The school year was inevitably coming to an end. Warm beams of spring sunlight peeked through the gathering clouds, glinting in puddles left behind by a brief rain. Along the winding path stood broad oaks, their branches casting shadows over benches with flaking paint. Now and then, a drop would fall from a leaf. The air smelled of wet earth and fresh greenery, and somewhere up ahead came the sound of children laughing and splashing through puddles.
Hermione and Tommy were walking slowly through Oakridge Park, heading home. Their friendship had started just over two months ago, when Hermione stood up for Tommy, and it had only grown stronger since — despite the constant teasing from their classmates. At school, everyone saw them as outcasts who'd found comfort in each other's company. That only made them stick together more.
Tommy walked in silence, idly kicking a pinecone along the path. Hermione could tell he was hesitating, realizing he had something to say but was struggling to find the right words. She wasn't one who liked guessing or reading between the lines — that just wasn't her style. Hermione stopped and turned to Tommy, asking right away:
"What's up, Tommy? Something on your mind?"
Shuffling his feet, Tommy fidgeted with the strap of his backpack. Still not looking at Hermione, he started:
"I heard today…" He glanced sideways, like he was checking to make sure no one else was around. "Barbara and her friends were having a laugh, saying you turned down Silverleaf. Is it true? Are you switching to Oakridge Middle School?"
As he said it, he finally looked up at Hermione — hope flickering in his eyes.
She understood right away what was bothering Tommy. He was an average student — not falling behind, but not exactly aiming for the stars either. Words didn't come easily to him, and he wasn't much of a speaker. Over the past month, Hermione had taken him under her wing, insisting on extra study sessions, but they hadn't made much difference. Silverleaf was still way out of reach for him, and it looked like his path was leading straight to Oakridge Middle.
"Yeah, I'm not going to Silverleaf," Hermione confirmed. Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she added, "I can't just leave you alone to be torn apart by Jake and his wolf pack, can I?"
Jake, like most of his crew, was also moving to the local school. Hermione was far less worried about his blunt, in-your-face insults than Barbara Grayson's sneakier digs. Barbara had a way of wrapping cruelty in fake innocence, always hitting where it hurt. She'd quieted down a bit lately, but the bullying hadn't stopped — Hermione had still come home in tears more than once, counting the days until the school year would finally be over.
"Wow, that is great!" Tommy said, genuinely surprised, taking her joke at face value. "Just don't worry, okay? I've got your back. And I'll stand up to Jake for you, swear! I even joined a gym, you will see! By next fall, I'm gonna be super strong!"
He enthusiastically bent his arm at the elbow, showing off his bicep — tiny, barely noticeable on his skinny forearm. The gesture, done with such innocent pride, made Hermione burst out laughing. Tommy's face instantly darkened. Scowling, he spun around and marched off down the path.
"Tommy, stop! Please, I didn't mean to upset you!" Hermione shouted, running after him.
In a burst of frustration, Tommy kicked a pinecone, sending it flying straight toward a gray tabby cat sitting by the path. At the last second, the cat leapt out of the way with graceful ease, dodging the sudden threat. As it landed, it shot Tommy a look so pointed that Hermione could've sworn it was judgmental. She even shook her head, brushing away the strange thought. "Brrr… What an imagination I've got..."
Meanwhile, the cat resumed licking its front paws, once again lost in its own cat business. That's when Tommy broke the silence.
"I know!" he said, his voice trembling with hurt. "You think I'm weak. Useless."
Hermione quickly grabbed his hand.
"Tommy, come on!" she said, shaking her head. "I don't care if you're strong or not. You're a good friend, and that's what really matters."
Tommy looked at her, embarrassed, and his face softened. They started walking down the path again.
"To be honest, I was sure you'd pick Silverleaf," he said, a hint of doubt in his voice. "All the top students are going there. Students like you."
"I used to think that too. But a lot's changed," Hermione replied. There was a trace of regret in her voice — deep down, she still dreamed of the prestigious school.
"That's really cool!" Tommy said, not catching the shift in her tone. "I really like our friendship. It would've sucked if we ended up at different schools."
"We'd still be friends," Hermione said firmly. "A different school isn't a reason to stop being friends."
Tommy looked at her with gratitude. His feelings were written all over his face — and that honesty was what Hermione liked most about him.
