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THE GRANGER household smelled like Nepal in August—spiced butter sizzling in the pan, turmeric, cumin, and something faintly sweet she couldn't name but knew by heart. Meera stood over the stove, flipping parathas in neat, perfect circles, the kind only a mother could make. The edges crisped just enough to crackle, golden brown and bubbling with ghee.
Emmalina sat at the breakfast table, her stomach churning with excitement at the prospect of going to Hogwarts. Butterflies erupted in her stomach at the thought of Dobby, the house elf. Was there truly danger at Hogwarts? The twelve-year-old longed to catch a break, especially with the events of last year that she hadn't told her family.
She only wanted a normal year, filled with friends, gossip, and studies.
"You're absolutely sure you didn't forget anything?" Meera asked, placing the parathas in front of her with practiced hands.
Emmalina nodded, cheeks puffed full with her first bite.
"I forgot to put tikka on your forehead last year," Meera said, already climbing the stairs toward the Pooja Ghar, the little corner room lined with bronze and clay statues of Ganesh, Lakshmi, and Narayan. A faint whiff of incense followed in her wake—dhoop, or maybe sandalwood.
Emmalina wiped her hands, watching her mum reappear moments later holding a bronze thali. On it was a small diya, marigold petals, grains of rice, red abir, and a little copper lota filled with water.
"Basa," Emmalina had to take a moment to translate in her head. Sit.
Emmalina obeyed, ducking her head as her mother touched a dab of red and yellow between her brows, and then tucked the marigold petals behind her ear.
"May your year at Hogwarts be good, peaceful, and may you top your year."
Emmalina chuckled. "That's impossible. Hermione's the topper."
"Doesn't mean you can't try."
Just then, her father entered the kitchen, adjusting the cuffs of his ironed shirt. Edgar Granger rarely seemed rushed. He walked like a man who always had time, but thought most things weren't worth spending it on.
"Did you put the tikka?" he asked, nodding toward Emmalina's forehead.
"Of course," Meera said, beginning to clean up.
Edgar looked at his daughter and gave her the smallest of smiles. "Protection charm. Works better than half the spells they teach at that school."
"Don't let Professor Flitwick hear you say that."
He chuckled. "Flitwick doesn't know how to flip a proper paratha. I win."
