The August heat beat down without mercy, turning the street into a scorching griddle. The air quivered above the pavements like steam, making everything beyond the windows waver and lose its reality. Hermione once again pulled back the curtain to carefully scan the street. Empty. Only a ginger cat stretched lazily in the shade of an old bench, flicking its tail, and farther off, by the bus stop, a woman in a long pale dress fanned herself with a rolled-up newspaper.
'All the better,' Hermione thought, clutching the edge of the curtain tighter. 'The fewer people, the less chance someone from the League of Light will notice me.' She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusted the strap of her bag, and stepped outside.
The sun crashed onto her in a hot wave. The heat seeped under her clothes, scorched her skin. But after weeks in the stifling half-dark of the house, the sensation didn't irritate her. On the contrary — it was welcome. Hermione stopped, closed her eyes, allowing herself for a moment to feel real summer — hot, searing, untroubled. Only for a moment. She inhaled the burning air, opened her eyes, and walked on.
Her footsteps echoed along the nearly empty street. She walked slowly, drawing out that fleeting sense of freedom. Around her were narrow pavements, the old brick walls with their darkened shop and café signs — all of it painfully familiar. This was where her whole childhood had passed. At this crossroads she had once stood with her parents for a long time, choosing whether to go to the park or the fair. And here, by the entrance to the small bakery, she first tried a warm croissant with chocolate filling. Hermione still remembered how the hot, sweet chocolate ran down her fingers in thick streams, how the flaky pastry crunched between her teeth. Back then it wasn't just a treat — it was a forbidden fruit. Her parents, both dentists, strictly limited her sweets, especially chocolate, always reminding her about the harm sugar did to teeth. And maybe that was why that croissant had seemed the best delicacy in the world.
For a moment a weak smile touched her lips — but it disappeared at once. Now these streets felt different. The same bakery, the same crossroads, but the feeling was no longer the same — as if something imperceptible had changed. Most likely it was she herself who had changed. The past now seemed almost as distant as that simple joy of a chocolate croissant.
Looking back, Hermione noticed a man in a light robe, pretending to look at a shop window. She remembered yesterday's conversation with the Ministry: the walk had been approved suspiciously quickly, with promises she wouldn't notice serious security and that there was no need to worry. Which meant they had made her the bait — and the man in the robe was her 'only' guard. To the League of Light's watchers, she was supposed to look vulnerable. Her chest ached at the thought that someone from the League might be nearby, but she pushed the fear away: 'Today is my day — and no one will ruin it.'
Lost in her thoughts, Hermione turned into a familiar alley. She was heading to a bookshop nearby. She wanted a simple, unremarkable book. About people who didn't carry wands, didn't fight secret magical organizations, didn't save the world from dark wizards. She wanted something ordinary, quiet, that could at least for a little bring her back to the carefree Muggle world she had grown up in. But after only a few steps down the narrow lane, Hermione felt her heart stop, then drop heavily. Coming straight toward her was the last person she wanted to see. No, it wasn't an agent of the League of Light. It was Barbara Grayson.
Barbara. The nightmare of her primary school years, embodied in long legs, perfectly styled blond hair, and poisonous words she knew how to wrap in polite phrases, like velvet packaging. She was a master of verbal cruelty, able to make her taunts seem like harmless jokes to anyone watching from the side. Her 'sweet' manners were a polished weapon, and her smile — a perfect mask that hid her spiteful nature.
Around Barbara, as always, swarmed her faithful companions — friends for whom she was the absolute queen. Hermione slowed her step and almost automatically began to turn away. Her first thought was to take another street, but it was already too late — Barbara had noticed her.
"Hermione! Stop! Where are you going?!" she shouted in her usual sugary voice and headed straight for her.
Barbara's friends traded eager smiles and hurried after her, anticipating another show. Hermione, knowing there was no escaping now, stopped reluctantly.
