mickume/harry_potter_tiny · Datasets at Hugging Face

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Hermione, turning, looking to where the office doors had just closed. Standing before it, dressed in old, darned robed was Remus Lupin. Hermione jumped off the seat, running forward she threw her arms around Remus and hugged him close. "Are they safe?" She asked. "Is Harry—"
"They’re safe. Everyone’s safe. We even got a few Death Eaters. You did well, Hermione," he said, his hands coming to hold her back.
Hermione took a breath and then felt herself begin to cry.
Dreams of the Department of Mysteries plagued Hermione all Summer. She dreamt of its halls, of the moment she realised it was a trap––and how stupid she’d been not to see it––she dreamt of the Death Eaters, of that moment when she stared into Bellatrix Lestrange’s eye and believed that she was going to die.
She knew Harry was important and that meant that every moment with him was a risk; she knew and chose to remain his friends through every horrible, strange event that occurred through out the years. She’d braved the tests for the philosopher stone in their first year, faced a basilisk in the halls of Hogwarts (and was petrified!) in their second, followed after a madman in their third and helped Harry through all of the challenges in the fourth the best she could. None of that haunted her the way the Department of Mysteries did.
Every night she awoke in a cold sweat, remembering the prophecies, the coolness of the room before Death Eaters had appeared and they were running. Throughout it all, Hermione could remembering thinking that she wished she had tied her shoelaces up differently because one felt tighter than the other. It’d been such a stupid, ridiculous thought and yet it’d been there briefly as she had ran from the Death Eaters.
Turning on her bedside light, Hermione sat up and brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was clammy and there was a headache throbbing in the front of her skull.
Maybe a cup of tea would help.
Stepping out of bed, she slid into her slippers and edged her door open. From downstairs, she could hear the telly, playing what sounded like a murder-mystery show her mum liked to watch before bed.
Hermione tip-toed down the stairs, avoiding the old, creaky stair before she made her way into the kitchen. Turning on the electric kettle, she pulled out her favourite cup, the chamomile tea and the honey her mum kept in the back of the cupboard for her.
"I thought it was you."
Hermione turned, smiling at her mum. "Sorry, I was having some trouble sleeping."
"That’s okay, love. I wanted to check your dad wasn’t eating the leftovers from the fridge again."
Hermione gave a tight smile as she lifted the cup to the lips and blew over the rim. There was an ache in her chest, listening to her mum talk about things so casually. As if leftovers mattered.
All she could think of was––
––the Department.
She blinked, looking up at her mother. "Sorry, did you say something?"
Her mum’s face softened before she shook her head. "Are you alright, love? Did something happen at school?"
Hermione felt a lump raise in her throat before she shook her head. "It’s NEWTs this year," she explained, setting her tea down on the counter. "I’m worried that I won’t have the OWLs to get into the classes I want."
"Oh, darling," her Mum said, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug. Hermione felt her throat tighten as she hugged her mother, squeezing tight. "You are the brightest girl I knew. You could read before you started your first year of school. There’s not a single chance in this world you haven’t got the marks and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise."
Hermione hiccupped, a sob shaking through her. "I’m sorry," she said. "I’m so sorry."
"Never. You can always come to your mum when you’re worried or scared. Don’t ever feel like you can’t." Pulling back, her mother cupped Hermione’s head in her hands, wiping at her teas and smiled. "Your father and I love you so much. If by some one in a million chance you didn’t get the marks, that doesn’t change how much we love you. You will always be our bright girl. But I promise you, the owls will arrive and you will be top of the class, like you always are. Leaps and bounds over us muggles and witches alike, hmm?"
Hermione gave a soft laugh. "Thanks mum, I appreciate it."
"Always," she said, kissing Hermione’s forehead. "Drink your tea and get some rest, won’t you?"
"I’ll try," Hermione said, before picking up her tea and slipping past her mother through the doorway, up the stairs.
