The sound of the front door crashing open and immediately slamming shut caught the couple by surprise. Helen Granger looked up from her crossword just in time to see a mass of brown, bushy hair flash past the open living room door and disappear upstairs, sobbing loudly as it went. She sighed and looked over at her husband, whose expression flashed from astonishment to concern and then to anger in only a few moments.
“I’ll go,” Helen said, waving her husband back into his seat
as she lifted herself from her comfortable chair.
“I’ll bet it’s that damn boy again.” Richard Granger
growled. “This is the third time this week. If I ever get my hands on him…”
Helen didn’t respond verbally, but the expression on her
face made it clear she agreed.
She climbed the stairs, knowing there was only one reason
Hermione would be in a state like this, and that Richard would have guessed
correctly. She had, of course, sat and comforted her daughter after each of
these sudden, weepy returns to the family home, and listened to what Hermione
had to say about the arguments, her broken words coming between tears.
Hermione had been tight-lipped about her boyfriend’s
identity; she’d tried to arrange dinners and get-togethers to formally
introduce them to each other, but time after time, for one reason or another,
those events had been cancelled. Helen assumed it had to be either Harry or Ron
as they were the only boys her daughter had ever mentioned in her letters home
from school – it had been inevitable that she’d eventually begin a relationship
with one of them and, based on those letters, she’d hoped for one outcome but
was almost certain it was the other. She snorted in derision at the idea that
what Hermione was experiencing could even be labelled a ‘relationship’, but all
she could do was hope that her brilliant daughter, so clever when it came to
academics, would finally understand that relationships were not supposed to be
so full of tears and anger.
Their own relationship with Hermione had been strained for a
while following their return to England from Australia, but with time ticking
away before Hermione’s final year at Hogwarts, the family had been making a
concerted effort to heal the rifts in that relationship. As difficult as it had
been to accept the fact that their daughter had wiped their memories of her and
sent them away without their agreement, both Helen and Hermione’s father,
Richard, had come to understand the gravity of the situation and what would
have likely happened to them if their presence in their hometown had been
discovered by those who would wish to do them harm. As Richard pointed out,
after allowing some time for their emotions to cool, he would likely have done
something similar to protect his family if he were able, so it would be
hypocritical of him to hold it against Hermione.
Pausing as she reached the landing, she cocked her head to
one side in consideration. Was hoping truly all she could do? She tried
not to involve herself in her daughter’s love life, instead allowing Hermione
to make her own decisions (Helen found herself not trying very hard to avoid
adding ‘and mistakes’ to that thought).
Perhaps it was time to break a promise she and Richard had made years before.
Hermione’s sudden gut-wrenching sob from behind the closed
door of her bedroom made up Helen’s mind for her. She strode into the room she
and Richard shared, then pulled open the wardrobe and extracted several
shoeboxes from within. Turning, she made her way back to her daughter’s room,
where she balanced the boxes in one hand and gently tapped on the door, softly
calling, “Hermione? I’m coming in, sweetheart.”
Helen opened the door and stepped into the room. The
bookshelves that lined the walls were crammed with Hermione’s books, the
magical ones that needed to be kept out of sight of visitors, and those that
Helen was more familiar with – works by Austen, Dickens, Shakespeare and Brontë
were sat alongside others by Tolkien, Dahl, Steinbeck and, perhaps surprisingly
to those who didn’t know Hermione well, Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett. She
turned slowly, taking in Hermione’s perfectly ordered room until her gaze
landed upon her daughter, curled up in a ball on the bed, shuddering slightly
as her cries, which had quietened once Helen opened the door, shook her
shoulders.
She placed the shoeboxes on Hermione’s desk and sat on the
bed, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder and almost
jumped in surprise as Hermione sat up without warning and threw herself into
her mother’s embrace, her cries gaining in volume once more.
For a few minutes, they simply sat together, Hermione crying
with her head on Helen’s chest while Helen rubbed small circles on her back and
made calming shushing noises. Eventually, Hermione lifted her head and looked
at her mother, her eyes puffy and red and tear tracks evident on her cheeks.
She wiped her eyes, still sniffing, looked down at her carpet, almost afraid to
meet her mother’s eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Helen asked sympathetically.
Hermione nodded and began to tell her about what had upset her so badly when
she finally let slip the name Helen had expected but was disappointed to hear.
“I don’t know what to do, Mum! I like Ron…” She stopped talking abruptly and
looked up at her mother, who tried to hide the grimace on her face, but,
despite the rapidity with which Helen schooled her features, it was too late.
Hermione’s shoulders slumped and she pulled away from her mother and lay back
down on the bed.
“Hermione… sweetheart,” Helen said gently. “I’m not going to
tell you what to do; it’s your life, and you need to live it how you want to.”
Hermione turned slightly so she could see her mother out of the corner of her
eye. “I’ll always be happy to talk to you about anything you want, but if I can
give you some advice? Take some time and truly think about what you want.” She gestured now to the shoeboxes on
Hermione’s desk. “I kept every letter you wrote to us from school. They’re in
those boxes. Read them, I honestly think it will help.”
Helen bent over and kissed Hermione’s forehead. “I’ll call
you when it’s time for dinner, OK?” She lovingly ran her hand over Hermione’s
hair, then stood and walked quietly from the room, closing the door behind her.
Hermione stared at the boxes on her desk, then slowly sat up
and reached for the box on top. Sitting up, she pulled a tissue from the box on
her bedside table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She sat with her back
against the headboard of her bed and lifted the lid of the box. Picking up the first
letter, she began to read.
Sunday 1st September 1991
Dear Mum and Dad,
I’ve arrived safely at
Hogwarts!
The train journey was
OK but very long – on the plus side, I did get to read a lot (stop laughing,
Dad!).
I sat with a boy
called Neville and helped him look for his pet toad, which had gotten loose. We
didn’t have any luck finding it on the train, but I did get to meet more of the
other students in my year. Most of them seemed nice, but there were a few that
turned their noses up at me – I’m hoping they will be friendlier once we start
our lessons. One of the boys I met was trying to do a spell that his brothers
had given him to turn his rat yellow. It didn’t sound like any of the spells
I’ve read about and it didn’t work, but he didn’t look very happy when I
explained that to him. He was sitting with Harry Potter, though! I told him I’d
read all about him, but he seemed surprised that he was in any books. He didn’t
seem comfortable with the thought of being famous. His glasses were all broken
as well – they had Sellotape wrapped around the bridge to stop them from falling
apart, so I fixed them for him with the ‘Reparo’ spell. He seemed grateful and
thanked me, but he seemed… nervous. Not at all how I expected him to be based
on what I’d read.
