I'm afraid… I have come bearing some bad news. I'm having some technical problems. My laptop's screen shuts off almost every eight o'clock at night. No idea why (or maybe my mother cursed it so I would join in with the prayers…) so if I happen to disappear, it means my problem has reached its limit. Hopefully, I could convince my father to let a technician check it out.

Apologies for the mistakes in here and I'm positively glowing with regards to the response this got from you.

To my guest reviewers:

Alex: I'm glad you think it's awesome! I'll try to update as frequently as I can. Hope that's a good deal.

and Guest: Hello, that's a good question and since I love to spoil people sometimes, the answer is yes. How? Ehhh...

Again, thank you. And please remember that the general theme of the story belongs to Tsukura Rakugaki and Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just borrowed her characters to have a bit of fun.

Oh yeah, did you check out 'Spirit of the Dragon'? The author also responded to the Challenge Fic and I'm excited as to how they would go about it. I also like to think it's the M-version counterpart as compared to this tamer one. I'm a bit awkward when it comes to writing sexual scenes but… well, we'll see…

Not a lot going on, but I do hope you'll enjoy it.

P.S. Hermione struck me as a person who doesn't like to shop much unless the items were books...

Summary: When Hermione starts to come of age, strange things start happening. She's able to hear things nobody else should, see things clearer than the average human being. Controlling wandless magic becomes easy, and she's stronger, than she's been before. It isn't until her mother tells her what's going on with her body that she understands things are about to change.

Edit: I apologize if you think it has a slow pace that's why I decided to add something. I just ask for your patience with the pace and I hope you won't be put off by it. I promise it would pick up soon.

Chapter Three

Hermione groaned.

"Mum, please, can we look for a place to sit?" she whined pathetically; screw her dignity, her feet were aching!

They had been at this store for half an hour now and a total of three hours ever since they arrived at the mall and they—they, meaning her mother and her; forget her traitorous father—hadn't taken a bloody break. And it looked like her mother had no thoughts of stopping anytime soon.

She looked down and eyed her mother's heeled sandals incredulously. Seriously, wasn't her mother tired? Her footwear was in the form of sneakers and her feet were feeling numb, not to mention, those back pains were starting up again. Ugh, she needed to buy those painkiller pills. She really did need the reprieve, especially today.

Hermione perked up as a brilliant idea came into mind. She could escape her mother's company with the excuse of buying medicine. After that, maybe find a bench to sit on while her mother shopped. Communication wouldn't be a problem since they both have phones. Why didn't I think of that earlier?

Before she could even suggest it, her mother retorted with, "Hermione, dear, where do you expect to find a chair in here?"

Monica was too busy skimming the rack of clothes to catch Hermione's pained expression.

Even if she didn't want to admit defeat, Hermione had to give it to her mother. She was right upon saying there were no chairs, but she was wrong about one thing, as well. "Be that as it may, mother, that only rings true here. That doesn't mean there are no chairs over there… or there... or there…" She pointedly gestured all around them.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Have I told you I hate your cheekiness at times?"

Hermione smirked in triumph. "Well, they always say the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree."

Monica stuck her tongue out in retaliation.

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes, real mature, mum. Stick your tongue out every time you're bested."

Monica struggled not to do just that, her lovely face screwing up with her effort.

Hermione snickered. She knew her mother was rebuking her teasing but she was doing a miserable job of proving her maturity by the literal looks of it. Besides, she figured her stubbornness had to come from somewhere and she knew just how stubborn her mother could be.

Her father, on the other hand, tended to be the more understanding sort between the two. His patience was outstanding—clearly a trait Hermione never inherited... much—and his overall demeanor screamed friendliness.

Although, one shouldn't take advantage of that fact because once Wendell Granger deems a person annoying, they would be annoying in his books for the rest of his life, no matter what.

He sure knows how to hold a grudge, Hermione mused. It was like he spent time to perfect the skill. She shuddered at the thought of losing her father's faith in her.

But because of their individual quirkiness, Hermione thought the world of her parents' love. Her father's gentleness definitely balanced out her mother's feistiness and it made their bond strong, special. She was not big on emotions, having spent half of her childhood, and probably a few more years of her life being too absorbed in books, but the little girl in her dreamed of finding the same kind of love her parents had the honor of having.

