The long-awaited holiday had officially begun.
"Hermione, tell me, where should we go for our holiday?" Mrs. Granger asked her daughter as she sat on an old-fashioned brown sofa, peeling an apple with a fruit knife.
An empty silver plate rested on the coffee table in front of her.
"We've already been to France. How about Italy this time?" Mrs. Granger suggested, gently placing a slice of apple onto the plate.
By Muggle standards, Hermione's family was quite well-off, both socially and financially.
After all, both of her parents were dentists, a respectable profession in the United States. Taking a trip once a year during the holidays was hardly a burden for them.
"Hermione?"
"Hermione?"
Mrs. Granger placed the unpeeled apple and knife back on the plate, then raised her voice and called her daughter's name again.
Hermione seemed startled. She suddenly looked up and met her mother's gaze.
"You've only been home for a couple of days. Why do you seem so distracted?" Mrs. Granger asked, frowning as she studied her daughter.
"Are you worried about your exams?" Mr. Granger asked, placing the newspaper he had been reading on the brown coffee table beside him.
"A little."
Hermione forced a smile, but no matter how hard she tried, it looked strained.
"It's all right. I know our Hermione is hardworking and clever," Mr. Granger said with a smile. "Even if you really do perform poorly, I don't think it will be a big problem."
A top student performing poorly was entirely different from a struggling student receiving bad results.
The couple also remembered that their daughter had always held herself to extremely high standards.
Even before she attended Hogwarts, during her preschool years, she had often criticized herself harshly. Whenever she failed to get full marks or scored lower than expected on a quiz, she would secretly cry beneath her blankets for a long time.
Now that she attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and returned home only a few times a year, they had even fewer opportunities to look after her personally.
"No, I did very well on the exams."
Hermione lowered her head slightly and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath, trying to conceal something.
Could she be in a relationship?
Seeing Hermione lower her head again, Mrs. Granger picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and placed it back in her husband's hands, raising it upright.
Mr. Granger frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Do you think Hermione is in a relationship?" she whispered into his ear.
"I don't know." Mr. Granger shook his head. "Even if she is, there's nothing I can do to help her."
"Let's not discuss it anymore. I believe she knows what she's doing."
Their discussion produced no conclusion.
"I should start preparing dinner."
"What would you like to eat today, Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked cheerfully.
"I'm not a picky eater, Mum."
Hermione's voice sounded listless.
"All right."
Mrs. Granger smiled and went to prepare dinner.
Hermione watched her mother's busy figure as her father once again hid his face behind the newspaper.
Only then did her eyes begin to redden slightly.
She took a deep breath and clenched her fists.
The suitcase she had brought home was almost empty. Although it looked heavy, she had not actually brought much back.
Since she would be returning to school soon, what was the point of bringing so much luggage?
Hermione was not worried about the Animagus matter. She knew her parents would definitely allow her to pursue it, especially since they had no idea what it truly involved.
They had always been supportive of her learning.
In front of an old-fashioned television, a formally dressed female newsreader delivered the news in a slightly serious tone.
"Recently, stray dogs have bitten dozens of citizens. The London police have been dispatched. Please exercise caution when going outside, and immediately report any information regarding stray dogs of unknown origin to the police."
What did that mean?
Stray dogs wandering the streets could hardly pose such a significant threat.
The answer seemed obvious.
Werewolves.
Numerous uncontrolled Werewolves had begun attacking Muggles.
At the same time, some responsible wizards tasked with modifying memories were doing their best to maintain order.
Recalling the attack they had suffered on the Hogwarts Express not long ago, Hermione understood that the situation was about to become much worse.
She had also made a difficult decision.
Hermione quietly drew her wand and pointed it straight ahead.
Her lips moved slightly.
A beam of white light silently pierced through the newspaper and struck her father.
There was no sound.
Mr. Granger simply slumped against the soft sofa and fell into a deep sleep.
He would never have imagined that his own daughter would use magic against him.
"Italy? Then Italy it is. It should be perfect."