Anyway! When we
arrived at Hogwarts, we were met by this giant man – I heard Harry say his name
was Hagrid. He’s absolutely enormous and I was a little scared of him, but
Harry seemed to be quite happy talking to him so perhaps he’s not that scary
after all…
We all got in these
little boats, which took us across a lake to the castle. It was incredible
seeing it all lit up at night! I wish I could have taken a photo so I could
have shared it with you.
When we got inside, we
had to wait to be sorted into our houses. Professor McGonagall took us into a
small room to wait and it was good to finally see someone I recognised. While
we were waiting though, someone screamed and when we turned around, ghosts were
floating through the wall and chatting amongst themselves. Ghosts! Actual
ghosts! It turns out each house has its own ghost, but there are loads more –
including a poltergeist called Peeves. We met him after the feast and he threw
a load of walking sticks at us when we were heading up to our tower.
When Professor
McGonagall came back, she led us all into the hall. It was incredible – the
ceiling enchantment was just how we read in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ and all the
older students sat in their houses on these tables that ran the length of the
hall. Before the sorting, Professor McGonagall put a battered old hat on a
stool, and the hat sang a song(!) about the qualities of the different houses:
Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are loyal, Ravenclaws are brainy, and
Slytherins are ambitious. I think it’s a bit unfair to say someone is one of
these things more than the others – why can’t someone be all four equally?
Eventually, it was my
turn to be sorted. When I put the hat on, I could hear it speaking inside my
head. I had so many questions,
but the hat just chuckled in my mind and asked me to be patient. It wasn’t sure
where to put me at first. It said I could have been in any of the four houses,
but in the end, it settled on Gryffindor. I was a little surprised at first. I
don’t really think I’m all that brave, but I suppose entering a new world of
magic and stepping away from what I’ve known my whole life takes courage.
The three boys from
the train – Neville, Harry and Ron (the one trying the spell that didn’t work)
– were all sorted into Gryffindor too. We were joined by two more boys, Dean
and Sheamus, and four more girls: Lavender, Parvati, Fay and Sally-Anne.
Lavender and Parvati spent the night giggling and behaving very sillily, but
Fay and Sally-Anne are quite quiet and withdrawn. I’m hoping we’ll get on well
as we’ll be sharing a dorm room for the next seven years!
Anyway, I’m heading to
bed now as we need to be up early tomorrow for breakfast and to get our class
schedules! I’ll write again tomorrow and let you know how my first lessons went
and more about Gryffindor Tower.
I love you both and
miss you already.
All my love,
Hermione x
Hermione sighed and a small smile teased her lips. She
thought back to her first year and about how eager to learn she had been. That
desire to learn hadn’t gone away, but the way she expressed it had been
tempered over the years. Her smile turned sad as she thought of the trials that
were to come and those people who would be lost along the way. She placed the
letter carefully to the side and picked up the next one in the pile.
Over the next half an hour, she read all about her first
year. She felt once more the disappointment and sadness that was evident in her
letters as she realised that the loneliness and unhappiness that had plagued
her in primary school had followed her to the magnificent old castle in
Scotland, before the rising joy of discovering the companionship of Harry and
Ron. She’d fully detailed the incident with the troll at Halloween – an
agreement she’d made with her parents when they’d allowed her to attend Hogwarts;
to never hide anything from them, regardless of the situation –and she
remembered the concern that had radiated in her parent’s response to that
event, and the overwhelming delight they’d expressed that she’d found
friendship at last.
She read about Harry’s first Quidditch match. About Hagrid
and Norbert and their detention in the Forbidden Forest, and the alienation
she, Harry and Neville had experienced following their loss of a hundred and
fifty House points. About their search for Nicholas Flamel and finally, about
the battle through the traps to save the Philosophers Stone and Gryffindor’s
triumph in the House Cup following their last-minute points haul. Hermione
remembered well the conversation with her parents when she got home. They’d not
been happy with the danger Hermione had been in throughout the year and it was
only Hermione’s happiness and the threat of what the Ministry would do if they
pulled her from the school that stopped them from doing so.
Placing the bundle of first-year letters to one side,
Hermione leaned back and allowed the memories of a simpler time to wash over
her. She’d never told either of her friends, but before they’d rescued her from
the troll on that Halloween night, she’d seriously considered asking her
parents if she could come home. She’d been utterly miserable and painfully
aware that her support system – her parents – was hundreds of miles away. That,
of course, all changed when the messy-haired, bespectacled boy and his lanky,
ginger friend saved her in that girls’ bathroom. Sure, she’d lied to the
Professors about what had happened, but she had finally made some friends.
What made her feel most uncomfortable though, were the
repeated mentions in those letters of how Ron had upset her, argued with her,
and made her cry, especially in the early days of the year.
Hermione reached for the next box in the pile and opened it
to reveal another stack of letters. The first letter of her second year was
lengthy by anyone's standards, as she spent three whole pages lambasting her
friends for being so foolish as to fly a car from London to Hogwarts. She
quickly read through several more letters, each with brief updates on her
schoolwork and how Harry and Ron were getting on before she came to Halloween,
the Deathday Party, and the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets.
Saturday 31st October 1992
Dear Mum and Dad,
Sorry for not writing
sooner. Things are starting to get busier here now as we’re starting to look at
more advanced spells. I’ve been reading ahead (stop laughing, Dad!), and I
can’t wait to try out some of the things I’ve read about!
Things are moving fast
here. I’ve started looking into the electives that are available for me to take
next year – there are so many interesting options! I wonder if I could take
them all? I think I’ll speak to Professor McGonagall – I’d hate to miss something
interesting because I couldn’t try it. Perhaps they should run taster lessons
so students can see what the courses are about? I’ll bring it up when I speak
to her.
