Growing Up Granger by MattD12027

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 24/08/2007
Last Updated: 03/04/2011
Status: In Progress

The true story of Hermione's time at Hogwarts, in her own words. Harmony all the way. Now
between First and Second year.




1. Preface
----------



**Harry Potter and all related plot events, characters, and minutiae are the property of JK
Rowling. I neither profit nor seek financial gain with this text; therefore, it constitutes `fair
use'.**

**A/N: So another idea struck me during my hiatus, and here's the result of that. The seven
years of canon, as told through Hermione's eyes, with one slight caveat: things will slowly
diverge, though never entirely, from the books.** **Bearings** **will also continue.**

Growing Up Granger

*Then while we live, in love let's so persevere / That when we live no more, we may live
ever.* -Anne Bradstreet

*Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…it has no survival value; rather, it is
one of those things that give value to survival.* -C.S. Lewis

*The years teach much that the days never know.* -Ralph Waldo Emerson

---

Preface

Sometime During The 21st Century

Some of you think you know the story of my life, but you do not, and the line between reality
and fantasy has become quite blurred of late. You see, there are books out there about my
life—seven to be precise. And in those books, you have been presented with a fantastical version of
a very real series of events.

I do not know why, especially in later books, the events of my life and the lives of my friends
were changed so much, but I am here now to correct those wrongs. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic,
now under the auspices of Kingsley Shacklebolt, commissioned a relatively unknown Muggle author to
write the life story of Harry Potter (at least as it pertained to his—our—years at Hogwarts). The
purpose of that venture was to raise funds for the ailing Wizarding government and the idea was to
market the books to Muggles as a fantasy story.

Little did they know, however, that the books would become a phenomenon in the Muggle world; by
the time the seventh book was published, the name Harry Potter was known in literally every corner
of the globe, both magical and Muggle. With the success of the books, the Ministry gave Joanne
Rowling, the author of the books, more and more leeway with exactly how the story played out.

The result of that is what you all think you know about me. You see, I am Hermione Jane Potter,
formerly known as Hermione Jane Granger; I am not married to Ronald Bilius Weasley, nor do I have
children named Rose and Hugo. Harry James Potter, my husband of many years now, is not married to
Ginevra Molly Malfoy (formerly Ginevra Molly Weasley), nor does he have three children with
her.

Harry suggested several years ago that I write my memoirs, since they are of great personal
interest to him and are of course relevant to my occupation—but I haven't told you what I do,
have I? I don't think Joanne told all her wonderful readers in that lovely epilogue what I do,
either.

I opened a book shop in Diagon Alley several years after the end of the war. It was originally
called Studious Serenity, but in the intervening years the name has been changed to Potter and
Potter (modeled after Flourish and Blott's, of course). Harry has never wanted for money, so we
have both been able to do exactly what we've wanted during the many years since he vanquished
that evil git.

But I believe I'm getting ahead of myself. I told you that the later books diverged quite a
bit from reality, but I must add that even the first few missed or altered many important
details.

Harry has just laid his hand on my shoulder because he knows I am getting angry with how
everyone has been mislead all these years, and I know that I need to calm down. I will put my anger
into writing these memoirs for all of you, and hopefully everything will eventually make sense.

I'm writing this for our children, Sarah and Ian, as well, because with all of the
misinformation, they do not know the true, complete story of their parents. Harry and I feel
strongly that information should not be withheld if possible, given the disastrous consequences in
the past (yes, Joanne did get some things right).

Before I begin with the events leading up to my first year at Hogwarts, Harry wants me to make
sure you all understand something: he hates his fame and he hates what the books have done to his
name, but he *is* glad that they have returned an entire generation to reading.

He hopes, and so do I, that this true story, the complete story of how I became what I
am—namely, Hermione Jane Potter, mother of Sarah Lily and Ian James Potter—will show that same
generation what kind of man and friend Harry Potter really is as well as what kind of woman and
friend Hermione Potter really is.

I believe I have rambled on long enough, so I will leave you with one more thought, as it
pertains to you, the reader. I love Harry Potter with my entire being and I like to think he loves
me the same (he's saying `Of course I do!' behind me as I type this). This is the real and
unfiltered story of how that came to be.

Hermione J Potter 12/23/2013

-->



2. Year One Chapter One
-----------------------



Year One Chapter One

Summer 1991

“And what about *you*, Hermy?” a sneering voice called from behind me. I turned around and
faced the speaker.

Her name was Isabelle and she hated me. The two other girls standing near her—Anna and
Katherine—hated me too, but they rarely spoke. They always seemed content to let Isabelle do the
torturing. I clutched my book tighter to my chest and lifted my nose at them.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” I asked them, though I knew it would make
no difference. They despised my existence and they made that known every day of my life.

“I don't care, *Hermy*,” Isabelle said, smiling smugly and then giggling along with her
two stupid friends. “I'll call you whatever the hell I want!”

I couldn't help myself—I gasped at her curse word. “Language!” I admonished, but it only
made them laugh harder. I started to turn away but Isabelle's voice drew me back. I knew I
should just walk away but I for some reason I couldn't. I never could when other children made
fun of me. I always had to stand there and take it. I thought it made me a stronger a person, but I
think it just made me more brittle when the other shoe did eventually drop.

“I'll curse as bloody much as I want to,” Isabelle said, goading me further. “And you
can't do a thing to stop me.”

“Your parents would be ashamed of you,” I retorted, hoping the fear of authority would work on
her, as it always did with me.

“Why do you always go after the ruddy parents!” she exclaimed. She stared coldly at me for a
moment. “And you didn't answer my question.”

I huffed and shuffled on my feet, rearranging the thick book in my arms a little. All I wanted
to do was go home and start off the summer holiday by sitting in my favorite chair in our little
library and reading it.

“Well, what is it then?” I asked.

“She asked you what you were doing for the holiday, dumbarse,” Katherine spoke up, in a rare fit
of vocalization. Of course it happened to be one of the worst insults to me at the time, because I
considered myself anything but dumb. *Those* stupid bints were the dumb ones!

“That's none of your business, thank you very much!” I responded, loudly, as my anger was
finally overcoming my rationality. “And who are you calling dumb? Didn't you score the lowest
on the last few tests?”

It wasn't a good thing so say, I know, but I couldn't help myself. These spoiled girls
with their perfect shiny hair and beautiful smiles and their parents wrapped around their fingers
almost always managed to get the best of bushy-haired, bucktooth, bookish Hermione Granger. I never
used to think of myself in those terms, but years of constant goading through primary school were
not conducive to a good self-image.

Katherine grew red in the face and opened her mouth to say something else, but Isabelle cut her
off. “At least she has *friends*, Hermy. Unlike you—unless you count your books.”

I clenched my teeth against the profanity that wanted to escape. I would not give them the
satisfaction. But they'd finally gone too far. I knew that I had no friends; as a matter of
fact, I had resigned myself to a spinster fate at the ripe old age of seven, when I knew I had to
stop pretending the fairy tales were real and that Prince Charming would never ride in on his white
horse.

All I wanted to do was knock her down, put her skinny little arse on the pavement and then walk
away as if nothing had happened, but I wasn't a very physical person. For an eleven-year-old
girl I was actually rather small, and puberty had just, *just* barely grazed its fingertips
across my body.

Then it happened: *something* at least. It had happened several times before, all when I
was under duress like now, but I never had an explanation for it. It was like there was a blank
moment in my memory, when something unbelievable or unexplainable or downright *magical* would
occur. This time, it backfired a little, though. I knocked Isabelle back a step without moving a
muscle, but whatever force pushed her back recoiled back at me and *I* was the one on her
arse. The bruise there would gloat for the next several days, I was sure.

Their nonplussed looks soon turned to raucous peals of laughter, and eventually they turned
away, leaving little old me bum-rushed on the pavement by the front of our school.

“Have a horrible summer, Hermy!” Isabelle called over her shoulder, without looking back.

“We won't be looking forward to seeing you next year!” Katherine called out. She did look
back, and the look she gave me could have killed.

Speaking for the first time, Anna added to the deluge: “*Do* try and find some poor soul to
be your friend, won't you?”

“You should get a perm or something, Hermy; tame that frizzy mess of yours. Maybe think about
braces, too, you heard those boys calling you a beaver the other day…” Isabelle's voice trailed
off as the three girls rounded a corner. The silence that followed was deafening.

Hot sensations were swirling across my eyeballs as I stared up at nothing in particular from my
vantage point low on the ground. Their words hit home because I knew they were all true, and my
defeated self-confidence did nothing to argue the point. But there was no way I could cry out here
in the middle of the day, with everyone and—I looked around quickly—apparently no one to see me. I
sniffed once, to quell the sudden tide of emotion, and scrambled back to my feet. I rubbed the left
cheek of my bum absently as I readjusted the book in my right arm.

With the prickling sensations in my eyes growing stronger by the second, I turned tail and ran
as fast as my little legs would carry me the ten city blocks from the school to my house. I gave it
little thought then, but that day was the last time I saw Isabelle, Katherine, and Anna. No great
loss there.

I turned onto Hemmings Drive out of breath and sweaty, but I was almost there and I had made it
this far without crying, so I only had to make it a little further. I can't imagine what I
looked like—a tiny demon sprinting along the pavement with a rather large book tucked into her
arms. The edge of my skirt and my tie trailed behind me as I turned into Number Eighteen.

With nary a second glance at my modest-sized home, I raced up the drive and finally stopped in
front of my door, bent at the waist a little and panting. My bum ached from falling on the ground
and my heart ached from the loneliness. Sniffing again, I reached into my shirt pocket for the key,
pressed it into the door, and unlocked my house.

The door swung open on a nicely appointed foyer. My parents, Paul and Jane Granger, both
dentists, had acquired an understated sense of style over the years as they became more and more
financially secure, and one had to look closely to know that we were fairly well off. Our house was
by no means large, but it was comfortable, with the few extra rooms turned into a library, one
office for each of my parents, and an entertainment and gaming room.

I moved across the threshold, threw the key and my book on the table by the door, and ran down
the short hallway into the kitchen, expecting to see my mother. I stopped short when I saw that the
room was empty.

“Mummy?” I called out, vulnerability lacing my voice. No answer reached my ears. Curious, I
looked around for some kind of explanation for her absence, and eventually I saw the note on the
dining table. Sniffing, I walked over to it and picked it up. It said:

*Hermione dear*

*I was called into the office to perform emergency surgery that your father did not have the
time to do. I'm sorry—I know I promised you that we could go shopping at Leicester and
Piccadilly today, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. I should be home before dinner
time.*

*Love*

*Mum*

I read the note twice to make sure I understood it. Mum wasn't home and I couldn't cry
my eyes out to her sympathetic ears. In fact, I was just as alone as I had been in school all day,
and all year. I dropped slowly into one of the chairs around the table and watched as the note
fluttered from my hand onto the polished wood surface.

I swallowed thickly and quickly brought my hands, balled into fists, up to my eyes. That urge to
cry, or maybe scream, was back, so I ground my knuckles into my tightly closed eyes. It wasn't
working, though, and my breath hitched as the first tear leaked through my lids and under my
hands.

Why did everyone hate me? Why was it so hard for me to make friends? I considered myself a nice
person, but that didn't seem to matter. Instead of having any sort of friendship with any
children my age, I had driven them all away a long time ago. I couldn't understand why, and the
loneliness drew in on me like a suffocating blanket. My books and my knowledge were worthless if I
didn't have anyone to share them with or even appreciate them.

The kitchen soon filled with the wretched noises of my sobs as I cried my heart out for the
first time in months. I drew my legs up under me in the chair and rocked back and forth a little,
wincing each time the forming bruise on my bum pressed into it.

Then *something* happened, for the second time that day. I could barely see or hear because
of how strongly and loudly I was crying, but I did hear the unmistakable *crack* of the chair
breaking under me. I felt myself falling and then everything went dark.

---

“…ione?”

Ugh, why did my head hurt so much?

“Hermione?”

And what was that noise? Where was I? I tried to move but something held me firm against—the
ground? I seemed to be sprawled out on my back. So then I tried to open my eyes, but the blinding
white light that assaulted me as soon as I did so made me squeeze them shut again.

“Urrg…” I moaned, as consciousness hit me like a lorry.

“Hermione?” a frantic voice asked, and one fact penetrated my foggy brain: that was my
mother's voice.

“Mummy?” I asked. My voice was raspy.

“Yes, Hermione, it's me. What happened?” she asked. Her voice had calmed considerably once
she realized I could talk back to her.

I tried to sit up again, and the firm pressure holding me down abated. I opened my eyes as I
came to a sitting position. The kitchen slowly came into focus, as did my mum, still dressed in her
dentist's things and kneeling next to me with a very worried look on her face. The chair I had
been sitting in lay splintered at my side.

Everything came back to me at once, the things the girls had said to me, my sprint home, and my
discovery of the empty house, and I suddenly threw myself at my mother and started crying again.
She was quite surprised at first, most likely because I knocked her back onto her bum, but soon
enough her arms came up around my back and she began to whisper comforting things into my hair.

“Oh mummy, they all hate me so much!” I wailed, curling into a ball in her lap and resting my
head against her collarbone. She stroked my hair with one of her hands, hair that was so similar to
hers except for how out of control it was.

“Who does, sweetie?” she asked. If my father came in at that moment, I don't know what he
would have thought. I was in my mum's lap and we were both on the floor, right next to a chair
that looked like it had been hit with a sledgehammer.

“All the other kids,” I explained. “They call me horrible names and make fun of my hair and my
teeth and, and…” I trailed off, unable to go on, because of my sobs.

I don't think my mum knew what to say, because she was silent for quite awhile after that.
She just continued to stroke my hair and rub my back. After a few minutes, my crying quieted and I
snuggled into her.

“Do your dad and I need to go into school again and talk to your teachers and headmistress?” she
asked.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to believe that my parents could affect the change I wanted and
needed in my classmates, but some part of me new that was a futile gesture. They couldn't
change the attitudes of the other students and neither could the teachers; I was the only one that
could really do that. But I also knew that I'd been ostracized for years, and that wasn't
about to change, no matter what I did or who I talked to.

“I dunno, mummy,” I responded, sniffling. “I just…why do they all hate me?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, and I could hear emotion in her voice now. She squeezed me tighter to her
and we began to rock back and forth again. “They don't hate you. They just don't understand
you.”

“But why?” I persisted. “I'm no different than them.”

“But you *are*,” she corrected me. “You're smart and studious and wholesome, something
that most other kids probably haven't been brought up to think is special.”

“I'm not special,” I mumbled.

“Hermione Jane!” my mother exclaimed, leaning back slightly and raising my head so I had to look
at her. Her brown eyes, so similar to mine, shone with sadness and anger and frustration. “You most
certainly are! Don't you ever let anyone tell you different, do you hear me? You're very
special to your father and I and you will be a very special friend to someone who appreciates you
for what you are, not what they want you to be.”

“Ok,” I agreed, not really believing it. Who would ever want to be *my* friend?

“Now,” she started, switching gears effortlessly as only a parent could, “what happened here?”
She waved her hand toward the ruined chair.

“I-I'm not sure,” I answered, haltingly. What *had* happened? “I came home and when I
found out you weren't here, I guess I kind of lost it.” I sniffled and wiped the back of my
hand across my cheeks, trying to clear the evidence of my tears away.

“Lost it?” mum asked.

“All I remember is this loud *cracking* sound and then a falling sensation. Then you were
here.”

“Hmm,” she intoned, the well-oiled wheels in her amazing brain turning over my words. This of
course wasn't the first time strange things had happened around or to me, but it was definitely
the most violent. The chair would need to be replaced.

“Well, how do you feel now,” mum questioned.

I rubbed the back of my head. “My head hurts,” I told her. “And I'm bit a sleepy.”

“A sure sign that you hit your head. Do you feel nauseous at all, Hermione?”

“Not really.”

She breathed deeply; I felt her chest push against me and then recede as she exhaled. “Why
don't you lie down for an hour or two? I'll wake you when your father gets home for
dinner.”

“Ok…carry me?” I asked, looking into her eyes again. She pursed her lips briefly.

“Hermione, I think you're too old—”

“Please, mummy?” I pleaded.

“Oh, alright,” she huffed, though she was smiling. She rose to her feet, shifting me in her
arms, and then walked through the ground floor to the stairs, up them, and then into my room. She
pushed back the comforter with a hand and then laid me onto my soft mattress. She pulled the
blanket back over me smoothed it around my small form.

“Thanks,” I said, yawning.

“You're welcome, dear.” She caressed my hair again and leaned down to place a kiss on my
forehead.

“I love you, mummy,” I told her, snuggling further into my comfortable bed.

“I love you, too.” She turned away and walked toward the door. I followed her with my eyes,
ignoring the many bookshelves in my room for the moment. As she closed the door, she said, “Happy
summer, Hermione.” Summer, yes, but happiness? Hardly. Sleep came quickly.

---

Weeks passed with little change to my situation. With no friends to play with, I stayed at home
and dove into my considerable store of books. Day after day and week after week, my routine was the
same: get up, eat breakfast, read, eat lunch, read, eat dinner with my parents, and read until
bedtime. I rarely went outside and my mother commented on my paleness because of it. I shrugged my
shoulders and continued reading whatever book had piqued my interest at the time.

June rolled into July. The weather grew hot and stifling, but I was never outside so it
didn't bother me. With each passing day, I was dreading returning to school and facing my
classmates again, because the lovely solitude of the summer would then be over, and I would be
subjected to their torments once again.

Several times I tried to work out some way to change the way people perceived me, but that would
mean changing the things that made me happy—reading, doing well with my academics, and making sure
the teachers knew how much I knew. One time I even considered running away, but that didn't
last more than five minutes. I had basically no money of my own and I was only a scared
eleven-year-old girl.

Late in July, on a particularly electric night—one of those where thunder and lightning came
without rain—I had just finished dinner with my parents and was heading back toward the living
room, when I heard:

“Paul, what are we going to do about her?” My mum had asked the question. I stopped, backtracked
silently, and listened near the kitchen door. The water started running in the sink because they
were washing the dishes.

“What do you mean?” my father responded, with a question of his own. He might not have known it
right away, but I knew she was talking about me.

“Hermione,” she clarified. “What are we going to do about Hermione?”

“Do about *what*?”

“Her state of mind!” my mum said, raising her voice. When she spoke again, it was hushed.
“She's friendless and thinks that it's her own fault, and it's killing her inside.”

“Do we need to go into her school again?” Despite the fact that I was eavesdropping on my
parents, and they were talking about me, I had to stifle a short burst of laughter. My mom had
asked me the same thing the day school let out.

“I don't know, she doesn't want us to, and I don't think it would do much good,
anyway. What we say won't influence the other children in her class.”

“Well,” my father said, “what *can* we do?”

“I don't know, Paul. I just don't know.” The water running in the sink and dishes being
scrubbed were the only noises in the kitchen for several moments. “You've seen her this summer.
All she does is sit in the house and read. I have nothing against reading, at all, but that
isn't healthy for her. She should be outside enjoying the nice weather. She should be out there
playing with her friends and getting into all sorts of trouble.”

“Hermione never gets into trouble,” dad said.

“Yeah, I know, and isn't that part of the problem?”

“How so?”

“When was the last time we had to punish her for anything? When has she ever willingly broken a
rule?”

“Uh, I don't know…” he said, sounding bewildered. “That's a problem?”

Mum gave a sigh of exasperation. “No, Paul! That's not a *problem*! It's just that
she's such an old soul in a little girl's body. She hasn't enjoyed her childhood at all
and I'm afraid one day she's going to realize she missed out on it.”

Dad heaved a great sigh. “You're right, of course. You're always right. So the question
is what do we do about it?”

“I'm not sure,” she answered. “I was hoping you'd have some ideas.” The water turned off
and I heard them start to load the dishes into the washer.

“Hmm… To start with we could take her to more often to entertaining things, like movies or theme
parks or anything like that…”

“Maybe,” mum answered. I wouldn't mind doing more things like that, but I didn't think
they'd be very fun without other children to do them with. Who wanted to hang out all day with
just their parents?

“That wouldn't really solve the problem, though,” she added. “Hermione needs to connect with
other kids her age, not do things with us all the time.”

“What about—” my dad started, but I never did find out what he was going to say.

*Hooo hooo*.

What was that noise? It sounded like, well frankly it sounded like an owl, but what was one
doing in the middle of London and, it sounded like, our kitchen.

“Why the ruddy hell did that owl fly in through the window?” Dad asked, clearly surprised. He
almost never cursed. “And what is that attached to its leg?”

More noises signaled movement, and I backed away from the door toward the living room lest I be
caught listening in on their conversation about me. As I turned the corner into the comfortable
room, and as my curiosity about the owl peaked, a shout drew my attention.

“Hermione! Come to the kitchen!” It was my father. I raced back out of the room, down the hall,
and through the door into the kitchen. There were my mother and father—he still had a dishrag
thrown over his shoulder—standing next to the dinner table, where a big, brown owl looked balefully
at them. As soon as I entered the room, the owl focused on me, spread its wings, and soared over to
the counter next to me. I jumped back, startled.

*Hooo hooo*.

After hooting at me and blinking once or twice, it raised its leg toward me. Tied to it was a
thick envelope made of what appeared to be yellowed parchment. I looked toward my mother and
father, who were just as surprised as I was, and raised my hand in a question.

“Go on, take it,” mum said. “The envelope is addressed to you.”

I looked back at the owl. I had no idea what was going on. I had never heard of owls carrying
post before, so this was a completely new experience for me. I ran my hands through my thick brown
hair nervously and then tentatively reached out a hand to take the envelope. The owl stood stock
still as I undid the string holding it to its leg. As soon as it was detached, the bird gave
another loud *hooo*, spread its wings, and then zoomed out of the open window it had evidently
come in. The ensuing quiet was broken only by a distant rumble of thunder.

I looked down at the envelope in my hands, heart speeding up mightily for some reason. This side
was blank, so I turned it over. There, in emerald green ink, was written:

*Miss H. Granger*

*Kitchen*

*18 Hemmings Drive*

*West London*

I looked up at my parents again. “What is this?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” mum answered, and dad nodded in agreement. “Why don't you go ahead and
open it so we can find out.”

“A-alright,” I said, still wondering why an owl delivered this heavy envelope that was so
exactly addressed to me. I slid my thumb underneath the heavy wax seal I hadn't noticed before,
and now I wondered how: it was purple and had a coat of arms bearing an *H* surrounded by a
lion, a badger, a snake, and an eagle. After getting the thing opened, I pulled out two folded
pieces of the same thick parchment the envelope was made of.

I unfolded the first piece and my eyes bugged out at the first two lines, which were written in
large bold letters and underlined with a wavy line.

“What? What does it say?” dad asked, probably noticing my reaction.

Shakily, I began to read aloud what the letter said: “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry—”

“School of *what?*” my mum cut across me, disbelief clearly evident in her voice. Before I
had a chance to repeat what I'd said, though, we were interrupted again by a several loud
*donging* noises.

Someone was ringing the doorbell.

-->



3. Chapter Two
--------------



Chapter Two

Summer 1991

Now who could *that* be? It was late in the evening and we rarely, if ever, had visitors at
our home. I looked down at the odd heading of the letter again and then back to my parents. They
were glancing between each other and the door.

“Just a minute!” mum called out, and walked toward me. She reached for the letter and I gave it
to her; her eyes swept across the heading and narrowed, which was never a good sign, and then
beckoned my father and me to follow her toward the door. Wheeling around to keep up with her quick
pace, I tailed her from the kitchen and down the hall. Dad was right behind me.

The door bell rang again just as my mom reached the door. She paused as the clear, resonant bell
noises reverberated around the foyer, and then reached for the door handle. Through the frosted
glass in the door I could see an odd triangular shape.

“There was no need to ring again—” mum started, but cut off when she saw who was standing at the
door. I couldn't blame her, because the person—woman, actually—was dressed most oddly.

The mystery woman was tall, and the triangular thing through the door was a large, pointed hat
atop her thick black hair. She wore what looked like some kind of antique dress or formal gown,
which she had closed rather severely at the neck. Both the hat and the robe were emerald green.

“Mrs. Granger?” the lady asked, looking at my mother. I saw her eyes cut to me for a second, and
I could have sworn the briefest of smiles hit her lips.

“Yes,” my mother said, somewhere between a statement and a question.

“And you must be Hermione Granger,” she said, looking past mum. “Mr. Granger,” she nodded.

“And you are?” mum queried.

“Oh, of course,” she said. “My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am here on behalf of Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” She indicated the letter in mum's hands.

“So *you* can explain this,” mum said, waving the parchment in McGonagall's face.

“Yes, yes, all in due time,” came the response. “May I come in for a little while?”

Mum stepped back, clearly surprised at what I knew she thought was the presumption of this
strange lady, but McGonagall must have taken it as an invitation inside. She crossed the threshold
and closed the door behind her.

“What did you say your name was?” Dad asked, still behind me. I glanced at him and saw a wary
look on his face.

“Minerva McGonagall,” she said again. “I am Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and I teach
Transfiguration.” I had no idea what this woman was talking about, but I was enthralled by the way
she carried herself. She seemed to have no clue how odd she looked, and even now she was moving
into our living room. We followed her, of course, my mum still leading the way.

“I know you all must be very confused at the moment, but I think a simple explanation will
illuminate much to you.” She sat down in an arm chair. Mum, dad, and I just stood there, staring at
her. She motioned toward the couch. I looked up, crooked an eyebrow at them, and then took my seat
in the middle of the couch. Mum and dad sat on either side of me.

“Have you read the full letter yet?” McGonagall asked. I shook my head. “Well then, why
don't we let Hermione read it aloud to us?”

Taking the letter from my mother, I asked, “How do you know my name, Ms. McGonagall?”

She gave me an enigmatic smile. “All in due time, Hermione. Please just read the letter.” So,
taking a deep breath, I did so:

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin,
First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of
Wizards.” Whoever this Dumbledore bloke was, he sounded like a very important person.

“Dear Ms. Granger, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term
begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

“Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.” There was another parchment and I
started to switch it to the front, but McGonagall held up her hand.

“That will be fine for now. The other sheet is a list of items you will need to purchase before
term begins, should you choose to attend Hogwarts. And I *do* hope you attend, Hermione,” she
said, speaking directly to me, “because there can never be enough Muggleborns at Hogwarts.”

I was so bewildered that I did not even know how to begin, let alone respond to her, and I think
my parents felt much the same way. A loaded silence fell across the living room for at least twenty
seconds.

“Muggleborns?” I asked. “Hogwarts?”

McGonagall gave me that odd smile again. “Let me ask you this, Hermione, and you, Mr. and Mrs.
Granger: have you ever noticed anything unexplainable happen around here?”

“Like…what do you mean?” dad asked.

“For instance, has anything exceedingly strange ever occurred when Hermione's been angry or
sad or very happy?” she asked him.

“Well, now that you—” dad started, but I cut him off. I didn't like people talking about me
like I wasn't in the room. And besides, I was intellectually stimulated by the direction this
conversation was taking.


“Yes,” I said. “All the time. Especially in the last two years or so.” And it was no lie, because
*something* always seemed to happen when I couldn't control my emotions. Perhaps this
strange lady in her green dress could clue me in as to what happened to me during those moments,
when it almost felt like some force was present inside of me.

“And have you ever tried to figure out exactly what was causing these things to happen?”
McGonagall prodded further. She was looking directly at me, and I knew my parents were too, but I
answered her.

“Once or twice, but I've never been able to rationalize it.”