Over the last few years, Hermione had discussed Hogwarts less and less—keeping to discussions of her academic success (a topic she knew her parents could stomach). She spoke briefly of her friends (Ronald’s doing better in Transfiguration this year. Harry got a girlfriend this year...it didn’t last very long), but everything else she kept to her self.
When she’d been writing to Viktor, they had been excited to hear about his letters and learn of Bulgaria and other magical schools, but when those letters faded, so did those topics. Viktor was busy with his Quidditch career and Hermione had little time that she could speak of to write more than once every few weeks.
She’d been lying to her parents since her first year; if they’d known the truth, her parents would have panicked and pulled her from Hogwarts, no matter her protests, but each year it felt almost easier to keep it from them. Almost like she could live in the pretend world where the truth she told her parents was real. That all there was at Hogwarts was classes and friends, and everything about basilisks and werewolves and Death Waters was just...made-up stories.
She expected this summer to last a little longer before she went to the Burrow, but...everything at the Department told her otherwise. You-Know-Who was growing in power. He was angry about what had occurred and by being a friend of Harry’s she was in danger of being viewed as bait...or worse, a warning to Harry.
At least he no longer had Bellatrix as his right-hand, and from what Hermione understood, it was likely to remain that way. Though, she wasn’t certain as to what was to come of that.
After Remus had taken her back to Hogwarts to be looked over by Madam Pompfrey, Dumbledore had requested to speak with her and the conversation had left her with more questions than answers.
"Miss Granger, I appreciate that you came to speak with me."
"Of course, Professor. Was everything alright with Harry? I heard that..." she trailed off, a lump already growing in her throat. She’d heard of his fight with You-Know-Who.
"I noticed we have an extra student with us," Dumbledore advised, and a cold wash came over Hermione. "I know my brain is growing old, but I must admit I don’t recall ever seeing her before."
Hermione swallowed, fiddling with her robes. "It’s Bellatrix Lestrange," she admitted. "She...something...that is to say––"
"That’s quite alright, I’ve already spoken with Harry," he said. "I understand she fell through through a peculiar bell jar that retained a sort of time magic and regained her youth."
Dumbledore smiled, shifting behind his desk as he gestured to the candied lollies. "Would you like a sweet, Miss Granger?"
"Oh, ah, no thank you, sir." Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks, watching as Dumbledore reached for the bowl and began unwrapping a piece of what smelled to be a lemon boiled lollie before placing it in his mouth. "I’m sorry, if what I did was wrong. She saved me in the Department, and I don’t think that she’s herself, sir."
"No, I believe you’re right. Quick thinking on going to the Aurors, Miss Granger. It’s likely that you turned the night around with you actions. I believe Mr Potter and your friends have you to thank that they survived tonight."
Hermione wasn’t sure that was true. When she found out that the Order had already been on their way, it seemed the Aurors only added to the confusion. And yet...Sirius’ name was cleared. Everyone lived. The only thing better than that would have been if they had stopped Voldemort.
"I’ve examined Madame Lestrange. Her memories are, for better or worse, gone," Dumbledore advised. "I could not tell you if they would return or not, but so far she appears to be a young girl who is lost and scared."
Scared sounded like a stretch, in Hermione’s opinion, but Bellatrix had certainly seemed lost. Confused maybe.
"Sir...why am I here, if you’ve already spoken with Harry?"
Dumbledore gave a tight smile. "You mentioned she saved you? I was hoping you could advise what she did."
"She pushed me out of curse and countered it. I think...I think it was meant to kill me."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, thinking on it. "I wonder some days if evil is created at the conception of birth or if we become evil out of our pursuits."
"Or with how we’re treated. I don’t know what happened with Bellatrix, but if her story is like Sirius’, then–-it sounds like she had little choice."
"And yet, Sirius didn’t turn out like his cousin."