"So how'd you convince your parents? Did you promise them something?" Tommy asked. "I bet they really wanted you to go to Silverleaf."
"Yeah, especially my dad. At first, he was totally against it," Hermione said with a faint, sad smile. Then she sighed. "But he gave in…"
It happened after that evening when Hermione admitted she wanted to go to Oakridge. John Granger decided to act. Once he understood Barbara Grayson was the reason, he went to the school on Monday morning to 'settle the matter once and for all.'
That's when he found out about the exploding book — and Barbara getting hurt. When he walked into the principal's office, he was surprised to find the mayor of Oakridge already there — Barbara's father. Not long after, John stormed out, looking like a thundercloud, nervously straightening his already perfect tie. Judging by his face, the conversation with the mayor had gone badly. Hermione had never seen her dad like that before. 'Guess getting under people's skin runs in the Grayson family,' she thought.
Later, it was especially hard for Hermione to watch the teachers and the principal squirm in front of the mayor, tripping over themselves with excuses and promises to 'look into it.' They took turns retelling what had happened in math class and swore they'd find out who was responsible. More than once, Hermione caught the mayor's cold, piercing stare locked on her. There was no doubt — Barbara had already told him her version of the story, and now he clearly saw Hermione as the prime suspect.
That evening, Hermione's parents talked for a long time behind a closed door. She never found out exactly what they discussed, but she knew it was about the explosion and the meeting with the mayor. It was after that day that her father stopped pushing for Silverleaf and finally agreed to the transfer to Oakridge.
"Oh — totally forgot," Tommy said suddenly, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts. "I've gotta pick up my little sister from daycare."
He stopped abruptly, checked his watch, and with a quick, "I've gotta run. See you tomorrow!" took off toward the park exit.
Hermione watched him go. 'So much for a gentleman… didn't even walk me home,' she thought, smirking to herself. Truth was, she wasn't in a hurry to head home anyway. The memories of those rough days had left her feeling low.
With a sigh, she looked around and spotted a bench beneath a blooming tree — a quiet, shaded corner tucked away from everything. Hermione sat down, leaned back, and for a moment just listened to the rustling leaves and breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers. At first, she let herself drift into the weight of those memories. But after a while, she just got bored of it. She reached into her bag, pulled out her textbooks and notebooks, and started on her homework, hoping it would help push the thoughts away.
The first drops made her tear her eyes away from her textbooks — it had started drizzling again. At first, Hermione just hunched her shoulders and kept writing. But then she noticed something strange: with only a few rare exceptions, the raindrops weren't hitting her. It was as if someone invisible had opened an umbrella over her. She froze. The rain was falling steadily all around, but not on her—like it was avoiding her on purpose. Mesmerized, she watched the quiet, impossible dance of falling water. A sense of wonder rose in her chest, calm and bright, as if the rain were gently washing all the weight off her shoulders.
The rain slowly let up. Hermione set her notebook aside and lifted her head — under the bench across from her sat a cat. The same one Tommy had almost hit with the pinecone. It seemed to be watching her. 'Oh no, after all that weirdness with the rain, the last thing I need is some mystical cat staring me down…' Hermione smirked to herself. This time, she decided not to let her imagination run wild.
"Kitty, kitty, here," she called softly, patting her knees. The cat tilted its head slightly, as if deciding whether it could be bothered to move.
"Too bad I don't have anything for you," Hermione sighed. "You know, I actually like cats. They're so graceful. And I think they're really smart," she added, like she was sharing a secret. "Maybe I should get one. What do you think? Would you want to live with me?"
The cat didn't look too interested. It went back to grooming, then gave a little shake and wandered off down one of the paths. When Hermione looked up again, it was gone. The park had gone quiet, and the only person in sight was a woman in a dark cloak and a strange, pointed hat, quickly walking away down the trail.
Feeling like it was time to head home, Hermione smiled at her unexpectedly good mood. She packed up her things, stood up, and looked up — then let out a laugh. A leafy branch stretched wide right above the bench. 'There it is. Every little miracle has an explanation,' she thought. 'Still… there was something magical about it. I mean, how else would I be feeling this good right now?'
With a light heart and a cheerful laugh, Hermione ran home, half skipping, half running.
