The school year was inevitably coming to an end. Warm beams of spring sunlight peeked through the gathering clouds, glinting in puddles left behind by a brief rain. Along the winding path stood broad oaks, their branches casting shadows over benches with flaking paint. Now and then, a drop would fall from a leaf. The air smelled of wet earth and fresh greenery, and somewhere up ahead came the sound of children laughing and splashing through puddles.
Hermione and Tommy were walking slowly through Oakridge Park, heading home. Their friendship had started just over two months ago, when Hermione stood up for Tommy, and it had only grown stronger since – despite the constant teasing from their classmates. At school, everyone saw them as outcasts who'd found comfort in each other's company. That only made them stick together more.
Tommy walked in silence, idly kicking a pinecone along the path. Several times he lifted his grey eyes to Hermione, but each time she caught his gaze, he immediately looked away. When it happened for the third time, she stopped.
"What's up, Tommy? Something on your mind?"
Shuffling his feet, Tommy fidgeted with the strap of his backpack. Still avoiding her eyes, he started:
"I heard today…" He glanced sideways, like he was checking to make sure no one else was around. "Barbara and her friends were having a laugh, saying you turned down Silverleaf. Is it true? Are you switching to Oakridge Middle School?"
As he said it, he finally looked at Hermione, and a timid spark of hope flickered in his eyes. She understood immediately what it was about. Over the past month, she had sat Tommy down for extra study sessions more than once, but he worked without much enthusiasm, and there had been no noticeable progress. Silverleaf remained out of reach for him, and Oakridge Middle lay ahead.
"Yeah, I'm not going to Silverleaf," Hermione confirmed. Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she added, "I can't just leave you alone to be torn apart by Jake and his wolf pack, can I?"
Jake, like most of his friends, was also moving to the local school. Hermione was far less worried about his blunt, straightforward insults than about Barbara Grayson's more insidious attacks. And although Barbara had quieted down a little lately, her bullying hadn't stopped, and more than once Hermione still came home in tears, counting the days until the end of the school year.
"Wow, that's great!" Tommy burst out, beaming. "Don't worry, all right? I've got you. And I'll stand up to Jake for you, swear! I even joined a gym, you will see! By this fall, I'm gonna be super strong!"
He enthusiastically bent his arm at the elbow, showing off his bicep – tiny, barely noticeable on his skinny forearm. The gesture, carried out with such innocence, made Hermione burst out laughing. Tommy's face, framed by his straw-coloured hair, darkened at once. Scowling, he spun around and marched off down the path.
"Tommy, stop! Please, I didn't mean to upset you!" Hermione shouted, running after him.
In a burst of frustration, Tommy kicked a pinecone, sending it flying straight toward a grey tabby cat sitting by the path. At the last second, the cat sprang aside with graceful ease, dodging the unexpected threat. When the cat landed, it fixed Tommy with a stare that struck Hermione as unmistakably disapproving. She even shook her head, trying to brush off the strange notion. 'Brrr… what an imagination I've got.' Meanwhile, the cat briefly held Hermione's gaze before beginning to lick its front paws, slipping back into its own affairs.
That's when Tommy broke the silence.
"I know!" he said, his voice trembling with hurt. "You think I'm weak. Useless."
Hermione quickly grabbed his hand.
"Tommy, come on!" she said, shaking her head. "I don't care if you're strong or not. You're a good friend, and that's what really matters."
Tommy glanced up at Hermione from under his eyebrows, still breathing hard.
"Really?" he asked at last.
"Of course," Hermione said quickly.
A hint of a smile touched his face, and soon they were walking down the path together again.
"To be honest… I thought you'd go to Silverleaf," he said quietly. "That's where all the strong students go. You know… ones like you."
"I used to think that too. But a lot's changed," she replied. There was a trace of regret in her voice – deep down, she still dreamed of the prestigious school.
"That's really cool!" Tommy said, missing her mood completely. "I really like our friendship. It would've been sad if we ended up at different schools."
"We'd still be friends," Hermione said firmly. "A different school isn't a reason to stop being friends."
Tommy looked at her with gratitude. His feelings were written all over his face – and that honesty was what Hermione liked most about him.
