Whispers of Summer
The Burrow stood bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, its crooked chimney casting elongated shadows across the rolling hills. Hermione Granger sat on the windowsill of the cozy attic bedroom she shared with Ginny Weasley, her fingers tracing the well-worn pages of her beloved “Pride and Prejudice.” The novel had become her refuge during these languid summer days, its familiar words a balm for her restless mind. Below, in the rambling backyard, the Weasley clan was in full swing. Harry, Ron, and Ginny, along with the twins—Fred and George—were engaged in a raging game of Quidditch. Their laughter echoed through the gap in window, blending with the distant hum of the bees and the rustling leaves of the orchard tree. Hermione could almost taste the freedom of these carefree moments, the weight of textbooks and impending exams temporarily lifted. Except, her mind wouldn’t stop drifting to things she’d rather not think about. Well, one particular topic that she had been trying to shove to the back of her mind all summer, but it kept on finding its way back. It was absurd, really. Draco freaking Malfoy. The boy who had taunted her mercilessly since first year, the same Slytherin with sliver-blonde hair and a taste for disdainful glares. Yet, over the past year, something had shifted. Hermione had noticed it—the subtle transformation in Malfoy’s features. His jawline had become more pronounced, his cheekbones sharper, and those eyes—icy grey pools that held secrets that she couldn’t fathom—they haunted not just her dreams but every waking moment. His shoulders had become broader and had grown taller. Hermione’s thoughts had wondered off to Draco’s hands, what would they feel like? Soft? Warm? Rough? What would they feel like if he were to sink them into her hair? His lips. Would they be soft and moist? Rough and dry? Was he thinking about her too, the same way she was thinking about him? Hermione wondered, her fingers stilling on the page. Did Draco lie awake at night, pondering the same impossible questions? She imagined him in the moonlight, wrestling with the conflicting emotions, just as she did. Perhaps he, too, had grown weary of the rigid lines drawn by house rivalries. Her daydreams were interrupted by a soft tap against the windowpane. Hermione blinked, her heart skipping a beat. Errol, Ron’s aging owl, hovered outside, feathers ruffled and beak slightly askew. The poor creature had seen better days, but he remained steadfast in his deliveries. With a sense of anticipation, Hermione unlatched the window. Errol fluttered in, landing clumsily on the windowsill. His talons clutched a weathered envelop—the Hogwarts seal embossed in crimson wax. Hermione’s breath caught. Her letter had finally arrived. She took the parchment, smoothing out its creases. The ink was still fresh, the words dancing across the page. Hermione’s eyes scanned the familiar script, and a thrill surged through her. Another year at Hogwarts awaited--the promise of magic, friendship, and adventure. But this time, it held something more—a tantalizing uncertainty. Errol hooted softly, as if urging her to read. Hermione chuckled, reaching into her pocket for a treat. She fed it to the owl, scratching behind his feathery ears.
“Thank you, Errol,” she whispered, “You brought me hope.”
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the orchard, Hermione made her decision. She would return to Hogwarts, face the challenges ahead, and perhaps unravel the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. For now, though, she tucked the letter into her pocket and descended the creaky stairs. Outside, the Weasleys, including Harry, were still playing Quidditch, their shouting could be heard from a mile away, and their laughter was infectious. Hermione joined them until it was time for dinner, her heart lighter than it had been in months. And as she watched on the sidelines, wind flowing through the warm summer air, she allowed herself to imagine—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy’s thoughts were as tangled as hers. The whispers of summer carried her aloft, and Hogwarts beckoned like an old friend, waiting to reveal its secrets once more.
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The Burrow was alive with the comforting chaos that only a large, loving family could create. Hermione sat at the long wooden table, surrounded by the Weasleys. The smell of Molly Weasley's cooking wafted through the air, making her stomach grumble in anticipation. Ron was stuffing face with food as per usual, Fred and George were engaged in a heated debate about this year's Quidditch team, their voices rising above the clatter of cutlery and the crackling of the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley bustled around, serving steaming bowls of mash potatoes and roasted chicken. Hermione's eyes followed her movements, grateful for the warmth and acceptance she felt in this cozy home. She had spent the many summers here, and it was a place where she truly belonged. Not saying that she didn't love her parents or the muggle world, in fact it was the complete opposite. The only issue was that she didn't quite belong there and felt out of place, seeing as she was the only witch in her family, and they didn't quite grasp or understand the concept of magic being quite real. However, it wasn't like she could sit down and talk about escaping criminal wizards, flying hippogriffs, or dark wizards running around trying to kill people. Hermione had decided to leave that out when talking to her parents about Hogwarts.
"Tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley announced, wiping her hand on her apron, "We'll be heading into Diagon Ally to get your school supplies. New books, robes, cauldrons--the whole lot."
Hermione nodded, her mind already calculating the list of items she needed. She glanced at Ginny, who was practically bouncing in her seat next to Harry. The youngest Weasley was always excited about shopping for new things.
Mr. Weasley leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "And don't forget, there's a Yule ball this year. A grand event, indeed!"
The Yule ball--the thought sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. She had heard rumors about it, how it was a magical night of dancing, glamour, and romance. but she wasn't sure if she wanted to attend. The idea of dressing up and dancing with someone made her feel both exhilarated and anxious.
Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together. "Speaking of dressing up, Ginny, Hermione, we'll need to visit Madam Malkin's for proper dresses. It's a tradition, you know."
Ginny squealed; her eyes wide. Harry let out a chuckle. "Really? oh, I can't wait!"
Hermione groaned inwardly. She loved learning, reading, and solving magical mysteries, but fashion was not her forte. The idea of trying on fancy dresses made her feel like a fish out of water. As the meal wound down, Hermione excused herself and climbed up the narrow stair to the girls' bedroom. Refreshed and clean, Hermione changed into her pajamas and sat on the edge of Ginny's bed. The younger girl was already there, her red hair fanned out on the pillow.
"so, Yule ball." Ginny said dreamily, staring at the ceiling. "I wonder who I'll go with."
Hermione's thoughts drifted away from the Weasley household and into the world of Draco Malfoy once again. she wondered if there were a reality in which Draco Malfoy would ask her to the festive event, but deep down she knew that it could never happen, but a girl could dream, right? Would he recognize her if she dressed up? What would he do? Perhaps Draco would complement her or kiss her on the back of the hand? Or would he just stare? The forbidden attraction that she felt for him was both thrilling and terrifying.
"Are you okay. Hermione?" Ginny waved a hand in front of her face.
Hermione blinked, realizing she had been so caught up in her thoughts that she must have zone out. "Yeah, just got a lot on my mind."
Ginny grinned "You seem to be far away, thinking about boys, are you?"
Hermione blushed. "Not exactly."
The redhead got up and settled herself under the covers, before letting out a yawn. "Well, whatever it is, you'll figure it out. Maybe someone will ask you and sweep you off your feet to the dancefloor."
"Maybe"
Making her way back over to her own bed, Hermione laid down and began to stare at the ceiling. Ginny had fallen asleep, which left her to her own devices as she laid there in silence, letting her thoughts roam back to Malfoy. It didn't long before the realization dawned on her. She liked draco; Draco fucking Malfoy. She closed her eyes, wondering how fate would play its hand. There wasn't much she could do right now, so she had to let it go, at least for the time being. And so, as the moonlight filtered through the window, Hermione Ganger fell asleep, her dreams filled with silver-blonde hair and stormy grey eyes.