Harry Potter H&Hr Fluff Collection

Season 2 Finale

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Hermione Granger

Part II

Hermione was bleeding. She whimpered as she applied pressure to her knee where the wound was located. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the pain on her knee started to grow after a few minutes of sitting by the sidewalk, waiting for something to happen.

“Oww… oww…” she whimpered, whipping her eyes with her free hand.

She turned her head to see that she was only a lot away from her home. All she had to do was stand up and walk but for all the time she had been there, her knees gave in to the pain forcing her to do nothing but sit there and cry.

It had been a while since Hermione fell off her bike. She was known in the family to be quite good with it due to her lack of falling off of it when she started riding it when she was four years old. Her cousins were so jealous that they tried to outdo her by learning to be better bikers than her. Unfortunately for them, they fell off their bikes on their first try which caused their annoyance towards their perfectionist cousin to grow for being so good at bike riding.

Today, however, was different. In a long time in a while, Hermione fell of her bike and met a sickening graze on the sidewalk surface leaving a purplish and deep wound on her knee. Hermione couldn't recall what happened but she got distracted when she saw an owl zoom past her a few feet above.

That must've been it…. Stupid owl.

But what good would it do if Hermione kept on blaming animals? Nothing, Hermione thought, nothing. All she wanted now was her mother and father to care for her knee and give the oh-so loving kiss-to-the-booboo she always loved whenever she got wounds.

“Hermione!”

Hermione tore her eyes away from her wound to see her friend, John, run to her as he climbed off his bike.

“Are you alright?” he asked, kneeling beside her. His eyes widened at the sight of the wound. “Oh, Hermione, you're hurt!”

To her surprise, John knelt before her and pulled out a pack of adhesive bandage from his belt bag which he usually wore on outings like this.

“Here,” he said, unwrapping one of the bandages in his hands. “You really need to get it covered.”

Hermione silently watched John apply the plaster on her wound. She gasped a bit when he pressed the bandage lightly giving a brief and gradual painful sensation.

“There,” he said happily. “No hard done!”

“Thank you, Johnny…” said Hermione, smiling at him. “Erm… can you help me up?”

John pulled Hermione by her right arm to her feet. She staggered a little but little John held little Hermione up to her feet. She looked at him and smiled feeling touched at his generosity.

“I'm so glad you were riding your bike today,” said Hermione, “If you didn't come here I don't even know what would happen to me….”

“Hey, what are best friends for, Hermione?” said John, smirking at her. “It's not like we'll end our friendship, right?”

“Don't leave me, alright?” said Hermione pleadingly, looking into his pale green eyes.

John laughed and raked his jet-black hair humorously.

“Best friends forever, right?”

“Best friends,” said Hermione.

With their bikes, the two childhood friends walked down the street and went onto the premises of the Granger household where a whiff of cooking luncheon met Hermione's nose.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express traveled south as flecks of snow passed the windows of the train's compartments. It was hard to see what was outside due to the thick of the snow but the one thing the passengers were glad at was that they felt very warm inside their compartments.

“Hey, Hermy,”

Hermione tore her eyes away from Hogwarts, A History and saw Harry holding up a Cauldron Cake under her nose. Hermione could make out the back of the old lady who pushed the trolley exiting to the right of the compartment door.

“I bought it for you,” he said, smiling at her.

“Oh, Harry,” she said tenderly, looking at the Cauldron Cake. “You really shouldn't have,”

“Well, I feel bad that I had to pull you from breakfast,” said Harry, sitting beside her. “So I figured that I might make it all up with this Cauldron Cake.”

During the breakfast before McGonagall announced for the departure, Hermione overslept and came down late to the Great Hall and was about have her share of bacon when Harry had to rush her to hurry up fix her trunk for the trip. The early mourning grouch in her pursued an argument with Harry until McGonagall announced that in less than ten minutes time, the students of Hogwarts will board the Hogwarts Express for King's Cross station. This forced her to skip breakfast ultimately, prepare her trunk and go with Harry, Ron and Ginny with the rest towards Hogsmeade station. Until now after two hours of being on the train, Hermione was itching for a bite to eat while keeping her annoyance towards Harry for forcing her to skip breakfast hidden.

“I know you're annoyed at me for what happened in the Great Hall,” said Harry, apologetically. “You know… not letting you eat breakfast and nagging you to get ready….”

He smiled at her with a look of sorry in his face.

“You don't have to be,” said Hermione, returning her smile. “I mean, it's my fault, I should've woken up earlier….”

“Why were you up so late?” Harry asked.

“I - I…” said Hermione as she tried to pick out good words. “I… was - erm… you know, it's not really important why I was up all night -”

“Why so?” Harry asked. “It's not like it's a skeleton in your closet… is it?”

“No,” said Hermione, closing her book. “It's not really relevant to know, Harry.”

“You can tell me,” said Harry. “C'mon, let's take it as a normal conversation between you and me. You trust me, right?”

You trust me, right?

That sentence alone can strike Hermione in all corners of her brain. Not only did Harry hit the spot for her to share her thoughts, it also hit something that of a forbidden fruit that she has been keeping secret for a while now.

“Fine,” said Hermione, shaking off her thoughts on trust issues. “Erm… don't laugh, alright?”

“I won't,” said Harry casually.

“Okay,” she sighed and looked at the empty seat opposite to them. “Um…” she scratched her cheek briefly, “last night… I was writing down all the possible things we can do at my home.”

“That's good,” said Harry, nodding. “Why did it take you all night?”

“Well,” she bit her lip, feeling ashamed for saying this. “I - I'm quite - oh, please don't react to strongly, Harry - I'm just quite nervous about how you'll like it at my place!”

She turned away from Harry and looked back at him nervously. It felt embarrassing admitting this but to her relief, Harry looked thoughtful than bemused.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.

“Well…” she shifted her feet uncomfortably. “You've been visiting Ron's home for the past few years and - er - well, I… I have this feeling that…” she looked out at the snow flecked window, “…my home might pale into comparison since it lacks the magic of the Burrow….” She laughed offhandedly, glancing at Harry.

“Don't say that, Hermione,” said Harry, fumbling with the cauldron cake with his hands. “If it makes you feel better, I feel very excited to meet your family… and you don't need magic to show the greatness of things… I mean, look at you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah… even without the magic, I can tell that you're still a great person before you knew about Hogwarts…” said Harry, smiling at her. “So it's not really a big deal for me if my trip to your place is boring or not… what matters is that I'm with my best friend.”

He leaned to her and put an arm around her shoulder making her giggle.

“You are the sweetest man I've ever met in my life,” said Hermione and with a will of her own liking, she craned her neck towards him and kissed him on the cheek. “And I doubt I would meet another one like you, Harry.”

Harry smiled at her tenderly. She felt him squeeze her shoulder with so much fondness that Hermione felt her affection towards him grew. Truthfully, Harry has always made her feel protected, loved and liked… it was something she felt great in having when she thought she lost it all years ago….

Lost it all…

Hermione frowned at the painful thought… the thought of losing it all. Back then, she thought it was all in her hands. The thought of having someone by your side for all your hardships just made her feel empty inside because it reminded her of how she lost it all… It somehow made her hate herself that she thought she was reliving history.

Don't say that.

She looked at Harry and wondered. Was he the same?

Never.

Never… that's the truth. But what if it happens again? Hermione winced and looked at Harry again and wondered. It can never happen… the circumstances are quite different! But it's not something to rule out. Should she discuss it with him?

If you do then your insecurities will just worsen, Hermione. I suggest that you don't.

Fine, Hermione thought. Just let the feelings slide and enjoy what you have now. Whatever happened in the past will stay in the past. It will never happen again.

“Where's Ron?” Harry asked, standing up to look outside of the compartment. “His cauldron cakes are getting cold….”

“He went to the bathroom,” said Hermione, scooting to the left of her seat to look out the window; she could make out snowcapped mountains at the distance through the thick snow. “But I doubt he went there.”

“Why?” Harry wheeled around at her.

“He went that way,” she pointed to the right, “The bathroom is at the other side.”

“I doubt Ron can get lost in the train unless he has a good reason to,” said Harry, chuckling as he took a seat opposite of Hermione.

“One thing I know though,” said Hermione, slowly spreading into a smile, “is that Luna is right over at the compartment down below.”

Harry laughed.

“No wonder,” said Harry, “Well, if that's the case, looks like it's just you and me for the whole trip.”

A brief silence followed where the chugging of the train and the wind were the only source of sound. Hermione sighed and rubbed her shoulders to warm herself up. It was getting colder as the trip went on. The two Gryffindors remained silent during the whole trip wondering what will happen in a few hours time. Hermione began to wonder what her fellow Gryffindors were doing in Hogwarts for the holidays.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?” Hermione turned to Harry's curious face.

“Where do you live?” Harry asked. It just dawned to Hermione that she never told Harry where she lived throughout her life with him.

“Yate, Gloucestershire. Its a few miles northeast of Bristol,” said Hermione casually. “We can just Apparate there. I told my parents we won't need transportation.”

“Ha ha,” said Harry, “But - erm - do you mind if we do Side-Along Apparition? I'm not keen into losing an eyebrow.”

Hermione smirked. Harry was probably one of the strongest wizards she has ever known but there was one detail she knew about him and that was the fact he wasn't good at Apparating.

“Of course,” said Hermione, “it still doesn't hurt you, does it?”

“Not a problem anymore, Hermione,” said Harry. “I just wish you won't splinch us.”

“As if that can happen,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

“I see you're still reading that from two nights ago,” said Harry, gesturing to Hogwarts, A History, “Light reading, I presume?”

Hermione nodded.

“I guess that you still don't want to read it?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Nope,” said Harry at once, stuffing a cauldron cake into his mouth. “You know me, I read books when I need to.”

Hermione turned oddly flushed at this. She stared at him with her eyes with a tinge of sadness and emptiness in her heart.

* * *

Hermione flicked the pages of her new book her Great Aunt Irene gave her for her eleventh birthday. Cradling the new book with her arms, she turned it over to read the title out loud:

Adrian Porter and the Rock of the Warlock

Y.F. Kelton

The book was around two hundred pages long, not too big and not too small. Hermione turned the inside flap of the dust jacket to read the summary of the book that told her that the book was a children's novel about a boy named Adrian Porter who found out that he was more than just a mere boy but a boy with extraordinary talent.