"Sirius is a man," Hermione countered. "Even in this world, witches are often viewed as second to wizards. And Bellatrix was the oldest sister, so she had more responsibility than either of her sisters to marry well, fulfil her duty for the House Black name and regain their honour." And there, Hermione flushed, "That is to say, I believe. I don’t know, of course. I just imagine that the Black Family wasn’t doing so well."
"You’re quite right, Miss Granger. I believe I forget how much harder the world is for my fellow witches, no matter how much progress we’ve made, I do not believe we’ve yet reached equilibrium." He gave a small sigh and shrugged. "It sounds as though you believe that Madame Lestrange deserve new beginnings."
"I know she’s done...horrible things, but if she’s forgotten...it doesn’t seem fair to punish her. That version of her may have died in the bell jar and the Bellatrix we see is new," Hermione offered.
"Your friend, Mr Longbottom may not agree with you."
Hermione felt the weight of the words hit her. She nodded, feeling her chest tighten as she thought of Neville’s parents in St Mungo’s. "We punish people to deter them from doing it again, or to deter others, sir. You can’t deter someone who doesn’t know what they did, especially if they were in a different state of mind, as I believe Bellatrix was. The girl I spent time with did not seem...at all like the woman from before."
"No, she’s not," Dumbledore stated, staring off far away. "I will think on what you’ve advised Miss Granger. I appreciate your advice."
Hermione had almost hummed at the idea of Dumbledore appreciating her advice, but in that moment, it had paled to everything he had said. Dumbledore had left her feeling uncertain. Did Bellatrix deserve a second chance? And who had a right into making that choice, either way?
Usually, she would believe the Wizengamot should have that authority, but after Harry’s trial she had more and more doubts with the Ministry. Did anyone have a right? Did she? Did Neville, or was the bias a hinderance rather than a right?
She wasn’t sure what Dumbledore had planned for Bellatrix, but after two weeks of Summer, he had sent an owl to her this morning, requesting if he could please, meet her for lunch tomorrow. She had agreed to meet at a cafe down the street, providing instructions to meet her there after 12.
Climbing into bed, Hermione sipped at her tea and flicked through her books. She knew an Order member was looking over her house, looking after her parents. She didn’t know how long that would last though, or what would happen if an actual Death Eater turned up, but she hoped that after Department managed to grab almost all but two of the Death Eaters, Voldemort would to be too badly affected to do anything for a while.
She remembered Sirius saying that last time, the Death Eaters had tried to recruit the dark creatures, like werewolves and giants. She hoped Dumbledore had a plan. She hoped the Order did––because with everything that had occurred, Hermione was certain that Voldemort would be throwing everything at them.
When she’d finished her tea, Hermione flicked her bedside table light off and slipped back under her blankets, staring at the dark of the room. Her mind buzzed with possibilities, before slowly, one by one, the thoughts quietened as she fell into sleep again.
The tea helped, quietening her dreams and as she drifted awake, only to roll over and fall asleep again, she made a mental note that if, in the future, she was permitted to go to Diagon Alley, she might pick up the ingredients to make a Dreamless Draught.
The following day, Hermione awoke and had breakfast. Her father sat before her, sipping his morning coffee as he looked over the newspaper, offering the odd smile. "Did you want to do the crossword today?"
Hermione gave a small chuckle. "Maybe tonight?" She asked. "After dinner."
He gave a nod.
"Are you alright?" Her mother asked, coming to press her hand to Hermione's forehead. "You look a little pale this morning. You're not coming down with the flu, are you?"
"No, mum. I told you, witches don't get the same illnesses as muggles."
"A witch flu then?"
"No," she assured, smiling up at her mother. "I stayed up late reading, that's all."
Her mother gave a pinched expression before nodding, taking her word for it as she sat down at the table with her breakfast and a notepad to make a list for the grocery shops. Hermione ate a few more spoonfuls of her breakfast before clearing her throat.
"I'm...a, meeting a friend for lunch. Up the road, if that's okay?"
"Of course it is. Did you need any money?"
