Somewhere on a street in London.
Inside a residential house—
A little girl with a delicate, elf-like face knelt on a soft sofa, cupping her cheeks in her hands. A silver bracelet slid from her pale wrist into the sleeve of her sweater as she gazed absentmindedly out the window at the passing cars and the tracks they left in the snow.
"Hermione, lunch is ready! Come get washed up," a gentle voice called out.
Hermione snapped out of her daze and hopped off the couch.
She washed her hands, but instead of using a towel, she just cutely shook them dry, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.
A woman with chestnut hair quickly leaned to the side to dodge and scolded her, "Honestly, I don't know how you manage to take care of yourself at school."
During lunch—
Hermione's mother gave her father a look, but he pretended not to see it. She rolled her eyes in return.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she asked, "So, Hermione… have you made lots of good friends at school?"
Hermione nibbled her spoon, smiling sweetly. "Yep! Didn't I tell you? Loads of my classmates like me!"
"And…" her mother continued tentatively, "is there any boy you particularly like?"
Hermione's cheeks turned red. "Mum! N-No! Of course not…"
"Then who were those handmade chocolates for?"
"W-What chocolates?" Hermione stammered, flustered.
"The ones you asked me to teach you how to make," her mother pressed on.
This was important.
"Oh… I just… I thought they turned out bad, so I threw them away."
Seeing her daughter dodging the question, Hermione's mother couldn't help herself. "You—did you meet a boy at school?"
Hermione: "…"
Just then, a tapping sound came from the window. A large black owl landed against the glass.
Hermione's eyes lit up. She ran over, untied the letter from its leg, and bolted upstairs.
Thump thump thump—
Without turning around, she called, "I'm done eating! Going upstairs!"
Leaving two stunned parents at the dining table.
…
Hermione's mother stomped hard on her husband's foot and twisted it. "Weren't you the one who said we should ask her if she has a boyfriend? Why didn't you say anything?!"
Classic "use someone else's wand" tactic.
Hermione's father was secretly proud of himself—but he wasn't going to show it.
Asking something like that would only make their daughter hate him. He wasn't stupid.
"You're her mother. You're obviously the better one to ask about these things," he said with a helpless expression.
"Sigh… our little girl is growing up…" they both said at the same time.
…
Hermione's father felt a pang of melancholy.
After bringing her home for the holidays, of course they wanted to know everything about her school life.
Big things, small things—they asked about them all.
Only after hearing she was doing well did they finally relax.
Then one day, Hermione asked her mum what kind of Christmas gift she should give a good friend.
Her mother had smiled and said, "If it's a good friend, you should give them something heartfelt. Something handmade is even better."
Hermione's eyes lit up, and a plan began to form in her mind.
The next day, she clung to her mother, begging her to teach her how to cook.
When her father found out, he was moved and proud. My little girl is growing up—she wants to cook for us. No matter how bad it tastes, I'll eat every bite!
Hermione wanted to start by making chocolate.
Her parents found it a little odd, but didn't think much of it.
They went to the supermarket, bought loads of chocolate, came home, melted it down, and taught her how to make sweets.
In just half a day, Hermione had already gotten the hang of it.
…
Then yesterday morning—before the sun had even risen—they were woken by noises downstairs.
They crept down and saw Hermione in the kitchen, bathed in warm yellow light, wearing a giant apron and standing on tiptoes just to reach the microwave.
She was clumsy with her hands, but her face was filled with determination.
Once the chocolate was ready, she waited for it to cool, then carefully packed it into a rectangular box, wrapped it in colorful paper, and tied it tightly with a ribbon.
She finished with a bright, innocent smile.
Then she hurried to clean the kitchen from top to bottom.
…
Her parents tiptoed back upstairs, grinning from ear to ear.
"I didn't think she got up early to make chocolate for us."
"She must be planning a big surprise!"
"Mhm."
"Her Christmas gift is going to be amazing!"
"Tomorrow, when we open presents, we'll act like we know nothing—then scream in excitement!"
"Our little girl is too adorable!"
…
And then—this morning, when they opened her gift—
They were stunned.
Wait—what? Where were the chocolates!?
What the heck!?
Sure, the gift she gave was still very thoughtful… but it didn't hold a candle to handmade chocolates from their precious daughter!
But when they saw Hermione's hopeful eyes… what could they do?
Sob sob sob…
And that… was the tragic tale behind what happened at the breakfast table.
.
.
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⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter
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