Chapter 2: Research Woes
When Hermione woke the next day, her eyes opened and she stared up at the ceiling above her for a few minutes, her mind slowly clawing its way through the fog of sleep until she was fully aware of her surroundings.
Good girl.
The words floated through her mind and she shot out of bed, darting across the room to her closet even as she stripped off the t-shirt she'd worn to bed, leaving her wearing nothing but her knickers. She dug around in the closet for a moment before stepping back out with a change of clothes and undergarments in hand.
A glance at the clock told her that her parents would have left for work already, so she left her room as she was and dashed for the bathroom at the far end of the hall. Once the door closed behind her she looked into the mirror to find the expected rosy tint in her cheeks that extended down her neck and across her upper chest. That mixture of thrill and embarrassment connected to baring her body in a 'public' area of the house, even though she knew that no one was actually home to see her, never failed to cause her to blush.
She ignored the tingling sensations running through her body and took a quick shower before she dried off and dressed. Fifteen minutes after entering the bathroom, she was leaving and headed downstairs to find a note from her mother sitting on the kitchen table.
-Hermione
Your father and I left for the practice early this morning. I should be home around one this afternoon so we can have a slightly late lunch together. I'll bring Antonio's home with me. Call me at the practice before twelve if you won't be home by that time and maybe I can pick you up from wherever you are.
Love you,
Mum
Hermione nodded while she read the note, thinking that gave her plenty of time to start her research project, and she reminded herself to thank her mother. Antonio's was her favorite Italian deli and a lunch from there was always sure to be fantastic.
Too eager to worry about breakfast, she grabbed her empty bag and slung it over her shoulder. Leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and started for the local branch of the London Public Library, ten blocks away.
#####
Helen Granger was confused. The note she'd left for her daughter was missing from the kitchen table, so she knew Hermione had read it. Yet, when she came home half-an-hour ago, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Such behavior was unusual from her, usually, conscientious daughter, and she really wasn't sure what to think of this strange departure from the normal.
Just as she began to consider calling her husband at the Practice, the front door opened and the cause of her confusion and concern stormed into the house.
'Stormed'.
It was really the only word she could think of to describe her daughter's actions. Each step was sharp and angry after the door blew open then slammed shut behind her. Her face was flushed and her posture stiff as she moved past the kitchen, heading for the stairs.
"Hermione?" Helen called, then blinked when she heard a startled shriek followed by a tumbling crash.
#####
Nothing.
She'd found nothing, or next to nothing, over the several hours she'd spent combing the Library. Pavlov and his dogs still seemed like a reasonable explanation… but there were variables that didn't seem to fit. Stockholm Syndrome held similarities, she felt… but again, not close enough.
She was buried deep in a large tome of psychological disorders, searching through the many pages for some shred of information, when her neglected stomach growled furiously and Hermione flushed a brilliant red, looking around swiftly to see if anyone had heard. Luckily, it appeared as if she was the only one in the area of the building where she'd chosen to set up for her study.
With a mental groan, she closed the book and gathered the others that she had yet to look through together. The ones she'd finished with had already been returned to their proper places on the shelves. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger did not show books and Libraries the proper respect that they deserved.
She chose not to think about the time in second year when she had actually torn a page from a library book at school. The circumstances were entirely different!
As she stood at the counter to check out the books she planned to take with her, she failed to notice the Librarian quirking a brow in her direction at some of the titles, nor did she see the woman reading the slip of paper on which she'd written down some of the details around her search.
"Here you go," she said, pushing the stack of books across the counter toward the teen, who blinked in surprise for a moment before she started loading a few of them into her bag.
"Thank you, Missus Markel."
"You're very welcome, dear. Now, I know you know the drill, so I don't have to worry with you. I'll probably see you back here tomorrow?" she asked with a knowing grin as Hermione flushed, just slightly. She'd known Missus Markel since she was four and had come in with her mother one weekend to pick up a few books. The woman had worked at that particular branch for nearly thirty years and she and Hermione had long since established an unusual friendship. Beyond her parents, the woman was probably one of the closest people to her outside of immediate family, Harry, and Ron.
"Probably," Hermione admitted, grinning unconsciously at the woman. She scooped up the last two books that wouldn't fit in her bag, after slinging one strap over her shoulder and waved one hand at the woman behind the counter. "See you tomorrow," she said, and hurried her way out of the building.