"No, I have enough," Hermione assured. She still had some birthday money in cash that she hadn't transferred to Gringotts. As of late, she kept half of her money in muggle form in a box in her sock drawer and the other half in Wizarding form in a different box on her bedside table.
When she was eleven, her parents had opened up an account at Gringotts, to which the goblins had been very polite about, helping them to understand with more patience than the wizard teller at the bookshop had been. Goblins, at least, didn't quarrel with muggles, so as long as they followed the rules, they extended a curtsey to them.
Since then, Hermioneput, a small amount aside, and the scholarship Hogwarts offered for muggle-born students like herself. Last year, Professor McGonagall had directed her to post-Hogwarts studies and where she could write for further funds until she had a job. At the time, Professor Umbridge had cleared her throat, advising that "Miss Granger may not be eligible." But McGonagall had assured that many of her muggle-born students had received such scholarships due to far less academic success than Hermione.
Hermione had practically glowed with that compliment.
"Well, if you want to bring your friend back here, you can," her mother said. "It would be nice to have someone over for a change."
"I'll keep that in mind," she assured her mother, hiding her smile. The concept of the great Albus Dumbledore, here in her home, was enough to make her giggle. But perhaps he would like that.
Not as much as Mr Weasley would, though. Harry had mentioned that when Arthur had visited in their fourth year, he had been enraptured by their home and had many follow-up questions for him.
After breakfast, Hermione went upstairs and showered before dressing in plain jeans and a t-shirt. Pulling her hair up from her face, she wondered about changing into a skirt, or something else, before reminding herself that Professor Dumbledore was unlikely to think less of her for how she dressed.
Besides, if she left the house looking too lovely, her parents might misunderstand her "friend" as a "friend', and she would have to awkwardly explain that she was meeting her headmaster outside of school, which would create more lies upon lies as to why.
Sighing, she tugged at her shirt in the mirror and tried to ignore the knot in her stomach. Whatever reason Dumbledore wanted to meet her, Hermione was confident it must be important.
Packing her bag, she slid her wand inside, easily within distance to grab.
"Did you put sunscreen on?" Her mother asked.
"I did, and I've got a small bottle here," Hermione said, lifting the bottle to show her mother. "I've got the house keys, too."
Her mother smiled. "Well, your dad's going into the clinic. Mr Wellington's son broke a tooth. You can call the clinic if there's an emergency. Otherwise, I'll come home after running a few errands."
"Thanks, mum. I love you."
"Love you, too, Hermione," Her mother said, kissing her cheek. "Have a good day with your friend, darling."
"I will," Hermione said, feeling the ache pull at her heart. With a last smile, she left the house, closing the door behind her and left down the street.
Hermione had lived in the same house all of her life. Her mum had moved around a lot as a child and wanted stability. It made it easier that she and Dad had a clinic in town, but it wasn't that hard to sell the practice and open a new one somewhere else if they wanted to.
The area was a nice, quiet area. Up the road was Dennings Street, one of the main roads in their suburb that had a few shops, the post office and a cafe. She would be a bit early, but the sun was out, and it was nice to enjoy the summer while it was here.
Looking up and down, she wondered where the Order member might be hiding before heading up the street, bag on her shoulder.
"Hello, Hermione," Jack said from next door as he watered his plants. "How's school?"
"It's terrific," she smiled.
"Thinking about your future?" He asked.
She smiled, shifting sideways up the road to politely show that she was busy. "Yeah, I don't think I've settled on an idea yet. I've got next year before I have to make any decisions."
"Nick, you remember, Nick don't you?"
Hermione did. He'd been about five years older than her and used to let her borrow his books. He had entirely enamoured Hermione for a while until she realised that he wouldn't ever feel the same about her.
"He took a gap year before deciding what he wanted to study. You can always do that."
"Maybe," she said. "It was good to see you."
"You too, Hermione."