Hermione opened a travel map and glanced at it. The hand holding her wand trembled slightly.
As for her mother, Hermione stood behind her when the spell took effect. She caught her as she began to collapse, slipped an arm around her shoulders, and guided her towards the sofa.
The couple leaned against each other and fell onto the sofa.
Hermione raised her wand and cast a Memory Charm.
Erase all memories of me completely.
The Grangers were now a childless couple.
To avoid questions from those around her, going on a trip was a suitable solution. Hermione could not possibly cast Memory Charms on all her neighbours as well.
Hermione stared blankly at her home.
The slightly worn mahogany armchairs, the cracked glass coffee table, and the walls that were no longer white but had gradually turned yellow—all of it was familiar.
Everything began to change rapidly.
The magic had taken effect.
The family photograph of the three of them on the desk was replaced by a photograph of the couple alone. Hermione, who had once stood between them, had disappeared.
The clothes she had left in the wardrobe, the certificates and awards she had received…
Everything connected to her was erased.
Hermione had not wanted to go this far.
But she knew that Lord Voldemort particularly hated Muggles. He despised those with mixed blood, let alone someone from her family.
Hermione did not feel inferior because of her heritage, nor did she believe there was anything wrong with it.
But Lord Voldemort harboured an intense hatred towards people like her.
We absolutely cannot involve our parents.
Hermione thought silently.
Standing in the entrance hall, Hermione looked at the large suitcase behind her.
She crouched down and tied her shoelaces before slowly standing up again.
Her breathing gradually became steady and rhythmic.
A few minutes later, she looked at the bluish iron gate, its surface slightly rusted, as though she had finally made up her mind.
She pushed the door open, stepped outside, and left without looking back.
Every second, she was afraid she might regret her decision, undo the spell, confess everything to her parents, and pretend that nothing had happened.
But she could not be that selfish.
She had to suppress her urge to confide in someone.
If she were facing any other kind of difficulty, turning to her parents would have been perfectly normal.
But this time, they could not help her at all.
Hermione did not want them to worry about something they could do nothing to change.
She quickly reached the nearest street and stood beneath a dim streetlamp. Then she raised her wand and began to wait.
Only two minutes later, a loud bang rang out.
A three-storey bus painted bright purple pulled up in front of her. The words KNIGHT BUS were emblazoned across its windscreen in large golden letters.
"I'm going to the Leaky Cauldron," Hermione said.
"Eleven Sickles…" the conductor began, seemingly wanting to say something more.
"I'm just taking the bus. All right? I'm going to sleep now, so don't bother me."
"A little witch who ran away from home after arguing with her family?" the conductor joked.
Hermione did not answer.
She was sobbing, her reddened eyes staring blankly through the window. Despite what she had said, she had no intention of sleeping.
"All right."
The young man shrugged helplessly. He pulled a brand-new towel from behind him and held it out to her.
"I didn't ask for a disposable towel," Hermione said.
"It's free, miss."
The man shrugged, his fan-like ears swaying slightly.
Stan Shunpike believed that comforting passengers who were feeling down was worth doing—even if it cost him part of his own salary.
Hermione ultimately did not take the towel.
She pretended not to hear him and continued staring out of the window at the constantly changing scenery. She felt the rhythm of the bus's movement, sometimes distorted and sometimes smooth.
About ten minutes later, after Hermione had boarded the Knight Bus and travelled through four stops, the Grangers finally woke up on the sofa at home.
They exchanged a confused glance.
"How did I fall asleep?" Mr. Granger asked, still lying on the sofa.
"Oh, right. What were we discussing? Where should we go on holiday?"
France or Italy?
"I remember that we've already been to France," Mrs. Granger said.
The same conversation began again, showing just how much the couple enjoyed travelling.
"Never mind. We can discuss it later. I'll go and prepare dinner."
Mrs. Granger smiled and turned towards the kitchen.
"Huh? Why is the food still hot?"
She opened the microwave and immediately sensed that something was wrong.
At the same time, she vaguely felt as though she had forgotten something important.