As she walked, her mind wandered, leaping from topic to topic, back and forth, going over every moment of 'that night'. She thought over how she'd felt and attempted to compare it to the various things she'd already read over that day, coming up with insufficient connections with each thing she tried. By the time she reached the house, she had worked herself into a complete tizzy and she slammed the front door open and then shut again, taking out some small measure of her frustration on the inanimate, solid oak door.
She stalked through the entry way and past the kitchen, heading straight for the stairs that would lead her up to her bedroom where she could dump her bag before she set about filling her empty stomach, very nearly oblivious to her surroundings beyond what was immediately in front of her.
"Hermione?"
The unexpected sound of her mother's voice startled her so badly that she let out an involuntary shriek of surprise, spinning around mid-step, halfway up the stairs. Her heavy book bag swung wide with the motion, throwing her so off balance that she stumbled back and fell, landing hard on her bum on the next step up even as the books in her arms fell from her grasp and tumbled loudly down the stairs.
She sat there, one hand clutched to her heaving chest, her jean clad legs stretched out in front of her as her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen to stop at the base of the stairs, looking up at her in obvious concern.
"Sweetheart?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
"Merlin's beard, mother!" Hermione burst out. "You scared the life out of me. What are you doing home?"
Helen frowned as she bent down to pick up the books lying at her feet.
"I left you a note saying I would be here around one. It was gone when I got home, so I'm sure you saw it."
Hermione groaned, realization hitting her like a bolt of lightning.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I was so wrapped up in a research project that I completely forgot. I just came home because I was hungry."
"Research? They didn't give you all homework over the break, did they?" Helen asked in surprise. It didn't even occur to her, at the time, that Hermione likely wouldn't have been doing any research for her classes at the local Public Library.
"No," Hermione said, waving away the question as she slid her bag off her shoulder and pushed herself, somewhat painfully, to her feet. "No, nothing for school. Just a personal project I'm working on."
"A personal project, huh?" When her mother's voice reached her, she realized her tone had suddenly changed. It was a tone that teens the world over knew all too well. A tone that told them that the parent had just realized something that they thought their child was trying to hide from them. A knowing tone that said 'I'm not as dumb as you think I am, kid'.
When Hermione looked up, wondering just what had caused that particular tone to enter into her mother's speech, her eyes widened and the bag she'd just picked up dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to tumble down the stairs as she spied the book in Helen Granger's hands.
Even from where she stood, she could easily make out the title, 'The Psychology of Human Sexuality' and the expression on her mother's face had two little words going through her mind.
Oh shit!
#####
Helen bent down and picked up the bag that had tumbled to a stop near her feet and when she straightened she met her daughter's eyes and turned, jerking her head in the direction of the kitchen door.
"Well?" she said. "Come on. We can have lunch and catch up a bit."
She couldn't hide the smirk on her lips when she heard Hermione groan behind her and didn't even try since she had her back to the girl. As pleased as she was to still be able to tease and embarrass her daughter, Helen was more than aware that there was likely a very serious discussion in their immediate future, and by the time Hermione appeared in the doorway she'd schooled her expression into something vaguely pleasant, and not at all judgemental.
Or so she hoped.
Hermione's face was the reddest she'd ever seen it and she couldn't meet her eyes, looking just about everywhere but at her mother as she took a seat at the table across from where Helen was in the process of emptying the book bag, stacking the books she found into separate piles.
Of course, once she read the titles, she wasn't sure exactly whatdiscussion they were going to be having. By the time she'd finished she had two separate stacks. One stack was purely on psychology. The second stack held books on psychology in relation to sex and sexuality.
Silently, she turned and pulled two plates and two glasses from the kitchen cabinets, quickly setting out still steaming hot meatball subs onto the plates as she poured two glasses of fruit juice. Passing a plate and a glass to her daughter she moved the books aside and sat down with her own plate and glass and began eating.
The silence seemed to be worse for the teen across from her than any lecture or rant that Helen might have gone on, and she knew that. Hermione barely picked at her food, despite it being one of her favorites and she took only a small sip from her glass, sitting there, miserably, for a time, never lifting her eyes from her plate.
"So," Helen said in a conversational tone, finally breaking the long silence after she'd polished off her own sandwich and refilled her empty glass. "Has anything else interesting happened at school this term that you haven't mentioned yet? You were so tired, yesterday, I'm sure you left out some of the story."