Hermione, turning, looking to where the office doors had just closed. Standing before it, dressed in old, darned robed was Remus Lupin. Hermione jumped off the seat, running forward she threw her arms around Remus and hugged him close. "Are they safe?" She asked. "Is Harry—"

"They’re safe. Everyone’s safe. We even got a few Death Eaters. You did well, Hermione," he said, his hands coming to hold her back.

Hermione took a breath and then felt herself begin to cry.

Dreams of the Department of Mysteries plagued Hermione all Summer. She dreamt of its halls, of the moment she realised it was a trap––and how stupid she’d been not to see it––she dreamt of the Death Eaters, of that moment when she stared into Bellatrix Lestrange’s eye and believed that she was going to die.

She knew Harry was important and that meant that every moment with him was a risk; she knew and chose to remain his friends through every horrible, strange event that occurred through out the years. She’d braved the tests for the philosopher stone in their first year, faced a basilisk in the halls of Hogwarts (and was petrified!) in their second, followed after a madman in their third and helped Harry through all of the challenges in the fourth the best she could. None of that haunted her the way the Department of Mysteries did.

Every night she awoke in a cold sweat, remembering the prophecies, the coolness of the room before Death Eaters had appeared and they were running. Throughout it all, Hermione could remembering thinking that she wished she had tied her shoelaces up differently because one felt tighter than the other. It’d been such a stupid, ridiculous thought and yet it’d been there briefly as she had ran from the Death Eaters.

Turning on her bedside light, Hermione sat up and brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was clammy and there was a headache throbbing in the front of her skull.

Maybe a cup of tea would help.

Stepping out of bed, she slid into her slippers and edged her door open. From downstairs, she could hear the telly, playing what sounded like a murder-mystery show her mum liked to watch before bed.

Hermione tip-toed down the stairs, avoiding the old, creaky stair before she made her way into the kitchen. Turning on the electric kettle, she pulled out her favourite cup, the chamomile tea and the honey her mum kept in the back of the cupboard for her.

"I thought it was you."

Hermione turned, smiling at her mum. "Sorry, I was having some trouble sleeping."

"That’s okay, love. I wanted to check your dad wasn’t eating the leftovers from the fridge again."

Hermione gave a tight smile as she lifted the cup to the lips and blew over the rim. There was an ache in her chest, listening to her mum talk about things so casually. As if leftovers mattered.

All she could think of was––

––the Department.

She blinked, looking up at her mother. "Sorry, did you say something?"

Her mum’s face softened before she shook her head. "Are you alright, love? Did something happen at school?"

Hermione felt a lump raise in her throat before she shook her head. "It’s NEWTs this year," she explained, setting her tea down on the counter. "I’m worried that I won’t have the OWLs to get into the classes I want."

"Oh, darling," her Mum said, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug. Hermione felt her throat tighten as she hugged her mother, squeezing tight. "You are the brightest girl I knew. You could read before you started your first year of school. There’s not a single chance in this world you haven’t got the marks and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise."

Hermione hiccupped, a sob shaking through her. "I’m sorry," she said. "I’m so sorry."

"Never. You can always come to your mum when you’re worried or scared. Don’t ever feel like you can’t." Pulling back, her mother cupped Hermione’s head in her hands, wiping at her teas and smiled. "Your father and I love you so much. If by some one in a million chance you didn’t get the marks, that doesn’t change how much we love you. You will always be our bright girl. But I promise you, the owls will arrive and you will be top of the class, like you always are. Leaps and bounds over us muggles and witches alike, hmm?"

Hermione gave a soft laugh. "Thanks mum, I appreciate it."

"Always," she said, kissing Hermione’s forehead. "Drink your tea and get some rest, won’t you?"

"I’ll try," Hermione said, before picking up her tea and slipping past her mother through the doorway, up the stairs.

