Chapter Text
Don't dream it's over - Crowded House
France could be a new beginning.
New faces, new places, a new routine to plan. Because for her, it had always been about having a schedule to follow. Empty boxes to tick with the dripping tip of a pen.
A fundamental part of her life had been devoted to creating personal, tailor-made planners to adhere to—so much so that she had built them even for her closest friends, convinced that control was the key to everything. But now she no longer knew what to do with that methodical obsession of hers.
Monotony, routine… they were classic triggers for old memories, and all she had to do was sever ties with the past.
At least, that was what she had been told.
France would be the furthest thing possible from the concept of monotony. It was something she couldn’t predict, nor control.
When Hermione had announced the possibility of transferring abroad for her specialization, Harry and Ron had seemed thrilled by the idea of her getting a change of scenery. They had told her so many times she’d nearly lost count. They had played an important role in her decision, insisting it was an opportunity not to be wasted. Even Ginny appeared to be on their side, proving it by repeatedly waving in Hermione’s face how obvious it was that London was starting to feel too small for her.
She told them on a Monday evening, while the four of them sat inside a quiet pub near Diagon Alley—one of those places where no one ever asks why you need a Butterbeer at five in the afternoon.
“I’ve decided to take the entrance test for the scholarship at the University of Paris.” The words slipped out almost under her breath, yet they were enough to silence the low hum around the table.
Ginny immediately leaned forward. “So you’ve made up your mind? You’ve finally decided!”
Hermione nodded. Ginny promptly raised her mug, declaring a toast with a bright smile that made Hermione feel the full weight of her support.
“I’ll submit my application this week. If everything goes as it should, I could move in September.”
“Hermione, I’m so happy to hear that.” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s wonderful, and you deserve it.”
Ron, instead, stood up and pulled her into a hug that caught her slightly off guard. “I told you, Hermione. You’re meant to move forward… even if it hurts to admit it.”
“Don’t smother her, Ron!” Ginny hugged her too, elbowing her brother aside affectionately.
“I’ll miss you terribly, but it’s the right choice. I’m sure of it.”
Harry offered another round of Butterbeer to celebrate Hermione’s decision. “To our Hermione, who’s about to conquer France too!”
“Hold on, I still have to pass the test.”
All three of her friends stared at her for a few seconds.
“Oh, come on! Have you ever failed a test in your life?” Ron asked with a grin as he sat back down.
And he wasn’t wrong. It was obvious to everyone that with her knowledge—and, above all, with an academic record like hers—she would pass without any trouble.
And indeed, she did.
She took the scholarship test in May, shortly before finishing her third year of university. It required her to sit her final exams early, which wasn’t a problem considering she was ahead of everyone else in her course. She waited for the response all summer, which flew by in a blur of doubts, books, and therapy sessions, slipping through her fingers like sand. She even celebrated her graduation at the Burrow, surrounded by people who had always loved her.
The letter from the Université de Paris arrived toward the end of August. The pristine envelope was delivered by a snowy white owl straight to her doorstep.
She froze the moment she saw it, staring at it for a good five minutes before daring to open it. Her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest.
After a few steadying breaths, she broke the wax seal bearing the university crest, and a parchment floated up in front of her, allowing her to read.
Her eyes skimmed the ornate handwriting until they reached the sentence she longed to find:
Congratulations, Miss Granger, you have been awarded the scholarship.
Beneath the congratulations and her score—which was perfect—Hermione read something that made her enthusiasm sink.
There it was again. That oppressive weight that never left her, now pressing even harder against her chest.
We would be honored to welcome a student of your caliber, Miss Granger. Your achievements have been a source of inspiration to us, and we are proud that you chose our university among so many others.
Hermione Granger. A name, a guarantee.
The truth?
She wasn’t surprised at all.
Hermione was convinced that even if she had answered half the questions incorrectly, her name alone would have fixed the irreparable—and that final note proved it. It didn’t matter that she had answered everything correctly. It didn’t matter how many sleepless nights she had spent studying for that stupid test.
Among students across the entire United Kingdom, she had ranked first.
All of it dissolved into nothing. Gone like dust slipping through her fingers.
She was starting to hate the idea of causing a stir everywhere she went. British newspapers constantly referred to her with headlines like The Golden Girl or The Brightest Witch of Her Age. If her fame followed her to France, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.
Hermione Granger was simply tired of being herself.
At one point, she had even considered applying under a pseudonym. Her mind had also produced the unhealthy idea of deliberately getting answers wrong, just to test how much influence her name truly carried. Ginny had threatened her with such ferocity that Hermione eventually abandoned both ideas.
Would she really throw away such an opportunity just to prove her obsessive theory? She didn’t know.
The day of the final goodbye arrived in the blink of an eye.
She was packing when Harry, Ron, and Ginny arrived by Floo into the house she had always lived in with her parents—and where she now slept alone.
“Hermione? Where are you?” Ginny called from the living room.
Hermione hurried down the stairs, hair wildly messy.
