvet. Looking around it might have been easy to believe that this was just another summer. Books, robes, and parchment were strewn around the room, along with muggle clothes, magazines, and CDs. The room was littered with evidence of summer activities. With a forlorn look at her wand Hermione got up and began collecting the mess, the muggle way, into organised piles: things to be packed and things to put away. She would be leaving for the Burrow tomorrow.

She pulled up her dress robes and held them against her body, looking at herself in the mirror. They were a touch short, and when she slipped them on, they were a touch tight. She scribbled "new dress robes" on the parchment on her desk. She folded them up and tucked them into the top shelf of her cupboard. Next, she began piling books into her trunk. Books were always the first thing to be packed, they were the non-negotiable part of her luggage - she could make sacrifices for space elsewhere. All her core texts from fifth year, apart fromDefensive Magical Theory,were placed carefully in her trunk.On top of thoseshe nestled her copy ofHogwarts, A History.On top of those: a couple of her favourites by muggle authors and finally, a few muggle non-fiction texts.

Next to her door was a laundry basket with piles of neatly folded clothes. Hermione set the basket on her bed. Each item she packed wafted the smell of laundry detergent into her nose. It smelt like home, like her mum and dad. She put aside a few pairs of pants, t-shirts, jumpers, socks, and underwear. The clothing was then stuffed in and around the books in the trunk. Standing back and observing her packing she mulled over what she was missing. Inside her cupboard a blue-coloured tulle dress caught the morning sun. Her aunt had given her the dress when she had visited the other week. It had been nice to see her and her cousin Sara and spend time simply doing muggle things. They had enjoyed strolls around the park, visited the cinema, as well as visiting one of the local skating rinks. It wasn't even hard to lie about what her school years entailed anymore. Hermione had developed a comprehensive story about boarding school in Switzerland. As Hermione slipped the dress from its hanger another thought occurred to her. Dropping the dress into the trunk Hermione raced over to the laundry basket and tore through the remaining clothes. Underneath some mismatched socks was a set of matching underwear and bra in a scarlet red lace. Sara had antagonised Hermione until she caved and bought them when they were shopping together the week before. Mortified, Hermione realised that her mother must have picked them up and washed them. She let the incriminating underwear slip from her hand and rubbed her temples. Well, she thought to herself, at least explaining to her parents that a powerful dark wizard has come back to haunt the magical world with a specific distaste for muggleborns would likely distract them from the fact that their teenage daughter might be thinking about sex. Hermione rolled her eyes to herself. It was completely ridiculous that she was even thinking about sex. Lord Voldemort was back, a war might be breaking out, people were disappearing, and yet somehow, she still found time to think about what might happen if she and Ron were left alone in the common room late at night.

Before the thought could fully materialise there was a sharp tap of glass. Hermione found one of theDailyProphet'sowls perched on the windowsill. She opened the window and paid the owl, careful to be quick as to not allow Crookshanks the opportunity to terrorise the bird. She placed thePropheton her desk – that could wait for after she finished packing. Hermione rounded up the last of the clothing, her quills and ink pots, she collected a handful of muggle toiletries. She picked up a small cardboard box that contained a few blister sheets of small tablets and popped them into the trunk. In the bathroom she found the packets of floss her dad had left for her, and she gathered them up with her hairbrush, hairpins, and toothbrush. She surveyed her bedroom which was looking much barer and her trunk, nearly overflowing. Satisfied with her efforts Hermione went to close the trunk. As she closed the heavy lid, she paused, and with a sigh she quickly grabbed the lacy underwear and stuffed it among the books before she could change her mind.

Hermione descended the steps into the kitchen of the Granger's home. It was a Sunday morning, and her father was holding a cup of coffee while stirring a pot on the cooktop. Hermione walked over to him and put her arms around his waist.

"Good morning poppet", he said as he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"Morning Dad", Hermione mumbled.

"I've made you a cuppa, it's on the table. Would you like some eggs?" Hermione looked over at the kitchen table to see a second mug covered in little cats with steam rising from it.

"Sounds excellent", Hermione sat down at the table and sipped the coffee. Most mornings Hermione would sip her coffee whilst pouring over a book. However, this morning she felt no such compulsion to do so. Instead, her eyes wandered around the kitchen taking stock of the way light reflected off the lemon-coloured cabinets, the way the coffee smelled as it mixed with the smell of butter and toast, and the sound of the radio playing the seventies music her mother loved so much. She could see her mum outside in the garden, tea in one hand, book in the other, enjoying the summer warmth. Hermione knew that keeping her distance from her parents was the safest thing to do. Going to the Burrow for the rest of the holidays would allow her to be more involved in the Order's effort to thwart Lord Voldemort and keep her parents safe should Hermione become a target of the Death Eaters. Not that Hermione was going to use those exact words when she tried to explain this to her parents the next morning. No, she was simply going to tell them that Hogwarts was the safest place for her, and until she could be there, being around other magic users was the next best thing.