Over the last few years, Hermione had discussed Hogwarts less and less—keeping to discussions of her academic success (a topic she knew her parents could stomach). She spoke briefly of her friends (Ronald’s doing better in Transfiguration this year. Harry got a girlfriend this year...it didn’t last very long), but everything else she kept to her self.

When she’d been writing to Viktor, they had been excited to hear about his letters and learn of Bulgaria and other magical schools, but when those letters faded, so did those topics. Viktor was busy with his Quidditch career and Hermione had little time that she could speak of to write more than once every few weeks.

She’d been lying to her parents since her first year; if they’d known the truth, her parents would have panicked and pulled her from Hogwarts, no matter her protests, but each year it felt almost easier to keep it from them. Almost like she could live in the pretend world where the truth she told her parents was real. That all there was at Hogwarts was classes and friends, and everything about basilisks and werewolves and Death Waters was just...made-up stories.

She expected this summer to last a little longer before she went to the Burrow, but...everything at the Department told her otherwise. You-Know-Who was growing in power. He was angry about what had occurred and by being a friend of Harry’s she was in danger of being viewed as bait...or worse, a warning to Harry.

At least he no longer had Bellatrix as his right-hand, and from what Hermione understood, it was likely to remain that way. Though, she wasn’t certain as to what was to come of that.

After Remus had taken her back to Hogwarts to be looked over by Madam Pompfrey, Dumbledore had requested to speak with her and the conversation had left her with more questions than answers.

"Miss Granger, I appreciate that you came to speak with me."

"Of course, Professor. Was everything alright with Harry? I heard that..." she trailed off, a lump already growing in her throat. She’d heard of his fight with You-Know-Who.

"I noticed we have an extra student with us," Dumbledore advised, and a cold wash came over Hermione. "I know my brain is growing old, but I must admit I don’t recall ever seeing her before."

Hermione swallowed, fiddling with her robes. "It’s Bellatrix Lestrange," she admitted. "She...something...that is to say––"

"That’s quite alright, I’ve already spoken with Harry," he said. "I understand she fell through through a peculiar bell jar that retained a sort of time magic and regained her youth."

Dumbledore smiled, shifting behind his desk as he gestured to the candied lollies. "Would you like a sweet, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, ah, no thank you, sir." Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks, watching as Dumbledore reached for the bowl and began unwrapping a piece of what smelled to be a lemon boiled lollie before placing it in his mouth. "I’m sorry, if what I did was wrong. She saved me in the Department, and I don’t think that she’s herself, sir."

"No, I believe you’re right. Quick thinking on going to the Aurors, Miss Granger. It’s likely that you turned the night around with you actions. I believe Mr Potter and your friends have you to thank that they survived tonight."

Hermione wasn’t sure that was true. When she found out that the Order had already been on their way, it seemed the Aurors only added to the confusion. And yet...Sirius’ name was cleared. Everyone lived. The only thing better than that would have been if they had stopped Voldemort.

"I’ve examined Madame Lestrange. Her memories are, for better or worse, gone," Dumbledore advised. "I could not tell you if they would return or not, but so far she appears to be a young girl who is lost and scared."

Scared sounded like a stretch, in Hermione’s opinion, but Bellatrix had certainly seemed lost. Confused maybe.

"Sir...why am I here, if you’ve already spoken with Harry?"

Dumbledore gave a tight smile. "You mentioned she saved you? I was hoping you could advise what she did."

"She pushed me out of curse and countered it. I think...I think it was meant to kill me."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, thinking on it. "I wonder some days if evil is created at the conception of birth or if we become evil out of our pursuits."

"Or with how we’re treated. I don’t know what happened with Bellatrix, but if her story is like Sirius’, then–-it sounds like she had little choice."

"And yet, Sirius didn’t turn out like his cousin."