Anyway – I know you’ll
want to hear what the boys have been up to. There was a problem at the
Quidditch pitch the other day when the Slytherin team tried to take over during
Harry’s practice. Ron and I had gone down to watch when the Slytherins stormed
onto the field and claimed they had permission to use the pitch to train their
new Seeker (the same position that Harry plays for Gryffindor) – that awful
Malfoy boy I told you about who is always rude to me and tries to get Harry and
Ron into trouble. Anyway, Malfoy called me a foul name (mudblood – I found out
later it’s a horrible name for Muggleborns) and Ron tried to curse him with a
spell that would make him vomit slugs. The problem is that Ron’s wand is broken
and the spell backfired, hitting him instead! It’s probably for the best –
Malfoy’s father is on the Board of Governors and Ron could have been in serious
trouble if his curse had hit properly. It was nice of him to try and stand up
for me, but Harry and I did have to put up with him clinging onto a bucket for
the next few hours – it was revolting! I know you’re probably wondering where
Harry was during all this – he was right by my side, standing up for me as
well, even though he didn’t know what the word meant either. He was furious
when he found out. His mum was Muggleborn like me and he told me he hates the
way some of the ‘purebloods’ (witches or wizards whose parents and grandparents
were witches and wizards as well) treat Muggleborns like they’re somehow
unworthy. Not all ‘purebloods’ seem to think that way – Neville, for example-;
there just seems to be a vocal minority.
Tonight, we have the
Halloween feast, but Harry, Ron and I won’t be attending. Harry managed to get
an invitation to Sir Nicholas’ Deathday Party! Apparently, ghosts from all over
the country are going to be there to mark the day of Sir Nicholas’ death. I can
imagine that very few people alive have been invited to one of these parties;
it’s going to be fascinating!
I do promise that I’ll
try to keep out of the way of any loose trolls this year, but I’ll have Harry
and Ron with me this time, keeping an eye out too.
It’s almost time to
head to the party now, so I’ll write again soon and tell you all about it.
All my love,
Hermione x
Mum and Dad,
I know this is only a
short note and I’ll send you more details in my next letter, but on the way
back from the Deathday Party this evening, Harry kept saying he could hear a
voice that Ron and I couldn’t hear. He chased after it and we followed and
found Mrs Norris (the cat that belongs to Mr Filch, the caretaker) frozen and
hanging from one of the torch brackets. Someone had painted a message on the
wall, too. It said, ‘THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE
HEIR, BEWARE.’ Before we could do anything or try to help though, loads of the
other students caught up to us as they left the Great Hall – now they all think
Harry has something to do with it as Mr Filch accused him of it. He didn’t
though! He was with Ron and I all evening!
The Professors removed
Mrs Norris from the bracket and Professor Dumbledore said she’d been petrified
and wasn’t dead (which was a relief - Mrs Norris isn’t the nicest of cats but
I’d never want any animal to come to harm). The Professors questioned us, but
Harry didn’t say anything about hearing the voices – I think he was really
worried about what they would say. Ron thinks it’s for the best as he said
hearing voices isn’t normal even in the Wizarding World, but I think he should
speak to someone. What do you think?
I’m going to head to
bed now – I’m almost falling asleep as I write this. I just wanted to add this
before sending the letter off.
I’m going to head to
the library in the morning to see if I can find out more about the Chamber, but
I’ll be careful and try to keep the boys out of trouble!
All my love,
Hermione x
Hermione read on, her letters to her parents chronicling her
second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, allowing her to
relive those times in her mind.
The Quidditch match where Dobby’s attempts to ‘protect’
Harry with his tampered bludger led to that idiot Lockhart vanishing the bones
in Harry’s arm (she snorted in disgust at herself as she remembered her crush
on the fraud at the time).
The duelling club where almost the entire school shunned
Harry when it was revealed he was a Parselmouth and her experience with
Polyjuice – she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Her dad was still buying her
cat toys as a joke gift five years later.
Their discovery that Hagrid had been implicated in the
original opening of the Chamber.
Then nothing for months as she’d reached the point of her
petrification. The final letter in her pile was another long one as it came
after she’d been given the Mandrake Restorative Draught. She chuckled quietly
to herself as she unfolded the letter that was roughly the same length as every
other letter combined that she had sent during the year. She told her parents
all about discovering that the monster was a basilisk and seeing the great,
yellow eyes in Penelope Clearwater’s mirror as they used it to peer around the
corner on their way back from the library. She spent three whole pages giving a
blow-by-blow account of the evening Ginny had been taken into the Chamber as
told to her by Ron and Harry – she remembered having to clarify details with
Harry as Ron used to (and still did in all fairness) tend to embellish his
stories, particularly his own role in them. She waxed lyrical about Harry
freeing Dobby, and crammed into the last page in tiny letters were a few lines
that caught her attention – something she’d not forgotten about but had been
pushed back into the recesses of her mind.
Madam Pomfrey told
Harry and Ron that, while I was petrified, I wouldn’t be able to hear them
speak to me, but I could hear everything that was going on around me. Harry
said it didn’t matter, and they wanted to talk to me anyway. Ron came along a
couple of times after that, but Harry came to visit on his own every day. He
used to sit by my bed and read me chapters from ‘Hogwarts: A History’ and when
he ran out of those, he’d tell me about his life before Hogwarts. I haven’t
said anything to him about it as I think he’d be mortified that I’d heard it
all but… oh Mum… it’s awful. Do you think he could come and stay with us at all
this summer?
Hermione thought back to that summer after their second
year. She’d been eager to spend time with Harry and hopefully, get him away
from his awful relatives but her parents had already booked a long holiday in
France and the timing just didn’t work out. By the time they’d returned to
England, Harry had inflated his ‘Aunt’ Marge and had been living at the Leaky
Cauldron for weeks.
She let out a sigh and moved to return her second-year letters
to the shoebox, but as she did so she noticed a smaller bundle, only 3 or 4
letters thick, tucked in the bottom. Extracting them she turned the pile over
in her hands to find the letters addressed in a messy hand she would recognise
anywhere. ‘Harry wrote these?’ she thought, as she carefully
unfolded the top letter and began to read.
11/05/1993
Dear Mr and Mrs
Granger,
I don’t know if
Hermione has mentioned me at all in any of her letters, but my name is Harry
Potter and Hermione is my best friend.
Professor McGonagall
said that you’ve been told that Hermione is in the hospital wing and about what
has happened, but I wanted to write to you as well to let you know that me and
Ron Weasley (our other friend) are visiting her as often as we can. The
teachers still don’t know what has caused her to be petrified but they’re
working on a potion to revive the students – the only problem is that one of
the ingredients takes a long time to mature and they have to wait for it to be
ready.
I’ve been reading some
of our schoolbooks to her. Madam Pomfrey (the school nurse) has told me that
Hermione won’t be able to hear me but… I don’t know. I heard something on a TV programme
that my aunt was watching once that said that talking to people in comas can
help them get better. I know this isn’t a coma but… am I stupid for thinking
this might help? I’ve been taking loads of notes in class as well so I can
share them with her when she wakes up – I’m sure she’d say that was strange for
me but she’s my best friend and I know she’d do the same for me. She stood by
me at the start of the year when almost everyone else was against me and I want
to try to repay her for that, even if it’s just through something simple like
this.
