Sweet Memories

I opened my trunk, smelling the sweet scent of the pine it was made of. My hands shook slightly as I brushed a bit of dust off of the inside of the lid; then again, that may have had nothing to do with Hogwarts or the anticipation of the coming school year.

My bed was a mess. Of course, my whole room was a mess; my little sister had been living in it this summer while I was in her room because her room had no wallpaper, curtains, or carpet. She enjoyed living "rustic". And, apparently, like a slob. My room was trashed. However, I had trashed my bed myself. It was covered with my school things: robes tossed over the headboard, cloaks over the footboard, books spread across my covers. I unearthed my school list from the mess and began doing a check.

I have a system of packing, and this one got me thinking somehow. The first thing I picked up had almost nothing to do with school. It was a small sampler I had cross-stitched when I had finished my homework and had nothing to do that summer except glower at my sister as she swam in the pool outside her window. It said, in elegant green script, "Friendships we share grow stronger with time." That got me to thinking about my friends, my two best friends, Harry and Ron. It was true; our friendship had definitely grown stronger. We've had a ton of fights--especially Ron and I, though Harry and I did fight once, and he and Ron did fight that one time--but they haven't killed us, and doesn't another old proverb say "That which does not kill me only makes me stronger?" Of course, there's also a proverb that says "That which does not kill me only postpones the inevitable" but we don't pay much attention to that. And it's true, despite the fights we're a lot closer than ever before, and that's a good thing, because I doubt Harry would've survived fifth year if we hadn't been there for him. I tucked the sampler into a corner of my trunk.

Next on my list to pack was also special to me. It was an invisibility cloak I had been given anonymously for Christmas a couple of years ago. The arrival of the cloak couldn't have been timelier. I chuckled as I remembered how, time and time again, Harry and Ron and I had had some marvellous adventures with Harry's own invisibility cloak. Harry and I used it to send Norbert on his way to Romania, then we were joined by Ron later that year as we went to stop Quirrel (though we thought at the time it was Snape) from getting the Sorcerer's Stone. Ron and Harry used it to talk to Hagrid after I was attacked in our second year, then again to follow spiders, which I thought was very brave of them, especially Ron; his greatest fear is spiders. Imagine following your greatest fear, just to see if you can find out who attacked students fifty years ago. We used it in our third year to sneak down and visit Hagrid when Buckbeak was killed, and that was about it. (I firmly pushed from my mind the nagging thought of Harry using the cloak to sneak into Hogsmeade, nearly resulting in getting him in serious trouble.) Oh, we'd used that cloak so many times I couldn't even count it...but now we, all of us, even Harry, have become so tall that we don't fit under Harry's invisibility cloak completely anymore. Now I've got one, so we can still go out together (somehow, we manage it). I folded the cloak carefully and put it on top of my sampler.

I shook the dust from my robes (my sister had emptied my trunk on the floor and used it as a boat). It reminded me of our second year, when we had brewed up a Polyjuice Potion to sneak inside the Slytherin common room to get a confession out of Malfoy. I had stolen some robes out of the laundry, because we'd need bigger sizes once we were Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bullstrode. I had foolishly used a hair Millicent had left on my robes at the Duelling Club, without looking and realising that it was far too short to belong to Millicent, who has long, curly black hair. I wound up being stuck as a cat for a month. It wasn't a whole lot of fun. Come to think of it, all of the Slytherins I've known have had either black or blond hair. Something worth looking into, perhaps... I placed my now-folded robes on top of my invisibility cloak.

Mum came into the room. I couldn't see what was in her arms, but it looked animal-y. She held it out to me.

"I made this for you, honey," she said in a slightly shaky voice. "To--to wear during the winter." I could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn't want me to go back to Hogwarts.

I shook my head and took the bundle. "Mum, I have my cloak. Remember? Black, with silver fastenings?"

"Oh, I know, sweetie, but I want you to take this too," said Mum. "I'm not sure that cloak is warm enough."

"I've survived 'til now," I pointed out.

Mum gave me a sad smile. "I know, but this year is different. I don't want you to get sick again."

"There's an infirmary. Madame Pomfrey can cure anything under the sun--well, except cancer, but nobody ever got cancer from being cold."

"Magic is no substitute for a mother's care."

I sighed. "Mum, I'm almost seventeen. I'm not a child anymore."

"I know," said Mum, "but you'll always be my baby. At least take a look at what it is."

I opened the bundle. It was a llama-hair poncho--Dad's been raising llamas since the dentistry went under. I brushed my hands over the bands of colour and buried my face in the coarse fabric. Several of the bands were ginger-coloured, almost exactly the colour of Crookshanks, and I had buried my face in the fabric so that Mum wouldn't see me cry. I recalled the day I got Crookshanks--he had jumped onto Ron's head in an attempt to get at Scabbers. On reflection, I should've just let him eat Scabbers, and in fact I could've cared less, but Ron was quite upset about the attempts on Scabbers' life. Now, if Crookshanks had tried to eat Hedwig...but that's another story. I still remembered that awful day--running after him, Harry pulling me back, that black car, how near it came to being me, crying in the street...I smothered my emotions and raised my head.