"Sirius is a man," Hermione countered. "Even in this world, witches are often viewed as second to wizards. And Bellatrix was the oldest sister, so she had more responsibility than either of her sisters to marry well, fulfil her duty for the House Black name and regain their honour." And there, Hermione flushed, "That is to say, I believe. I don’t know, of course. I just imagine that the Black Family wasn’t doing so well."

"You’re quite right, Miss Granger. I believe I forget how much harder the world is for my fellow witches, no matter how much progress we’ve made, I do not believe we’ve yet reached equilibrium." He gave a small sigh and shrugged. "It sounds as though you believe that Madame Lestrange deserve new beginnings."

"I know she’s done...horrible things, but if she’s forgotten...it doesn’t seem fair to punish her. That version of her may have died in the bell jar and the Bellatrix we see is new," Hermione offered.

"Your friend, Mr Longbottom may not agree with you."

Hermione felt the weight of the words hit her. She nodded, feeling her chest tighten as she thought of Neville’s parents in St Mungo’s. "We punish people to deter them from doing it again, or to deter others, sir. You can’t deter someone who doesn’t know what they did, especially if they were in a different state of mind, as I believe Bellatrix was. The girl I spent time with did not seem...at all like the woman from before."

"No, she’s not," Dumbledore stated, staring off far away. "I will think on what you’ve advised Miss Granger. I appreciate your advice."

Hermione had almost hummed at the idea of Dumbledore appreciating her advice, but in that moment, it had paled to everything he had said. Dumbledore had left her feeling uncertain. Did Bellatrix deserve a second chance? And who had a right into making that choice, either way?

Usually, she would believe the Wizengamot should have that authority, but after Harry’s trial she had more and more doubts with the Ministry. Did anyone have a right? Did she? Did Neville, or was the bias a hinderance rather than a right?

She wasn’t sure what Dumbledore had planned for Bellatrix, but after two weeks of Summer, he had sent an owl to her this morning, requesting if he could please, meet her for lunch tomorrow. She had agreed to meet at a cafe down the street, providing instructions to meet her there after 12.

Climbing into bed, Hermione sipped at her tea and flicked through her books. She knew an Order member was looking over her house, looking after her parents. She didn’t know how long that would last though, or what would happen if an actual Death Eater turned up, but she hoped that after Department managed to grab almost all but two of the Death Eaters, Voldemort would to be too badly affected to do anything for a while.

She remembered Sirius saying that last time, the Death Eaters had tried to recruit the dark creatures, like werewolves and giants. She hoped Dumbledore had a plan. She hoped the Order did––because with everything that had occurred, Hermione was certain that Voldemort would be throwing everything at them.

When she’d finished her tea, Hermione flicked her bedside table light off and slipped back under her blankets, staring at the dark of the room. Her mind buzzed with possibilities, before slowly, one by one, the thoughts quietened as she fell into sleep again.

The tea helped, quietening her dreams and as she drifted awake, only to roll over and fall asleep again, she made a mental note that if, in the future, she was permitted to go to Diagon Alley, she might pick up the ingredients to make a Dreamless Draught.

The following day, Hermione awoke and had breakfast. Her father sat before her, sipping his morning coffee as he looked over the newspaper, offering the odd smile. "Did you want to do the crossword today?"

Hermione gave a small chuckle. "Maybe tonight?" She asked. "After dinner."

He gave a nod.

"Are you alright?" Her mother asked, coming to press her hand to Hermione's forehead. "You look a little pale this morning. You're not coming down with the flu, are you?"

"No, mum. I told you, witches don't get the same illnesses as muggles."

"A witch flu then?"

"No," she assured, smiling up at her mother. "I stayed up late reading, that's all."

Her mother gave a pinched expression before nodding, taking her word for it as she sat down at the table with her breakfast and a notepad to make a list for the grocery shops. Hermione ate a few more spoonfuls of her breakfast before clearing her throat.

"I'm...a, meeting a friend for lunch. Up the road, if that's okay?"

