Hermione woke, gasping for air. The icy voice was still ringing in her ears: 'You have usurped magical power…' She sat up, eyes darting over the bedside table in search of her wand. But within another second, the pale face of Thomas Nightshade began to fade.
Outside, birds chirped brightly and carelessly. The sun, indifferent to her fear, flooded everything with light, a reminder that summer was in full swing. Hermione exhaled and lay back down, pressing her face into the soft blanket. She tried to push back the unease that hadn't let her go for days. Home was supposed to be her fortress, a place where she could finally let her guard down, even if only for a little while. She had believed that until recently. A shadow passed outside the window. She jerked upright and looked out. It was only an Auror.
'My nerves are frayed,' Hermione thought, watching him make his slow round of the house, eyes scanning everything carefully. 'An old acquaintance,' she noted automatically. She could already recognize most of them at a glance. Their presence, routine and familiar now, had become part of her new reality.
She let her head drop back onto the pillow, biting her lip. A house guarded day and night starts to feel like a prison. Outside, there was no carefree summer waiting, only a world full of danger. And the threat was not imagined. A couple of weeks ago, a grey owl had flown to her window, let her untie the letter from its leg and then vanished soundlessly into the sky. Hermione's fingers shook as she unrolled the parchment. The handwriting was neat and graceful, but, most of all, frighteningly familiar.
She had already seen it that spring. Then, she, Harry, and Ron had tried desperately to find out who had sent her the recipe for the Essence of the Sky Vortex. The answer had come suddenly — in the Forbidden Forest, where Thomas Nightshade himself had admitted it, smiling carelessly while holding her at wandpoint. To him, it was just a game, and the stakes were her life. Hermione read and reread the letter's words. By now she knew them by heart, yet kept going back, as if hoping she was mistaken. That it wasn't so terrible after all.
Hermione Granger,
You have committed unforgivable offenses:
You have usurped magical power that the Muggle-born have no right to possess. You have destroyed a valuable artifact meant to restore justice. You have dared to resist the defenders of tradition and the purity of magic.
Any one of these deeds would be enough to condemn you.
Retribution is inevitable.
The Executive Council of the League of Light.
Now Hermione knew: the League of Light would not leave her alone. The thought that she would have to spend the whole summer under guard instead of living a normal life weighed on her. But as someone used to relying on reason, she forced herself to accept it as inevitable. And she tried to obey every restriction. She almost never left the house, filling her days with books and chores. At first, her parents noticed nothing unusual. Instead of running off with friends, Hermione was always there — book in hand or sitting at the family table. For a while, that even pleased them. But in time, they grew confused, and soon enough it turned into worry.
The Aurors suggested casting distracting charms. Hermione rejected the idea immediately — the thought of putting a spell on her own parents was completely unacceptable. But the longer she stayed home, the more often she had to lie. Her parents grew more persistent, and Hermione even began to avoid them. The voice of conscience gave way to a sense of responsibility for her parents' peace of mind. Then she overheard a conversation that forced her to decide.
One morning, she reached for the doorknob but stopped when she heard voices in the hall.
"Don't you think it's strange? She's been home all summer," her father's voice was muffled, tense.
"Maybe she just has a lot of studying," her mother suggested uncertainly. "She's tired. And her interests might have changed."
"Studying? In the summer?"
"But you know our daughter."
"Still, she doesn't even go out with Tommy anymore. Before, they spent whole days outside!" her father pressed. "Look at her — she's hiding from the whole world. That's not normal!"
He fell silent for a moment, then added, much quieter:
"I don't like any of this. I think Hogwarts is a bad influence on her."
"But Hogwarts is a good school," her mother tried to object. "She's with her own kind there"
"And what makes you so sure it's good? Because you believe her? That old witch, McGonagall? I didn't like her from the start. I still remember how she tried to convince us their school was better than all the rest. Better even than the private ones! That just doesn't happen. Maybe we'd be better off pulling Hermione out of Hogwarts altogether."
Her parents moved away from her door, and their voices faded. Hermione remained standing where she was. Her hand still rested on the doorknob. The realization was uncomfortably clear: the deception had gone too far.
Later that evening, she stepped out onto the porch. In the twilight, the trees cast long shadows, and only after a few seconds did she notice the Auror standing beneath the old oak across the way. He was just raising a hand to catch her attention. After a quick glance around, she headed toward him, hesitant.
"You said you could cast a spell?" Hermione asked in a low voice. "So my parents… wouldn't notice anything?"
The Auror studied her for a moment and nodded.
"Yes. Distracting charms," he said. "Standard procedure in cases like this."
"Then—"
Hermione bit her lip, her chest tightening. She stared at the grass at her feet, trying to steady herself. Then, with difficulty, she forced the words out:
"Fine. Let's do it." She spun around sharply and ran back inside.
A week went by. Her parents stopped asking uncomfortable questions. Days fell back into their usual pattern: breakfast, books, and the kind of light evening conversations that didn't mean much. And yet… Each time she saw her mother or father suddenly fall silent, confused, as if forgetting what they had meant to ask, an overwhelming doubt came over her. 'Had I really done the right thing?'
