    The next morning Hermione forced herself to go downstairs and see her parents. She couldn’t put it off forever, and the longer she waited the harder it would get. Glancing in the mirror to make sure her glamours were all in place she opened the door with a shaky breath. Crookshanks meowed, darting between her legs and down the stairs. Deciding that the cat wanted her to follow him she exited the bedroom. Footfalls silent as to not alert them of her presence, the witch peek around the corner into the living room. She allowed herself a moment to just look at the two adults on the couch. Her father, Richard, was sitting with one leg propped on the other as he read the newspaper. With his salt and pepper hair still shaggy from sleep and his brow furrowed as he scanned the article in front of him Hermione thought he looked better than she had ever seen him. Helen Granger was sitting in the corner of the couch flipping through channels trying to find something to watch.