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These are done in a hurry so translation may not be good
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"You mean Malfoy is up to something?" Ron asked, taking a sip of grapefruit juice.
On the last day of the holiday, Harry finally reunited with his two best friends—Ron and Hermione. Hermione's skin had darkened to a healthy brown from the sun, while Ron looked noticeably better dressed than before, wearing brand-new robes.
Only then did Harry remember that the Weasley family had won the Daily Prophet's seven-hundred–galleon Grand Prize. Otherwise, Ron would probably still be wearing one of his older brothers' castoffs. With so many children and an almost stubborn sense of integrity, the Weasley household was often short on money, and hand-me-downs were the norm.
Harry's thoughts drifted. Could seven hundred galleons buy a Firebolt? Lately, nearly all his interest revolved around flying brooms.
They exchanged stories about their holidays. Ron enthusiastically recounted his trip to Egypt, describing pyramids layered with ancient protective spells. Even though he'd already written about it in his letters, he clearly didn't mind repeating himself.
"And of course," Ron added proudly, pulling a slender box from his bag, "this."
Inside lay a new wand.
"Fourteen inches, willow, unicorn tail hair," Ron said.
"It suits you," Harry said sincerely.
"I hope you'll use it to break fewer school rules," Hermione said coolly.
"Can't you say one nice thing?" Ron protested.
"No," Hermione replied flatly.
She didn't touch her drink. Instead, she turned to Harry, eyes sharp. "Harry, I heard you blew up your aunt. How could you be so impulsive? What if you'd been expelled? Were you planning to wander around on the Knight Bus forever?"
Harry cut her off.
"She insulted my parents."
His fists clenched, veins standing out. The calm he'd built during the holiday shattered instantly.
Hermione fell silent. Even if her own parents were alive and well, she wouldn't tolerate that either. And given Harry's past, the cruelty of his relatives made the insult even harder to bear.
"…You could've handled it differently," she said at last, her tone softer.
"Maybe." Harry drained his glass. Even now, recalling Aunt Marge's words made his blood boil. If he had to choose again—even knowing the consequences—he would still do it.
"But it turned out okay, didn't it?" Harry smiled faintly. "I got out early and stayed at the Leaky Cauldron for over ten days."
He was trying to reassure her. Hermione knew it. Beneath her blunt words was genuine concern.
"It's just…" Harry's expression dimmed. "I won't be able to go to Hogsmeade. They didn't sign the permission slip."
Hermione's face flickered for an instant at the mention of Hogsmeade—then smoothed out again.
They shifted topics, talking about textbooks and classes. The Monster Book of Monsters reminded them all unmistakably of Hagrid.
"I really don't know how Divination is supposed to work," Hermione muttered. "I was excited about Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, but tea leaves?" She frowned. Logic—the greatest gift Muggle society had given her—was utterly useless there.
"And I don't think I'll have enough time this year…" Her brows knit tighter.
"School hasn't even started, Miss Top Student," Ron said lightly.
"You'll regret that attitude," Hermione replied.
Silence fell.
Harry sensed the awkwardness and searched for a new topic—but his own holiday had been miserable. Complaining relatives. Restrictions. Diagon Alley was the only place he'd seen. Ron had Egypt. Hermione had learned more than either of them.
Then Harry remembered Malfoy.
He spoke.
When Malfoy's name came up, Hermione showed no outward reaction—but her heartbeat quickened.
Harry recounted the incident carefully, avoiding exaggeration. When he finished, Ron asked the obvious question.
"It's just a fake name," Ron said. "Not exactly a crime. He's already paid enough."
"But the girl," Ron added eagerly. "You said she looked older than us. Was she pretty?"
"Yes," Harry admitted, embarrassed. He'd only dared to glance once, but it had been enough.
"She had a strange kind of charm," Harry thought. Warm. Dazzling. Almost untouchable.
"Malfoy might actually suit her," Harry realized suddenly.
"That's a shame," Ron said. "You should've exposed him."
"I wanted to," Harry shrugged. "But she left suddenly."
They both noticed then—Hermione hadn't spoken for a long time.
Normally, when boys discussed a girl's looks, it left little room for a girl to participate. But this time, it was more than that.
Hermione had heard a name she couldn't ignore.
Since consulting Professor Flitwick, she'd resolved to recover her lost memories. When magic failed, she turned to Muggle methods. She couldn't tell her parents she might have been Obliviated.
So she studied.
Psychology books filled her holiday shopping list—but theory without experience proved useless. Intelligence couldn't replace lived understanding.
Hypnosis failed. Memories stayed buried.
Now, sitting there, Hermione barely heard the conversation. Her chest felt tight. She didn't understand why.
"I think," she said abruptly, standing, "that as civilized people, you shouldn't discuss a woman's appearance behind her back."
She gathered her things and left.
Harry opened his mouth to apologize.
"Let her go," Ron said irritably. "She's been like this all day."
Harry sighed. "Let her cool off."
And watched the door close behind Hermione Granger.
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