Newts aren't for Eating

2. Homeward, Hermione

Hermione didn't remember how she got home, or why she had left after having had such a great time with one of her best friends. However, by six in the afternoon she was at home having supper with her father. He was a terrible cook, and his daughter found she had to supervise everything he tried to create. Regardless, the end product was usually edible.

"Flopsy," he smiled at her using his favorite pet name as they ate a very dry, charred pizza. "What happened at Felicity's house?"

"Why?" Hermione asked, suspicious. Her father never asked her questions like that.

"Her mother called this morning wondering why you left early from the sleep-over." He raised his graying eyebrows. "Is there something I should know? After all of those articles you show me from that paper you're getting, and the letters from the school."

The concern in his voice finished the sentence without words. He was worried about his daughter, and was trying to understand the seriousness of the trouble yhe world was in as best he could. Hermione put on a false and turned to face her father.

"I had to see Harry," she said to him, as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. "I got a letter from Ron. He said that he Harry was acting oddly and that because I lived closest, I should be the one to go and see him."

"Harry is the boy in the middle of all this trouble isn't he? Harry Potter, right?" Mr. Granger said slowly. "And Ron is the son of Molly and Arthur Weasley?"

"One of them, yes," his daughter replied.

"So these boys are writing to you and because one of them says that he is worried about the other, you leave Felicity's house at the drop of a hat?" he asked. "That really isn't like you, Hermione. Felicity seemed quite upset that you left her birthday party."

"Do you think I should call her?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Would you want her to call you if she left our house in the middle of the night without saying anything?" Her father smiled and squirted copious amounts of tomato sauce onto his pizza.

Hermione smiled weakly, before placing her empty plate on the sink in the kitchen and starting a search for the cordless phone. Finding the handset wedged in behind the coldwater tap in the bathroom, the witch climbed onto her bed and punched in the appropriate number.

CLICK. The phone line went dead as Hermione rung off. The talk with her oldest and very first friends had lasted over an hour. In that time, Crookshanks had repeatedly dug his nails into her foot, and even playfully bit her big toe in attempt to get attention. Her mother had also arrived home from work. The woman now stood in the doorway with the bandy-legged, ginger cat in her arms. Crookshanks purred as his belly was scratched.

"How was work?" Hermione asked stretching out over her bed.

"It was just another day and another few patients with horrid breath." Her mother walked over to her and sat down on the soft bed. "Did you miss me?" she asked.

"Of course I did!" Hermione exclaimed. "What gave you the impression that I wouldn't?"

"Nothing," Mrs. Granger replied, brushing away a stray curl from her daughter's face. "You just seem a little distant these holidays, that's all."

"Do I?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"You seem a little pre-occupied." The woman smiled, but it didn't quite reach to her eyes.

"I keep forgetting how big you're getting. You aren't the little girl that left me on the train station for your first day at Hogwarts. You've grown into quite a nice young lady." Hermione felt a blush creep up into her face.

"Are you terribly disappointed that we couldn't go for a holiday this year?" her mother asked.

"I guess not." Hermione replied, "I was surprised more than anything. For the first time since I've been at Hogwarts, I can spend the entire holidays with my old friends without having to miss out on being with you. I can work on my schoolwork without having to wait for us to get off a bus, or go and look for a wizard library. It's great."

Mrs. Granger looked her daughter over and sighed. Detaching the annoyed Crookshanks from her arms, she stood up.

"We'll see," she said quietly and turned to leave.

"Mum," Hermione said. "I love you."

" The woman rushed to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her daughter's neck. "Darling please be careful! You've almost gotten yourself killed and I don't want that. I worry about you when you're not here and there is so much you don't tell me! I can see it in your eyes when you come home. You look so haunted; as if you've seen death."

Before she could stop herself, Hermione let out a sob and hugged her mother tightly.

"I wouldn't know how to explain it to you if I could," she said in a restricted voice. "I haven't seen death mum, but Harry has. Mum, he saw his parents' die when he was only a year old. He saw Cedric Diggory get murdered the year before last, and he was there a month ago when his Godfather disappeared behind a curtain and never came back. It hurts me to look at him. He's hurting and I can't do anything about it."

Tears rolled down her face as she spoke. Each droplet dripped off her nose and chin, and slid down her neck. The two women clung tightly to each other, both crying silently. The pair only broke apart when Crookshanks dug his claws deeply into the muscle above Hermione's kneecap. She scooped him into her arms, and the ginger cat scratched insanely to get free as he realized that he too was going to be covered in tears.

"Oh my dear," Mrs. Granger said, cupping her daughter's cheek in her hand gently. "I always said that you would love like I do."

"What do you mean?" Hermione sniffed, wiped her cheeks with a tissue. At the raising of her mother's eyebrows, the witch's eyes opened in surprise. "Harry is one of my best friends, not my lover!"

Her mother smiled. "Your father was my best friend in the world, even though we fought like cat and dog," she replied.

"It's not like that, honestly," Hermione insisted.

The witch's father knocked on the door and invited himself inside, halting the conversation between his wife and daughter.

"I haven't interrupted something, have I?" he asked; his grey eyes lighting up mischievously.

"Not at all," his wife smiled. "We've been discussing the work options for Hermione after she finishes school."

"Is that so?" The grey-flecked eyebrows of Mr. Granger rose into the air in amused interest. "That required tears did it?"

"And profuse wailing," Hermione added with a shy smile.

"Ah, I thought so." Her father smiled as he closed the door and retreated down the corridor.