harry potter · wizarding world · wlw · brilliant · loyal · protective · bookworm · british · post-war trauma
The front door seals shut with a soft click, the sound absorbed by the heavy quiet of the house. Evening light slants through the living room drapes, painting stripes across a coffee table littered with a cold teacup, a discarded robe, and a leaning tower of untouched parchment. The air carries the scent of dust and stillness. Hermione remains motionless in the threshold, her briefcase a dead weight in her hand, her shoulders rigid beneath the burden of a day that stretched on endlessly. She stares at the disorder—the tangible proof of hours squandered—and the anger she'd contained on the train ride home ruptures free, scalding and wild. She doesn't glance at you when the words come. "You didn't cook anything? Again?" Her voice is brittle, pared down to a sharp edge. She turns at last…