Crookshanks scurried out the back door as Mrs. Granger entered the kitchen from the garden. Hermione watched her mum top up her mug from the kettle and settle into the chair beside her. She placed her book down on the kitchen counter.

"How did you sleep?" Her mother reached up to tuck a loose curl behind Hermione's ear.

"Fine", Hermione lied, flipping through the novel on the table.

"Are you enjoying the story?" Hermione asked.

"It was a bit slow to get going, but I see why you like it. Admittedly, it was hard to put it down last night. I may even need a coffee to get me through the rest of today", she laughed. Hermione smiled. Her mum never drank coffee, it gave her the jitters. On the other hand, her father brewed a large pot every morning which Hermione enjoyed with him through the holidays.

"I thought we might do an early birthday celebration for you tonight", her mum suggested, "is there somewhere you would like to go to eat?"

"I don't mind", replied Hermione.

"Okay, how about the Bistro down the road?" Inquired her mother.

"Oh yes!" Exclaimed Mr. Granger, pulling their attention.

"Ed told me the bistro just changed ownership - said the food is excellent." Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiled at each other. Hermione tried to savour the moment, the three of them in the kitchen on the quiet Sunday morning. The smell of coffee, butter, and books.

"Sounds great", said Hermione.

"I think we ought to squeeze in another driving lesson before you go as well", her mother said empathetically, preempting Hermione's resistance. It wasn't that Hermione didn't want to get her driver's licence. It was just that driving a car felt all too close to riding a broom. In both cases, despite her determination to learn, her courage failed her, and she felt supremely out of her depth. Hermione grimaced and her mother continued.

"That way you can sit your test when you're home for Christmas". Hermione stared down at her coffee mug. She didn't intend to come back for Christmas, she wanted to keep as much distance between herself and her parents as possible. When she wasn't dreaming about the Department of Mysteries her nightmares were filled with images of her parents being tortured by Death Eaters. Sometimes, she was inside the body of the torturer, uncontrolled magic leaping from her wand towards her parents' terrified faces. She looked around her home, the summer breeze ruffling the curtain that hung above the kitchen window, her parents' expectant faces peering at her, she felt her resolve harden.

"Okay, let me get changed and we can go", she forced a smile. Hermione cradled her mug as she ascended the stairs to her room.

Hermione briefly glanced over theProphetbefore changing. No dramatic headlines appeared on the first few pages. Rita Skeeter continued her coverage of Cornelius Fudge's resignation and outlined the career of Rufus Scrimgeor, the new Minister for Magic. There was a small piece about new safety provisions for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione frowned and wondered if it was wise to detail the security measures that protected magical children in theDaily Prophetwhere anyone could see them. Hermione placed the newspaper on her trunk, she would read it on the train tomorrow to Devon. Once changed, she pocketed her wand in her shorts before making her way to the family car.

Hermione drove carefully around the streets of Hampstead. She was quiet for the duration of the lesson; partly because driving required her full attention and partly because she felt all her worries might tumble out if she opened her mouth to speak. They drove around for the better part of an hour before her mum suggested they make their way home. As Hermione carefully pulled into the driveway, she let out a sigh of relief and her grip loosened on the steering wheel. Her mum gave her a sympathetic gaze.

"You did good", she said, putting her hand on Hermione's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Hermione gave her a weak smile. She considered telling her mum that she would learn to apparate this year at Hogwarts and that driving a car was unlikely to be her usual method of transportation going forward. But she'd come this far and though her parents were enthusiastic whenever she introduced them to new knowledge about the wizarding world, they always seemed pleased when she conquered muggle milestones. It occurred to her that she might never pass her driving test if war really did break out. But she pushed this thought from her mind. She had to have hope. Lord Voldemort could be defeated again, her parents would be safe, she would pass her driving test and graduate from Hogwarts, then she could do whatever she desired.

