Hermione stood in the queue, shifting her weight from foot to foot out of boredom. She'd been waiting for about fifteen minutes and was finally about to be seen.
Her eyes drifted towards the telly in the corner—muted, captions on.
BBC One was reporting yet another pile-up on the M25 due to the excessive fog the country had been seeing that summer.
She sighed to herself and turned her attention away. There had been news reports all summer about suspicious accidents, and though they were always reported as such, Hermione knew better.
She knew fog didn't make people vanish. It didn't explain the fractured roads, the cars twisted like tin foil, or the way the authorities never quite showed the bodies. Not really.
It had been happening all over: "freak weather incidents," "gas leaks," "civil unrest." But even the most practised lies had seams, and Hermione had spent the summer learning to read the threads underneath.
A woman at the counter finished signing something and tucked a child against her hip as she stepped away. Hermione moved up, keeping her bag close and her wand closer.
The bank clerk—a young woman who couldn't be much older than Hermione—smiled up at her. "How may I help you today?"
Hermione returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'd like to make a… large withdrawal. From my account."
There were four days until Harry's birthday. They were meeting at number four, Privet Drive to transport him to the Burrow that night, and she still had a few things to finish before then.
The clerk nodded. "ID and your card, please."
Hermione reached into her bag and pulled both out, sliding them across the counter. "All of it, please."
"All of it?" the clerk repeated.
"Yes. Planning a trip abroad with some friends—just before the new school year. I'm sure you understand."
The clerk gave a polite laugh, clearly envious. "I wish I had the time—and the money—for a holiday like that. Where are you headed?"
Hermione hesitated a fraction too long. "Greece."
"Ah, how lovely." The girl sighed, sliding a form across the counter. "Just sign on the line. I'll be right back with your withdrawal."
Hermione didn't watch her go. She signed her name on the dotted line, set the pen down, and exhaled slowly as she pulled her hands away. Her fingers found the bracelet at her wrist and turned it once, twice—a calming feeling washing over her.
Her fingers stilled. It had become something of a habit—turning it, pressing the cool metal into her skin whenever her thoughts spun too fast.
The clerk returned with an envelope, smiling as she handed it over. "Have a lovely holiday."
Hermione nodded her thanks, tucked the envelope into her bag, and headed out of the bank.
She didn't hail a cab. She turned left and began walking home, her eyes drifting from one unsuspecting Muggle to the next.
Mothers and fathers playing with their children. Older folk out for tea.
She ducked her head as she looped through a busy street. It wasn't fair. They had no idea what was looming—the darkness of a war ready to come knocking at their doors.
Pushing open the white door to her home, the air felt impossibly stiff. "I'm home!" she called out, already heading for the stairs. "I'll be in my room." She was gone before either of her parents could respond.
"It's cute," Theo said, walking a slow circuit around the outside of the house.
Pansy was waiting for him by the door. "Maybe if you stopped inspecting it, we could actually go in."
He raised his hands as he walked up to join her. "My bad. I've never seen a Muggle house. I expected smaller." He knocked on the door.
A man—tall, clean-shaven, about six foot—answered and looked at the pair of well-dressed young adults before smiling politely. "Not interested, sorry." He made to close the door.
Theo reached out quickly to stop it. "Theodore Nott, sir. You must be Mr Granger?" he asked with a nervous laugh.
Theo had once come face-to-face with Bellatrix Lestrange to serve as a distraction. He'd endured his father's beatings. He'd even managed living alone—bar the family elves—after his father was sentenced to Azkaban for the attack on the Ministry.
But having a door closed on him by a Muggle was unexpectedly humbling.
Mr Granger eyed the young man holding his door open. "I am," he replied cautiously.
"We're here for your daughter." Theo grinned, entirely unaware of how it sounded.
Pansy pressed her face into her palm.
"Jean, dear—call the police!" Mr Granger shouted into the house.
