Chapter Text
The third year at Hogwarts had finally, mercifully, drawn to a close. And truthfully? Hermione thought it had been a disaster. Worse than her second year. Worse than being covered in fur, worse even than lying petrified in the infirmary for months on end.
She had overdone it. Stretched herself so thin that she felt like a single misstep might splinter her into pieces. Too many classes, too little sleep, and always the Time-Turner weighing on her like a chain around her neck. Yes, she’d managed the impossible and excelled in every subject, but at what cost? The regret gnawed at her. How many hours had she wasted sprinting between classrooms, calculating the safest moments to slip back through time without bumping into herself? How many nights had she sat at her desk, wide-eyed and trembling with exhaustion, forcing out another essay when her body begged for rest?
Never again.
Her hair was wilder than ever, and she felt perpetually one bad day away from collapse. But none of that mattered now. Tomorrow she was going home. Back to her parents, back to freedom.
Hermione loved learning, of course she did, but she wasn’t blind to the toll this year had taken. If she wanted to survive the next four years of Hogwarts, she needed to stop tearing herself apart just to keep up. She had already decided: she would drop Care of Magical Creatures. The thought of disappointing Hagrid hurt, but realistically, she couldn’t see herself working with magical creatures in the future. It was time to be practical.
Besides, she was aching for something as simple as a novel. A story that wasn’t tied to an essay or a footnote. That was the kind of luxury she’d denied herself far too long. Tomorrow, she’d climb aboard the train, meet her parents at King’s Cross, and then there would be two whole weeks in France, basking in the sun, a book in her hand instead of a schedule.
Her parents. She missed them more than her friends realized.
Her dad, Daniel, had been born a Squib, though he rarely spoke of it. The subject of his family was a closed door Hermione had long since learned not to pry open, no matter how much curiosity burned inside her. Last summer, he’d caught her poring over a book on pureblood lineages and the resulting argument had been loud enough that her mum sent them both to separate rooms.
Hermione had always believed she had a right to know where her magic came from. Daniel argued that it didn’t matter that his family had cast him aside long before she was born, and they’d never acknowledge her, not even now.
Emma Granger was different. A Muggle through and through, but with a sharp curiosity about the world her husband had left behind, the world their daughter now belonged to. Emma had always been Hermione’s fiercest champion: the woman who showed up at every parent-teacher meeting, who sat with her through homework, who made sure Hermione never doubted for a second how proud she was.
Lost in thought, Hermione didn’t notice the voice calling her name until it grew louder.
“Hermione! Hermione! Are you alright? You said you’d only be an hour. It’s been four!”
Blinking, she looked up to see Harry jogging down the hill toward her, hair wilder than ever in the breeze.
“There’s no point thinking about schoolwork now,” he teased, grinning.
Hermione had tucked herself beneath one of the willows by the Black Lake, a quiet spot she liked precisely because most students avoided it. It was too close to the Whomping Willow for comfort. Here, she could watch the squid drift lazily beneath the surface and let the noise of the castle fade away. This year, she hadn’t made it here nearly enough. There had been no time.
But after Sirius escaped, she’d brought Harry here once, knowing he’d need a place to think.
“Hey, Mione,” he said now, dropping down beside her.
She leaned her head against his shoulder with a weary sigh. “Been working out?” she murmured.
Harry chuckled. “Quidditch perks. Well, except when I’m being thrown off a broom.”
Hermione snorted. Same answer as always.
For a while they just sat, watching the sun spill gold across the water. Hermione hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.
“I lost track of time,” she admitted, brushing her hair out of her face.
Harry only smiled. He was used to her disappearing into her thoughts. “Don’t apologize. I needed a break anyway. The twins are in one of their moods, and Ron’s with Dean and Seamus, determined to master football. That could take years.”
Hermione huffed a laugh. “I think this might be the first time Ron’s ever worked that hard at learning something.”
Harry grinned, and she found herself grinning too.
Despite everything; the broom incident, Professor Lupin, Sirius and her timeturner, she and Harry had grown closer than ever. He’d gotten into the habit of dragging her off to bed when she refused to stop working, sometimes even confiscating her books. Somewhere along the way, he had realized what she was to him.
Family.
And for Harry, who had never really had one, that was everything.
“I’ve been thinking about the summer,” Hermione said quietly. “I just can’t wait to see Mum and Dad again.”
Harry nudged her shoulder. “We saved Buckbeak. We saved Sirius.” His grin turned sly. “And we’re going to the World Cup.”
Hermione laughed. “Are we? No one mentioned that to me.”
Harry just smirked.
“At least you’ve got a holiday first,” he added. “I’ve got the Dursleys until then.”
Something flickered across his face, something Hermione knew well.
“Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You know you could’ve come with us. Mum even tried to buy your ticket.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “Dumbledore says I have to go back there for a while. There must be a reason. He wouldn’t send me if it wasn’t important.”
Hermione frowned. His faith in Dumbledore was unshakable, unquestioning. That, more than anything, made her uneasy. She was used to questioning everything.
They lingered at the water’s edge until the last streaks of sunlight melted away.
Then Harry sprang to his feet with a wicked grin. “Come on. Last one to the hall has to sit next to Ron on the train!”
And just like that, he bolted.
Hermione didn’t hesitate. She chased after him, overtaking him at the bridge with a laugh, weaving around the students filing into the hall.
Harry stumbled in seconds later, breathless. “What—have I—done?”
Hermione grinned. “Nothing in the world could make me run faster than the thought of being stuck beside Ron while he eats all the way back to London.”
Still laughing, the two of them slipped into the Great Hall. Ron was already wedged between Dean and Neville, Ginny across from him, leaving just enough room for Harry and Hermione to squeeze in.
“Where have you two been?” Ron asked the moment they sat down, barely pausing before launching into a ramble. “I think I finally get the rules now. Still don’t see why football’s so popular, though.”
Hermione exchanged an amused look with Harry as Ron carried on, utterly oblivious, or perhaps just indifferent, to the fact that neither of them had the slightest interest in the offside rule.
The Hall buzzed with conversation, laughter spilling from every table. For the first time in months, Hermione felt a sense of calm. No looming exams, no immediate danger. Just warmth, noise, and the promise of summer. But when her eyes wandered up to the staff table, the peace faltered.
Lupin’s chair was empty.
A sharp pang cut through her chest. If not for their intervention that night, he might still have been here, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Pettigrew might never have escaped. She pushed the thought away, reminding herself that they had made the right choice, even if the consequences were messy.
Her gaze drifted, landing on Snape. His scowl looked particularly vicious tonight. As if he could feel her watching, his glare deepened. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she looked down quickly, embarrassed. Since Sirius’s escape, Snape had been even more poisonous than usual. Sometimes she wondered if he somehow knew she had been involved. Or maybe that was just her guilt whispering.
The professors joined in the merriment, though of course Dumbledore couldn’t resist adding his own odd flourish.
“I recently tried pizza for the first time,” he announced, eyes twinkling at the rows of students, “and I must say, it was quite the revelation. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.”
Hermione laughed quietly, shaking her head at him.
When the Quidditch Cup and, to everyone’s surprise, the House Cup were awarded to Gryffindor, Dumbledore sent Harry a deliberate wink. Harry raised his brows at Hermione and muttered, “No extra fifty points for saving Padfoot?”
She chuckled, nudging him. It was good to see him joking more. Since that night, his humour had sharpened, and it felt like a weight had lifted off him, at least a little.
The feast was glorious, the kind that left everyone heavy and content as the Gryffindors trailed back to the common room. Percy declared the password “Unicorn Hair” before stepping aside to usher them through.
Most students went straight to bed without so much as glancing at the fire. Hermione was no different. She collapsed on top of her blankets, promising herself she would get up in five minutes to change.
She didn’t.
The next thing she knew, she was waking in darkness.
Her heart raced as the silence pressed in around her. She hadn’t been dreaming. There was no half-remembered blur in her mind but something had woken her.
A sound.
A soft rustle.
By her trunk.
For a frozen moment, she stayed perfectly still, clutching the sheets. The dormitory felt wrong, its familiar quiet laced with something foreign.
A shadowy figure stood near her belongings, barely visible.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t loud, just a startled gasp, but it was enough.
The figure flinched. Turned.
And then it was gone. A sharp pop of air, like an elf disappearing.
Her hands scrambled for her nightstand. “Lumos,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Light flared from her wand, throwing long shadows across the room. Her trunk gaped open, clothes scattered across the floor, parchment and ink bottles tossed aside. But none of that mattered.
Her diary was missing.
She stared at the empty space, pulse hammering.
“Shit,” she whispered.
The next morning, Hermione sat on the train with Ginny slumped against the window beside her, snoring softly into a borrowed cloak.
Harry, as expected, had chosen to sit with Ron. He grimaced every time Ron pulled out another piece of food pilfered from the breakfast table.
Hermione had once tried explaining the idea of takeaways to Ron. He had been fascinated. Unfortunately, he had taken it a little too literally when it came to Hogwarts meals.
Across the compartment, Harry and Ron were locked in what must have been their hundredth round of Exploding Snap, sparks flashing between their fingers.
Hermione, meanwhile, was buried in a book-Sacred 28: A History of Their Lineage.
She had seen it months ago in Hogsmeade and had never quite shaken the urge to read it. Could it hold answers about her father’s family? About where her magic truly came from?