Hermione spent the afternoon packing Crookshanks' things and double checking her own trunk. She found the small, beaded pouch she'd begun enchanting last year and tossed it in alongside her books. She looked at her CDs and sighed, there was one other muggle-born girl in Hermione's dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Although they were not close friends, they occasionally shared knowing looks or commiserated with each other over the lack of electricity and especially CD players at Hogwarts. As she stacked her CDs neatly on the shelf, she tried to commit each to memory, humming to herself. Content that everything was in its correct place Hermione retreated to the sofa in the living room. She pulled her legs up onto the settee and let herself be swept up into a movie playing on the television. Her father was asleep in the chair beside her, a dentistry journal splayed open on his chest. Hermione stayed there until the light in the room turned from arid yellow to warm orange, making the room hazy.

She walked just behind her parents down the cobbled street. Her yellow sundress tickled her legs as it fluttered in the wind. Her hands were in the pockets of the dress, one hand clasped around her wand. The little bistro was illuminated in the distance and the sound of people and music swelled as the family approached. The trio settled into a little table out the front. Hermione steered the conversation away from school as much as she could, instead they talked about summer, how good the food was, and of course, books. When they returned home Mrs. Granger fetched a passionfruit tart out of the fridge and set it on the coffee table in the living room. As her mother lit the sixteen candles that had been haphazardly placed into the custard, her father began a boisterous rendition of Happy Birthday. Hermione was thankful for the low candlelight as she felt tears well in her eyes. Her mother joined in the song with equal enthusiasm. Once the candles were blown out Mr. and Mrs. Granger each gave their daughter a kiss on the cheek. They divided the tart and ate sitting around the coffee table.

"Okay", said Mrs. Granger after recovering from a laughing fit, "time for presents!"

Mr. Granger disappeared into the kitchen only to reappear a few seconds later holding an armful of gifts wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper. He deposited the horde in front of Hermione.

"Now, your mum has worked very hard on these gifts, it took all sorts of research, she wrote about fourteen letters to Mr. Weasley just to organise a trip into Diagon Alley. Their owl isn't very reliable. I told her maybe we should get our own while we were there! But she said the cleaner probably wouldn't like to clean owl droppings off the surfaces in the house. I still think we could've trained it to use the toilet though", he turned to look at Mrs. Granger who was giving him a reproachful look. "Didn't your sister train her cat to-"

"David, please", pleaded Mrs. Granger. She looked over to Hermione.

"Go on then, open them", she encouraged.

Each of the gifts was small. Four of them matched, flat squares that fit neatly in her hand, wrapped expertly. The fifth did not match the rest. It was a similar sized square but was much taller, a small square box. She opened the tall gift first. Underneath the paper was a wooden box with a small latch. Releasing the latch opened the box revealing a green velvet interior. Nestled into the velvet lay a miniature gramophone. The horn of the gramophone was a magnificent, shiny silver, the box a dark walnut. Carved into the wood was an intricate pattern of fairies, dragons, and flowers. Hermione lifted the gramophone out of the box and sat it on the coffee table. It was beautiful. Her mother gestured to the four flat packages.

"Those next", she smiled. Hermione opened each of the packages to find equally miniature vinyls. Each one with a label corresponding to her four favorite muggle albums. Hermione looked up at her parents in wonder. Both wore a satisfied smirk as if they dared her to ask them how they had done it. Hermione couldn't resist. She took one of the records and laid it gently onto the turntable. The needle made athwapas it touched the disc. Then the soft sounds of music began to fill the room.

"Okay, how did you do this?" Asked Hermione with delight. Her parents smiled.

"We really couldn't have done it without Mr. Weasley", said Mr. Granger.

"We wrote to him with nothing more than an idea and a diagram", interjected Mrs. Granger.

"He wasn't sure whether muggle songs would play on an enchanted gramophone-" Mrs. Granger cut Mr. Granger off.

"We sent along a mini vinyl with our second letter. Of course, those cannot hold a whole album of songs-"

"He put us in touch with a wizard who specialises in enchantments", said Mr. Granger, looking more animated with each word.

"He was really wonderful; he actually came here to do the enchantment because he thought CDs wouldn't work in Diagon Alley-"

"Even though we explained that a CD doesn't contain electricity in and of itself-" said Mrs. Granger. Mr. Granger nodded enthusiastically.

"But after he cracked the first one, the rest were easy!" Both her parents had wide smiles.