Hermione skidded down the stairs just in time to catch the tail end of her father's shout.
"Call the cops!"
"What—Dad, no! Stop—" She rushed into the entryway and caught sight of Theo mid-lunge—one hand raised, his other still braced awkwardly against the doorframe.
Pansy stood beside him, mortified, rubbing her temples like a migraine was already building.
"Dad, it's fine," Hermione said quickly, inserting herself between Theo and her father. "They're friends."
Mr Granger's eyes flickered to his daughter. "Friends?"
"From school. Pay them no mind. They're… special. They don't quite understand what casual is." The last part was hissed sideways at the pair.
Pansy huffed. "Darling, this is casual." She was dressed in a neat long-sleeved blouse tucked into her trousers. "May we come in, or shall we stand in the rain?" A clap of thunder followed on cue.
With a long-suffering sigh and a look that said this conversation isn't over, Mr Granger stepped aside. "Fine. Come in."
Theo gave him a sheepish smile as he passed, brushing a bit of invisible lint from his coat as though it might somehow make him more presentable. Pansy stepped in without hesitation, offering Mr Granger a tight, practised smile—polite and vaguely condescending in equal measure.
"Thank you," she said smoothly, wiping her boots on the mat with dainty precision. "Lovely door. Very… rectangular."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. Bloody purebloods.
"Let's just—" she took a steadying breath, "—go up to my room."
Her father gave her a look. "Since when do boys go to your room?"
Hermione felt her eye twitch. "You're kidding," she said through clenched teeth.
He wasn't. He was still watching Theo like he was considering calling the police anyway.
Theo glanced between Mr Granger and Hermione. "He knows Hogwarts has both girls and boys, right?"
Hermione turned to him. "Yes. He's met Harry and Ron. And he knows boys aren't allowed up to the girls' dormitories because of the enchantments." She was speaking through her teeth, willing him to take the hint and shut up—maybe claim he was gay, anything to avoid further catastrophe.
Pansy gave a sober nod. "She's telling the truth."
"Sure, but the girls can still get to the guys' dormitories." Theo snorted unhelpfully. "I mean, you're in Draco's all the time."
Hermione made a sound that could only be described as a dying squeak.
Mr Granger's face shifted in a very particular way. Like he was doing maths and did not like the result.
Pansy clapped Theo on the back. "Congratulations—you've managed to offend a Muggle and make Hermione's life measurably harder, all in under five minutes. You deserve a seat at You-Know-Who's table."
"Who's Draco?" Mr Granger asked Hermione, who was fighting a losing battle against the colour rising in her face. "And what are you doing in his bedroom?"
"Do you really want the answer to that?" Theo asked.
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Oh my god! Did you take Veritaserum before coming here?! What is wrong with you?!" It started as a shout and pitched into something more strangled by the end.
Mr Granger's eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening like he was gearing up for a full-scale interrogation. Hermione could see the exact moment he decided he did, in fact, want the answer—but she didn't give him the chance.
"I'm going upstairs now," Hermione announced, already seizing both Theo and Pansy by their sleeves. "And no one is going to say the word 'bedroom' again."
"If it makes you feel better," Theo stumbled behind her, still talking, "his dad just got out of Azkaban."
The moment her door clicked shut, Hermione shoved Theo inside. "What in Merlin's name was that?"
Theo threw his hands up. "I panicked!"
"You introduced yourself like a Death Eater at a hostage negotiation!"
"It's not my fault your dad doesn't appreciate pureblood charm!"
"It's not charm if he thinks you're going to kidnap me!"
Pansy flopped onto her bed. "I understand why you don't talk to your parents much."
"Don't think you're off the hook, Parkinson!" Hermione snapped, rounding on her. "Lovely door?!"
Pansy pointed at Theo. "He's the one who said you're always in Draco's bed!"
"Room!" Theo added quickly as Hermione's fury turned back to him. "Bedroom!"