"Smells like llamas," I said.

Mum shook her head. "What'd you expect it to smell like, gingerbread?"

"Thanks, Mum."

Mum left the room. Tears in my eyes, I folded the cloak and put it on top of my robes, praying it wouldn't shed all over them. I had washed those robes twelve times to get every last cat hair off of them, because every hair reminded Harry of how close it had been to being me...and every hair reminded me of my trusted friend.

Quickly, I picked up my own winter cloak and began folding it. Now there were some happy memories. It always put me in mind of Christmas at Hogwarts. I remembered walking down to Hagrid's hut the first day of vacations where we didn't have anything in particular planned to do that break, and discovering that Buckbeak was in danger of being killed. I remembered having a snowball fight with Ron, Harry, Fred, and George on Christmas, then leaving three hours early to do my hair to go to a ball I hadn't planned on attending with a guy I didn't even like. I remembered taking a walk around a lake framed in whiteness, on a perfect Christmas Eve...and sharing the first kiss, the kiss that you know is perfect, the kiss you know that the only one better than that is the next one. I sighed dreamily and placed my (slightly wrinkled) cloak on top of my new poncho.

One more thing before I was finished with that particular stack. Looking around to make sure no one else was around, I pulled something out of my pocket and polished it quickly on the hem of my shirt. It was my brand-new Head Girl badge. I hadn't even told Mum yet. I was afraid she would write and tell the school that I wasn't up to that kind of responsibility. I'd show her. I placed it on top of the stack, on top of the cloak, and moved on to my books.

I had arranged my list so that the books were in order, largest to smallest. First on the list was my copy of A History of Magic, the heaviest book I owned. I closed my eyes, thinking back to the countless dull hours spent listening to Professor Binns drone on and on...and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. He never shut up. It was amazing how he could make the most exciting thing in the world, like witch burning, sound as boring as--as looking after flobberworms. I placed the book in the corner of my trunk opposite my uniform. Oh, right...I tucked my hat under my black cloak.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. I pulled my hat back out and tucked my Head Girl badge into it. I knew Mum would come back and catch me with it, and that would be bad.

My boxed set of books was still in good condition, despite the fact that, like A History of Magic, it was seven years old. It contained three books--Magical Theory, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and--my Potions textbook. I thought back to the Potions classes we had been forced to endure, and how hard it had been on poor Neville. I suppose I could've been a little nicer to him when I told him I was already going to the ball with someone, but I was still a bit preoccupied with the rather dismal state of my own potion. I feel a bit guilty now--I mean, Neville's skill at Potions is sadly lacking. I remembered pruning Flutterby Bushes and putting Flutterbies in prune bushes in Herbology. I couldn't remember the last time I used Magical Theory, but I probably had at some point. I placed it on top of the big book.

I picked up a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven. It was the newest thing I would put in my trunk, besides my Head Girl badge. Everything else was at least two years old. I brushed the cover. The spine was brown, and the cover was light brown. It reminded me of the old book of Grimm's fairy tales Harry and I had found in the library during Christmas, after that walk around the lake. Oh, we spent hours pouring over that book, smiling at happy stories, sighing at love stories, even laughing a little sadly at the misfortunes in stories because their troubles were so pale compared to our own. Thankfully, those troublesome days are over now. I placed the book on top of the set.

My copy of An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration was next. I gently ran my fingers over the black leather tooled with gold and recalled Professor McGonagall's rare smiles, which I had only ever known her to use on myself, Harry, and Percy. I smiled myself as I thought of all the times I had purposely set out to infuriate Ron and Harry by showing them my perfect results--a handful of scalloped buttons, a guinea pig, a needle, a pig in a kilt. I chuckled to myself. A pig in a kilt? Where did they get stuff like that? The book was in the pile.

The Monster Book of Monsters made me smile again. It was so much like Hagrid. He's a really sweet guy, and I know he's been like a father to Harry. The thing is, he has this inane fondness for dangerous creatures--dragons, acromantulas, hippogriffs, chimeras, you name it--if it's dangerous, Hagrid's probably owned one at some point or another. He'd never do anything to hurt anybody on purpose, even if he is half-giant--not even Malfoy. Still, I recalled how the book had nearly taken my hand off when I first got it. I had to bind it shut with Sellotape. I put my book on top of the pile, making sure it was not going to eat my badge or anything.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them...I flicked through the pages. I must hold the record. Seven years with this book, and not a trace of ink on any of the pages. Not like Harry's book. I smiled--no, I positively grinned--at the memory of the day I caught Ron writing in Harry's book the first time. His own had fallen apart, and he was sharing Harry's. I happened to glance over. On the page where you write who owns the book, Harry's name was slanting off of the line. Beneath that, Ron had scrawled "shared by Ron Weasley because his fell apart."

I couldn't resist. I leaned over and quickly wrote back "Why don't you get a new one then?"

Ron's ears went red. "Write in your own book Hermione," he wrote back on the page.

This was too much fun. I returned with "you bought all those Dungbombs in Hogsmeade on Saturday, you could've bought a new book instead."

