They settled on a plan before they left the train: everyone would come to Harry's near the end of the holiday, and they'd travel back to Hogwarts together when term started. If Draco hadn't shown by then, Kevin had already decided he would go to Malfoy Manor and drag him out personally. And if that failed, the Grindelwald card was always there — a quiet word to Dumbledore, and suddenly the Malfoy household would have a rather pressing incentive to cooperate.
One way or another, Draco was coming.
The platform was the usual end-of-term chaos — families converging from every direction, trolleys and owls and students colliding in the middle of it all. Kevin and Hermione said their goodbyes and made their way toward the exit. Sure enough, the Grangers were waiting by the barrier, both of them smiling and waving.
"Mum! Dad! We're back!"
Hermione called out from halfway across the platform, already moving faster, and her parents opened their arms without hesitation.
The hugs lasted a beat longer than usual. Mr. Granger clapped Kevin firmly on the back — not the polite, careful kind of pat he'd given the first few times they'd met, but something with actual warmth behind it. Mrs. Granger brushed her hand through Kevin's hair, eyes soft in a way that made him go still.
He shot Hermione a sideways look. She was watching him with a quiet, knowing smile.
He understood. She'd told them about his parents — about the bracelet, about what Nicolas Flamel had revealed, about the souls that had been trapped inside and what it had cost Kevin to set them free.
He let out a small breath and met their eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go home."
He meant it, genuinely, for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived in this world.
The drive back was easy and unhurried. The Grangers had been piecing together the shape of the wizarding world for years — not all at once, but in the gradual way that came from living next door to it, from watching their daughter come home changed and stronger each year, from eventually having an Auror knock on their door and spend an hour explaining in careful Ministry-approved terms that the threat was over, the terrorist organisation was destroyed, and the protection detail could be stood down.
They'd been relieved. The kind of relief that comes from a long-held tension finally letting go.
"Sweetheart," Mrs. Granger said, turning in her seat to face the back. "You'll be eighteen in a few months. Any thoughts about a coming-of-age celebration? Something special?"
Hermione blinked. "A… celebration?"
The question caught her entirely off guard. She hadn't thought about it — or rather, when she did think about eighteen, the thought that followed immediately was not about parties or cakes or formal occasions. It was about all the things she and Kevin had been patiently, sensibly waiting to do properly, without rushing, without—
Her cheeks went pink.
Kevin, sitting right next to her, raised an eyebrow. Why the sudden flush?
"I… haven't really thought about it," Hermione managed, ducking her head.
She was very aware of Kevin's eyes on her. He had an entirely unreasonable ability to look at her when she least wanted to be looked at.
She'd had a conversation with Ginny recently about Harry — who was, apparently, a complete innocent in that particular department. Raised without guidance on the subject, reduced to whatever he'd managed to glean secondhand from Ron's questionable sources. Ginny had described him with the fond exasperation of someone who had largely resigned herself to taking matters into her own hands.
Which meant Kevin, by the same logic, was probably even more clueless. He'd had the same upbringing, give or take. And with Hermione in his life, he'd had precisely zero opportunity to stumble onto anything enlightening on his own.
If she pushed the issue before he turned eighteen, she'd feel terrible about it. Better to wait.
Kevin, for his part, had no idea what was happening inside her head. He watched three or four different expressions cross her face in rapid succession and wondered, not for the first time, whether she was somehow conducting an entire internal conversation he had no access to.
Mrs. Granger, who had been a parent for seventeen years and recognised the signs immediately, turned back toward the front with a serene expression.
"You know," she said, to no one in particular, "after sixteen, if your parents don't object… you really can do as you please."
Kevin: ?
Mr. Granger: ?
Hermione: !!!
The holiday was quiet and sweet and entirely ordinary in all the best ways. They slept in. They walked the neighbourhood in the evenings. Kevin spent mornings in the kitchen because he found it calming, and Hermione spent them reading at the table because she was constitutionally incapable of going more than two days without a book in her hands. Crookshanks stalked between them like a small, opinionated supervisor.
It was good. It was the kind of good that doesn't ask for anything.
Then Ron's letter arrived.
Two wedding invitations fell out when Kevin unfolded it. Thick parchment, embossed edges — the proper sort.
He turned them over in his hands, frowning slightly. Then he read.
Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were getting married. Kevin and Hermione were invited.
The two of them had crossed paths at the Triwizard Tournament — Bill had come with his family to watch, and the chaos that followed had apparently given him plenty of time to get to know Fleur. They'd kept in touch. Things had progressed naturally enough. The Weasleys were delighted; the Delacours apparently had no objections. With Voldemort gone, the timing felt right.
The wedding was to be held at the Burrow.
"A wedding!" Hermione opened her envelope and two small paper butterflies fluttered out, shimmering faintly with magic, circling each other over the invitation's handwritten script and a tiny enchanted photograph of the happy couple. She lit up completely. Then she glanced sideways at Kevin with an expression that was entirely hopeful and only a little subtle.
He understood perfectly well what that look meant. He pulled her into his side.
"Don't stress about it," he murmured, close enough that only she could hear. "You'll have yours."
She made a small, undignified noise against his shoulder and didn't argue — just laughed softly, face buried in his jacket.
They stayed like that for a moment, neither in any particular hurry to move.
When they finally did, Hermione switched to logistics. First time attending someone else's wedding; she was determined not to embarrass herself. Proper robes. A thoughtful gift. And she had, she admitted, already been mentally composing questions for Fleur about the general experience of planning a wedding and setting up a shared household — though technically Fleur had been asking her the same questions, given that by any reasonable measure, Hermione had been running a shared household with Kevin since third year.
The wedding was next month. Harry would definitely be there. Draco's attendance remained, as with most things Draco-related, somewhat uncertain.
Either way: wedding, then Harry's for a week, then back to Hogwarts. One last stretch before everything changed.