At the moment I’m sitting
next to Hermione’s bed while I write this and I’ll send it off with Hedwig (my
owl) after dinner. If you don’t mind, would you please give her some water and
a place to rest before she flies back? She’ll hunt for her own food and I’m
sure she’ll be after my bacon at breakfast when she returns too.
If you don’t mind,
would you also please not mention to Hermione that I’ve written to you when she
wakes up? It might sound silly, but I don’t want her to feel like I’m
interfering with her family by writing to you.
From
Harry Potter
Hermione sat back, stunned. Harry had written to her parents.
Surely he knew she’d never feel he was encroaching on her family? Why hadn’t he
said anything?
Carefully refolding the letter and placing it aside she
opened up the next one in the pile.
18/05/1993
Dear Mr and Mrs
Granger,
Thank you for your
letter and for looking after Hedwig while she was with you.
You’re probably right
and Hermione would have no problem with me contacting you but I’d still rather
you didn’t tell her, please. I’m sure you’ve already heard (from one of her
many, many books) that my parents died when I was 15 months old. Since then I’ve
lived with my relatives who don’t like magic at all and I don’t normally speak
with them during the school year. I don’t remember much about my mum and dad
but if I were able to write to them… well, I think that’s something personal
and I’m not sure how I’d feel if I found a friend of mine was communicating
with them without asking me first. Would you please promise not to tell her?
It’s been quiet here
since I last wrote and the Professors say the Mandrakes (the ingredient we’re
waiting for) should be ready in the next couple of weeks. I’m still visiting
Hermione at least once a day – Quidditch has been cancelled for now so I’ve got
some more time free to get up to the hospital wing – though I’m usually on my
own now. Ron is really struggling with his homework without Hermione’s help and
he’s having to spend most of his time on that.
I’m still slowly
reading my way through our books with Hermione – even if she can’t hear me, I
suppose it’s good revision for exams at the end of the year and is making me
read ahead a little. Hermione would be so proud! I’ve been reading her
“Hogwarts: A History” as well to break up the school work as I know it’s her
favourite magical book – please don’t tell her I said this but there are some
really interesting things in there! If she knew I’d said that I’d never hear
the end of it!
I’ll let you know when
I hear any more news and thank you again for writing back and letting me update
you. Hedwig doesn’t have very much to do for me so it’s good to give her the
chance to stretch her wings.
From
Harry Potter
Hermione grinned as she read the letter. Harry had found Hogwarts: A History interesting and
didn’t tell her? She’d be having words with Mr Potter! She worried at her lower
lip as she re-read the first section of his letter and considered what his
reasoning may be for asking her parents not to tell her he’d written to them.
Knowing him as she did and remembering seeing his (usually quickly hidden)
wistful reaction to his schoolmates meeting their families off the Express at
the end of each school year, she understood how family would be sacred to him
and, regardless of whether she thought he was wrong or not, she couldn’t hold
those feelings against him.
She folded the letter neatly and placed it atop Harry’s
first correspondence. From the date at the top of the one she had just read,
she knew that in less than two weeks from that time, Harry would be fighting
for his life, and that of Ginny Weasley, in the Chamber of Secrets. With a
sense of trepidation that she couldn’t quite understand (having lived through
this she knew full well the eventual outcome), she opened the penultimate
letter and began to read.
26/05/1993
Dear Mr and Mrs
Granger,
Madam Pomfrey has told
me that the Mandrakes will be ready by the end of this week! I’m really looking
forward to having Hermione be able to talk to me again, even if it’s hearing
her tell me off for not doing my homework! These last few weeks without her
have made me realise how happy I am that she’s my friend. I don’t think I’ve
been a very good friend to her at times, but I’ll do my best in future to show
her how much I appreciate her.
In your last letter,
you asked me to tell you about what I’ve been doing outside of visiting
Hermione. Well, Ron and I have been trying to find out exactly what creature it
is that’s attacking people.
On the day that
Hermione was petrified, our friend Hagrid (he’s the groundskeeper at Hogwarts)
was arrested by the Minister for Magic – he was accused of being the person
behind the attacks as he’d been expelled for it in his third year, but we both
know (and Hermione would definitely agree with us on this) that there is no way
he’s involved in this. Ron and I were visiting him when he got arrested and
managed to hide under my invisibility cloak before the Minister arrived and saw
the whole thing. As they were taking him away, Hagrid called out that if anyone
wanted to know anything, they could just follow the spiders to find out.
One thing I should
probably mention is that Ron is terrified of spiders so he wasn’t keen
on doing this, but I managed to convince him. As it turns out, he was right to
be. We managed to follow a trail of spiders into the Forbidden Forest and met
the creature that Hagrid had been looking after when he was expelled and it
turned out to be an Acromantula. You might want to look them up in Hermione’s
copy of “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them” but basically they’re huge
sentient spiders that can grow up to 15 feet long, have deadly venom and
particularly like the taste of humans. The Ministry call them a ‘Class XXXXX
beast’ – the most dangerous classification they have. Hagrid calls their leader
Aragog and thought they’d be friendly to us if we told them he’d sent us. They
weren’t.
We spoke to Aragog but
he wouldn’t tell us what was behind the attacks, only that it was the mortal
enemy of spiders. Then he told us he wouldn’t harm Hagrid but wouldn’t deny his
HUNDREDS of children a free meal when it arrived willingly.
Luckily we managed to
get away in Ron’s dad’s old car (I’m sure Hermione told you all about the
trouble we got in at the start of the year with it). It seems to have turned
wild and is just roaming around the forest but it arrived just in the nick of
time to help us. I really like Hagrid but I’m a bit worried about the creatures
he thinks are ‘harmless’. Magical creatures are amazing but I think I’d be
happier meeting some gentler ones in the future. Maybe I’ll sign up for ‘Care
of Magical Creatures’ next year – spending some time with creatures with a
teacher in a class should be safer right?
I suppose that depends
on whether the school will be open though. I can’t see us being allowed back
next year if this creature is still on the loose. If it wasn’t for Hermione and
Ron I’d think about looking for another school anyway – the last couple of
years haven’t been all that safe - but my Aunt and Uncle didn’t want to let me
attend Hogwarts in the first place. I can’t see them agreeing to let me learn
magic somewhere else instead.
