The sightseeing tour through Rome's interesting and notable quarters proceeded in its own time.
A couple of minutes before we set off, I had a thought and concluded that I was an absolute idiot. A simple problem — where to get ordinary money? Given that we still had more than one day to spend in Italy, liras were needed. The solution was, in truth, perfectly straightforward — Apparate to London, pop into Diagon Alley, exchange Galleons for pounds at Gringotts, return, then change the pounds for liras at an ordinary bank.
Which is precisely what I did, spending fifteen minutes on the first part of the plan — the Galleon exchange. Fifteen minutes during which my family was supposed to have gathered themselves and been ready to head out, accompanied by the Paradis.
In any case, the money question was sorted fairly quickly, though my parents made their disapproval known. They have absolutely no desire to see me spend my own money on anything, and sincerely believe that since they dragged me here from comfortable and cosy England, all expenses fall to them. Complicated.
And then... then began a journey through Rome that was in some ways familiar, and thoroughly enjoyable for it. Away from the tourists, but through interesting quarters. All manner of establishments, ice cream, the blazing summer sun. There's really no need to wander among ancient ruins to enjoy remarkable architecture from every era — a city as old as Rome overflows with it. You simply need to know where to go. And so we walked.
By evening, everyone was thoroughly exhausted. Except me. I felt slightly awkward about that for a moment, but it passed quickly. One more night lay ahead — the last in Rome — and in the morning we were to head somewhere east, if I'd understood correctly. Or perhaps south-east, along the coast. Or perhaps not in that direction at all — my parents weren't in any particular hurry to reveal where we were going next.
In the evening, after dinner at the same little hotel restaurant, Daphne and I headed upstairs — not to the room, but to the roof. A flat roof, with benches and awnings and flower beds — quite a pleasant spot, all told, for spending time under Rome's night sky on a warm evening.
. . . . .
Hector's parents remained at the table in the restaurant with Hermione, watching the retreating figures of the couple.
"It's all extremely strange," said Mrs Granger, propping her head on one hand, a glass of wine in the other.
The head of the family glanced at his daughter, Hermione, who had stopped boring holes into the backs of the departing pair and returned to reading a small book while listening to something on a disc player — a relatively recent acquisition. What was wrong with a cassette player? The same amount fits on a cassette as on a disc... or had the esteemed head of the family somehow managed to fall behind the times again?
"I don't know," Robert shook his head, reaching for his own glass of wine.
"Don't overdo it — you're not as young as you were," Mrs Granger smiled at her husband, "and tomorrow you're driving first thing."
"Just half a glass," Robert took a sip, considered it, nodded with satisfaction, and continued: "I simply don't know. It's all too fast, too sudden."
"I understand. It feels like only yesterday Hector was... ill. And then — just like that — Hogwarts. Just like that — recovered. As if by magic. Nothing needed teaching, he remembered everything, understood everything. We never even properly spent time together, and then off to school for ten months every year. And in general... Something about it all feels wrong."
"It's just Hector," Mr Granger shrugged philosophically. "Everything about him is wrong. We simply need to accept that as given. Perhaps it's something to do with their magic. Or perhaps not. Even when he first came round, he already seemed..."
"Grown up? As if he'd already seen a fair amount of life."
"Yes, something like that. And this Daphne of his doesn't feel like a sixteen-year-old girl either. There are certain nuances, of course, but on the whole..."
"You're right... I just feel a certain injustice in it all," Mrs Granger said, with a bitter half-smile.
"Oh? What sort of injustice?"
"All those years we cared for him. Without any response in return. And yet you could see he was taking in the bare minimum he needed for life. But..."
"Sees everything, understands everything, knows everything, and simply doesn't care about any of it. Rather like Hermione's cat," Mr Granger said, and smiled unexpectedly. "I wonder who she left him with for the trip?"
"Whoever she left him with, I'm certain they already regret taking in that ginger menace."
"He's not that bad, darling," Mr Granger smiled, waving it off and taking another sip of wine. "As for Hector... Yes, fair enough, we never really got to be proper parents to him, I'll grant you that. But you know — given the degree of his peculiarity, one simply has to, as I've said before, make peace with it."
Hermione took off her headphones, closed her book, and looked at her parents.
"Have you really got nothing else to talk about?"
"Well, it's the most pressing topic," Mrs Granger smiled at her daughter. "Weren't you listening to music?"
"I was, but with the volume very low. So in the end I was listening to you."
"Tut-tut," Mrs Granger shook her head, taking a sip of wine. "But then, if we're not to talk about your brother — what shall we talk about? Not the trip — we've already discussed that from every angle while we were walking."
"Well, Voldemort, for instance..."
"Nothing to say there either," Mr Granger shook his head. "Since Hector can apparently deliver you to London at a moment's notice... we'll simply leave him the address of wherever we're moving to for a year or two. And he'll bring you. As for the decision itself — for us personally..."
"That too we've discussed more than once or twice," Mrs Granger picked up the thread. "So personally, I find talking about Hector considerably more interesting. Unlike magic, I actually understand something about people and their relationships — and it's genuinely fascinating."
"Right then," Hermione sighed, and got up from the table. "I'm going to my room. It's late, and I need a proper night's sleep. I hate being drowsy in the car."
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
Hermione made her way out of the little restaurant and headed toward the rooms. Climbing to the upper floor where her room and Hector's were located, she found herself noting with some surprise that the closer she got to her brother's door, the more curious she became — what exactly was going on in there? Embarrassed by her own thoughts, Hermione checked the corridor — no one. She nearly walked straight past, but the curiosity — the ill-timed urge to investigate, to find out, or at least to hear something — wouldn't leave her. Though she couldn't have said why.
Stopping at Hector's door, Hermione stood still and listened. From various rooms along the corridor came faint sounds — a television, voices, the clink of crockery. Very soft, but distinct. From her brother's room — silence.
After standing there for about a minute, Hermione felt glad she'd heard nothing, and simultaneously disappointed for exactly the same reason.
"What if there are silencing charms?" she whispered, gave her head a small shake, and nearly stepped through the door to her own room next door.
Nearly. The desire to know what was happening in there — whether anything was happening at all — was considerable. But magic outside of Hogwarts, outside a wizarding household, with such a high likelihood of being discovered? That was perhaps too much. And yet the curiosity remained.
Hermione drew her wand and approached Hector's door, beginning to trace a series of diagnostic charms — subtle enough to pass unnoticed even by an attentive observer. Concentrating on the task, she found extraordinarily complex silencing magic in place. Though when had such obstacles ever stopped her? For a moment it crossed her mind that it would be easier to work from her own room — significantly less chance of being spotted by a Muggle that way — but she dismissed the thought as immaterial. Hector himself had said that an accidental witness to wandwork could be dealt with easily enough, provided the magic left no visible trace.
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