So this is a little thing I wrote years ago. It was supposed to be the first chapter of a long-winded story in which Hermione was a pure-blood and got sorted into Slytherin. There was a friendship with Draco and an inter-house romance with Ron involved. Anyways, I got halfway into the second chapter when I figured I didn't much enjoy writing in English. So the whole thing died and I guess this is a one-shot now!

In the dark house, only the cuckoo clock ticking in the living room marked the passing of time. If you listened closely, you could faintly hear snoring coming from up the stairs. In the large master bedroom was the source of the noise, Hector Granger. Next to him slept his wife, Lysanor. When a baby’s cry suddenly pierced the silence, both of them woke up with a start. Lysanor sighed, then kissed her husband on the forehead and motioned him to go back to sleep. She slipped her feet in her snug slippers and silently shuffled out of the bedroom.

The cries were coming from a small room across the hall. Lysanor went over to the crib in the corner of the room, where her one-year-old daughter was howling, waving her small fists in the air.

‘What’s wrong, Hermione?’ Lysanor cooed, bending over to pick up her child.

The toddler only wailed louder, pulling on her mother’s hair in anger. Lysanor balanced her daughter on her hip and reached for one of her toys, a small rag doll.

‘Do you want to play a little, pumpkin?’

Hermione grabbed the doll’s leg and threw it with all her baby strength on the floor. Her mother sighed, rubbing her tired eyes with her free hand. She started when the door slowly creaked open behind them. The Grangers’ house-elf poked her head through the doorway.

‘Nimue heard the young mistress crying, and put some milk to heat in the kitchen.’

Lysanor smiled at the little elf.

‘Thank you, Nimue, I’ll be right down. I’m sorry we woke you.’

‘Do not be sorry, mistress. It is Nimue’s job to take care of the house when the masters are asleep.’

Lysanor yawned and followed Nimue down the stairs and into the kitchen. She turned on the light, causing Hermione to flinch and cry louder. The house-elf shuffled over to the stove and poured the hot milk in a bottle. She handed the bottle to Lysanor, who put it to the baby’s mouth. Hermione suckled on it for a moment, but then spit the liquid on her mother’s nightgown. Sighing once more, Lysanor handed her child to Nimue, and got her wand out of her pocket.

‘Evanesco’ she muttered. ‘Nimue, do you have any idea what could be making her cry?’

‘Have you checked her diaper, mistress?’

‘Hector changed it half an hour ago, that can’t be it.’

Lysanor took her daughter back from the house-elf and went into the living room. She walked to the window and looked outside, all the while singing a lullaby her mother used when she was a baby. Her eyes slowly scanned the dark street. Nothing was moving outside, except the leaves ruffled by the wind. She remembered when she was younger and couldn’t go to sleep, her mother used to take her outside for a walk around the block, even if it was two o’clock in the morning. She would always start dreaming as soon as her head hit the pillow. She would have loved to go outside with Hermione, but since the last few years, even a nighttime stroll was too dangerous. Voldemort was an ever-present menace over England, even to a baby.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she perceived a small movement a few houses down the street. Almost unconsciously, she backed up in the shadows, to be sure nobody could see her from outside. She watched curiously as two black forms walked quickly toward her house. As much as she strained her eyes, she couldn’t see whose faces were hidden beneath the black cloaks, whether they were friends or enemies.

Even though she knew she should be taking care of her baby, who was still crying in her arms, she could not seem to pull herself away from the window. The two cloaked people were now standing right in front of the house, apparently talking. By their stance, Lysanor could tell one of them was a woman, and the other a man. Then, the woman ran off to the next house, while the man stayed in the street, watching the house.

A few minutes later, the woman returned with a small bundle in her arms, and the two of them started walking up the path to the front door. By now, Lysanor’s heart was beating in a panicked frenzy, but she still couldn’t make herself leave the living room. She watched the two shadows approach the house, absentmindedly rocking Hermione in her arms. She watched with growing apprehension as the man slowly raised his fist, and knocked three times on the door. Each knock made a shiver go down Lysa’s back, but she still didn’t move a muscle. Only when Nimue ran into the living room did she turn around slowly.

‘Who could be at the door, at this hour of the night?’ asked the little elf, wringing her long hands.

Nimue’s shrill voice seemed to bring Lysanor back to her senses. She handed her daughter to the house-elf, telling her to stay in the kitchen. When they were both out of the way, Lysanor turned towards the front door, taking her wand out of her pocket, silently berating herself on her moment of panic. She resolutely stepped across the entrance hall and opened the door quickly, holding her wand at arm’s length.

