After the attack in her own home, Hermione stopped going outside altogether. The first few days passed in a sort of numbness, but when the shock began to fade, it was replaced by fear that crept into every thought. She caught herself flinching at the creak of floorboards, listening for the wind outside the window, watching the shadows that trembled in the corners of her room. In the evenings, she sometimes thought someone was standing behind the door, catching every breath she took.
Her parents noticed the change almost at once. She barely touched her food, spoke quietly and in short phrases, and one night they woke to a terrified scream. The bedroom door flew open, hitting the wall. Her frightened parents rushed in.
"Hermione, what happened?!" cried her mother, running to the bed. Her fingers gripped her daughter's hand tightly, as if to make sure she was really there.
Her father stood tense in the doorway, ready to fight. His eyes darted around the room, searching for whatever could have scared his daughter so badly.
"You've never screamed in your sleep before," he said finally, after making sure the room was empty. "Hermione, what's going on?"
She came to herself a little, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and cast a quick glance at her parents. Then she said quietly:
"It's all right… it was just a nightmare. Nothing special."
Her voice sounded dull, as if the words were stuck somewhere in her chest. She was still trying to shake off the dream: Tommy — pale, with a strained, trembling smile — his hands reaching for her throat. When his cold fingers touched her neck, his features began to twist — and in his place appeared the cold, merciless face of Thomas Nightshade. Then again Tommy, then Thomas… and the endless cycle she couldn't escape.
"Nightmare?" Her mother sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning. "You've been acting strange these past few days. You jump at every little thing. We can see something's wrong. Tell us."
Hermione clenched her fists. Tell the truth? No, she couldn't. But she couldn't just brush it off either — they already suspected she was hiding something. And she really didn't want to cast another spell on her parents. She had to come up with something that sounded believable enough.
Hermione swallowed hard. Her heart was still racing, her palms damp with sweat.
"No, really, I'm fine," she said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I just… um… I dreamed about unicorns."
"Unicorns?" Her mother looked at her, puzzled.
"Yeah… remember the unicorns we saw at the magical nature reserve last summer?" Hermione avoided her mother's eyes, staring at the folds of the blanket instead.
"And you were scared of unicorns?" Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. "They seemed perfectly harmless to me."
Her father frowned and pressed his lips together. He clearly suspected Hermione wasn't telling the whole truth.
"I dreamed they were killed."
"Killed? By who?!" John asked sharply. "And why would you even dream about something like that?"
"All right…" Hermione sighed, as if giving in to her parents' worried persistence. "I didn't want to upset you, but the thing is, our gamekeeper from Hogwarts moved them to the forest near the school, and then… well… they were killed this spring. And in my dream —"
"Killed?!" Emma gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Who? Why? They're such beautiful, harmless creatures."
"Has your gamekeeper nothing better to do than hunt magical creatures?" John snapped.
"No, Dad, of course not! It wasn't Hagrid!" Hermione hurried to explain, but when she saw the confusion on her father's face, she quickly added, "That's the gamekeeper's name. He'd never hurt them. He's really kind. He looked after them, cared for them. When it happened, he was crushed. We still don't know who did it."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Emma glanced at her husband in alarm, then back at her daughter. "Is it even safe there? Maybe you shouldn't go back to that Hogwarts. You could transfer to a local school instead."
"I knew from the start that place wasn't quite what they made it out to be," John cut in, throwing a quick look at his wife. His voice carried irritation mixed with grim satisfaction. "The moment that witch started talking about safety, I knew she was lying."
"Who are you talking about?" Hermione looked up, startled.
"Who do you think? Your McGonagall, of course!" her father snapped, his voice sharp and accusing. "A year ago, remember how she went on and on about your Hogwarts? Spoke so nicely, promised it was the safest place there is! Yetsomehowsheforgotto mention the forest where magical creatures get killed, or that students go missing at that school!"
Hermione's eyes widened as she listened to her father's accusations against the head of Gryffindor, but he didn't stop.
"So no matter how much you praise her, I still say this — people don't get called to the Ministry for questioning for no reason!"