A waving hand and her mother's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Oh, sorry, what?" she looked up; only to be greeted by her mother's round concerned brown eyes inches from hers. "Whoa! Mum!" She reeled back abruptly and promptly bumped into another. She stuttered out an apology, completely mortified by her clumsiness.

She glared upon hearing her mother's chuckles. "S'not funny," she grumbled before stomping off and leaving her mother to hurry after her.

"I'm sorry, dear." Monica said, although judging by her wide smile, she was anything but.

Hermione caught on to that fact and grumbled something about mothers and their supposed sense of humors. And, well, she supposed if she weren't the victim she would find her clumsiness funny too.

Her mother linked arms before dragging her towards the shoe section. "C'mon! I think I saw a beautiful heel somewhere over there."

Hermione groaned in protest. "Mu—"

Monica clucked her tongue. "Now, now, Hermione. Today we bond, and what better way to do so if not shopping for shoes?"

It was a rhetorical question but she answered it anyway. "Oh, I don't know. How about… food?"

She didn't need to look to know her mother just rolled her eyes.

"Hermione, dear, we just ate—"

"That was about three hours ago!"

"We just ate," Monica repeated with an emphasis; Hermione pouted petulantly. It was not her fault that her stomach was demanding. "And I would rather buy shoes than consume greasy, unhealthy food or sweet deserts. Besides, they would just ruin our teeth."

"We eat greasy, unhealthy food every day," she muttered under her breath before she squealed, not expecting the poke on her side. "Mum, that tickles! Stop it!"

"You do not get cheeky with me without being punished, young lady," Monica chastised playfully as she perused the items available with interested eyes.

Hermione could only sigh as her plan of buying medicine—translation: skipping shopping—went down the drains.

"Merlin… at least there are chairs around here," she mumbled, eyeing said furniture with earnest eagerness.

Monica sighed dramatically as she spied the recipient of her daughter's glinting stare. "What is with you and chairs today? Hmpf, one would think you're having an affair with them."

Hermione shot her mother a look. "How can you say I'm having an affair if I'm not in a relationship? Besides, a chair and I, really, mum?"

She got a shrug in response. "You're leering at them as if they were the most precious thing."

"To my aching feet, they are," Hermione explained before she sat down. She wriggled on her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. To her dismay, the thing looked squishy but felt like a rock. She figured being a bit uncomfortable was better than getting sore feet for the rest of the day.

Monica huffed. "Honestly, Hermione. You're wearing sneakers; man up!"

"I'm a woman," she deadpanned.

Her mother's face scrunched up.

Hermione chuckled. It was clear to her that her mother was trying really hard not to stick her tongue out, again.

"Cheeky little witch." She heard her mother mumble under her breath. Confusion once again settled in as she wondered how she was able to hear something so softly spoken.

Her lips pursed as she looked up and scrutinized her oblivious mother thoughtfully. From what she heard earlier, it was obvious her parents were hiding something from her. Whether it was important or not, she wasn't so sure. Would her parents' secret explain all the bizarre things, obviously barring magic, happening to her these past few months? The headaches, the back pains, the unusual feeling of growing bones, noses and teeth… did her parents hold the answer?

A memory flashed into the forefront of her mind.

"Remember, little one, do not enter the attic," a deep, soothing voice said with a smile.

Young Hermione tilted her head in curiosity. She squeaked, "But why, Granpa?"

Her inquisitive self always brought out a smile out of anyone she showed it to and her grandfather was no different. His smile widened, eyes twinkling like he knew something she didn't, and she didn't like it one bit. She may be little but she was not stupid.

"In time, little one. Patience is a virtue worth learning, after all." He held out a hand, to which she grasped tightly. Her grandfather's eyes crinkled, causing her to grin. She loved making her grandparents laugh. "Come, what do you say we go feed the ducks in the park?"

She squealed in excitement.

Hermione smiled sadly with a hint of surprise upon recalling a memory that happened during her childhood.

Her grandfather, William Glaedr-Wilkins, was a tall and built man. He had cropped thick sleek mahogany hair, thick brows and long lashes encasing warm green eyes, and a pointed nose atop thin lips. His face was chiseled in shape, giving him a sense of nobility.