Feeling excited, Hermione opened to the first page and began to read the first chapter, taking in all the words in her brain as if she was a scanner. It was always like this when she reads new books.

“Hermione, darling,” said the voice of her mother at the threshold. “John is here,”

Hermione glanced up as John came in holding a toy airplane. She swung her legs out of her bed where she read and went up to John as her mother left the two.

“I thought you went for your violin classes?” said Hermione, eyeing John's airplane with interest. She always liked airplanes.

“My teacher called and she said that she was sick,” said John, sitting on Hermione's bed. “I thought I'd visit.”

“Don't you want to continue your violin lessons at home?” Hermione asked nicely. “You don't need a teacher to learn new things, you know.”

“I dunno,” said John, spinning the propeller of his plane. “How about you? What would you do if you were forced to play the violin?”

“I - I wouldn't mind… the only instrument I play is the piano,” said Hermione, sitting beside him. “But I would love to play the violin. I just don't have the inspiration yet.”

“What inspiration do you need?” asked John curiously.

“A strong feeling,” said Hermione, swinging her legs idly. “Like when I'm happy enough to do things on my own… or sad enough to do something to improve. Something like that….”

The two were silent for awhile until John spoke.

“What were you doing before I came in?”

“Reading my new book!” said Hermione happily, reaching for her new book. “My Great Aunt Irene gave it to me! You remember my Great Aunt?”

“Yeah,” said John, “She really likes me though… she was the one who gave me that chocolate bar when she thought that I was a nice boy.”

“Well, you are a nice boy,” said Hermione, giggling. “Better than the boys at school….”

“How is it?” asked John quickly. “The book, I mean.”

“It's quite fun to read!” said Hermione enthusiastically. “It has a very mysterious beginning and I'm having a good time with it.”

“Good for you, Hermione,” said John, lying on her bed. “I still haven't found a fun thing to do this summer.”

“Why don't you read?” Hermione asked eagerly. “That way, you can go places while you're in one spot. My mum always tells me that.”

“But I hate reading,” said John, sitting up, quickly adding in response to Hermione's startled look. “I'm trying to say that I really don't get about reading books without pictures.”

“It's all about the imagination, Johnny,” said Hermione tentatively. “You were able to do that when we played by the lake the other week, right?”

“Yeah but I was doing something,” said John. “But in reading, I can hardly see anything in my mind...”

Hermione sighed.

“So even if I tried to convince you, you won't pick up a book and read it at least?”

“Not even if you paid me,” said John. “You know me, I'll only read if I need to.”

Hermione frowned a bit.

“Well, it doesn't hurt to not read at all. For you, I mean,” said Hermione, shaking off her disappointment. “But are you sure about your answer?”

“Yes,” said John, looking uncomfortable at Hermione's disappointed look. “B-but if it makes you feel better, I can read books with pictures.”

Hermione giggled.

“You always have to find a way to make me feel better, don't you?”

“What are best friends for?” said John, scratching the back of his head.

Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it lightly causing John to turn into a deep shade of red. Luckily for John, Hermione had already turned away from him to other things.

* * *

“You've been staring into space a lot, you know.”

“Huh?” Hermione shook out of her reverie. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said,” Harry implied, “you've been staring into space a lot lately.”

Hermione furrowed her brows at this comment and rolled her eyes at him.

“It's not like it's unnatural, Harry.” Hermione explained. “You do it too,”

Harry did not answer but stared at her with amusement. Hermione looked at him skeptically until she thought of a conclusion.

“You're making fun of me.” Hermione frowned at him with a tinge of bemusement.

“Who said I was?” Harry asked. “I'm just concerned about you.”

“Concerned about me what?”

“It's like you're getting fidgety about this whole thing, Hermione,” said Harry wisely. “Look, don't worry about it - we'll have the best time ever, alright?”

Hermione smiled weakly at him. One of the things that obviously bothered her was the idea of Harry being there. How would he react? Will he get bored? Will he utter a complaint? The thoughts of these made Hermione cringe a bit because she wouldn't want her best friend to think things that way… but then again, why would we she think that Harry will feel that way?

Maybe it was the fact that they were teenagers now that fun must come from lots of activities? Hermione admitted that if she invited Harry and Ron to her house for the summer around their first year or second year, it would make all the difference in the world. One would hardly complain because they were too busy enjoying mum's pudding or enjoying the living room fire. But with the coming-of-age among the three, Hermione found it quite nerve-racking that she had to stay all night thinking of things she can do with Harry for fun.

But this is Harry I'm talking about!

True, Harry will tolerate anything. So what's the point of worrying? It must be stupid of her to actually think Harry will get bored in her house when he can boring too.

Wow… you must be really proud of yourself thinking that.

“You're right, Harry,” said Hermione, finally. “I shouldn't worry much. How bad could it get?”

“I doubt bad things will happen,” said Harry, smirking. “We had a lot of that in Hogwarts. With a full-Muggle place to be in, I think this will suit me quite well.”

It just hit Hermione that Harry was Muggle-raised. A spark of hope emanated inside Hermione. He will surely expect that her house will be less magical than the Burrow so it probably wouldn't bother him if her home wasn't magical.

Finally, something to comfort my worried thoughts.

And the trip to London continued on.

* * *

“Ron! Hurry up!” Ginny called to her big brother as she passed through the barrier out of platform nine and three-quarters.

“She's getting too excited about Romania,” said Ron, shaking his head. “I am excited too but I wouldn't be that enthusiastic, would I?”

The three pushed their trolleys out of the platform where they met Mrs. Weasley, a plump witch with a very motherly character, Mr. Weasley, a Muggle-loving wizard, and Charlie, the second to the oldest Weasley brother.

“Ron, Harry, Hermione!” said Mrs. Weasley, who just came from kissing her daughter, “Good to see you!”

After being kissed by Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Ron and Hermione proceeded to greet Mr. Weasley and Charlie. Hermione noticed that Charlie's blisters were as dreadful as ever. Luckily, the pinkness on his hand due to the cold made the blisters less gritty than before.

“Hello, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, shaking Harry's hand. “It's a pity, really. We were so looking forward to having a trip to Romania with you!”

Hermione did nothing but smile weakly. She became a tad worried that Harry was probably thinking how he regretted his decision in being with her for the holidays than going with the Weasleys. Fortunately, Ron must've read her mind because he intervened in a fashion that looked as if he was saving a lot of talking.

“Well, Harry is a-okay with the whole change of plans, dad,” said Ron, turning to Harry tentatively, “Aren't you, Harry?”

To Hermione's delight, Harry smiled broadly and nodded.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry. “I wish I could come but -” he suddenly put an arm around Hermione, “- she asked for it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiled dearly at Hermione. Hermione smiled timidly at them and mouthed a “Thank you,” to Mrs. Weasley since after all; Mrs. Weasley did accept her request in allowing Harry to stay with her for the holidays.

“Oh well,” said Mrs. Weasley, “You can always come some other time! I doubt this would be the last time we will go to Romania.”

The fact that the Weasleys weren't that disappointed with Harry not coming with them eased Hermione's fears. She finally sighed in relief after holding in the cold December air for a time. It finally came to her that Harry still had his arm around her shoulder.

“It's a pity though,” said Charlie, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I think Norberta would love to meet you three as a whole.”

“Norberta?” Hermione tilted her head in wonder.

“Don't tell Hagrid,” said Charlie with a grin, “But recent findings state the Norbert is a girl, after all.”

Ron laughed but Charlie turned to him and spoke.

“Looks like Baby Norby will take a fancy in meeting you, Ron,” said Charlie pointedly. “Since you were the one she bit. I doubt dragons will forget the people they bite.”

Hermione grinned while Harry chuckled. Glad thing Ginny was busy talking to her mum and dad since Hermione instantly realized that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't know about the dragon.

“Lucky me,” Ron groaned as he hung his head.

“Lucky you, indeed,” said Charlie, “Norberta does need company at the moment.”

“Seriously,” said Ron, turning to Harry and Hermione, “You two must get me the best present ever if I am to be taking care of Norberta.”

“We will, Ron,” said Hermione apologetically. “I promise you. You will get it.”

“Oh well,” said Ron, raking his red hair backwards. “I see you two are going to have the best time ever.”

Hermione realized that Ron was smirking at the way Harry still had his arm around her. She turned slightly pink at this and hoped Harry would put his arm down.

“Oh, we will,” said Harry casually. “Just make sure you get us some nice dragon droppings for Christmas.”

The three laughed as Mrs. Weasley approached them. She seemed to be carrying sandwiches.

“Here,” she handed the sandwiches to Harry and Hermione. “Just in case you need something to eat when you go there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry.

“Oh, don't bother,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I trust you two can take care of yourselves.”

“We will,” Harry replied, “Hermione here,” he gave her a one-arm squeeze, “will take care of me.”

Hermione turned to Harry, smiling broadly at him. It was almost touching to hear Harry say that… for some reason she started to enjoy having Harry's arm around her.

“Isn't that sweet,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Oh, look at the time!” she turned to Mr. Weasley, ”Arthur! We have to go now - Fred and George will be closing the shop at any moment!”

She turned back to Harry and Hermione.

“How will you two get there? I don't see your parents around, Hermione.”

“We'll Apparate,” said Hermione. “Side-Along Apparition, anyway. Harry hasn't got his Apparition-legs yet.”

“Well, don't splinch on the way, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, “Remember, don't be too shy to write to us if you need anything.”

“And don't forget to say `hi' to your mum and dad for me, Hermione,” said Mr. Weasley happily. “Erm, Molly, I think we better go now. Fred and George might Disapparate prematurely.”

“Oh, oh - yes, yes -” she bent over to kiss Harry and Hermione on the cheek, “You two take good care of yourselves, alright?”

“We will, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry and Hermione in unison.

“Goodbye, Harry! Bye, Hermione,” said Ginny, kissing him and Hermione on the cheek. “I'll send your presents a day before Christmas.”

“Thank you, Ginny,” said Hermione, hugging Ginny, (as she did this, she freed herself from Harry's arm.) “I'll send my present a day before too.”

“Take care of Hermione, alright?” said Ron, giving Harry a brotherly hug. “I know you're with her folks but with you around, she'll be up all night trying to take care of you.”