"Well, look who we have here," Barbara said with fake surprise, glancing at her friends as if a rare celebrity had appeared. "Our little Hermione Granger! I'm so glad to see you, you can't imagine." Her voice was still sugary, but in her eyes that familiar dangerous spark lit up.
Her friends giggled, closing in around Hermione. The way out was cut off. Hermione looked straight at Barbara in silence. Her gaze was calm, though inside she was tense, like a drawn string.
"Can't say the same," she replied coldly, without looking away.
Barbara lifted an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. She was used to Hermione avoiding clashes with her. After all, she had long since proved to Hermione that she could never match her in a war of words.
"Tut-tut, how rude, Hermione," Barbara's voice took on mock reproach. "You've run into your old friend, your schoolmate. Have you forgotten how much we share? How could you?!" She raised a hand to her face theatrically, pretending to wipe away a tear.
There were chuckles around her.
"Although —" Barbara went on, her voice losing any hint of friendliness, her eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam. "Of course — what was I even thinking? You've always been so… uncouth." She ran her eyes over Hermione from head to toe, as if judging an old thing that should've been thrown out long ago. "By the way, how's your new school going?"
Hermione clenched her teeth, trying to think of a reply, but Barbara didn't need one. For her this was a show, and Hermione was nothing more than a prop, a target for sneers and jabs.
"Oh right, sorry," Barbara went on with fake regret. "That must be a sore spot for you. I heard you didn't get into Silverleaf. Or even Oakridge! What a blow that must have been to your pride," she gave a short laugh and glanced at her friends.
Hermione felt heat rush to her cheeks, and her right hand slid by instinct to her side — to where her wand would usually be inside her robe.
"By the way," Jessica chimed in from beside Barbara, "I heard from Tommy that you're studying somewhere up north now? Looks like they don't even make you brush your hair there. Still the same mane you had back in primary school." Then she suddenly yanked Hermione's hair.
"Hey!" Hermione shouted, shoving her hand away. Her eyes flashed.
'Petrificus Totalus' — Jessica froze and dropped to the ground, her eyes wide with fear, fixed on Hermione. 'Stupefy' — and Barbara was blasted to the side…
"Oh, so scary! Just look at those evil eyes!" Barbara's mocking voice tore Hermione out of her fantasy. "And what are you always grabbing at your side for? Or are you scratching because the lice are biting you in that shabby little village school of yours?"
Laughter broke out again. Barbara's friends were almost choking on her 'wit.' Hermione lowered her hand. She didn't have her wand with her, and she couldn't use magic anyway. She stepped to the side, trying to get out of the circle, but was shoved back hard. Off balance, she fell to the ground with a muffled cry. The laughter around her grew even louder.
"Where are you rushing off to, Miss Know-It-All?" Barbara hissed, her words sharp with venom as she stepped closer. "We're not done here."
Hermione looked up at her from the ground. Her vision blurred — and through that blur came back the girl she used to be. The one who sat alone in the school hallway, clutching a torn backpack while Barbara and her friends ripped her notebooks and laughed. For a moment she felt the same crushing loneliness, the same helplessness.
"Well, loser —" Barbara began, but didn't get to finish — plop. A warm drop landed right on her eyelid. She blinked, lifting a hand to her eye. The next one — straight into her open mouth. Then came a whole volley from a flock of birds flying low overhead.
"Aaah!" Barbara screeched, spitting and wiping her face. "Ugh!Did they just…on me?" She shrieked even louder when she saw the stain spreading across her snow-white blouse. "Filthy birds!"
She tilted her head back, glaring at the sky as if she could kill them with a look.
"Ew! Is it in my hair?!" Jessica yelled beside her, clawing at her blond locks to shake off the unwanted 'gifts' from above. But her frantic scrubbing only smeared it deeper into her hair.
The other girls rushed to pull out tissues and handkerchiefs, fussing with nervous chatter.
"Well… they say it's good luck," one of them muttered uncertainly.
"GOOD LUCK?!" Barbara shot her a look that could cut. "You mean I'm lucky these filthy birds ruined my two-hundred-pound blouse?!"