Upon first meeting him, one would think he had no fun bone in his body. But in reality? He was a child at heart.

They got along so well because they shared so many points of interest. One in particular was books. Her grandfather had such a huge compilation of varying categories that they decided to turn one room in their home a library.

In there, whenever her parents would take her for a visit, her grandfather and her would lounge for half a day, either reading or writing, or play hide and seek. Sometimes, they talked. Well, her grandfather talked while she listened. And with that, she discovered that he was a fantastic story teller. His expertise was on fantasy and adventure. She didn't mind; her young mind loved her grandfather's interesting tales of adventure about knights and dragons, witches and magical creatures, and bonds and everlasting love.

Presently, she longed to hear them.

Her grandmother, Elizabeth Jean Firnen, was of the smaller and slender variety. She had chestnut locks that were a bit hard to tame, a pointed nose and warm chocolate eyes. She was not as boisterous as her grandfather but she loved the outdoors. She enjoyed tending to her garden and would stay there for about two hours after lunch, at times.

Even as a kid, Hermione's mind was rather keen. After accidentally discovering the garden one afternoon, she hid in the shadows and watched her grandmother tend to her plants with such care that it captured her jovial heart.

As she continued to spy, she curiously noted that her grandmother had a good relationship with the animals. She noticed that even without company, her grandmother's lips were moving; it was as if she were talking to them. Other times, she sang. And Hermione swore on her books that she saw a fairy hovering over her grandmother's head one time.

She told her family about it during dinnertime but she got scolded by her father for intruding on somebody else's business. He said it was rude of her. She didn't really understand what the word meant—she was five years old—but she figured, if her father was telling her off, it was something bad. So she got up and apologized then promised not to do it again. To her surprise, her grandmother laughed and asked her if she wanted to join in on the fun. She eagerly accepted.

That night, her grandfather told her the world held a lot of mysteries that a human simply could not explain. He advised her to always be open-minded, no matter how hard it was for her to grasp the concept. Hermione took it to heart—even though she had no idea how grateful she would be for it—before they snuggled into bed as her grandfather told her another story.

Another of her grandmother's hobbies was baking. If one couldn't find her in the gardens, she was in the kitchen. It was like clockwork, actually. After she deemed her work in the gardens worthy, she went back to the house and around half past four in the afternoon, the whole house would reek of sweets and almost instantly, people would stop whatever they were doing and gather around the table in the dining room.

She remembered one instance wherein her father, who was digging a hole for her at the back, came barreling in, dirtying the shiny floor in the process as he eagerly took a seat beside her mother. She swore then and there to never upset her grandmother.

Every after summer, she gained a tiny bit of weight but what she would give to be able to a taste her grandmother's delicious sweets and pastries again.

She hadn't seen them for a long time now. How could she when they passed away while she was at Hogwarts for her second year?

Their death, aside from homework and worry for her friends, caused such distraction and grief that the basilisk caught her by surprise and petrified her before she could do anything about it.

She missed them quite dearly, indeed.

"Hermione?"

"Huh?"

Glazed eyes met Monica's concerned ones. "Are you alright, dear?"

Shaking off her depressing thoughts, Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, just thinking," she offered as an explanation. One that her mother apparently wanted her to elaborate, judging by the raised eyebrow she received. She took a deep breath in and said, "Just thinking about Pop and Gram, mum."

She watched as her mother exhaled shakily, eyes misting with unshed tears as she uttered a simple, "Oh."

Hermione laughed nervously as she ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, uh, sorry… I didn't mean to bring back bad memories…"

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "No, no, it's alright. I know you miss them, but, well…" The mischievous twinkle in her eye caught Hermione's interest. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing them soon."

Her brows furrowed as she tried to unravel the cryptic message in her mother's words. "What are you saying? You want to die?"

Her face must have been comical for her mother to laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" she demanded as her mother clutched her stomach. "Mum? Mum! Seriously, it's not funny!" She shot up from her seat, steadying her mother before she stumbled down the floor. A thought hit her.

"Merlin! Please don't tell me… Mum, listen to me. Mum, quit it! Listen! Argh!" She barely stopped herself from stomping her foot in frustration. "Are you suicidal or something?" she asked, borderline hysterical, as her mind thought of reasons as to what could have triggered… that… in her mother's mind; reasons that ranged from her job to her father to her life in general.