I guess the thing that
really worries me is that you might decide to take Hermione out of Hogwarts.
There was a muggle-born girl in our House called Sally-Anne whose parents
pulled her from school just after the first attacks. We found out a while later
that she’d had her magic bound and her entire family was obliviated (memory
wiped) by the Ministry. I couldn’t stand the thought of that happening to
Hermione. Ron says she’s brilliant but scary. I think she’s just brilliant.
Hopefully, the next
letter I send will have the news that Hermione is awake. I’ll make sure she
writes to you as soon as she can. I’m sure you’re dying to hear from her.
Thank you for your
promise not to tell her about my letters, and again for looking after Hedwig
when she’s with you. She always seems happy to take a letter to you – whatever
you’re doing must be alright with her!
From
Harry
Hermione had always known Harry had appreciated her and knew
that his terrible relationship with his oppressive relatives made it difficult
for him to express his appreciation at times, but to see it actually written
down in a letter to her parents left a warm feeling inside her and a small
smile tugging at her lips.
She picked up the final letter,
01/06/1993
Dear Mr and Mrs
Granger,
I’m sure by now
Hermione has written to you and told you she is awake again. She came bursting
into the Great Hall during dinner a couple of days ago and gave me the biggest,
tightest hug I’ve ever had. I was so relieved to see her moving around again! I’ve
really missed talking to her and seeing her curled up in our common room in
front of the fire with an enormous book on her lap.
You’ll be glad to hear
that the creature that was attacking people has been dealt with and Hogwarts is
going to be able to open as normal next year. During one of my visits with
Hermione, I found a piece of paper in one of her hands that everyone had missed.
She managed to work out that the creature was a Basilisk (another one to look
up in her book!) which is a magical snake that can kill you if you look into
its eyes. Ron and I worked out that no one had died as they’d only seen a
reflection (Hermione was found with a small mirror – she and one of the
Ravenclaw prefects who was also petrified had been using it to check around
corners to make sure it was safe before walking out), but before we could tell
anyone we found out that Ron’s sister, Ginny, had been taken into the
creature’s lair – the Chamber of Secrets.
We went to our Defence
teacher for help as we worked out where the entrance to the Chamber was but he
was going to run away without helping – his class has been awful all year so
looking back now we probably should have found a different Professor to help, and
we had to force him to help us rescue Ginny. When we got into the Chamber,
Professor Lockhart stole Ron’s wand and was going to obliviate us and claim he
was too late to help. He admitted that all of his books were lies and that he
was finding people who had done the things he talked about then wiping their
memories and taking the credit. He tried to do the same to us but Ron’s wand
(which has been broken since the start of the year) backfired and wiped his
memory instead and caused the roof to cave in. Ron and Lockhart got stuck on
one side and me on the other. I carried on and managed to find Ginny and kill
the Basilisk with some help from the Headmaster’s Phoenix (another one to look
up in ‘Fantastic Beasts’!), Fawkes, and the Sorting Hat. Luckily we got there
soon enough and Ginny was OK. I’m a little worried though as, since then, she
keeps looking at me in a really funny way. Last Summer she wouldn’t speak to me
and kept putting her elbow in the butter at breakfast. I don’t know what’s
wrong with her – do you think I should speak to Mr Weasley and ask him to make
sure she’s OK?
I wanted to thank you
for allowing me to write to you over the last few weeks, and for writing back.
Thank you very much for your invitation to visit over the holidays as well but
it sounds like I’m not going to be able to make it (as much as I’d like to).
Professor Dumbledore told me there are special wards in place to protect me at
my relative's house and I need to stay there for at least a month so they will
work for another year. Hermione has told me you’re planning to holiday in
France this year and my month won’t be up until you have already left. If the
offer is still open in the future though I’d love to come and visit sometime?
Thank you again.
From
Harry
Hermione stared at the
letter in her hand. Her parents had invited Harry to stay during the summer
before their third year? Why hadn’t he said anything? She slowly refolded the
letter neatly and placed it back in the box before reaching for the next box,
that which contained her letters (and maybe more of Harry’s from their third
year.
Over the course of the next half an hour, she experienced
again the events of her third year through her own words. There were fewer
letters from Harry in this box and she sorted them by date so that she could
read her words, then Harry’s from the same time, side by side. She cringed as
she read and remembered her actions regarding Harry’s Firebolt; her misery at
how both he and Ron had treated her when she had only wanted to keep Harry
safe, whilst not realising at the time that his anger was, in a large part, a
result of her not trusting him rather than because his broom had been
immediately confiscated.
One section in her final letter home though, had captured
her attention so thoroughly that she read it and re-read it over and over
again.
“…I was petrified that I was going to fall but I knew
that Harry wouldn’t let that happen. I knew I was safe with him. Flying on that
Hippogriff together was just… magical. The full moon shining in the clear sky,
its reflection gleaming in the Black Lake and Harry’s arms holding me. There
was a moment… I know he doesn’t think of me that way, but it was so romantic
Mum.”
Hermione put the letter down on her bed and stared at a
picture on her wall that Colin Creevey had taken of her and Harry laughing
together in the Gryffindor common room. She knew she’d had feelings for Harry
at one time – the sight of him dashing to her rescue and jumping onto the troll’s
back in their first year had kick-started emotions she wasn’t sure she was
ready to feel – but he’d never shown any sign that he was interested in more
than friendship with her. She’d sort of… given up hope of anything happening
between them by the time their fifth year began and knew that it was then that
she had shifted her attention to her other friend.
She sighed deeply and turned her attention back to the
letter on her bed. She placed it back into the shoebox and had just pulled the
next box towards her when there was a knock on her door.
“Hermione, sweetheart? Can I come in?” Her mother’s face
peeped around the edge of the door; an expression of concern etched on her
features.
Hermione nodded and smiled weakly at her mother and lifted
the new shoebox into her lap before patting the now-empty space on the bed
beside her.
Helen crossed the room and sat next to her daughter,
watching her closely. They sat in silence for a few moments then both began to
speak at the same time.
“How far…” “Why didn’t you…”
“Sorry, go ahead,” Helen said quietly.
Hermione looked down at the box in her lap. “Why didn’t you
tell me that Harry had written to you and Dad?”
“He asked us not to. We told him over and over again that
you wouldn’t mind that he was writing to us, but he was insistent that he
didn’t want to come across as interfering with our family. I still can’t
believe that after all this time we’ve not met him face-to-face.”