McGonagall chuckled just a bit. “That is because, Hermione, you cannot `rationalize' it.
Muggles—that is, your parents—have no knowledge of what causes your outbursts, so therefore you
cannot be expected to comprehend what lies within you right now.”

“`Muggles?'” mum asked, sounding slightly affronted at being called something she didn't
understand.

“People without magic,” McGonagall explained, uncovering the knowledge, finally, that would
change my life forever. Another silence settled over the living room.

“*Magic*?” my dad eventually asked, disbelief and incredulity and several other things
underlying his question. “Magic?” he asked again, softer.

“Yes, Mr. Granger—*magic*.” McGonagall waved at the letter in my hands. “The letterhead
says `Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'; so, naturally, Hermione is a witch.”

“A *what*?” mum shrieked, either mishearing McGonagall—she might have been thinking
`bitch'—or too completely confused to let her rational and more powerful side control her.

“A witch,” McGonagall restated, calmly, and although most of my mind was spinning around that
five-letter word, a tiny part knew what she was saying made sense. There were things that had no
sane explanation in my life, and perhaps *magic* was the key to everything.

“Now, what could you possibly—” dad began.

“Honestly, I've never been so insulted—” mum said, at the same time.

But I was watching McGonagall as she drew a small stick from a pocket in her green robe and
pointed it at me. I had a half second to be vaguely afraid.

“*Accio* parchment,” she said, calmly still, and I watched, amazed, as some unseen force
ripped the letter from my hands. It sailed across the room and landed in her lap. Mum and dad
stopped in midsentence, mouths wide open, staring at the letter.

“*How* did you do that?” I asked. That tiny part that had already acknowledged magic was
growing by the second.

“Magic,” McGonagall replied, restating that word. “It's a summoning spell, designed to draw
almost anything toward the body.”

“Wha-what?” dad asked.

“I can perform magic, Mr. Granger.” And then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Just like
your daughter can.”

“I can't do anything like *that*,” I said, a little breathless. My parents had finally
been shocked into total silence.

“Not yet, no,” McGonagall said, now smiling openly at me. It was the most open I would see her
face for a very long time. “But in due time, you will.”

“I've only…” I started, struggling with a way to describe it. “I can only make things happen
at random—like, sometimes it's felt like there's this *force* inside of me trying to
get out. But it only ever does when I'm angry or sad or really happy.”

“Hermione?” mum asked, but I wasn't listening. I was looking inside of myself.

“I don't know how to explain it, but I think some part of me always knew I was different,
because I've always been waiting for something like this to happen, I think.”

“Hermione, what—?”

“Maybe that's why I've never been able to get along with anyone at school,” I continued.
“Maybe because I knew that I didn't fit in with them. Now I know that I don't belong with
them.”

I looked up finally, and was surprised to find all three adults frowning at me. What had I
said?

“What?”

“Hermione, do you really believe that?” mum asked. “That you've never fit in at school
because you're different somehow?”

“Well, yes,” I answered. That is what I had just said.

“Ms. Granger, while I do admire your analytical skills, I must correct one of your assumptions
right now. Magic does not make you fundamentally different than those without it; after all, you
are still a human being. It allows you to explore another side of yourself that Muggles will never
have the chance to,” McGonagall told me.

“Wait a second,” Dad said, looking at her. “What is all this shite about magic and what was that
parlor trick you just pulled?” He was obviously agitated.

“I can assure you, Mr. Granger, it was no parlor trick. What I did is real, genuine magic.”

Dad still looked mighty dubious, and mum didn't look much surer. McGonagall did not seem
fazed, though, and I began to wonder how many times she had done this in the past. She was
obviously getting on in years, though she still looked very good. How many other parents had she
had to convince of the existence of magic?

And it was just then that I realized I was convinced, and I wondered at how little it actually
took, but I just attributed it to my yearning for something to set me apart from all the stupid
kids that had ostracized me all of my life. Finally, there was a reason for me to be different,
instead of just *being* different.

“Then do something else, please,” mum eventually said.

McGonagall smiled and brandished her stick once again, this time at the unoccupied armchair.
“*Accio* pillow,” she said, and sure enough, the pillow flew across the room and landed in her
lap.

“This is just unbelievable,” mum breathed. Dad didn't look like he could say anything.

“It is,” McGonagall agreed, “but there is no denying the fact that Hermione here is magical. Her
name has been down for Hogwarts since birth.”

“Then why are we just finding out about this now?” mum asked. Her voice had a resigned quality
to it.

I noticed McGonagall frown again. “The powers that be within the Wizarding world deemed it
unnecessary to inform Muggleborn students of their magical affinity until the time for them to
attend Hogwarts arrived. I have long disagreed with this practice, but alas, I am just a professor.
I have no power in the Wizarding government.”

Dad was rubbing his temples. “There's a Wizarding government?” he asked.

“Of course. There's a Wizarding counterpart for just about every Muggle entity you're
familiar with, though of necessity there are some differences. But, I am not here today to get into
a discourse about the Wizarding world. I am here to ascertain whether or not Hermione will be
attending Hogwarts.”

I thought about it for less than one second. I would *not* be going back to my school. “I
am.”

Mum looked sharply at me. “Hermione—!”

“Well, why wouldn't I be?” I asked, voice rising a little.

“We don't know anything about this place—”

“What's there to know? I belong there, so I am going!”

“Hermione!” my dad boomed, and silence fell across the room. I was looking angrily back and
forth between mum and dad. McGonagall seemed to be coolly observing all of this. “Please do not
interrupt your mother like that.” He paused, then: “We are not saying that you will not be going to
this Hogwarts place, but we do not know anything about it. You cannot just make a decision like
that.”

“Hmmph,” I said. I crossed my arm and slouched a little.

“So Hogwarts is a school?” dad asked. His voice was cool and rational and he seemed to have
returned to some semblance of normalcy before my mother.

“Yes, Mr. Granger. It is a school in northern Scotland, in the Highlands, where magical children
go for seven years.”

“So, it is more of a boarding school then?”

She nodded. “Students are allowed to return home for the Christmas holidays—between the fall and
winter terms—and then again between the winter and spring terms. Most students choose to remain at
school during the latter, however.”

“How long is the school year?”

“Fall term starts on September 1. Spring terms usually ends during the second week of June.”

Dad didn't ask another question, and mum did instead. “Why should we believe any of
this?”

“Mrs. Granger, I do not expect you to be completely accepting right away or ever, but there is
little more proof I can offer you without breaking rules of secrecy in our world. If you are
willing, you will have to go Diagon Alley—the three of you, preferably—and it is there that you
will begin to understand that I have been truthful all along.”

“Diagonally? What?” mum asked. I was confused myself.

“Diagon *Alley*,” McGonagall said again. “It is the center of Wizarding commerce, located
actually not too far from here.”

“It's in the middle of London, and we've never heard of it or seen it before?” dad
asked.

“Why yes, of course. All magical institutions are hidden from Muggles.”

“Why?” I queried. This had been bothering me ever since McGonagall had said my name had been in
some book since birth. If somewhere out there someone had known I was different all my life, why
had they never been able to tell me before? And she had said that she could not reveal more magic
to us for fear of breaking secrecy laws. It all seemed very weird.

“Well, how much do you know of American history?”

“Eh, some,” I said.

“Have you ever heard of the Salem Witch Trials?”

“Yes. There was a conspiracy in the early 1600's I think involving witchcraft and the young
women of Salem, and many were burned alive. But I thought that it was all a big hoax?”

“That's what the Muggle history books will lead you to believe,” McGonagall informed us.
“However, it was not a hoax. Petty jealousy from young women who were Muggles caused them to turn
on their magical friends, and that resulted in many of the witches being put to death.

“Even before Salem, though, tensions between magical and non-magical humans had been escalating.
Muggles feared and envied the power of their magical counterparts, and magical men and women began
to believe that Muggles were inferior. After the Salem incident, though, nothing could be done to
resolve those tensions, and so the International Statue of Secrecy was passed, and ever since, the
magical world has not existed for Muggles.”

“That's…awful,” I said.

“It is,” McGonagall said, her voice as grave as it had been since she'd walked into our
house. “One of things that the Headmaster—that's the Albus Dumbledore in the letter—and I have
been working on for years and years is improved relations with Muggles. If we had been more
successful, you might have learned of your magical abilities long before now.”

“You're not exactly painting a good picture of this world we're supposed to be sending
our daughter off to for nine months out of the year,” mum cut in.

McGonagall shrugged. “That is because nothing is perfect, Mrs. Granger. Your world has just as
many problems—or more, even—than the magical one. We just learn to deal with things as best as we
can.”

“Where is this Diagon Alley place?” I wondered.

“It's off of Charing Cross Road, through a small tavern called The Leaky Cauldron. Muggles
cannot see The Leaky Cauldron, but you will be able to, Hermione. Once inside, just ask Tom the
bartender to show you to Diagon Alley, and he will happily help you.”

“Ok.”

It seemed that all of us had run out of things to say, at least for the moment. I noticed my mum
and dad looking strangely at each other, and I wondered what could possibly be going through their
heads. Did they believe any of this? Was I a fool to?

“It is getting late,” McGonagall finally said. “I have several more families to visit before
this day is over. I do not need a response at this very moment, but in the next several days I will
require one.”

“This is all too strange…” dad mused.

“Why don't we at least go to Diagon Alley?” I pleaded, looking back and forth between
them.

“I suggest the very same,” McGonagall agreed, standing and smoothing her green robe. “Keep an
open mind at least long enough to see some of what the magical world has to offer.” She strode
around the coffee table to me and handed the letter back. “The second parchment lists everything
you will need for your first year at Hogwarts.” My parents stood as well. McGonagall reached out to
shake hands with them, and they hesitantly did so.

“Either way you decide, there are owls for rent in Diagon Alley. I would appreciate hearing your
decision, whatever it may be,” McGonagall said, addressing my parents. We were walking toward the
door. She gripped the door handle and pulled it open; standing in the doorway, she turned and
looked at me. “For your sake, Hermione, I hope you choose to attend Hogwarts. It will change your
life in ways you cannot even imagine.”

She turned then and walked out into the night, the door swinging shut behind her.

---

Two uncomfortable days passed in my house. I tried to talk to my parents about all that
McGonagall had said, but they seemed to want to avoid it altogether. They did not seem angry, but
they were by no means happy at what had occurred. Objectively, I could understand them not wanting
to send their daughter off to some school they knew nothing about for so long a time, into a world
they still didn't completely believe existed, but that did not matter to me. This was an
unbelievable opportunity for me in ways that I did not even begin to understand, and if they
somehow tried to stymie me I would do everything within my considerable intellect to overcome
that.

Finally, on the third day, I was determined to confront them about going to Diagon Alley,
because the July 31st deadline for responding was coming very near. I found them both
sitting in the living room early that day.

“Mum, dad,” I said, “If you're not going to take me to Diagon Alley, I'm going to go
myself.”

“Excuse me?” dad asked, shutting off the television. Mum just looked up from her book.

“You're both avoiding this entire thing, and I don't want to anymore!”

“You really want to go to this Diagon Alley place? You're sure it exists, then?”

I gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, not completely sure, but there's only one to find out,
isn't there?”

“Hermione, if we go, you cannot be too disappointed if it is not there,” mum said, softly.

My parents could be just as stubborn as I. “Why would that lady, McGonagall, go through so much
trouble just to have us all on? *That* wouldn't make sense, more than what she told
us.”

Mum shrugged. “I just don't want you to be too upset if it all turns out to be false.”

“Ok, I won't be,” I affirmed, not believing it for a second. If all of this was in fact some
kind of giant hoax, I don't know what I would do. This was my chance to start over, to begin
again at a new school with new people where they wouldn't know me for the insufferable
know-it-all everyone at my current school knew me as. I might even be able to make a real
*friend* at this new place. And, to top it all off, there was this idea of magic to wrap my
brain around. I was excited just thinking about it all.

“Then I guess we should get going,” dad said, standing. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes, and
don't forget that list,” he told me, though the disbelief was still evident in his voice. I
grinned at them and turned on the spot, racing out of the room and up the stairs. Diagon Alley was
the start of a whole new world just waiting for me to discover it.

-->



4. Chapter Three
----------------



Chapter Three

Summer 1991

Just after my eighth birthday, I saw something I did not fully understand. After Physical
Education class one day, I went into the changing room to retrieve some personal items I'd left
in a locker. The room was not empty, however; there were girls much older than I, probably fifteen
or sixteen, getting ready for their own class. Many of them were in varying states of undress, and
it was something that I had never encountered before.

I knew that my mother had breasts, and that I would eventually have them, but that didn't
mean I knew what they actually looked like, how rounded they were and how large the nipples seemed
to be. But that wasn't all: these girls had hair between their legs, which was a completely
foreign concept to me. Standing there dumbfounded for several seconds, I noticed that several of
the girls *didn't* have hair there, and what I saw looked a little different than what
I'd seen between my own legs. After that, I had quickly picked up my belongings and left the
changing area.

I had wanted to ask my mom questions about what I'd seen, but I was just a little too
embarrassed at the time to bring those issues to her. So instead, I attacked the bookshelves in our
house looking for the answers. Since my parents are dentists, medical textbooks were not hard to
come by, and soon enough, I found three human physiology books that held all the answers I could
ever want.

After reading for hours on the subjects of puberty, menstruation, sexual intercourse, and
childbirth, I realized that I had been ignorant of so much involving my own body. So that very day
I sat myself down in front of the full-length mirror in my parents' bedroom, after removing my
clothes, and inspected something I had never looked at too closely. I can only imagine what that
must have looked like—an eight year old sitting on the floor, legs spread, viewing herself in a
mirror.

All of that information served me well the day of my Diagon Alley trip, because when I reached
my room to change into lighter clothing, something on the outside of my knickers stopped me in my
tracks. I bent over myself to get a better look, and eventually I realized it was a red blotch.

An instant of panic washed over me, and I almost called out to my mum, but it passed as my
rational side took over. I closed my bedroom door and stripped down to just my knickers. I paid no
heed to my still-flat chest; instead, I carefully removed my knickers and confirmed that the red
blotch was indeed blood.

Vaguely, I realized that something significant had happened to me. `Menarche' wasn't a
term I would know until much later, but the fact that the event had happened was enough to impart
some sense of womanhood on me, and although I was a little embarrassed I was also proud. Conscious
of my parents' desire to leave within ten minutes, I slipped my clothes back on quickly and
exited my room. I took a sanitary napkin from the main bathroom and went back to my room.

After spending a minute or so working out the logistics, I was redressed and the bloody knickers
were in the hamper. It was a little weird, having something extra between my skin and my knickers,
but it was not uncomfortable. I had read that menstruation was painful for some women, but I had
not even known it was happening until I had seen the blood. So far, so good. I decided that I would
tell my mum *after* we got back from Diagon Alley—I was sure it existed—so as to not distract
them further from discovering what I knew to be true.

“Hermione, are you ready?” dad called up the stairs.

“Yeah, I'll be right down!” I yelled back, and then did a sort of pirouette to make sure
everything was in order. Twenty seconds later, I met my parents at the front door. They were
dressed in light summer clothing as well.

“This Leaky Cauldron place was where?” mum asked, as we exited the front door.

“Charing Cross,” I said. We piled into the car. “I think McGonagall said I would be the only one
able to see it.” Even though I was sitting in the back seat, I saw a look pass between my parents
in the rear view mirror. It was almost like they weren't even trying to believe, or they
didn't want to. I said nothing more and just stared out the window.

Not long thereafter, we reached Charing Cross, and dad found a car park for the auto. It was a
steep toll, but he paid it without a word; I didn't feel bad at all. When we reached the
pavement, we looked in both directions for several moments.

“Which way?” dad asked, archly.

“I dunno,” I said. “Why don't we just walk and try to find it?” He shrugged and, with
another sidelong look at mum, started off to the left. Mum and I followed behind him a short
distance.

“If you're only able to see it, pay attention,” mum said. I didn't even bother saying
that I was paying the closest attention to anything I ever had in my life. In fact, at some point I
stopped heeding my parents altogether, because I was singularly focused on the unseen mythical
entrance to another world.

For several minutes, we walked along the pavement in one direction, until we came to the end of
what ostensibly is the commercial and commuter district. Dad stopped and turned around, raising his
eyebrows at us. I hadn't seen anything on this side of the road out of place, so I shrugged and
indicated that we should cross the road and try the other side. He said nothing and we followed him
across to the other pavement.

Time dragged on as we strolled by more and more shops and bistros that, on any other day, may
have been interesting, but as each passed on *this* day, my frustration began to mount. Surely
I hadn't been too sure about this Leaky Cauldron?

Right about then was when I noticed something odd—a man dressed in similar fashion to
McGonagall, though without the triangular hat, stopped about twenty meters in fronts of us, looked
around quickly, and walked directly into what appeared like a wall. I stopped for a moment,
bewildered at what I had just seen. Where had the man come from? Why hadn't I seen him before
that instant? And where had he just gone?

Dad and mum stopped and looked at me. “What?” they asked.

“Did you see that?”

They looked around for a moment. “See what?”

“That…that man, in front of us? He just kind of disappeared.” I swept my thick curls out of my
face to get a better look.

Mum shrugged. “No, Hermione. I don't think we have any idea what you're talking
about.”

I pursed my lips and strode forward. It looked like I would have to do the leading, today at
least. “Follow me,” I said, unconscious of the curt way I addressed my parents, and uncaring of
their slightly put-off faces. As I approached the location where the man had simply walked out of
existence, a curious thing happened. All those around me, even my parents, seemed to avoid the spot
where I was standing. I looked back at mum and dad, and they were looking in the opposite
direction, almost as if they had forgotten what they were doing.

“Mum! Dad!” I called, and they turned back to me, with stunned looks on their faces. They shook
their heads briefly and continued toward me. I turned my attention to the brick wall, and to my
surprise it was not a wall at all, but a small doorway with the words “The Leaky Cauldron” crudely
painted above the frame. It appeared to be located directly between a big book shop and a record
shop.

“What are you looking at?” mum asked, and I looked back at them. They were staring at the door,
very confusedly, almost as if they couldn't see it…

“The door to the Leaky Cauldron,” I said, and suddenly realized, with a jolt that could only
have been magic—or was it something else?—through my veins that, in my confusion, I had not
realized I just confirmed the Leaky Cauldron's existence. Here it was, right in front of my
eyes.

“You mean this brick wall?” dad asked, motioning with his hand toward the door.

“Uh…you can't see the door?” I asked. What was going on here?

“No…”

I frowned and faced it fully once again, furrowing my brow in thought. McGonagall *had*
said only I would be able to find it, but I had assumed once I had, my parents would have been able
to see it, too. How else could they go through the door? Surely they weren't expected to walk
straight through what appeared as a solid wall. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I
reached for the doorknob. As soon as my fingers closed around the warm metal, I heard a noise and
looked around at my parents. Mum was staring wide-eyed at the door/wall and dad had his eyebrows
raised again.

“Wh-where did *that* come from?” she asked, looking from dad to me.

“You mean the door?” She nodded. “It was here all along.”

“But it just popped out!”

“You couldn't see it, mum,” I explained, as patiently as I could. Truth be told, I was
getting antsy. The Leaky Cauldron existed and so must Diagon Alley…and everything McGonagall had
been talking about. “Remember what McGonagall said? Only I would be able to find it; but now that I
have my hand on the door, it makes sense you would be able to. Let's go inside and have a look
around.”

Before they could protest or say anything further, I opened the door and stepped inside. Charing
Cross hushed immediately behind me, as if I had walked through some thick, soundproof glass. I
barely noticed my parents crowding through the doorway behind me.

Whatever I had been expecting, the rather drab and unremarkable bar was quite underwhelming. It
was nearly empty, with only three patrons spread across the booths, one at the tables, and short,
hunch-backed, bald man behind the counter. No one except the bartender looked up at our
entrance.

“Can I help you?” he asked, eyeing us strangely for some reason. But it hit me soon enough that
it had to be our appearance, because we were dressed dissimilar to the four others in the room.

Since my apparently speechless parents were no use, I said, “How do we get to Diagon Alley?”

A look of comprehension passed over the bartender's face and he shuffled out from behind the
counter. His face crinkled into a warm, benevolent smile and he beckoned us toward the back of the
room.

“Starting at Hogwarts this year?” he asked.

“Yes; how did you know?” I responded with a question of my own, surprised at the man's
insight.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. “It's not hard to distinguish the new
Muggleborns that come through here every year. You all ask the same thing: `where is Diagon
Alley?'”

“Oh,” I responded, looking around once to make sure my parents were still with me. We came to a
shallow, walled courtyard through the back door of the pub and the man turned toward us.

“Pardon me for forgetting, but my name is Tom. I own and keep the Leaky Cauldron.” He stuck out
his hand.

“Hermione Granger,” I responded, taking his hand and shaking it a few times. There was something
about this man, no matter how old and hunched he appeared, which charmed me. I turned to my parents
and raised my eyebrows.

“Ah,” my dad started, holding out his hand. “Of course. I'm Paul Granger, Hermione's
father.”

“And I'm Jane, her mother.” After pleasantries and handshakes had sufficiently passed, Tom
turned once again to me.

“Now, watch closely Hermione—beautiful name, by the way—because each time you come to Diagon,
until you can Apparate, you will have to enter through this wall here.” I ignored the unfamiliar
word, sure that I would encounter it again when I could focus on it, and watched what Tom did to
the wall. It turned out to be uncomplicated, really, just three taps on a certain brick. I suppose
the hard part is remembering where the brick is.

But then I was simply mesmerized by how, brick by brick, the wall seemed to split down the
middle and widen into a tall archway. I heard my parents gasp again, at what I assumed was a
display of magic, and stared through the archway. Therein lay a cobbled street, twisting out of
sight around a building. A second archway had the words “Diagon Alley” artfully etched across its
curve.

“Welcome,” Tom said, “to Diagon Alley.”

I took a step forward, one foot through the arch and the other still in the courtyard, and
stopped. I looked back at mum and dad, expecting them to say something, but they did not. So I
stepped through into the other world. Tom, smiling, shooed my parents on through behind me.

As we watched the wall reassemble itself, Tom said, “Good luck!”

“Now do you believe?” I asked, and I knew I sounded petulant, but that did not matter to me just
then. They had not wanted to believe, but they had seen with their own eyes things that were
supposed to be impossible. Even they couldn't explain it away.

Mum tilted her head to the side, staring at something, and then kneeled in front of me. She
looked into my eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward to embrace me.

“Yes, Hermione,” she whispered, and when she let go of me, I saw a few tears on her cheeks.

“Mum, don't cry!” I exclaimed, alarmed, but she was smiling.

“It's ok, honey. Don't mind me,” she reassured, and stood up.

Instead of kneeling in front of me, dad just picked me up. His arms were strong and comfortable,
and it had been a long time since he'd done this. I was too old now. But here I was, settled
into his arms once again.

“I'm…sorry for ever doubting you, baby,” he said, and lightly embraced me. I could not keep
the winning smile from spreading across my features. My parents were stubborn, but even they knew
when they were beat. And now they were accepting it all very well.

He set me down and I looked once again down the cobbled road that twisted out of sight. I set my
shoulders and started walking, hearing my parents following a step behind. As we came close to the
curve, I could hear the sounds of activity beyond—voices, squawks, rattles, swishes and everything
else associated with a large number of people; when I rounded the corner, I stopped once again as
the new and wonderful images cascaded into my brain.

There were people—witches and wizards, I guess—everywhere, some dressed more like us though most
were dressed like the other magical people I'd seen. They were talking in the middle of the
wide cobbled street (Diagon Alley wasn't much of an alley, really), bustling from shop to shop,
haggling over prices, and some were even performing what looked like magic. It was hard to process
all of this at once; there was just so much going on and I only had two eyes with which to see it
all.

And the shops! There were so many of them, from items I recognized like clothing, telescopes,
and writing utensils, and many others I didn't. Suddenly, there was crash nearby and then a
tinkling of glass; I looked over there and saw that a young woman had dropped a glass container and
whatever had been inside was now smoking on the street.

“Aw, bloody `ell!” she exclaimed, obviously frustrated with herself. Then she took out that
stick thing, which upon further observation I noticed many of the people had in their hands, and
pointed it at the mess.

“*Evanesco*,” she said, and the smoking liquid disappeared. “*Reparo*,” she continued,
and the glass pieces flew back into a solid container, just like that. I widened my eyes: would
*I* be able to do that some day?

“Wow,” mum said. She had just watched the same thing.

“Yeah,” dad agreed. “Anyways,” he said, turning to me, “we came here for supplies, so why
don't you read us what you need from the list?”

I tore my eyes away from the sights of the Alley and nodded, digging in my pocket for the folded
pieces of parchment. I went to the second page and began reading: “Uniform. First-year students
will require: 1. Three sets of plain work robes (black), 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day
wear, 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar), 4. One winter cloak (black, silver
fastenings). Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

“Course books. All students should have a copy of each of the following: *The Standard Book of
Spells (Grade 1)* by Miranda Goshawk; *A History of Magic* by Bathilda Bagshot; *Magical
Theory* by Adalbert Waffling; *A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration* by Emeric Switch;
*One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi* by Phyllida Spore; *Magical Drafts and Potions* by
Arsenius Jigger; *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* by Newt Scamander; and *The Dark
Forces; A Guide to Self-Protection* by Quentin Trimble.

“Other equipment. 1 wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), 1 set glass or crystal phials, 1
telescope, 1 set brass scales. Students may also bring an owl *or* a cat *or* a toad.
Parents are reminded that first-years are not allowed their own broomsticks.”

“Right…” dad said, and we all were trying to process all of these items, some of which were
unfamiliar. Broomsticks? Toads?

“The…cauldron…shop, I guess, is right over here,” mum said, pointing to a storefront where
stacks of cauldrons sparkled in the sunlight. The sign detailed just how many different types of
cauldrons there were, though my list said I only needed pewter.

We entered the shop and immediately the shopkeeper moved toward us. Somehow, in every shop we
went into that day, the proprietor's seemed to sense this would be my first year at Hogwarts.
Most were very helpful, but one or two seemed oddly distant, as if they were detached from
everything. I could not fathom why at the time, but now I understand it as an early manifestation
of the blood prejudice that would haunt me for years, and still does occasionally to this day.

Anyway, after the cauldron shop, we visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where my
parents purchased the necessary clothing for my uniform; an astronomy shop where we bought the
required telescope; and the Apothecary where we purchased the set of scales, the glass phials, and
a set of basic potion ingredients at the proprietor's urging. The Apothecary was dark and dank,
and there were all sorts of disgusting items in labeled jars, like newt tongues and black beetle
eyes, so I was more than happy to leave that place.

Next, we went to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, and I would have spent all day there if my
parents had not eventually dragged me out. There were just so many new things to learn about the
magical world that I was a little overwhelmed. I had to immediately get started so I was not behind
other magically-bred kids when I went to school, so I convinced my parents to inquire after and
then buy second and third year books, as well. I would read all three years' before school
started, and whether or not I fully understood them was not important. I just wanted to have a
solid base for when I went to Hogwarts. I wanted to excel right away.

The various shops had prices listed in galleons, the magical currency, but the ease with which
they accepted and gave change for pounds suggested it was a common enough occurrence. My parents
did not once comment on the amount of money they spent that day. We were fairly affluent, but the
prices were quite steep.

We went into Eeylops Owl Emporium, but my parents would not let me have an owl yet. They wanted
to wait at least a year. So instead, we sent confirmation of my attendance to Hogwarts via a
delivery owl, and left the shop.

