The emergency departure from Hogwarts was an organized, if somber, affair. The Hogwarts Express, usually a vessel of holiday cheer, was filled with the low murmur of uncertain students. Harry, to his immense relief, was swept up by the Weasleys, Mrs. Weasley declaring that he was "not to spend a single moment longer than necessary" with his dreadful Muggle relatives.
Ariana and Hermione, meanwhile, found Hermione's parents waiting for them on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, their faces etched with a mixture of confusion and parental concern. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were a kind, intelligent couple with warm smiles and a slightly bewildered air when it came to the magical world their daughter now inhabited.
"Hermione, darling!" Mrs. Granger said, enveloping her daughter in a hug. "We were so worried when we got the owl! A school closing for a 'magical sanitation sweep'? Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine now, Mum," Hermione assured her. "This is my best friend, Ariana Dumbledore. I invited her to stay with us."
The Grangers turned their attention to Ariana, their eyes widening slightly at her ethereal beauty and the serene, polite composure she radiated. "Oh, it is an absolute delight to meet you, Ariana!"
Mr. Granger said, shaking her hand warmly. "Hermione has told us so much about you in her letters. Any friend of hers is most welcome in our home."
The Granger house was a picture of comfortable, suburban normalcy. It was a large, detached brick home in a quiet, leafy cul-de-sac, with a neatly manicured lawn and a welcoming, bright-red front door. Inside, everything was clean, orderly, and filled with the scent of books and dental-grade antiseptic. To Ariana, after a year of stone corridors, moving staircases, and ancient magic, it felt like stepping into an entirely different dimension, a nostalgic one at that. It was peaceful.
The Grangers were utterly charmed by Ariana. Hermione had been a lonely child, her fierce intellect and bossy nature often isolating her from her peers. To see her with a friend—and such a poised, intelligent, and polite friend at that—was a source of immense joy and relief for them.
They treated Ariana not as a guest, but as a second daughter, fussing over her, ensuring she was comfortable, and engaging her in long, fascinating conversations about her 'special' school, though Ariana carefully edited her accounts to be far less terrifying than the reality.
The days fell into a slow, easy rhythm, a welcome respite from the constant tension of Hogwarts. The girls spent their mornings studying, but in a relaxed, leisurely way. They would sit in the Grangers' sun-drenched conservatory, surrounded by potted plants, quizzing each other on potion ingredients and transfiguration theory. They would then spend their afternoons introducing Ariana to the wonders of the Muggle world, one that she already knew, but Hermione's enthusiasm was matched only by her inate excitement of having a friend over.
They watched movies—Ariana found the concept quite nostalgic of her previous life, though she found the plots of most romantic comedies to be deeply illogical. They baked cookies with Mrs. Granger, Ariana's precise, methodical nature making her an unexpectedly excellent baker. They simply enjoyed the quiet companionship, their friendship deepening in the absence of dark lords and giant snakes.
One warm afternoon, with the sun beating down from a clear blue sky, Hermione suggested they use the small swimming pool in their back garden. It was a rare treat, a perfect escape from the unseasonable heat.
In the privacy of the garden, enclosed by a high fence, the two girls changed into their swimsuits. Hermione wore a practical, sporty one-piece. Ariana emerged from the changing room in a simple, dark blue bikini. The effect was startling. Without the concealing layers of her school robes, her natural grace and ethereal beauty were on full display. She moved with the fluid elegance of a dancer, her skin pale and flawless against the dark fabric.
Hermione, sitting on the edge of the pool dangling her feet in the cool water, couldn't help but stare. "Wow, Ariana," she said, her voice full of genuine, un-envious awe. "You're… you're really beautiful."
Ariana looked at her friend, at the honest admiration in her eyes, and offered a soft smile. She sat down beside Hermione, her own reflection shimmering in the water.
"Beauty is a matter of symmetry and subjective perception, Hermione," she said, her tone analytical but warm. "But thank you."
She then looked at Hermione, truly looked at her. She saw not just her brilliant mind and her loyal heart, but the pretty, vibrant girl beneath the frizzy hair and the slight insecurity.
"You are also quite beautiful, you know," Ariana stated, not as a platitude, but as a simple, observable fact. "You have wonderful, expressive eyes and a lovely smile." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "Although, from a purely structural standpoint, the dental alignment could be optimized."
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, a familiar, self-conscious gesture. "It's my front teeth, isn't it? My parents are dentists, they could fix them in an instant, but they think it builds character."
"Character is built through intellectual and moral fortitude, not through correctable orthodontic issues," Ariana countered calmly. "Madam Pomfrey is exceptionally skilled with minor cosmetic charms and restructuring spells. A simple, painless procedure could resize them to be more in proportion with the rest of your facial features. It is something to consider, if it would improve your own sense of well-being."
The suggestion was delivered with such clinical, detached kindness that Hermione didn't feel insulted at all. She felt… seen. Ariana hadn't just complimented her; she had identified a source of her insecurity and offered a practical, logical solution. It was the most Ariana-like gesture of friendship imaginable.
They spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and laughing, two normal teenage girls enjoying a summer day, the weight of the wizarding world a distant memory.
The planned one-week closure of Hogwarts stretched into two. The Aurors, under Amelia Bones's direct supervision, were conducting a sweep so thorough it was bordering on a deconstruction of the castle's ancient plumbing. The official word came via owl: the Basilisk was dead, the castle had been declared safe, but the investigation into the Chamber's origins and potential secondary access points was ongoing.
On their last evening at the Grangers' house, Ariana and Hermione sat in Hermione's bedroom, their trunks packed and ready for the return journey.
"I'm glad we're going back," Hermione said, "but… this was nice. Really nice."
"It was," Ariana agreed. "A period of low-stress data consolidation was beneficial."
She was satisfied. Her proactive measures had worked. The Basilisk was dead, neutralized by competent adults instead of by a lucky sword-wielding twelve-year-old. The school and its students were safe. Harry was safe.
But her own, private mission was far from over. Nagini had escaped, her whereabouts unknown. And Tom Riddle's diary still lay dormant in her trunk, a cold, dark secret waiting for its moment. She had won this battle by changing the rules of the game. The war, however, was still a long way from over. She had neutralized this year's threat, but she knew the diary was a key, a direct line to the memory of a young Voldemort. It was a weapon she had yet to decide how—or when—to use.
The board was clear for now, but the most dangerous pieces were still in play.