Hermione shook her head and mumbled something that might have been a denial, but the words were completely lost.
"Hermione?"
Hermione said nothing.
"Hermione, look at me."
Slowly, she lifted her head, her cheeks still stained with a dark blush and hesitantly met her mother's eyes.
Helen smiled, as comfortingly as she could. "I'm not upset with you, Honey. Really, I'm not. You're fourteen. Your father might like to think that you're still his little princess in her favorite fairy dress granting wishes with her magic wand-"
"I was five!" Hermione blurted out, her face darkening even more and Helen barely held back a chuckle.
"I know, dear. But fathers are like that. They don't want to admit that their little girls will grow into women. Mothers, however, have no such illusions. Like I said, you're fourteen, and I know just what it's like to be fourteen. I haven't forgotten that phase of my life, as much as I might want to, at times. So, I'm not upset with you. But I would like an honest explanation." Reaching out she placed one hand on the stack of books that included sex. "What, exactly, is this research project, and why are you working on it?"
Hermione squirmed in her seat, staring at the table in front of her again, refusing to meet her mothers eyes. Deciding to take a stab in the dark she sighed, perhaps a bit theatrically. "I guess I should have expected this, sooner or later," she said, propping one elbow on the table and letting her chin rest on her upturned palm. "I mean, your father has been wondering since your first year if there are any other girls at your school since your letters home only ever seem to mention two boys. Which one of them has caught your eye? That red headed boy? Rob? Ron?"
"I am not interested in Ronald Weasley," Hermione blurted out, looking horrified at her mother's suggestion. "He's not a bad looking boy, but he's a lazy slob, and he and I do almost nothing but bicker and argue with each other."
Helen nodded. "Ah, then it'd be Harry?"
That time Hermione's protests were far less vehement, or coherent, as she merely spluttered for a few moments, blushing furiously again before she looked back down at the table.
"Harry's my best friend," she mumbled.
"Hmmmm… that's not a denial," Helen pointed out, a small grin turning up the corner of her mouth.
Her daughter visibly squirmed in her seat, her fingers twitching and twining together on the table in front of her. "I don't know," she finally said. "Harry's… he's special. He's nice and caring and he's incredibly brave. I'm pretty sure there's hardly a witch in the castle that doesn't fancy him, at least a little."
"But you're his best friend," Helen pointed out. When Hermione only shrugged she sighed again and leaned back in her seat. "Look, I want to be able to help you, Sweetheart, but I can't do that if you won't talk to me. I can't imagine what you're trying to research with books like these, but lacking any other information all I can assume is an interest in boys that I'd pretty much expect from someone your age. Is Harry pressuring you about sex?"
"No!" Hermione practically yelled. "No, mother, it's nothing like that, it's…"
She trailed off and Helen leaned forward again, staring intently at her daughter. "What is it, then? You're a smart, level headed girl. I know you wouldn't let someone pressure you into something you didn't want to do. At the same time I don't want you convincing yourself to get into anything you're not ready for, either. You can be your own worst enemy at times, Hermione."
The teen groaned again, laying her head down on the table in front of her and Helen reached out to pull her plate aside, just before her wild mane of hair landed in it. "It's… it's just, someone said something, last week at school. I don't know, it just got me curious about… I guess about the mental aspect of… attraction, maybe? As in, what things people find attractive, and why?" Hermione muttered.
With one brow curiously arched at her daughter, Helen could admit that was certainly a plausible explanation for the types of books she was looking at, but something about her delivery told her that wasn't the entire story. She was well aware, however, that she probably wouldn't be able to get much more out of the girl. Not without potentially alienating her, at least.
"All right," she said, leaning back in her seat again.
Hermione lifted her head. "All right?" she asked, clearly surprised that Helen appeared to be dropping the topic.
Helen nodded. "All right," she repeated. "I'm fairly certain that's not the whole story but… well there's no point causing a fight over it, not at the moment." Her eyes narrowed slightly a second later, however. "But, we will be having a little conversation, right now, about some of the finer aspects of the males in our lives."
"Oh, Merlin, you are not giving me another Talk," Hermione moaned, and she buried her face in her hands.
"Yes, I am, and I'll also be making an appointment with the OBGYN we set you up with this summer. If at all possible, I intend to see you going back to school with some kind of protection."
"MOTHER!"