***
When the doors of the elementary school closed behind Hermione for the last time, she felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation. She wanted to believe that Barbara — and all her endless teasing — was finally behind her. Ahead lay a new school, new subjects, and maybe even new friends. But for now, she had a whole summer ahead of her — time for freedom and discovery.
In the first few days, Hermione let herself fully relax. She read books she'd never had time for before. She threw herself into gardening — her newest obsession — turning the house and yard into a blooming little paradise. But after only a few days of calm, she felt it creeping back in: that restless urge to study. On quiet evenings, she would sit at her desk and dig into new subjects, trying to prepare as best she could for middle school.
Sometimes, she and Tommy would meet up and explore the outskirts of Oakridge. Tommy, who'd grown up around fields and forests, knew dozens of stories about animals and plants, and he loved sharing them. One day, during one of their walks, Hermione told him about that strange afternoon in the park — about the rain that never touched her, and the tabby cat. They laughed for a long time at her wild imagination, but deep down, Hermione felt just a little sad. Something about that day still felt… different.
Now and then, when she was alone, she felt a kind of quiet longing — nostalgia for something she couldn't name, and a pull toward something unknown, maybe even magical. She would go back over the strange little things that had happened and imagine a world where science wasn't the only answer — where something else existed too. Something hidden, and full of wonder.
Those thoughts never stayed long. She could still share them with her mother — who listened with a warm smile. But her dad met anything like that with sharp, stubborn skepticism. He'd scoff at the slightest mention of anything 'unexplained.' He liked to say, "People always invent miracles instead of admitting they don't understand something — just like cave people who saw fire and called it magic."
Hermione mostly agreed with him — it did seem like she'd inherited her love of logic and analysis from her father. But sometimes, her imagination still carried her away, stirring up a craving for adventure. Maybe that's what kept pushing her and Tommy farther beyond the edges of their little town, down forgotten trails and into hidden corners of nature, where anything could be waiting.
One day, after coming back from a walk with Tommy, Hermione could barely sit still. Her mom noticed the glow in her eyes and asked what had happened.
"We found the most incredible place!" Hermione blurted out, stumbling over her own excitement. "It was beautiful, unusual... I'm sure we've never been there before."
She was speaking fast, cheeks flushed, hands moving as if the words weren't enough to express what she'd seen. Her father smirked.
"Hermione, do you really think there's anything left around Oakridge we haven't seen?"
John's doubt made sense. Family hikes had always been their tradition, and he approached them with surgical precision — studying maps beforehand, marking routes, checking landmarks. By now, the map of the area was crowded with dots — records of all their past trips.
"Maybe you're right," Hermione shrugged, deciding not to argue. "Let's go together tomorrow and see for ourselves."
She figured it'd be easier to show him than to insist. John had already drawn in a breath to object, but her mom spoke first:
"Great idea!" she said brightly. "We'll spend Sunday in the woods — have a picnic, enjoy the scenery…"
She glanced at John. He hesitated for a second, then gave a quiet nod.
The next morning, after breakfast and packing everything for the picnic, the Grangers set off. The day was perfect: bright sun, clear sky, a light breeze — what more could a traveler want?
They drove to the edge of the forest, threw on their backpacks, and headed down the path Hermione had pointed out, chatting idly along the way.
"We've definitely been here before," John remarked right away, pointing to a scorched oak off to the side. "Last year, you climbed it and got soot all over yourself — remember?"
"I remember, Dad," Hermione said with a smile, not the least bit embarrassed. "But the place I'm taking you to — we haven't seen it."
Her father gave a skeptical smirk, but when he caught her mother's sharp look, he muttered, "All right, lead us to your magical place," though his voice still carried doubt.
Hermione walked on ahead, while behind her, her father kept up a running commentary about familiar trees and rocks — like he was trying to prove he knew every trail in the woods. She did her best to tune him out. They were almost there.
The winding path led them to a quiet spot surrounded by tall trees and thick bushes. A narrow opening was just visible in the undergrowth. They stepped through it — and her parents stopped in their tracks.
A wide clearing stretched out before them, glowing in the morning sun. Tall, slender trees lined the edges like silent sentinels, guarding this quiet spot from the outside world. Flowers in every shade of the rainbow reached for the light, and butterflies fluttered above them — light as petals — bringing the whole scene to life with barely-there movement.
"Oh!" Hermione's mother breathed. "It's like something out of a fairy tale."
