Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

"I demand an explanation! This is your idea of a magical getaway? You lied to me with that pathetic excuse!"

Mrs. Granger glared at Hermione with a stony expression.

Clearly unable to hold back her anger, she picked up the newspaper and swatted her daughter over the head.

"Ah! Mum, just let me explain—"

Hermione clutched her head dramatically. The paper hadn't hurt at all, but she acted like it had. Childhood experience had taught her that if you didn't look like it hurt, there would definitely be a round two… and possibly a round three.

Sure enough, upon seeing her daughter's pitiful little face, Mrs. Granger's raised hand slowly dropped.

"You shouldn't have done this… Good grief, do you have any idea how terrified your father and I were when we read that article?"

Mrs. Granger, usually fierce and commanding, suddenly looked like she'd removed her armor—vulnerable, shaken.

On the other side of the room, Mr. Granger, who'd been quietly sitting there all along, finally spoke. His tone was calm and firm.

"Ino, may I ask a favor of you?"

He didn't scold Hermione. Instead, he turned to Ino with composed eyes.

"Of course, sir. Anything I can do," Ino replied at once.

Honestly, he felt pretty awkward in the middle of this family drama—especially since it was crystal clear from The Daily Prophet that Hermione had died because of him.

That newspaper smack, though aimed at Hermione, might as well have landed on his own head.

Fortunately, Mr. Granger's words helped diffuse the tension in the room.

"Our daughter's grown up now. I might not be able to control her choices anymore. But I want to ask you—no matter what happens in the future, please… don't erase my memories."

His voice remained steady, like a mountain. Not boastful, not dramatic—just there, strong and immovable.

"I would rather live with the pain than forget her altogether."

The use of "I" instead of "we" wasn't lost on anyone in the room. They all understood what it meant.

At that moment, Mrs. Granger stopped lecturing her daughter and turned angrily toward her husband.

Usually, Mr. Granger would back down under her glare. But not this time.

"Darling," he said gently, "I'm not just a father. I'm also a husband."

—

To remember his daughter while sparing his wife the pain… choosing to carry the burden alone.

Ino couldn't help but feel he'd just been taught a valuable lesson by this quiet Englishman.

He realized that perhaps his previous actions had been inconsiderate. Hermione may have made the choice herself, but no one had really considered what it would mean for her parents.

Just like in the original tale, where Hermione erased her parents' memories for their safety—noble on the surface, but maybe a little selfish too.

Ino slowly lifted his head and looked Mr. Granger in the eye.

"It won't happen again. I promise. No matter what the future holds. And I won't let Hermione be in danger again either. That's my word."

A soft smile appeared in Mr. Granger's otherwise steady gaze.

"Good. Then it's settled. Let's put it behind us. How about a little dinner party tonight? After all, the two of them are leaving again tomorrow."

He glanced at his wife, trying to smooth things over.

The change in Mr. Granger was honestly a bit startling. One moment he was an unshakable mountain, and the next he was acting like a kid trying to weasel out of detention.

Mrs. Granger couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"All right, fine! I'd better get started on the preparations then!"

—

Meanwhile, at the Parkinson family estate, things were considerably less cheerful.

In the slightly musty drawing room, about twenty young witches and wizards were gathered.

If Ino had been there, he would've recognized them immediately. They were the same bunch who used to attend those old Slytherin second-year study sessions… just missing a few faces.

Draco and Goyle weren't present. And Crabbe—well, Crabbe was gone for good.

"He actually did it! Merlin's beard, I still can't believe it…"

Daphne couldn't hide the amazement in her voice.

And she wasn't alone—everyone else looked equally stunned. Everyone… except one.

At the head of the room, Pansy Parkinson gave a calm little smile.

She had always believed in Ino.

Sure, she wasn't exactly thrilled that Hermione had been resurrected, but if the alternative was letting Ino drown in guilt, then this was the better outcome.

"All right, we'll catch up on everything else later," Pansy said coolly. "For now, let's talk about werewolves."

Her voice still held that familiar icy tone, but if one listened closely, there was a newfound steadiness there—a quiet confidence that hadn't been there a year and a half ago.

As she finished speaking, Millicent Bulstrode was the first to jump in.

"The werewolves have gone completely mad. There've been 29 attacks this month alone. The Ministry's so swamped they'd probably throw a janitor into field duty if they could."

The rest of the group quickly joined in, sharing bits of news they'd picked up.

"St. Mungo's is overwhelmed—my aunt works there. They're checking every patient to make sure they haven't been bitten."

"There's a rumor going around Knockturn Alley that someone's behind the whole thing…"

"Even the goblins at Gringotts are getting twitchy."

"My uncle heard from someone in the Muggle Prime Minister's office—it's a mess over there too."

It seemed Slytherin's web of information was fully alive and kicking.

As the chatter died down, Pansy found herself deep in thought.

She remembered the train ride years ago, when she'd talked to Ino about the rift between wizards and Muggles.

There had only been four of them in that compartment—herself, Ino, Daphne, and Draco. Even back then, Ino had said something that stuck with her.

Time passed. The room slowly quieted.

Without realizing it, everyone's eyes drifted to Pansy.

Even Millicent, and all the others who'd been part of that very first summer study group, knew what this gathering had always been about.

They were all purebloods. Smart ones. Back then, they might've just found it exciting to play at politics—but over time, things had changed.

Pansy paused. Then looked around at the familiar faces.

"Sorry, I was just remembering something," she said softly. "It's been… six years, I think. Someone once told me and Daphne something I've never forgotten."

Her voice was calm, even gentle. Daphne tilted her head curiously—she didn't remember anything from six years ago.

"It really stuck with me. He said, 'Why do we even bother learning magic? Just to live like rats in the sewers? Actually—rats probably have it better.'"

Daphne's eyes suddenly widened.

She remembered now. That had been Ino's casual comment on their very first train ride, during that conversation about the Statute of Secrecy.

Now, it all made sense. Why Pansy had kept the study group going after second year. Why she always took it so seriously.

—

Wizards come of age at 17, and everyone here was at least 16. Add in a lifetime of pureblood upbringing, and it was no surprise they understood exactly what Pansy meant.

Which made their wide-eyed shock all the more telling.

They'd expected just another casual gathering—some news, some laughs. They hadn't expected… this.

But before anyone could dwell on it, Pansy spoke again in that cool, distant tone:

"Don't overthink it. Just a passing thought. I just think the Ministry's paying too high a price for the Statute."

Mixed expressions crossed everyone's faces. Some thoughtful. Some hesitant.

Only Daphne rolled her eyes dramatically.

Oh, please. Talk about déjà vu. Ino had said the exact same thing back then—and used the exact same "don't overthink it" excuse afterward.

-----

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour

That's right—this charming Diagon Alley shop was owned and operated by the beloved Mr. Fortescue.

In 1996, he was tragically kidnapped by Death Eaters. His shop closed shortly after.

Voldemort believed Fortescue held key information on the Elder Wand and Ravenclaw's diadem. When Fortescue refused to talk, he was murdered.