"Be as scandalized as you like, Hermione, but I'm not an idiot. I said you're smart and level headed, but you're also a developing girl with more hormones running through your body than you can imagine. I'd rather you not take this as permission to be having sex, but I'd also rather you be protected than there be an accident that we have to worry about while you're away at school, and away from us. Your father and I have no illusions that we have any control over your actions, and I'd like to think that you'd wait 'till you're older, but I wasn't much older than you are now, myself, so I can't exactly say that without feeling like a hypocrite."
"I'm a witch," Hermione pointed out. "We don't even know if non-magical means would work properly on me."
Helen pursed her lips, thoughtfully. "Very good point," she admitted. "In that case, I'll be writing to your Head of House, McGonagall, was it?" she asked, ignoring the absolutely horrified expression that stole over her daughter's incredibly red face. "I know I can send an owl at that Diagon Alley. You'll be seeing your school nurse when you go back, just in case our contraception won't work as intended." Helen stood and took her empty plate and glass over to the sink.
"If you're done eating, go change. We'll swing on over, I can send off a letter, and since we'll already be out, we'll go by your doctor's office and see if there's a walk-in available. If not we can find out if there's an appointment available before you head back to school."
Clearly grateful for even a moment to escape, Hermione leapt to her feet and practically sprinted from the kitchen as Helen called after her, "and we can have our talk on the drive!"
Another embarrassed moan floated into the kitchen and Helen grinned before she moved to the living room and collected a pen and some stationary, sitting down at the couch to begin her letter.
It wasn't as complete a discussion as she might have liked, she was able to admit to herself. Hermione hadn't really explained her 'project', but it was better than nothing, and she still had the rest of the afternoon, and the break, to pry a little more information out of her daughter.
#####
The next two days had Hermione on a roller coaster of embarrassment and frustration. Her mother seemed to delight in taking every opportunity that her father wasn't around to subtly pry into her daughter's personal life. On the one hand, Hermione understood that her mother loved her and cared about her and was only trying to help.
On the other hand, she dearly wished the woman would just leave it alone before she was left with a permanent blush! The Talk she'd been subjected to during their drive had been excruciating in the extreme and Hermione desperately did not want to think of what was going to happen when she returned to school and had to face Professor McGonagall, and then Madam Pomfrey.
On the research front, she was still coming up distressingly empty handed with each foray into the Library. Absolutely nothing that she was finding seemed to fit the reaction she'd had and she had finally looked through nearly every book that she thought might be remotely linked. The problem was that it was really such a vague thing to try and search for. A feeling triggered by a very common phrase.
Good girl.
Just two little words, but something about them, or maybe the way he'd said them, made the entire situation feel like it was so much more. There was something missing, she was sure of it. Just one little piece of information to point her in the right direction was all she needed, but she was beginning to despair at the possibility of finding anything.
That afternoon, she approached the checkout counter with only three books in hand. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the Library was going to be closed for the next few days. She would be spending the next two, at least, with her parents celebrating their usual traditions, so she decided that she would take a break from the frustrating search and try to relax a bit.
"Here you go, dear."
Hermione turned her attention back to Missus Markel to find her three books stacked neatly on top of a brightly wrapped package that had apparently appeared on the counter while she'd been distracted.
"What's this?" she asked, surprised.
"It's a Christmas gift, Dear," Missus Markel replied, smiling gently at her.
"Oh! Oh, you didn't have to do that, I didn't get anything for you-"
"I wanted to. I've known you a long time, Hermione, and I was going through some old books and thought of you when I came across these. Please, I want you to have them." She nudged the package across the counter toward Hermione who flushed slightly but beamed at the older woman.
"Thank you, so much," she said, carefully tucking the gift into her bag before she gathered her books.
"There's a letter I left in there. Read that before you look the books over and promise me, you'll wait till Christmas to open it."
"I will, and I promise," Hermione said, breathlessly. "Thank you again, and Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas to you too, and tell your parents the same for me."
She waved and turned to the next person in the, admittedly, short line at the counter. Most people were too busy with their families to be out at a Library so close to the holidays, meaning Hermione had been able to study in peace for the three days she'd spent on her research.
Leaving the building, she paused on the sidewalk, pulling her coat tighter around herself against the chill air as she looked up into a light dusting of snowflakes falling from the darkening sky above. Smiling softly, she started walking, doing her best to push all thoughts of research and Harry Potter from her mind.
