Christmas Day.
Even distant London had fallen under the spell of the holiday spirit.
No matter how busy they were the rest of the year, even the Prime Minister would put aside his work on this day to enjoy dinner with family.
As for the Grangers, a comfortable, middle-class pair of dentists - they had been preparing their Christmas dinner since morning.
At precisely eleven o'clock, Hermione, freshly washed and dressed, padded nervously down the stairs.
She'd been so preoccupied recently that she'd completely forgotten to mention Ino's Christmas invitation to her parents last night.
Down in the living room, Mr. Granger sat in his usual spot on the couch, reading the day's paper. A cup of long-forgotten tea sat cold and undisturbed on the coffee table.
"Unbelievable. Another virus? Honestly!" he muttered, folding the paper with a sharp snap and tossing it down with a disgruntled sigh.
"What do you expect?" Hermione said as she dropped onto the adjacent sofa, trying to sound casual. "The environment's a mess."
She spoke of environmental issues, but her mind was elsewhere entirely.
Ino had been gone for more than a month now. During that time, the potion designed to suppress lycanthropy had undergone its first successful trial. The subject? None other than Professor Remus Lupin, who had volunteered without hesitation.
Hermione still remembered that night vividly.
When Professor Lupin, always so calm and gentle - faced the full moon without transforming, tears had welled in the corners of his eyes. He hadn't said much, but the look on his face had said everything.
Hermione respected him deeply, not only for his kindness and dedication to teaching but for his courage. He had gathered a group of wandering werewolves, offering them shelter and dignity. And yet, when presented with an untested potion, he stepped forward without a moment's doubt.
"They follow me because they trust me," he had said quietly. "Werewolves have suffered enough. I won't betray their faith."
Every time Hermione recalled those words, her heart filled with gratitude.
Gratitude that Hogwarts finally had a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor worth trusting.
Gratitude that her own potion had succeeded.
That night, in front of both Snape and Dumbledore, she had watched with her own eyes as Lupin faced the full moon... and remained entirely human.
The cure had worked. Lycanthropy had been defeated.
They didn't have time to celebrate. Dumbledore had immediately insisted they keep it a secret. There were still many werewolves living among Muggles, he explained, and rushing to announce the cure would only put them and everyone else at risk.
After hearing his reasoning, Hermione had reluctantly agreed. Growing up in a Muggle household, she understood all too well the danger of werewolves mixed with firearms. It wasn't just dangerous, it was catastrophic.
So they moved forward in silence, just as Dumbledore planned.
And today, as she glanced at her father's newspaper headline, her first thought had been: this is part of Dumbledore's design.
The so-called "new virus" could very well be a fabricated cover story. Through the Ministry, Dumbledore could have fed the Muggle Prime Minister just enough details to spread a believable tale. It would distract rogue werewolves, scatter their ranks, and create the perfect conditions for quietly tracking and curing them.
Wizards and Muggles would work together behind the scenes. Suspects would be discreetly taken into custody. Those found innocent would receive the cure and have their memories modified.
It was an elegant plan, but it also required an enormous quantity of potion.
Which, of course, meant Hermione had barely slept this month.
No wonder she'd forgotten to tell her parents about Eno's Christmas invitation.
She glanced toward the kitchen, where her mother was bustling about. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Hermione leaned closer to her father and said softly, "Dad… I need your help with something…"
Half an hour later.
"You forgot? You forgot something that important?! Why don't you just forget your own name while you're at it?!"
Mrs. Granger's voice rang out like a fire alarm.
Hermione, wisely, kept her head down and her mouth shut.
"And don't even get me started!" her mother continued, pacing back and forth. "You went off to school like a proper student and came back acting like you've been off in Africa digging for gold! Sleeping till eleven? What on earth were you doing?"
Mr. Granger, meanwhile, had adopted the well-practiced strategy of the human statue. He sat on the couch, pretending to be entirely deaf.
Finally, when his wife ran out of steam, her voice dropped a few decibels.
Hermione seized the moment. "Mum, I've already prepared the gifts! And really, with Ino, things aren't so--"
"Oh? Not necessary?" her mother snapped, eyes flashing. "Do you even understand what it means to maintain a relationship?!"
The storm gathered once more, clouds thick and ominous. Just as Hermione braced for another verbal thunderclap, her father coughed gently and gave her a look, one that pointed meaningfully toward the wall clock.
Mrs. Granger turned, noticing the cough and the direction of his gaze.
"If you're sick, take medicine! Coughing won't get you out of this. Honestly, she's learned it from you, always dodging things!"
Now that her target had shifted, Hermione saw her chance.
"Mum, I'd love to continue this conversation, but look at the time!" she said quickly, gesturing at the clock.
It was already one in the afternoon.
Sometimes, it seemed only long-married couples could read each other so well. Her mother stared at the clock, then sighed.
"Well? Don't just sit there. Go get ready. What are you waiting for?"
Conversation: over.
With that, Mrs. Granger turned and headed upstairs.
As her mother disappeared around the bend in the staircase, Hermione turned to her father with a weary look. He responded with an equally exasperated one, and for a moment they simply exchanged a silent, mutual shrug.
Then, with a shared chuckle, they each went off to prepare.
Compared to the crisp morning air, Hogsmeade at sunset was nothing short of enchanting.
The last rays of the sun mingled with the soft glow of magical lanterns, casting a warm, golden haze over the village like a dream made real.
Snowmen decorated the streets in comical variety. Some wore wizard hats and long robes, others sported candy canes and festive scarves. Each held either a wand or a treat in hand, as if eagerly greeting visitors to the magical world.
The snowmen brought laughter and charm to the chilly air, their whimsical forms spreading holiday cheer with every passing glance.
Ribbons and ornaments fluttered gently in the breeze, strung between trees and rooftops, and even caught in the hair of those walking beneath them.
Most mesmerizing of all were the floating magical lights. Some hung from eaves, others drifted midair, shimmering like fallen stars that had chosen to rest here for the night.
Ino stood quietly at the gates of the manor, watching the village bask in its holiday splendor.
Bathed in the glow of twilight and candlelight, Hogsmeade looked like a page torn straight from a fairytale, charming, timeless, and almost too perfect to be real.
Then came the screech of brakes.
A violently swaying, purple double-decker bus screeched to a halt in front of him.
"Merry Christmas, Ino!"
Stan Shunpike leaned halfway out the open door, grinning with the practiced charm of someone who definitely sold things better than he understood them.
It had been ages since Ino last took the Knight Bus, but Stan was as memorable as ever. That cheeky smile and constant patter were hard to forget.
"Merry Christmas, Stan," Eno replied with a grin of his own.
Through the open door, he could already see the passengers inside.
Mr. Granger, pale and dazed. Mrs. Granger, still looking slightly winded from her rant. And Hermione, sheepish, but trying not to laugh.