"Dad, no!" Hermione cried, desperate. "I've already told you, McGonagall is a good teacher —" But John waved his hand irritably, cutting her off.
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that already," he muttered, shaking his head. "Oh, Hermione. You don't understand a thing yet. I don't trust that McGonagall of yours, that's it. Something's not right about her."
"Wait, John! Calm down!" Emma broke in, giving her husband a warning look. "The Ministry will deal with McGonagall themselves. All right?"
John nodded reluctantly, but his face showed he didn't really believe it. His fingers kept fidgeting with a fold in his pyjama pants. Emma, meanwhile, turned back to her daughter, returning to what was really bothering her.
"So what actually happened to the unicorns? Who killed them? Could this 'someone' be a danger to you too?"
'Could Voldemort be a danger to us?' Hermione thought darkly and, without meaning to, gave a crooked smile. Her mother caught it at once. Her face tensed even more, and a flicker of worry appeared in her eyes.
"Hermione?" Her voice was cautious.
Realising what she'd done, Hermione quickly said, "Well… the gamekeeper said it might've been some kind of creature," she shrugged, as if the whole thing wasn't worth worrying about. "It happens."
"A creature? But he's not sure, is he?" her father asked, narrowing his eyes, studying her face.
"Not sure. But most likely that's it," Hermione mumbled. "There are lots of dangerous creatures living in the Forbidden Forest. But don't worry about me," she added quickly when she saw her mother's look, "we're strictly forbidden to go there. So it's fine. It's just that dream… it felt too real, that's why it scared me."
"I don't know…" her father muttered, frowning. "Creatures, unicorns…"
Emma looked anxious, and John kept watching his daughter, as if trying to catch something she wasn't saying. Feeling she couldn't stand it any longer, Hermione gave an exaggerated yawn and pulled the blanket higher.
"I'd like to sleep a bit more, if you don't mind," she said, her voice a little rough. "It's the middle of the night, after all."
Her parents exchanged glances. Emma gave a small smile, kissed her on the forehead, and, wishing her good night, left the room. Her father stayed for a moment longer but said nothing and quietly closed the door behind him. Hermione lay still for a few seconds, listening to their footsteps fade down the hall. Only when the house went silent did she slowly exhale and press her face into the pillow.
'Oh, how hard it is to lie,' she thought bitterly. 'Especially to your own parents.'
***
More than a week had passed since the attack. The initial fear after meeting Tommy's double had slowly faded, replaced by something else — a steady, insistent need to make sure the real Tommy was all right. One morning, when she came into the kitchen, she noticed one of the Aurors outside by the window. He stood with his arms crossed, staring down the street with a bored look.
Hermione ran to the window and threw it open.
"Where's Tommy? Why hasn't he come?" she blurted out, catching the Auror off guard.
He was silent for a moment, then turned away and said curtly, "He's still in the hospital."
"Still? What's wrong with him?" Hermione's voice trembled with worry. "I want to visit him."
"Out of the question," he said coldly.
"But…" she leaned farther out, trying to catch his eye. "If he's sick —"
"It's too dangerous," the Auror cut her off. "Believe me, Miss Granger, his condition isn't a good enough reason for the Ministry to mount a whole operation just for your visit."
He pushed himself off the wall and walked away. Hermione flared her nostrils, watching him go.
In the following days, she kept trying again and again, even forcing herself to go out into the yard to look for her guards. But every time, she heard the same cold refusal. Only one of the younger Aurors took pity on her. After glancing around to make sure no one was listening, he said quietly, "He's fine. But orders are orders — he's staying there until the end of the holidays."
It became clear then: the Ministry had simply decided to cut her contact with others to a minimum until she left for Hogwarts. According to that same Auror, two more people had already been assigned for her parents' protection.
The walls of the house suddenly seemed thicker, the windows narrower. Hermione felt like a prisoner again. For days she hovered between her fear and the growing, restless need to breathe fresh air. The feeling still tightened in her chest whenever she glanced at the front door, but it no longer outweighed everything else.