Thoughts about the past few days kept circling in Hermione's mind as she lay in bed. At last, she shook herself free of the unpleasant memories, stretched, threw off the blanket, and got up. She dressed quickly and, tying her hair into a messy ponytail as she went, hurried through to the living room. It was Saturday, which meant her parents were at home. After the long months at Hogwarts, the chance to spend a whole day with them felt especially precious, all the more so now that Hermione no longer had to lie to them.
The moment she entered the living room, the smell of freshly brewed tea greeted her. Her mother sat by the window with a book, while her father was focused on sorting through small tools, bent over his old pocket watch.
"Good morning, Hermione," her mother greeted her first, lifting her eyes with a soft smile.
"Good morning," Hermione replied, crossing to her. She gave her mother a quick hug before turning to her father. "What are you doing there?"
"Fixing the watch," he said without looking up. "Almost done. Want to see?"
She stepped closer and looked over his shoulder. On the table, tiny gears, tweezers, screws, springs — all laid out in strict order on a white sheet. Her father had always been meticulous with things like this.
"I remember how you used to fix my toys when I was little," Hermione said with a smile. "And every time you explained how they worked. You also said the most important thing was attention to detail."
"Exactly," he nodded, with a slight smile of his own. "And you, as I recall, always tried to help."
Hermione remembered sitting next to her father in the kitchen, passing him tools, sometimes even trying to fix something herself. Her small fingers didn't always manage, but her father was always there to help. She watched him work deftly with the tweezers and suddenly realised that this was where it all started — attention to detail, patience, a love of mechanics. With him. Perhaps that was why magical instruments were not only interesting to her, but also carried a trace of home.
The quiet was broken by a burst of barking from outside the house, mixed with loud laughter. Hermione went to the window and, to her surprise, saw a black puppy racing across the lawn. Its ears flapped in the wind, and its tail wagged so fast it looked like a propeller. Right behind it ran her friend Tommy, waving a collar and trying to catch the dog.
"Tommy has a dog?" her mother asked in surprise, glancing out the window.
"Looks like it," Hermione muttered.
The same flicker of surprise crossed her face, and with a quick, 'Let's find out,' she hurried out into the yard.
As soon as Tommy saw her, he waved cheerfully.
"Hi, Hermione! Will you help me catch Blecko? He keeps running away from me!"
"Blecko?" she repeated in surprise, joining his clumsy attempts to catch the puppy. "But where did you get him?"
"My parents gave him to me!" Tommy said proudly. He lunged for the puppy again, but Blecko slipped away at the last moment. "It's my birthday today! You remember, don't you?"
"Oh! Your birthday—" Hermione stopped short. "I completely forgot!"
"It's fine, really! It doesn't matter!" Tommy turned to her quickly, his face lighting up with hope. "I wanted to ask you! I've got this… thing today — a party, at my house. I invited a few friends. Will you come? I really want you to!"
He stood in front of her, hardly breathing, his eyes so full of expectation that Hermione felt her heart tighten unpleasantly.
"I—" she began, then broke off. What could she say? She remembered the letter from the League of Light and shivered. Going to the birthday party would mean putting herself — and everyone there — in danger.
"Well?" Tommy asked impatiently. His voice was still cheerful, but there was already a touch of hurt in it.
"I don't know," Hermione answered quietly, lowering her eyes.
Tommy's smile faded. His shoulders sank, and he looked away.
"Again?" he said, disappointed. "You always… always come up with something." He gave a small shrug and turned away. "Fine! I get it! If you don't want to be friends anymore, just say so."
He was about to run after Blacko again, who by then had started rolling cheerfully in the grass, but Hermione grabbed his hand.
"Tommy, wait!" she said quickly. "Listen! I'll try. Really! I can't promise, but… I'll try."
Tommy turned to her. His face still showed hurt, but now there was confusion too.
"Try? What do you mean, 'try'? It's just a party. I don't get it. You just come, that's all."
Hermione looked at him.
"I can't explain," she whispered, lowering her eyes. "But I…" she swallowed, "I'm not allowed to leave the house."
"Did your parents ground you?" Tommy frowned.
"No, of course not!" Hermione shook her head quickly, feeling more and more uncomfortable under his gaze. She didn't want to lie to Tommy too. "It's all… very complicated. But please, believe me. If I can come, I will."
Tommy watched her in silence for a few seconds, as if weighing her words. Then he finally muttered:
"Fine… just try hard, okay?" His voice still sounded a little hurt.
Hermione nodded, knowing well how strange her explanations must have sounded. Meanwhile, Blecko, pleased with himself, ran up to them and barked. He darted around in circles, jumping and wagging his tail. Hermione couldn't help smiling: the puppy was bursting with energy, desperate to play.
"What breed is he?" she asked, trying to shift the subject.
Tommy's face brightened, and with unhidden pride he said:
"He's a Labrador! A black Labrador! The best breed in the world!"
At last he managed to catch Blecko, fasten the collar, and give him a scratch behind the ears. Then he turned to Hermione.
"So… see you tonight?" he asked uncertainly.
Hermione took a moment, then forced out:
"Yeah… maybe."
Tommy nodded and walked slowly back toward his house. The joy he had felt over Blecko no longer lit his face, and Hermione knew it was her fault. When her friend disappeared around the corner, she turned to the Auror, who was standing nearby, watching from a distance. She walked closer and said firmly:
"We need to talk."