The thought tugged at her constantly. She was happy, she loved her parents, she wanted for nothing. But still—what if she discovered something?
What if they rejected her?
What if they were tied to Voldemort?
Despite the worry curling in her stomach, she kept turning the pages, comparing the faces described in ink with her father’s sharp features and piercing blue eyes.
It couldn’t be the Malfoys, that much was obvious.
Maybe the Abbotts? They were known for their sharp features. But would they truly exile a Squib?
The Notts seemed more likely, with their cruel reputation.
And then there was another family, one she dreaded thinking about at all.
Her stomach twisted as she remembered the missing notebook. The one where she had charted their family tree. Gone.
Who had sent that elf? Who knew what she was searching for?
Ginny stirred beside her, wiping her chin quickly before checking to see if Harry had noticed. He hadn’t. Hermione let out a small laugh.
The compartment door slid open and Cedric Diggory poked his head in.
“Alright, everyone, about ten minutes out. Better start gathering your things.”
Before closing the door, he met Hermione’s eyes and offered a small smile.
“Have a good summer, Granger, yeah?” He winked and disappeared down the corridor.
Ginny groaned softly. “Merlin, he’s gorgeous.”
Hermione could only nod.
Once, Cedric had found her asleep in the library and walked her back to the common room. They had barely exchanged more than polite words since, but his quiet kindness had stayed with her.
“What was that about?” Ron demanded.
Hermione shook her head and ignored him.
“Oi, he stole my win,” Harry muttered.
Hermione opened her mouth to lecture him about inter-house unity, but his mischievous grin stopped her. She should have known better.
Whatever rivalry had once existed between Harry and Cedric was long gone.
The train slowed as it pulled into King’s Cross, steam hissing around the carriages while students scrambled to gather their trunks. Voices overlapped in a chaotic chorus of goodbyes, promises to write, and last-minute reminders.
Through the press of people, Hermione spotted her father waiting beside Molly and Arthur Weasley. Her heart lifted. By tomorrow morning she would be on a plane to France with her parents. They had promised her two weeks abroad, then she would return for the Quidditch World Cup before spending the rest of the summer with them.
She had agreed to the deal without hesitation.
France had always been her summer escape. Her parents’ colleague owned a villa outside Bordeaux, a quiet haven shaded by tall cypress trees. Hermione had spent countless afternoons there sprawled in the garden, a book propped open on her lap, the scent of lavender drifting on the breeze.
As she stepped down onto the platform, her father’s eyes found her immediately.
“Hermione!”
Daniel Granger cut through the crowd with ease, tall and broad-shouldered, his brown hair neatly combed, his white shirt crisp against faded jeans. Hermione heard Lavender and Parvati’s voices in her head, giggling over “tall, dark, and handsome,” and almost laughed.
She set Crookshanks’ crate carefully at her feet before rushing forward, throwing herself into his arms.
“Hi, Munchkin. I’ve missed you,” Dan murmured, his voice warm and full of affection.
“I’ve missed you too, Dad.”
“Mr. Granger!”
Harry was weaving his way through the throng, face brightening when he spotted them.
“Harry, please. It’s Dan,” her father said, extending a firm handshake. “And the offer still stands for next summer. We’ll need to get you a passport, but I know how much it would mean to Hermione.”
Harry grinned. “I might just take you up on that.”
Hermione’s parents had long since pieced together Harry’s situation at the Dursleys. She had told them enough. The isolation, the coldness, the petty cruelties that had chipped away at him. Dan and Emma had never understood how anyone could treat a child that way. But what they did understand, beyond doubt, was how much Harry meant to their daughter.
He wasn’t just her best friend. He was family.
“Your mum got called into the clinic. Emergency root canal. She’ll meet us at home,” Dan explained, brushing a stray curl from Hermione’s forehead.
Hermione nodded and turned back to Harry, wrapping him in a fierce hug. “You’d better write to me this summer.”
Harry laughed into her hair. “We’ll see each other in a few weeks anyway. But yes, I’ll write. Stay safe, Hermione.”
She gave him one last squeeze before making her way over to the Weasleys. Goodbyes with them were never solemn—there was too much noise and too much laughter for that. Fred and George made one final attempt at pushing a ridiculous new nickname for her, and she shot them a glare sharp enough to silence both at once.
“If you try to make that a thing, I’ll tell Ginny how to tell you apart.”
George blanched. Fred only looked intrigued.
Hermione laughed and shook her head, then turned away. Her father picked up Crookshanks’ crate with one hand and her trunk with the other, leading her toward the station exit.
She glanced back once, just long enough to see Harry and Ron disappearing into the crowd, and Ginny yawning wide enough to crack her jaw.
She didn’t notice the eyes that followed her.
Someone was watching.
And they already knew.