Ron scratched back, "Dungbombs RULE!" and threw his quill down. The back of his neck was now so red you could've fried an egg or three and still had time to boil water for tea before he cooled off. Harry was sitting in between us, trying desperately not to laugh. He wasn't doing too well. Laughing openly now, I put my book on top of the pile.

I piled in the rest of my books--Numerology and Gramatica, my rune dictionary, and The Dark Arts: A Guide to Self-Protection on top of that, trying not to think about any of them, since they all reminded me of Crookshanks in one way or another. I was just putting my copy of Lord of the Flies on top when my mother came in.

"Hermione, what were you laughing about?" she said anxiously. "You'll make yourself sick again."

I rolled my eyes. "Mother, this is really getting ridiculous. I'm not going to get sick or anything like that just by laughing. For crying out loud, I'm seventeen!"

Mum stared thoughtfully at me for a minute or two, then left the room.

I turned back to my trunk. Now to continue packing.

My quill pen rested in my now-empty teapot-shaped inkwell on my desk. I tucked both of them into the space between my uniform and my books, adding also the large one shaped like a cauldron, my plain brown one, and my other three quill pens in the house colours. I picked up my Never-Empty Parchment Pad and tucked it in the front of my trunk with my robes. It looked like an old-fashioned hornbook--a single piece of parchment on a wooden paddle. However, if I peeled the parchment off, another piece would be underneath. Great pad, that. It helped a lot and saved on the cost of parchment.

Well, that was done. Now on to the less serious things.

I went over to my bookshelves and groaned. All that remained on them were three of my Boxcar Children books. They were children's books from America that I was rather fond of, though of course they were far below my reading level. I put them into the space between my books and the front of the trunk. I then went slogging through my room for more books. I eventually managed to surface with most of my beloved Lucy Maude Montgomery books--Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Anne of Windy Poplars, Anne's House of Dreams, Anne of Ingleside, and Rilla of Ingleside. I couldn't find Rainbow Valley, which is one of my favourites. Heck, who am I kidding? They're all my favourites. I placed them in my reading pile and returned to my room at large. I came back with Redwall and a book of Norse Mythology, and discovered there was no more room on the pile for the mythology book. I wound up tucking it with my hornbook in front of my uniform. Into the cracks around my uniform and between piles of books, I tucked a couple of my Lillian Jackson Braun Cat Who... mysteries, along with a book of mini Solve-It-Yourself mysteries. Now, what else did I need?

Oh, yeah--my bag. I scooped the blue cloth bag off the floor (under a pile of junk, thanks to my little sister) and put it in the trunk. Wait--where was Elsa? I couldn't go without Elsa.

I began digging through the piles of crud around my bed, cursing under my breath God or whatever higher deity had cursed me with a little sister, especially one that was coming to Hogwarts too. Finally, I found her. One leg and one arm had popped off, but I quickly fixed that.

Most people think it's silly, a seventeen-year-old sleeping with a doll, but Elsa is special. My grandmother gave her to me for my fifteenth birthday. I've never played with dolls, but I loved Elsa because Mor-Mor bought her for me. (Mor-Mor is--was--my mother' s mother. She's from Norway--hence the name Elsa for my doll and the interest in Norse mythology.) Mor-Mor died that Christmas, making Elsa even more precious to me. Mor-Mor had even made a dress for her, which I really loved. It was a soft white dress tied with blue satin around the waist. I remembered, when Mor-Mor gave her to me the summer before my fifteenth birthday, I saw the dress and began humming "My Favourite Things" from The Sound of Music. Mor-Mor began singing, and I started dancing, doing ballet steps I hadn't done in years. Mor-Mor loved it, and I loved it, and it was perfect. Mum took a picture with my camera, and I developed it at school, so now I have a picture in my photo album (which I had also packed) of my Mor-Mor laughing and singing as I danced around the floor with a baby doll in my arms, and it moves. It's almost as good as a video. I wrapped Elsa in a blanket and put her in my cauldron, which was next to my bag.

Suddenly I thought of something. I had forgotten the most important thing! I turned around, praying my sister hadn't touched it. Sure enough, it was still sitting on my shelf above my desk, gleaming even through the thin layer of dust that had settled around it. I polished it quickly. It was my wand.

As I held it, I remembered the day I got it. I had gone into Ollivander's shop. I remembered that there was another boy in the shop who had arrived just before me. He tried a wand, but it didn't work. His father, who was standing next to him, fumed with anger. He tried the next wand, but it still wasn't good enough for him. His father grew even angrier. When the third wand, cherry wood and dragon heartstring--my wand--also failed him, his father smacked hard him upside the cheek, so hard I heard a crack from where I was standing, as though he had broken something. The boy looked a bit nervous--and with good reason--as he took the fourth wand up. This one worked. If I recall correctly, it was holly and unicorn tail hair. He paid for his wand and left. I screwed up my mind, trying to remember his face, when it hit me. It was Draco Malfoy. I smiled and placed my wand on top of everything else in my trunk.

I closed the trunk, locked it, and latched it. I pulled on my red sweater, picked up my trunk, and walked out to the car, ready to begin my next school year.