For the next two days, at least, she was going to focus on her parents, and on having as pleasant a Christmas as she could. There would be plenty of time for other concerns, later.
#####
"What do you mean we won't be able to celebrate Christmas together?" Hermione blurted out, staring at her parents where they sat across from her at the kitchen table.
When she woke that morning, Hermione had been somewhat… agitated. She couldn't remember her dreams, not clearly, but she could remember vibrant green eyes and the sound of a familiar voice whispering two little words in her ear.
She was extremely embarrassed to find a pronounced damp patch on the front of her knickers when she woke, and made sure to bury that particular pair as deep in her laundry hamper as she could reach after changing into a fresh pair. She'd quickly thrown on a set of Christmas themed pajamas and hurried downstairs to find her parents already at the table, eating breakfast.
It was after she was sitting with a plate in front of her that they dropped the bad news.
"We got a call from Tampa this morning," her mother said.
Hermione frowned for a moment. "Tampa, Florida?" she finally asked, and her parents both nodded their heads. "Aunt Edith! Is everything okay?"
"No," Richard admitted, but quickly continued before she could panic. "It's not terrible, either. My sister and her husband were in a small car accident. They weren't hurt too badly, but they could really use some help with the kids and without their car they can't get around too easily. Your mother and I are going to fly out late tonight and stay with them for a few weeks to help out, we're the closest, geographically, and it's easiest for us to get to them."
"The biggest problem is how do we get you back to school?" Helen asked. "We wouldn't be back here in time for you to catch the train."
Hermione's brow furrowed again, ignoring the disappointment she felt at not being able to be with her parents for the holiday, to focus on the immediate problem at hand. "Well, I could go back to school early, easily enough. A trip through the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron at Diagon Alley to the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade and I could walk up to the castle from there."
"I don't like the idea of you trying to travel alone," Helen protested and Hermione waved away the concern.
"It's not like regular travel, mum," she explained. "If you or Dad could give me a ride to Diagon Alley, literally I step into a fireplace and come out of the fireplace at the village a few seconds later. From the Broomsticks you can see the school, it's just a ten minute walk from there to the front gate. Actually… if I could send a letter, quickly, to Professor McGonagall, she could probably meet me or have someone else meet me to help me up to the school."
They debated back and forth for a few minutes before finally settling on a plan of attack. Helen and Richard would be on the phone off and on that day organizing for someone to take care of their patients while they were away. Directly after breakfast. Helen and Hermione would run to the alley so Hermione could send off her letter.
In between everything they needed to do, including packing, they were going to exchange gifts and celebrate as much as they could until her parents needed to leave for the airport, they would be leaving a bit earlier than needed so they could drop her off at the Cauldron and one of them would watch her leave through the Floo for Hogsmeade, just to make sure she left safely.
With a firm plan in place, Hermione ate as quickly as she could, but still keeping her table manners in mind, and thirty minutes later the Granger ladies were in the car heading for Charing Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron.
"Hermione?"
"Hmmm?" Hermione looked up from her letter to her Head of House that she was reading through for the fifth time, just to make sure she'd included all of the pertinent information.
"I… I wanted us to have another chat," Helen said, never taking her eyes off the road. "I don't want to embarrass you and I don't want to pry, but… you're our daughter, Honey. We love you and we just want the best for you. You know that, right?
Hermione held back a groan and nodded her bushy head. "I know, mum," she muttered. "I just… I think you're worrying about nothing, honestly."
"The problem is that I don't know what's going on, so of course I'm going to worry. That's what parents do, Darling. We worry about our children. We worry about them getting sick, or hurt, or getting their hearts broken. This research you're focused on… I don't know what it's for but I can tell it's more than you said it was.
"I just… well, I want you to know that you can talk to me, about anything. I would never judge you or turn you away. Your father might not like the idea of anything related to sex being discussed with you, but he's a father, they're like that, as I said before. Harry is important to you, I can tell from the way you talk about him in nearly every single letter you've sent home since your first year. Just don't do anything that you're not ready for."
Hermione's teeth worried at her lower lip as she thought over her mother's words, her brow furrowed deeply and her mind whirling as she considered everything and what she might be comfortable saying. To be perfectly honest, Hermione herself didn't know what she was looking for, exactly, or what it would mean if and when she figured it out. She could admit to having more than just friendly feelings toward her green eyed best friend, but she didn't think he felt the same. Honestly, she wasn't sure he would know it even if he did.