"So how'd you convince your parents? Did you promise them something?" Tommy asked. "I bet they really wanted you to go to Silverleaf."
"Yeah, especially my dad. At first, he was totally against it," Hermione said with a faint, sad smile. Then she sighed. "But he gave in…"
It was after that evening conversation, when Hermione admitted she didn't want to go to Silverleaf, that John Granger decided to take action. Realising that Barbara Grayson was the reason, he went to the school on Monday, determined to settle the matter once and for all.
That was where he learned about the exploding book and Barbara being hurt. When he stepped into the principal's office, he was surprised to find the mayor of Oakridge there – Barbara's father. Just a few minutes later, John stormed out, dark as a thundercloud, nervously adjusting his already perfectly neat tie. 'Looks like getting under people's skin runs in the Grayson family,' Hermione thought at the time. Later, it was especially unpleasant for her to watch the teachers and the principal fawn over the mayor, tripping over themselves with excuses and promises to "sort everything out." They went into detail about what had happened in math class and swore they would find whoever was responsible. More than once, Hermione caught the mayor's prickly gaze on her.
That evening, Hermione's parents talked for a long time behind a closed door. She never found out exactly what they discussed, but it was after that conversation that her father stopped pushing for Silverleaf and agreed to her transfer to Oakridge.
"Oh – totally forgot," Tommy said suddenly, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts. "I've gotta pick up my little sister from daycare."
He stopped abruptly, checked his watch, and with a quick, "I've gotta run. See you tomorrow!" took off toward the park exit.
Hermione watched him go. 'Some gentleman – walking me home,' she thought with a wry smile. But in truth, she didn't want to go home at all. The memories of those difficult days brought on a sense of sadness. With a sigh, she looked around and spotted a bench beneath a blooming tree. Hermione sat down, leaned back, and simply listened to the rustling leaves, breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers. At first, she allowed herself to sink into sad thoughts, but before long she grew tired of them. Reaching into her bag, she took out her textbooks and notebooks and got to work on her homework.
The first raindrops made Hermione lift her eyes from her textbooks. She glanced around, then simply hunched her shoulders and went on writing. But soon she noticed something strange: with only a few rare exceptions, the raindrops weren't touching her, as if someone invisible had opened an umbrella over her. Hermione froze, caught in the magical dance of drops around her. She was filled with wonder, and along with it came a light feeling, as though the water were washing all her worries away.
The rain gradually let up. Setting her notebook aside, Hermione saw a cat beneath the bench across from her – the same one Tommy had nearly hit with a pinecone. The cat seemed to be watching her. 'No, after all that strangeness with the rain, the last thing I need is an attentive cat,' Hermione told herself.
"Kitty, kitty, here," she called softly, patting her knees. The cat tilted its head slightly, as if deciding whether it could be bothered to move.
"Too bad I don't have anything for you," Hermione sighed. "You know, I actually like cats. They're so graceful. And I think they're really smart," she added, like she was sharing a secret. "Maybe I should get one. What do you think? Would you want to live with me?"
However, the cat showed little interest. It went back to grooming itself, then gave a small shake and wandered off down one of the paths. When Hermione lifted her eyes from her notebook again, the cat was nowhere to be seen. The park had emptied out, and the only figure left was a woman in a dark cloak and a strange hat, hurrying away along the path.
Feeling that it was time for her to head home, Hermione smiled at her unexpectedly good mood. She quickly gathered her things, stood up, lifted her gaze, and then broke into a laugh. A branch thick with leaves stretched out above the bench. 'Well then – every miracle does have its explanation! And still, there must have been magic in that rain, if I'm in such a wonderful mood now,' she thought, and with a light heart she skipped home.
***
When the doors of the elementary school closed behind Hermione for the last time, she felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation. She wanted to believe that Barbara – and all her endless teasing – was finally behind her. Ahead lay a new school, new subjects, and maybe even new friends. But for now, she had a whole summer ahead of her – time for freedom and discovery.
In the first few days, Hermione let herself fully relax. She read books she'd never had time for before. She threw herself into gardening – her newest obsession – turning the house and yard into a blooming little paradise. But after only a few days of calm, she felt it creeping back in: that restless urge to study. On quiet evenings, she would sit at her desk and dig into new subjects, trying to prepare as best she could for middle school.