Oh, Merlin.

"Wha… what?" her mother asked in between laughs.

She gripped her mother's shaking shoulders tightly. "I can fix it. I swear I can fix it! Just tell me what you want and I'll do it, mum."

Monica's laugh settled down to the occasional chuckle as she wiped her eyes of tears. "What?" her voice sounded a bit pained as her daughter's grip kept getting tighter by the second. "Hermione, honey, you're hurting me."

Hermione jerked her hands away. "Sorry."

Monica shook her head before saying with a charming grin, "No, no, it's fine, dear. You were asking me something?"

"Uh, yeah," she mumbled as she eyed her mother warily.

Had her really mother gone the deep end while she had no clue about it? What kind of daughter was she if that were the case? Wait. Did her father know? Better yet, did she have to worry for her father as well? No, that couldn't be right. They were perfectly normal back at the house. Unless…

Hermione scrutinized a now wary Monica.

"Her—"

"How good at acting are you?"

Monica's face scrunched up. "What?"

"Were you and dad taking acting lessons behind my back? Are you alright? Is there something you're not telling me? Have you gone and seen a psychiatrist? Have you…" Hermione fired off question after question that kept getting odder for Monica.

"Tried to see if elephants can fly?" Monica mumbled under her breath as she looked at her daughter in bewilderment and concern. Where had these questions come from? More importantly, she didn't think she saw her daughter take a breath before she started, err, interrogating her.

"Darling… Darling? Hermione? Hermione, dear, shut up, please."

Immediately, Hermione did as she was politely told.

Monica smiled. "Good. Now, what is this all about?"

Hermione stared at her mother, incredulous with her mother's calm state. To her, it was her mother's way of delaying the inevitable discussion. Well, she would have to change that; it was for their own good, after all.

She drew to her full height which, to her surprise, almost surpassed that of her mum's. She filed that for investigation later; she had bigger fish to fry, namely, her mother's mental health. "Are you or are you not taking drugs?"

Her mother looked affronted but she kept her guard up. For all she knew, her parents did take acting lessons without telling her in hopes of convincing her they were fine.

"I most certainly—"

"Aha!"

"—do not!"

Hermione deflated at both her mother's answer and glare. "Right. Moving on. Have you and dad taken acting lessons without telling me?"

She ignored her mother's skeptical look, for all she knew, that look was staged and she was being played. She would have her answers no matter what.

"Why would we do that?"

Hermione's lips pursed. "Mum, just answer the question."

Again, she ignored her mother's exasperated sigh.

"I have no idea where this is coming from but no. Your father and I didn't take up acting lessons behind your back."

Hermione stared at her mother, mulling the answer over for a few minutes. Satisfied her mother was telling the truth, she nodded. "Okay."

Her head tilted to the side, eyes boring into her mother's hazel ones. "Are…" She licked her lips. "Are you suicidal?"

They stared at each other; one was deciding whether her daughter's hunger was affecting her thoughts or not while the other was contemplating on what to do in case her mother goes on the defensive and denies help.

Hermione figured she had to find a way of helping her parents even if she had to take them to St. Mungo's against their will.

A heartbeat passed before Monica broke their silent standoff with a chuckle that turned to giggles.

Hermione sighed. "Mum…"

The giggles stopped. "Wait, you're serious?"

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Of course. Why would you—"

"Hermione, why would you think that?" Monica interrupted as she scrutinized her daughter. What thoughts were swirling in her daughter's brilliant mind right now?

Hermione sputtered at first before she took a deep breath and calmly reasoned, "Well, it was you who said we'll be able to see Pop and Gram soon!"

"Oh."

Hermione huffed. "'Oh'? Is that all you're going to say?"

Monica chuckled, shrugging. "What do you want me to say? You were the one who just outright assumed I was suicidal."

Hermione deflated. No matter how logical her reasoning was on something, her mother had a way with words that dashed any hope of winning an argument against her. Her mother and her bloody wit; she hated it, sometimes.

"Nevermind," she grumbled petulantly, lips protruding as her arms crossed.

Monica grinned smugly. "If you say so, dear. Now, which do you think suits me better? Blue or dark green?" She held up two stilettos for her daughter to see.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione scrutinized her given options before shrugging. "Don't know."