Little by little, the thought of getting out began to feel less terrifying and more necessary. Finally, she decided that a trip to Diagon Alley for textbooks and school supplies would make a perfect excuse — and she started pressing for it. In the end, even the Aurors had to give in under the pressure of the determined young witch who'd set her mind on going shopping.
Another reason for the trip was that she hoped to see Harry and Ron. She'd missed them over the summer — they could be unbearably stupid at times, but they were still her most dependable friends.
And so, under the unseen watch of the Aurors, she finally managed to break free from her home confinement, at least for a while. Diagon Alley greeted her with its usual chaos: wizards rushing about with their shopping, owls hooting over the rooftops, and the air thick with the smells of sweets and potion ingredients.
First, as always, she and her parents went to Gringotts to exchange pounds for wizarding coins. But before Hermione could step inside, she suddenly saw Harry right in front of her — dirty, disheveled, and appearing as if out of nowhere.
'Oh God, he's already managed to get himself into something again. He's a magnet for trouble!' flashed through her mind, but the joy of seeing him drowned out all other thoughts.
"Harry! Harry!" she shouted and ran toward him.
Harry started to explain his scruffy look, but as soon as he mentioned the Weasleys, they showed up at the bank entrance too. A worried Mrs. Weasley immediately began fussing over him — fixing his clothes and hair, making sure he was all right. The twins listened to Harry's story with conspiratorial grins, clearly convinced he'd gotten himself into another adventure on purpose.
The excitement of the reunion soon calmed down a bit. After meeting Hermione's parents, Mr. Weasley invited them to sit for a while at the Leaky Cauldron. The children agreed to meet their parents later at Flourish and Blotts, which gave Hermione, Harry, and Ron a whole hour of freedom.
They wandered through Diagon Alley, stopping by their favorite shops, chatting about everything, and treating themselves to sweets. The only shop Hermione avoided was the amulet store — behind the counter she saw the same man who'd sold her the Sky Vortex last year. The moment she spotted him, she quietly dragged her friends away. Otherwise, the day was warm and carefree, and Hermione decided not to spoil it by talking about the recent attack. 'There'll be time for that later,' she thought.
Soon they headed into Flourish and Blotts, where their parents were already waiting. But the moment they stepped inside, Hermione felt someone watching her. She turned — and met Malfoy's eyes. He was standing a little farther in, by a shelf of expensive editions, lazily leafing through a book, though it was obvious he wasn't reading it.
"Well, well," he drawled, putting the book back and walking toward her. "I was starting to think they wouldn't let you out. But looks like the Ministry decided to take a risk with someone as important as you."
Hermione tensed up. Malfoy clearly knew something.
"What are you talking about?" she asked coldly.
He smirked, his gaze sliding around the shop as if he were searching for someone.
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know," he said, spite creeping into his voice. "You think no one at the Ministry knows that precious Hermione Granger has landed herself in danger? Nothing gets past my father." His eyes flashed with mockery. "What did you do this time to end up needing guards, Granger? Though I suppose it's hardly surprising… for someone of your background. So, where are your Aurors?"
He made a point of looking around again, as if expecting to spot her protection behind a bookshelf.
"That's none of your business, Malfoy," she shot back.
"Maybe not for now," he said, tilting his head slightly, studying her with that mocking look. "But when the school year starts —" He raised an eyebrow. "Things might be different."
A chill ran down her back.
"You won't have your invisible guards at school, Granger," he added, his mouth twisting into something like a smile. "You'll have to manage on your own. Then we'll see."
Her fingers curled into fists, but she didn't look away.
"Thanks for the concern, but I'll manage," she said evenly.
Malfoy snorted, gave her a contemptuous once-over, and then headed deeper into the shop.
Hermione let out a breath. She watched him go for another second, wondering what exactly Malfoy had meant. It was only then that she noticed how unusually crowded the shop was.
A few witches and wizards were standing by the shelves, choosing textbooks, but most of the crowd had gathered at the counter, where Gilderoy Lockhart himself was signing autographs. Hermione froze on the spot, her eyes widening with excitement. Gilderoy Lockhart! A legendary hero!The author of the books she had read over and over again.