Sometimes, she and Tommy would meet up and explore the outskirts of Oakridge. Tommy, who'd grown up around fields and forests, knew dozens of stories about animals and plants, and he loved sharing them. One day, during one of their walks, Hermione told him about that strange afternoon in the park – about the rain that never touched her, and the attentive tabby cat. They laughed for a long time at her wild imagination, but deep down, Hermione felt just a little sad. Something about that day still felt different.
Now and then, when she was alone, she felt a kind of quiet longing – nostalgia for something she couldn't name, and a pull toward something unknown, maybe even magical. She would go back over the strange little things that had happened and imagine a world where science wasn't the only answer – where something else existed too. Something hidden, and full of wonder. Those thoughts never stayed long. She could still share them with her mother – who listened with a warm smile. But her dad met anything like that with sharp, stubborn skepticism. He'd scoff at the slightest mention of anything 'unexplained.' He liked to say, "People always invent miracles instead of admitting they don't understand something – just like cave people who saw fire and called it magic."
Hermione mostly agreed with him – it did seem like she'd inherited her love of logic and analysis from her father. But sometimes, her imagination still carried her away, stirring up a craving for adventure. Maybe that's what kept pushing her and Tommy farther beyond the edges of their little town, down forgotten trails and into hidden corners of nature, where anything could be waiting.
One evening, after coming back from a walk with Tommy, Hermione joined her family for dinner. Yet she could hardly sit still. Her mother noticed the sparkle in her eyes and asked, "What's the matter, sweetheart?"
"We found the most incredible place!" Hermione blurted out, stumbling over her own excitement. "It was beautiful, unusual... I'm sure we've never been there before."
She was speaking fast, cheeks flushed, hands moving as if the words weren't enough to express what she'd seen. Her father shook his head while serving himself salad.
"Hermione, do you really think there's anything left around Oakridge we haven't seen?" he asked.
John's doubt made sense. Family hikes had always been their tradition, and he approached them with surgical precision – studying maps beforehand, marking routes, checking landmarks. By now, the map of the area was crowded with dots.
"Maybe you're right," Hermione shrugged. "Let's go together tomorrow and see for ourselves."
John had already drawn in a breath to object, but her mom spoke first:
"Great idea!" she said brightly. "We'll spend Sunday in the woods – have a picnic, enjoy the scenery."
She glanced at John. He hesitated for a second, then gave a quiet nod.
The next morning, after breakfast and packing everything for the picnic, the Grangers set off. The day was perfect: bright sun, clear sky, a light breeze – what more could a traveler want? They drove to the edge of the forest, threw on their backpacks, and headed down the path Hermione had pointed out, chatting idly along the way.
"We've definitely been here before," John remarked right away, pointing to a scorched oak off to the side. "Last year, you climbed it and got soot all over yourself – remember?"
"I remember, Dad," Hermione said with a smile, not the least bit embarrassed. "But the place I'm taking you to – we haven't seen it."
Her father gave a skeptical smirk, but when he caught her mother's sharp look, he muttered, "All right, lead us to your magical place," though his voice still carried doubt.
Hermione walked on ahead, while behind her, her father kept up a running commentary about familiar trees and rocks – like he was trying to prove he knew every trail in the woods. She did her best to tune him out. They were almost there.
The winding path led them to a quiet spot surrounded by tall trees and thick bushes. A narrow opening was just visible in the undergrowth. They stepped through it – and her parents stopped in their tracks. A wide clearing stretched out before them, glowing in the morning sun. Tall, slender trees lined the edges like silent sentinels, guarding this quiet spot from the outside world. Flowers in every shade of the rainbow reached for the light, and butterflies fluttered above them – light as petals – bringing the whole scene to life with barely-there movement.
"Oh!" Hermione's mother breathed. "It's like something out of a fairy tale."
Her eyes were shining as she tried to take in everything at once, trying to absorb the beauty laid out before her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," her father muttered, looking around in disbelief. "I was a complete idiot not to believe you. This is amazing. How did we not know this place was here?"
