A Day Out with Mum

She braced herself for a rush of panic as she opened her trunk, but when it didn't come, she let out a long, slow breath. The sight of her hastily packed belongings brought a bittersweet mix of relief and nostalgia. She picked up the jumper she had hastily thrown on top of her belongings in the mad dash to pack up her room at the end of term.

She was just about to toss it in the washing basket when a flash of gold caught her eye in the sea of maroon yarn. Hermione held it up. A knitted 'R' stared back at her. She had accidentally grabbed Ron's jumper! Every Christmas, Mrs Weasley knit her children jumpers with their initials on them (Harry even got one their first year).

During one of the last few nights of school, she and Ron were sitting in the common room together playing Wizard's Chess. Hermione suspected that, like her, Ron didn't like to be alone with his thoughts and Harry's memories. Harry barely left his room at that point, leaving Hermione and Ron alone quite often. They aimlessly played game after game, glad to have each other there as they got lost in their thoughts.

Though the late-spring evening was warm, Hermione found herself shivering with a deep chill. Ron jumped up without a word (nearly knocking over the board) and raced up the stairs. He returned a few moments later with his jumper. The simple gesture had made her feel seen and cared for in a way that words couldn't. The act—and the jumper—warmed her heart.

Hermione held the jumper up to her face and breathed deeply. She could faintly smell spearmint and freshly mowed grass. She would have put it on if it weren't so unbearably hot in her room. Instead, she put it near her pillow so she could sleep with it like a stuffy. She continued to empty her trunk, taking care to hang up her robes and cloaks. Her periwinkle-blue dress robes from the Yule Ball were scrunched up into a ball.

She had been furious at Ron for being a complete prat that night and had just thrown the dress in the corner of her wardrobe. She unravelled it out of the trunk and tried to brush out some of the wrinkles with her hand. It did nothing; the dress would have to be steamed. Hermione wished she could use magic outside of school. If she could, it would be perfectly pressed in no time.

The next item Hermione pulled out of the trunk was the book that her friend, Sophie, had gifted her: The Completely Complete History of Magic, Volume Infinity. Every time she read it, the content would be slightly different depending on what's happened since the last reading.

Sophie's father had gotten an advance copy, and she had gifted it to Hermione. After emptying the rest of her trunk, Hermione lay on her bed with Ron's jumper under her head and cracked open the book from Sophie. Morbid curiosity overcame her as she flipped the pages to the Triwizard Tournament. She held her breath as her eyes scanned the entry:

…and, in a tragic accident, Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion alongside Harry Potter, passed away during the last task.

Hermione abruptly shut the book. An accident? This book was just as bad as the Daily Prophet, which had wasted no time 'reporting' on the events of the tournament. She had naively thought that, without their star reporter, Rita Skeeter, they would have a little bit of integrity. She glanced over at the jar on her window ledge. A giant beetle glared back at her. Hermione's mind churned with possible solutions for dealing with the animagus reporter, but today was not the day to confront that particular problem.

Hermione picked up her very worn copy of Hogwarts: A History and fell back onto her bed. At some point, she fell asleep and awoke to the faint light of dawn streaming through her window. Crookshanks had returned to her room and was curled up in a tight ball near Hermione's feet.

After quite a bit of lounging and stretching, Hermione finally sat up and walked down to the loo to brush her teeth and get ready for the day. On the agenda were visiting Mildred, the Lavenham librarian, and then waiting for Finnegan, the undercover wizard postman. Last year, he had let her in on his secret and also put her in touch with his twin sister, Keelin, who was one of the witches in charge of security at the Quidditch World Cup.

Hermione walked into the kitchen and stopped short, her eyes widening. Her mother, usually already at work by this hour, sat calmly at the table with a cup of tea. "Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and confusion.

"Hi, love," Mary said. "I thought we could maybe go shopping today. Just us girls."

"Oh, okay," Hermione said, forcing a smile despite the sinking feeling in her stomach. She hated it when plans changed, but she masked her disappointment with practiced ease.

"Maybe we could chat about that book we got you?" Mary suggested, her voice tight and awkward.

Hermione froze, her mind flashing to Snape's clinical diagrams. "Uh, erm, no. That's okay. We don't, erm, have to."

"Your father and I just want you to be safe," Mary said in the same strained tone.

"I am—will be," Hermione stuttered, her cheeks flushing. "I will be. I haven't—"

"I don't need to know details," Mary interrupted.

"Good," Hermione said. "I mean, you can because I haven't—"

"I just want you to know how it, erm, all works," Mary continued.

"I do."

"But you said—"

"Yes, but—"

"And that Viktor—"

"We didn't—"

"Certain actions have consequences, and we just want you to understand—"

"Right, but I can read, you know. I'm not stupid," Hermione snapped, instantly regretting her harsh tone. She took a deep breath, her eyes softening. "Sorry, that came out much more harsh than I meant it."

"It's okay," Mary replied.

"No, it isn't," Hermione said. "I apologise."

"Apology accepted," Mary said, taking another sip of tea.

There was an awkward silence. Hermione used it to prepare a bit of toast. As she sat down, Mary put down her cup of tea.

"We don't have to go shopping if you don't want to," she said.

"No, I'd love to," said Hermione in what she hoped was a believable tone.

"I've just missed you so much," Mary said softly.

"I've missed you too, Mum."

"I—we—feel like you're growing up, and we're missing it all."

Hermione didn't really know what to say except, "I'm sorry, Mum."

"I know you don't intentionally avoid us," Mary said. Hermione inwardly cringed. She kind of did. "You're just so busy at school, and we understand that. But, now that you're home…" Mary let the thought hang between them.

"I think shopping sounds wonderful," Hermione said as earnestly as she could muster.

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Mary, awkwardly patting Hermione's hand. "Just brilliant."

Hermione should have realised that "shopping" meant a thousand questions.