The last item I needed was a wand, and I grew almost more excited than I had been in the
bookstore as we approached the wand shop. The sign read “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since
382 B.C.” We opened the door, hearing a tiny bell tinkle somewhere, and a musty quietness settled
over us. The place was narrow but very deep, with shelves and shelves full of long, low boxes.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice called, and the three of us jumped. We turned toward the counter,
and there was a very old man, with large pale eyes. He simply stared at us.

“Er, hi,” I said, awkwardly. I felt goose bumps prickling my arms, even though the air in the
shop was quite warm.

“What can I do for you today?” he asked, still with a very soft voice, and moving out from
behind the counter.

“Well,” I said, “I'm going to be starting at Hogwarts this year, and I need a wand.”

“Ah, a Muggleborn?” he asked. I nodded, familiar with the term because McGonagall had used
it.

“Hermione Granger,” I said, holding out my hand. The old man smiled slowly at me, then took my
hand in his own.

“Charmed,” he said. “Mr. Ollivander,” he stated, and then turned toward my parents. After
further introductions, we started in on the process of finding a wand, which was a lot of waving a
stick around and hoping for something to happen. Finally, after thirty or forty tries, red and gold
sparks flew from a wand as I waved it around.

“Here we are!” Ollivander exclaimed, though his voice had not risen at all. “Vine wood, dragon
heartstring core, twelve and a half inches. An interesting combination, Ms. Granger.”

“Why is that?” I asked, staring at this piece of wood through which my magic would apparently
flow. It tingled in my hand, and felt slightly warm. I couldn't stop from imagining all the new
and exciting things I would do with it…

“Both vine wood and dragon heartstring are very unyielding, but put together, they cancel each
other out. What you have there is a wand suited for fine spell work. You will be a very talented
witch, I think.”

After paying for the wand—it was *very* expensive—and leaving the shop, we all kind of
shrugged off the mustiness. Something about Ollivander was creepy, but I could not quite put my
finger on it. Suffice it to say, I was glad to be out of there with my new wand. His last words of
warning still rang in my head, though: “Remember, Ms. Granger. You cannot perform magic with your
wand until you arrive at Hogwarts. Our Wizarding government does not permit underage magic use, and
they will know if you attempt any spells.”

Though I was slightly disappointed, I had all those books to read and think about, so I had more
than enough to occupy the month between now and school. We must have looked a sight, carrying
packages of various magical items back through the Leaky Cauldron and out onto Charing Cross, but
we valiantly ignored any strange looks sent our way.

Once in the car, my dad turned to me and asked, “You sure we have everything?”

I checked the list again. “Yes, looks like it.”

“Hermione,” mum started, “we're sorry—”

“It doesn't matter anymore,” I said, over her apology. “We all needed to see it, anyway.
I'm just so excited!” I gushed, and mum's chuckles greeted my ears. Though I didn't
realize it then, they were probably slightly bittersweet, because she was probably realizing for
the first time her daughter was going somewhere she couldn't follow.

---

Later that night, after dinner and after dad had gone upstairs to read, I found my mum sitting
in the living room, watching the telly. I sat next to her and curled into her side, and we just
watched some silly program for a little while. She was stroking my hair, running her fingers
through the rivulets of my curls, and I sighed contentedly.

“Hermione, we're very proud of you.”

I nodded into her side. “I know, mum.”

“It's just hard for us to send you away like this…”

I sat up and looked at her. She turned the telly off and faced me. “But you do think it's a
good idea I do this, right?”

She gave me a half-smile. “I'm not sure what I think, honestly, but I'm certainly not
going to stop you from discovering this new world you apparently belong to.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement. “Oh…”

“It's difficult not knowing, Hermione. Do you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“You're going to a place where we can't protect you, or help you through your problems,
or anything else we'd do with you at home.”

If she started to cry again, I would to. “But mum, it's just school. I'll be back for
hols and summers.”

She drew me into her warm embrace. “I know, honey. It's going to take some getting used to,
though.”

Silence settled for several minutes. There was something else I wanted to say to mum, but I was
almost too embarrassed to bring it up.

“Mum…” I started, but then my faced heated up and I ducked my head.

“Hmm?” she intoned, looking at my reaction. “What is it?”

“Well,” I said, steeling my resolve and looking her in the eyes. “This morning…I saw I'd
started my period.”

Perhaps that wasn't what she was expecting, because she looked blankly at me for a few
seconds. Then a smile and a kind of maternal look spread across her face. “Oh, really?”

I nodded. “I took care of it,” I told her. “But I thought you would want to know.”

“Thank you for telling me, Hermione. It's not something you should be embarrassed about,
either. All woman experience it, and it just means you're coming closer and closer to womanhood
every day. Oh, my baby's growing up!” she said, and embraced me again.

“Mum!”

She giggled in a way I couldn't remember hearing, and looked conspiratorially at me. “Shall
we get you some starter bras before you go off to that school?”

I immediately giggled and reddened, and then indicated my flat chest with my hand. “For what?” I
asked, self-deprecatingly.

“Things can change quickly, oh daughter of mine,” she sing-songed, then looked down at her own
ample bosom. “And if your genes are any indication…”

“Oh, ok,” I said, and then looked toward the stairs. “But dad can't know!”

“Of course not!” she laughed, and we snuggled into each other again. She turned the telly back
on and we settled in for an evening of girl talk.

-->



5. Chapter Four
---------------



A/N: Converges with canon here, but there are subtle differences, mostly in the dialogue.

Chapter Four

Late Summer 1991

Hogwarts loomed quickly with all of the reading and getting ready I had to do between our Diagon
Alley trip and September 1. August, which was almost unbearably hot during that summer before my
first year, rolled smoothly by without a hitch; I finished the books for first through third years
one week before term started, and in the remaining time, I sorted through my possessions and built
myself up for the long term separation from my parents. I had never been apart from both of them
for more than a day or two before, and although I never hinted to them I was nervous about moving
away for so much of the year, deep down I really was.

One point of confusion was the ticket I had received after responding that I was definitely
attending Hogwarts. It said the Hogwarts Express left Platform Nine and Three Quarters at eleven
o'clock on September 1, but as far as my parents knew there was no such place. They had been to
King's Cross plenty of times, and they could not remember any extra spaces between platforms
Nine and Ten.

I had no answer for them, but I reminded them of what had happened at the Leaky Cauldron. They
had not been able to see the door to the pub until I had touched it, so maybe this Platform Nine
and Three Quarters had something similar around it. In any case, the morning of September 1 dawned
hot and humid, as it had been for weeks, so before I packed the last of my things into two very
large suitcases, I slipped into a small pair of shorts and light tee. I pulled my uncontrollable
hair back into a loose pony tail.

“Dad!” I called out. “Can you get these suitcases? They're too heavy for me.” I heard a
muffled shout, footsteps, and then he came into my room.

“Sure thing, Hermione—oof,” he grunted, picking up both suitcases, one in each hand. He looked
like he was straining a bit. “What do you have in here?” he asked, with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, you know…everything,” I responded, and he just shook his head. He walked out of the room
and I heard the luggage clunking on the stairs as he brought it down to the front door.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, drinking in the familiar atmosphere of my room for the
last time until Christmas. When I opened my eyes, I didn't see a well-lived in room; instead, I
saw bare walls and table tops. It was the room of someone leaving for a long time. I would miss it,
and I would miss home, but I had to go to Hogwarts. I didn't belong with those kids at my other
school, so maybe I would find out where I belonged at this new place. Maybe I would find some
friends.

I took a last look around, making sure I didn't forget anything important, and then headed
for the door. With a last searching gaze, I flicked off the light and closed the door behind
me.

As I descended the stairs, mum and dad came into view. They were standing by the door, by my two
suitcases, talking quietly. When I came into view, they looked up and smiled.

“Ready to go, Hermione?” mum asked.

I stopped on the bottom step and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You don't sound too thrilled…” dad said.

“I'm alright,” I affirmed. “It's just hard leaving, you know?”

“I think I might,” mum said, and pulled me into a hug. When she stood back, I saw her eyes were
shining with moisture. She picked up a suitcase, with both arms, and left the house to go to the
auto.

“It's hard for us, too,” dad said, quietly, and then followed mum out the door. I watched
their backs turn the corner for a moment. I left the house, shutting the door without one look over
my shoulder at the foyer. I'd be back, and it would still be there.

It wasn't very far to King's Cross, almost no further than the Leaky Cauldron, actually,
so dad parked in the same car park as the day we went to Diagon Alley. After a short trip along the
pavement and through several tall arches, we were in the station proper. More crowded than the
street, by far, King's Cross was a confusing jumble for several minutes while we acquired our
bearings. My parents were finally able to ascertain where platforms Nine and Ten were, and they
took my hand and pushed through the throng in that direction.

We finally came into a slightly open space—looking around I saw a sign for platform Eight—and it
was there that I saw the strangest thing: an older woman wearing a hat with what looked like a
large vulture on top. I pointed to her.

“Mum. Dad. Look,” I said, and their eyes followed my finger to the woman. “Think she would know
where Nine and Three Quarters is?”

“Maybe, Hermione,” mum answered. “Let's follow her and find out.”

Slowly, casually, we fell in step about ten paces behind the woman. It was then I noticed a
short, rather chubby boy, clutched rather painfully (or at least it looked so) by the hand, moving
along next to the old woman. He had limp brown hair and a round head. I could not see his face, but
from behind I could tell he was looking quickly in all directions.

They stopped in between platforms Nine and Ten, so we stopped a few yards away. Looking at them
sideways, I thought I saw the woman inspecting one of the many pillars, but I could not fathom a
reason for such an activity. The boy turned after several moments and I finally saw his face, which
was a chubby as his body. It was strained slightly, and he looked nervous. He kept glancing up at
the older woman. I looked to her and saw that she was looking all around.

“Come on, Neville,” I heard her say, and she yanked on his arm. Then, they were gone.

I stared at the spot for several seconds, and then turned bewildered eyes upon my parents. They
looked just as confused. I looked back toward the pillar and there was no one. It seemed as if the
older woman and the boy she had called Neville had disappeared into thin air.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Yes,” dad replied. “Where did they go?”

“They vanished,” mum said. “I didn't see where they went…”

“Well, there must be something logical happening here,” I said, and strode forward toward the
pillar where they had been standing. My parents followed behind me. I walked completely around the
large column, looking for something out of the ordinary, but I came back around to my parents
without noticing anything. I looked at them and shrugged.

“So we're no closer to finding this mysterious plat—whoa!” dad said, leaning against the
pillar, and then falling right through the solid white brick. I looked down with wide eyes and saw
the lower half of his body flat on the ground. The other half had disappeared into the brick wall.
He moved and then the rest of his body came into view—he had sat up. There was a smile on his face,
one of wonder.

“Well, found it,” he said, and reached back to touch the pillar. Instead of stopping, though,
his hand went right through the stone. “It's through here,” he said, standing up, and then
beckoning us to follow strode directly into and through the pillar. I looked at my mom and shrugged
again, and then followed him. My mind, expecting to run into solid stone, forced my eyes shut as I
neared the barrier, but nothing happened. I opened them and there was platform Nine and Three
Quarters. My dad was waiting for me, and when he saw me open my eyes he smiled again.

“Incredible,” was all he said, and then pulled me out of the way. The trolley containing my
luggage came through the wall beside me, followed by mum, who was pushing the cart. Above the solid
wall was an archway with *Platform Nine and Three Quarters* emblazoned upon its crest.

“Would you look at that!” she exclaimed, and my eyes turned toward the giant, gleaming scarlet
steam engine in the middle of the platform. *Hogwarts Express* stood out in gold letters upon
the black facade. It was steaming a bit, preparing for the trip to begin in twenty minutes.

I had my first good look around the platform, and I was excited and nervous to see dozens or
even hundreds of other kids, some about my age and some a few years older, moving to and fro,
hugging their parents, donning their robes, talking to old friends…

It was a bustle of activity that reeked of years or centuries of tradition, even to my
uneducated eyes, and I understood that the journey from King's Cross to Hogwarts was somehow
going to be significant. This would be my first chance to meet other children, *magical*
children, but also those who were in the same position as I—that is, adrift in a new and amazing
world.

“Shall we help you get your things on to the train?” dad asked, and I nodded slowly. I followed
them toward one of the passenger cars, still mesmerized by the sights and sounds around me—there
were cats and owls everywhere!—and climbed into the narrow passageway between cabins behind them.
We found an empty compartment in the middle of the car and stowed my suitcases under the seat, but
not before I removed a pristine Hogwarts robe from one of them. I had seen other, older kids
putting on their robes already, so I wanted to fit in as best as I could. I slid it down over my
head and posed for my parents.

“Oh, Hermione,” mum said, kneeling in front of me and embracing me. She sniffled into my hair
once and leaned back. Her eyes were wet. “You look magnificent, dear. I am very proud of you, you
know.” I gazed at her with a question in my eyes.

“For pursuing this, of course,” she said, and dad nodded behind her. “We didn't want to
believe, but we're glad you made us,” she said. “Just to see how happy you have been and are
now is worth it.”

“Mum,” I said, quietly, willing myself to avoid tearing up. I hugged her tightly. “I'm going
to miss you,” I said, and pulled back. I jumped up and hugged dad just as tightly. “And you too,” I
said, my voice muffled by his stomach. He ran his fingers through my wild brown hair.

“I'm going to miss you too, baby,” he said, and leaned down to plant a kiss in my hair. “But
I know you will do well at this new school and make lots of new friends.”

I stood back. “I hope so,” I responded.

“Is there anything else you need us to do?” mum asked. She smoothed the pleated front of my
robes a bit.

“I…I don't think so,” I answered, looking up at both of them.

“Then I guess we'll say good-bye, and let you get on with things,” dad said.

“Ok.”

“Stay safe, Hermione. Write to us as much as you can; tell us what this new world of yours is
like, alright?” mum queried.

I nodded. “Of course I will.”

“We'll let you know if anything exciting happens at boring old home,” dad said, smiling a
little. “We will be here to pick you up when the train drops you off for hols.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good bye, Hermione. Good luck,” mum said, hugging me again, and this time not bothering to hide
her tears. They fell quickly and copiously from her eyes, but she just smiled and wiped them away
as best as she could. I helped her once or twice.

Dad was less emotional, but I could tell he was holding it all back. His eyes were bright after
he hugged me, and he had to clear his throat when he said good bye.

“Bye,” I said, following them out of the cabin to the door of the car. Dad leapt down on to the
platform; mum turned to hug me one last time.

“I love you, Hermione,” she whispered in my ear, and I almost lost control. I clenched my jaw
and whispered the words back to her. I watched them head slowly back across the platform. They both
turned for one last look under the archway—I waved and they waved back—and then they walked through
the wall. I stared at the blank spot, through which more people were arriving, for several long
seconds, letting the lump in my throat slowly settle to a manageable level.

The platform was very crowded now and, as eleven o'clock drew near, more and more students
were boarding the train. I turned and, with a deep breath, headed back toward my compartment. I
didn't know anyone yet so I didn't know if I would be sitting alone the entire trip, so I
just stared out the open window at the platform as the hour approached.

I saw the same old woman and chubby boy—near them was a pack of red-headed children, with a
middle-aged red-headed woman and a black-haired, bespectacled boy—and he was tugging on her arm
insistently.

“What *is* it?” I heard her ask him. He flinched back from her tone of voice.

“Gran, I've lost my toad again,” the boy said.

“Oh, *Neville*,” the old woman sighed. He looked truly pathetic just then, and when he
turned toward the train, I took the bull by the horns and left my compartment to meet him at the
door of the car.

He was just coming into the train when I reached the door, and I stopped him by holding out my
hand. He looked up at me, surprised and wary.

“Hullo,” I said, “I'm Hermione Granger. This is my first year. What's your name?”

“Uh…er…hi,” he said, and slowly shook my hand. His palm was sweaty. “I'm Neville
Longbottom,” he added. He would only meet my eyes for a few seconds, and then look away.

“I heard you say you lost your toad?” I asked, eyeing the wriggling *something* in the
outer pocket of the cloak he was wearing.

“Yeah,” he said, miserably. “His name's Trevor, and I'm always losing him—”

“Check your pocket,” I said, pointing to his cloak. He looked down and astonishment flooded his
face.

“But I thought I checked there!” he said, and reached into the pocket. The toad he pulled out
was positively repulsive, and was struggling with all its might to get free, but the rapturous look
on Neville's face made it worth the effort.

“Come on, Neville,” I said, smiling a little. “I have a compartment we can share for the ride to
school.”

He cocked his head to the side a little, looking wary once again, and then nodded and followed.
As we settled ourselves onto opposing benches, the final warning whistle for departure sounded, and
in a very short time the train was flooded with students. I looked around curiously.

“Where's your luggage?” I asked.

“Oh, Gran sent my trunk ahead to Hogwarts,” he said, fumbling with Trevor some more. The toad
croaked in consternation at him. “She was sure I'd lose it on the train somehow.”

“Oh,” I answered, not wanting to tell him it was plausible with his blatant absent-mindedness.
“So you're a new student, too?” I asked.

He nodded, putting Trevor down on the seat. I watched the slimy thing for a few seconds before
it hopped off the seat, and then forgot about it. “Yeah, I'm a first year,” he answered,
looking slightly wistful about something.

“Are you…magical?” I asked. “Or Muggleborn?” I quickly clarified, at his apparent confusion.

“Oh, you mean did I grow up with magic?” I nodded. “Yes, I did…” he trailed off, clearly
uncomfortable about continuing down that train of thought. “Then you're Muggleborn, I suppose?”
he asked.

“I am,” I affirmed. If my first contact with a student had been someone other than Neville,
perhaps one Draco Malfoy, I would have learned quickly to expect prejudice and disdain based upon
my Muggle parentage. But Neville did not bat an eye at my revelation; instead, he had many
questions about what Muggle life was like, and I was happy enough to oblige. It was conversation,
and it was interesting to him at least, and soon enough we were speeding along through the sunny
countryside, having long left London behind.

Eventually the conversation dwindled, and a different question occurred to me. “Do you know how
the…dormitories are set up at Hogwarts?” I asked Neville. I had been wondering for quite some time
if I would be sharing a room with anyone.

“Sure,” he said. “There are four houses students are sorted into—”

“Houses?”

“Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin,” he continued. “Tonight, all of us first
years will be sorted according to which house we're best suited to…” he trailed off.

“Oh, I think I remember this now, from *Hogwarts, A History*,” I said, recalling the book I
had read about three weeks before. “Gryffindors are known for their courage, Ravenclaws for their
intellect, Hufflepuffs for their loyalty, and Slytherin for their cunning.” I guess I hadn't
realized while reading the book it was talking about how we would be sorted once at the school.

“Yeah…” Neville said, trailing off again and looking pink in the face. “I'll probably get
Hufflepuff, though I want Gryffindor,” he said, quietly.

“Is Hufflepuff bad or something?”

“Not exactly…Slytherin is the only bad house—”

“Why?”

“Because plenty of bad people have come from there,” he told me. “Including You-Know-Who,” he
whispered, glancing around as if someone would hear him talking about the dark wizard I had read
just a small bit about in one of my history books. It had only said he was some kind of terrorist,
and a small child named Harry Potter had put an end to his reign of terror. Other books had said
more about Harry Potter, but only that one had information about this You-Know-Who character. I
remember being annoyed at the time that the book hadn't printed the man's real name.

“But Hufflepuff isn't bad—it's just a bit soft, is all,” he answered my first question,
looking quite miserable for a moment. “I'd rather be known for courage and bravery than just
loyalty.”

“Loyalty is important too, Neville.”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

Silence settled then for some time; the view from the window changed from one of open fields
filled with cows to wilder things—lakes and forests and small mountains. Eventually, a moan drew my
attention back to Neville.

“Oh no…”

“What?” I asked, looking at him. He was searching for something frantically with his eyes.

“Trevor's gone again!” he exclaimed, and jumped up. I sighed. This was going to be a long
train ride, at this rate.

“Why don't you go ask around?” I suggested. “I'll keep looking in here.” He looked
unsure for a moment, and then nodded and left the compartment. As the door slid closed, I heard him
slide open the door to a nearby compartment and ask if anyone had seen a toad.

I got down on my hands and knees and searched under the seats, but the only thing under them was
my luggage. I removed the cushions from the benches and found only some lint. The small overhead
compartments were empty, as well. About then, Neville came stumbling back into the compartment,
looking rather teary.

“I've lost him!” he moaned. “Truly, this time!” And he sat down and buried his head in his
hands.

I knew the toad most likely was still on the train, so I said, “I'll help you search other
compartments.” If anything, it would give me an excuse to meet other new students. So, with watery
eyes, he followed me from compartment to compartment as I asked if anyone had seen the toad. No one
was very helpful, and in retrospect, it might not have been the best idea to meet people looking
for a silly toad.

“Only a few more compartments,” Neville said, sadly, from behind me. I tried to give him an
encouraging smile, but I was wearying of this search.

I slid the door of the next compartment open, and was greeted with an interesting sight: two
young boys, one with black hair and one redhead, surrounded by candy, with a rat and a wand in the
redhead's hands. The dark-haired one was shorter and wore glasses, and the redhead was lanky
and had freckles. They looked up in some surprise at our entrance.

“Have either of you seen a toad?” I asked. “Neville's lost one.” I looked at the wand again
and realized that the redhead was pointing it at the rat. And the dark-haired boy seemed strangely
familiar…

“We've already told him we haven't seen it,” the redhead responded.

I didn't care about the toad anymore. “Are you doing magic?” I wondered, coming into the
compartment and sitting down on the bench next to the other boy. “Let's see it, then.”

“Er—all right.” The redhead cleared his throat and then said, “*Sunshine, daisies, butter
mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow*.” He kind of flourished his wand and pointed it at the
rat, but nothing happened. The rat remained asleep, and it certainly didn't turn yellow. I was
disappointed.

“Are you sure that's a real spell?” I asked, trying to recall if I'd read about that
particular spell in any of the books I'd studied over the summer. “It's not very good, is
it? Nobody in my family's magic at all, and it was a huge surprise when I got my letter, but it
turned out well.” The two boys were staring at me now, so I wanted to impress them. “I've read
through all of our course books, I just hope it will be enough to catch up—”

I realized I hadn't told them my name, and I felt my cheeks heating up a bit. “I'm
Hermione Granger, by the way, what are your names?” The boys looked stunned, and the dark-haired
one glanced at the redhead.

“I'm Ron Weasley,” the redhead muttered.

“Harry Potter,” the other said.

There was a name I recognized. “Are you really?” I asked. He didn't seem imposing enough to
have vanquished a terrorist. “I've read about you, you know. You're in a few of the history
books I read over the summer.”

“Am I? I've only looked at this year's History of Magic book.” Harry looked
bewildered.

“You didn't know? I would have found out everything…” I trailed off, wondering how he could
be so oblivious to his own fame. I shrugged it off. “Anyways, do either of you know what house
you'll be in? Neville says Gryffindor is considered by some to be the best, though I'm not
actually sure about that; I read Dumbledore himself was in it, but I guess Ravenclaw wouldn't
be too bad…” I said, thinking out loud more than anything. It didn't truly matter to me what
house I was sorted into.

“Well, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two might want to change, as I
think we'll be arriving shortly.” As I left the compartment with Neville, the two boys said
nothing else. I noticed a dark smudge of dirt on Ron's nose, but I didn't say anything and
the door slid closed behind me.

We searched for awhile longer, but as the light grew softer outside and the forests grew thicker
and closer to the tracks, we had no luck. It was a morose Neville that returned with me to the
compartment. Instead of sitting down, though, I stood in the doorway and looked down at him.

“I'm going to ask the conductor how long until we reach Hogwarts,” I told him. “I'll be
right back.” He barely acknowledged me, so I left and headed for the front of the train. I passed
through two cars before I saw the uniformed man leaning against a wall in the passageway.

“Sir,” I addressed him, “about how long until we arrive at Hogwarts?”

“Why, young lady, I'd say about twenty minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. “And thank
you for reminding me; I shall let everyone on the train know.” I thanked him and started back
toward my compartment. On the way there, a voice that carried through the entire train informed
everyone Hogwarts was twenty minutes away.

Almost immediately, the aisle was crowded with students rushing to and fro, and I had to battle
the rest of the way back to my compartment. I was quite annoyed with all their running around by
the time I sat down with Neville. He still looked very sour.

“Cheer up, Neville. I'm sure he'll turn up.”

“Squashed, probably,” he replied. I became restless during the following silence. Neville
wasn't very good company.

“Want to go see if Ron and Harry are ready yet?”

He shook his head. “You go on.”

“Ok…” I stepped back into the passageway, avoiding students as best as I could on the way back
to the other compartment. When it came into view, two large boys and one smaller, blond-haired boy
were leaving. They looked upset about something.

I reached their compartment and looked in, and was surprised to see a great mess. There was
candy everywhere, as if someone had flung it at a wall just to see where it would bounce, and Ron
was picking up his rat by the tail, very gingerly. Harry looked slightly red in the face. I slid
open the door.

“What *has* been going on?” I wanted to know.

“I think he's been knocked out,” Ron said, to Harry, looking down at the rat. “No—I
don't believe it—he's gone back to sleep.”

They were apparently ignoring me, because Ron's next question was addressed to Harry:
“You've met Malfoy before?”

“Yeah, in the clothing shop in Diagon Alley,” Harry responded.

“I've heard of his family before,” Ron almost growled. Who was this Malfoy they were talking
about? “They were the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said
they'd been cursed. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need
an excuse to go over to the Dark side.” Ron paused, and then slowly turned toward me. He raised his
eyebrows. “Can we help you with something?”

I didn't like his condescending tone, but I repressed my anger. “You'd better hurry up
and put your robes on,” I suggested. “I just asked the conductor and he said we're almost
there—”

“Yeah, thanks, we heard the announcement,” Ron said. Harry glanced briefly at him.

I looked around at the mess in the compartment. “You haven't been fighting, have you?
You'll be in trouble before we even get there…”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” Ron sneered at me, pointing at the rat. “Would you mind
leaving while we change?” He seemed to be an unpleasant fellow—I wasn't sure what I had done to
offend him.

“Well, I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and
down the corridor.” I looked at his nose again, and I could not resist one parting shot. “And
you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”

I left without another look back. The same voice from before told everyone Hogwarts was five
minutes away, so I hurried back to my compartment to gather my things; Neville was staring out of
the window at the darkening sky.

“Trevor turn up?” I asked.

“No.”

“Sorry, Neville,” I said, and set about to gather my things. As I was pulling my luggage out
from under the seat, and straining under the weight, Neville turned to me.

“You can leave those on the train,” he said. “They'll be brought up to the castle, or so my
Gran told me.”

I shrugged. That would certainly make things easier. “Ok.”

The train soon slowed and stopped, and Neville and I joined the mad rush out onto the dark
platform. Twilight had settled fast, and it occurred to me just how far north Hogwarts must have
been. The air was even slightly chilly.

“Firs' years! Firs' years over here!” I heard a voice boom out. “All right there,
Harry?” it added, and a behemoth of man came striding into the light. He was probably ten feet tall
and four feet wide, but he was smiling hugely through his shaggy beard at the students.

“C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!”
He turned and left the platform, and I followed the rest of the first years as we warily fell in
step behind the giant man. We descended a rather steep slope—one or two students fell and had to be
helped up—for a minute.

“Yeh'll get her firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,” the giant called out, “jus'
round this bend here.”

And what a magnificent sight it was. We emerged from the steep, forested path on the shore of
great black lake, upon which the stars, the moon, and the lights of the enormous castle twinkled. I
stared in awe at the huge structure, which sat upon the ridge on the far side of the dark water.
Its turrets and towers sparkled with the lights blazing in them.

