“Goodness, Hermione, hurry! We’ll be late, and that poor girl will be left waiting all alone!”

 

“I’m coming, Mum, just a minute!” Hurriedly, Hermione secured the end of her braid with an elastic and peered anxiously at her reflection. Wishing the mirror was enchanted so it could properly tell her if she was presentable or not, Hermione sighed, tried a smile (which widened as she admired her even teeth), and dashed out of her bedroom.

 

“Quickly, quickly,” Caliope Granger urged, and ushered her daughter out of the flat.

 

The drive to Heathrow seemed longer than usual, and Hermione fidgeted in her seat as she stared, distracted, out of the window.

 

“Hermione, dear, don’t be so nervous,” her mother said soothingly. “I’m sure this girl will be friendly.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Hermione replied, and sighed again. “It’s just—what if she thinks I’m dull? What if she thinks I’m ugly? What if she’s only friendly to me because I know Harry Potter?”

 

“Really,” Caliope said deprecatingly. “Calm down, dear. I’ve never seen you in such a state. You weren’t even this nervous when you were first on your way to Hogwarts!”

 

“I know,” Hermione repeated, and tugged at the end of her braid. “I suppose I’m worried about Harry, you know, all alone in that house with those horrible relatives of his. I think about him all the time. And Ron’s been upset, too; he wanted Harry to stay with him for the whole summer, this year, and his mum and dad did too, they love Harry. So… that’s been on my mind. And we’re supposed to be fostering international relations—if this war starts up like it’s threatening to, with the return of You-Know-Who, we’ll need all the allies we can get. What if I don’t make a good impression? What if she thinks I’m dull?”

 

“Oh, Hermione.” Caliope tossed her daughter a sympathetic look. “She won’t think you’re dull. You yourself said Harry and Ron aren’t the least bit interested in schoolwork, and they’re your best friends.” (Hermione thought to comment on how long it had taken for Harry and Ron to talk to her voluntarily, her first year at Hogwarts, and the fact that what had started it all was her getting attacked by a troll, but decided to let her mother reassure her and kept a tactful silence instead.) “And Dumbledore said it might not be necessary for Harry to stay with—the Dursleys, was it?—until Hogwarts begins; we don’t know how that will end up. And I’m not sure what I think about this war business, really I don’t. I think this will all blow over, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Caliope smiled encouragingly.

 

Hermione struggled not to roll her eyes, as that wouldn’t really be appropriate. Her parents seemed to think that ignoring the impending war and the certain rise of You-Know-Who would go away if they ignored it for long enough. Caliope and Eric Granger still weren’t used to the idea of the wizarding world, even after four—going on five—years of their daughter attending Hogwarts, and tended not to see certain things very clearly.

 

“And this exchange program is lovely, Hermione, really it is. I think you’ll have a fine time. And don’t take this the wrong way, dear, but I don’t think international relations will be very greatly effected by whether or not you and this girl become friends.”

 

Fair enough. Her mother did have a pragmatic streak. “Thanks, Mum.”

 

“She won’t think you’re dull at all. You’re intelligent and interesting, Hermione, you know that. And she won’t think you’re ugly, because you’re not. You’re my beautiful girl. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

 

Practical? Yeah, right. Hermione sighed—she’d been doing that quite a bit lately—and offered up a weak smile. “What’s her name again?”

 

“The file’s in my handbag, dear. Why don’t you read it to me?”

 

Hermione shrugged and lifted her mother’s heavy woven handbag into her lap. Wallet, keys, toothbrush (her parents brought toothbrushes with them wherever they went, an unfortunate habit Hermione had inherited), a manila envelope. Hermione opened the envelope and pulled out some papers, reading aloud from the top one.

 

“Willow Danielle Rosenberg. She attends Dextrartis.” Hermione wrinkled her nose, trying to remember where she’d heard that name. Probably it was mentioned in Hogwarts, A History. “That’s one of the best wizarding schools in the United States. It’s somewhere on the West Coast, I think.”

 

“What else does it say?” Caliope asked.

 

“Um. She’s fifteen and she’s in my year, so that’ll be all right. She’s allergic to orange juice. Ooh, her favorite subject is Arithmancy! Wonderful!”

