Chapter 41
Albert awoke to the soft chirping of birds outside his window. The sun filtered gently through the curtains as he stretched and made his way to the kitchen in search of breakfast.
But upon arriving, he was surprised to find Kreacher standing there, clutching a framed photograph in his gnarled hands.
"What's that you're holding?" Albert asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Kreacher looked up with a sorrowful expression.
"Your grandfather."
"Huh? What about him?"
"He's gone," Kreacher replied gravely. "He's passed away."
Albert froze. The last time he had seen his grandfather was a year ago—hanging in a portrait within his father's study. The man had looked lively then, full of energy, smiling as if he had decades still ahead of him.
"Tell me, Kreacher," Albert said urgently, "Who did this to him?"
"No one," Kreacher said, almost softly. "He died naturally. He lived far too long already. I'm going to burn this photo now."
Albert didn't stop him. He simply watched in silence as Kreacher walked away, the frame trembling slightly in his hands. When Albert glanced back at the portrait, his grandfather's face had vanished from the canvas—a final, undeniable sign that he was truly gone.
Two hours passed.
Elsewhere, Harry was sitting at a small table, eating a modest breakfast—separate, as always, from his uncle, aunt, and their son Dudley.
Dudley lifted his head and glanced toward Harry, then snorted.
"Bet they used to bully him for wearing those glasses," he sneered.
He and his father burst out laughing.
Harry ignored them. He was used to this treatment by now. He ate in silence, eyes down, thoughts elsewhere.
Dudley, round and smug like his father, clearly wasn't satisfied. He stood and waddled over to Harry's table, grabbing Harry's breakfast and devouring it in seconds.
"Guess what?" he said between mouthfuls. "You've got no food. Know why? Because I ate it! Hahahaha!"
Harry glared at him, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. For a moment, he seriously considered using magic—maybe just enough to send Dudley flying through the air like a balloon, give him a taste of terror. But then he remembered the consequences of using magic in the Muggle world.
No. Not worth it.
Grimacing, he turned and walked quietly to the cupboard that served as his bedroom.
---
Meanwhile, Hermione was curled up on a couch at home, nestled between her mother and father as they watched a show on television. Though she was sitting with them, her focus was elsewhere—she had a book in one hand and a quill in the other, scribbling notes for her summer homework.
"Hermione," her father said with a chuckle, "what on earth are you doing? The holiday just started!"
Hermione looked up briefly.
"I'm finishing the homework our professors gave us. It's a lot this time, and I'd like to get it done early so I can actually enjoy the break."
Her father shook his head with a smile.
"You know, too much studying can drive a person mad. I'm just saying."
Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately.
"Yes, but being unprepared would drive me even more mad."
Her mother reached out and gave her a small pat.
"Sweetheart, you've mentioned making new friends at school. Are they treating you well? I've heard that sometimes children from non-magical families like ours get bullied."
(In this version of the story, Hermione's parents are aware of the wizarding world and stay in touch with her regularly through magical letters.)
Hermione smiled.
"Don't worry, Mum. My friends are wonderful. Honestly, I'm fine."
"That's a relief to hear," her mother said warmly.
"By the way," her father added, "you haven't told us how your exam results went this year."
Hermione blinked.
"Oh! I almost forgot—just a minute!"
She reached into her small bag and pulled out a large parchment. At the top left corner was her photo, along with her result: 99 out of 100, marked "Second Place – First Year Students."
Her father scanned the page, raising his eyebrows.
"Second place? That's a first since Year Five, isn't it? What happened, hmm? Did someone outsmart you?"
Her mother took the parchment next, her eyes twinkling with pride.
Hermione giggled.
"Well, yes... You're right, Dad. The top spot went to Albert—my friend."
Her mother smiled knowingly.
"Isn't he the one you've been telling us about? I didn't realize he was that clever."
Hermione nodded.
"He's also better than me at magic spells and charms. I might know more facts, but when it comes to casting… he's ahead."
Her father leaned back, impressed.
"You don't hand out compliments easily. Now I really want to meet this boy."
Hermione blinked.
"Huh? Why?"
"Because I want to see the lad who managed to outdo my daughter. That's not an insult, is it?"
Hermione laughed.
"Not at all."
Her mother stood up, smoothing her skirt.
"Right then, I'm going to take the cake out of the oven. Let's eat, shall we?"
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