Monica pouted. "That was not an answer, dear."

Hermione looked at her mother, incredulous. "Yes, it was."

Monica shook her head. "No, dear. Your answer should either be one of these colors."

Hermione sighed and reasoned, "But what if I don't like both?"

Her mother hummed thoughtfully, eyeing her choices for a heartbeat before shrugging and tucking it away in a nearby shelf. "You're right. It was awful. I don't know why I chose it in the first place." She grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her away. "Let's go find your father. Might as well have lunch."

They were oblivious to the people gawking at them who witnessed and heard their little dispute.

~;~

"The trip home never took this long," Hermione grumbled under her breath as she gazed at the passing scenery.

Wendell glanced at his pouting daughter through the rearview mirror. He could feel his curiosity growing. Focusing back on the road, he asked, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Hermione jumped in surprise, not expecting any of her parents to call her out. "Uh, nothing. Just, err, excited to go home?" Her face scrunched up; that was not meant to come out as a question.

The quirked brow proved her father's disbelief but, thankfully, he didn't push it.

While eating, Hermione had an epiphany that almost caused her to choke on her pasta. Upon remembering her grandparents, she realized the house they were living in had been inherited from her grandparents. Which meant, whatever was in their attic could hold the answer to whatever her problem was. And, hopefully, provide her with a potion that could help her with the body pain if the pills would turn out to be useless.

The whole ride was spent in silence, with Hermione being oblivious to the looks being exchanged by her parents.

As soon as they arrived, Hermione unconsciously spelled their bags lighter and levitated them towards their house, leaving her gaping parents in the driveway.

She left the bags in the kitchen counter before walking upstairs. Halfway up, she heard the front door close and her mother's yell of, "Hermione Jean Granger!"

She paused mid-step and looked over her shoulder to see her mother with her hands on her hips at the bottom of the stairs. Turning in place, she faced her mother, curiosity rolling off of her in waves. She opened her lips to ask what she did wrong when her mother cut her off.

"You are very lucky, young lady, that no one was outside to witness that little stunt you did back there," Monica admonished, her feet tapping on the floor as she felt her husband's presence behind her.

Hermione looked at her mother to her father then back again. She was about to ask her mother to explain when her father spoke. She sighed in frustration; when will they let her speak?

"Darling, I know you're a witch and you spend nine months being surrounded with magic but our neighbours... they don't know a thing about magic except, maybe, cards and women sliced in half," Mother and daughter rolled their eyes at the joke; Wendell grinned. "So, your mother and I would appreciate it if you tone it down a bit," he finished with a smile as he stepped beside his wife and wound his arms around her waist.

"Tone it down a bit?" Hermione questioned. She got what they were asking of her; she just didn't know what she did, in the first place.

Her mother shook her head while her father's smile widened.

"Oh, I see," he said

Hermione huffed. She would appreciate it if they would just outright say what this was all about.

Seeing that her daughter still had no idea what they were talking about, Monica explained, "The bags, dear. They floated towards the house and seeing neither your father nor I could do such a thing, you are our only option left. I didn't even see you use that bloody stick."

The last part was murmured but to Hermione's sensitive ears, her mother might as well have shouted it. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Wandless and wordless magic? That was an accomplishment she could only dream of doing.

"Oh."

"'Oh'? Is that all you're going to say?" Monica sassed with a smirk.

Hermione's lips twitched. She couldn't decide whether to be amused that her mother threw her words back at her or annoyed that her mother managed to throw her words back at her. Finally, she settled on a grudging, "Touché, mum."

Monica laughed. "I know, honey. But?"

But? But, what? Hermione's brow furrowed before a proverbial light bulb went off in her head. "Oh, right! Err, I promise not to do magic unconsciously."

She caught the glance her parents shared which added fuel to her burning interest. Their looks solidified the fact that they were keeping something from her; something, from the looks of it, that was quite big. She licked her lips in excitement upon thinking she could get to the bottom of this once and for all if she could sneak in the attic.

Innocently, she rocked on her heels and asked, "Can I go?"

Her mother hummed and stared at her. She tried her best not to fidget and almost sighed in relief when she was given permission.

"I'll see you later!"

To be continued…