“Will do, Ron,” said Harry, chuckling.

“Take care, Ronald,” said Hermione, pecking him on the cheek. “Don't do anything rash while in Romania. Tell Norberta I said `hi'!”

Ron made a mock sigh of impatience and did nothing but a good natured chuckle. Hermione then went to Mr. Weasley. She thought about something that instantly concerned her.

“Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes, Hermione? Anything I can do for you before we part ways?”

“Erm, yes,” said Hermione tentatively. “Um, is it alright if you - er - send our luggage - that is, mine's and Harry's luggage - to my house, please Mr. Weasley?”

“Of course, I'd love to, Hermione,” said Mr. Weasley happily. “Just tell me the place and with one wave of the wand, I can get it there quicker than you can say `fellytone'.”

Before Hermione could correct Mr. Weasley, he pulled out his wand and pointed to Hermione luggage.

“I think it's best that you carry your pets with you,” said Mr. Weasley.

Hermione took the basket of Crookshanks while Harry grabbed the cage of Hedwig. Hermione tucked the basket of Crookshanks, who was purring tiredly inside, under her arm when Mr. Weasley spoke.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Number Five, Yossarian Street, Yates, Gloucestershire.” Hermione replied politely.

“I think I've been to Yates when I had to work on a car that spits out black powder that can jinx anyone to reading minds,” said Mr. Weasley thoughtfully. “Hmmm, I think I can work this one out.”

And with a wave of his wand, the trolleys were relieved of their burdens as Harry's and Hermione's trunks disappeared in thin air. Luckily they had moved around a corner of the station; no was able to see this dematerialization.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley!” said Hermione happily.

“No problem,” Mr. Weasley smiled. “Oh, look at the time,” he checked his wristwatch. “I guess this is goodbye to you two then,”

“Look after yourselves,” said Mrs. Weasley, kissing the two for the last time.

“Take care, mate,” said Ron, clapping Harry's shoulder. “You too, Hermione.”

“Don't forget to write,” said Ginny, hugging Hermione.

“I'll send you a couple of our new dragon hide gloves, they can come in handy especially when the weather gets cold,” said Charlie.

After their final goodbyes, Harry and Hermione waved to the Weasleys as they exited out of King's Cross station and onto the snowy London streets.

“Shall we?” Hermione asked.

“You take the lead, Hermy,” said Harry, smiling at her.

“I thought I told you not to call me -”

“I'm aware,” said Harry slyly. “I just can't wait to see if there are gnomes on your yard.”

“Just the fat ones with fishing rods,” said Hermione. “Okay - let's get on with it.”

Pulling Harry behind a mast, away from the public eye, Hermione took Harry by the hand. She looked into his green eyes.

“Ready, Harry?” she asked. “Is Hedwig, alright?”

“She is,” said Harry, holding Hedwig's cage up with his free hand. “Hey, Hermione,”

“What?”

“When we get there - to your house - I would love it if you told me your story,”

“My story?”

“How you found out that you were a witch,” said Harry, smiling. “I just realized what I wanted to ask you ever since you asked me about staying at your place for the holidays.”

Hermione didn't smile broadly but she smiled nonetheless. Not that she was happy about telling her story to Harry but she felt that it would feel… inappropriate to tell him soon.

“Will… will see about that, Harry. For now, let's worry about getting there without splinching ourselves,” said Hermione, taking him by the hand as she held onto Crookshanks basket.

“I'm ready,” said Harry. “Wait -”

Harry hoisted Hedwig and her cage up so Hermione could see the snowy owl up close. Hedwig's yellow eyes bore into Hermione's brown ones and hooted happily at her. Hermione smiled back at her and observed the owl for a split second when she noticed a long mark on her left talon as if there was a wound there long ago.

Well, I'll be…

“W-where did Hedwig get that gash?” Hermione pointed with a hoarse voice.

“Er, this one?” Harry looked at Hedwig's left talon. “I don't know but it's been with her ever since I got her during my birthday.”

Hermione looked at the snowy owl in a new light… it amazed her how small the world was… it dawned to her to realize why Hedwig was so friendly to her.

“Hermione, we have to go now,” said Harry.

“Oh - alright,” said Hermione, looking away from Hedwig, “On my count, one… two… three…” Hermione counted. “Now!”

And with the familiar sensation of getting squeezed into a tube, Hermione felt herself disappear from the grounds of King's Cross as a brief stint in time told her that she was transporting to another place miles from London. She could feel Harry's hand within her grasp as her thoughts drifted beyond the darkness of time and space.

* * *

“Go away!” she cried.

An eleven year old Hermione ran with her arms around her History book down the sidewalk near her home. She walked in brisk pace as a couple of tawny owls followed her a few distance above.

Won't those things stop following me?!

She entered the refuge of her owl-free home and sat on the couch of the empty living room. After a few minutes, Hermione's lip trembled as she cried in her hands. Never in her life did she expect such an embarrassing day in her new secondary school. Hermione didn't ask for it but who would avoid the fact that two of her primary school classmates, who happens to be the boys who teases her, entered the same secondary school she did.

“Why?” she sobbed in her hands. “Why does everything have to be bad for me?!”

Hermione continued sobbing as she painfully recounted the events that happened a few hours ago. The way she tried to talk with her new classmates in a civil way was all interrupted by Dustin and Lyle. Their jeers that her effort in making friends was a waste of time… the way they told everyone that she was a know-it-all… the way she retorted by getting angry at them. It was yelling at them angrily that caused her image as a nice girl in class to falter. After a bad day, Hermione wanted to go home but was met by the boys again who called after her, calling her names she dared not to think what they were.

“F-friendless,” Hermione sobbed. “K-know-it-all freak,”

Then with all the sadness in her heart, Hermione let out a wail of sorrow as she buried her face in one of the cushions of the sofa.

I wish Johnny was here….

Hermione wished her best friend was here with her. But he was probably too busy with his schoolwork in his own secondary school. It pained her that she hardly gets to see him now that they are in different schools. The only time she can see him is during the weekends or on an occasional after-school visit. The last time Hermione saw him was two weeks ago and she can't help but feel that she really wanted to see him.

There's always the telephone.

Talking on the phone was alright for her but it never felt the same since John was too busy with his own things that he was never in the house. To her surprise, his mother told her that he has been pursuing his violin lessons recently. This ultimately explains why he's not around a lot.

Wiping her eyes, Hermione hugged the pillow cushion and dawned to her that she was as small as the pillow cushion.

I can always call Alice….

Alice.... Hermione thought about her favorite cousin in the whole world. Not only was she her other best friend, Alice was the other person who understood Hermione. If it wasn't for Alice's large imagination, Hermione wouldn't have that memorable summer which was filled with so much fun and laughter.

Hermione turned to the phone and thought about calling Alice. What time was it there at her place? Hermione knew Alice didn't live in England but what are the chances that she was still awake enough to talk to?

Oh, come on, I don't even know how to make a long-distance call!

Feeling much worse, Hermione played with the tousles of the cushion idly. Not a sound or a movement in sight from beyond the cushion she hid behind. For all she knew, she felt safe and comfortable behind it.

Clang!

This sound made Hermione jump, instantly, Hermione heard a tapping noise from the outside. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought it was John but to her disappointment (and her surprise), it was a snowy owl perched on the windowsill of the living room's front window. It looked pitiful since it kept on hopping around the sill while it hooted feebly.

I think it's hurt.

With the animal-loving instinct inside her, Hermione dropped the cushion and ran to the front porch. She stopped by the front door and saw the snowy owl squawking helplessly. The owl had a small gash right across its left foot.

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione, kneeling in front of it. Up close, the snowy owl looked quite fluffy and cute. The snowy owl stopped its squawking and stared at Hermione with its large yellow eyes.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked it even how queer the action was to her.

“Hoot,” the owl replied.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Did the owl just reply to her? Feeling a bit curious, Hermione cleared her throat.

“You seem to be hurt, owl.” Hermione called it `owl' because this could obviously be the common way of addressing an owl.

To her surprise, the owl raised its leg to her as if it was showing its injured leg. Hermione looked at it and saw a small gash across the owl's left talon. Hermione frowned at it and sighed.

“Erm, what happened?” Hermione asked tentatively.

The owl hooted and clicked its beak pointedly over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione turned her head and saw what seemed to be the source of the clatter awhile ago. It was her mother's multiply glass windmills that were suspended on a wooden handle. Hermione couldn't blame the snowy owl for hitting it due to the transparency of the windmills. Hermione looked closer to see that some of the windmills' blades had tufts of white feathers on them.

“It's not your fault,” said Hermione, turning back to the snowy owl. “I bump into things too. Loads of times.”

The owl seemed to be listening to Hermione due to the fact that it was looking at her with concentration. Feeling oblivious that she looked strange talking to an owl, Hermione continued.

“But I doubt you will do it again though. I mean, you're an owl who can fly and you're quick in things so you'll probably hold out on your own before bumping into trees.”

“Hoot,” the owl hooted casually then hopped a little closer to Hermione.

“Oh - I forgot about your leg!” said Hermione, cupping her cheek. “I know, I'll just get a few bandages and you wait here, alright?”

The skeptic look (Owl's can't look skeptic, Hermione!) at the owl's face forced Hermione to feel a bit anxious. What was one to do when an owl looked skeptic?

“Erm, I reckon you wouldn't want to wait out here, would you?”

The owl hooted wryly.

I guess it can stay in the kitchen?

“Er…” Hermione winced, scratching her head. “I think you can stay in my house… if you like?”

This sounded more like a question than a statement but Hermione held out her hands and tentatively held the owl on its back and front. Fortunately, the snowy owl didn't move but it hooted feebly within her grasp. Gently, Hermione lifted it from the windowsill and brought the owl inside with great care. It was quite astonishing and a bit queer for her to carry a threatened species to being endangered into the dining room and into the kitchen. She carefully placed the snowy owl on the kitchen counter and ran for the bathroom upstairs where the bandages were usually kept.

This is the strangest thing I ever done to an animal.

Hermione has always loved animals. In fact, whenever the occasion called for it, she would find herself going home with an animal she found in a tree, at the park or at school. And every time she found an injured animal, she would do anything to help it.

But this was different for her… helping an owl.