"Wow…" was all she managed to whisper, unable to tear her eyes away from the wizard's bright smile.
But her happiness didn't last long — the arrival of Draco's father and the argument that followed with Mr. Weasley ruined her mood completely. Hermione watched in horror as Ron's father clashed with Lucius Malfoy right in the shop, knocking over stacks of books and shocking the other customers. When they were finally separated and all the shopping was finished, her parents decided it was time to head back. The scuffle in the bookshop probably hadn't made the best impression on them.
Hermione took one last look around the Alley, her eyes lingering on the shop windows they hadn't had time to visit. She didn't want to leave. But Hogwarts was waiting. And as much as she regretted leaving Diagon Alley, her heart tightened with anticipation of the new school year.
***
Hermione had put off this conversation until the very last moment. She knew her parents wouldn't be happy about her decision to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, but she hoped she could convince them.
"It's just that we have really difficult subjects this year," she said. "A lot of students are staying at Hogwarts over the holidays to study —"
But she didn't even have time to finish her prepared explanation — her father suddenly straightened in his chair as if shocked by a jolt.
"No! That's it! Enough!" he snapped. "I'm going to Hogwarts with you myself and I'll have a word with that old fraud myself!"
Hermione immediately understood he meant McGonagall again. In the last few days he had made it very clear he still didn't trust their head of house — and nothing she said could change his mind.
"But Dad —"
"What 'but Dad'?!" John shot to his feet, waving his hand as if brushing off an annoying fly. "She said you'd be coming home every Christmas! Every one of them! And now it's been only a year, and everything's already different! Of course it is! I knew she couldn't be trusted."
Hermione barely held back a heavy sigh.
"Daddy, what does Professor McGonagall have to do with it? I can come home, no one is stopping me. It's just… I really need to stay. We have hard subjects, exams coming up, and I need to prepare properly. At Hogwarts I have the library, and teachers who can help, and at home I don't. And I can't practice spells here — it's forbidden, you know that. And you were the one who always said that without practice you can't make any progress —"
"I know!" he snapped, waving his hand in frustration. "But why do you even have such heavy workloads that you're forced to stay at school? Why can't you just study at school and spend the holidays at home with your family, like any normal child? Why are you given work you can't even do at home? It's ridiculous!"
"John," Emma stepped in gently, placing her hand on his arm. "Don't get worked up. Maybe Hermione will still manage to finish everything before the holidays and come home after all. Right, dear?"
Hermione, cheeks warming, nodded. She knew perfectly well she wouldn't be coming home for the holidays. John noticed it; his eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. Instead, he just shook his head darkly and went back to muttering about Hogwarts and McGonagall.
"It's a pity you didn't tell us earlier," he said at last, sighing. "If I'd known before our trip to Diagon Alley, I would've talked to that Ministry man… Mr. Weasley. He seemed like a decent person. I'd have asked him to pass along a message to the Ministry — to make your school let all children go home for Christmas and stop giving so much work."
"Daddy, please…"
"Yes, yes, that's exactly it!" John snapped. "And I still think teachers who get called in for questioning shouldn't be working at all!"
Hermione barely managed not to let out a heavy sigh and spent a few more minutes trying to calm him down. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him — usually so steady and reasonable — this angry. Maybe only back then at school, after the meeting with Mr. Grayson in the headmaster's office.
When the argument finally died down, Hermione stayed sitting in the quiet, listening to the clock ticking and the floorboards creaking under her mother's steps. Her father had returned to his armchair; he wasn't angry anymore — just sitting there, frowning at the floor, as if still trying to process what she'd said.
She felt something shift inside her, as if her childhood had taken one more step into the past. Not long ago she told her parents everything, asked for advice, looked for support. And now she stayed silent. Not because she didn't want to tell them, but because she couldn't.
Hermione stood up slowly, avoiding her father's eyes, and walked toward her room. Her hand slid over the doorknob, and suddenly she wanted everything to be simple again: the Christmas tree in the corner, the smell of pies, holidays without secrets or fear. Without having to choose between her family and something else.
But instead…
"Good night, Daddy," she said quietly and slipped behind the door.