"I don't think you have any reason to worry, mum," she said, finally, after several minutes of silence had gone by while she thought. "I haven't found anything on what I was looking for. I don't think I'll find it at school, either. And Harry…" She trailed off and sighed quietly, turning to stare blankly out the window. "Harry means a lot to me, but I don't think there's really anything there."
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "He's Harry Potter," she said as if that explained everything. "He's famous in our world, more than famous. He can't go anywhere without people recognizing him. He's powerful, he's from an old family line so he's probably somewhat wealthy, he's handsome, and he could have any girl he wanted if he tried. Why would he want me?" she muttered, despondently.
Helen was silent for a minute, her focus on a tricky lane change before returning her attention to the conversation.
"Are you interested in his fame?" she asked, and Hermione jerked in her seat, turning to stare at her mother.
"No!" she blurted out.
"Are you interested in his wealth, or his looks, or his old family line?"
"Absolutely not. What are you on about?"
"Well, from what you've said, that's at least one reason that he might be interested in you, Dear," Helen said, a small smile turning up her lips. How did this conversation go from warning her daughter to be careful to giving her advice about the boy she was obviously carrying a serious torch for?
"What do you mean?"
"He sounds like he's stuck in the same position as some of those movie stars and singers. Famous and wealthy, but they can hardly ever trust if someone they meet is actually interested in them as a person or the wealth and trappings of their position in the world. Most of those girls that would be all over the poor boy if he ever gave them a sign he was interested don't care about him. They care about the fame, the possible wealth, the prestige they'd get for bagging a famous wizard.
"But you? You're his best friend. You see him. You see the bad moods, the problems, the flaws and the cracks in the facade. You see the real person beneath the titles and the fame. You, he can trust. Trust and friendship, that's a phenomenal foundation for a relationship."
Hermione considered that, running the thought around and around in her head, wondering if her mother might not just have a good point. There were still much prettier girls out there than she was, though. If she tried to start something with Harry, would their friendship survive a breakup? If some other girl got his attention? She just didn't know, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to risk the relationship they had by trying to change it.
Not yet, at least.
"I'll think about it, mum," she said and Helen smiled again, reaching out blindly to pat her daughters thigh.
"Just promise me that you'll be careful at school. And please, write to me if you need any advice or if you have any questions."
"I don't think you have anything to worry abo-"
"Promise me, Hermione," Helen cut her off. "Like I said a few days ago. I know we can't stop you from doing whatever while you're away. But I really need you to promise me that you'll be careful, and you'll talk to me if you need advice. I may not be thrilled if you decide you want sex advice but I'd rather you talk to me instead of getting information from, possibly, questionable sources. Please, for my peace of mind."
While she'd been speaking, Helen had pulled over into a clear parking space on Charing Cross Road and she turned off the car, turning in her seat to look fully at her daughter. The pleading expression on the woman's face decided Hermione more than anything she'd said and she nodded.
"Okay, mum," she said, softly. "I promise. I'm still not so sure you have anything to worry about, but I promise."
Helen unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, pulling Hermione into a tight hug.
"Thank you. I worry so much with you away for so long, but I can't tell you how proud I am of the woman you're becoming. I know you know when you're ready, but that doesn't make it any easier as a parent."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that, so she kept silent and simply hugged her mother until they finally separated and got out of the car. Twenty minutes later, an express owl was winging its way toward Hogwarts with her letter tied securely to one leg. It had cost quite a bit more than regular post, but with any luck at all her letter would arrive in time for Professor McGonagall to be expecting her when she arrived that night in Hogsmeade.
For the rest of the day they did all they could to enjoy the holiday, exchanging gifts and helping each other to pack what they would need for their respective journeys. Hermione had to return the books she'd borrowed from the Library, since she wouldn't be able to from school and she had no time to read them before she had to leave.
By half past nine that evening, she hugged her father goodbye, her bag slung over one shoulder, before her mother escorted her into the Leaky Cauldron and they greeted the ever present barman, Tom. A few sickles handed over as payment and she hugged her mother as well. With one last glance back at the woman, she took a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the large, empty fireplace.
"The Three Broomsticks," she called as she threw the powder at her feet. A loud 'whoosh!' rose up as an emerald green flame bloomed into existence around her and less than a heartbeat later she was spinning away, back to her world, back to her friends.