Human relationships are a curious thing.
Sometimes, you can spend years around someone and still forget their name the moment you walk past them in the corridor. Hogwarts was full of such cases, seven years in the same castle, yet some students remained complete strangers to one another.
Other times, a brief encounter is all it takes to make someone unforgettable. Like that conductor from the Knight Bus,Hermione had only seen him a few times, yet his sharp voice and wild gestures were etched into her memory.
But this wasn't the time for nostalgia.
After a brief delay, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had stepped off the bus with Hermione and were now standing at the edge of a snowy path leading toward a manor draped in twinkling magic.
"Welcome! Mr. Granger, Aunt Mia!" Ino greeted them warmly at the gate of the estate.
The Grangers were instantly taken by the view. Unlike the dingy Leaky Cauldron or the bustling commercial rows of Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade wore its magic like a fairytale. Snowmen waved at passersby with stubby stick arms, and garlands floated lazily above the cobbled streets.
It felt like a dream. Magic in its purest, most enchanting form.
Mr. Granger's eyes sparkled with fascination, his curiosity practically oozing from his pores. But as Ino spoke, both parents blinked themselves back to reality.
"Thank you for inviting us, Ino," Mrs. Granger replied with a pleasant smile, politely ignoring the cartoonish little house behind him.
"It's good to see you again, Ino," added Mr. Granger, though his voice was slightly distant, his mind clearly still half-lost in the spectacle around him.
"Come in, come in! Once we finish dinner, I'll take you on a proper tour of Hogsmeade," Ino said cheerfully, noticing their dazed expressions.
They stepped through what appeared to be the manor's only normal-sized door.
The moment they crossed the threshold, both Grangers froze.
From the outside, the house couldn't have been more than twenty square meters. But inside? The front hall alone looked like it could host a Quidditch match.
"This… this is… unbelievable," Mr. Granger finally managed. "It's just so… magic."
Hermione, pleased by their amazement, launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the manor's layout.
"Mum, there's a vineyard out back. It's huge. Well, not right now, it's winter - but come summer, I'm planning to make my own wine…"
The house belonged to Ino, technically. But the vineyard? That was Hermione's domain.
She had secretly used Extension Charms to enlarge the space bit by bit during her weekends, carefully avoiding Ministry notice. At first, she was nervous about breaking magical law, but after consulting Professor Snape, she relaxed completely.
Snape's exact words had been, "No one's foolish enough to cross a potion prodigy who can cure lycanthropy. Especially not before she graduates."
According to him, once the official reports were out and the werewolf solution was public, she could turn the Ministry's broom closet into a swimming pool and no one would dare complain.
Every time she recalled Snape's dry tone and unimpressed face, Hermione had to suppress a chuckle.
Still, the thought stayed with her. Why was the Ministry so… flexible? Rules seemed optional as long as you didn't make a public mess. In theory, magic could scale infinitely. You could shrink a person into a keychain or send them straight to Azkaban, just depended on who was watching.
As these thoughts wandered, Hermione gave her head a small shake and returned to the present.
"Come sit down, you two!"
As they sat, the stillness was broken by a soft creaking.
A tea trolley, identical to the one from the Hogwarts Express - rolled itself out of the dining room. Neatly arranged on its polished surface were a full tea service and plates of assorted pastries.
What caught Mr. Granger's eye, however, was the teapot.
It was a true Victorian piece: bulbous and elegant, with a soft ivory glaze that shimmered under the enchanted chandeliers. The handle was carved with floral etchings for grip and grace. It looked less like a pot and more like a well-dressed duchess ready to attend a ball.
"Victorian era… classical design… it's exquisite. A real work of art," Mr. Granger murmured in admiration.
As a dentist accustomed to mingling in high society, he immediately recognized the craftsmanship.
"Thank you for the kind words, sir!" chirped a voice.
Mr. Granger startled.
The teapot had floated into the air and was speaking, its tone polite and dignified.
"Oh my. The… the teapot just spoke," he gasped.
He wasn't the only one. Even Mrs. Granger blinked in surprise.
Before he could recover, the trolley itself gave an indignant hmph.
"What, never seen talking furniture before? Honestly, if you weren't the lady's father, I wouldn't even be serving you."
That earned a flush from both Grangers. Hermione went pink too, not from embarrassment, but from the word lady. She'd been called that before by the furniture, but never in front of her parents.
Mr. Granger looked sheepish. He felt as though he'd committed a rookie faux pas. How had none of the wizarding books or Diagon Alley tours ever mentioned sentient dishware?
Mrs. Granger just chuckled behind her hand. Her husband and daughter's reactions were utterly charming. But more importantly, her daughter's comfort in this place said everything. Whatever had happened here, it had clearly become home.
Meanwhile, Ino, as host, decided it was time to step in.
"Old Jack, take note. The trolley's getting a day's time-out."
A deep, gravelly voice echoed through the hall.
"As you wish, my master."
Old Jack, it turned out, was the manor itself. Usually quiet as stone, the house had a will of its own and listened to every word spoken within its walls, like a retired butler who never truly left his post.
"Oh, come on, Ino. It was only joking," Hermione said, drawing out the last syllable with a pleading lilt.
She wasn't just being kind. That little trolley had been the first one to call her lady of the house the day she arrived. She remembered it fondly.
The interruption passed quickly.
With warm tea and snow outside the window, the group moved on to exchanging Christmas gifts.
Unexpectedly, Mr. Granger gifted Ino a brand-new Philips electric razor, clearly something he was excited about. Mrs. Granger, with a grin, presented a sleek electric toothbrush set.
When Ino opened the packages, he couldn't help noticing Mr. Granger's eager expression. It was the same look he'd seen on boys receiving their first racing broomsticks.
He snapped his fingers.
The razor gave a soft, startled hum, like a child waking up from a nap.
"Please take it back with you, sir. Call it my gift in return. I suspect it'll be quite a while before I ever have need of one myself."
He handed the enchanted razor over, and Mr. Granger beamed like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.