'How unfair it is — a ban on magic during the holidays!' Hermione thought angrily for the umpteenth time. With irritation, she snapped shut the massive spellbook and shoved it hard to the edge of the desk.
'A whole summer wasted!' In despair, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. Her eyes kept lingering on the wand, lying there peacefully on its stand, as if deliberately mocking its owner. So many new spells, so many ideas for experiments — and all of it had to stay locked on the pages of a book until she was back at Hogwarts. She knew perfectly well that breaking the ban on using magic outside school meant immediate expulsion, but the thought did nothing to smother the itching impatience.
Could there be a punishment worse than this? Hardly.
Hermione reached for the wand, but the moment her fingers brushed the smooth wood she flinched and yanked her hand back as if scalded. She realized just how close she had come to breaking the rule.
"That's it. Enough," she muttered to herself.
Struggling to resist the urge to try even one teeny-tiny experiment, she shoved the wand into the desk drawer, safely out of reach, and pushed it shut with a thud.
Hermione let out a heavy sigh, and her eyes drifted hopelessly around the room in search of something that might distract her from the forbidden thoughts. She straightened a pile of notebooks, lined up her quills, tossed a scribbled page into the bin. All of it done by habit, without a shred of enthusiasm. The ban on magic seemed to have drained the spark out of everything that used to catch her interest. With a frustrated shake of her head, Hermione reached for her Herbology textbook, opened it at random, and flipped through the pages, not lingering on any of them.
She had always loved plants. Even before she got her letter from Hogwarts, her house had been a real greenhouse — rows of carefully planted flowers crowded every windowsill, and pots with her favorites stood in the back garden. Hermione remembered how she used to spend hours fussing over them, reading about rare species, running small experiments. But since she'd left for Hogwarts, the flowers at home had dwindled — there was simply no one to look after them.
Then her eyes caught on a page: an illustration of a fragile but strikingly beautiful flower with silvery petals. 'If only I could plant one of those at home,' Hermione thought, and froze. She set the textbook gently on the desk, as if afraid to scare off the thought that had just appeared, picked up the parchment with the holiday restrictions for students, scanned it again, and suddenly broke into a wide smile.
"Of course!" she burst out. "You can't do spells, but no one's forbidden growing magical plants!"
After studying her Herbology book, Hermione put together a detailed list of plants that could be safely grown at home and immediately sent an order to Diagon Alley.
The very next day, two owls, struggling under the weight, dragged a huge crate to her window and dropped it onto the sill with a heavy thud. The lid shifted, and twisting stems pushed their way out, while tiny buds pulsed with a soft light through the gaps in the loosely fitted boards. Hermione's heart started to pound. Hardly able to contain her excitement, she carefully began unpacking her order.
Some of the plants she chose for practical reasons. She set the Silentium on the windowsill by her desk — this flower muffled outside sounds, wrapping the room in a hush that made it easier to study even on the noisiest days. The Moonflower, with its faint silver glow, went on her bedside table: its delicate scent calmed her, and the shimmer of its petals helped her fall into a deep, steady sleep. The Frost Iris she placed in the living room — its sap healed burns and bites, and its leaves could be used as an ingredient in healing brews.
But most of the plants Hermione had chosen for a different reason. The Ministry's rules didn't say a word about Potions — and that opened up remarkable possibilities. Not that she was a great fan of Potions as such, but it was practical magic, and it didn't require spells.
Hermione, full of energy, set about preparing her room for experiments. She set out a mortar for grinding ingredients, pulled out a Potions book and wrote in her journal the properties of every plant she had bought — carefully, with subpoints and remarks.
Now her magical flowers weren't just decoration; they had become a real source of inspiration. It was her way of keeping hold of magic outside Hogwarts. The holidays, which at first had seemed like a useless waste of time, suddenly came alive and took on new colors.
***
When Hermione's mother and father came back from work, she had just finished repotting the new plants. She was carefully adjusting the leaves of a golden flower on the windowsill when the door to the room opened.
"Hermione, what are these plants?" Emma asked with interest, kicking off her shoes and coming closer.
Her eyes went straight to the golden flower with its oddly glossy petals.
"I've never seen one like — oh!" she cried out, pulling her hand back when the flower suddenly stirred. "Is it… magical?" Hermione's mother whispered, stepping away.
Her face had gone pale, and she cast a wary look at her daughter. It was clear Emma still hadn't got over last year's incident with a magical plant. That one had bitten her, and the aftermath had been far worse than anyone expected. The wound hadn't healed for nearly two weeks, no matter what the Muggle doctors tried, and it had caused her plenty of misery. Even now, from time to time, a dull pain reminded Emma of her run-in with magical flora.