“You met each other in the Alley before our second year.”
Hermione pointed out.
“Yes, but we were rather distracted by Mr Weasley asking us
what the function of a Space Hopper was,” Helen said, exasperated. “I’m sure if
you ask your father now, he wouldn’t even be able to tell you what Harry looks
like.”
Hermione nodded and played with the lid of the box as her
mother waited to see if she had any further questions. After a moment of
silence, Helen asked quietly, “How far through are you?”
“These are the letters from my fourth year,” Hermione said,
tapping the lid of the box gently as she stared down at it. “I was just about
to start…”
“You should.”
Hermione looked up quickly, surprised by her mother’s sudden
words.
“Read them,” Helen said softly in response to Hermione’s
quizzical expression.
Hermione searched her mother’s face for some sort of
explanation for her reaction, but Helen kept her expression clear. She resorted
instead, to opening the box and discovering the reason for her mother’s
insistence for herself. She pulled the wad of letters from the shoebox - a
significantly thicker pile than from her third year as she remembered writing
about each of the tasks (as well as the Yule Ball) in great detail - and began
separating them, planning to repeat her process from reading through their
third year, though rather disappointed to see only two letters this time in
Harry’s distinctive penmanship. As she picked up the first letter she had
written to her parents and prepared to read, her mother reached out and placed
a hand on her arm.
“Not those.” She picked up the two letters from Harry and
pressed them into Hermione’s hands instead. “These.”
Confused, Hermione unfolded the first letter and began to
read.
10/12/1994
Dear Mr and Mrs Granger,
I’m sorry for not managing to write to you before now but
I’m struggling with something right now and I was hoping you could help me. I
know this might sound strange seeing as how we’ve not actually met each other
in person but from the letters you’ve sent me, I really feel like you’re the
best people to ask for advice. I’m convinced the other adults I know might not
be able to help (without taking the mickey out of me first) or even be willing
to help. So here goes…
As I’m sure Hermione has told you, I ended up being
selected as a Champion for the Tri-Wizard Tournament that’s running at Hogwarts
this year. I didn’t enter myself and don’t know who did, but the entire school
turned its back on me – even Ron. The only person that has stood by my side is
Hermione. Even with all the hate and abuse that has been thrown my way, she’s
believed in me, helped me and stood up for me.
I’ve found out today from Professor McGonagall that
there’s going to be a Yule Ball on Christmas Day and, as a Champion (however
much I wish I wasn’t one), I have to take a partner to the ball and open the
dancing.
I’d really like to invite Hermione to the ball, but I’m
worried. She’s too important to me – what if I say or do something that ruins
our friendship? What if simply asking her, pushes her away? I don’t think I
could stand losing her from my life if things didn’t go well.
I know it’s really odd to be asking for advice from you
about Hermione, but I need to know and, as I said before, I think you’re
probably the best people to ask – especially when I think of some of the
stories Hermione has mentioned about how the two of you met and began dating.
So here it is. If
I ask Hermione to the ball, do you think I’d be risking ruining our friendship?
Thank you.
Harry
Hermione stared in shock at the letter in her hand. “He was
going to ask me to the Yule Ball,” she said softly.
Helen nodded. “I sent a letter back to him as quickly as I
could, reassuring him that, from what I’d seen and heard, your friendship was
far too strong to be ruined by a bad date and that I was sure that the
likelihood of such a thing occurring was – in my opinion – non-existent anyway.
It was a week later that I heard from him again.” She handed Hermione the final
letter from Harry.
17/12/1994
Dear Mrs Granger,
Thank you for your letter. I was too late. Hermione
already has a date to the ball.
Thank you for your advice. I know I wouldn’t have gotten
anything nearly as good from anyone else had I asked.
I hope you and Mr Granger have a brilliant Christmas.
Harry
“That was the last letter we had from him whilst you were at
Hogwarts,” Helen sighed. “I know from what you’ve told us that things took a
turn for the worse in the magical world at the end of the school year and I’d
imagine writing to us would have been the last thing on his mind, but I do
wish he’d reached out to us again. If only to speak to someone who wasn’t
so close to what was going on. I can understand why he didn’t but still… I
think maybe we could have helped him in some way.”
They sat in silence once more, each with their own thoughts
running around their minds before the sound of the doorbell shook them from
their individual reveries.
“That will be dinner – I asked your father to sort it out so
I’m sure he’s ordered in rather than cooking.”
Helen turned to face Hermione once more and took her
daughters hands in her own. “Harry did send one more letter to me - it’s not in
one of those,” she added as Hermione pulled one of her hands free to reach for
the last two shoeboxes. “He sent it at the start of summer, just after we came
back to England. I don’t need the letter to remember every word he wrote. It
simply said, ‘Please don’t blame Hermione. I can’t imagine how you are
feeling right now but she did it for me. It’s my fault. Please don’t push her
away. She did it because she loves you, because she couldn’t bear the thought
that you might be harmed. The same reasons I had when I tried to convince her
to go with you.’”
Hermione stared at her mother but as she opened her mouth to
speak, a voice raised in anger echoed from downstairs and was punctuated by the
slamming of the front door. Heavy footsteps tromped up the stairs and Richard
strode into the room, fury written all over his face and already raging before
he’d even crossed the threshold.
“I’m sorry Hermione, but I can’t put up with this anymore!
You’re my little girl and I’ll be damned if I just stand by and watch that
little cretin hurt you over and over again.”
“What’s going on Richard?” Helen asked, surprised by her
husband’s fury.
“That… boy… has just turned up at our door asking to
see Hermione and apologising, saying it was all his fault. We won’t be seeing
him again though. I made it very clear what I’d do to him if he ever darkens
our doorstep again. I don’t care if he is a bloody wizard – no one treats my
daughter that way.” Richard’s chest was
heaving in anger and he took several deep breaths to try and calm down. “I’m
sorry Hermione, but I can’t… I won’t approve of any relationship you
have with that boy.”
Hermione stared at her father in disbelief, stunned into
silence by his outburst. Finally, just as he’d managed to bring his breathing
back under control, she found her voice.
“That was Ron at the door?”
“Ron? The Weasley boy? The one that made you cry all the
time at school? Why the hell would he be at the door?”
“Ron is the boy she’s been seeing, Richard,” Helen said,
seeing that Hermione was too taken aback by the vitriol in her father’s voice
to respond herself.