An owl that seems to understand me - don't think that! It's too strange!

Returning to the kitchen with the bandages, Hermione was able to control the owl from eating the M&Ms from the bowl at the center of the counter. Popping an M&M into her mouth, Hermione set off to work calmly and quietly with the gash on the owl's leg. It wasn't too much of a job without considering the sudden movement by the owl from time to time but in the end of it, Hermione succeeded in applying the plaster on the bird.

“There, much better!” Hermione said happily. “Are you alright, mister owl?”

Suddenly, the owl hooted at her in a reproachful manner. Hermione wondered why it looked at her with a tinge of irate. It finally hit her on why….

“Erm… you're not a male owl, are you?” she asked politely.

The snowy owl clicked its beak in an assuring manner which confirmed Hermione's question.

“S-so you're a girl? A female owl?” Hermione asked. But whatever the answer was, (if the owl could give her one) Hermione would never know because in the sheer sudden of it. Someone gasped.

“Hermione!” yelled a voice to her right.

Hermione looked around to see her mother holding two bags of groceries, staring at her and the owl that was now perched on the counter. It took a long while until her mother began to demand angrily on how and why the owl was there. Hermione explained to her mother that it was hurt and that she tried to help it. But her mother reminded her about how there are certain animals that Hermione can keep and can't keep and an owl was the latter.

Not that I want to own it. But I have to admit, the owl is beautiful….

After a few arguing with her mother, she and Hermione finally decided to just let the argument rest and set the owl free before her father comes home. Hermione was about to carry the snowy owl when it suddenly fluttered to her shoulder like a parrot perched on top of a pirate's shoulder. Hermione somehow liked the feeling of it as she walked out of the house and into the front yard.

“Well, this is it, my feathered friend,” said Hermione casually, looking up at the clear blue sky. “I hope you'll be alright from now on.”

The owl hooted happily at Hermione and nibbles her ear affectionately in response. Hermione giggled as the feathers tickled her neck.

“You're not too bad,” said Hermione, “I hope we can see each other soon.”

After what seemed to be a few minutes, Hermione felt the weight on her shoulder disappear as the snowy owl took flight to the sky. Hermione waved at it and wondered in her mind, after taking all the normality of helping an animal away, how she ever communicated with that owl so conversationally.

Does it have something to do with the weird things that have been happening to me?

To Hermione's own eyes, it was farfetched to think that she has the ability to understand animals but to our own eyes, we might've thought that it was a rather funny question.

* * *

A gentle breeze pushed the bangs of Hermione's hair. This feeling prompted her to open her eyes to see her familiar home. Its architecture was that of Victorian with its walls painted in cream white while the roof (even if the snow covered most of it) was painted pale blue. A front porch dominated the front of the house. The railings of the front porch were laden with snow as the distant and soft clanging sounds of the glass windmill emitted in the horizon.

“I can see the gnomes,” was Harry's first words. Hermione followed his gaze to seven gnome statues on the front yard. It was hard to make out their forms but the protruding red hats from the white snow gave their positions away.

“My grandfather started sending them,” said Hermione, smiling at the frosted gnome. “I don't know why my father finds them a space waster. I love them.”

“Where are our trunks?” Harry looked around the snowy horizon.

“Over there!” Hermione pointed to a couple of trunks sprinkled with snow under the tree that took the majority of the front yard. “Mr. Weasley did it!”

The two staggered towards the trunks and extracted them from their places. It took them a few moments to bring them to the front porch especially when you have to manage to carry your pet cages with them. After managing to get the trunks on the front porch, Hermione began to register the Christmas wreath hanging on the front door, the blinking Christmas lights that coiled the masts of the deck, the Christmas welcome mat that was taken out every time the season called for it.

She was indeed home.

“Are you alright, Hedwig?” Harry asked.

Hermione turned to see Harry kneeling before Hedwig's cage which was on Harry's trunk. Hermione smiled and began to wonder about Hedwig.

Was she the one?

Turning to the windowsill, Hermione recalled the time she helped the snowy owl years ago… could it be that Hedwig was the owl she helped?

“Hermione, should we knock?” Harry asked humorously.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, going out of her reverie. “I'm sorry! Hold on -”

She reached down her pocket and pulled out a key.

“Aren't your parents at home?” Harry asked, peeking through one of the windows that were symmetrically placed at each side of the pale blue door.

“They're still at the clinic,” said Hermione, inserting the key into the doorknob. “Because with the -” she turned the key, “- growing patients from Christmas sweets -” turned the doorknob and looked at Harry, “- they're quite busy as you think. Shall we?”

Harry nodded and the two finally entered to a living room that was white. To the left was an archway that led to the dining room, to the right was the location of most of the living room things and the front, exactly where the door was aligned, was a set of staircases up to the second story. The floor was shiny and wooden and the ceiling had jagged textures. Hugging the wall of the furniture, behind the sofa that faced the front window, was a brown cabinet that held what seemed to be trophies, certificates, family pictures and medals.

“It's not really much,” said Hermione tentatively, looking at Harry anxiously. “I - I don't think this place is nice in the dark -”

Hermione pushed a switch to her left that lit the whole living room and turned to look at Harry nervously. He was looking around the place, his face looked impassive. Hermione bit her lip and placed her hands behind the back pocket of her jeans. She stared at her shoes and nervously tapped them on the floor.

What am I waiting for?

“Er….” Hermione said quietly. “L-like I said, it's not too much….”

“It's a very beautiful house,” said Harry, smiling at her.

Hermione replied back with a nervous smile. Harry seemed to notice her nervousness.

“Don't worry, Hermione,” he stepped closer to her, “We're going to enjoy this, I swear.”

She couldn't help but bite her lip again. Was he being polite? Would this be his way to say “Your house is nice but boring.”?

Harry's not like that, Hermione!

“Hey,” said Harry, catching Hermione's attention again, “I think I owe you a confession and that's how glad I am that I'm here for the holidays.”

She then felt his hand hold onto hers assuring her that he was indeed telling the truth. It didn't matter if she was nervous anymore… Harry was indeed enjoying her company and loved the fact that he is going to spend the holidays in her house. Hermione squeezed his hand gently and smiled broadly at him.

The two were silent as the low whistle of the winter breeze traveled around them. Hermione looked into Harry's eyes as he did to hers. It didn't feel so cold anymore….

“I'm g-glad you're here,” said Hermione, her voice rather croaky. She avoided Harry's eyes and wished Harry didn't look at her that way…. It made her more nervous.

“Hermione?” called a voice from the staircase.

Hermione wheeled her head around and saw her mother, a woman nearing her fifties who was surprisingly pretty, prettier than her plain-looking daughter (I'm sorry, Hermione). To Harry's view, he was amazed that she looked like an older Hermione minus the fact she had dark blonde hair instead of Hermione's usual brown (though, mind you, her mother's hair was bushy), dark blue eyes and that she was inches taller than Hermione, though they looked almost as tall as each other at first glance.

“I see you've come quickly than I expected,” she said, surveying at the two with an unusual look of amusement then looking at the clasped hands of the two teenagers.

Releasing her grip from Harry, Hermione walked up and hugged her mother.

“Mum!” said Hermione, moving back to look at her mother, “I - I thought you were at the clinic!”

“The clinic was closed two days ago, dear,” said her mother kindly. “Your father and I decided to go on an early holiday!”

“Where's dad?”

“He's at the supermarket buying dinner,” she replied. “But enough of that -”

Hermione's mother then eyed on Harry with great interest. Harry smiled weakly at her.

“G-good afternoon, Mrs. Granger,” said Harry, taking the courtesy to do a slight bow.

“Oh, call me Aunt Monica,” said Monica, walking towards Harry. “You must be Harry! My, my, you've grown! I can't remember the last time I saw you. Not that I can forget Hermione's choices,” she laughed.

My choices? Hermione thought perplexedly.

Harry cleared his throat, “I recall seeing you and your husband during our second year,” Hermione smiled at him from behind her mother. “I'm pleased that we meet again.”

“Enough with the politeness, dear,” said Monica, holding him by the shoulders, “I always welcome a friend of Hermione, especially friends like you!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Friends like you?

“T-that's very nice, Aunt Monica,” said Harry, feeling nervous, then said out of randomness, “H-Hermione was quite excited about me meeting you.”

Suddenly, her mother looked at Hermione and jerked her eyebrows at her. Hermione wondered what this meant but before she could elaborate, her mother spoke.

“Well, Hermione never told us in her last letter but this is quite a pleasant surprise!”

Hermione looked at her mother questioningly. What did she leave out in her last letter? Pleasant surprise?

“Come,” said Monica, walking to the archway into the dining room, “Put your luggage and your pets in the living room and I'll fix you two some lunch - unless -” she turned to them. “You ate on the school train?”

“We haven't mum,” said Hermione, closing the front door while telling Harry to help her move their trunks to the living room, then freeing Crookshanks from his basket. “But we have sandwiches from Mrs. Weasley.”

“Ah,” said Monica, “How is she?”

“She's fine,” said Harry, carefully putting the owl cage, where a sleeping Hedwig stayed, on top of his trunk “Mr. Weasley sends his regards, by the way.”

“They are very kind,” said Monica, entering the kitchen. “Where is your other friend, Hermione? The red-head one? Ron, was it?”

“He couldn't come,” said Hermione, sitting at the dining table which was occupied by a plate of lamb chops. “He went to Romania with the other Weasleys on a family trip.”

“Oooh, that sounds lovely,” said Monica, “I was confident that you'd be here around lunchtime so I cooked for you.” She gestured to the plate of lamb chops. “I'll just get the mash potatoes and you'll be all set.”

She left the two alone in the dining room. Hermione sighed and turned to Harry who smiled at her.

“She's n-nice…” said Harry, resting his hands on the table.

“Don't worry, she loves you,” said Hermione, reaching for his hand. “Don't be nervous, Harry.”

“I won't,” said Harry, rolling his thumb on her knuckle idly, “I'm just nervous about what will Ron say when he meets Norberta.”

Hermione chuckled and looked around.

“This is the dining room,” said Hermione tentatively.

“I can see that,” said Harry, smirking at the room. “You mind telling me why you have a big wooden spoon and a wooden fork hanging on the walls?”

Hermione turned to the wall behind her to see big wooden spoon and fork hanging on the wall.