“No more'n four to a boat!” the man yelled, and I then noticed small boats waiting in the
water for us, just off the sand of the beach. I ended up sitting with Neville, Harry, and Ron.

After several moments, the giant shouted, “Everyone in?” He had an entire boat to himself, as
best as I could tell. “Right then—FORWARD!” he called, and the boats began to move across the lake
of their own accord.

The journey was mostly a silent one, as we were all staring up at the castle as it grew taller
and taller overhead the closer we came to the ridge. The dark water of the lake barely rippled with
our passage, and I looked down into those cold depths for several moments. What secrets did they
hold? What terrors?

I shook myself and looked at the castle again. I had to crane my neck back to see the top now.
“Heads down!” the man yelled, and we all ducked a bit as we came to the sheer wall of rock. At
first I thought we were going to hit the cliff, but then we passed through some hanging ivy. A
tunnel carried us right under the castle, it seemed, and we eventually stopped at some kind of
subterranean dock. The beach there was mostly pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” the man asked, having searched the boats. We stood waiting
for him on the pebble beach.

“Trevor!” Neville called, from next to me, and moved forward to receive his toad from the tall
man. He looked extremely happy as he came back to stand by my side.

“This way,” the man said, and we followed him up a set of rough-hewn stone steps. After two
minutes of climbing, we came out into the night air, on the sloping lawns in the shadow of the face
of Hogwarts. It was truly massive.

We walked up the steps to the huge front door, and the man turned to us. “Everyone here?” he
asked, and waited for a moment. Satisfied, he nodded and turned back to the door. He raised one
fist the size of a beach ball and pounded three times on the solid oak door. I had arrived at
Hogwarts.

-->



6. Chapter Five
---------------



A/N: So writing this story has illuminated some interesting holes in the books, foremost of
which is the state of Hermione's dorm following the sorting. It is said that each dormitory has
five beds, but that does not necessarily mean all of them are filled every year. For Hermione's
year, known Gryffindor girls are herself, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil. That leaves two empty
beds, and there are two names that remain unaccounted for following the sorting in the first book.
One is Sally-Anne Perks, sorted just before Harry—she seems disappear between the first and fifth
books, though, because her name is not called for OWLs. Another is given only a surname: Moon.
According to the Lexicon, the first three letters of Moon's first name appeared on a class list
JK once had with her during an interview, and they are “Lil”. However, Moon is also not called
during OWLs. So, I have decided that the fourth and fifth girls in Hermione's dorm are
**Sally-Anne Perks** and **Lily Moon**. What role they will play, and whether or not they
both withdraw sometime before OWLs (perhaps after Dumbledore tells them Voldemort returned at the
end of fourth year), I have not decided yet. But I just wanted all of you to understand where the
names come from.

Chapter Five

Late Summer 1991

Three seconds passed and then the doors swung inward. There was a woman with dark hair and
emerald robes waiting just inside, and I immediately recognized her as Professor McGonagall. She
surveyed us for several moments—her stern gaze was much more professional than how she had looked
at my house—and I thought for just a brief instant she met my eyes. Perhaps not, but I had already
met her, so I wasn't nearly as intimidated as many other students looked just then.

“The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,” the huge man said.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,” McGonagall said. The man called Hagrid nodded
and strode through the doors, past her, and off to the right.

“This way,” she said, and motioned with her hand for us to follow her. She turned and we moved
as one in the same direction. I stifled a gasp as I passed into the entrance hall, though, because
of how exquisitely beautiful it was. It was incredibly large—I had to strain to make out the
details of the ceiling masonry—and very well-lit by many torches, burning merrily in their wall
sconces. Off to the right, where Hagrid had gone, I could hear a multitude of voices through
another large set of doors. To our left, a great white marble staircase rose toward the upper
floors.

McGonagall led us to a door at the back of the large hall and bade us go inside. It turned out
to be a rather small, circular chamber. After the last of us were inside, she shut the door and
turned to stare severely down at us. Silence reigned then, except for the croaks coming from
Neville's toad.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said. “The start-of-term banquet will being shortly, but before you
take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very
important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family
within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory,
and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its
own noble history and each house has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at
Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points.
At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I
hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I
suggest you all smarten yourselves up as best as you can while you are waiting. Any questions?”

McGonagall made it sound like students would be entirely separated by their houses, and I was
not sure if I liked that. I did not mind competition, but pure rivalry seemed like a bad idea.
Apparently I was not the only one thinking along those lines, because Harry Potter raised his
hand.

“Yes…Harry Potter, I believe?” she asked him, with raised eyebrows. Several heads whipped in his
direction, seemingly surprised at his presence among them. He appeared unaffected by their
stares.

“So, we're like enemies?” he asked. I looked closely at him for the first time, realizing
that I had more or less glossed over his presence on the train. He was indeed a rather small
boy—about my size—with shaggy, raven-black hair and small, horn-rimmed glasses. The scar I had read
about was prominent on his forehead, though his hair partly concealed it. His most striking
features, more than the scar, were his emerald eyes, even more of a true green than
McGonagall's robe. He was peering intently up at her with those eyes.

I looked back toward McGonagall, waiting for the answer to the question that I had wanted to
ask, but wouldn't have. Perhaps this Harry Potter was worth getting to know, if he was
insightful enough to question a professor on the first night.

She was frowning. “No, Mr. Potter. That is not what I said. Houses are primarily a way to
organize students while at Hogwarts.”

Harry cocked his head to the side. All eyes were on him again. “But it sounded like we would be
spending all of our time with our housemates. What about everyone else?”

The attention shifted to McGonagall. “It is up to each student, on their own time, to forge
inter-house friendships,” she said. For a second, I thought she might have smiled, but then her
face was stern again. “And let me assure you, Harry—and everyone else—I would be very pleased if
such a thing occurred. Now, any more questions?”

She looked around for a bit, and when no one raised their hand, she nodded. “I shall return when
we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” With one last, long look at Harry, she turned and left
the small room, closing the door behind her.

Almost at once, several quiet conversations commenced, and they were all about what exactly this
Sorting ceremony would be. It sounded like some sort of test to me, and I hoped that I had read
enough over the summer to do well. I moved closer to Harry to hear what he was saying; he happened
to be talking to the unpleasant redhead, Ron.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” Harry asked.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking,” Ron replied.
I assumed Fred was a brother or a friend.

“What about you, do you think we're going to be enemies if we're in separate houses?”
Harry wondered.

“Maybe if you're in Slytherin,” Ron grumbled. “All the Dark wizards come out of there, or so
everyone in my family says. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw seem fine, though.”

I hadn't even been at the school for ten minutes, and I was already worried how things were
going to turn out. Harry had raised an interesting point, one that had seemed to throw McGonagall
off, albeit briefly, and I wondered how accurate his assessment might truly be. Ron was a first
year, and already he was set against Slytherin students because of some familial prejudice. If
these problems occurred to me before I'd even met the rest of the school, and to Harry, why not
to others?

My nervousness about the Sorting faded a bit as I thought about the problem more, and I realized
that it did not matter which house I was put in. Ravenclaw would probably suit me the best, because
I knew I had a decent brain, but I was loyal to my parents, brave when I really needed to be, and
could be cunning if the situation called for it. So Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin were just
as likely. I shrugged to myself and reached up to retie my ponytail. Whichever house I was Sorted
into, I hoped Neville and Harry at least were with me. I already knew Neville and was comfortable
talking to him, and I wanted to talk to Harry a bit more. Being in the same house would make that
easier.

Suddenly, two or three girls behind me screamed, and I jumped at the loud noise. I turned and
was shocked myself, because ghosts had just floated through the wall behind us. There were fifteen
or twenty in all, and they gliding through the air, white and opaque.

A short, fat one said, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—”

“My dear Friar,” a ghost wearing Elizabethan clothing interrupted, “haven't we given Peeves
enough chances already? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a
ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?”

We were all too stunned to respond to the ghost. In the Muggle world, ghosts were something to
be feared, but these seemed rather harmless.

“New students,” the Friar exclaimed, and then he smiled at us all. He seemed quite a jolly
fellow, for a dead guy. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”

“That's right,” I answered, because no one else would.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff,” he responded. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” a familiar voice said, and we all turned toward the door see that McGonagall
had returned. “The Sorting ceremony is about to start.”

The ghosts left through another wall, and several of them waved to us as they disappeared. I and
a few others waved back.

“Now, form a line and follow me,” McGonagall said. I got in line behind a tall black boy, and we
all followed McGonagall from the little chamber and back into the entrance hall. I could not resist
looking up at the high ceiling once again. The pure physical dimensions of this one room were
larger than my house, it seemed.

We soon reached the doors I had heard all the voices coming from, and she pushed them open with
her hand. The Great Hall, as McGonagall had called it, was true to its name. At least three times
the size of the entrance hall, it had four very long tables and another at the far side of the
room, placed perpendicular to the rest. There were hundreds or possibly even thousands of lit
candles floating ten feet above the tabletops. Students stared at us from the four lengthwise
tables and professors looked on from the head table.

I looked up again, and I was mesmerized to see that I was staring up into the pristinely clear
night sky, the same that I had seen on the journey across the lake.

“Wow,” someone muttered, and I remembered something I had read about it, over the summer.

“It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, or so it says in *Hogwarts, A History*,”
I whispered, to no one in particular. It was almost as if I could just reach up and touch the
stars.

Our attention shifted to McGonagall once again as she placed a four-legged stool in front of us.
She then removed an old and worn-looking pointed hat from her robes and placed it on the stool. Its
point drooped over a bit. I was highly mystified as to what was going to happen. Nothing happened
for at least fifteen seconds, and I was starting to really wonder, but then the hat wriggled and a
slit opened up in the brim. The *hat* then began to sing:

*Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,*

*But don't judge on what you see,*

*I'll eat myself if you can find*

*A smarter hat than me.*

*You can keep you**r* *bowlers black,*

*Your top hats sleek and tall,*

*For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat*

*And I can cap them all.*

*There's nothing hidden in your head*

*The Sorting Hat can't see,*

*So try me on and I will tell you*

*Where you ought to be.*

*You might belong in Gryffindor,*

*Where dwell the brave at heart,*

*Their daring, nerve, and chivalry*

*Set Gryffindor apart;*

*You might belong in Hufflepuff,*

*Where they are just and loyal,*

*Those patient Hufflepuffs are true*

*And unafraid of toil;*

*Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,*

*If you've a ready mind,*

*Where those of wit and learning,*

*Will always find their kind;*

*Or perhaps in Slytherin*

*You'll make real friends,*

*Those cunning folk use any means*

*To achieve their ends.*

*In hope of a wonderful term,*

*I end the Sorting song here;*

*Please, put me on your head,*

*I'll provide your home this year.*

As soon as its voice faded from the Great Hall, applause rang out quite loudly. There were even
cheers and catcalls, and the hat turned toward each table and bowed.

Ron whispered, right behind me, “So we've just got to try on the hat? I'll kill Fred, he
was going on about wrestling a troll.”

I couldn't help the tiny laugh that escaped my lips—a troll, honestly—and I turned slightly
to look at him. He must have heard me, because he was glaring at me; Harry stood next to him,
looking at me curiously. I shrugged at them and turned back toward the stool.

The Sorting didn't seem too tough, although I wasn't sure I wanted some hat to be able
to see completely into my mind. There were things no one else knew, like fears and ambitions, that
no one else *should* know, but I supposed whatever the old hat saw it would keep private.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” Professor
McGonagall said, moving forward with a roll of parchment. “Abbot, Hannah!”

A short, blond-haired, ruddy-faced girl with pig tails walked slowly forward. With shaking
hands, she put the hat on and then sat on the stool. Several seconds passed, and then:

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted. The table second from the left cheered and clapped, and Hannah
quickly took the hat off and almost ran over there. She was welcomed at her table with pats on the
back and smiles.

“Bones, Susan!”

Another blond girl—she looked quite similar to Hannah, except she wore her hair in a long plait
instead of pig tails—strode to the stool and shoved the hat over head.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” She moved off to join Hannah and the other Hufflepuffs at their table.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!” The students sitting at the table second from the right clapped and welcomed their
new addition. He was a rather skinny boy with flat, brown hair.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Brown, Lavender!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” This time, the table at the far right applauded and cheered. Lavender was another
blond girl with a pleasant face, and I saw two identical redheads catcalling her as she approached
the table. They must have been related to Ron, because the similarity was striking.

“Bulstrode, Millicent!”

“SLYTHERIN!” The applause was much more subdued from the table on the far left, and as I looked
over there, my initial impression was they looked less friendly than the other tables. It might
have been the large percentage of them with sullen or bored looks on their faces.

“Corner, Michael!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Crabbe, Vincent!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” My name was coming closer and closer, and I could feel my heartbeat
speeding up.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Finnegan, Seamus!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted, after one or two long minutes. It seemed as if it had a hard time
deciding with Seamus, who looked very relieved to finally be off the stool.

“Goldstein, Anthony!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Goyle, Gregory!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Granger, Hermione!”

I took a deep breath and hurried forward, taking the hat from the stool, sitting down at once,
and firmly placing it upon my thick brown curls. It fell over my eyes and ears, cutting off all
sound and light. I waited for something to happen.

“What have we here,” a tiny voice said, in my ear. It must have been the hat. “Quite an
astounding mind; you would do well in Ravenclaw, that's for sure. But, I also see true bravery
and courage, perhaps even the sacrificial kind, and a depth of loyalty more students could use. And
what's this? A certain willingness to do what you have to in order to achieve your goals, all
of which, I must say, are quite admirable.

“So, you would prosper in any house, Miss Granger. Any preference?”

“Umm,” I wonderfully articulated, surprised at having been asked my own opinion. I shrugged,
which must have looked interesting to those watching, and whispered, “It doesn't matter to me.
They all seem fine.”

“And an openness toward the unknown—I think that clinches it,” the hat said. “GRYFFINDOR!” it
shouted, and I took the hat off my head and turned toward the table on the right. They were smiling
and clapping for me.

“Well done, well done!” someone said, and I sat down in the first open seat I could find. It
turned out to be next to yet another red head, one that looked older than Ron and other two I'd
seen. He leaned over to me.

“Welcome—Hermione, is it?” I nodded. “Welcome to Gryffindor house,” he said, in an odd sort of
pompous voice. “I'm Percy Weasley”—definitely Ron's older brother—“and I'm a fifth year
Prefect. That means,” he said, pointing to the badge on his chest, “you should come to me with any
problems before our Head of House, Professor McGonagall.”

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, and he smiled at me. We both turned back to the Sorting.

“Greengrass, Daphne!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Longbottom, Neville!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” Neville forgot to take the hat off on his way to our table, and amid gales of
laughter, he retraced his steps back to the stool and sheepishly handed the hat to McGonagall. When
he sat down at the table, his face was very red.

“MacDougal, Isabel!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“MacMillan, Ernie!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Malfoy, Draco!” So this was the boy Harry and Ron had been talking about; he had a severely
angular face, whitish-blond hair, and an arrogant swagger that was already annoying. He smirked as
he touched the hat, and before it was even on his head, it screamed:

“SLYTHERIN!” Draco went to sit between the two other students that had just been sorted, Crabbe
and Goyle. He looked quite small in comparison to their bulk.

“Moon, Lily!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” She came and sat with us; she was of medium height and light complexion. Her hair
was light brown and her eyes were blue.

“Nott, Theodore!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Parkinson, Pansy!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Patil, Padma!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Patil, Parvati!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” She was quite obviously of Indian descent, with her long, thick black hair and
dark complexion. She sat down next to Lily.

“Perks, Sally-Anne!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” Sally was short and had dark brown hair, though it wasn't nearly as wild as
mine. She tripped on her way over, but recovered quickly, and was soon seated with the rest of
us.

“Potter, Harry!”

The name galvanized the hall into a frenzy of whispers, but Harry seemed oblivious to them as he
stepped forward, held the hat in his hands for a moment and gazed at it, and then sat down and
placed it on his head. It took awhile—at one point it seemed as if Harry was having a conversation
with the hat, as I had—but eventually the hat shouted:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“We got Potter! We got Potter!” someone yelled over the loud applause, and I looked over to see
the twin redheads jumping up and down and dancing with each other. I laughed along with others at
the sight. When Harry reached us, Percy turned around on the bench and shook his hand, introducing
himself to Harry as he had to me.

“Smith, Zacharias!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Thomas, Dean!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” The tall black boy I had stood behind came to sit with us.

“Turpin, Lisa!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Weasley, Ronald!”

As it had with Draco Malfoy, that hat had not even touched Ron's head when it shouted,
“GRYFFINDOR!” I heard Percy blow out a breath, and then clap for Ron along with the rest of us. The
twin redheads were cheering very loudly again.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” Percy said, when Ron approached, in that same silly, pompous voice.
Ron just rolled his eyes at his older brother and sat next to Harry, on the other side of Percy
from me.

“Zabini, Blaise!”

“SLYTHERIN!” McGonagall then rolled up the parchment and walked away with the stool in hand.
Percy nudged me and pointed to the head table, and I looked closely at it for the first time. At
one end sat the huge man, Hagrid, who had led us to Hogwarts. In the middle, in a ridiculous golden
chair, was an old man with a long flowing beard that could only be Albus Dumbledore. I had read
some information about him in *Hogwarts, A History*, namely that he was the greatest wizard of
the age, and perhaps of all time. He looked quite old, though.

As McGonagall took her seat amongst the rest of the professors, Dumbledore stood and spread his
arms wide. He was smiling benignly down at us all.

“Welcome!” he exclaimed. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I
would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

I was so confused I could only clap and cheer with the rest of the students. Was there some
hidden meaning to those four words, or was it utter nonsense? For the greatest wizard of the age,
he hadn't made much sense.

“Is he—a bit mad?” I heard Harry ask Percy. I looked around the older redhead to see Harry
staring at Dumbledore.

“Mad?” Percy repeated. “He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes.
Potatoes, Harry?”

Percy offered him a platter full of delicious potatoes, and that is when I saw that the platters
all along the table, which had been empty five seconds earlier, were now filled with an assortment
of truly scrumptious looking food. From meat to vegetables and everything in between, every food
group was represented with at least five different dishes. My mouth started to water just from the
smells.

“That does look good,” the ghost in the Elizabethan clothing said; he was floating above the
table. I looked up at him, as did the other students.

“Can't you—?” Harry asked, trailing off. My mouth was too full to speak at that moment, so I
was content to listen.

“I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years,” the ghost said. “I don't need to, of
course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de
Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” Ron said, on the other side of Harry. “My brothers told me about
you—you're Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would *prefer* you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—” the ghost started to correct Ron,
but another first year named Seamus interrupted him.

“*Nearly* Headless? How can you be *nearly* headless?”

“Like *this*,” the ghost huffed, and promptly pulled his head to the side. If not for the
flap of skin and perhaps tendons, he would have pulled it clean of his shoulders. The gore was
white and colorless, but it was still fairly disgusting, so I averted my eyes quickly lest I lose
the good food I'd been eating.

“So,” the ghost continued, “new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House
championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin has got the
cup six years in a row. The Bloody Baron's become almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin
ghost.”

I looked over to the Slytherin table, on the opposite side of the Great Hall, and saw a severe
looking ghost with deep-set, brooding eyes and a long robe stained with silver blood. Draco Malfoy
was sitting right next to him, and he kept glancing gloomily at the ghost by his side. I smiled to
myself at his unfortunate placement.

“How did he get covered in blood?” Seamus asked.

“I've never questioned him,” the ghost said.

As dinner dwindled, the plates suddenly cleared themselves and the food on the platters was
replaced with dessert. There were so many different kinds of cakes, pies, and truffles that I could
not keep them straight. I selected a piece of chocolate cake, which I rarely got at home because of
my parents' profession, and savored every bite of it. It was quite good. I listened in on a
conversation that had started:

“...a Muggleborn,” Dean Thomas was saying.

“I'm half-and-half. Me Dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch `til
after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

Some people chuckled, and I smiled along with them. I didn't have to imagine the shock of
finding out about magic, because I had gone through that not too long ago.

“What about you, Neville?” Ron asked, looking at him.

Neville cleared his throat and looked around for a moment before answering. “Well, my Gran
brought me up and she's a witch, but the family thought I was without magic for ages. My Great
Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the
end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle
Algie came round for dinner, and he had hanging me out of the upstairs window by my ankles…”

As interesting as Neville's story was, I tuned him out and turned to Percy with some
questions of my own:

“Do classes start tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yes, Hermione, they do.”

“I hope I do well,” I fretted, worried about being Muggleborn in a school of magic. He smiled at
me.

“All classes start out slowly,” he affirmed.

“I *have* read the course books, but I have not been able to try any spells yet.
Transfiguration seems awfully complicated…”

He looked impressed for some reason. “If you've read through your course books, you really
do not have anything to worry about. And I must say, good work on that; more students need to be
that motivated. With Transfiguration, you're going to be starting out small, just matches into
needles, that sort of thing—”

“Ouch!” someone exclaimed, and as Percy turned the other way, I saw Harry hunched over with a
hand on his forehead, directly over his scar in fact.

“What is it?” Percy wondered, leaning over Harry.

“…nothing,” Harry said, straightening slowly and taking his hand away from his face. It might
have just been me, but his scar looked slightly redder than before. He was looking intently at the
head table.

“Who is that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” he asked Percy, pointing toward a man with
black, greasy hair, a pale face, and an unpleasant scowl.

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's
Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but everyone knows he's after Quirrell's post. Snape
knows quite a lot about Dark arts…”

“So Quirrell teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, then?” I wondered, and Percy nodded to me.
Shortly thereafter, the plates and platters cleaned themselves once again and Dumbledore stood up.
Silence dropped like an anvil—the man certainly commanded the attention of everyone with very
little effort.

“I have just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. First years should note that
the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well
to remember that as well,” he said, turning toward our table. The redheaded twins waved up at
him.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be
used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the
term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-flood corridor on the right-hand side is
out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death…” he said, trailing off as
some laughter was heard through the Hall. Dumbledore did not smile, however.

“He's not serious?” Neville asked.

“Must be,” Percy responded, looking quite grim. “It's odd, because he usually gives us a
reason why we're not allowed to somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone
knows that. He should have told us prefects, at the very least.”

I wondered what could possibly be in that off-limits corridor for such secrecy to be warranted.
It was obviously something the adults did not want the students to know about or something that was
extremely dangerous and would upset parents—and if that was the case, what was it doing in a school
full of children?

The only other thing I wondered about was Quidditch; I had read a few short pages on the
Wizarding sport in *Hogwarts, A History* and one other history text, but ultimately they were
not very informative.

“And now, bedtime! Off you trot!” he said, and smiled at us once again. There was a commotion in
the hall as all the students stood up and started talking at once.

“First years, follow me!” Percy called out, and once again I and the other first years were
herded together. We followed Percy the length of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall—I stole
one more glance at the starry night before we left—and then up the great marble staircase. No one
was talking much, and when I looked around to see why, it occurred to me that everyone looked very
tired. All of that good food and the excitement of the Sorting must have drained them, and now that
I was thinking about sleep, I realized that it had in fact been a very long day, and that a bed
would feel wonderful.

Percy led us all through a maze of corridors and staircases, always ascending, until finally we
stopped in front of a bundle of sticks floating in midair. Percy motioned for us to stop and
stepped forward. Sticks began to bounce off his chest.

“Peeves,” he said to us. “A poltergeist. Peeves—show yourself.” The only answer Percy received
was a loud, wet raspberry. “Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?” Percy asked the air.

I heard a *pop*, and suddenly a small man with a wicked smile was floating in front of us,
cross-legged.

“Ooooh!” he cried, grinning at us. “Ickle firsties! What fun!” And then he swooped toward us, so
that we all ducked. I was the first to straighten out, and I stared at it with disdain. What was
something like that doing in a school? Seemed to be more of a nuisance than anything.

“Get lost, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this!” Percy threatened. Peeves pouted and
dropped his sticks, which landed with a clatter on Neville's head and the floor. He zoomed
away, laughing madly as he went. Neville rubbed his head but did not look much worse for the
wear.

“Watch out for Peeves,” Percy said, as we resumed our journey. “He'll only listen to the
Bloody Baron—here we are,” he announced, stopping in front of a large portrait of a very large
lady. Just like all the portraits I'd seen in Hogwarts, this fat lady was moving around and
even talking.

“Password?” she asked, smoothing the pink frills of her dress.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy supplied, and the portrait swung forward on hidden hinges to reveal a
round hole in the stone wall. I followed everyone through the hole—I had to kind of half-crawl—and
found myself inside a decently-sized circular room, with many cozy armchairs and a fire burning
away in the hearth.

“Here we are, the Gryffindor common room,” Percy explained. “The boys' dormitories are up
those stairs to the right; the girls' are up to the left. I suggest you get some sleep tonight,
because classes *do* start tomorrow. You should be in the Great Hall for breakfast by
8:30.”

After that, we dispersed by sex, and the four other first year girls and I made our way up the
left staircase to the door marked `First Years'. Inside, we found five four-poster beds with
rich velvet hangings and linens; the pillowcases and the comforters were gold. Our luggage had been
brought up at some point, because all our trunks and suitcases sat on our beds. A door on one side
of the room, upon further inspection, led to a bathroom with two showers, two stalls, and two
sinks.

Lavender, Parvati, Sally, Lily, and I briefly introduced ourselves as we unpacked. Lavender and
Parvati came from families with two magical parents, Lily was like Seamus with one of each, and
Sally was a Muggleborn, like me. My initial impressions of Lavender, Parvati, and Lily were of
giggly girls, much like the ones I had not liked at my other school. Sally, on the other hand,
seemed to be quite reserved.

It was late, though, and soon enough we were all snuggled under the covers in our new beds. I
stared up at the velvet ceiling of the four-poster for several minutes before dropping off to
sleep, wondering what tomorrow would bring. Everything was new and exciting, but also a little
scary. As long as I was able to make some friends…

But I was asleep before I thought too much about that.

-->



7. Chapter Six
--------------



A/N: 9/2/1991 was in fact a Monday. Fancy that? This chapter ended up much longer than I'd
planned. Oh well.

Chapter Six

Fall Term 1991

I woke up, according to the clock above the door to my dormitory, at 7:40 in the morning on
September 2, 1991. This was a Monday unlike all others, however; I was in an unfamiliar place—a
*magical* place—and I honestly had no idea what classes were going to be like. That was a new
experience for me because I had always been prepared (some would say *over-*prepared) well in
advance at my old school, but here at Hogwarts I had not been given that opportunity. Sure, I had
read the books, but how much would they help without *any* practical experience?

I yawned and pushed the bedspread down. As I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed,
I noticed that no one else in the dorm had woken yet. It was no surprise, though, because the beds
were very comfortable. I remembered Percy telling us all to be in the Great Hall by 8:30 for
breakfast, so I did not mind waking up just a tad earlier than I had to.

I breathed deeply and ran my fingers slowly through my hair, drawing out some of the tangles a
night of deep sleep caused. After a minute of two of this treatment, I was ready to leave the warm
comfort of my four-poster; I quickly gathered my bathroom necessities—except I realized I did not
have a towel. I entered the bathroom and saw that fluffy white towels had been provided sometime
during the night, so I shrugged and undressed.

Simply put, the showers at Hogwarts are exquisite. It must have been magic, because I had not
experienced anything like it at home or in any hotel, but the shower head rotated and dived and
turned in ways that should have been impossible. The water was also the perfect temperature; not
too hot but warm enough to bathe the entire room in steam in only a few minutes. After a leisurely
fifteen minutes, I turned off the water and dried myself off, and then attended to my other morning
needs. When I left the bathroom, freshly dressed in a complete Hogwarts uniform, it was 8:05. The
other girls only had 25 minutes to get to the Great Hall, and all of them were still asleep.