“Why on earth would you do that to yourself,
Hermione?” he asked in disbelief. “In all those letters you wrote home, I can
probably count on one hand the number of times you had something nice to say
about him.”
“How can you say that, Dad?” Hermione blustered. “You
struggle to remember what you had for breakfast this morning, how could you
remember what I’ve said in my letters?”
“When your daughter tells you she’s being bullied by another
child, Hermione, you remember their name.” Richard’s eyes narrowed as he spoke
and Hermione fell into silence once more. “I knew just by looking at him he was
trouble, but no more! I’m sorry sweetheart – I tried to stay out of it, but I
won’t have you seeing that speccy little bastard again.”
Hermione’s head shot up and she focussed intently on her
father. “Wait… what do you mean ‘speccy'? He was wearing glasses?”
“Yeah, big round ones. His hair was a state too – didn’t
even bother to make an effort before crawling over here to beg forgiveness.”
“Oh god.” Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“What?” Richard asked, bafflement at Hermione’s unexpected
reaction overriding his anger. He was prepared for his daughter to shout at him
for interfering but to have her groan in disbelief? Not so much.
Hermione jumped up from the bed and snatched the picture off
the wall that she had been looking at earlier. “Is this who came to the door
Dad?” she asked.
“That’s him. Glad I can finally put a face to the name.”
Feeling vindicated, he straightened up with a mulish look on his face. “I’m
telling you now, this ‘Ron’ is not welcome in this house Hermione. I won’t have
him here.” Helen took the photo from Hermione’s hand and copied her daughter’s
reaction as she looked at the subjects of the photograph.
“Richard. That’s not Ron.”
“What do you mean that’s not Ron. Yes, it is, I’ve just sent
him packing from our door.”
“Richard. That’s Harry.”
“No, it’s not, Harry’s ginger.”
“RON’s ginger Dad!” Hermione yelled. “You literally spent a whole
day with his family in Diagon Alley back before my second year. The big group
of redheads? Mr Weasley who spent all day asking you about rubber ducks and
space hoppers? Ring any bells?”
Richard simply looked baffled, his anger dissipating in his
confusion. Seeing his failure in recollection, Helen sighed.
“Arthur Weasley, dear. The man who got into a fist fight in
the bookshop.”
“Oh.” Richard said, finally remembering. “OH! So that wasn’t
Ron I just told to get lost?”
“No dear, that was Harry.”
“But we like Harry.”
“Yes, we do!” shouted Hermione. “And now you’ve sent him
away and told him he’ll never be welcome here! I’ve just finished reading his
letters to you both, reading how he felt he could come to you for advice and
you just threw him off our doorstep!”
“Well… ermmm… we should probably get him back so I can
apologise then.”
“Argghhh!” Hermione let out a cry of frustration and threw
her arms up to the sky in disbelief. She stormed out of the room, only to
return moments later with her father’s coat. “Come on, we’re going to see him.”
“Oh!” Helen sprang up from the bed. “I’m coming too! I’m not
missing out on finally meeting Harry face-to-face for the first time!” She
dashed from the room and returned a moment later, slipping her own coat on as
she did so.
“Right, I’m going to have to apparate you one at a time. As
neither of you has magic, all the effort will be on me so I can’t take you both
at once. Mum, we’ll go first. Dad… just… stay where you are.”
Hermione held out a hand to her mother and, once she had
taken a firm hold, apparated them away with a sharp crack.
Richard pulled his own coat on slowly, realising how badly
he had messed up. He picked up the picture of Hermione and Harry once more and
looked closely at the happiness clearly exuding from his daughter. ‘That’s
all I want for her.’ he thought. ‘Just for her to be happy.’ He hung
the picture on the wall once more and a moment later, Hermione returned with
another crack of displaced air.
“Right. Come on then.” Hermione reached out and took hold of
her father before apparating them away without warning.
Upon their arrival at Grimmauld Place, Richard fell to his
knees, gasping as he fought down the bile that had risen in his throat. He
looked up at his wife, who appeared to be absolutely fine, and daughter, who at
least had the grace to look slightly regretful for his reaction to the
unexpected apparition, then staggered to his feet, clutching the worn iron
railing outside Number 12.
“That was worse than the last time, sweetheart.” He croaked
out, once he had his stomach under control once more.
“Yes, well… sorry.” Hermione replied, now wearing an
expression that indicated she was not at all sorry. “Off you go then.” She
pointed at the front door then crossed her arms and tapped her foot
impatiently.
Richard climbed the stairs slowly, then knocked three times
on the black-painted front door of Number 12. He waited in silence, glancing
back over his shoulder to see Hermione still looking unamused by the whole
situation, and Helen almost bouncing on her toes in anticipation. He knocked
again.
“Hold on! I’m coming!” a voice called from within and the
door opened to reveal a tired-looking Harry Potter with a glass of Firewhiskey
in his hand. “What can I do… Mr Granger?” Harry said in surprise. “Ermmm… can I
help you?”
“Yes, well… I just wanted to come and say… well, I’m sorry
for how I spoke to you a little while ago. I didn’t recognise you and... well…”
his voice trailed off and Hermione sighed loudly from behind him. Harry peered
over Richard’s shoulder and was surprised to see his best friend looking
exasperated and her mother, beaming with excitement, standing in the middle of
the street.
“Do you want to come in?” Harry asked and Richard visibly
winced, remembering how he’d demanded Harry leave their house only a few
minutes before. He nodded and Harry opened the door wider, allowing Richard to
move past him into the hall.
Hermione climbed to steps to the front door and briefly
hugged Harry once she reached him. “I’m so sorry about this,” she whispered,
then she let go and stepped into the brightly lit hallway beyond before he
could respond. He watched her speak quietly to her father but was startled from
his observation by Hermione’s mother.
“Hello Harry,” she said, smiling brightly at him. “I’m so
happy to finally meet you.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Hello
Mrs Granger,” he glanced back at Hermione once more, who was still speaking
with her father, and lowered his voice so she couldn’t hear. “I’m sorry for not
writing to you again until recently. It was just…”
“I know, Harry. Don’t worry about it.” Helen patted Harry’s
arm comfortingly. “Now that’s all over with though, both Richard and I would be
more than happy to hear from you again if you ever wanted to talk.”
Harry looked with confusion at Richard before turning back
to Helen. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Once my idiot husband has apologised properly,
I think everything will become clear.”
Mystified by this turn of events, Harry nodded and indicated
for Helen to step inside. He shut the door behind him and led the group down
the hallway and into a cosy sitting room opposite the kitchen where Order meetings
had been held throughout his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts.