 

“You’ll have something in common, dear. That’s nice.”

 

“Don’t miss the turnoff, Mum,” Hermione reminded her mother, who changed lanes at the last minute. “I wonder if Willow knows how to dress like a Muggle? So many wizards don’t.”

 

“Like a what, Hermione?”

 

Caliope knew what muggle meant, but Hermione had forgotten how much her mother disliked it when she used the word. Tough. Hermione was feeling belligerent. “Muggle. You know. Someone who’s not a wizard.”

 

Caliope lifted her chin slightly. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten. You use that term so little.” Hermione’s parents weren’t usually ones for chastising outright; they preferred subtle guilt-trips. The best thing to do in circumstances like this was to ignore it.

 

“Most wizard children are all right with Muggle clothing, though. It’ll probably be fine.” Hermione turned the page she was reading and gasped with delight. “Oh, Mum! She lives in Sunnydale!”

 

“Does she?” Caliope murmured noncommittally.

 

“Oh—but Mum, this is fantastic! Sunnydale is one of the most progressive wizarding communities in the world! It’ll be so great to meet someone who lives there…” Hermione lowered the papers to her lap and beamed at her mother, whose lips twitched reluctantly in response. “You see, both Muggles and wizards live in Sunnydale, but it’s not like most of the towns here in England, where the wizards have to hide their magic and the Muggles pretend they don’t see it; it’s co-existing. That’s why I’ve heard of Dextrartis; it’s an integrated school! Isn’t that fascinating?”

 

“I’m sure it is, dear. Why don’t you tell me more about it? It’ll take long enough to find a parking space…”

 

“Oh! All right. Well. You know how Hogwarts is a school for witchcraft and wizardry, just like Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. There are Muggle-born children, like me, and there are children with one Muggle parent and one wizard parent, and there are Purebloods.” Hermione couldn’t quite bring herself to say halfblood in front of her mother, who looked like she was having a hard enough time not protesting the word  pureblood, which Hermione considered less controversial. “But Dextrartis is the only school in the world that educates both wizards and Muggles. It’s even said they have a special program for non-human children: you know, nonagressive demons, werewolves, veela. The wizarding children are brought up with Muggle friends who know what they are, and almost all of them grow up anti-racist. The wizarding children are also much more familiar with the Muggle world than any children for whom the extent of their non-wizarding education would be Muggle Studies. The Muggle children receive a thorough education in the basics of wizardry: you know, the things I learned my first year at Hogwarts. Charms, Elementary Spelling, Astronomy, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

 

“That sounds wonderful, Hermione.”

 

“Oh, it is! It’s the best thing ever, I think I’d love to go to Dextrartis if I hadn’t started at Hogwarts first.” Hermione shuffled the papers on Willow and stuffed them back into the envelope as Caliope maneuvered their small car through the airport’s extensive parking. “And do you know, the most amazing thing is, Muggle children given a proper wizarding education have actually shown latent magical powers? So those of them who choose to take more extensive magical studies, like Transfiguration or Ancient Runes or Arithmancy or Sorcerous Literature, show a real aptitude for those subjects. And they’re able to defend themselves against things like Dementors—I told you about them, Mum, remember? The horrible guards of Azkaban? Muggles can’t see them, and Dementors have trouble seeing them back, so Muggles aren’t usually deliberately attacked, but they can feel the coldness, you see. But a Muggle who’s taken Defense Against the Dark Arts can cast a Patronus, or a Muggle who’s taken Charms can cast a Cheering Charm—there are so many ways a magical education is beneficial to non-wizards! Oh, it must be fabulous to attend Dextrartis…”

 

“You can ask Willow all about it when you meet her, dear.” Caliope smiled indulgently and took the key from the ignition. Hermione realized they’d parked and she hadn’t noticed.

 

“Oh! We’re here!”

 

“Let’s go, shall we?” Caliope pushed open her door carefully, as they were parked quite close to another car, and stepped out. Hermione did the same on her own side of the car and grinned across the roof at her mother.

 

“Do you know, Mum, I think this might be fun after all.”