"Of course it is. Did you need any money?"

"No, I have enough," Hermione assured. She still had some birthday money in cash that she hadn't transferred to Gringotts. As of late, she kept half of her money in muggle form in a box in her sock drawer and the other half in Wizarding form in a different box on her bedside table.

When she was eleven, her parents had opened up an account at Gringotts, to which the goblins had been very polite about, helping them to understand with more patience than the wizard teller at the bookshop had been. Goblins, at least, didn't quarrel with muggles, so as long as they followed the rules, they extended a curtsey to them.

Since then, Hermioneput, a small amount aside, and the scholarship Hogwarts offered for muggle-born students like herself. Last year, Professor McGonagall had directed her to post-Hogwarts studies and where she could write for further funds until she had a job. At the time, Professor Umbridge had cleared her throat, advising that "Miss Granger may not be eligible." But McGonagall had assured that many of her muggle-born students had received such scholarships due to far less academic success than Hermione.

Hermione had practically glowed with that compliment.

"Well, if you want to bring your friend back here, you can," her mother said. "It would be nice to have someone over for a change."

"I'll keep that in mind," she assured her mother, hiding her smile. The concept of the great Albus Dumbledore, here in her home, was enough to make her giggle. But perhaps he would like that.

Not as much as Mr Weasley would, though. Harry had mentioned that when Arthur had visited in their fourth year, he had been enraptured by their home and had many follow-up questions for him.

After breakfast, Hermione went upstairs and showered before dressing in plain jeans and a t-shirt. Pulling her hair up from her face, she wondered about changing into a skirt, or something else, before reminding herself that Professor Dumbledore was unlikely to think less of her for how she dressed.

Besides, if she left the house looking too lovely, her parents might misunderstand her "friend" as a "friend', and she would have to awkwardly explain that she was meeting her headmaster outside of school, which would create more lies upon lies as to why.

Sighing, she tugged at her shirt in the mirror and tried to ignore the knot in her stomach. Whatever reason Dumbledore wanted to meet her, Hermione was confident it must be important.

Packing her bag, she slid her wand inside, easily within distance to grab.

"Did you put sunscreen on?" Her mother asked.

"I did, and I've got a small bottle here," Hermione said, lifting the bottle to show her mother. "I've got the house keys, too."

Her mother smiled. "Well, your dad's going into the clinic. Mr Wellington's son broke a tooth. You can call the clinic if there's an emergency. Otherwise, I'll come home after running a few errands."

"Thanks, mum. I love you."

"Love you, too, Hermione," Her mother said, kissing her cheek. "Have a good day with your friend, darling."

"I will," Hermione said, feeling the ache pull at her heart. With a last smile, she left the house, closing the door behind her and left down the street.

Hermione had lived in the same house all of her life. Her mum had moved around a lot as a child and wanted stability. It made it easier that she and Dad had a clinic in town, but it wasn't that hard to sell the practice and open a new one somewhere else if they wanted to.

The area was a nice, quiet area. Up the road was Dennings Street, one of the main roads in their suburb that had a few shops, the post office and a cafe. She would be a bit early, but the sun was out, and it was nice to enjoy the summer while it was here.

Looking up and down, she wondered where the Order member might be hiding before heading up the street, bag on her shoulder.

"Hello, Hermione," Jack said from next door as he watered his plants. "How's school?"

"It's terrific," she smiled.

"Thinking about your future?" He asked.

She smiled, shifting sideways up the road to politely show that she was busy. "Yeah, I don't think I've settled on an idea yet. I've got next year before I have to make any decisions."

"Nick, you remember, Nick don't you?"

Hermione did. He'd been about five years older than her and used to let her borrow his books. He had entirely enamoured Hermione for a while until she realised that he wouldn't ever feel the same about her.

"He took a gap year before deciding what he wanted to study. You can always do that."

"Maybe," she said. "It was good to see you."

"You too, Hermione."