Her eyes were shining as she tried to take in everything at once, trying to absorb the beauty laid out before her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," her father muttered, looking around in disbelief. "I was a complete idiot not to believe you. This is amazing. How did we not know this place was here?"
Hermione smiled, pleased. In the morning light, the clearing looked even more beautiful than it had that evening when she and Tommy had stumbled across it by chance. They'd had to leave almost right away — twilight was setting in fast, and they needed to get home before dark. But now, sunlight poured into every corner, and the colors had come to life — bright and deep. It felt like everything around them was breathing magic.
Hermione's mother gathered a bouquet of wildflowers. One of them, though, turned out to have a bit of a personality — it scratched her, leaving marks on her skin that looked oddly like tiny bite marks. That sparked a round of jokes, with the family inventing wild stories about a savage flower creature, and Emma dramatically 'complaining' that she'd barely escaped.
Laughter followed them wherever they went. Every few steps brought another shout — someone finding a strange new bloom or a beetle with wings patterned like gold-stitched embroidery.
When they started to get a little tired and sat down for a snack, John leaned back in the grass and said with genuine admiration:
"Amazing. I never would've thought there were so many plants around here we didn't recognize. Just incredible. We've got to show this place to the Wilsons — I bet they've never heard of it either."
"They definitely haven't," Emma said with a smile, raising her coffee cup. "Otherwise they'd have dragged us out here ages ago."
After the picnic, they set off again. The clearing had only been the beginning — a narrow path led deeper into the woods, promising more to discover. Hermione, crouched over another flower in admiration, was about to call her mother over — when she noticed her wince slightly.
"Mum, are you okay?" she asked, a thread of worry in her voice.
Emma tried to cover the pain with a smile.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. What is it?"
But as she came closer, Hermione caught a clear look at her hand. The skin around the tiny scratches had turned red and irritated.
"Mum, let's go back," she said, uneasy. "That doesn't look good."
"Oh, Hermione, it's nothing," Emma said with a wave of her hand.
John came over, took one look at the wound — and said without hesitation:
"We're heading back."
On the way back, Hermione kept glancing over her shoulder. Then something flickered through the trees to the right. She stepped off the path, peering into the gap between the trunks — and froze.
"Mum! Dad! Look!" Her voice came out louder than usual, tight with excitement. She was pointing toward the edge of the woods, where pale shapes moved between the trees. "They're... horses! No — unicorns! They look like unicorns!"
Her parents came over, and Hermione turned to them, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, filled with awe:
"We just found unicorns…"
But when her mother looked toward the clearing, she gave a cautious smile.
"Sweetheart, are you sure they're unicorns?"
"What else could they be?" Hermione said. "Just look at those horns!"
John shook his head and said calmly,
"Honey, let's be honest. Looks like someone got creative — turned a few white horses into 'unicorns' with cardboard horns. Probably for a party or something."
He noticed the way Hermione's face dimmed, and added, more gently, "Still... it looks beautiful. Almost real."
"And if you look closely," he added, "you'll see they're tied to a tree. Just like regular horses."
Hermione looked again. Now, she noticed the ropes. 'Dad's probably right,' she thought with a sigh. Just another made-up miracle. Her eyes drifted back to the horn, then to the horse's face — and she froze again. The unicorn's eyes were pleading. She felt it, like something physical, pulling her in. She took a step. Then another.
"Hermione, where are you going?" her father called, his voice sharper now.
"They need to be freed," she said quietly, like she wasn't fully awake.
"Don't be ridiculous!" John said, grabbing her by the arm. "They belong to someone. Their owners are probably nearby, and they're not going to be thrilled if you let their horses loose."
"But, Dad…" she started.
"No buts. And we need to move. I want to get your mum to the doctor."
She couldn't argue with that. She walked on but kept glancing back. The white shapes had already disappeared into the trees, but that look in the 'unicorn's' eyes stayed with her. 'Why would someone put those dumb horns on them?' she thought. 'And those eyes… no regular animal has eyes like that.'
No matter how hard she tried to shake it off, the memory kept surfacing — those eyes, silent and pleading. That quiet call that wouldn't leave her alone.