"I invited you here to help. Help. Not to sabotage my entire home life in three minutes flat!"
Pansy stretched out across the bed like she owned it, folding her hands behind her head. "Well, it's not as though you were planning to have a home life much longer."
Hermione stiffened slightly. "I told you to bring Daphne. Not Theo."
"Daphne hasn't left her room since coming back from Hogwarts," Pansy explained. "Trust me, I've tried. Astoria is outside her door every day, knocking, but she won't come out."
Hermione's anger faltered. "She's not coming out at all?"
Theo shook his head. "Won't answer owls either. Astoria says Healers have been going in and out all summer. We don't know anything beyond that."
Hermione swallowed. Her hand found her bracelet again—not turning it this time. Just holding.
Pansy's eyes flickered to it. She stood. "So—can you tell us why you're moving out?" She looked around the room. "And why you couldn't hire movers?"
Hermione ducked her head. "Um, not really. I just… need to get out without my parents noticing. Leave as though I never existed here."
Pansy blinked. "Dramatic."
Hermione didn't rise to it.
Theo tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because Death Eaters keep attacking, and I want to keep my parents safe." She answered. "I can't tell you anything more than that—for your own safety. They'll forget they ever had a daughter. If you two are smart, you'll forget I was ever your friend, honestly."
Theo shrugged. "Good thing I just proved my idiocy, then." He pulled out his wand, lightening his tone. "Let's get packing."
Her room was already half empty.
The bookshelves were bare of anything remotely magical—her old storybooks boxed away. Posters and photographs had been rolled up and vanished with a flick of her wand. Clothes and shoes—spare for a few pieces Unshrunken and stored in her beaded bag, which she'd fitted with an Extension Charm—were folded neatly and packed.
For every box Theo Spellotaped shut and dispatched to a storage unit with a wave of his wand, another piece of Hermione's childhood went with it.
"I always imagined your room with more books," Pansy admitted, surveying the bare shelves.
Hermione glanced over. "You imagine my room often, Pans?"
She shrugged. "No. But I did wonder."
A soft knock came at the door, followed by her mother's voice. "Sweetheart?"
Hermione paused, glancing at Theo to ready an Illusionment Charm just in case. "Yes, Mum?"
"I left some snacks out for you and your friends." Her mother said, "And a few things to pack in your trunk, if you've started getting ready to go back to school."
They listened to her retreat down the hallway.
Theo tilted his head. "Think it's biscuits?"
Hermione opened the door a crack and retrieved the plate with a quiet smile. The smile dropped the moment she looked down at the floor. A small, purple, unmistakable box sat right there.
She snatched it up and slammed the door shut like the house was under siege, spinning to face Theo, her face scarlet.
"I'm going to murder you," she hissed, throwing the box at his head.
Theo caught it and laughed. "I was making conversation!"
"You said I was always in Draco's bedroom!"
"Well, technically—"
"Contraceptive Potions, Theo!" she hissed in a strangled whisper. "My mother just dropped off snacks and contraceptive Potions!"
She slid down the back of the door, burying her face in her hands. "She probably thinks I've been sneaking Draco into the house all summer—I haven't even spoken to him!"
Pansy was shaking with silent laughter. "Your parents are funny. It's a shame, honestly."
The house was quiet.
Too quiet, now that Theo and Pansy had gone.
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed—the mattress, stripped bare of its covers.
Every shelf was empty. Every wall was bare.
She'd always begged her parents for a bigger room when she was little.
Now, sitting in it, it felt too big.
She stood slowly, let out a shaky breath, and drew her wand.
She descended the stairs to the ground floor and found them exactly where she expected—in the sitting room, watching the four o'clock news.
She stood on the last step for a moment, staring at the backs of her parents' heads. Everything she wanted to say hung in the air between them.
I'm sorry I was born a witch.
She raised her wand.
Her voice barely broke a whisper.
"Obliviate."