“Upstairs, fighting with the bloody suitcase!”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look a bit—”
Hermione frowned, and Ginny jabbed Ron in the ribs to shut him up. Then she stepped closer and pulled Hermione into a comforting hug.
“I’m having a full-blown crisis.”
“Why?” Ginny whispered.
Hermione pulled back, attempting to tie her hair and look more presentable. Her hands trembled slightly. “I don’t know…” she murmured. “What if it’s a mistake?”
“Well, if Paris drives you mad, you can always come back to London and ask Percy to work with him at the Ministry,” Ron joked. “He keeps saying you’d be an indispensable asset.”
Hermione grimaced. “Thanks for the advice. Totally aligned with my studies.”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s Hermione’s dream career, Ron.”
Ron shrugged.
“Is this still about the letter?” Ginny asked.
Hermione threw her hands up. “I—no! I mean… maybe. Yes, maybe.”
“They were just being polite and—”
“What if I didn’t deserve it? What if they accepted me only because of my name?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know France isn’t like the UK. They were just being polite. You’re panicking.”
“I know, but—”
“No ‘but,’ Hermione. After everything you’ve been through, you’re scared of French wizards and their snobby accents?”
Hermione huffed. Harry and Ron stared at her in silence.
She sighed, letting them see a crack in her thoughts.
“For the first time, I don’t have control. I’ve always had a plan, a direction. I don’t know if this ‘leap into the unknown’ will help me or make me feel even more lost. Sometimes it feels like I’m running away.”
Harry stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “If anyone can face a new reality, it’s you. London isn’t the place for you right now. It holds you back. Maybe Paris really is your chance to move forward. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a change.”
Change. Move forward. How could she, when her feet were still cemented in the past?
She smiled at Harry and nodded, even though her doubts remained.
“And you won’t be alone,” Ginny added. “We’ll talk, we’ll write, and we’ll visit as soon as possible. Maybe New Year’s?”
Hermione nodded. “Absolutely.”
“And promise you won’t lock yourself inside studying. You have to live this experience,” Harry said.
“And fall in love. With Paris, I mean,” Ginny added, then laughed. “Or maybe with a French guy. You never know.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t be worse than Krum.”
Ginny shot him a look. “Ronald, your bedroom walls were covered with his face a few years ago.”
Hermione laughed and pulled them all into a hug. “I love you. And I’ll miss you.”
𓆙⭒𓃭
“Would you calm down, Crookshanks?” Hermione huffed at her cat, who shifted irritably inside his carrier.
She shook her head and waved her wand at her hair, using a spell she had learned to turn her wild waves into tight braids—so they wouldn’t poke her in the eyes while studying.
Once, in a magazine Ginny had left on her desk, Hermione had read a theory claiming that drastic haircuts symbolized a desire to leave the past behind. She thought about it every time she looked in the mirror. If that were true, she didn’t need a haircut—she needed to shave her head.
The Parisian wind, however, was nothing like London’s. Instead of harsh gusts, it brushed her cheeks like a soft kiss, as if asking permission.
She walked through the quiet streets toward the fireplace listed in her letter, comparing every building to home. Almost tempted to play spot-the-difference.
She traveled by Floo calmly, despite her stomach twisting with nerves.
The arrival was painless.
She dragged her massive trunk and Crookshanks’ carrier toward the student housing complex, both floating under a Feather-Light Charm. A speaker asked for her identity; after she answered, the wrought-iron gate opened with a soft creak.
White buildings basked under pale afternoon light. Hermione inhaled the scent of stone and recent rain.
Third floor. Door 24B.
Click.
Crookshanks began to fuss again. Hermione stepped inside. A spacious living area. Small kitchen. Wooden table. She knew she had a roommate, but not who.
“Hello?” she called.
Footsteps approached. “Hi!”
Hermione turned. “Padma?”
Padma Patil smiled at her. “I saw your name on the scholarship list. I asked to room with you.”
Hermione hugged her. “I’m really glad to see you.”
And she truly was.
Padma nodded. “I transferred after taking my final exam at Hogwarts. What about you? What made you come here?”
Hermione shrugged, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
“I actually took the scholarship test back in May. I had several preferences for where I might transfer, but in the end I decided to finish my studies here in France. I chose a specialization in medical-magic research. It’s a field I’m particularly interested in.”
Padma nodded, as if that came as no surprise at all, and helped Hermione maneuver the trunk into their apartment. “I’d like to specialize in diagnostic medimagical techniques,” Padma said. “It’s a branch of healing magic that’s still rather archaic, and I want to help push it forward. You know… if Parvati had received a diagnosis just a few months earlier, and if it had been more accurate, maybe her death wouldn’t have come so soon.”
Hermione noticed how openly Padma spoke about her sister. She was looking Hermione straight in the eyes, showing her pain without trying to hide it, with an impressive kind of calm. Hermione stepped closer and took her hand.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to Parvati. It was terrible.”