***
Emma Granger's injuries turned out to be more serious than they'd seemed at first, keeping her home for a few days with Hermione as her only company. Hermione took over the household chores, helping her mum with whatever she could, and gradually, the memory of their forest adventure began to fade. Only now and then, just before falling asleep, would she catch herself thinking: 'What was it about that 'unicorn's' eyes that got to me? Maybe it was just the magic of a beautiful place…'
By the next Saturday, Emma was feeling much better, and John was fired up about going back to the nature reserve — this time with the Wilsons. He was dying to show their friends the spot they'd found. Hermione decided to skip it — her plans with Tommy sounded way more fun than tagging along with her parents and their friends.
"Mum, just don't go picking any more flowers in that place, okay?" she said as they were heading out.
"I promise," Emma said with a smile.
Once they'd left, Hermione read for a bit, cleaned her room, and then spent some time tending her plants.
Suddenly, a car pulled up outside, and she heard her parents' voices at the door — louder than usual.
'Already?' she thought, surprised. 'I hope Mum's okay.'
The door swung open. John and Emma stepped inside, both of them clearly confused.
"What happened? Mum, are you okay?" Hermione asked, her voice tense.
"I'm fine, sweetie," Emma replied, but there was something distant in her tone.
Hermione turned to her dad with a questioning look. He hesitated, then started:
"Uh… right. So… you know how we were planning to go to the reserve with the Wilsons? The one where that flower scratched your mum."
"Yeah. But why are you back so soon?"
John glanced at Emma, then said quietly:
"We couldn't find it."
"What do you mean, couldn't find it?" Hermione's eyebrows rose. "You made sure to remember the way. And you never get lost in that forest."
"Exactly," John said, frowning. "On the way there, we were telling the Wilsons about the plants and everything else. They didn't exactly believe us, but they still wanted to see it — figured they'd prove we were wrong…"
"That sounds familiar," Hermione said with a grin, winking at her mum. Emma gave a weak smile but didn't say anything.
"Yeah… anyway," John went on, more distracted now. "We got to where the path should've been, and it just… wasn't there. At first I thought we'd missed it — maybe we were talking too much and walked right by. So we turned around and retraced our steps, watching closely."
He paused.
"But there was nothing. No gap, no trail. Just thick brush. And the weirdest part? The trees in that spot were a lot shorter than I remember."
A chill ran down Hermione's back. Tommy had said the same thing not long ago — that he hadn't been able to find the place — and she'd laughed at him. Now, it didn't seem funny anymore.
She picked up the watering can without thinking, walked over to the flower on the windowsill, and started to water it.
"…The Wilsons were cracking jokes the whole way back," John went on. "They're sure we just made the whole thing up… Although…"
He suddenly broke off, staring at his daughter. His face slowly shifted — confusion turning into something closer to shock. Hermione followed his gaze — and froze. The flower she was watering was growing. Fast. New shoots were bursting from the soil, leaves unfurling in seconds, and buds swelling right before their eyes.
Emma gave a small gasp and sank into the nearest chair. John swallowed, looking from Hermione to his wife and back again, visibly shaken.
Overcome by a strange and sudden wave of guilt, Hermione put the watering can down and hurried to her room, leaving her parents in stunned silence.
The past few days had thrown her off completely. Her mind — so used to logic and reason — refused to accept the things happening around her. But she couldn't deny it anymore. The impossible was real.
***
Two days had passed since the flower incident, and there was still no explanation. Hermione barely left her room. She kept replaying everything in her head for hours, as if hoping to remember some detail that would make it all make sense. Her eyes were still red from crying. What scared her most was not understanding — what had happened to her and why.
John Granger got over the initial shock faster than his daughter. First, he carefully took the flower out of the pot, checking if something mechanical was hidden inside. But the pot was just a pot. The plant was just a plant. Then he methodically combed through reference books, magazines, and newspapers, looking for tricks or illusions that might explain what they'd seen. But he didn't find anything that fit.
When Hermione finally came out of her room, he even tried to get her to admit how she'd "pulled it off." But tears welled up again, and she hurried out of the room, leaving him under Emma's disapproving stare.
By Monday evening, the Grangers were sitting in silence in the living room. He still couldn't accept what had happened. She was tired of trying to convince him to just let it be.
Outside, the weather had turned. Even though it was mid-summer, the wind was picking up, whistling around the house, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming.
John sighed and reached for another issue of his magician's magazine — when the doorbell rang. He shot a glance at Emma. They weren't expecting anyone. Then he got up and went to open the door.