John, watching from behind his wife, frowned and spoke in a slightly reproachful tone.
"Hermione, I don't think this is a good idea… You know how your mother feels about…"
"Dad, Mum, it's fine!" Hermione cut him off quickly, seeing the worry growing on their faces. "Let me explain!"
She rattled on so fast they didn't have a second to get a word in:
"These flowers aren't dangerous at all. You know I'm studying magic now, which means I can tell a dangerous plant from a safe one. This golden flower" — she made a pointed gesture at the plant that had scared her mother — "is called Goldbloom. And do you know what it does? It brings luck to the house where it grows!"
She glanced between her parents, let her eyes rest on her father, and raised her brows slightly for effect.
"Daddy, are you against luck?"
To herself, Hermione thought she could use some luck right now, especially with the League of Light practically hunting her.
"Luck?" her father frowned, giving a small shrug. "That's nonsense…" he began.
John Granger had always seen himself as a rationalist. He hadn't believed in luck, or magic, or anything supernatural… at least not until the day, a year ago, when Professor McGonagall walked into their home and turned his view of reality upside down.
"Daddy, don't say luck is nonsense," Hermione cut in, narrowing her eyes just a bit. "Not in a world where magic exists."
John faltered. His picture of a rational, logical world had been shaken over the past year — truthfully, shattered. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, unable to find the words.
"Well… of course I'm not against luck," he said at last. "But still… magical plants in our house…"
"Achoo!" came suddenly from the other windowsill, making John start and turn in surprise.
"And what's that supposed to be?" Emma asked warily, her eyes shifting to the second windowsill, where a snow-white flower with fine petals stood.
"Oh, that's Frost Iris!" Hermione said quickly, her voice full of excitement. She rushed to the sill, grabbed the flower in both hands, and turned to her parents with the confidence of someone showing a cure for every problem.
"It's just magical! Well… I mean, it really is magical. This flower works perfectly on burns and takes away the itch from insect bites. You just tear off a leaf like this" — she carefully snapped off a small one — "and press it to the bite or the burn."
She had noticed her mother rubbing the spot from last year's bite. It must have started hurting again.
"Let's try it, Mum," she said, and before Emma could object, she gently pressed the cool leaf to her skin.
Emma jerked her hand back.
"Hermione, what are you doing?!" There was panic in her voice.
"Just wait, Mum. Trust me," Hermione said firmly, holding the leaf in place.
Emma froze, frowning, but within seconds her face changed, clear surprise showing on it.
"Oh…" was all she managed.
While Emma looked first tense and then clearly relieved at the leaf pressed to her hand, Hermione and John watched her with the same tight expression. At last, a faint smile broke across Emma's face.
"The pain's gone… like magic," she muttered, giving her daughter an uncertain smile.
"See!" Hermione cried, glowing. "I told you it was safe! You kept complaining about that bite, so I ordered this flower especially. It's bound to help."
"Are these all the magical plants we have in the house, or are there more?" her father asked, a little more relaxed now, though still wary.
"Not quite," Hermione replied, smiling faintly in embarrassment. "The others are in my room."
She stole a glance at her father. He absently adjusted his glasses and cast a worried look at his wife. Hermione hurried to add:
"But they're all safe too!" She hesitated. "Well… almost."
"What do you mean, 'almost'?" John asked suspiciously, staring at her.
"Well…" Hermione looked away, then glanced sideways at her father. "It's better if you don't touch them unless you know how to handle them properly. Some of them can sting a bit. Or burn."
Emma gasped in alarm.
"Sting? Burn?!" John repeated, one eyebrow shooting up. "Hermione, have you forgotten what happened —" he began.
"But it's not deadly, I swear!" Hermione cut in quickly, trying to sound convincing. "I know how to handle them now, so don't worry about me. Just… keep your distance from them, all right?"
John fell silent. He looked at her for several seconds, as if turning her words over in his mind. Finally, he shook his head and said quietly:
"Oh, Hermione…"
"Why do you need all of this?" Emma asked, pressing her hands to her chest, her eyes fixed on the flowers on the windowsill.
"I'm interested in it, Mum," Hermione said with a shrug. "And I'm going to use them for Potions."
"Potions?" John repeated, his lips tightening.
"Yes!" Hermione nodded, growing a little more animated. "We're not allowed to do spells during the holidays, you know that. But no one said we can't brew potions that don't require magic."
Emma shook her head but said nothing.
"I hope you know what you're doing," John said at last with a sigh.
"Of course I do, Daddy!" Hermione blurted out immediately. Smiling, she darted over and hugged him, then kissed his cheek. "Don't worry. I've got everything under control."