“Can I get anyone a drink?” Harry asked politely after a few
moments of silence, picking up the bottle of Firewhiskey from which he’d poured
his own glass. “There’s tea or Butterbeer if you’d prefer that instead?”
“I’ll have one of those please if you don’t mind,” said
Richard, just as Hermione frowned and spoke over the top of him. “No thank you.
Not until Dad has said what he needs to say.” Harry took pity on Richard and
poured a generous measure of Firewhiskey into a tumbler and then handed it to Hermione’s
father who took it gratefully and threw the contents of the tumbler back in a single
giant gulp, only to immediately break into great wracking coughs as the
Firewhiskey seared his throat.
“My god!” he coughed as he massaged his throat and gazed
wide-eyed in amazement at the now-empty glass. “What on earth was that?”
Harry grinned. “Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey. It takes a little
getting used to.”
“You’ll have to pick me up a bottle…”
“AHEM,” Hermione interjected loudly, resuming her stance
from outside the front door by glaring once more at her father with arms
crossed and foot tapping.
“Uh-oh,” Harry whispered to Richard. “I’ve seen that look
before.”
“You and me both,” Richard replied. “She gets it from her
mother.”
“Excuse me? Did you say something dearest?” Helen said
sweetly.
“No! Not at all my love!” Richard turned to face Harry so
his back was to his family and winked, grinning as he did so. The alcohol in
his system both calmed him and ignited his courage and he sighed. “Listen,
Harry. I want to say sorry for how I spoke to you back at our house. I’ll be
honest, I didn’t know who you were and when you said you were there to
apologise to Hermione I jumped to the wrong conclusion and thought you were the
one responsible for sending her home in tears so often.”
“Well, it was my fault,” Harry said, “if I hadn’t been
running late it wouldn’t have happened.”
“No, Harry. It’s not your fault.” Hermione moved alongside
her father and looked into Harry’s eyes. “It’s not your job to mediate between
Ron and I. This was the third time in the last seven days that he’s left me in
tears and I think… I just can’t do it anymore.”
Helen moved forward to quietly pull Richard back a few
paces, giving the teens some space and allowing Hermione to stand directly
before Harry. She held out her hands, asking for his and when he complied, she
grasped them as warmly as she had done hundreds of times before.
“When I got home tonight, Mum gave me all the letters I’d
sent home from Hogwarts.” Harry’s eyes flicked to Helen in alarm but refocused
on Hermione at a gentle squeeze of her hands. “I read all the words I’d written
about how Ron spoke to - and about - me, and how he treated me and I realised…
things haven’t changed… he’s not really changed and I just… I’m just so
tired of arguing with him Harry. I don’t want to spend my life jumping from
one fight to another with him.” She took a deep breath and Harry could see the
resolve building in her as she stood tall and straightened her shoulders, a
familiar fire burning in her eyes. “I think I’m going to break up with him.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked gently, searching her eyes for
the sign that she was certain about the decision she was making. Hermione
nodded.
“I know this means we probably won’t get to spend as much
time together moving forward, I can’t imagine I’ll be particularly welcome at
The Burrow and with you and Ginny getting back together…”
“I don’t think we will be,” Harry interrupted and Hermione
looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation. Harry pulled his hands
from Hermione’s and pushed his glasses up, away from his eyes so he could rub
at them tiredly. “I’ve thought about it, and I know she’s keen for us to pick
up where we left off but something she said to me at Dumbledore’s funeral just…
stuck in my head. I ignored it for ages but now everything is over and done
with… it keeps coming back to me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she knew I wouldn’t be happy unless I was hunting
Voldemort and maybe that was why she liked me so much.”
Hermione’s sharp intake of breath made it clear what she
thought of that statement.
“Now I’ve had some time to reflect it feels like… I don’t
know… I’ve wracked my brains and I can’t for the life of me work out where she
got that impression from. Everything I’ve done, everything I went through… I
did it to try to protect the people I love and what she said makes me feel like
she believes I wanted to face that lunatic… I wanted to live the
life I have… it’s like she’s in love with The-Boy-Who-Lived, not Harry Potter,
and that’s not me. I don’t want that. I don’t want people fawning all over me
or looking to me to solve all the problems of the wizarding world. All I want
is some peace and quiet. I want to go to work at a job I enjoy and, more than
anything else, I want a family to love. Is that too much to ask?”
“No Harry. No it’s not.”
With the presence of her parents forgotten at that moment,
and with tears streaming down her face, Hermione embraced Harry and tried to
convey all that she felt for him through her grasp. Slowly, Harry’s arms came
up and he held her too.
Six Months Later
“Richard! There’s a letter from Hermione here!” Helen called
loudly as she gently removed the folded envelope from the tawny post owl’s leg.
She fed it one of the owl treats that Hermione had left at home and it took a
drink of water from a dish that had been left out for this very purpose, before
hooting softly and flying back out of the open kitchen window. As she watched
it fly away, she felt a pang of sadness that it hadn’t been the familiar snowy
owl that had brought letters from both Hermione and Harry to their home for so
many years.
“What does she say?” Richard said, entering the kitchen
through the back door, wiping his hands clean of dirt from the gardening he’d
been doing.
Helen opened the envelope and began to read aloud.
Thursday 12th February 1998
Dear Mum and Dad,
This is only a quick note, but I just had to let
you know. Last night after we finished our patrol (as Head Boy and Girl, Harry
and I had to cover the late shift), Harry asked if I would go to Hogsmeade with
him this weekend, not with friends as we usually do, but just us two alone, as
a date! Of course I said yes immediately but he was so nervous, it was really
endearing.
I just wanted to say thank you, Mum, for what you did in
the summer and, yes, I suppose even to you too Dad for unintentionally helping
in the most appalling of ways. If it wasn’t for that day, well, things would
probably be very different now.
I love you both and I’ll see you at Easter.
All my love,
Hermione x
“Saw that coming,” said Richard smugly, as though he’d
orchestrated the entire thing, before strolling back out into the garden.
Helen watched him go and shook her head in disbelief. A
small smile graced her lips as she re-read her daughter’s letter. She slid it
back into the envelope and headed upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her
husband, where she opened her wardrobe and pulled a shoebox off a shelf. She
slipped the letter inside and replaced the box where it belonged, back
alongside six others. She smiled again, happy with how things had worked out
for her daughter and thanking God for her decision to show her daughter those
letters from Hogwarts.
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