“Lavender,” I called out, gently, coming near to her bed. I poked my head through her hangings
and saw that she was curled into a ball, still asleep. I reached out and shook her lightly. Her
eyelids fluttered open.

“Huh?” she mouthed, sleepily.

“It's just past eight o'clock,” I said. “You and the other girls should probably get
up…”

Her eyes focused and she rolled toward me. She looked me up and down, perhaps seeing that I was
already dressed.

“When did you get up?”

“Half hour ago,” I told her, and she nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“Alright, I'm up,” she said, and I backed out of her hangings. I woke up Parvati, Lily, and
Sally much the same way; only Parvati seemed unhappy that I'd disturbed her rest.

“Thanks,” Sally said, as I turned from her bed. I looked over my shoulder at her and smiled.

“No problem,” I returned, and then headed for my own bed. I realized that I had no idea what my
Monday classes were yet, so I just picked up a notebook, put it in my bag, and slung it over my
shoulder. I made sure I had my wand and headed for the exit.

“I'll meet you girls in the Great Hall,” I called, and left, descending to the Gryffindor
common room. It was very empty, except for Nearly Headless Nick. He was lounging by the fire,
reading some book. I couldn't remember the way back to the Great Hall very clearly, so I
approached the affable ghost. He looked up when I came near.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” I nodded. “Could you tell me how to get to the Great Hall?”

“Ah, you're one of the new first years,” he surmised. “What's your name?”

“Hermione Granger,” I responded, holding out my hand. He looked at it for a moment, seemingly
amused, and then we shook hands as best as a human and a ghost could. I did not tell him that his
hand felt like ice.

“Pleased to meet you, young lady,” he said, and then gave me concise directions on how to find
the Great Hall. The bit about certain staircases leading to different places on Fridays was a
mystery to me—why would the Professors purposely try to confuse new students?—but I figured I would
encounter more such strangeness as the days passed.

I left the common room and descended through the castle along the route Nick had provided, and
in no time at all I was at the top of the marble staircase leading down into the entrance hall. I
had passed one or two other students on my journey through the school, but here I finally saw
groups of them, standing in the entrance hall, possibly waiting for someone, and going into the
Great Hall for breakfast. Most of them looked older than my fellow first years.

I could smell breakfast, and just then my stomach grumbled noisily, even after the large meal
the night before, so I hurried down the steps, across the entrance hall, and into the Great Hall.
The Gryffindor table, on the right, was at only one-quarter capacity. It seemed the rest of the
students had not made it out bed yet, even though the several large clocks said it was 8:15.

I slowed as I neared the table, trying to find a recognizable face, and for a moment I did not
think any other first years were there yet. I saw Percy at the far end, near the head table, but he
was deep in conversation with several other students, so I did not want to bother him. I scanned up
and down the table, and finally stopped on a head of shaggy black hair. The owner was eating slowly
and quietly. He had a book open next to his plate. As I rounded the table, I saw that it was Harry
Potter. I at least recognized him and had said a few words to him, so I decided to sit across from
him.

As I slid onto the bench, I said, “Morning Harry. What are you reading?”

He looked up with some surprise on his face, but it soon relaxed. “Hermione, was it?” I nodded,
glad that he had remembered. He looked down at the book for a moment, and then flipped it closed
and around so I could read the cover: it was *Magical Theory* by Adalbert Waffling.

“I've already read through it once,” he explained, “but this seems like the most general
book we were assigned, so I thought looking through it another time wouldn't hurt.”

He stared at the upside-down cover, from his point of view, for just a moment, and then raised
his eyes to meet mine. This close, I could see they really were the greenest eyes I'd ever
seen. They were almost unnatural, but they had a strange beauty too, vividness I'd not
encountered before.

Those thoughts passed in the space of two or three seconds, and then I blinked and smiled at
him. “No, I don't think it would,” I agreed. “I've read through the book, and you're
right about it being almost like an overview… It helped me understand enough to read the other
books for this year.” I decided against telling him I'd read second and third years' books,
although I wasn't sure why. It just didn't seem the right thing to say.

He turned the book back around but did not reopen it. “You going to eat anything?” he asked,
motioning to the platters of breakfast foods.

“Yes, I'm starving,” I told him, and loaded my plate. I ate well at home, but the pure
selection here at Hogwarts amazed me. I wondered if magic somehow had a hand in easing meal
preparations, or if in the kitchens it took hours and hours of work to prepare our meals…

For the next fifteen minutes, Harry and I continued to chat about what we'd read over the
summer and how we thought classes were going to be. He was quiet and seemed to measure his
responses, and they were thoughtful and articulate, more so than I had expected (though on what I
had based that expectation, I did not know). Perhaps the person I'd seen asking the question
about the Houses the previous night was more than just mere celebrity.

As 8:30 came upon us, the Great Hall filled quickly, and the other first years we'd met the
day before filled in around us. Ron and Parvati were the last two to join us, at 8:34, one right
after the other, and the next half hour passed rather quickly as we all got to know each other
better. Up at the head table, teachers and the Headmaster trickled in, and by nine o'clock, the
Hall was at full capacity.

My conversation was mostly with Harry, Sally, and Neville, but others joined in at certain
points, such as when I revealed I was a Muggleborn. Harry said something confusing just then:

“I'm as good as one.”

“What?” I asked him.

“Oh,” he said, looking at me a little sheepishly. I guess no one was supposed to have heard
that. “Nothing, just that I was raised by Muggles, even though my parents were both magical.”

I nodded, not wanting to bring up the death of his parents, which I had read about in the same
book that spoke of his defeat of the bad wizard. He was very unassuming, and seemed down to earth,
so I couldn't even imagine the circumstances of his battle with another wizard as a baby. It
was much too far-fetched for me.

Soon after that, there was a great rustling noise, as if the wind had suddenly picked up and was
blowing about the eaves of the Great Hall, and our attention was directed toward the joint between
the wall and the ceiling behind the head table. As we watched, and made noises of surprise and
delight, hundreds of owls streamed into the hall with envelopes attached to their legs. One stopped
in front of every student; a beautiful, pure white owl gave Harry his envelop. He rubbed the
bird's feathers affectionately, and then as one, they all took off and left as they had
come.

“Those are your time tables,” Percy called down the table at us. “For your classes.” So I was
finally going to see my class schedule for the term—I ripped into the envelope and pulled out the
single piece of parchment within.

*Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore*

*Deputy Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall*

*Class Schedule Fall Term, 1991**; Miss Hermione Granger*

Monday

10:00 - 10:50 : Defense Against the Dark Arts (Quirrell - Hufflepuff)

11:00 - 11:50 : Defense Against the Dark Arts (Quirrell - Hufflepuff)

12:00 - 12:50 : Lunch Period

01:00 - 01:50 : Herbology (Sprout - Ravenclaw)

Tuesday

10:00 - 10:50 : Charms (Flitwick - Hufflepuff)

11:00 - 11:50 : Charms (Flitwick - Hufflepuff)

Wednesday

10:00 - 10:50 : History of Magic (Binns - Ravenclaw)

11:00 - 11:50 : History of Magic (Binns - Ravenclaw)

12:00 - 12:50 : Lunch Period

01:00 - 01:50 : Herbology (Sprout - Ravenclaw)

12:00 am - 12:50 am : Astronomy (Sinistra)

01:00 am - 01:50 am : Astronomy (Sinistra)

Thursday

11:00 - 11:50 : Herbology (Sprout - Ravenclaw)

12:00 - 12:50 : Lunch Period

01:00 - 01:50 : Transfiguration (McGonagall - Hufflepuff)

02:00 - 02:50 : Transfiguration (McGonagall - Hufflepuff)

Friday

10:00 - 10:50 : Potions (Snape - Slytherin)

11:00 - 11:50 : Potions (Snape - Slytherin)

*All students are reminded to seek out their specified instructors for room assignments. Have
a good term**.*

It took me thirty seconds of intense study to decipher the rather compact and dense time table,
but eventually I understood that all of our classes were with another house, except Astronomy. It
also occurred to me that Herbology was the only class we did not have two periods in a row, and
that we had Astronomy very late every Wednesday.

After comparing my schedule with other first years around me, I saw that all Gryffindor first
years had classes together. Since we all had the same schedule, Dean and Seamus volunteered to get
the room assignments, and we waited patiently as they asked each professor at the head table for
the information. When they came back, they both had sour looks on their faces.

“What is it?” Ron Weasley asked them, as they sat down.

“Professor Snape could have been nicer,” Dean grumbled, and then pushed his timetable to the
center of the table so we could all see the room assignments.

“What'd he say?” Lily asked, copying down the rooms like the rest of us.

“He just sneered at Seamus and I for awhile, and then snarled the number of the room. I think
it's in the dungeons,” Dean told us, and Ron was nodding.

“My brothers, Fred and George”—those must have been the twins—“have been telling me for two
years now that Snape is the worst teacher in the school.”

Harry was looking at his timetable, and he said, “Well, at least we don't have Potions until
Friday.”

Ron glanced at his. “Yeah, but it's with Slytherin.”

“Oh, I'm sure they're not all bad,” I put in; Ron looked sharply at me, but said
nothing.

The first class of the week was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell and the
Hufflepuff first years, and as we all headed for this classroom as a group, there was some
excitement over exactly what the class would entail. The book, which Harry and I had read along
with a few others by what they were saying, detailed some basic offensive and defensive spells. For
a Muggleborn like me, this was the stuff of fantasy—wielding a wand and shooting spells at
someone.

But that Monday morning we were all disappointed with Quirrell's class; he turned out to be
a timid man, stuttering almost every other word, which hindered our comprehension and his teaching.
His classroom also smelled very strongly of garlic—“To ward off vampires,” Quirrell said—which was
very distracting, and even he smelled quite funny. Some said the smell came from the huge fuscia
turban he wore around his head, but no one was sure. All in all, the first two hours of Defense
Against the Dark Arts passed uneventfully, and I was disappointed that the course was not very
rigorous.

“Seems rather useless,” I commented, as we were leaving the class. “He didn't even assign us
work.”

Most people ignored me, but Ron piped up. “Why would you *want* work?” he asked. “I'm
glad we don't have any.”

I just looked at him for a moment. I was starting to dislike Ron, just a little bit. “How are we
supposed to get better if don't work at it?”

“I dunno, but I'm not barmy enough to want to do homework,” he said, and then rushed to
catch up with the other students. I was left standing there, quite alone, as they all headed toward
the Great Hall for lunch. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists, and then followed them.

After lunch we had fifty minutes of Herbology with Ravenclaw, and we had to exit the castle and
make our way to the greenhouses. There, a short, plump, very dirty Professor Sprout greeted us
cheerily and set us working almost immediately. We were working on transplanting asphodel plants:
between pots, we were supposed to clip two dangling roots and place them in a tray in the center of
the table, to be powdered later on.

It was interesting work, at least, but I wondered whether or not theory would be an important
part of the class. If this was all we were going to do, transplanting or other various practical
activities, it seemed like we were doing *work*, instead of learning. I had no problem with
class work or homework, in fact I loved them both, but work just for the sake of work when we could
have been learning about asphodel and what the root was used for didn't sit well.

In any case, Herbology was over quickly, and we had the rest of the day free. Since no homework
had been assigned, all of us had the rest of the afternoon to do as we pleased, so I took my Charms
book down to the Gryffindor common room and snuggled into one of the armchairs. Students drifted in
and out of the room for the next several hours, and eventually it was time for dinner. Someone
asked me what I had done all afternoon, and when I told them I had been reading my Charms text,
there were surprised looks and even a few sniggers. Ron made another snide comment about doing work
when I didn't have to, but I did my best to ignore what he said. Only Harry, Neville, and Sally
seemed accepting of what I had done, though none of them came to my defense.

After dinner I read for awhile longer and then turned in. As I lay awake in my bed, I heard some
of my dorm mates come in and get ready for bed as well, but I did not say goodnight to them.
I'd been at the castle two days and, already, I felt like an outsider. It was too early to tell
still, but I hoped by the end of the week I would somehow have a solid friend or two. With those
thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.

I was the first one up Tuesday as well, and again Harry was the only first year in the Great
Hall when I arrived around 8:10. He had his Charms text with him this morning, and was slowly
turning pages as I sat down across from him. He looked up at me and smiled, and then asked how my
night had been.

“Alright, I guess. I went to bed early.”

“How come?” he wondered, putting his book aside.

“Wasn't feeling well, I suppose.”

“Sorry to hear it. Better now?” he asked, and he seemed genuinely curious, instead of the rote
platitudes one usually received in return.

“I think so,” I said. “Thanks for asking.” It was odd to have concern expressed my way by
another child.

“Mm hmm,” he intoned. “How do you like the classes so far?”

“Well…” I started, and then trailed off. If I said how I really felt about them, would he make
the same rude comments Ron had?

“I wish we had gotten some work, honestly,” I confided, and he actually nodded again. “Quirrell
seems a little off, and we didn't actually talk about what we did in Herbology.”

“I noticed that too, Hermione. I was reading our Potions book the other day and it was talking
about all the uses of the root of asphodel, but we didn't talk about any of that in
Herbology.”

“Yeah…” I agreed, impressed that he had remembered that detail from the Potions book. Harry
wasn't overtly studious, as far as I could tell, but he certainly seemed to be on top of
things. As we continued our discussion, more students trickled in, and eventually it was time for
Charms with Hufflepuff.

Professor Flitwick was a very diminutive man, only three feet tall, and he had to stand on his
desk to teach the class. He took roll, and when he arrived at Harry's name, he gave an excited
little squeak and almost tumbled forward onto the floor. If it hadn't been for Zacharias Smith,
who had caught him from the front row, Flitwick would have had a nasty bump on his head.

Charms was finally a class where we actually learned; Flitwick was incredibly knowledgeable
about the theory behind the various spells he taught us, and we practiced them as well. On that
first Tuesday, we mostly reviewed what we would be doing the rest of the year, and he took us
through the text book, pointing out what we should read and know, and what we could gloss over if
we wanted to.

Flitwick assigned the questions at the end of the first chapter of the text for the next class,
so that very afternoon, when everyone else was outside enjoying the nice fall weather, I completed
them as thoroughly as I thought was necessary. I knew we didn't have Charms again until the
next Tuesday, but I always got my work done as soon as I could.

Around four o'clock, I drifted down to the front entrance, and I saw many of the Gryffindor,
Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw first years playing some form of tag on the lawns. Where the Slytherin
students were, I did not know.

One student sat alone on the wide marble steps of the castle, and from behind I recognized her
as my dorm mate, Sally-Anne Perks. She had her legs drawn up and her chin on her knees, and she was
watching the large game intently. I sat down beside her, drawing my legs up in a similar
fashion.

“How come you're not playing with them, Sally?” I asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” I conceded. “I just finished up our Charms homework, though.”

“Already?” she queried, though there was no derision in her voice. “I was thinking about doing
it, but it's such a nice day out…” her voice faded. We watched the other kids run around,
listening to their screams and shouts of delight.

“So why aren't you out there with them?” I asked again. She turned her head toward me, and I
did the same. We looked into each others' eyes for several seconds, and then she turned back
toward the game.

“Let's just say tag isn't my favorite game,” she eventually said, and I knew well enough
to drop the subject.

I was getting hot, so I leaned back and loosened my robe; the steps were quite warm and I could
easily doze off out here in the sun. Sally glanced over at me, and then smiled, laughing
slightly.

“What?”

“You look like you're ready for the beach,” she pointed out, and I laughingly agreed with
her.

“We kind of have a beach here,” I said, motioning toward the lake.

“Kind of.”

“So what do you think so far?” I asked.

She was quiet for quite awhile, so long in fact I wasn't sure if she'd heard me, and
then she turned her face toward the sun. It glinted off her brown hair. “I miss home,” she said,
almost a whisper.

Something in her voice made me sit up and move closer to her, some note of despair or remorse
that seemed out of place.

“So do I,” I told her, though truthfully I had been too busy the past few days to think too much
of home. I wanted to write a letter to my parents soon, but that would probably have to wait until
the weekend.

“My parents,” she started slowly, still looking away from me, “they weren't very supportive
of my decision to come to Hogwarts…” From the trembling in her voice, I knew she was crying now,
and I slowly put an arm around her shoulders and leaned into her. She tensed up for a second, and
then leaned back into me.

“But this wasn't an opportunity I could pass up,” she sniffed.

“I know, Sally. My parents were very skeptical at first, but when they saw how badly I wanted
this, they came around. I'm sure yours will too, eventually.”

“I hope so,” she said, and I let go of her; our bodies slowly lost contact. She wiped her eyes
with the back of her hand and laughed hollowly. “You must think I'm stupid.”

“No, not at all,” I assured her. And I didn't. This was a huge adjustment for an eleven year
old, and though I may have appeared stoic to other students, I was just as frightened and worried
as them. Honestly, I was surprised at the lack of guidance we had received so far. It seemed as if
the staff wanted to see how well we would adjust with as little help as possible.

“Thanks, Hermione,” she said, turning and smiling at me. I nodded, and we both turned back to
watch the game.

The rest of Tuesday passed quickly, and our busiest day of classes dawned just as sunny as the
others. Once again, I met Harry in the Great Hall for breakfast, and we chatted some more about the
day's classes. He was easy to talk to, but for some reason he remained aloof, and it wasn't
just from me. No one else besides Ron, who had appeared to take a disliking toward me, talked to
him regularly.

Our first class, History of Magic, was an exercise in staying awake. Binns, the professor, was
actually a ghost—for all we knew, he may have been alive during the battles he described when
William the Conqueror had landed in Britain. I would have never admitted it to anyone at the time,
but I wanted to sleep during Binns' lectures just as much as those whom sleep actually took,
but I was too worried about the quality of my notes to let that happen. After History finally ended
and lunch was over, we headed to the greenhouses for another session of Herbology, during which we
crushed and powdered the roots we had clipped the last class.

Again, Sprout talked to us very little for the entire fifty minutes, and what she did say was
not relevant to the uses of crushed root of asphodel or why we were doing that. I had a feeling
that I would become very frustrated with the class if it continued in the same way. That afternoon
I completed the few questions Binns had assigned us, and then read up on some Astronomy for the
class that night.

It was quite the wait—I had only seen midnight on New Year's and a few other times before
coming to Hogwarts—but eventually we all left the Gryffindor common room, some of us quite
obviously very tired. We met atop the highest tower, appropriately named the Astronomy Tower, for
the class, and Sinistra was waiting for us when we arrived. She was an intense-looking middle-aged
woman with long and thick dark hair, and eyes that were almost violet. She directed us to set up
our telescopes and we were immediately tasked with finding a constellation.

Most found either the Big or Little Dipper, but I knew Orion, so I pointed that one out. All ten
of us, since only we Gryffindors had Astronomy on Wednesday nights, were successful in finding one.
Ron took the longest, but eventually even he spotted on.

After that, Sinistra lectured us on why constellations were important—for travel, and for
knowing the time of year and season, and also for certain potions—and then on what else we would be
doing for the rest of the year. At 1:50, ten very tired first years dragged themselves back down
through the castle to the seventh floor where the Gryffindor tower was.

“G'night,” I bade everyone sleepily, heading for the dormitory stairs.

“Night,” someone said, though it was half-hearted. I was asleep within three minutes of lying
down.

Thursday saw another Herbology class, during which we carefully mixed the powdered root with
wormwood. After letting the mixture sit for 15 minutes—it started to smell positively foul—we
stored them in ceramic containers. It was then that Professor Sprout finally had us take out
notebooks and lectured us on what we had been doing all week. She even assigned us some
reading.

After lunch, we had Transfiguration, and this was the class I was most nervous about. Everything
I had read in the course book made the class sound extremely complicated, and McGonagall's
first words to us did not help.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,”
she said. “Any student disrupting my class will leave, permanently. You have been warned.” We had
Transfiguration with Hufflepuff, and many of them seemed quite intimidated by McGonagall. I was
finally glad we had a real teacher, one that did not tolerate any misbehaving, and one that
apparently really knew her stuff, because the first thing she did was change her desk into a live
pig and back again.

“You will not be attempting something like that for a long time. What we *are* doing today
is attempting to turn a match into a needle. First things first, though: wands away and quills
out.”

We then proceeded to take three pages of complicated, step-by-step instructions on how to turn
the matchstick into a needle, which I can now simplify into three steps. 1. Speak the incantation
*cuspis*. 2. Roll your wand with your thumb and index finger a half-turn to the left as you
say the spell. 3. Visualize the match turning into a needle, down to the very last detail.

After the note taking, the rest of the class was devoted to trying to transfigure the match into
the desired needle. Toward the end of the period, no one had gotten it yet, but I thought I might
have seen the match start to glimmer in the light. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on the
image of a needle as hard as I could for almost a full minute, and then opened them and did the
spell. And before my very eyes the match morphed into a shiny needle.

I think I must have squeaked in my excitement, because students near me looked at me peculiarly,
but I raised my hand vehemently without care. To my left, and to my surprise, Harry Potter had also
raised his hand.

“Yes?” McGonagall asked, coming over and standing between us. “What is it, Mr. Potter and Ms.
Granger?”

“I have a needle, Professor,” I said, pointing toward the sharp object on my desk. I could
barely contain my excitement at having successfully cast a spell. It was my first!

“Oh, excellent!” she exclaimed, breaking her stoic demeanor for a moment and picking up the
needle. “And you, Potter?”

“I have one, too,” he said, though there was very little of the excitement in his voice I knew
had been in mine. I detected some pride, though.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Excellent work, you two.” She then turned around and held up the needles
to the class. “Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger have successfully turned their matches into needles, and
hence Gryffindor earns two house points. For homework, the rest of you will practice this spell. I
expect you all to be able to properly perform this transfiguration by next class.”

“How'd you do that?” I heard Ron mutter, and I looked over in time to see Harry shrug. Ron
looked at him strangely for a moment.

“Just concentrate harder,” I said, and Ron pursed his lips at me.

“I was concentrating as hard as I could, thanks,” he said, and then turned away from me. I
huffed and turn toward Neville, asking with my eyes what I had done to offend Ron, but he
didn't know and shrugged. Harry left with Ron, so I didn't have a chance to congratulate
him on his shared success; in fact, I didn't see either of them for the rest of the day, which
was just as well with Ron, but I did want to talk to Harry. Because he was the only other one to
complete the spell correctly, I assumed he was a kindred spirit, academically. But it would have to
wait until the next day…

Friday finally arrived, and I entered the Great Hall, seeing the now-familiar sight of Harry
sitting alone with a book open. I joined him and finally was able to compliment him on his needle,
and he nodded and thanked me. We chatted about how Potions might be as other students came in and
until the mail arrived. There had been far fewer owls every day since the first, and today Hedwig,
Harry's snowy white owl, was one of the few to make an appearance.

She flew down and he detached the letter from her foot, and after she had a piece of bacon, she
waited patiently by Harry's plate. He looked at the letter, and Ron read it over his shoulder.
He looked up and met my curious gaze for a moment before turning to Ron.

“Can I borrow your quill?” he asked, and Ron gave it to him.

“Are you going?” Ron asked.

“Sure,” Harry said, and scribbled something on the back of the parchment. After reattaching it
to Hedwig and stroking her plumage for a moment, she spread her wings and was gone. I wondered
where he was going, but I did not want to pry, so I didn't ask. He didn't provide details,
either.

After breakfast, the ten of us slowly made our way down into the dungeons, where we hadn't
been before, trailing far behind the Slytherin first years as they trekked to Potions as well. This
part of Hogwarts was cold, dark, and damp, and the Potions classroom itself was quite inhospitable.
If it hadn't been for the fires burning lowly under the cauldrons, we would have been able to
see our breath.

Professor Snape, the pale greasy-haired man I'd seen at the head table, swept in with his
black cloak trailing behind him at ten o'clock sharp. He ignored all of us as he went to his
desk and picked up a parchment. Then, suddenly:

“Lavender Brown!”

“W-what?” she asked, startled.

Snape regarded her for a moment, and then said in a very soft but menacing voice, “This is roll
call, Ms. Brown. A simple, `Present!' will suffice.”

“…present.”

“Very good. I knew you could do it. Millicent Bulstrode!”

“Present.”

And it went on from there. Snape immediately struck me as a very unpleasant man, whose bad side
I wanted to avoid as much as possible. He paused in the P's, and then searched the class with
his black eyes. They settled on Harry.

“Ah, yes,” he said, very silkily. “Harry Potter. Our new—*celebrity*.” Harry did not react
noticeably to this, nor to the quiet laughter of Malfoy and a few other Slytherin whose names I
could not remember. He just stared at Snape, as if he expected the professor to say something else.
Something was clearly going on between them, and it almost looked as if neither knew exactly what
to make of the other.

Snape continued roll and put the parchment back on his desk when he'd finished. He clasped
his hands behind his back and surveyed us.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he said, and began
pacing. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is
magic. I do not expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with
its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the
mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if
you are not as big a bunch of imbeciles as I usually have to teach.”

It took all of my willpower to repress the snort of mirth that threatened to escape through my
nose, because the adjectives he'd used to describe potion-making and the love with which his
voice caressed the speech reminded me of one my mother's trashy romance novels that I'd
read.

“Potter!” he quite suddenly barked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an
infusion of wormwood?”

Stunned silence hung in the air for just a moment, and as I raised my hand to provide the
answer, Harry spoke: “Draught of Living Death, sir.”

Snape looked as if he had been about to rip into Harry, but he closed his mouth quickly after
the right answer had been provided. Besides the fact that we had *just* covered this in
Herbology, Harry had read through the Potions text, and would have known the answer anyway. Most
other Gryffindors (besides maybe Ron) probably knew the answer as well.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, then?” Snape asked, looking directly at
Harry. This assault on Harry was odd…it seemed as if Snape had some personal grudge against Harry
to be attacking him like this. As for the question, the answer was in the General Introduction to
our Potions text, so I had no illusion that Harry would know this as well, but I raised my hand
anyway.

“The stomach of a goat, sir.”

And again, Snape looked ready to criticize Harry, but stopped when the correct answer sounded
around the room in Harry's quietly determined voice. No one was laughing now. Many people just
looked very confused.

“Ok then, Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

With a sinking sensation, I realized that Harry probably would not know this answer, because it
was covered in the second year Potions text. I knew it was an unfair question because of that, but
I raised my hand anyway, hoping to save Harry some embarrassment.

I watched Harry think hard for a second, and then give up. He met Snape's eyes and said, “I
don't know, sir.”

Snape's eyes flashed, but he said nothing else to Harry. He turned to me instead.
“Yes…?”

“Granger,” I told him. “Hermione Granger.” I ignored Ron mimicking my voice behind Snape's
back, and I felt slightly vindicated when I saw Harry shake his head at him.

“You know the answer, then?” he asked, sounding impatient.

I nodded. “They're actually the same plant, which is also known as aconite.”

Snape pursed his lips and then turned away, moving toward the blackboard. On his way, he said,
“One point to Gryffindor for Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger's preparedness.” He waved his wand at
the board, revealing detailed instructions for the potion we were apparently brewing today. When he
turned back to us, he added, “You should all prepare as well as they have, if you want to succeed
in my class.”

For the rest of class, we prepared a simple potion for curing boils based on the instructions on
the board. We worked in pairs—Sally and I worked together—and it was actually rather relaxing
cutting the ingredients and adding them according to the very precise specifications, except for
the fact of Snape flitting around the room and hovering over everyone's cauldrons. However
unpleasant he might have been, he was obviously a very talented potions maker, because the advice
he gave Sally and I, or rather shouted at us, turned our potion into a flawless final product.

