Chapter 2
After endless hours on the plane and a long boat ride, Hermione finally arrived at her destination: the island of Kalokairi, lost in the sparkling waters of the Aegean Sea. The sun, high in the sky, bathed the landscape in a golden light, and the salty air carried a scent of freedom and renewal.
Hermione had not chosen this place by chance. The Greek name his parents had given him, as well as his research, had guided his path. The year before, while preparing for the Horcrux hunt, Hermione had dug into the roots of her maternal family and discovered a part of its history that she did not know. Her grandparents, whom she had never known, had owned a small farm on this island forgotten by the world. When they died, the property had been bequeathed to her mother, and she had been careful to plan that the estate would revert to Hermione when she reached the age of eighteen.
However, this precious legacy had been overshadowed by the horrors of war and the difficult choices Hermione had had to make. By erasing her parents' memories to protect them, she had also erased the possibility that they would reveal this gift to her. She blamed herself, of course, but true to her far-sighted character, she had taken care to organize everything in advance. Documents signed, procedures established: even in ignorance, she had assured that her mother's wishes would be respected.
She never knew, at the time, what she would do with this farm nestled in the heart of the Mediterranean. It seemed so far away, almost unreal, a dream lost in the twists and turns of his responsibilities and the war. But today, everything was different. The idea of living away from the hustle and bustle of the magical world and the pain that awaited her there was obvious.
Kalokairi became a symbol, a refuge. For the first time in years, Hermione was determined to no longer flee, but to rebuild, far from the battles and memories that haunted her.
During her time on the run with Harry and Ron, Hermione had taken the time to learn the basics of the language of her ancestors, anticipating that one day it might be useful to her. This curiosity for foreign languages was a well-known facet of her. Her friends still remembered their surprise, in fourth grade, when they saw her exchange a few words in French with students at Beauxbatons. That same year, Viktor Krum had tried to teach him some rudiments of Bulgarian, which had only expanded his already impressive repertoire.
But those memories were far away. For now, Hermione had just landed on the island and had to locate the Papadakis farm, the legacy left by her maternal grandparents. She instinctively made her way to the small market square, the vibrant heart of the fishing village that populated the island. The stalls were full of freshly caught fruits, vegetables, and fish, while lively conversations in Greek rose in the air. Despite her mastery of the basics of the language, Hermione struggled to obtain clear information.
After several unsuccessful attempts, she pushed open the door of a small bar on the corner of the square, attracted by the welcoming atmosphere that emanated from it. The interior was modest but warm, with walls adorned with old photographs of the island and its people. Behind the counter, an old woman with silver hair and a bright look was busy with measured slowness.
"Good morning," Hermione said in hesitant but understandable Greek. I am looking for the Papadakis farm.
The old woman looked up, her features lighting up with a warm smile.
"Papadakis?" she repeated, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. Are you related to them?
Hermione nodded, stating that she was the granddaughter of the previous owners. The old woman then introduced herself as Sofia. With palpable emotion, she explained that she had known Hermione's grandparents well and that she had even seen her mother, Jo, grow up before she left the island.
"When they left, I thought they would come back one day," Sofia whispered. And then, after they died, I hoped to see their daughter again, but she never came back. So I promised myself to watch over the place... until someone from the family reappears.
Hermione felt her heart sink as she heard these words. She briefly explained the death of her parents, and Sofia listened silently, visibly moved. Despite her sadness, the old woman was happy to be able to pass on her memories to the young woman.
Hermione asked her many questions about her grandparents and the life they had led here. Sofia, delighted to share these memories, spoke at length about the happy days when the Papadakis family was still part of the community.
"I'm sorry," Sofia said contritely. I haven't been able to take care of the farm in recent years... My health no longer allows me to do so.
Hermione shook her head gently, soothing.
"You have done much more than I could have hoped," she replied gratefully.
After a long conversation, Sofia disappeared for a moment at the back of the bar. When she returned, she held an old rusty key in her hand, attached to a worn leather keychain.
"Here are the keys," she said, handing them to Hermione. Follow the stone path that goes off to the left of the church. The farm is a bit out of the way, but you will easily recognize it.
Hermione took the keys with immense gratitude.
"Thank you, Sofia, for everything.
The old woman nodded, a soft smile lighting up her face.
"Go ahead, my dear." Your home is waiting for you.