“Souvenirs,” said Hermione, turning away from them. “We got them when we visited the Philippines years ago.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “I don't know that much about the Philippines… except that during my History class in primary school I read up on how the British unsuccessfully invaded it.”

“You know your history,” said Hermione impressively. “I keep on forgetting that you were born and raised with Muggles.”

Harry didn't seem to smile. Hermione knew she reminded him of his memories with the Dursleys which he kept on hinting that he was never fond of them. But to her wellbeing, she probably wouldn't want to know why in fear that Harry might feel uncomfortable about it.

“It's okay,” said Harry, “At least you won't have a hard time telling me how to use a `fellytone'.”

“Oh, imagine Ron being here,” Hermione laughed, “I can imagine him walking around to poke every item in this dining room.”

“He'll probably break one in the process,” said Harry, grinning. “He will probably deprive himself for using a Muggle object even if his life depended on it.”

There was a small and calm silence. Hermione enjoyed it, though. Being here with Harry, her best friend, his hand on hers, his thumb rubbing her knuckle idly… it was so nice.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything!” said Monica, as she entered the dining room with a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Nothing, ma'am,” said Harry, smiling at her.

“Didn't I tell you to call me `Aunt Monica'?” Monica beamed at Harry, putting the bowl on the table, “Seriously, Hermione, I'm impressed - he's a natural gentleman!”

Hermione smiled but couldn't quite register why her mother looked so happy and amused when she sat down at the opposite side of Harry.

“So!” said Monica excitedly, beaming at the two. “Are you two going to save me all the trouble and tell me how and when?”

Her look from Harry to Hermione was eerily creepy, Hermione thought. What was going on?

“I guess I'll be asking,” said Monica, clearing her throat, “How long have you known each other?”

“Six years, mum,” said Hermione, dropping her suspicions as she filled her plate with mashed potatoes. “Harry and I met on the school train.”

“Wow…” said her mother in a tone of amazement, “So you two are that strong, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, taking a bite out of his lamb chop. “It's really been that long with all the things we've been through. Hermione here has been such a ray of sunshine.”

Hermione giggled. Her mother smiled broadly.

“Now isn't that sweet,” said her mother. “How did you start? - I mean, the two of you, of course!”

“Erm,” said Harry, “It's quite complicated, it began with, um, a troll -”

“Oh, of course it's complicated!” said Monica, laughing amusingly. “Everyone has a `troll' in their humble beginnings! It's natural that one starts theirs with that much complication!”

“Sorry?” Hermione asked, clearly bemused.

“Well, you know how great bonds start their relations with the wrong footing, Hermione.” Monica said sagely.

Hermione couldn't agree more. It was true… Harry and Ron didn't really like her to begin with….

“But let bygones be bygones,” said Harry sheepishly. “I mean, what matters is now, right?”

“Quite right, Harry,” said Monica, nodding. “Do you need anything to drink, by the way?”

“Erm,” said Harry, looking a bit shy. Hermione nodded to him for support. “D-do you have er - iced tea?”

“Iced tea?” Hermione and Monica said in unison, with the same modulation in their voices due to genetics.

“Er - if you don't have any, I'm fine with that -”

“Don't be silly, Harry,” said Hermione, recovering from the semi-trance, “I'll get one ready for you!”

“D-don't,” said Harry, “I-if it's too much -”

“Mum, do we still have iced tea?” Hermione asked, ignoring Harry.

“There's a pitcher in the fridge. Just like always,” said her mother, beaming at Hermione.

“Got it,” said Hermione, smiling at her mum as she stood up and walked past Harry, raking his hair lightly as she passed.

Hermione passed through the double swinging doors to the kitchen which was as tidy and white as the living room. Turning her attention to the refrigerator, decorated in numerous magnets, she took out the pitcher of iced tea and placed it on the kitchen counter.

“Glasses.” Hermione turned to the dishwasher to extract three glasses when she heard her mother enter the kitchen.

“Need help, dear?”

“I got it,” said Hermione, putting the three glasses on the counter then poured iced tea in them.

“He's a fine boy, Hermonica,” her mother suddenly said, leaning on the counter with her arms crossed while she beamed at her daughter.

“Mum, don't say that in front of him, please,” Hermione said, glancing at her mother. “Harry doesn't really know about that nickname….”

“I'm surprised, Hermione!” said her mother suddenly, “After all this time?”

“Always,” said Hermione, placing her hands on both ends of the tray. She caught her mother's engrossing smile again. “What?” she asked.

“Hermione, I have to tell you that it was only a few days when your father found out my nickname was `Mon-Mon'.”

Hermione cocked an eyebrow upward.

“And you're telling me this, why?” she asked slowly.

“Harry must know,” her mother nodded. “That way, you can show your openness to him.”

“H-Harry doesn't need to know that, mum,” said Hermione, turning to her, looking frantic, getting a little idea what her mother was on about. “I - I mean, he doesn't really open up to me that much -”

“Ah, Harry's a mysterious type?” said Monica, her eyes widened and she chuckled. “Oh, Hermione, you and your choices!”

Then it hit her like a brick on the head.

“Mum!” Hermione squeaked, turning red then approached to her as she spoke in a low and panicked voice. “W-what are you saying?”

Her mother looked at Hermione with confusion, “I'm saying what's obvious in your status now, Hermione.”

“What status, mum?” Hermione asked cautiously. “Are you implying that Harry is - is -”

It didn't take a rocket science to figure out what Mrs. Granger was implying. Hermione gulped and looked at her mother incredulously. Why would she impress on such a thing!?

“Hermione,” said her mother rather sternly with a tinge of defense, “isn't Harry your boyfriend?”

“Mum!” Hermione squealed. “What ever gave you that idea?!”

“Calm down, Hermione!” said her mother, raising her hands. “I mean, I didn't mind asking because you two gave me a heads-up physically -”

“Physically?” Hermione asked hysterically.

“You two were holding hands and looking quite romantic by the front door when I saw you two,” said her mother.

“We are not a couple, mum!” said Hermione, blushing all over. “H-Harry was j-just being nice!”

“Oh!” Monica turned pink, “Y-you m-mean, you two are not -”

“No,” said Hermione, covering her face with her hand, her voice was hushed and very high. “He's not my boyfriend - he's my best friend… and why is my voice like this?!”

“Oh, God,” said Monica, holding her chest, “I - I'm sorry, Hermione! I just thought you were - I was just so happy, I thought my daughter finally found -”

“I'm so sorry you got the wrong idea, mum,” said Hermione awkwardly, “No wonder you looked so strange awhile ago!”

“Well, I thought you would have one by now,” said Monica, “Not that you must have a boyfriend immediately - I mean, you're a pretty girl.”

Hermione winced uncomfortably. She wasn't too keen on discussing with her mother on how her love life was going….

“Mum, I think H-Harry needs his iced tea,” said Hermione quickly. She didn't want to discuss anything further.

“Of course, of course…” said Monica, looking embarrassed. “I - I will just - er - wash the dishes…”

Hermione left a glass of iced tea on the kitchen counter and took the tray of two glasses into the dining room where Harry was finishing his first serving of mashed potatoes.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked, his voice sounding a bit anxious, “I thought I heard - er - some arguing….”

“My mum and I weren't arguing,” said Hermione, putting the glass beside Harry's plate. “She's just expressing her positive energy of having you around the house….”

Keep things casual, Hermione….

“Oh,” said Harry sheepishly. “No offense, Hermione but your mother can be a bit - er - too nice.”

“Ha ha,” said Hermione, sitting beside Harry, “She's just happy about -”

She paused and remembered her mother's impression that they were a couple…

Oh, my Merlin… she thought that we started a relationship on the train….

“Are you alright?” Harry asked with concern.

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, “I - I'm fine, Harry… I'm just hungry, that's all.”

“Your voice is quite… high, Hermione,” said Harry pointedly.

Hermione cleared her throat.

“No it's not,” she said, her voice quite croaky than she intended it to be.

“Hey, don't be too fidgety,” said Harry, “I'm quite enjoying this,”

Hermione smiled but felt a bit taken aback when Harry grabbed her right hand and squeezed it briefly before he went back to his food. A trickle sensation crawled up her neck and tried to block every thought that her mother said.

“I - I need to go to the bathroom,” said Hermione, standing up. “Excuse me, Harry.”

Without another word, Hermione left the dining room and walked across the living room towards the bathroom that resided in a hallway beyond there… all the while she inadvertently placed her right hand under her nose to breathe in.

* * *

It took a while until Harry and Hermione to finish their lunch, the whole time they were just talking about the Weasley's trip to Romania and how it was going. Their topic switched from that to Hogwarts and Professor Raptor's mysterious koala bear.

“Where will I sleep, by the way?” Harry asked, emptying what's left of the pitcher of iced tea.

“We have a guest room,” said Hermione, pointing upward. “It's across my room.”

“The guest room will be limited in time use, Hermione,” her mother called from the kitchen as she went out of it while she wore yellow latex gloves.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Your cousins are arriving in two days, remember?” said Monica, pulling out her gloves then discarded them on the counter. “Harry can use it until then because you know how plentiful the family of your Aunt Glinda and Aunt Elphaba are.”

“So where will Harry sleep when they arrive?” said Hermione, looking at Harry then back to her mother, “He can't stay in the living room.”

“Of course he won't stay in the living room, dear,” then she smiled weakly, “He's going to stay in your room.”

Hermione's eyes widened. Hermione caught Harry's face at the corner of her eye; he was slightly pink. What was her mother thinking?!

“H-Harry, in my room? M-mum,” Hermione stuttered, trying to keep a casual tone, “wouldn't that be -” she made a glance at Harry, “inappropriate?”

“Well, you don't have to be in there in the same room,” said Monica apologetically, “You can always stay at the living room or you can stay with me and you father, Hermione. It'll be just like when they were here last time.”

Hermione bit her lip, and didn't dare herself to stare at Harry. Not that she didn't want Harry to be in her room it's just that… she had personal belongings there that she wished would remain secretive until she was ready to share them to anyone. She trusted Harry but she wasn't going take her chances….

“Er, we'll work something out,” said Hermione.

“I-If you want,” said Harry quickly. “I can stay in the living room, I don't mind, really.”

“Don't be silly, dear!” said Monica, “I bet Hermione will accept!”

