27. THE REFUGEES AT HOGWARTS
With a sharp crack, four people appeared on the main street of Hogsmeade. Wrapped in the cold mist typical of the Scottish Highlands, the few passing witches and wizards glanced their way, recognized the magic of teleportation, and returned to their errands.
Tonks examined the teleportation stone in her hands, now reduced to silver dust. It had not been made to carry more than two people.
"Four hundred pounds for a single trip," she muttered, remembering the dwarf craftsman who had sold it to her — a cheating, greedy fellow. Yes, all dwarves were greedy, but that one outdid the rest. "What a complete waste…" she lamented.
Mrs. Granger clung to her husband, disoriented. Her clothes were torn in places; her bare shoulders betrayed the struggle. Her voice trembled when she tried to speak:
"That man…"
"We're safe now," Mr. Granger replied, pulling her tightly into his arms.
Hermione joined her parents, tears streaming down her face. Mr. Granger, even injured, whispered through his wife's sobs:
"He won't touch you again. I promise."
Tonks felt like absolute rubbish for having complained about her precious pounds when a family before her stood so broken.
With steady eyes and a painful tightness in her chest, she felt a silent admiration for Mr. Granger who, covered in bruises and pain, still stood tall, holding his family as if the simple gesture might shield them from the world.
"Is he dead?" Mr. Granger asked, not releasing his wife.
Tonks nodded.
"He is. He slipped up, and he paid with his life."
The Auror knew Death Eaters rarely acted alone, but that bastard had been reckless and had underestimated his victims. He wanted to have his fun alone and met his own end. Had there been others nearby, the Grangers' story would have ended in tragedy.
Hermione wiped her tears. A faint bruise marked her face, but her eyes were firm and determined.
She looked around.
Hogsmeade stretched beneath the twilight. Small stone houses with steep roofs, chimney smoke curling in the cold air, shop windows glowing with flickering magical lanterns. In the distance, atop the hills, stood the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts' towers, carved against the purplish sky.
"We're safe now," Hermione murmured — more to herself than to the others.
Then she turned to Tonks.
"Do you have any regeneration pills? No one needs to know what happened."
"Of course," Tonks replied without hesitation, pulling a small vial from her coat pocket. Her voice softened:
"But these wounds aren't only of the body, Hermione. The mind bleeds too. You should take your mother to St. Mungo's. There are specialists there who can erase trauma."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, watching her parents. A thousand thoughts crossed her mind — memories, guilt, promises. Then she took the pills and handed them to both, swallowing one herself.
Tonks raised her wand. A soft beam of light washed over the three of them, stitching fabrics, restoring color, erasing stains. Their clothes looked as they had before. No trace of the horror remained — except in their eyes, where fear still slept, hidden.