The walk took Hermione a good half hour, and she was congratulating herself on having thought of using a little magic to reduce the size of her luggage before leaving London. Under the setting sun, she made her way through dirt roads lined with wildflowers, the sound of cicadas accompanying her every step.
When she finally reached her destination, she froze for a moment, stunned by the vision before her. A huge building stood in front of her, both majestic and nostalgic. The house, with its weathered stones and peeling wooden shutters, seemed to have been designed to accommodate a large number of people. Hermione found herself wishing she had a time-turner, if only to catch a glimpse of the place in her grandparents' time.
Today, despite its imposing size, the house bore the scars of abandonment. The walls were cracked, the shutters hung down, and vegetation seemed to have taken possession of the surroundings. However, there was still a certain nobility in the architecture, as if the building was patiently waiting to be brought back to life.
Hermione saw a barn a few meters from the house. Inside, a horse and a donkey seemed to be resting, their peaceful silhouettes bathed in the golden evening light. She mentally made a note of asking Sofia if they had any names.
On the worn wooden porch, a big ginger cat was basking in the sun. Hermione felt a lump form in her throat when she saw him, so much did he remind her of Crooks. Her former companion had perished during the war, sacrificing his life to protect her from Nagini's bite. A lonely tear streamed down her cheek at the thought, but she wiped it away quickly.
Taking a deep breath, she inserted the large iron key into the lock of the front door. The creaking of the mechanism echoed in the silence, amplifying the impression of entering a place frozen in time.
As she expected, the interior was in a deplorable state. The staircase leading upstairs was half collapsed, pieces of wood lying on the floor. The living room and kitchen, once surely welcoming, now looked like a battlefield, littered with debris, cobwebs, and dust.
Hermione took out her wand, hoping to be able to clean up the place quickly. But when she tried a repair spell, nothing happened. Ever since she had lost her own wand at Malfoy Manor, she had struggled to master Bellatrix's, which Ron had stolen when they escaped from this sinister place. This mansion still haunted his nightmares at times, reminding him of screams and darkness.
Hermione sighed, put away the wand, and whispered to herself:
"We're going to do it the old-fashioned way."
She rolled up her sleeves and looked at the huge room around her, looking for where to start. It may have been a daunting task, but for the first time in months, Hermione felt that she was exactly where she needed to be.
Hermione dropped her bags in a corner of the room and immediately set to work. She wanted to at least clean and organize the two main rooms before nightfall, even though it was already well into the day. She hoped to create a minimum of comfort for herself before starting the work on the first floor, which promised to be an arduous mission with the rickety staircase.
As she removed the white sheets covering the furniture, a strange noise caught her attention. Intrigued, she went to the window overlooking the small courtyard of the farm. To his surprise, several people had gathered outside. Some carried furniture, others carried provisions, and many held buckets, brooms, or even toolboxes.
Among them, Hermione immediately recognized Sofia, who gave her a broad, warm smile. The old woman approached him to explain that the inhabitants of the village had decided to help her settle down. They wanted to offer him a hand on his first day on the island.
Touched by this incredible mark of hospitality, Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she forced herself to swallow them. She had never experienced anything like it, especially after the dark months she had just gone through.
When night fell, the kitchen was spotless, and the pantry filled with provisions enough to last at least a week. The living room, almost completely cleaned, now housed a comfortable sofa where Hermione could spend her first night.
The handymen of the village, after taking the measurements of the staircase, promised to return the next day with everything necessary to repair it.
Grateful, Hermione invited everyone to stay for dinner. An improvised banquet took place in the vast courtyard of the farm. Under the starry sky, traditional Greek dishes were shared, accompanied by laughter, singing, and even a lively dance. The villagers did everything they could to make Hermione feel at home, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a deep sense of peace.
When calm returned and everyone went home, Hermione sat down on the old porch with a blanket around her shoulders and looked up at the starry sky. The stars twinkled, reminding the young woman of the faces of those she had left behind in England.
She wondered what their reaction had been when she discovered the letters she had left them. She hoped with all her heart that they would finally understand her flight and, perhaps one day, forgive her. She had promised to come back, but she knew that this moment would depend on the weather and what life would throw at her.
For now, Hermione Papadakis – as she now chose to call herself – had to decide what she would do with this new life. As a light Mediterranean wind caressed her face, she felt a spark of hope rise within her.
Tomorrow would be a new beginning.