“Thank you, Hermione. That’s very kind of you.” Padma squeezed her fingers gently, a silent exchange of understanding and reassurance.
“The reason you chose your field is very noble,” Hermione added. “I’m sure you’ll achieve everything you set out to do.”
Padma smiled, then sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Enough heavy topics for now… And thank Merlin they accepted my request to room with you. It worked out well for both of us, considering the other options,” she added jokingly, giving Hermione a pointed look.
Padma moved toward the kitchen, and Hermione noticed she was barefoot. She must be warm, Hermione thought. Stone floors usually stayed freezing even at the end of summer.
Hermione’s gaze wandered around the room until she spotted a coat rack behind her. She took off her jacket and hung it up neatly, then returned to the open door to grab the carrier, where Crookshanks was causing absolute havoc.
“Would you like some tea?”
Hermione said yes while wrestling with her cat’s surprisingly strong paws. She let him out and watched as he immediately began exploring what would now be his new home, his paws echoing softly against the stone floor.
“Padma, can I ask you something?” Hermione said, turning toward her new roommate.
The former Ravenclaw gestured toward the chairs around the table. “If I can answer, go ahead.”
Hermione sat down and twisted her hands together as she formed the question. She heard the familiar sound of a gas burner lighting.
“What did you mean when you said ‘considering the other options’? Do you mean there are other Hogwarts students here?”
Padma let out a small sigh.
“Last year I roomed with an American girl. Very loud. I’d rather not repeat the experience,” she said dryly. “But yes, there are other former Hogwarts students here. You didn’t know?” Hermione shook her head. She hadn’t looked into it at all.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about the news. It was a pro, considering her tendency to cling to the past. But a con, considering what her therapist had told her before she left. Dr. Flick had been clear: cut ties with the past.
But what do you do when, after moving far away from your past, it arrives before you do?
“I had no idea… Did they transfer too?”
Padma shook her head. “No, they’ve been here since first year. There aren’t many of us…” She paused, thinking. “I counted five, including myself.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, curiosity blooming in her chest.
“And who are the others? Excluding us, obviously.”
“Let’s see… Zacharias Smith arrived yesterday. He also won a scholarship, but I think you already know that…” She paused to steep a herbal teabag.
“Yes, I know about Zacharias,” Hermione said with a slight grimace. She still held a grudge from fifth year. Even if he’d grown several inches taller, he still carried that same annoying-boy aura.
Padma nodded. “I think he wants to focus on healing-oriented potion-making, though I’m not completely sure.”
“That’s right,” Hermione confirmed, twisting her fingers.
“I find it… interesting. It’s a rapidly developing field.”
Padma seemed to agree, then continued. “And unfortunately, gracing us with their dignified presence, we also have the Slytherin clique. Which means Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and—”
A loud thud interrupted her. They both turned. Crookshanks had climbed onto a cabinet and apparently decided a terracotta vase was deeply offensive. The orange furball stared at them with unblinking yellow eyes, and for a moment Hermione could have sworn he looked pleased.
“Crookshanks!” Hermione scolded. She jumped up, chair scraping loudly, and pulled out her wand to repair the damage. “You’re getting more undisciplined by the day,” she muttered, lowering him from the shelf.
He wriggled free and darted toward what Hermione assumed was her bedroom.
“Sorry,” Hermione said. “He’s been a bit restless lately. No idea why.”
“Probably the sudden change of scenery. Maybe Crookshanks doesn’t like the French,” Padma joked, pouring tea for both of them.
Hermione chuckled. “Or maybe he’s getting revenge for the two hours I forced him to stay in the carrier. He can be viciously vindictive.”
Padma laughed.
“So we’ll be dealing with Slytherins again,” Hermione said after a few careful sips.
Padma nodded, reaching into a lower cupboard for a packet of biscuits. “Parkinson is taking a three-year course in magical fashion. Zabini is studying alchemy. Malfoy is in his third year of Martial Magic. And Nott… honestly, I still don’t know what Nott is studying.”
Hermione froze. “Malfoy?”
“Oh, right—yes. Malfoy transferred here too. I think it was shortly after his trial. He has French ancestry, doesn’t he?”
Hermione found herself strangely at a loss for words. “I suppose so,” said vaguely, nodding.
“They all seem to have relocated to Paris. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“And why did he decide to continue studying?” Hermione asked.
Padma didn’t look surprised. “You mean Malfoy?”
Hermione hummed in agreement.
“I think he wants to become a proper Auror, considering what he chose to study.”
“Oh…” Hermione said quietly. “That’s… curious.”
Padma raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”
Hermione tried to relax her shoulders, but she was suddenly all nerves. “You don’t?”
“I think he’s just trying to move forward. Like all of us. And if you think about it—though I know it bothers you—it makes sense he’d choose a path opposite to what his family always wanted for him. It’s part of burning away the roots of the past.”
Hermione drained her cup, burning her tongue rather than replying, while Dr. Flick’s words echoed loudly in her mind.
Cut ties with the past.