Dance with me, Malfoy

Part Two

"Mum! Dad!" She called loudly when she stepped out of the chimney and into the grand Edwardian house that was her parents' home. The colossal white beauty sat on one hundred and seventeen acres of prime real estate. With eleven bedrooms and even more bathrooms, her parents' place could only be described as a mansion. "I'm home!"

"Is that my beautiful daughter I hear?" her father asked as he hurried into the kitchen where Hermione was helping herself to a piece of her mum's signature pistachio-peach pie. Dr. David Granger, who stood at six feet two inches, was an attractive man. With only a few dignified grey hairs in his otherwise chocolate curls, his shiny blue eyes that made him look half his age, and his rugby player physique, he had always been one to make heads turn. Hermione's mother always said that he was made all the more appealing by the fact that he thoroughly ignored his own charm.

"Indeed, it is," she said as she felt his arms envelope her from behind in a paternal hug. She turned in the circle of his arms and hugged him back. "Hello, daddy." Her father held her for a second longer and finally let go.

"Helen!" he called in the direction of the sunroom, "Hermione's home!" Turning to his daughter he asked, "and to what do we owe this mid-week visit?"

"Oh, I—"

"Hello, sweetheart," her mother greeted as she took off the floppy hat she wore when she read in the sunroom, shaking out her honey and chestnut colored hair that fell down to her chest in natural waves. "I thought we said last weekend that we would not be seeing you until Christmas." Hermione's mum, much like her dad, had won the genetic lottery; with curves like a guitar and brown eyes with the smallest of golden flecks, Dr. Helen C. Granger was a beauty that would soon be entering her fifties looking better than present-day Hermione. It was no surprise that, at an early age, the witch had demanded she be shown proper documentation proving her genetic relation to the pair.

"As I was about to tell dad," Hermione chuckled, "I have decided it's time for me to go back."

"And you are sure you are ready for that?" his father question curiously.

Hermione had always had a very aloof relationship with both her parents in which she shared the bare minimum of her life, partly because of magic but mostly because it was just the Granger way. Following the war, and only after she was grounded 'til kingdom come by both of her parents—punishment which she had accepted amidst happy tears and hugs—they had established a complete and total transparency policy at the Granger household. This meant that she told her parents about every little thing in her life and, in return, they trusted her to make her life choices as she saw fit, but only after they said their peace.

"Hermione, it has barely been three months, sweetheart," her mother voiced her concern.

"Mum," she said after swallowing some more pie, "A, this pie is delicious," she announced happily, "and B, I cannot hide forever."

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart," her mum smiled. "Don't misunderstand me, Hermione, I am not saying you ought to hide forever," her mother reproved, "I am only concerned for your wellbeing. Harry visited again only yesterday—"

"He is really worried about you, darling," her father interjected as he gestured for her to sit, "you really ought to talk to him."

"—and he told us that those scavengers are still out hoping to catch a glimpse of you." Her mother finished.

"I know, but I need to go back. I cannot keep living in hiding," she said getting a napkin and taking the plate of pistachio-peach deliciousness over to the kitchen island, where she sat on one of the stools. "I need my life to go back to normal, or as close to normal as possible. That means going back to my apprenticeship, to Gin and Harry, and my other friends." She took a bite of pie as her parents joined her, one at each of her sides. "Besides, whenever I do go back it will cause a stir, be it in ten days or in ten years."