There were a few seconds of tense silence before the two figures in the doorway burst out laughing. Lysa was confused for a few moments, before she recognized one of the voices.

‘Abby?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Of course it’s me, silly! What were you doing with your wand out? Afraid of the dark?’

Lysa was now embarrassed to mention the fright she had, but she was spared the explanation when the other figure spoke up.

‘Not that we want to be intrusive, but could we come in? Lavender’s starting to freeze.’

Lysanor now noticed that the small bundle in Abigail’s arms was in fact a small child. She quickly ushered them in the living room, closing the door behind them. Just then, she remembered something.

‘Weren’t you two supposed to be on a mission for the Order tonight?’

Abigail and Douglas Brown were both prominent members of the Order of the Phoenix. Lysanor was not a member of the Order herself, but her husband was always ready to fight against Voldemort, so he was a fervent member, and had joined almost the day of its creation.

Lysa’s words made her neighbours’ faces split in a huge grin.

‘We were,’ Douglas said. ‘But there’s no need for the Order anymore!’

Lysa could not have been more lost. She looked from Abby’s smiling face to Douglas’s ecstatic look.

‘What do you mean, there’s no need for the Order?’ she asked, confused.

‘You-Know-Who’s gone!’ Abby yelled.

Lysa was stunned. Voldemort... gone? It couldn’t be! Not just like that! He seemed so strong, he couldn’t just... disappear!

‘How?’ was the only word she was able to utter.

‘Well, nobody knows for sure,’ Doug started.

‘He attacked the Potters, and the next thing we knew, he had just disappeared!’ continued his wife.

Attack... Potters... disappeared... none of these words were making any sense to Lysanor at that moment. After a few seconds of silence, her brain catched on to one fact. The Potters. She used to know them. James and Lily, they were both a year below her in the time she attended Hogwarts. She’d heard a vague rumour that they’d had a baby, the year before. If Voldemort attacked them, there must not be anything left of them by now...

‘What happened to them?’ she asked, dreading the answer. ‘The Potters, I mean.’

The Browns looked at each other uneasily.

‘Well...’ started Abby. ‘You know how it is when You-Know-Who attacks someone...’

‘You mean they’re... dead?’ Lysa breathed.

‘I’m afraid so. Only their son survived, the little Harry. Nobody knows why.’

Harry Potter. The Boy who Lived. None of this made sense to Lysanor. She told the Browns to sit down while she made them coffee. In the kitchen, Nimue was still waiting for her, Hermione in her arms. The baby had stopped crying and was now contentedly sucking her thumb.

‘What happened?’ the house-elf asked. ‘I heard you talking about You-Know-Who!’

Lysanor signed and ran a hand through her tousled brown hair. She had trouble believing what the Browns had told her, she didn’t feel up to explaining it all to Nimue. She bent down and removed her daughter from the elf’s frail arms.

‘Why did she stop crying?’ she asked.

‘When you opened the door, she started smiling.’

Lysa looked deep into her child’s sparkling brown eyes. That was weird. It was almost as if Hermione had known what had happened... She shrugged the impression away and looked at Nimue.

‘Could you make us four mugs of coffee, please, and bring them to the living room?’

The little elf nodded and ran off. Lysa went back to the living room, where she was surprised to find Hector, sitting with the Browns. When he heard his wife come in, he jumped up, a huge grin on his face.

‘Did you hear, sweetie? You-Know-Who’s gone! He’s really gone! We won! The Dark Age is finally over!’

That’s when it really hit her. Voldemort was gone! She looked up to her husband’s face as a giddy smile spread upon her lips.

‘I heard,’ she said.

The four neighbours spent the rest of the night talking, reflecting on what had happened since Voldemort had taken power, and wondering what would happen now that he was gone. They could finally sleep without worrying about what deaths the next day would bring. Lysa would never again have to worry about her husband when he was gone on Order missions. Best of all, Hermione could grow up in a Voldemort-free world.

‘Do you realise,’ said Hector after a few moments of silence, ‘that both our daughters will be in the same year as Harry Potter?’

All four adults’ eyes converged to the playpen, where the two babies were sound asleep. Hermione, with her brown hair and chestnut eyes, and Lavender, a blond-haired, blue-eyed child. They were both part of the generation who would remake the wizard world. Harry Potter’s generation. The generation of the Boy who Lived.