The class was not without incident, however, because at some point Neville managed to actually
melt Seamus's cauldron. The potion only got all over him, but he broke out in painful red
boils, and was moaning in agony before long. Snape came over, scowling, and cleaned up the mess
with a wave of his wand. He also repaired the cauldron before turning to inspect the damage to
Neville.

“Idiot boy,” he hissed, and I was shocked at his direct insult of a student. “I suppose you
added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?” A pause followed, during which
Neville only moaned in pain. “Take him to the hospital wing,” Snape growled at Seamus, and as the
two of them left the classroom, he rounded on Harry and Ron.

“You—Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look
even better if he got it wrong, did you?”

“No, sir—” Harry started.

“I don't want to hear excuses!” Snape yelled. “You've just lost the point you gained
earlier!”

“But—” Harry started again, and stopped when Ron laid a hand on his arm.

Snape then turned away from them and strode to the front of the room, barking out that he wanted
our finished products. Sally and I poured a sample of ours into a flask and stoppered it; she
placed it on his desk with all of the others and we packed up our things.

I could not figure out why Snape seemed so intent on Harry, or why Snape had treated Harry very
unfairly; I imagined if he hadn't known any of the answers, he would have lost points because
of that. As I left the classroom a step behind Sally, I heard Ron and Harry talking behind me.

“What is his problem?” Harry asked.

“Dunno. But cheer up,” Ron said. “Snape's always taking points off Fred and George… How did
you know those answers?”

“I've read the book, and we just learned about the first question in Herbology,” Harry said,
and he sounded tired.

“Oh, yeah…I suppose. Can I come to Hagrid's with you?”

I turned around and discovered they were right behind me. They looked up at me, Ron with some
disdain and Harry with curiosity.

“Can I come too?” I asked, hopeful for something to do other than work now that the week was
over. A few hours of fun or idleness with other students couldn't hurt…

“Who invited you?” Ron asked, and I started to turn away, already feeling my eyes burning, when
Harry intervened.

“Ron,” he said, disappointment in his voice. “Sure you can, Hermione.” I turned back to them
with my best smile, hopeful they weren't observant enough to notice my red face. “Have you met
Hagrid yet?” he wondered.

“Only when he brought us to the school.”

“Then let's go,” Harry said, and started walking away from the Potions classroom. I fell in
step on his left side, and Ron was on his right. Ron looked put out that I was with them, but said
nothing further.

We left the castle and trekked across the sloping lawns, down past the lake and toward the
Forbidden Forest. It was another clear, sunny day, though somewhat chillier than it had been. The
chimney of Hagrid's hut was smoking when we arrived; outside, against the wooden walls, were an
assortment of outdoorsman items. Harry knocked on the door and immediately loud barks met our
ears.

“Back, Fang, *back*,” I heard Hagrid say, and then the door cracked open. Hagrid's face
filled the space. “Hang on. *Back*, Fang.” After another moment, Hagrid opened the door and
let us in. The hut consisted of one room, and there were even more outdoorsy-type things piled
everywhere. Hagrid lost his hold on the giant dog and it launched itself toward Ron. He only had
enough to shut his eyes before it started licking his ears.

“Fang ain't so bad,” Hagrid told us, as Ron started gingerly to pet the beast. “Just
excitable.”

“This is Ron,” Harry said, as we sat down at the table, “and this is Hermione.”

“Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid asked, leaning over and shaking Ron's hand, almost pulling him
up out of the seat. “And pleased to meet you, too, young lady,” he said, reaching over to shake
mine. I patted his thumb and smiled up at him. I preferred my shoulder to remain in its socket.

We then recounted our first week of lessons for the very friendly gamekeeper—that's what he
said he was—and he chuckled a bit when Ron and Harry told him of getting caught by Mrs. Norris out
of bounds when they'd gotten lost.

“I'd like ter introduce `er to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the
school, she follows me everywhere?”

When we finally arrived at our recent Potions lesson with Professor Snape, Hagrid agreed with
Ron by saying that Snape hated all children.

“Then why does he teach?” I wondered.

Hagrid glanced at me, and I thought I saw something weird in his eyes, but it passed.

“He seemed to really *hate* me, though,” Harry said, convinced of the fact.

“Nah,” Hagrid returned. “Why should he?” I saw that Hagrid was looking at the floor when he said
this.

“So Ron,” Hagrid continued, “how's yer brother Charlie? I like him a lot—great with
animals.”

Although to me, and by the looks of it Harry as well, Hagrid had obviously changed the subject,
Ron was quite happy telling Hagrid about his older brother's work with dragons in Romania. For
my part, I couldn't believe that *dragons* actually existed. Every new day in the magical
world, I learned something fantastical and fascinating.

As I listened to Ron, I noticed Harry pick up a piece of paper that had been on the table and
read it over. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he interrupted Ron's description of a Chinese
Fireball, which apparently was a type of dragon.

“Hagrid,” he said, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been
happening while we were there!” I knew that Gringotts was the Wizarding bank, located in Diagon
Alley, but I hadn't been to it during my time in the Alley. And I certainly knew nothing about
a break-in.

“Yeh,” Hagrid grunted, and then went back to asking Ron questions about Charlie. I watched Harry
stare at Hagrid for a few moments, and then he read the paper again.

“Can I read it?” I asked him, and he passed the scrap of paper to me.

**Gringotts Break-In Latest**

*Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the
work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been
taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.*

*“But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know
what's good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.*

“Wait…goblins?” I asked, looking up.

Harry nodded his head impatiently. “Yeah, they run Gringotts; they're short and cranky. But
that's not the point,” he said, leaning toward me to confide something. I leaned in, tuning out
Ron's story completely. “Hagrid and I were at Gringotts on July 31st, my birthday, and he took
something out of a vault that was supposed to be a secret. Said something about school security and
that he was acting on Headmaster Dumbledore's orders.”

I pondered what Harry told me for several seconds. “And you think this break-in was for the same
item?”

He shrugged. “Could be.”

Soon after, we left and headed back toward the castle. On the way there, as we passed around the
lake, I wondered why Hagrid had seemed so evasive when Harry started talking about Snape. And if
Harry was right about the Gringotts break-in, how was Dumbledore involved? Or Hogwarts for that
matter? Something fishy was going on…

But as the afternoon slipped toward evening, and I enjoyed a quiet conversation with Neville,
Sally, and Harry in the Gryffindor common room following dinner, those questions slipped to the
back of my mind. I was enjoying the camaraderie I had apparently been forming with these three, and
no matter how often Ron scowled at me, I went to sleep that Friday night very content. It's too
bad that happiness wouldn't last.

-->



8. Chapter Seven
----------------



A/N: This chapter in canon (“The Midnight Duel”) really pisses me off *raises fist* because
Harry spent his entire pre-Hogwarts era ostracized by his peers and then he does the same thing to
Hermione, as if he hadn't a clue. Reading the books from Hermione's perspective is quite
overwhelming…and heartbreaking.

Chapter Seven

Fall Term 1991

*September 8, 1991*

*Dear Mum and Dad,*

*I survived my first week at Hogwarts! I'm sorry that I wasn't able to write sooner,
but we have been incredibly busy here; we have at least two hours of classes each day, and on
Wednesday's we have five hours! But classes here are not like school at home—they're much
more intense (for the most part) and two or three of them include quite a lot of work outside of
class.*

*Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic
(boring!), Astronomy, and Potions round out our curriculum. Though it has only been one week, I can
already tell Transfiguration will be one of my favorites, and that History of Magic will be my
least favorite. Potions is a strange case: I like what we do in class, because it is so precise,
but the teacher is quite unpleasant. He knows his stuff* *very* *well, but his attitude
could certainly be better.*

*But enough about classes! I want to tell you about my new friends! They are Sally-Anne Perks,
Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter. I met Neville on the train, and he's a bit of a
dunderhead, but he's sweet and can be quite funny. Sally's in my dorm and she's very
quiet, but when I have talked to her we've gotten along well. She's sad a lot, though,
because she misses home. I know how she feels… I miss you guys!*

*And there's Harry Potter. He is such a mystery to me. He is revered in this world for
something he did before he could even remember anything, and yet he is very quiet and thoughtful.
Someone like him would be very arrogant in the Muggle world, but here he is just another student.
He is quite the student, too! He didn't read as far ahead as I did, but he has been very well
prepared for every class. Each morning during breakfast, before the other first years come in, he
and I talk about what we've done and what we're going to do in our classes.*

*If I stay this busy, I'll be home for Christmas in no time! Maybe I'll even find out
where my friends live, and if it's near London I might be able to see them over break. Would
that work for you two?*

*I love you and miss you,*

*Hermio**ne*

I mailed out the letter Sunday night from the school owlery, and watched for several minutes as
the bird disappeared into the fading twilight. I had finished my work for the week the day before,
so Sunday was full of leisure and relaxation. I did want to stay awake much longer that night,
because I wanted to be fresh for the new week of classes. When I returned to the Gryffindor common
room, most students were busy completing their homework, so I retired to my dorm. Sally was lying
on her bed, reading, and Lavender looked like she was writing a letter.

“What did you think of the first week?” I asked, as I started to get ready for bed.

“Too much work…” Lavender sighed, not looking up from her letter.

“I kind of like it,” I replied. Lavender was a pureblood, so I guess I shouldn't have
expected any excitement about magic from her.

“You would,” was all she said. I stared at the back of her head for a moment, and then turned to
Sally. She had laid her book across her chest and was looking at me.

“It's getting better,” she told me quietly, and I walked over there. I sat on the edge of
her bed, and she sat up a bit, allowing me to slide completely onto her bed. We sat cross-legged,
facing each other.

“I just mailed a letter to my parents,” I said, mindful of what she had told me earlier in the
week. “I miss them a lot.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, and the tiny smile on her lips was a marked improvement. “I mailed one
yesterday.”

“Hey, you know, if you lived near London we could get together over hols,” I said.

Both of her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “I live in West London, near Piccadilly.”

“Wow, really?” I exclaimed, marveling at the coincidence. “I live near there, too!”

“Small world, I guess?” she asked, though it was rhetorical. “I don't see why we
couldn't meet up.”

“That would be so great!” I added, and I knew I was gushing, but just the thought of possibly
meeting one of my new friends over the holidays was amazing.

“So Hermione,” Sally said, leaning toward me. I leaned forward a little. “What do you think of
Harry?”

I cocked my head to the side as a smile quirked my lips. I wondered why she was asking this
question now. “He's nice,” I replied. “Seems down to earth and all.”

“Mm hmm…” she said, though it was more of a noise than actual words. “Is that all you're
going to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…you're sweet on him, aren't you?” she asked, coyly. My eyes widened.

“What? No!” I whispered back, fiercely. Quite honestly, the possibility had never even crossed
my mind. I had no idea why she thought that.

“I don't believe you, Hermione,” she sing-songed, swaying back and forth a bit and grinning
madly at me.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sally, but no way! That's just gross!” The topic of the
conversation had shocked me, but having this type of chat with another girl was a new experience
for me, and I was enjoying it.

“Gross? Harry's not *gross*,” she returned.

“No, but—but I don't even want to think about that right now.” Unbidden, an image of
Harry's emerald eyes rose to the surface of my mind.

“Ok, if you say so,” Sally said, and then leaned back. “Are you going to bed soon?”

I nodded. “Soon as I hit the loo.”

“I think I'm going to turn in as well. It's been a tiring week.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, sliding off her bed and standing up. “G'night, Sally.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.” She gave me this weird, knowing smile—I just shook my head and
laughed—and then I turned away. Fifteen minutes later I was asleep.

Monday, after Herbology, most of us headed back to the Gryffindor tower. Once we arrived there,
however, commotion ensued over a notice that had been posted on the bulletin board. It said:

*Starting this Thursday, September 12, Gryffindor first years will have flying lessons at 3:30
with Slytherin first years. These lessons will occur on the second Thursday of every month for the
rest of the year. Please meet in the center of the Quidditch pitch, and arrive on time.* *AND
WEAR PANTS!*

*Madam Hooch*

*Flight Instructor*

Some students were nervous (including me), others excited, and one or two were apathetic. But it
was Harry's reaction that surprised me the most; it was the most animated I'd seen him all
year. As he turned away from the notice, I saw a dour look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked, as Ron joined us.

“Oh, it's just what I always wanted,” Harry said, and there was some frustration in his
voice. “To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.”

“What? Why would you care about what Malfoy thinks?” I wondered.

Harry looked up at me, and his eyes were smoldering. “He's always talking about how amazing
a broom flyer he is and I've never even held a broom before.”

“So? We all have to learn sometime…”

“And you don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself,” Ron added. “I've heard
what he's said about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk.”

“First years aren't even allowed to *play* Quidditch,” I said, reminding them both. Ron
frowned at me and Harry just shook his head.

“But don't you see?” he pushed. “If he really is better than all of us and if we look
stupid, then he's going to spew that stuff about purebloods even more.”

“I do my best to ignore it,” I said, thinking of the few times I'd heard Malfoy talking
about how much superior purebloods were to half-bloods and Muggleborns.

Harry just glowered and said nothing, and he and Ron moved away to talk about flying; Ron had
flown before so Harry wanted to know everything, apparently. I stood there staring at the notice
for a little while longer, trying to figure out why Harry was so upset about Malfoy's childish
goading. I discovered no answer then, and it wasn't until many years later I finally attributed
Harry's limited knowledge of the First War, at the time, to his angst.

Hagrid had told Harry about Voldemort's campaign and what it had been based upon—mainly the
prejudice purebloods felt for everyone else—so Malfoy's constant taunts reminded him of his
parents, and how they had given up their lives to end that same crusade. So to Harry, Malfoy was
directly insulting the memory of Lily and James Potter, no matter how innocent and wrong his
impressions of the First War might have been.

But that Monday afternoon I had no idea about any of that, and I remained stumped as the week
progressed. Harry continued to act sour, though it lessened after that first afternoon. Wednesday
night, a few hours before Astronomy, I went to the library to see if I could find a book on
Quidditch, or just flying in general.

I hadn't been to the library yet, and I was delighted at the pure size of the place when I
entered. Countless shelves held nearly infinite numbers of books, and I realized that all of my
most burning questions about the magical world could probably be answered by spending some quality
time in here. But for tonight, I asked the librarian, Madam Pince, for some reading material on
flying, and she directed me to *Quidditch Through the Ages*.

Most of the book was devoted to a thorough history of the Wizarding sport of Quidditch, and how
it had evolved over the centuries into what it currently was, but there were two chapters near the
end on basic flying tips and strategies. These were the pages I read carefully, both before
Astronomy and also well into the night afterwards.

I did not particularly like the idea of flying, as heights had always frightened me a bit, but
this was a new experience and I figured I should make the most of it. Also, Quidditch was
*very* popular with most witches and wizards, so a working knowledge of the sport would help
me to understand and participate in discussions.

I brought *Quidditch Through the Ages* to breakfast Thursday morning, and as usual only
Harry was there when I sat down. He looked up with some curiosity at the book, and perhaps some
irony because *he* was usually the one with reading material at breakfast; today, though, he
did not have a book open in front of him.

“What d'ya have there, Hermione?”

“It's called *Quidditch Through the Ages*, and it's about Quidditch, obviously, but
it also has some suggestions for flying,” I said, pushing the book across the table toward him.

“You've been reading up on flying for today?” he asked, with a questioning brow.

“I don't know anything about it, and I'm not too fond of heights, so I wanted to read
about it at least.”

He nodded, turning the pages of the book slowly. “That's a good idea. Wish I'd thought
of it.”

“Well,” I said, taking the book from him and opening to the last two chapters. “Everything I
read is from here to the end.” I handed it back to him.

“Mind if I take a look at it?” he asked, looking up from the pages. His glasses flashed in the
morning light that saturated the Great Hall, for a second, but it was gone just as quickly as it
had happened and I could see his green eyes again.

“Not at all,” I said, loading my plate with breakfast and trying to ignore that weird
observation.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Harry.”

When post came that day, a barn owl flew down to Neville, surprising him so that he knocked over
his cup of juice. It got all over Lily, Parvati, and Seamus, but an intrepid fifth year cleaned up
the mess quickly for us. I would have to remember the spell he had used: *Evanesco*. After
repeatedly apologizing, Neville took the package and discovered that it was from his
grandmother.

When he opened it, he looked shocked and excited. He held up a glass ball about half the size of
his fist. It appeared to be completely full of a dense white smoke, and Neville stared at it in
raptures for a few moments.

“Well, what is it?” Ron asked, impatiently.

“It's a Remembrall! Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something
you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh…” Before our
very eyes, the white mist swirled and reddened quickly, stopping when it had reached the color of
blood. “…you've forgotten something,” he finished, looking morose now.

“I suppose it doesn't help you if you don't even know what you've forgotten?” Seamus
asked, looking quite sympathetic. Though I would have never admitted this out loud, I thought it
was almost funny that Neville had forgotten what he'd forgotten. I guess the incongruity
appealed to me.

Not too long after that, Malfoy and the two brutes always by his side—who I was starting to
consider his bodyguards—came by the Gryffindor table, and I saw Malfoy's eyes cut toward the
scarlet Remembrall. Before I could warn Neville, Malfoy had grabbed it out of his hands.

“Hey—” I started, but was cut off by Ron and, to my surprise, Harry jumping up and yelling at
Malfoy.

“Give that back!” Ron yelled, advancing toward the three Slytherins.

“Why don't you leave us alone, Malfoy,” Harry said, and his face was red. His fists were
clenched and there was a burgeoning look of fury spreading over his features. The sudden motion
must have been noticed at the head table, though, because I saw Professor McGonagall heading in our
direction.

As I watched Malfoy back away from Harry slightly, I warned, “Professor McGonagall's
coming…” They paid me no heed, however.

“Back off, Potter,” Malfoy said.

“Give it back then, you tosser!” Ron exclaimed, and I glanced at McGonagall to see if she'd
heard Ron's language. It didn't look like she had, but she was approaching quickly.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me—”

“What *is* going on here?” McGonagall's voice cut across the proceedings, effectively
silencing and capturing the attention of everyone.

“Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor,” Neville said, very quietly. All eyes swung back and
forth between Neville, Malfoy, and McGonagall. She just turned toward Malfoy and raised an eyebrow.
He pursed his lips, which made his already-pointed face look very pinched, and dropped the glass
ball back into Neville's hands.

“Was just looking,” he said, and turned his back on all of us. McGonagall glared after him for a
moment, and then shifted her eyes to look at Harry and Ron, who were still staring at the
Slytherins' retreating figures.

“I do *not* want any trouble between this house and Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle,” she
said. “Am I clear?”

Harry seemed to deflate a little. “Yes ma'am.”

During the day's classes, I couldn't shake the strange tone of the confrontation I'd
witnessed at breakfast, but I didn't want to ask Harry about it directly. He seemed slightly
more withdrawn than usual until the end of Transfiguration, when all anyone could talk about was
flying, for which our lessons started in forty short minutes. We all headed down from the
Gryffindor tower together, and when we arrived on the Quidditch pitch at 3:30, all ten Slytherin
first years were already there.

Nothing was said for two minutes as we all stood uneasily near each other, and then the
instructor arrived. Her name was Madam Hooch and she was shorter than most other teachers—except
Flitwick, of course—but thin and lithe, and her wild gray hair and yellow eyes completed the feline
look.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she yelled at us. “Everyone stand by a broomstick—come on,
hurry up!”

We were using school brooms, and I had heard Ron tell Harry on the way to the pitch that his
twin brothers hated the school brooms. They'd told him most or all of them had one defect or
another. I looked down at the scratched shaft and disordered twigs with some trepidation. I really
did not want to fall off my broom.

“Stick your right hand out over the broom and say `UP!'” Hooch said, and all twenty of us
did as she instructed.

“UP!” one voice called across the pitch, and each of us summoned our brooms with varying degrees
of success. Harry's fairly leapt into his hand; Malfoy wasn't far behind; the rest of us,
with the exception of Neville and a Slytherin girl eventually had the broom in hand. Mine just
rolled over at first, but I called again, and it slowly rose.

I knew Harry and Malfoy were excited about flying, and that quite frankly I was petrified, so I
wondered if personal desire had anything to do with calling the broom to one's hand. A small
part of me wanted to try, so maybe the broom somehow knew that.

Madam Hooch next told us how to properly mount the brooms, and I am not ashamed to admit that it
was…challenging…at first, having a hard wooden shaft between my legs. I had to adjust my position
several times before I was comfortable enough to sit still, and I wondered if I'd ever get used
to that feeling.

“No, Mr. Malfoy, you grip the handle like *this*,” Hooch said, and I looked over there.
Malfoy was looking at her with a snarl on his face.

“But my *father*”—he pronounced it like `faaaahther'—“said *this* is how I'm
supposed hold it,” he argued with her.

“Well your father taught you the wrong grip,” Hooch said, and made sure he was holding it the
proper way.

I heard Ron chuckle. “Guess he's been doing it wrong all these years.”

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” Hooch said. “Keep your brooms
steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight down by leaning forward slightly. On my
whistle—three—two—”

Neville seemed to have forgotten another thing, however: how to count. Before the whistle had
even touched Hooch's lips, he'd pushed off the ground, very hard by the looks of it. I
looked up, surprised, and saw the mounting horror on his face.

“Come back, boy! Lean forward! Lean—” Hooch shouted at him, but it was to no avail. He was
rising quickly, and must have been fifteen or twenty feet in the air when he suddenly slipped
sideways off the broom.

“Oh—” someone shouted, but was interrupted by the gut-wrenching *crack* of Neville hitting
the ground, hands first. I was just glad it hadn't been head first. He would have broken his
neck for sure. Hooch rushed over to him.

“Broken wrist,” she muttered. “Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get.” Moaning, Neville
rose to his feet, holding his wrist. I looked at it and saw that it was bent at an odd angle, and
averted my eyes quickly.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing,” Hooch addressed us. “You
leave those brooms on the ground or you'll be out of Hogwarts and on the train home faster than
you can say `Quidditch'. Come on, dear,” she finished, leading Neville away, who hobbled after
her. She put his arm around his shoulders and talked to him as they headed for the castle.

Shortly thereafter, Malfoy burst into raucous peals of laughter. Several other Slytherin,
including his two great buffoons, joined in. “Did you see his face?” he said, through his laughter.
“What a lump!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Parvati said, though it was half-hearted.

“Sticking up for Longbottom?” a Slytherin girl asked. I thought her name might have been Pansy,
or possibly Posey. “Never thought *you'd* like fat little cry-babies.”

“Come off it—” Lily started to say, but Malfoy interrupted her.

“Look!” he cried, and lunged forward. He bent and picked up something from the ground. “It's
that stupid thing Longbottom got this morning!” And he held up the Remembrall, which sparkled
brilliantly in the sunlight.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry put forth, and silence suddenly fell over all of us. Harry
walked two steps toward Malfoy, and stopped, holding his hand out. His voice still rang in my ears,
as if the words had been shouted next to my face: *Give that here, Malfoy*.

Something—was it fear?—flashed across Malfoy's face, but then he just grinned at Harry. It
was maniacal. “I think I'll just leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—perhaps up a
tree?”

“*No*,” Harry yelled, and I shivered at the pure command in his voice. Others seemed to
have heard or felt it too; Malfoy, however, ignored him and leapt onto his broom. He pushed off and
rocketed into the air. He leaned forward about twenty-five feet up, and comfortably hovered above
us. Apparently he hadn't been lying about being able to fly well.

“Come and get it, Potter!” Malfoy taunted, and I saw Harry go for his broom.

“No!” I finally intervened, and Harry stopped for just a moment to look at me. “I don't care
if Malfoy's expelled, but Hooch said if you touched your broom you'd be out of here.”

“Shove off, Hermione—” Ron started to say, but I overrode him.

“Harry, don't.” He continued to stare at me.

“Shut up, Hermione!” Ron yelled, venomously, breaking the spell. Harry grabbed his broom and
leapt on it, rising into the air just as quickly as Malfoy had. There were some shouts and gasps at
Harry's apparent skill, even though he said he'd never ridden a broom before; with a
mounting sense of fatalism, I watched the events unfold. Harry turned his broom to face Malfoy.

“Give it here,” he called. “Or I'll knock you off that broom.” I could tell he was deadly
serious, too. Something about Malfoy really seemed to get under Harry's skin, and the more of
this side of Harry I was seeing, the less intelligent it seemed to make him truly angry.

“Oh, yeah?” was Malfoy's response. Rather than wait any longer, Harry shot toward Malfoy
like a bullet from a gun. Malfoy moved to the side just in time, and Harry quickly brought his
broom around, hovering once again.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry said. So those were their names;
I looked toward them and saw they were staring up at the confrontation like the rest of us, though
the looks on their faces were decidedly stupider than anyone else's.

“Catch it if you can, then!” Malfoy called, and threw the Remembrall into a high arc, away from
them both. He then shot back down to the ground.

Harry watched the ball for a moment, and then rocketed forth. I knew there was no way he could
get to the ball in time—it had too much of a head start, and it was falling away from him faster
than he was moving—but as we all watched with mesmerized eyes, he dove toward the ground, hoping to
cut it off before it hit the grass and shattered.

And, amazingly, he was catching the ball. He was gaining speed at an alarming rate, though, and
if he somehow managed to catch the ball he would surely crash into the ground, most likely breaking
every bone in his body. Oh, I could hardly bare to watch! From behind my hands, I saw him stretch
out his arm during the last five feet, swipe the ball from the air, and pull up violently on the
broom. His downward progress screeched to a halt, and he rolled off the broom to land softly on his
back in the grass. Everyone exhaled the collective breath they'd been holding, and mine might
have been the loudest.

“HARRY POTTER!” a voice suddenly shouted, startling us all. I knew before I even looked that it
was Professor McGonagall, and she sounded shocked and appalled. I turned toward her slowly,
dreadfully, and saw her storming toward us with a very, very red face.

“*NEVER*—in *all* my time at Hogwarts—” she yelled, and could barely form words. She
was nearly apoplectic. “How *dare* you—might have broken your *neck*—”

“It wasn't his fault, Professor—”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil—”

“But Malfoy—”

“That's *enough*, Mr. Weasley.”

“Malfoy started it,” I said, surprising myself. She obviously hadn't wanted students'
input at this point, and she rounded on me.

“Miss Granger, when I want the opinion of my students, I will *ask* for it. Is that
clear?”

“Yes ma'am,” I responded, nodding meekly.

“Potter, follow me, *now*,” she commanded, and Harry fell in step behind her without
another word to anyone, or even a look back. I was sure it was the last time I would ever see him,
and my heart sank. There went one of my few friends.

“Look at Potter go,” Malfoy sneered. “Good riddance, I say.”

The words that flew at Malfoy from other Gryffindors after that were loud and mean, and although
I did not condone the cursing, were justified in my mind. He had probably just caused an innocent
student's expulsion. He and the other Slytherin first years quailed slightly under the verbal
assault, and soon thereafter Hooch returned. She looked quite angry, and I assumed that McGonagall
had explained to her what had happened. She said nothing except to cancel the rest of the
lesson.

It was with heavy hearts we journeyed back to the castle, many long paces behind the Slytherins.
We were already down a man, and it was only the second week of class.

---

“And then she goes, `Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker,'” Harry
told us at dinner that night, with a massive smile on his face. That smile would become quite the
rarity.

“You're *joking*,” Ron said, dropping his fork back onto his plate.