Hermione smiled, pleased. In the morning light, the clearing looked even more beautiful than it had that evening when she and Tommy had stumbled across it by chance. They'd had to leave almost right away – twilight was setting in fast, and they needed to get home before dark. But now, sunlight poured into every corner, and the colors had come to life – bright and deep. It felt like everything around them was breathing magic.
Hermione's mother gathered a bouquet of wildflowers. One of them, though, turned out to have a bit of a personality – it scratched her, leaving marks on her skin that looked oddly like tiny bite marks. That sparked a round of jokes, with the family inventing wild stories about a savage flower creature, and Emma dramatically 'complaining' that she'd barely escaped. Laughter followed them wherever they went. Every few steps brought another shout – someone finding a strange new bloom or a beetle with wings patterned like gold-stitched embroidery.
When they started to get a little tired and sat down for a snack, John leaned back in the grass and said with genuine admiration:
"Amazing. I never would've thought there were so many plants around here we didn't recognize. Just incredible. We've got to show this place to the Wilsons – I bet they've never heard of it either."
"They definitely haven't," Emma said with a smile, raising her coffee cup. "Otherwise they'd have dragged us out here ages ago."
After the picnic, they set off again. The clearing had only been the beginning – a narrow path led deeper into the woods, promising more to discover. Hermione, bending over another flower in admiration, was about to call her mother when she suddenly noticed her wince slightly in pain.
"Mum, are you okay?" she asked, a thread of worry in her voice.
Emma tried to cover the pain with a smile.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. What is it?"
But as she came closer, Hermione caught a clear look at her hand. The skin around the tiny wounds left by the flower's 'bite' had visibly reddened.
"Mum, let's go back," she said, uneasy. "That doesn't look good."
"Oh, Hermione, it's nothing," Emma said with a wave of her hand.
John came over, took one look at the wound and said without hesitation:
"We're heading back."
On the way back, Hermione kept glancing around. Then something flickered through the trees to the right. She stepped off the path, peering into the gap between the trunks – and froze.
"Mum! Dad! Look!" Her voice came out louder than usual. She was pointing toward the edge of the woods, where pale shapes moved between the trees. "They're… they look like unicorns!"
Her parents came over, and Hermione turned to them, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, filled with awe:
"We just found unicorns!"
But when her mother looked toward the clearing, she gave a cautious smile.
"Sweetheart, are you sure they're unicorns?"
"What else could they be?" Hermione said. "Just look at those horns!"
John shook his head and said calmly,
"Honey, let's be honest. Looks like someone got creative – turned a few white horses into 'unicorns' with plastic horns. Probably for a party or something."
He noticed the way Hermione's face dimmed, and added, more gently, "But it still looks really beautiful and fairy-tale-like. However, if you look closely," he added, "you'll see they're tied to a tree. Just like regular horses."
Hermione looked again. Now, she noticed the ropes. 'Dad's probably right,' she thought with a sigh. Just another made-up miracle. Her eyes drifted back to the horn, then to the horse's face – and she froze again. The unicorn's eyes were pleading. She felt it, like something physical, pulling her in. She took a step. Then another.
"Hermione, where are you going?" her father called, his voice sharper now.
"They need to be freed," she said quietly, like she wasn't fully awake.
"Don't be ridiculous!" John said, grabbing her by the arm. "They belong to someone. Their owners are probably nearby, and they're not going to be thrilled if you let their horses loose."
"But, Dad…" she started.
"No buts. And we need to move. I want to get your mum to the doctor."
She couldn't argue with that. She walked on but kept glancing back. The white shapes had already disappeared into the trees, but that look in the 'unicorn's' eyes stayed with her. 'Why would someone put those dumb horns on them?' she thought on her way out of the forest. 'And those eyes… no regular animal has eyes like that.'
No matter how hard she tried to shake it off, the memory kept surfacing – those eyes, silent and pleading. That quiet call that wouldn't leave her alone.
