Softly and Slowly

Hermione did not visit Tom the next day. Nor the day after that. It may sound cruel, but she had her reasons, and reason number one was that she was grounded. Her parents had learned of her escapades at the orphanage. She had been ratted out and paid the consequences with lectures, endless studying, and chores. Her parents could not believe it. Their precious sweet Hermione— well-behaved, straight-A student, content-with-everything-in-her-life Hermione— had broken the rules, and now she was under house arrest.  

She could not visit Tom and fall to her knees at him, begging for forgiveness and pleading for his tutelage (not that she would ever degrade herself like that). But she supposed it was better this way because he acted like a big baby and an even bigger hypocrite, so why should she apologize? He would never do the same for her. 

She had the rest of her life to find an occult tutor, so her mysterious little Riddle could stay in the orphanage forever, alone and loveless.  

Hermione wished to do this, but she always had a bleeding heart, and after a week, she gave in. Her parents had become more lenient, letting their guards drop around her, so she requested to send a letter to learn a "new adult skill," which was socializing. Her mother handed her envelopes and her dad gave her a pen and stamp, and she shut herself in her room to scribble. 

Dear Tom, 

I will not steal your food or anything else again. I only took those gross vegetables because you ignored me. I am very sorry about that, but not about anything else I have said to you. The reason I do not visit anymore is notthat I’m afraid of you but because I have been held prisoner by my parents. Someone snitched on me about going to the orphanage, and I am not sure who, but I wish they didn’t because I can still barely throw stones. You’re probably floating buildings now. Either way, I feel better now that I don’t have to see your sour face. 

Bye, Hermione. 

She folded her letter and slipped in a 10-pence bookmark and some stamps so he could send a letter back. The next time she visited the post office with her parents, she fed it to the red mailbox and wished it a successful journey, even if it was only going across town. Hermione would never admit it, but she was giddy for a reply. She wanted to see his reaction and was curious about his handwriting, which would probably be neat, crisp, and much better than hers. But she was most excited about a sentence that told her forgiveness. 

Every day for a month, Hermione asked her parents if any letters had arrived, and each day became sorely disappointed when they told her no. She spent her days reading and playing in the sun, waiting for something she knew would not come. Her time at school was well spent and she studied often, but her mind would always crawl back in depravity to the insipid letter she wished would appear on her doorstep. Was this how their relationship ended? Over vegetables? 

"Hermione, there's someone here for you!" Her mother called for her from across the house one morning. Hermione scrambled up and out of her room, dashing to the door, hopeful that it was the mailman. When she reached her mother, panting, her last bit of hope shriveled up and flung itself into the fireplace. It was not the mailman but a woman swathed in long black robes. Her skin was as pale as milk, and her black hair was knotted in a tight bun that elongated her already long face, reminding Hermione of a cat. A very intimidating cat.

"Good morning." The woman's voice was low and velvety. "Is Mr. Granger here by chance? I have something of great importance to chat about, and it involves her." The woman's gaze glided onto Hermione's form, and she felt the urge to hide behind her mother.

Her mother looked wary of the woman but opened the door further to allow entrance. The woman nodded politely to her as she crossed into their house. Her mother quickly brought her to a couch, leaving Hermione alone while she made tea.

"This is about my magic, isn't it?" Hermione inquired. The stranger's attention moved from their television, which she had been scrutinizing carefully, and over to her. She studied her with sharp, slanted eyes, and it felt like she was peering into Hermione's soul. Just as it seemed she would respond, her parents walked into the living room and settled on the couch beside her, placing tea and biscuits on the table.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. and Mr. Granger." She took a sip of the drink her mother poured.

"Oh, please, call me Monica— " her mother started.

"—And I'm Wendell. We're both dentists." her father finished. "I hear you are inquiring about Hermione. Are you a professor?"

"I am a professor, but a kind I assume you are both unfamiliar with." The woman smiled faintly. It was the first shred of emotion Hermione had seen from her.

"My name is Zarina. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and as it turns out, your daughter is a witch." A long silence followed this, and the ticking clock became unduly noisy. Hermione's mouth thinned at first, letting this new information sink in. Then, she broke into a grin that stretched ear to ear. She jumped from her chair— this was better than a million letters from Tom Riddle!

"It's true! She's telling the truth! We've known it from the start!" She was practically bouncing up and down. Would she attend Hogwarts? Was it possible to find friends, people who were just like her?

"What is Hogwarts?" Her mother asked, finding the name distasteful.

"It is a prestigious boarding school in Scotland made for young witches and wizards to study their magic. Every magical person must hone their powers, and Hogwarts's sole purpose is to help do this." Zarina answered.

"You want Hermione to attend your school?" Her father asked.

"Of course." She replied with a nod.

"How much does it cost? Is there a test she needs to take?" Her mother questioned.

"It will cost you nothing, and there are no entrance exams. But she does need supplies." Zarina pulled a stick from her black robes, gently waving it. Miraculously, a piece of parchment appeared, and from nothing but air. Hermione was amazed. Was it possible she could do that someday?

Her parents took the list and read from it.

"A wand, protective gloves, three sets of plain black robes...  a cauldron. Where on earth are we supposed to find these?" Her mother exclaimed, still unable to believe what was happening.

"Why, Diagon Alley, of course. I am to be your guide for Hermione and will help provide for all her needs." Zarina answered with a smile that showed gleaming white pearls.

"What do you say?" questioned the witch.

Hermione watched her parents, eyes as wide as saucers. She was determined to attend Hogwarts. Even if her parents said no, that would not stop her. This had been her dream for years and it was everything she ever longed for. If she did not go, she would simply bury herself. A life without magic would not be worth living, and she knew this for a long time.

"I agree!" She said, staring at Zarina with undulated excitement, burning with a desire for knowledge and adventure.

"Hermione— " Her mother started, but her father cut her off.

"We should let her do it, Monica. Magic is a part of her, it's who she is. It's not our place to say no."

Her mother bit her lip, face filled with worry. She gave a bittersweet smile.

"All right. I just can't stand to see my baby leave! A boarding school of all things?" Hermione smiled and hugged her mother with gratitude. They did not know how much their decision meant to her.

"I will meet with you again on the 29th of December." Zarina left with a pop, vanishing before they could even reply.

Hermione did not think of Tom's letter again.