When Harry had shown up for dinner, we were all surprised and happy to see him, because we had
all genuinely thought he was going home. But he had appeared happy, and as he told us the story of
what had happened after he'd left the pitch, that happiness only grew. It was remarkable how
something with such potential for catastrophe had ended so well.

“Not at all,” Harry replied. “McGonagall even wants to get me a *Nimbus Two Thousand*, but
she has to clear it with Dumbledore first.”

“But *Seeker*?” Ron asked, still hung up on that fact. “But first years *never*—you
must be the youngest house player in about—”

“A century, yeah. Wood told me,” he said, grinning once again. “And my dad played for our house
team, too. That's what McGonagall said; `He was an excellent Quidditch player himself,'”
Harry quoted.

“Congratulations, Harry,” I said, because Ron was just gaping at him. Other first years around
us also congratulated him. “Glad you didn't get into trouble.”

He nodded. “I start training next week. Only don't tell anyone,” he said, looking around at
us all. “Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

Ron was still unable to speak, but his twin brothers rushed over just then. They both leaned
down, on either side of Harry.

“Well done,” one said. “Wood told us. We're on the team too—Beaters.”

“We're going to win the Quidditch cup for sure, this year,” the other said. “We haven't
won since Charlie left,” he continued, and I remembered that Charlie was their older brother who
worked with dragons in Romania. “But this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be
good, Harry, Wood was almost raving when he told us.”

“Anyway,” the first said, “we've got to go; Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret
passageway out of the school.”

As they left, I heard the second say, “Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the
Smarmy that we found in our first week.”

Dinner was a revolving door that night, because not one minute after the twins had left, Malfoy
and his two cronies showed up.

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” he wondered,
ugly pleasure filling his voice at the thought of Harry's expulsion.

Harry turned slowly around on the bench to face them. “You're much braver now that
you're back on the ground with your two little friends,” he said, in the same quiet voice he
normally spoke with. Crabbe and Goyle—I remembered their names finally—were too stupid to realize
they'd just been insulted.

“I'd take you on *anytime* on my own,” Malfoy retorted, looking supremely confident.
“Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel.” My heart stopped. I'd read about wizard's duels
in *Hogwarts, A History* and they were all very unpleasant, dangerous affairs. That didn't
even include the fact that first years engaging in one was another sure way of getting
expelled.

“Wands only—no contact,” Malfoy continued. “What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's
duel before?”

“Of course he has,” Ron piped up, and I willed him to shut his mouth, just for once. Of course
he didn't. “I'm his second, who's yours?”

“Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.”
Malfoy waited for Harry to nod, and then he walked away. Crabbe and Goyle followed him like
dogs.

“What *is* a wizard's duel?” Harry asked, turning to Ron. “What do you mean, you're
my second?” I could have jumped in and explained everything at that moment, but visions of what
I'd read about wizards of the past eviscerating each other over the pettiest of things made my
stomach clench, so I said nothing.

“Well, a second's there to take over if you die,” Ron said, without inflection in his voice,
and I closed my eyes against the wave of revulsion I could feel burning inside me. Everything
seemed to be going wrong today. “But people only die in proper duels, you know, with *real*
wizards. The most and you Malfoy will be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you
know enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway. Must have
forgotten this is Gryffindor.”

“And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?” Harry asked. I thought there might have been
some worry in his voice, but it was a very practical question.

“Toss it away and punch him in the face,” Ron said.

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to say something. “Harry, you can't.”

They both looked across the table at me; Ron seemed annoyed and Harry looked surprised to see me
here. He only met my eyes for a second, and then glanced away.

“Can't we eat in peace in this place?” Ron asked, still staring at me.

I ignored Ron, because I clearly wouldn't get anywhere with him. “You could have already
been expelled once today, and if you go wandering around the school after hours, and you're
caught, you could be again—”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Ron cut across me.

I lost my temper. I just wanted to save them, or more specifically Harry, from the potential
danger of a wizard's duel. But I couldn't say that; eleven year old boys would not respond
well to someone trying to spare them from `danger'.

“Think of the points you'd lose for Gryffindor! It's really very selfish of you!”

“And it's really none of your business,” Ron retorted, standing and pulling Harry up with
him.

“But—”

“Good-bye,” he added, and they walked away. Harry followed him much like Crabbe and Goyle had
followed Malfoy, not five minutes earlier.

But I wasn't about to give up, so much later that night I stayed in the common room after
everyone had gone up to bed. At 11:15, I turned off the lamp next to me and just stared into the
fire. Everything had actually been going rather well until today, and I wondered how or why there
always seemed to be a confluence of events when life went both really well and very poorly.

I had on a pair of sleeping shorts, a simple white t-shirt, and my bathrobe on over them. It was
a faded pink, but it was comfortable and I loved it. I settled deeper into the chair, absorbing the
warmth from the lowly burning fire, and waited.

Around 11:30, noise on the steps to the boys' dormitories alerted me of students, and I
watched in the darkness as Harry and Ron crept into the common room. They were both wearing
bathrobes, too, and they had their wands gripped in their hands. I waited until they were at the
portrait hole, hoping to startle them, and then said:

“I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry.” I reached out and flicked the lamp
back on, illuminating the room from the fireplace to the portrait. They looked genuinely surprised
to see me.

“*You!*” Ron almost shouted. His face was quickly turning red. “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” I lied to him, hoping the fear of punishment would dissuade them.
“Percy—he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this.” Truthfully, it had not occurred to me
until just that moment to go to a Prefect.

“What? You wouldn't…” he said, and then just stared at me for a second. Then he turned to
Harry. “Come on,” he said, throwing me another unhappy look over his shoulder. Harry followed him
out of the common room without a word.

I sighed and pushed myself out of the chair. Wrapping my robe more tightly around me, I followed
them into the corridor just outside of the Gryffindor tower.

“Do you really want Slytherin to win the house cup?” I asked trying another angle. Ron looked
back, frustrated I was still following them. “Because they will if you get caught and lose all
those house points.”

“Go away,” Ron said, and turned away. Harry kept walking.

“Harry, come on, Professor McGonagall gave you a *gift* today, are you going to disappoint
her?”

He stopped, looking up at the high ceiling of the corridor for a moment. “This is something I
have to do, Hermione,” he said, very quietly. Ron was looking back and forth between him and
me.

I huffed and stamped my foot, frustrated that I wasn't getting through to either of them.
From Harry's tone of voice, though, it was clear that I would not sway him. “All right, but I
warned you two—” I started, but stopped talking when I turned to see a blank portrait. The Fat Lady
had disappeared!

“W-where did she go?” I wondered.

“Who?” Ron asked.

“The Fat Lady! She's gone!”

“That's too bad,” Ron said, but there was no pity in his voice.

“Now what?”

“That's your problem,” Ron told me, turning away. “We've got to go; we're going to
be late.” And they both walked off down the corridor, away from me. It took me three seconds to
reach a decision, and then I turned on the spot and ran after them. My robe trailed out behind me
as I flew down the hall.

“I'm coming with you,” I said, after catching them.

Ron sighed. “You are *not.*”

“Do you seriously think I'm going to stand out there and wait to get caught? At least I can
*help* you two if I'm with you.”

“You've got some nerve—”

“Quiet, both of you,” Harry commanded, and we stopped and, indeed, we shut up. “I heard
something,” he said.

“Mrs. Norris, you think?” Ron asked, crouching low and looking into the darkness.

To our surprise, it was Neville. He was lying on the floor, sprawled out and fast asleep.

“What on earth…?” I wondered, as Ron went up to him and nudged him with his foot. He grunted as
he woke and then his eyes widened upon seeing us.

“Oh, thank Merlin you found me! I've been out here for hours—I couldn't remember the new
password.”

“Oh Neville,” I sighed, bending over and helping him to his feet. We hadn't seen him since
his accident earlier that day during flying lessons. “The password's pig snout but it won't
help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off to some other portrait.”

“How's your arm?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” Neville said, showing us his arm and rotating his wrist around. “Madam Pomfrey fixed it
in thirty seconds.”

“That's nice, Neville, but we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you—” Ron
started.

“Don't leave me!” Neville exclaimed. “The Bloody Baron's already been past here twice,
and I don't want to see him again!”

“Well, fine—but if *either* of you get us caught,” Ron said, looking at Neville and then at
me, “I'll never rest until I—”

“Until you *what*?” I challenged him, sick and tired of his condescending tone.

“Never mind,” Harry cut in, and motioned us all onward. The journey through the school to the
trophy room was a quick and silent one. We encountered no one; in truth, it seemed oddly quiet, but
I said nothing.

Once inside the trophy room—all of them sparkled in the bright moonlight coming in through the
high windows—we gripped our wands and waited for something to happen. With every passing minute, I
dearly wanted to be back in my bed, out of trouble, but I had gotten myself into this mess by
leaving the common room in the first place, so I did not complain.

“He's late,” Ron whispered, our first words in ten minutes. “Think he's chickened
out?”

But before anyone could respond, we heard another voice say, “Sniff around, my sweet, they might
be lurking in a corner.”

My heart stopped. It was Filch! We were all going to be caught out of bed—visions of expulsion
flitted across my mind and I nearly panicked.

“This way!” Harry whispered, urgently, and I was glad he at least had kept his cool. We managed
to leave the trophy room through the other door just before Filch came rushing in.

“They're in here somewhere…probably hiding,” we heard him say.

“Over here,” Harry mouthed, and we crept along the corridor, staying as close to the suits of
armor lining the hall as we could. We could hear Filch coming toward our exit from the trophy room,
and Neville quite suddenly broke into a run. He didn't get very far, though, tripping over his
own feet and crashing—with a cacophonous noise that would have raised attention even during the
day—into several suits of armor.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and we ran like the wind was at our heels. This time, my robes and my hair
trailed out behind me, and I must have been a sight, but I was completely focused on keeping up
with the others and ignoring the burning cramp in my diaphragm. Adrenaline was high and nerves were
tight, but I just stared at Harry's back and followed him.

Eventually, some minutes later, we slowed to a stop and the only sound filling that barren
hallway was our panting breaths. I looked around, my hands behind my head, and noticed that we were
near our Charms classroom.

“We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” Ron said, stating the obvious. “As quickly as
possible.” In that moment, when Harry and Neville were nodding to Ron's sage advice, I realized
something.

“Malfoy tricked you,” I said, and Harry looked soberly at me. “You realize that, don't you?
He was never going to meet you two—Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room. Malfoy
must have told him.”

“How d'ya know that?” Ron demanded.

But Harry saw the logic, too. “She's right, Ron. Let's go.”

Then the worst that could have happened flew out of a classroom right in front of us: Peeves. He
saw us and immediately started to laugh loudly.

“Shut up, Peeves! You'll get us caught!” Ron pleaded, but the Poltergeist kept laughing.

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get
caughty.”

What was the purpose of this stupid thing in a school? I had no idea why the staff allowed such
an obnoxious presence at Hogwarts—yes, I admit my perspective was skewed at that moment, but
honestly?—and I wanted it gone.

“Not if you don't give us away, Peeves,” Harry said. He just looked at Harry.

“Oh, just get out of the way!” Ron snarled, swiping at the poltergeist. I groaned; Ron really
needed to think more about what he was doing.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves screamed. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

So we ran again, but instead of turning around and running toward the heart of the school where
stairways and corridors intersected at every turn, we stupidly continued straight down the same
corridor. At the end, we crashed into a door, and discovered it was locked. Neville slumped against
the wall, and Ron leaned back against the door, a hopeless look on his face.

“This is it!” he cried, channeling his inner drama queen. “We're done for! This is the end!”
I could hear Filch's heavy footsteps coming closer and closer, and Peeves was still shouting
loudly.

I did the only thing I could think of: I pointed my wand at the door.

“*Alohomora!*” I shouted, but mine wasn't the only voice; Harry had uttered the spell
at exactly the same instant. Nothing happened. I looked at Harry.

“Again!” he exclaimed, and we repeated the spell, this time putting all of our desperation into
it. The lock clicked and the door swung open. We tumbled inside and closed the door, hearing the
lock click again. We pressed our ears up against the door and listened.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch asked.

“Say please.”

“WHERE DID THEY GO?” Filch shouted.

“Shan't say nothing if you don't say please,” Peeves answered, and my previous negative
thoughts about the poltergeist were all but forgotten. Delay him, Peeves! Send him somewhere
else!

“All right—*please*?”

“Nothing! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say *nuffink* if you didn't say please! Ha
ha haaa!” Peeves shouted, and we heard his laughter fading away. He had left without telling Filch
where we were!

“Filch thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “We should be okay—what *is* it,
Neville?” Harry asked, and I realized that Neville had been whimpering strangely the entire time we
were listening through the door.

“L-l-look…” Neville said, blubbering almost hysterically, and pointing behind us. We turned at
once, and there was something literally out of the mythical past staring down at us. And before my
brain processed the beast in front of me, I realized that we were not in a room, but had actually
entered another corridor. And the Charms classroom was on the third floor—so this must be the
forbidden third floor corridor.

I understood Dumbledore's reference to a most painful death, even as I reached behind me to
pry the door open. There in front of us, staring down at us with six lolling eyes, three tongues
that slobbered drool at our feet, and three sets of teeth that would make quick work of our flesh
and bone, was a Cerberus. That's right, a *Cerberus*, the fabled three-headed dog that
guards the gate to Hades. This one was certainly guarding *something*, if the trap door it
stood on was any indication.

Then it started to growl, and I thought I had been dropped into the world's largest
subwoofer. I finally had the door open, because I would rather have been expelled than eaten by
that *thing*, and we all fell backward through the opening. I slammed the door shut, cutting
off the growls of the beast (some part of me wondered how they had soundproofed it, but that train
of thought fell away quickly).

“Just—run—now,” I ground out, seeing that Filch had gone off somewhere, and we sprinted with
everything we had left back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Where on earth have you all been?” the Fat Lady asked when we skidded to a halt in front of
her.

Not bothering to answer, Harry said, “Pig snout, pig snout,” and the portrait swung open. Once
inside the common room, we threw ourselves into arm chairs, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat
from our faces. No one spoke for several minutes; Neville looked like he'd had a stroke.

“What d'ya suppose that thing's doing in a *school*?” Ron wondered.

I tended to agree with his unhappiness over a Cerberus, of all things, in a school for children,
but there was something they had obviously missed.

“Didn't you see what it was standing on?” I asked.

“The floor?” Harry suggested. He looked quite spent. “I wasn't really looking at its feet. I
was too busy with its heads…”

“No, Harry, not the floor. There was a trapdoor underneath it. Could be guarding something,” I
said, and he whipped his head toward me. I couldn't understand his reaction for several
seconds, but then I remembered our little conversation in Hagrid's hut.

“I'm going to bed,” Neville said, in a very flat voice, and he dragged himself away from us.
I kind of felt sorry for him. He just hadn't been able to get into the common room, and
he'd seen a Cerberus as a result.

“So am I,” Ron said. He looked at me. “Hope you're happy, Hermione—we didn't lose any of
your precious house points.”

“Me? *Me?*” I almost yelled. I was up out of my chair like a shot, heading for Ron. My
patience and my temper had finally snapped. “We could have all been caught out there and
*expelled*. Or we could have been *killed!* You want that on your conscience?”

“You'd think we dragged you along,” he said, after a moment, and then turned away. I watched
him, seething, as he disappeared up the boys' stairs.

“Hermione,” Harry said, and I slowly turned back to him, my anger at Ron bleeding off
quickly.

“What?”

“It was guarding something?”

“Looked like it,” I said. I was tired and aching all over; I was trying not to be short with
him, but it was hard.

“Think it could be the item from Gringotts that Hagrid moved here?”

I shrugged. “Maybe Harry, but what's that got to do with anything?”

“Well, it's just, he said Hogwarts is the *safest* place—oh, never mind,” he said, and
slumped down into his chair a bit. One part of me wanted to continue this conversation with him,
especially considering how worn out and sad he looked just then, but a more persuasive part wanted
sleep.

“Good night, Harry,” I said, turning toward the girls' dormitories. He did not respond.

-->



9. Chapter Eight
----------------



A/N: Because Halloween fell on a Thursday in 1991, the infamous Charms class has been replaced
with a Transfiguration lesson.

Chapter Eight

September 19, 1991

I laid my cheek on the dusty table, far back in a forgotten corner of the library. Moisture
pooled along the edge of my skin, and I noticed vaguely how the dust swirled around in my
tears.

“Happy birthday to me.”

As I sang the words in a hoarse whisper, dust puffed up in front of my face. Every little speck
caught the light as they twirled and sank back down to the wooden surface.

“Happy birthday to m-me.”

I almost sobbed as the last word left my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut against the
shudders making their way through my body. I was afraid of completely breaking down, but the tears
wouldn't stop and I couldn't stop shaking.

“Happy birthday to Hermione.”

My cheek had started to burn from the weight of my head, but I left it on the table. My eyes
were nearly swollen shut and my hair was a tangled mess, but all I cared about was finishing the
song.

“Happy birthday to me.”

I took a few deep, stuttering breaths, ignoring the dust as it entered my wheezing lungs. I
sniffled, but something from my nose managed to run onto the table anyway. I didn't care.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” I told myself. “You've made it to your t-twelfth birthday. What
are you going to do now?”

I brought my arms up and crossed them on the table in front of my face. My nostrils flared out
against the violent burning just behind my eyes. My breath shortened.

“N-nothing…” I whispered, and then I buried my face in my arms. I sobbed uncontrollably, shaking
and moaning and crying, for the friend I had lost and the others who were ignoring me.

---

Two Days Earlier…

The seventeenth of September dawned quite cold. Fall had officially come to the Highlands, and I
wore an extra sweater under my robes to ward off the early morning chill. As usual, I was one of
the first up and the halls were silent as I headed for the Great Hall. The echoes of my footfalls
swept down the corridors and then back again, greeting me as they rushed past.

My thoughts were filled with the events of the past week, or the lack thereof, really. Ever
since the night of the Cerberus, as I'd come to think of it, my contact with Harry and Neville
had seemed to dwindle. At first, I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination, but then I saw
that Neville was most definitely avoiding Harry, Ron, and I. When I tried to ask him about it, he
just looked at me and said he would rather forget that night ever happened. Then he walked
away.

It hurt to see him turn his back on me—he was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! He should
have some backbone! Yes, we came face to face with literally something out of our worst nightmares,
but none of us were harmed. The possibility that harm could have befallen us was not lost on me,
but I wasn't going to be angry at Harry, Ron, or Neville about something I couldn't have
controlled. And honestly, I had gotten myself into that situation in the first place, so I was even
less worried about it.

But apparently Neville had been truly traumatized by those three fanged heads; he had not spoken
to me for about a week and he went out of his way to avoid contact with Harry, Ron, and I. It was
frustrating to me that he was distancing himself, but there was little I could do without
confronting him, and I knew that would make things worse. Neville was the type of person who would
deal very poorly with a direct confrontation.

The thing that bothered me the most, however, was how Harry and I had drifted apart since that
night. I was not sure if it was conscious on his part, but our morning talks had dwindled to mere
greetings and, although he was still a top student like me, he rarely contributed in class. We had
done our homework together a few times, but he'd stopped asking me if I wanted to study with
him.

One sure reason I knew for this was his involvement in Quidditch. His first practice was this
evening, and he had been grilling Ron all week, from what I'd heard, about what to expect. They
were able to talk for hours and hours each night, even while they were doing their homework, about
what playing Quidditch was going to be like; and in the past few days, all that I'd heard Harry
talk about was the upcoming practice.

I knew enough about Quidditch from what I'd read to understand what they were talking about,
but overall I was not very interested in the sport. It seemed fast and dangerous and I wondered
about the rivalry it caused between the houses, how healthy that type of thing was for the school
in general. So I had nothing relevant to contribute to their conversations, and that excluded me
from what they were doing, mostly. Ron still seemed to harbor a grudge against me, for some reason,
and Harry was always around him, so it was hard for me to catch him alone.

All of those thoughts carried me into the Great Hall, and as I headed for the Gryffindor table I
saw that no other first years had arrived. We always sat toward the entrance, on the far side of
the Hall from the head table, and today that area was empty. Harry had broken our tradition of
meeting each other in the morning for the first time, and I felt my heart *clunk* painfully in
my chest as I sat down, quite alone. He of course did not *have* to be here first every
morning, but the breaking of routine and the absence of our little time alone together bothered me
all the same. I would just have to wait for Sally, I supposed, because she was really the only
person that I'd had a meaningful conversation with in the past few days.

First years began to show up soon after that; Neville of course put quite the distance between
us as he sat down, and I sighed resignedly. I tried to make eye contact with him, but he just ate
his breakfast in silence, staring at his plate. I clenched my jaw against asking him exactly what
his problem was—I had just been over that in my head, and I knew he would react negatively. I would
just have to give him some time.

Harry and Ron strolled into the Great Hall a few minutes later, smiling and laughing about
something. As usual, when they were within earshot, I heard them talking about Quidditch.

“…supposed to get a Nimbus from McGonagall?” Ron was asking him. They sat across from me and a
little way down the bench. Neither of them looked at me as they loaded their plates.

“Well, only if Dumbledore approves, I guess,” Harry answered Ron. I rolled my eyes at having to
listen to this same tired discussion, yet again.

“But you have that practice tonight,” Ron pointed out, talking with his mouth full. I was pretty
sure I saw bits of biscuits fly onto the plate of bangers.

“Maybe I'll have to use a school broom for now,” Harry shrugged. “I just can't believe
that I get to play.”

“Yeah, it's wicked.”

And the conversation continued from there, not really moving in any direction yet somehow never
really ending, either. I'd heard other girls talk endlessly about some silly things, but
honestly!

I waited for Sally to show up through all of this, and when every first year except her had
arrived, I began to wonder where she was.

“Was Sally awake when you left, Lavender?” I asked. She glanced up with an odd look on her face,
as if surprised I had addressed her, and then shrugged.

“Dunno.”

“Parvati?” I asked, turning to her.

“She wasn't there when I woke up,” she told me, and then continued on with whatever
conversation she'd been involved in with Lavender. Lily hadn't seen Sally, either. If she
wasn't at breakfast and she wasn't in our dorm, then I had no idea where she could have
been. Maybe she had gone to the library to get some extra studying in, or something along those
lines.

Suddenly, there was a swell of noise in the Great Hall, and I looked around to find the source
of the excitement. Everyone was looking up, and I saw that the post had arrived. What was unusual,
though, was the long, thin package wheeled into the Hall on the wings of six owls. They headed for
the Gryffindor table and I saw some expectant faces, but the student they stopped in front of
seemed genuinely surprised. A seventh owl dropped an envelope in Harry Potter's lap, and then
all of them took flight and sped away.

I thought I knew what was in the package, and I frowned. Yet another conversation piece for
Harry and Ron, and surely this one would last for weeks, if it was what I thought it was. Harry
just stared at the package and the envelope until Ron prodded him, and then he tore out the
parchment. By the way his face lit up with boyish happiness, I knew that it was in fact his new
broomstick. Ron grinned too after Harry had handed him the letter to read.

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron breathed. I could clearly hear the envy dripping from his voice.
“I've never even *touched* one!” It did not occur to me until much later in life, but
Ron's words and the desire on his face resembled lust. That's right, Ron was lusting after
a broomstick.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle must have had some kind of radar, because soon enough they had made
their way to the Gryffindor table. They stood behind Harry and Ron for a few moments, sneering, and
then Malfoy reached over Harry and grabbed the package off the table. I did not even think about
warning him. Harry and Ron whipped around and glared at the three of them.

“That's a *broomstick*,” Malfoy observed, dropping the package back onto the table
quite contemptuously. “You'll be in for it this time, Potter. First years aren't allowed
broomsticks.”

I watched as ugly smirk settled on Ron's face. “It's not just *any* old
broomstick,” he said. “It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home,
Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” His voice was full of spite now. “Comets look flashy, but they're
not in the same league as the Nimbus.”

Malfoy's pale face colored pink. “What would you know about it, *Weasley*? You
couldn't afford half the handle! I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig,”
Malfoy retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but quite suddenly Flitwick was among us. It might have been
because he was so short and we hadn't seen him coming, but it seemed like everyone was quite
surprised to see the Charms professor.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” Flitwick wondered, in his characteristic high-pitched voice.

“Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,” Malfoy told him, very fast. But Flitwick just
grinned at them all.

“Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances.
And what model is it, Potter?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” Harry told him, though I could see he was staring directly at
Malfoy. The suppressed laughter in his voice was very evident. “And it's really thanks to
Malfoy here that I've got it.”

“Yeah, thanks Malfoy,” Ron put in, and if anything, Flitwick smiled even more.

“Well you all better head back to the Slytherin table and finish your breakfast,” Flitwick told
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. “Don't want to be late for class.”

Scowling, and looking thoroughly put out, the Slytherins turned and trudged back toward their
table. Flitwick watched them go for a moment and then excused himself. I looked to the head table
and saw McGonagall staring in our direction, and I wondered if she'd sent Flitwick to head
Malfoy off. If she had come, it would have looked like favoritism…not for the first time, and
certainly not the last, I wondered at the complicated politics within the school. As far as
Hogwarts was concerned, I was quickly learning things weren't always as simple as they
appeared.

“It *is* true, you know,” Harry said.

“What is?” Ron asked.

“If Malfoy hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team—”

Something inside of me snapped. Looking back on it, I wonder exactly what caused me to say what
I did. It might have been the stress of the previous week, or just my angst at that time over Harry
and how he was more or less ignoring me.

“So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?” I asked.

Harry and Ron both looked at me. Ron of course looked unhappy that I had dared to speak and
Harry's face was quite unreadable.

“Maybe it's a reward for saving his Remembrall,” Harry said, after a moment.

“Or maybe you're just incredibly lucky you didn't kill yourself, or get expelled,” I
said, and stood up. I was fed up with this childish blindness because of Quidditch, and I really
did not feel like sitting there listening to them talking about it anymore.

“I liked it better when you weren't speaking to us,” Ron said.

“Oh, don't worry—”

“So don't stop now,” Ron cut me off, and we glared at each other. I picked up my bag after
several moments and stalked off, though I couldn't resist a look over my shoulder at Harry. He
had been looking in my direction, and when he saw me looking, he quickly looked down at the
package. Ron then asked him a question and they went into another conversation, probably about
Quidditch.

After I left the Great Hall, I went to the library to see if Sally was there. I even checked way
in the back behind some extra large bookshelves, but the only things back there were a few dusty
tables. There were only a few students there, however, and they were all much older.

I looked at my watch and saw that Charms didn't start for another thirty minutes, so she
couldn't have gone to class yet. The only other place I could think of to find her was back in
the dorm, and even though the other girls had said she wasn't there, maybe she'd gone back
after they'd left. So I headed for the Gryffindor tower, taking the now familiar route from the
ground floor all the way up to the seventh.

The common room was empty but I hardly noticed as I mounted the stairs to my dormitory. I could
see the door was partially open before I even got there, and I could hear some kind of low noise
issuing from inside. I did not hesitate and burst into the room, already with a bad feeling about
what was going on. It took a second for the scene to organize itself within my mind—Sally's
things were strewn around her bed and on the floor by her armoire, and her trunk was open at the
foot of her bed. She was curled up on my bed, of all places, sobbing violently.

“Sally?” I cried out, running over to her. I leapt onto my bed and curled up next to her, trying
to lift her face out of her chest so that I could see what was wrong with her and get her to talk
to me. When she saw me, though, she just started crying even harder and held onto me with all of
her might.