"It's brilliant", exclaimed Hermione. Her parent's enthusiasm was infectious. They didn't always understand the magical world, but they had tried from their very first visit to Diagon Alley. She got up and hugged them tightly. The Granger's settled down on the settee and Hermione waited up patiently until she felt her father and then her mother fall asleep on the sofa beside her. Only then, did she permit her eyes to close, and she fully relaxed into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning Hermione awoke in her bed. She had only the faintest memory of being carried up the stairs by warm arms and tucked into the covers. In her bedroom, the sunlight shone timidly through grey clouds, only dusting her room in a low light. Hermione exchanged yesterday's sundress for a plain pair of jeans, a t-shirt, cardigan, and some sensible sneakers. She paused at the top of the stairs when she heard the voices of her parents coming from the living room. Going slowly, Hermione tip-toed down. The television was playing some sort of housing show.

"Is this in Australia?" Asked Mr. Granger.

"Looks wonderful, doesn't it?" Replied Mrs. Granger. She watched her parents curled up next to each other on the couch. Her father sipping his coffee, her mother sipping her tea. Mrs. Granger set down her mug and stood up from the couch spying Hermione on the stairs.

"Good morning love, have some breakfast quick, we have to be at the station in two hours". Hermione nodded. She headed toward the kitchen but paused after a few steps.

"Actually, I need to talk to you both", she said tentatively. Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged looks. Her father shrugged and gestured towards the kitchen.

Hermione settled into a seat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in her hands. She looked at her parent's faces and set the mug down. From under her arm, she produced a copy of theDaily Prophetdated a few months prior. The headline stated in bold black letteringLord VoldemortReturns. Underneath the headline a black and white picture of Harry and Dumbledore stirred occasionally. She laid it across the table.

"We've spoken about Lord Voldemort before, the dark wizard that caused a lot of problems for the magical community some years ago. Well," she hesitated, weighing her words, "he's back".

Hermione went on to remind them that just like the boy from school who called her a mud-blood, Lord Voldemort believed muggleborns to be inferior, thieves of magic, who stole it from those who were rightly entitled to it. She did not use the word war, nor did she explain that she had visited the Department of Mysteries the night that Lord Voldemort attacked the ministry. Hermione did not think Harry would mind her placing the blame on him. Her parents' look of concern grew as she outlined the beliefs of the Death Eaters, who she referred to only as Lord Voldemort's followers, and explained how The Order had been integral to fight them both before and now. She emphasised that Lord Voldemort feared Dumbledore most of all and that Hogwarts was the safest place to be a muggleborn witch.

To their credit, her parents nodded along thoughtfully and did not interrupt. After Hermione finished her explanation there was some back and forth. Mr. Granger suggested she might be able to do her lessons by distance, but Hermione insisted that that would be giving Lord Voldemort what he wanted. Mrs. Granger worried about how they could know she was ok, and Hermione reminded them that the school had been in prompt contact with them when she had been petrified during second year, although this argument was not wholly reassuring to the Grangers. Her parents insisted they should also have a subscription toThe Daily Prophetso that they could keep on top of current magical events. Hermione said she would organise a subscription for them. She also agreed that she would send them an owl each week - although she'd already resolved to send them an owl everyday with her copy ofThe Prophet,with any information she thought was too alarming redacted.

By the end of the conversation Hermione realised she hadn't really touched her coffee, nor had she had any breakfast, but it was almost time to leave. Her father pulled her into a tight hug and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he left for work. Afterwards, her mother and her carefully navigated Hermione's heavy trunk down the stairs, careful to avoid Crookshanks scurrying under their feet. Despite the heaviness that seemed to press in on the two of them, heaviness that did not come from the trunk, they laughed, breathless, as they finally made it to the car. Hermione skillfully scooped up Crookshanks into the cat crate, despite his protests. Everything was ready. Mrs. Granger picked up the keys and headed towards the driver's seat without any suggestion that they use the car trip to King's Cross Station as one last impromptu driving lesson. Hermione was very thankful. They arrived at the station without delay but whilst removing her luggage from the boot it began to rain. Mrs. Granger and Hermione hurried inside the station. Hermione sat down on the platform waiting for the train to arrive, hushing a whiny Crookshanks who was stamping about in the crate. Mrs. Granger returned with a few snacks from the vending machine, handing them to Hermione. As the train arrived her mother pulled her into a tight embrace. Only at that moment did Hermione notice that her mother's eyes were slightly below her own. She had outgrown her mum. As they pulled away from each other Mrs. Granger caught Hermione's cheeks between her palms.

"Be safe my amazing, brilliant witch", she whispered. Hermione smiled at her and wheeled her precariously balanced luggage onto the train. The rain was getting heavier outside the train and she found a quiet carriage and settled in. She opened a book.