For a moment Hermione watched the commotion in surprise. She even felt a little amused. Still, this was her chance, and she took it: she jumped to her feet and slipped out of the circle while all eyes were still on Barbara. A few steps — and they were behind her.
At the corner, by a lamppost, stood an Auror. His face was expressionless.
"That wasn't necessary," Hermione whispered as she came up beside him. A faint, grim smile touched her lips. "But thanks anyway."
"I don't know what you mean," he said, casually straightening his robe. His face stayed serious, but small sparks of amusement flickered in his eyes.
At last, Hermione stepped into the shop. The silence inside, mixed with the smell of freshly printed books, wrapped around her, reminding her of something recent, yet at the same time distant and comforting from childhood. She walked along the shelves, her gaze drifting over the spines. She had already picked out a few books when one of the covers caught her attention. It depicted a strange, many-armed creature.
The title was simple: Incredible Reality.
The author was Gregor Simson.
Hermione stopped, reached out, and took the book, turning it over to read the blurb.
'What if you are being watched? What if your feelings are not entirely your own?'
She frowned. The lines were uncomfortably familiar, echoing what lay hidden beneath the surface of ordinary life: another reality, interference, an unseen power – magic – that ordinary people never even suspected existed. Hermione gave a quiet snort to herself. Muggle fantasy, of course. And yet… curiosity won out. The fantasy novel went into her basket, settling in among the "ordinary" books.
At that moment a broad-shouldered man appeared between the shelves, wearing an odd frock coat with lapels. He was walking straight at Hermione — fast, with one hand shoved deep into a side pocket. Hermione felt everything inside her clench. She glanced around in a rush and spotted the familiar Auror by the next section: he looked buried in a book, but it was clear he was on guard. Hermione straightened her shoulders without thinking and let out the faintest breath. The glint of fear in her eyes shifted into stubborn resolve.
The man was already close. His eyes slid over Hermione's face, as if marking the change in her expression. Then his gaze darted to the shelf where the Auror stood… and a second later he turned into the next aisle, disappearing quickly among the rows of books. Hermione stood still for a few more seconds. Her fingers twitched slightly as she picked up another book, flipped through it, and put it back. Then, still replaying what had happened, she went to the counter.
After the strain she'd just been through, she didn't feel like going straight home. She walked slowly out of the shop — and, without noticing, turned toward a familiar café on the corner. It was busy, ordinary, seemed safe. Hermione ordered a cup of coffee, sat by the window, and watched the street, absently turning the pages of her new book about 'incredible reality' and some strange creatures called qwemms.
Time passed. People walked by without giving her a glance. No attack. No tail. Even her Auror looked bored, leaning against the wall across the street. Another half hour went by. Hermione finished her coffee and slipped the book into her bag. By now she was sure — nothing was going to happen today. She was about to leave when a stranger stopped by her table. Without looking at her, he said quietly:
"Looks like the League smelled the trap. We're shutting the operation down. Go home."
Before Hermione could reply, he was gone, not once looking back. Hermione froze. A rush of thoughts shot through her head. 'Could it have been that man in the shop? Had he figured it all out just from her face?'
One way or another, it was already done. The mission was over, the danger — at least for now — had passed. For the first time that day, she felt the tension ease. Not real freedom, of course. But enough to pretend it was. She walked out of the café slowly and, taking back streets to delay going home, headed back.
Hermione returned home toward evening, tired but satisfied. From the kitchen came the quiet clink of dishes, and the smell of dinner hung in the air. She set the books she had bought on the table, ran her fingers over the covers, and paused on 'Incredible Reality.' Then she sat down on the edge of a chair, slowly, as if thinking over the day. Books, coffee, even Barbara's jeers — it all felt too close to her old life. Almost like before.
Suddenly she remembered her childhood — moments when things were hard, but she still managed, and smiled. Not the bright, carefree smile of a fond memory, but a tired, adult one. The smile of someone who had learned: freedom isn't the lack of threats, but not letting them take over your life.