“B-but -” Hermione stuttered.

“Hermione, dear, why don't you bring Harry to your room?” said her mother kindly, “I'll be quite busy to accommodate you all. I need to prepare a few things in the living room - remember, your cousins are arriving soon, you know!”

Without uttering another phrase, Hermione's mother left for the kitchen. Hermione stared at her and looked at Harry who smiled weakly.

“You really don't have to sleep in the living room, Harry,” said Hermione then winced, “But - er - look, maybe we -”

“I insist, Hermione,” said Harry, broadening his smile. “I mean, it's your room, I don't have any right to kick you out of it. Even if I'm the guest….”

“I know,” said Hermione, “Let us just worry about that when my cousins arrive….”

“Yeah,” said Harry, rotating his glass idly, “I think that would be the sensible thing to do.”

“I know,” said Hermione, feeling a little excited, “why don't I give you a little tour around the house?”

“Sure,” said Harry, standing up.

“Where do you want to start?” she looked up at her bespectacled friend.

“Your room,” he said simply.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry?”

“Your bedroom,” said Harry, “I always wanted to look at it….”

“Er…” said Hermione, feeling unusually uneasy. “…it's not really an eye-catcher -”

“So is mine,” said Harry, “and I've told you loads about my room so I was thinking that I should at least know about yours,” he smiled at her, “You hardly talk about your own Muggle home, Hermione. I'm interested.”

“Well, alright,” said Hermione, tentatively, “I - er… have to tell you though -”

“What? That you have your own skeletons in your closet?” Harry chuckled.

“No!” said Hermione, “I just want to say that you have to be extra careful inside my room. I have - er - very valuable possessions there.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry, “But can we go?”

“Sure…” said Hermione with uncertainty. “I don't think it would hurt to look into my room….”

The two finally set off for the stairs. After telling Harry about how the she nearly fell off the stairs when she was eight (“Don't worry, Harry, I turned out well in the end,” she said), Hermione led the way by taking the first step, she was already at the twelfth step when she turned to Harry.

He had paused on his steps to observe the pictures that lined along the walls by the staircase. Harry was looking at a picture of a little girl in a white dress holding a basket of flowers. Hermione blushed furiously when she noticed the picture was the one where she was the flower girl for her Aunt Glinda's wedding.

Hermione cupped her cheeks as Harry observed the girl in the picture; all clad in a lilac-colored dress, her bushy brown hair holding up a white circlet around the forehead, smiling a toothy grin that showcased her then-large front teeth.

“Gee, I wonder who this girl is,” said Harry sarcastically, smirking at Hermione.

“Oh, God,” said Hermione, blushing all over, as she took the picture frame away from Harry's eyes to see. “You shouldn't suppose to see that….”

“Why not?” Harry asked, crossing his arms, looking up at her with a gleam in his green eyes. “Frankly, I think you look adorable.”

This didn't help Hermione even further to stop herself from blushing. She placed a hand on her cheek and embarrassingly looked at Harry trying to find a reply to what he just said.

How do you reply to a guy who just called you adorable!?

And for the first time ever, Hermione couldn't find a reply… why was it so? Hermione thought. The fact that Harry complimented her looks was probably the first time he ever did so! (Well, he did say that he didn't think Hermione was an “ugly” person back in their fifth year, mind you)

“I…” said Hermione, finding her voice, “Er… thanks,” she said quietly and tore her eyes away from Harry.

Without a word, Hermione climbed up the staircase until they reached the landing.

“This is the second floor hallway,” said Hermione, waving her hand at the area. “Just follow me and we'll be in my room in no time.”

She giggled nervously and smiled at Harry, hoping that he'll look impressed. He didn't anything but a mere smile that showed that he liked the place… or at least that's what Hermione thought.

“I - it's not too much,” Hermione turned away from Harry and fiddled her fingers.

Why was she nervous? Was she actually thinking that Harry will identify her place to be pale in comparison to the Burrow? Hermione slightly glanced back and saw Harry looking at her. She quickly turned looked away and cleared her throat.

“This way,” she nodded forward and walked with Harry behind her.

Hermione led Harry to a left turn and around the corner there was nothing but a lone corridor with a window at the very end. Only two doors, one to the left and one to the right, graced the walls.

“That is my room,” said Hermione, pointing to the door to their right. “And that,” she gestured to the other door, “is the guest room.”

Harry nodded and Hermione bit her lip. Was he expecting some sort of magic to exude?

“Er,” Hermione turned and looked at her bedroom's door. “Let's go inside, shall we?”

“What's that?” Harry asked, pointing below.

Hermione followed his gaze, her eyes meeting the door's frame. The side of the door frame had some sort of scratched lines that were symmetrically etched from the lower parts of the frame to the top, etches stopping exactly where Hermione's height reached.

“That's...” Hermione bit her lip, feeling unusually timid, “...er.... every year,” she twiddled her fingers. “I know it will sound weird -”

“It's alright,” Harry smirked. “Go on, every year what?”

Hermione hesitated but said, “Every year... well, ever since I was seven, I would measure myself to see how tall I've grown...” she turned pink after saying this.

Harry smiled at her.

“Well, there hasn't been any progress this year, I guess.”

Hermione's eyes flashed a bit. Not that it mattered but it has come to her attention that people occasionally noted how short she was for an eighteen year old. She looked at the door frame and frowned that the line that was labeled “18 Years Old” was barely an inch away from her “17 Years Old” line.

“D-did I say something wrong?” Harry asked from behind.

“No,” said Hermione, turning to Harry as she smiled weakly at him. “You didn't say anything wrong... besides, people do think I am short.”

“I - I didn't mean it,” said Harry anxiously. “I was just teasing you!”

“It's alright, Harry.” Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulders. “Now come on, I'll show you my room... but under one condition.”

“Fire away,”

“Don't touch anything I tell you not to touch,” she said in a bossy sort of voice.

“Of course,” said Harry, grinning.

Hermione smiled sweetly at him and turned the doorknob slowly. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed the door open.

Hermione stood by the door and saw that Harry had his jaw slightly dropped to see the room before him.

“I - It's,” he stuttered, blinked and continued, “Pink.”

Hermione frowned and looked at her room. It was pink. From her bed sheets, to the wall that was draped with pink wallpaper that had tiny golden fleur-de-lis patterns and white molds that rested on the ground, and the pink stool.

Her dresser, however, was white and her closet doors had matching colors with the dresser. Hermione could see her reflection staring back at them at the dresser's large mirror which was framed with white wooden carvings.

“My mum did a little redecorating after I came home from my first year in Hogwarts,” said Hermione coyly. “S-she said it was a gift for me after having good grades….”

She looked at Harry nervously and smiled beautifully at him. Harry smirked back.

“For a second there, I thought you liked pink,” said Harry, “Not that I don't like it… I just find it surprising if it was you who chose it.”

“I'm not that of a pink person,” said Hermione, entering her room. “Besides, after the renovation, my room became more comfortable to sleep in.”

She sat on the foot of her bed that pointed the door.

“Come in,”

Harry came in and looked around the room with utmost curiosity. Hermione caught a huge grin on his face at the large bookshelf that sat on the corner of the room right beside her closet door. Not looking at him, Hermione drew circles on her bed, waiting for a response.

She looked up again to see Harry looking at her with a smile on his face.

Why is he smiling?

“Er…” she pursed her lips skeptically, “Like I said… it's not an eye-catcher.”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, walking up to sit beside her. “Your room just screams `Hermione' all over… I love it.”

Hermione giggled.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your bookshelf,” Harry nodded to the bookshelf. “That's very Hermione for me… I would be surprised if there wasn't a book here.”

Hermione smiled and turned to look at her books which were filled with titles ranging from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Little Prince, Of Mice and Men, and the like.

“As you can see,” said Hermione, turning to Harry, “I love books.”

“Surprising,” said Harry, chuckling.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, suddenly remembering it.

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me when you got your Hogwarts letter?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, shifting on his seat to look at Hermione's timid disposition.

“Erm…” she slid a finger on her cheek. “I mean, how did you get your letter from Hogwarts? I always wondered that….”

“Oh,” said Harry, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Well, it's a long story but to keep it short, the Dursleys weren't quite keen to give them to me….”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “They thought that if I didn't go, it could add to the magnitude of squeezing the magic out of me… but no, after escaping Privet Drive from a barrage of letters that entered the fireplace -”

“A barrage?” Hermione gasped.

“Yep,” said Harry, smirking, “We left Privet Drive, Uncle Vernon was beside himself. He drove us around places where he thought he could lose the letter from going to me. We ended up in a hut on the rock far from the mainland.”

“It was at the coast?”

“It was. Anyway, Uncle Vernon thought he finally got rid of the letters because he reckoned that the letters won't reach due to the storm that raged back then….” Harry grinned broadly. “He failed though. The letter did reach me, Hagrid saw to that.”

“Hagrid told me that he gave you your letter,” said Hermione.

“When did he tell you that?”

“He didn't say any details but he told me during our third year when….”

Hermione bit her lip and looked at Harry sheepishly.

“When what?”

“When… you know,” she nodded pointedly.

“Er…” Harry looked at her confusingly, “I don't get it.”

Hermione sighed.

“When… well, when we weren't talking to each other because of your Firebolt?”

Hermione felt a bit taken aback at how Harry turned suddenly pink.

“Remember it now?” Hermione asked.

“Y-yeah,” said Harry, turning away from her. “I - I do….”

There was an awkward silence. Hermione knew well that Harry was uneasy regarding their fallout from their third year when she cost him his Firebolt for a brief time. She reckoned Harry felt guilty that he was too harsh for being angry at her just because it's a broomstick.

For some reason, the fact that Harry was acting like this made her feel touched.

“Harry? Are you alright?” Hermione asked kindly at him.

“I - I'm fine…” said Harry anxiously. “Er….”

“Look,” said Hermione scooting over to him so that they were seated beside each other closely. “Whatever happened in our third year… it's alright.”

Harry didn't respond but he looked at her nervously.

“We were thirteen years old, Harry,” Hermione implored. “It doesn't matter now because we are still best friends, right?”

“I know,” said Harry, “I - I just couldn't help but realize how… unfair I was to you… I'm sorry.”

Hermione beamed, took his hand and squeezed it gently.