***
Emma Granger's injuries turned out to be more serious than they'd seemed at first, keeping her home for a few days with Hermione as her only company. Hermione took over the household chores, helping her mum with whatever she could, and gradually, the memory of their forest adventure began to fade. Only now and then, just before falling asleep, would she catch herself thinking: 'What was it about that 'unicorn's' eyes that got to me? Maybe it was just the magic of a beautiful place…'
By the next Saturday, Emma was feeling much better, and John was fired up about going back to the nature reserve – this time with the Wilsons. He was dying to show their friends the spot they'd found. Hermione decided to skip it – her plans with Tommy sounded way more fun than tagging along with her parents and their friends.
"Mum, just don't go picking any more flowers in that place, okay?" she said as they were heading out.
"I promise," Emma said with a smile.
Once they'd left, Hermione read for a bit, cleaned her room, and then spent some time tending her plants. Suddenly, a car pulled up outside, and she heard her parents' voices at the door – louder than usual.
'Already?' she thought, surprised.
The door swung open. John and Emma stepped inside, both of them clearly confused.
"What happened? Mum, are you okay?" Hermione asked, her voice tense.
"I'm fine, sweetie," Emma replied, but there was something distant in her tone.
Hermione turned to her dad with a questioning look. He hesitated, then started:
"Uh… right. So… you know how we were planning to go to the reserve with the Wilsons?"
"Yeah. But why are you back so soon?"
John glanced at Emma, then said quietly:
"We couldn't find it."
"What do you mean, couldn't find it?" Hermione's eyebrows rose. "You made sure to remember the way. And you never get lost in that forest."
"Exactly," John said, frowning. "On the way there, we were telling the Wilsons about the plants and everything else. They didn't exactly believe us, but they still wanted to see it – figured they'd prove we were wrong…"
"That sounds familiar," Hermione said with a grin, winking at her mum. Emma gave a weak smile but didn't say anything.
"Yeah… anyway," John went on, more distracted now. "We got to where the path should've been, and it just… wasn't there. At first I thought we'd missed it – maybe we were talking too much and walked right by. So we turned around and retraced our steps, watching closely."
He paused.
"But there was nothing. No gap, no trail. Just thick brush. And the weirdest part? The trees in that spot were a lot shorter than I remember."
A chill ran down Hermione's back. Tommy had said the same thing not long ago – that he hadn't been able to find the place – and she'd laughed at him. Now, it didn't seem funny anymore. She picked up the watering can without thinking, walked over to the flower on the windowsill, and started to water it.
"The Wilsons were cracking jokes the whole way back," John went on. "They're sure we just made the whole thing up –" He suddenly broke off, staring at his daughter. His face slowly shifted – confusion turning into something closer to shock.
Hermione followed his gaze and went still. The flower she was watering was growing. Fast. New shoots were bursting from the soil, leaves unfurling in seconds, and buds swelling right before their eyes. Emma gave a small gasp and sank into the nearest chair. For several seconds, the room was silent. The flower kept growing. John took a step forward, then stopped, shifting his gaze from the flower to Hermione and back again.
"That's impossible," he said hoarsely.
Overcome by a strange and sudden wave of guilt, Hermione put the watering can down and hurried to her room, leaving her parents in stunned silence. Her mind – so used to logic and reason – refused to accept the things happening around her. But she couldn't deny it anymore. The impossible was real.
***
Two days had passed since the flower incident, and there was still no explanation. Hermione barely left her room. She kept replaying everything in her head for hours, as if hoping to remember some detail that would make it all make sense. Her eyes were still red from crying. What scared her most was not understanding – what had happened to her and why.
John Granger was the first to recover from the initial shock. Then he carefully took the flower out of the pot, checking if something mechanical was hidden inside. But the pot was just a pot. The plant was just a plant. Then he methodically combed through reference books, magazines, and newspapers, looking for tricks or illusions that might explain what they'd seen. But he found no suitable answer. When Hermione finally came out of her room, he even tried to get her to admit how she'd "pulled it off." But tears welled up again, and she hurried out of the room, leaving him under Emma's disapproving stare.
By Monday evening, the Grangers were sitting in silence in the living room. John still couldn't accept what had happened. Emma was tired of trying to convince him to just let it be. Outside, the weather had turned. Even though it was mid-summer, the wind was picking up, whistling around the house, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming. John sighed and reached for another issue of his magician's magazine. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the doorbell. John shot a nervous glance at his wife, hesitated for a second, then stood up and went to answer the door.