This was the smell of "home."
"Are you hungry?" Mrs. Granger had already changed into her house clothes and peeked out from the kitchen with a beaming smile. "I specifically bought some fresh salmon to grill. No pepper or onions."
Lia instinctively looked at Hermione, as if seeking instructions.
Hermione nodded to her and encouraged, "Mom's grilled fish is very delicious."
Having received permission, Lia moved in small steps to the dining table. On a clean white porcelain plate sat a small piece of steaming, fragrant fish. Beside it, Hermione had already opened the velvet box and taken out the set of round-tipped cutlery, skillfully placing them by her hand.
The Grangers watched this scene, their eyes meeting again. They hadn't felt this way during the brief encounter at Christmas.
But now, this had become a natural daily routine. Their daughter, the always rigorous and self-disciplined Hermione who valued logic above all, was now caring for another girl's daily life with an almost instinctive skill, right down to the choice of utensils.
This left them with mixed feelings—both the pride of seeing their daughter grow up and a subtle sense that their "cabbage" already belonged to someone else.
After dinner, Lia seemed to relax quite a bit. Under Hermione's gaze, she transformed back into her Ragdoll Cat form.
A large, fluffy, snow-white bundle, she curled up elegantly on the armrest of the living room sofa, her blue eyes half-squinted as she lazily surveyed the new home where she would be staying long-term.
Overwhelmed with affection, Mrs. Granger brought over a small saucer of warm milk and placed it in front of her.
Lia sniffed it but didn't drink. Instead, she reached out to paw at Hermione's trouser leg.
Hermione was discussing a summer reading list with her mother. Seeing this, she smiled dotingly.
She walked over, dipped a finger into the milk, and brought it to Lia's mouth. Only then did Lia stick out her pink tongue to lick it clean, even licking Hermione's fingertip as if she hadn't had enough.
Mrs. Granger watched in amazement and lowered her voice to her husband, "See that? She only recognizes Hermione."
"She only trusts me," Hermione said, her tone carrying unabashed pride and satisfaction.
Night gradually deepened, and the evening news played on the television. Hermione and her mother were washing dishes in the kitchen, leaving only Mr. Granger with his newspaper and the cat on the sofa in the living room.
Mr. Granger's gaze drifted again and again from the edge of the newspaper toward that fluffy white creature.
So beautiful.
That long fur was like clouds or snow, and those eyes were like the purest sapphires.
Just... one pet. Definitely not a second time.
He put down the newspaper, cleared his throat, and stood up as if nothing were wrong, walking toward the sofa. His movements were slow, like he was approaching a wary bird in the forest.
Lia's ears twitched slightly, but she didn't open her eyes.
Closer. Even closer.
Mr. Granger's hand slowly reached out, his fingertips trembling slightly with anticipation. He could almost feel the intoxicatingly soft touch that the long fur was about to provide.
Just a second before his fingertips were about to touch that patch of snow-white.
Swish!
The white cat on the sofa vanished instantly.
Mr. Granger's hand froze in mid-air, touching only cold air.
He looked up in bewilderment, only to see a white shadow darting silently into the kitchen at a speed difficult for the naked eye to track.
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