“As much as it sounds cheesy… best friends forever?” Hermione said calmly.

“Forever,” said Harry, squeezing her hand back. “So are you going to tell me how you got your Hogwarts letter?”

“Oh, sure,” said Hermione, releasing her grasp from Harry, “Just relax a bit because this will be one - er - strange story….”

“I'm all ears,” said Harry.

“Firstly,” Hermione explained. “I found it in a bunch of my father's letters.”

“Really? I found mine in a bunch of my uncle's letters,” said Harry, smirking.

“I know,” Hermione grinned back. “Anyway… to be honest, I found it quite strange that a letter with that much oddity was addressed to me. I really was reluctant to check it out.”

“Meaning?”

“I mean, to a wizard who knew about their heritage, it would've been normal but for a girl who knew nothing about magic… that would've been weird,” said Hermione, twiddling her thumbs.

“But did you read it in the end?”

“Yes,” said Hermione darkly.

The tone of Hermione changed at that last word. She concentrated at the floor and felt small waves of emotions circling around her. Her mind raced and recalled how reading that one letter changed everything… her gains and her losses.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” said Hermione mechanically, looking at Harry. “I opened the letter in the end and didn't quite take it in… so more letters came to me until a wizard from the Ministry came and told us about how I was a Muggle-born… a witch.”

A freak.

Hermione immediately stood up and felt her eyes turn hot. She blinked and blushed, realizing that Harry was there.

“H-Hermione?” Harry asked worriedly, walking in front of her, “Are you sure you're alright?”

Hermione looked at his shoes, not meeting his eyes, afraid that he'll see her watery eyes. She breathed and bit her lip as she pushed away the memory she wanted to forget.

“Yes,” she said casually.

Harry did not reply but she felt grateful he didn't press on another question. She looked up at him and saw he was smiling down at her warmly.

“I'm fine, Harry,” said Hermione, smiling back at him as she stepped forward to hug him around the torso. “I - I'm just… happy you're here….”

Harry felt startled but he wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her bushy brown hair.

“I'm happy too,” said Harry, sliding his hands from the top of her back to the middle part of it. “In fact, I can't wait to meet your cousins….”

“Yeah,” said Hermione, looking sideways, feeling Harry's chin on her head, “Me too….”

What Harry didn't notice was that by the tone of her voice, she probably didn't mean what she said… all the while as a silent tear nearly left her eyes.

* * *

It was the end of the day for everyone yet there were few people who did not end their day just yet… maybe the deserted schoolyard is a place of interest for us.

“Stop it!” Hermione cried, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Why would we, eh?” snarled Lyle, taking Hermione's book out of her reach. “Oh, lookie,” he opened the book in a derogatory manner. “What's this? Through the Looking Glass? What is this rubbish?”

“Give it back!” Hermione yelled angrily, stomping her feet on the ground of the schoolyard.

“Still the same as always,” said Dustin, sneering at her mischievously. “All you do is yell, yell, yell, Granger!”

“Don't break the book!” Hermione cried, walking towards them as she caught the sight of how Lyle violently turned the pages.

“'Ey look here Dus,” said Lyle, “There's pictures in here! What's this?” he squinted at the book stupidly, “Jabberwocky?”

“What's a Jabberwocky?”

“Give… that… back.” Hermione said dangerously.

“Or you'll what?” said Dustin, crossing his arms. “You're just a girl, you can't even fend yourself!”

“Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't do anything!” Hermione spat. “I will get that book.”

“You hear that, Lyle?” said Dustin, turning to Lyle, who was already flipping the book roughly. “Oooooh, Granger the Stranger will hurt us!”

“Fat chance!” sneered Lyle, laughing. “The only way she can fight back is to have friends! But you don't have any friends, do ya?”

Hermione couldn't take it in anymore. Tears fell down her cheeks as the sad reality hit her hard on the heart.

“T-take… that back….” Hermione said through sobs, her anger rising. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she clubbed her hands into fists.

“What you say?”

“T-take… that b-back….”

“Try us,”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” Hermione screamed.

“Ouch!”

Hermione gasped. Dustin fell hard on his back as if he was swept down by an invisible force.

“Dus!” Lyle said, dropping Hermione's book on the ground as he ran for his friend, “Are you alright - ARGH!”

To Hermione's surprise, a rubbish bin flew and hit Lyle on the back of his head. The two boys groaned in pain as Hermione's jaw dropped.

“Owww….” Lyle groaned.

Without knowing it, Hermione automatically grabbed her book and ran out of the schoolyard, feeling both scared and confused. It wasn't too long until she was near the parking lot that a car came up in front of her.

“Hermione!” It was her father. “Get in,”

Quickly, Hermione got in the car and without saying a word to her father, she dozed off into a sleep in the car until they reached home.

The little bookworm locked herself in her room where she paced around the room, thinking what just happened….

“Y-you're thinking too much, Hermione…” Hermione said to herself. “T-that was an accident! Wait -” she groaned. “I did not do that… impossible… I can never… lift things….”

She rubbed her temples that throbbed painfully. Hermione moaned and relaxed herself at her dresser where it acted like a desk when she studied. Turning on the lamp, she looked at herself at the mirror and saw the reflection of a bushy brown haired girl looking back at her. She looked healthy and quite neat with the way her uniform was buttoned up to her neck.

“You're not crazy, Hermione…” she whispered to her reflection. “You're just… angry….”

A surge of sadness erupted within her when she remembered what Lyle and Dustin said to her… how she could never have a friend by her side….

They don't know anything….

Feeling their words sink in, Hermione found it stupid of her to allow it to be so. A tear trickled down her cheek as she felt the sadness take over her. Hermione sobbed silently, putting her hands on her face, her elbows resting on the surface of her dresser.

“Why must I be like this?!” she sobbed in her hands. “I hate it!”

She stomped the dresser's surface with her hands and pounded on it some more as she cried. Everything she did was done without shame. Hermione cried so much for that the front of her uniform had a wet patch.

Mechanically, Hermione wiped her tears, undressed herself and put on her house clothes before flinging herself to her bed where she found herself in a world of dreams.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hermione, supper will be ready soon,” said her mother's voice beyond her closed eyes. “We'll expect you to be down.”

Hermione felt sleepy… she didn't reply to her mother but she knew she left as her footsteps were dying away. Feeling drowsy, Hermione hugged her teddy bear, Snuggles, and rubbed her head against her white fluffy pillow.

A few minutes later, Hermione forced herself to stand up for dinner. When she wiggled out of her bed, she looked through the looking glass to see her reflection's puffy eyes and dried tear lines on her cheeks. She looked at them for a long time and finally sighed.

“At least summer is here,” she croaked, trying to think of the first happy thought in her brain. “Hopefully… Johnny will come here… yeah, that will cheer me up….”

Nodding to herself, Hermione got out of her room, walked across the hall to the bathroom, washed her face (using a footstool to hoist her up to see the mirror) and climbed down to see her mum placing a plate of broccoli on the table.

“The mashed potatoes aren't ready, dear,” said her mother, acknowledging her presence.

Hermione didn't say anything but nodded. She turned to her living room and saw her father sitting on the couch, reading a magazine about dental care.

“Hermonica?” said her father, looking over the magazine. “Do you want to make a quick pound sterling?” he winked.

Her mood lightened at this and smiled at her father. She walked up to him and sat on his lap.

“I guess you want then!” said her father happily, putting his hand on her shoulder as he pulled a pound sterling from his pocket. He showed it in front of Hermione's face and smiled down at her. “It's all yours if you get me today's mail!”

Immediately, Hermione jumped off her father's lap and walked across the living room and into the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Mum, dad is looking for today's mail,” said Hermione, looking around the kitchen counter.

“Over there,” said her mother, as she cleaned three glasses, pointing at the end of the kitchen counter where a stack of letters were placed.

Hermione walked up to them and took them. Automatically, Hermione flipped the letters one by one as she slowly walked back to her father. She was already at the threshold of the archway between the living room and the dining room when she stopped on her feet at the last letter she saw.

Hermione Granger

Number Five, Yossarian Street, Yates Gloucestershire,

The Second Floor Bedroom

This was written in emerald green ink on top of a yellowish colored envelope. Hermione looked at it wonderingly. Who could send her a letter and address it directly to her bedroom?

She turned the envelope over to see it was sealed with a spot of candle wax that had a pressed-on seal of shield with a badger, a snake, a lion and a raven, all surrounding a large H.

“Hermonica?”

Hermione tore here eyes away from the letter to her father.

“Y-yes?”

“I gave you that pound sterling for a reason you know,” he smiled at her.

Distractedly, Hermione pocketed the letter in her shorts' pockets and walked towards her father to give him the letters.

“That's a good girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry for the request, your father has -”

“A sprained foot, I know, dad,” said Hermione, smiling at him. “Er… can you excuse me?”

“Sure,” said her father, going back to his magazine. “Remember, dinner will be ready soon.”

Nodding to her father one last time, Hermione slowly walked backward and turned on her heel immediately as she skidded to the bathroom. Hermione locked the door, turned on the light, put down the toilet lid and sat on it before examining the letter in her hands.

“Who could send this to me?” she asked herself quietly.

Hermione looked at the letter and felt a sense of foreboding around it. Should she open it? Was there some sort of evil inside it? She has heard of attempts of bad people who would put something dangerous in letters to attack other people… could this letter be one of them?

“Hermione? Are you in there?” her mother called from the outside.

“I - I'm coming!” Hermione replied back, standing up to flush the toilet to let her mother think that she was using the toilet.

She was quiet during dinner. Hermione just ate her meal, passed the food to her mother and father, and nodded to their questions or stare into space at the ceiling's reflection of the table's glassy surface.

“How was your last day of school, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded and smiled at her mother.

“Are you alright, dear?” she said, “It's quite strange for you to act this quiet when you usually tell us how your day was.”

“S-sorry,” said Hermione quietly. “I just feel tired, that's all….”

“Well, you deserve it, Hermonica,” said her father, “After all the effort you had shown us? Well deserved, indeed!”

Hermione grinned at her father and felt the letter under her pockets furtively. For a fleeting moment, she was about to show it to them and ask them about it. But out of instinct, she kept her hand away from the letter and finished what's left of her supper.

