Hermione Granger and the Theft of Magic

Chapter 22: She Won't Be Here

[A/N: Thank you to Calamity Owl for beta-reading this chapter!]

Elf-apparition wasn't as disorienting as a side-along with Harry, but Hermione still needed Dobby's hand to steady her for a couple of seconds after they arrived in her parents' garage. Her parents never drove anywhere on Christmas Day (especially since nothing was open), so she figured it was a safe bet.

"Thank you, Dobby." She knelt down to the elf's eye-level as she spoke. "I can make my own way home on the train tomorrow."

Dobby shook his head. "Missy My-oh-knee doesn't need to take the train when she can call Dobby."

"It's alright, really," Hermione said.

"Oh, good," Dobby said. "Dobby sees you tomorrow!" He popped away before she could respond.

"That little scoundrel..." Hermione shook her head and made her way to the door to the house.

"Once more unto the breach," she muttered as she opened it. "Mother? Father?"

Footsteps pounded along the short corridor. "Hermione?" her mother Monica asked as she came into view around the corner. She wore a long, loose woollen skirt much like Hermione's, but her white blouse was much more closely tailored to her trim form than Hermione's second-hand blouse was, and she'd chosen to accentuate it with pearls despite the fact only the three of them would be present for dinner.

"I couldn't find my house key in my bag," Hermione said, affecting a sheepish look, "so I used the code to let myself into the garage."

"I see," her mother said. "Come in, then. I'll take your coat."

Hermione shrugged off her old coat and passed it to her mother. The slightly distasteful expression that flitted across the woman's face as she took the second-hand garment was easier to bear than the inevitable questioning she'd have received if she'd worn her new (to her) crushed velvet capelet.

Her mother hung up her coat in the hall closet and escorted her to the sitting room. Her father Wendell was sitting in his usual chair flipping through that week's edition of The Economist.

"Good morning, Hermione," he said as she entered the room. He made no effort to get up to greet her, and neither did she go to him. Her parents found the predilection for hugs she'd acquired from her nanny to be a bit déclassé.

"Good morning, Father," Hermione said. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," he replied with an acknowledging nod. "Won't you sit down?"

She sat down on the chesterfield, choosing the right side for herself. Her mother sat down on the left side. "Happy Christmas," Monica said. "I confess we were surprised that you didn't arrive last night. However did you arrange transportation today with the trains and buses shut for the holiday?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "My life has changed a great deal in the last three months. My boyfriend's driver brought me here this morning."

Both of her parents' eyebrows shot up. "You have a boyfriend with his own driver?" her father asked.

"Do tell," her mother added. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone. In fact, I was starting to wonder if you would ever see someone."

"We met at the book stall," Hermione said, ignoring her parents' incredulity as best she could, which, to borrow a phrase from her favourite book as a child, was less than half as well as she'd have liked. "It turned out we had the same field of study."

Her father snorted. "There's another one?"

"More than you'd think," Hermione replied. "He introduced me to the staff at his school and they agreed to take me on as a pupil for some more specialised study in my field."