“You know, if you're lucky, your cousin Alice might come this summer,” her father said. “Your Aunt Elphaba is making plans to visit here.”

The brooding face of the little bookworm lightened.

“A-Alice is coming here?” she asked excitedly.

“Oh, yes,” said her mother, beaming at Hermione. “We thought you'd know it before they make confirmations,”

Hermione looked at her finished dinner and smiled. Alice is finally coming to see her! Oh, how all the fun will that be! Alice, her cousin Alice, come to stay here for the summer! A jolt of happiness and excitement overwhelmed Hermione that she couldn't take it anymore in holding down her smile.

It's been years since she saw Alice. Two years, was it? Hermione recalled all the good times they had in the family country house near the Forest of Dean. Hermione prayed that they can go to place this year since Alice is coming.

“Will her brother come?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“If Elphaba is coming then she is likely to take all of her children with her,” said her father. “My sister doesn't trust babysitters, mind you.”

“Oh,” said Hermione sadly but not quite due to the happy balloon in her tummy. “May I be excused?”

“Of course you may,” said her parents in unison.

After saying goodbye to them, Hermione left for her room and laid herself on her bed, feeling happier than an hour ago. She took out the letter from her shorts' pockets and looked at it for awhile.

Should she even bother?

Hermione scoffed at it and placed it on her dresser's drawer. She turned and picked up a picture frame showing a picture of two girls who had striking similarities to each other. The girl to the right was obviously Hermione, with her bushy brown hair and brown eyes being obvious by the light of the scenery in the picture. To Hermione's left was a girl sitting on a chair who had a very toothy grin showing her flawless teeth compared to Hermione's bucktooth ones.

This girl looked strikingly like Hermione except she had dark blonde hair, cerulean blue eyes and looked much prettier than her companion in the picture.

This was Alice.

“I hope this will be the best summer ever.” Hermione said, looking at the picture, a grin spreading across her face.

As she slept in her bed that night, with pleasant dreams of the potentially great summer, she had quite forgotten about the letter in her dresser the moment she woke up the next day unknown that five owls were perched on a branch just right outside of her room's window.

* * *

“What's that?” Harry asked, looking over Hermione's shoulder as he pulled away from their hug.

Harry must've missed it when he entered the room but behind the door (which was still open) was a wall decorated with numerous picture frames.

Hermione gasped as she put her hands over her mouth, seeing Harry approach the wall.

“D-don't go there!” Hermione squeaked as she run passed Harry and blocked him away from the wall of picture frames, her hands outstretched. “T-that's - that's -“

“Is that you in primary school?” Harry asked amusingly, pointing to a picture of a bushy brown haired girl wearing a school uniform. The young Hermione Granger wore a white long sleeved polo shirt, a long blue skirt that reached her ankles (barely showing her black shoes) and straps, which were attached to the skirt's waistline, on her shoulders making them like some sort of overalls.

Hermione winced and lowered her hands. She looked at her picture and nodded, not looking at Harry.

“T-that's me…” she said quietly. “I was that chubby back then….”

“Just the cheeks,” said Harry, walking pass her to examine the picture frames closely. “You look quite slim from here,” he pointed at the picture's subject's midriff.

“Thanks,” said Hermione, turning unusually pink. “Er, why don't we look around someplace else?”

“Who's this?” Harry asked, pointing to a picture frame at the corner.

The bookworm frowned at what Harry pointed at. She always wondered why it was still hanging up there….

“Who is he?” Harry asked, turning to Hermione.

The picture showed Hermione, albeit seven years younger, with a boy with jet-black hair and pale green eyes. They were both smiling at the front of the Granger's house, their arms around each other as if they were the best of friends.

“Just a random boy,” said Hermione, reaching for the picture frame, walking away towards her dresser, “I forgot his name,” she added, pulling a drawer out of her dresser and placed the picture frame inside.

“Oh,” said Harry, looking a bit concerned. “Er… was he a friend then?”

Hermione did not answer.

“I guess not,” Harry muttered awkwardly. “So… these walls….”

“What about them?” Hermione said, glad that they were changing the subject.

“They're pink,” he said randomly. Hermione knew that he thought he ticked her off with the picture so she smiled at him warmly to assure that she's tolerable with him.

“I know,” said Hermione, walking up to him, holding the pink wallpaper. “But like I said, I didn't redecorate… it was my mum who did.”

Harry chuckled and glanced at a picture while Hermione did not look.

The picture showed an eleven year old Hermione in a white shirt and denim overalls, smiling broadly as she held a sheet of pink wallpaper that looked identical to the wallpaper of her room. Harry noticed buckets of paint in the picture… he grinned broadly.

“I guess you didn't redecorate the room,” said Harry, grinning at her.

“Yeah,” said Hermione, nodding. “So… where do you want to go next?”

“How about your living room?” Harry asked. “Who knows, I might end up sleeping there so it won't hurt to take a look,” he added humorously.

“Very funny,” said Hermione, “But don't you like to see the guest room?”

“That can wait,” said Harry. “Shall we?”

“You go on ahead,” said Hermione, looking at her wall of picture frames. “I remembered something I wanted to look at among these.”

Harry nodded and left her alone in the room. When Harry's footsteps traveled beyond the walls and steadily silenced below, Hermione turned at her dresser's drawer then to her picture frames.

Some random boy….

Before she knew it, Hermione was in front of her dresser's drawer, extracting the picture frame she hid from Harry. She cradled the frame in her arms and looked at the picture of the two young children who were smiling up at her. Hermione smiled sadly at this and slid a finger at the pale green eyed boy, feeling an empty hole in her stomach as she did.

“Johnny…” she whispered quietly.

Knock, knock, knock.

Hermione jumped and turned around to see Harry smiling at her.

“H-Harry,” Hermione gasped, pushing the picture back to the drawer. “I thought you were down -”

“I know but I have to tell you that you're father arrived… and your mother said that he has brought home a special surprise for you,” said Harry with uncertainty.

Looking quizzical, Hermione closed the drawer and followed Harry outside of the room and downstairs to the living room where her mother was kissing her father who was by the door; a burly man around his mid-forties, his hair shared the same color as Hermione's and his eyes were like Hermione's.

“Dad!” Hermione said happily, running from the last step of the stairs to hug her father.

“Woah, there! Hermione!” said her father joyfully, as he pulled away to observe his daughter. “It's good to see you! You're still quite light! Have you been eating less in Hogwarts this year?”

Hermione smiled and kissed him in the cheek. She turned to see Harry hovering awkwardly by the stairs' railing.

“Daddy,” said Hermione, turning to her father. “You remember Harry, right?”

Her father squinted at Harry for awhile and smiled at her daughter.

“Of course I do, Hermonica,” said her father calmly.

“Hermonica?” Harry asked amusingly.

Hermione blushed furiously. Harry wasn't supposed to know! She gave her father a significant look before clearing her throat to turn to Harry and spoke.

“Y-yes,” she croaked. “T-that's my… pet name, Harry….”

Harry didn't reply but just smiled at her. Hermione smiled back and turned to her father.

“Harry is staying for the holidays, remember?”

“Of course I remember, Hermonica -”

“Dad -” she bit her lip, “'Hermione', please?”

Her father winked at her and repeated, “Of course I remember, Hermione,”

Hermione beamed at him.

“But before I get reacquainted by - er - Harry over there,” said her father, nodding to Harry in respect. “I,” he bent his knees and smiled at Hermione, “have a surprise for you!” he lightly touched the tip of Hermione's nose affectionately.

Hermione giggled.

“And what would that be, dad?” she asked politely.

Her father surveyed her with a look that showed mystery. Hermione tried to decipher it but she couldn't quite get what he was showing through his expression. Finally, he spoke.

“You remember Alice, right?”

Hermione's expression fell like thousands of Quaffles raining down from the sky. She stared at her father blankly as an indescribable emotion rose inside her heart.

“A-Alice,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded like an icy whisper.

“I knew you'd be stunned!” said her father happily, standing to full height. He turned to the door and called. “Alice!”

Then with all the anticipation in her, Hermione heard the sound of footsteps walking through the doors as girl, who was taller than her, entered the room, flipping her straight wavy snow flecked hair as she went.

Hermione felt her heart race unusually as her eyes fell upon the cerulean blue eyes of her cousin with her chocolate brown ones.

There was a ringing silence. Hermione's parents beamed at the two while Harry looked on in wonder and at shock at the similarities of Hermione and this cousin of hers.

“Hermione,” said Alice in a voice that had a slight of an American-accent mixed with British.

“Alice,” said Hermione darkly. “T-this is… quite surprising.”

“My mom was able to find a good schedule,” said Alice, glancing around the room. “I'm happy to be here,” she added with a slight of coolness in her voice.

Her tone sounded quite off for someone who wanted to express delightedness.

Hermione turned to her parents who were beaming at her. She has quite forgotten that they did not know about that incident.

“Pleasant surprise, mum, dad,” said Hermione casually to her father and mother.

Before she could register her parent's nods, she caught Alice looking over her shoulder; her eyes were show glints of intrigue.

“And who's he?” Alice asked in a trance-like voice.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry instantly walked forward in a slow pace until he was in front of Alice. He looked a bit nervous and he stretched out his hands to her.

“I - I'm Harry Potter,” said Harry, trying his best to smile. “Hermione's best friend.”

“Really?” Alice asked, reaching for Harry's hand to shake. “Wow…” she sighed dreamily at Harry's touch. “Quite - er - interesting, Hermione,” she added, her eyes still at Harry.

“Nice to meet you,” said Harry quickly, looking at Alice with awe. “I - I just arrived - er -”

“Alice,” Alice said, giggling slightly. “You can call me Alice,”

“Y-you can call me Harry,” said Harry, his face stretching to a broad smile.

Hermione shot them both looks, feeling confused. She turned to her mother and father, who were now in an animated conversation about how her father fetched Alice at the airport. Hermione turned back to Alice and Harry who were still shaking hands, giving looks of great interest in each other's eyes, both green and blue ones.

Then a feeling rose like a fire in Hermione as she felt the hatred of her cousin that has been burning for almost four years.

Oh, my God.

It occurred to her that not only her hatred came back… but now it occurred to her that history is about to repeat itself… almost four years in the making.

No one mourns the wicked, Hermione… no one does.

To be continued…

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