I had absolutely no idea what to do—I'd never needed to comfort a friend before, and I had
no idea what was going on—so I just let her hold me. I slowly stroked her dark brown curls, some of
which were very wet from her tears. She was shaking she was crying so hard.

“What's the matter?” I asked, quietly, trying to ease her a bit.

Eventually, after what seemed like several minutes, she calmed down enough to formulate words.
She let go of me and slowly sat up. She rubbed her eyes and her face thoroughly before looking at
me. The whites of her eyes were unbelievably bloodshot.

“Sally?”

“Oh, Hermione…” Her lip trembled. I thought she was going to break down again, but she was able
to control it.

“What is it?” I wondered, softly.

“It's m-my parents.”

“What? Did something happen to them?”

“No, no…” she trailed off, and then she looked toward her bed, where all of her things were
piled about. Even before my brain made me realize what was going on, it was putting the pieces
together.

“Well then, what?”

“They're—they've withdrawn me from Hogwarts!” she finally exclaimed, and I just stared
at her in shock for a few seconds. Sally's parents were taking her out of Hogwarts? But, but
no! I needed Sally! Then I remembered what she'd told me that day we watched the other first
years play tag: *My parents, they weren't very supportive of my decision to come to
Hogwarts*…

“Why? Why are they doing this?” I asked. I heard some desperation in my own voice.

She shrugged, and it was a pitiable, helpless gesture. “They sent me a letter this morning, and
McGonagall came for me after you left for breakfast. She showed me it in her office. All they said
was they regretted their decision to allow me to attend and that they were withdrawing me,
immediately.”

I was speechless. There was nothing I could say to overcome the shock and sadness inside of
me.

“I have to be on the 11 o'clock train back to London,” Sally said, and silent tears started
to drip from her eyes again. They rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her blouse, their tracks
shining in the light of the room.

“There's…there's nothing McGonagall can do? Or *Dumbledore*?” I wondered, still not
sure how all of this was happening.

Sally shook her head miserably, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I asked already.
Since I'm considered a minor in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, my parents have complete
control. McGonagall said she and Dumbledore have already tried to talk to my parents, but they
wouldn't listen.”

“Oh, Sally…” I said, and tried to force back my own tears. I was unsuccessful, however, because
I felt a few leak down my face. She bit her lip and then we crashed together, hugging each other
and crying. It lasted for a minute or two. As we calmed down and took stock of things, McGonagall
walked into the room. She looked taken aback to see me.

“Miss Granger, what are you doing here?” she wondered. I saw her glance at Sally's unpacked
things with some distaste.

“…saying good bye to a friend, I guess.” Sally sniffed again, and I wiped my cheeks with the
back of my hand. McGonagall's face might have softened, but it was only for a moment.

“Well, you need to be off to Charms. It starts in ten minutes,” she told me, walking around my
bed and pointing her wand at Sally's things. A few swishes and flicks later, her luggage was
packed neatly into her trunk.

I looked at Sally. She was just staring at the trunk with an absolutely dead expression on her
face.

“What will you do now?” I asked her, standing and smoothing my robes. I rubbed my face to try
and rid the traces of crying.

“Go back to my other school, I suppose,” she sighed. McGonagall was watching us with a blank
look.

“I'll write you…” I trailed off, and I had her write her address down on a piece of
paper.

“Not sure how my parents are going to handle owls, but it's worth a try,” she said, and I
thought I saw some life return to her eyes with the prospect of letters between us.

“Well, bye,” I said, awkwardly, and leaned down to hug her. She was still on my bed. “Sorry
Sally,” I whispered in her ear. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” she whispered back, and her voice was watery once again.

I stood straight and let go of her. Our eyes lingered on each other for a few more seconds, but
eventually I turned away. As I passed McGonagall, she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“We will do everything we can to get her back, Miss Granger,” she said, quietly, and there was
no denying the emotion underlying her words. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and left
the dorm without another look toward Sally. I would have lost it if I had.

It was very hard keeping things together for all of Charms. I said nothing and attempted to
answer no questions, and I received some strange because of it, but I didn't care. One of my
friends was leaving and the other two were ignoring me. After class ended, I went down the lake and
found a large flat rock to sit on. As I watched the giant squid wave its tentacles around, I cried.
I just cried.

---

Weeks passed at an alarming rate after that; as autumn deepened into shorter days and longer,
colder nights, so did my depression. I fell into my studies with a vengeance to take my mind off
the bone-crushing loneliness that would assault me at night, when I was lying in bed listening to
the other girls sleeping.

Neville continued to avoid me through September and into October, and after a few weeks I
stopped trying to get him to talk to me. Harry and I never said anything directly about whatever
had happened between us, but we continued to drift apart after he got the broom. He had Quidditch
practice three nights a week for several hours, so between him finishing up his homework (he was
still second only to me within Gryffindor as far as grades were concerned) and his nightly chats
with Ron about how flying was going, we stopped talking.

I tried writing Sally once with news of what was going on at Hogwarts; she replied with a few
short sentences about how her parents didn't want any of her “weird friends” writing her. She
apologized but wrote that I shouldn't send her any more letters. I sat staring at those words
for quite some time, and then in a fit of anger I ripped it into shreds and threw them into the
fire. Why was everything going so terribly wrong for me? What had I done to deserve all the
animosity, to deserve losing my three friends?

I was the top student in every class, but that was an integral part of my character. If other
students were jealous of my achievements, perhaps they didn't realize how hard I worked, or how
long I studied for? Or perhaps they did not understand that I *had* to do well, to please
myself. The few letters I'd traded with my parents (they sent me a book and a Cashmere sweater
for my birthday) seemed bland because I did not know how to tell them about my problems. I told
them how well I did in my classes, and I even made up some things that I'd done with Neville or
Sally or Harry, but I think some part of me was afraid they would react as strongly as Sally's
parents had.

I'm not sure why I wanted to stay at Hogwarts. I was only very rarely happy about
anything—even my academic achievements stopped giving me pleasure after awhile. But above
everything else was a desire to stay at the school and immerse myself in the new magical world. The
last thing I wanted to do was go home and go back to that other school, because things were no
better there.

So my state of mind was frayed, at best, by the time Halloween rolled around. As it was a
Thursday, we had Herbology and Transfiguration. Herbology was uneventful and passed quickly (it
always seemed short because it was fifty minutes, rather than two hours like every other class).
After lunch I headed for Transfiguration alone, as usual, and settled in to take notes and work on
whatever McGonagall had for us.

“Good afternoon class,” she said, magicking the door closed once everyone arrived. “Today we
will be turning objects to stone, working our way from matches, to books, and even desks if any of
you get that far.”

We then proceeded through the note-taking period and afterward McGonagall announced she was
pairing us up. Unfortunately, she paired me with Ron. He said nothing as he moved to sit near me,
although he looked very unhappy. Harry was paired with Seamus and Lily was with Dean, and so on.
McGonagall gave every pair several matches and two books, and told us to get working.

“*Tenus calculus!*” Ron said, immediately. I could have pointed out several things he'd
done wrong, but the lack of success was obvious enough to him.

According to McGonagall, for the spell to work properly, one had to drag their wand away from
the object, almost like spreading butter over a slice of bread. Ron had just pointed his wand at
the match, with no movement. Also, the first syllable of each word was accented, or so Professor
McGonagall said, but Ron had just shouted the two words.

“*Tenus calculus!*” he said again. Nothing happened.

“You're saying it wrong,” I finally told him, hoping to help him. “It's *TE-nus
CAL-culus*. Accent the first syllable of both words.” I didn't even bother telling him about
the wand motion.

Instead of taking my advice, he turned to me with a red, angry face. “Why don't you do it
then, if you're so clever?”

“Fine,” I snapped. I had only been trying to help him. “*Tenus calculus,*” I incanted,
dragging my wand away toward the left. Before our eyes, the wooden match morphed into stone.

McGonagall had been standing near us—I've often wondered if she was waiting for me to try
the spell—and came over as soon as I had completed the transfiguration.

“Well done, Miss Granger. On your first try, too. That is one point to Gryffindor,” she said,
picking up the match and inspecting it. She set it back on the desk after a moment and turned to
examine the work of other students.

“*Finite incantantem*,” I said, and looked at Ron as the match changed back. He had
clenched his jaw and his face was a darker red, but he said nothing.

The class went on from there. By the end, I had successfully changed a match, a book, and our
desk into stone. Harry and Susan Bones of Hufflepuff were the only other students to change all
three, though most others got the match and the book. Ron, on the other hand, never managed to
change the match into stone. After awhile he started pronouncing the spell correctly, but his wand
motion was still off. I tried to help him, but he told me to shut up.

After class ended, it took me a little longer to pack up than usual, so I was one of the last
out of the room. As I passed through the doorway, I heard someone mutter in front of me:

“It's no wonder no one can stand Hermione,” the person said, and I looked up, shocked. Of
course it was Ron, and he was talking to Harry. I clenched my fists and tried to will away the
pressure behind my eyes, but it was building quickly. “She's a nightmare, honestly,” he
continued, and my breath hitched as the first tears left my eyes. I was just trying to help him,
and he insulted me!

I didn't want to give anyone the pleasure of seeing me cry, so I rushed forward to get clear
of the mess of students. I bumped into Harry as I passed, by accident, and he met my eyes for an
instant. They widened but I looked away quickly, not wanting his pity nor thinking he cared enough
to give any.

As I pushed ahead, Harry said, “I think she heard you.”

“So?” Ron wondered. His voice was fading. “She must've noticed she's got no
friends…”

I broke into a run then as the tears really started coming, and I did not stop until I'd
reached the girls bathroom somewhere on the third floor. It was kind of out of the way so there was
no one in there, and that was fine with me. I leaned back against the door and tilted my head back.
My eyes were blurry from the tears collecting on my lower lids, and my face contorted as the first
sob left my burning lungs. I slowly slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor of the
bathroom, leaning over my knees and watching as tears and snot dripped to the floor. I couldn't
stop the sobbing. I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't stop the despair

Why did everyone hate me? Why?! What had I done that was so wrong, so miserable, that no one
even wanted to talk to me? Was I that ugly that people couldn't even look at me? I
double-fisted my bushy hair and pulled, hard; a primal cry of pain and anguish and rage left
me.

Suddenly, I thought I was going throw up, so I crawled over to a stall, kicked the door shut
behind me, and leaned over the toilet. My badly messed up hair fell onto the seat, but I did not
notice as my stomach pushed out whatever I had eaten for breakfast and lunch. It hurt so much, to
listen to Ron and everyone else talk about me like that. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt
in my entire life, and as soon as my heaving stopped, I flushed the toilet and curled up around the
bowl, on the floor.

Eventually, I gathered enough wits to lock the stall door and sit on the toilet. I was dirty and
sweaty and smelled like puke, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. In that instant, I
changed my mind about wanting to stay at Hogwarts. At least I had my parents at home, even if there
were no friends waiting for me there. Here at Hogwarts, everyone hated me and it looked like
that's how it would stay.

I heard someone come into the bathroom, and I held my breath to avoid detection. Whoever it was
stood right outside of my stall, though.

“Hermione?” It was Parvati.

“Go away,” I croaked, my throat still clogged and choked with the remnants of my lunch.

“ Hermione, come out.”

“GO AWAY!” I screamed with everything I had left, and ten seconds later I heard the bathroom
door shut.

It took me awhile to collect myself enough to move; during that time I formulated what I would
say to McGonagall and then probably to Dumbledore in order to leave Hogwarts. I knew McGonagall at
least would be disappointed in my decision to leave, but I had never talked to Dumbledore. He
rarely showed up at meals, so he was almost a non-issue as far I was concerned.

Hours passed; I knew there was to be a Halloween feast, but I did not want to go. I never wanted
to see any of the other first years again. I eventually left the stall and saw that it was dark
outside. My watch told the sad tale of seven thirty. I had been in the bathroom for four and a half
hours.

I went to the mirror and cleaned myself up as best as I could. I rinsed my mouth out and wetted
my face. I tried to comb some of the tangles out of my hair with my fingers, but that was a lost
cause. My eyes were puffy and red, and my face looked gaunt and drawn. I smiled just to spite
myself with the sight of my large front teeth. I hated myself in that instant.

I stared at my image for some time, gathering once again my thoughts on what I wanted to say to
McGonagall. As I was about to turn to leave and find her, the stench hit my nostrils. My nose
wrinkled by itself against the malodorous stink, and I wondered what exactly could have caused it.
Had the toilets backed up?

A sort of huffing, grunting sound reached my eyes then, and I thought I could sense the
footfalls of something large and heavy vibrating through the floor. No, it wasn't just my
imagination, because the water in the sink was rippling.

Whatever it was, it was coming closer, and as my fear grew, I looked around for a place to hide.
I ran to the last stall and crouched low, waiting for what was going to happen. The grunting grew
louder and the stench grew more intense, and suddenly the bathroom door was wrenched open.
Something huge and gray stood in the doorway, though I couldn't see what it was. It didn't
look friendly, though.

Then it ducked into the bathroom, and my heart stopped as I recognized it as a mountain troll
from one of my textbooks. It was as tall as the room and it wielded a massive wooden club, twice as
tall as I was. I was nearly paralyzed with my fear, but two things were working with me: it had
left the bathroom door open and it hadn't seen me yet. I just had to wait for it to look away
and then I'd run for it.

Just as I was about to go, in fact I had already tensed all of my muscles and I could literally
almost feel the adrenaline and endorphins pumping through my system, the door slammed shut! And I
heard it lock! Someone had locked the troll inside with me—it didn't matter to me if it was on
purpose…I was locked inside a small bathroom with a fifteen-foot beast!

“HEEEEEELLLPPP!!” I screamed, desperately trying to make someone aware of my presence, but at
the same time drawing the attention of the troll. It swung its head and focused on me with its
beady eyes. I watched with wide, terrified eyes as it hefted its club and shuffled toward me.

I was shaking and almost hyperventilating as I backed myself into the corner, trying to get as
far away from it as possible, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped and it had seen me. It was
going to kill me. But I didn't want to die! There was so much I still wanted to do, so many
things I hadn't even thought of yet. I could almost feel the stench now, it was so close. There
was no escape. This was it. This was the end.

*I love you, mum and dad.*

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for death to land on my head, but a lock clicking and then a
slamming noise interrupted my final thoughts.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” someone yelled, and I thought I recognized the voice, so I cracked an eye
open. Harry and Ron stood in the doorway of the bathroom. They both had their wands out and were
staring at the mountain troll (Ron from his vantage point a little behind Harry).

Harry was a sight. His robes were thrown open and his hair was wild; his eyes were blazing and
his face set in stone. He pointed his wand at the troll.

“Distract it, Ron!” he commanded, and began to circle around the room toward me. He picked up a
bowl and flung it at the troll. It bounced off the creature's thick hide, but it turned to
Harry.

“Oy, pea-brain!” Ron yelled, throwing a pipe that had been lying around. It hit the troll on the
shoulder and it turned the other way. By this time, Harry had reached me, and he wrapped his hands
around one of my arms.

“Come on, Hermione, run!” he said, but for some reason I couldn't move. I wasn't able to
believe this was happening. I was being *saved*?

“*Run!*” he yelled at me, putting his eyes right in front of mine, and for a moment my
entire word was filled with green. It seemed to break me from my stupor, and I nodded to him. As we
turned to leave, I saw that the troll was almost upon Ron.

“Ron!” I called out, just as the beast swung its club toward him. He managed to dodge the blow,
but he landed awkwardly and looked very dazed. The troll was readying for another swing and this
time Ron would not be able to dodge. Harry released my arm.

“HEY!” he shouted at it. He found a chunk of tile on the floor and whipped it at the troll, and
amazingly it cut the thing across the abdomen. It roared, enraged, and turned toward us. It raised
the club over its head and headed for us.

Then Harry did something I will never forget: he set himself, gripped his wand, and bellowed,
“*TENUS CALCULUS!*” He whipped his wand off to the side as he did so, following the prescribed
movement for the spell.

I could physically *see* the spell as it left his wand and headed for the club. When it
struck the beast's weapon, there was an almost instantaneous transformation. For one confused
second, the troll tried to hold up the stone club, but then its arm *cracked* under the weight
and the rock crashed down onto its head. I'm fairly certain I heard its skull splinter.

As the dust settled, I watched Ron slowly get to his feet and stumble over to us. Harry finally
lowered his wand. He glanced at me, and I thought his eyes might have burned me.

“Are you two alright?” he wondered.

“Yeah,” I breathed, and Ron nodded. “Is it dead?” I wondered. It was a useless question, though,
because all three of us could see the gray matter oozing out from beneath the club. Harry had
finished it off.

“I think so,” he said, quietly. We just stared at it for several seconds, but then approaching
noise made us tense again. What could it possibly be now?

McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell sprinted into the room, but stopped dead at the sight of the
troll sprawled out on the floor, clearly dead. Quirrell kind of sighed-moaned and then leaned
against the sink with a hand over his heart. McGonagall and Snape stared at us with identical fury
in their eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Snape asked.

“What were you *thinking* of?” McGonagall then asked, not waiting for us to answer
Snape's question. “You're lucky you all weren't killed. Why aren't you in the
Gryffindor tower?”

I saw Harry straighten himself to answer, but I could not let him. He had just saved my life—and
so had Ron, more or less—so I owed them a certain debt of gratitude I did not even know how to
express. I moved slightly away from his side.

“Please, Professor McGonagall,” I addressed her. Her eyes latched on to me. “They were looking
for me.”

“Miss Granger!” she exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

“I—I've had a bad day,” I said, glossing over everything. “I didn't feel much like a
feast tonight…so they came looking for me.”

I took a deep breath. “If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. They didn't have
time to get anyone—it was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

“How exactly did you three incapacitate a *mountain troll*?” Snape wondered, voice full of
disdain and disbelief.

“Ron distracted it while Harry worked his way to me and then when it raised its club over its
head, Harry used that spell we learned today to turn it into stone,” I explained, thinking of
Harry's impressive magical feat. He had looked like a real *wizard* in that moment; ready
to take on anything and everything.

McGonagall and Snape examined the troll quietly for a little while, muttering between themselves
too low for me to hear. I stood by Harry and Ron, and when I glanced at them they were looking at
me a little strangely. I wondered if it was because I had stood up for them. The professors rose
and looked at us. Snape sneered.

“Of course Potter would *kill* it—”

“Oh hush, Severus,” McGonagall cut him off, and I almost laughed at the look on his face. It was
mutinous. “I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown
mountain troll. I'm awarding Gryffindor five points for services to the school. Dumbledore will
be informed of this. You may go and finish the feast with the rest of your housemates in the common
room.”

Without another word, we turned to leave. I noticed Quirrell looking at Harry a little queerly,
but soon we had left the bathroom and were on our way back to Gryffindor tower. Nothing was said
the entire way back to the portrait, and the silence was nearly unbearable.

I stopped them before they could give the password: “Harry, Ron?” They both looked at me.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you for explaining to McGonagall,” Harry said, and I nodded.

“Look, Hermione…” Ron started. I waited for him to continue.

“I'msorrypigsnout,” he said, all in a rush, and sped through the opening portrait hole. I
stared after him. Harry chuckled briefly. I looked over at him with raised eyebrows.

“Something funny?” I wondered.

“His idea of an apology, yeah,” Harry said, smiling and looking at me.

“Harry…thank you,” I said, sincerely. I owed him my life.

He inclined his head. “And I'm sorry too, Hermione,” he told me. “You don't deserve how
you've been treated,” he sighed.

I waved my hand and said, “It's what happens from here on that matters.”

He stared intently at me for a second, and I was reminded of his scorching gaze in the bathroom.
He then nodded and we went through the portrait hole, side by side.

-->



10. Chapter Nine
----------------



A/N: 1. I'm heading back to the quaint college town of Geneseo in a few days, so updates
will slow. Unlike last semester, I should have time to keep things going, perhaps at a rate of one
chapter per week or two. 2. Many people have expressed their dislike of Ron to me, in various ways,
but instead of doing the easy thing and writing him out of the story, I want to try to slowly
reform his character. He must be doing *something* right by the time OotP rolls around to
garner Luna's affection (unless I totally misread canon…).

Chapter Nine

Fall Term 1991

The next morning, November first, I lay awake for several minutes before getting out of bed. I
still hadn't completely processed the previous day's events, and in that moment just after
sleep leaves, I wondered if it had all been a vivid dream. I had given up, had accepted that the
end had come, and then someone had intervened. That *someone* was Harry Potter, and he had
pulled me back from the very edge of everything. In some vague, inarticulate way, I realized that
he had given me the rest of my life.

Those thoughts slipped away as I readied myself for the day, though, and soon enough I had made
the familiar trip through the school to the Great Hall. I wasn't sure what I would say to Harry
or Ron when I saw them, but when I entered the Hall for breakfast, Harry was sitting at the table.
I faltered for a second, imagining awkwardness and stilted conversation; then I steeled my resolve
and strode forward, like a true Gryffindor, and sat down across from him.

It had been awhile since I'd seen him this early for breakfast, and I thought it might have
had something to do with the day before. We had not really said much after we'd entered the
common room, and I'd gone to bed exhausted and spent earlier than just about everyone else. So
when he looked up at me with a concerned smile on his face, the corners of his green eyes crinkling
slightly, I could not help smiling back.

“Morning, Hermione.”

“Morning, Harry.” I helped myself to some fried sausage and some toast.

“Are you…alright?”

I set down my glass of juice and looked him in the eye. “Better, at least.”

He nodded, and suddenly he looked like he was fishing for something to say. I didn't feel as
bad about it, then, because it seemed a bit awkward for him too.

“That was an ingenious use of that spell, you know,” I pointed out, for lack of anything better
to say. He ducked his head slightly at the praise.

“Wasn't really thinking at that point, so…”

“You have good instincts, then,” I said.

Harry shrugged. “Or maybe I'm just lucky.”

“I'll grant you that,” I laughed, and suddenly the conversation was much easier. “I'm
just glad you showed up when you did.”

“Me too,” he replied, looking at his plate. I wanted him to look at me so I could see what he
was thinking, but I didn't press. As we started eating, the other first years began to come in.
A few minutes later, Harry suddenly looked up, and I returned his gaze.

“Ron and I saw Snape heading for the forbidden corridor last night, when were looking for you,”
Harry whispered, so the students sitting around us wouldn't here. “And then this morning when I
passed him in the entrance hall, he was limping badly.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And you think it has something to do with the Cerberus?”

“Er—yeah, is that what it's called?”

“Yes, and it's supposed to be a mythological creature. *Of course* something like that
could be found at Hogwarts…”

“D'ya think he was trying to get at whatever it's guarding?” Harry wondered.

“It's possible, but we don't know what it is, do we? Or why he would want whatever it
is? So I don't think we can say for sure without knowing more,” I explained. I didn't know
why Harry was so hung up on this mystery, and I didn't want him to go off, half-cocked, in an
attempt to solve it. He needed much more information.

“You're right, of course,” Harry sighed, and picked at his food some more. He looked
morose.

“What's bothering you?” I asked.

“Well…nah, it's just going to sound petty to you,” he said.

“What? Why is that?”

He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Parts of it stuck straight up, and I was
in danger of cracking up. Harry apparently had even more issues with his hair than I did.

“I'm actually kind of nervous about the upcoming Quidditch game,” he said. I just stared at
him. *Quidditch* was bothering him after he'd just gone up against a troll? Merlin, the
boy needed to get his priorities straight.

He must have seen my look: “See,” he almost whined, and I wanted to laugh again. “I knew
you'd think it was stupid.”

“No, Harry,” I said, rolling my eyes at his…*boyishness*. I turned to my bag and rummaged
around in it for a few moments. “Here,” I told him, pulling out *Quidditch Through the Ages*.
“You can borrow this for as long as you want. It's actually rather informative. Might ease some
of your stress.”

“Thanks,” he said, slowly, taking the book from me. He looked like he was going to say something
else, but Ron came in just then, and the awkwardness was back.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how I felt about Ron. He had treated me like trash for so long, and
with very little reason, that I didn't think I could get over some of the things he'd said
very quickly. *But*, he had put his life on the line for me, so I guess he deserved some
benefit of the doubt. I ignored the tiny voice in my head that told me Ron had simply been
following Harry's orders. I was too young for such cynicism.

“Hello, Ron,” I said, putting my best foot forward.

“`Lo, Hermione,” he mumbled, shoveling food onto his plate.

Harry and I glanced at each other, and his amused expression caused me to smile. Ron didn't
see any of that; he was too busy devouring everything on the table.

“So Ron,” Harry said.

“Huh?” Ron grunted, through his food.

“Hermione and I were just talking about Quidditch,” Harry said, tapping the cover of the book.
Ron glanced at it and then swallowed everything in his mouth in one big gulp.

“I've actually read that,” he said, taking a swig of juice. “That's about the only book
at the Burrow that I've read.”

“The Burrow?” I wondered.

“Oh,” Ron said, pinking a little. “That's what people call my house—dunno why, really.”

“I see,” I said, storing away that little tidbit of information.

“But I *have* read that,” Ron continued. “It's pretty good. You'll like it.”

Before anything more was said, post arrived, and we all looked up as usual to see the owls
stream into the Great Hall. It was something of a daily tradition, even though I only received
letters from my parents once every two weeks or so.

We watched as they dispersed through the Hall, and within a few seconds three identical owls
stopped in front of Harry, Ron, and I. We all kind of looked at each other, probably each wondering
if the previous day's events had caused this, and then took the parchment from our respective
owls. Mine said:

*Dear Miss Granger*

*Following Potions and lunch, I would be much obliged if you would meet with me. Two lefts and
two rights from the Gryffindor tower will take you to a statue of a gargoyle, which guards my
office.* *Respectfully hoping to see you around one o'clock!*

*Yours,*

*Albus Dumbledore*

*Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Chief Warlock, Wizengamot*

*Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards*

A quick instant of panic washed over me as I read the letter, thinking that I must have done
something terrible to warrant a personal meeting with Dumbledore himself, but when I looked up at
Harry and Ron, I saw similar looks of shock (and even awe) on their faces. My bad feeling
decreased, but I was still uneasy. I *knew* this had something to do with the troll.

“Professor Dumbledore?” I asked, and they both nodded.

“It has to be about yesterday,” Harry said, looking pensive.

I agreed with him, and Ron said nothing. He looked a little green, as if meeting with Dumbledore
was somehow a very bad thing, but I decided right then and there to approach this with an open
mind. To me, Dumbledore had seemed more like a figurehead, so actually meeting the man might give
me some perspective on a few of the problems I'd noticed at Hogwarts. Then again, looking at
his titles at the bottom of the letter, I could see how his attention was not always focused on the
school, but that was not an excuse, in my mind.

We left for Potions soon after that, and as we were the first students there, well ahead of the
start of class, Harry took out *Quidditch Through the Ages* and started reading the first
chapter. I opened the second year Potions textbook, because I'd already thoroughly been through
first year's, and immersed myself. I'm not sure what Ron was doing, though it looked like
twiddling his thumbs might have been more exciting.

Snape swept in as usual just as class was set to begin, limping as Harry had told me at
breakfast. He stopped halfway to the front of the room, focused on Harry, and narrowed his
eyes.

“Potter!”

Harry looked up from the book. “Sir?”

“What's that you've got there?”

Harry closed the book and pushed it forward a bit. “Just a library book, sir.”

Snape limped over and snatched up the book. He flipped to the inside back cover, read it for a
few seconds, and then snapped the book closed. He had a nasty smirk on his face.

“This book is checked out to Miss Granger. Students are not allowed carry with them books other
students have taken from the library. One point from Gryffindor.” And then he turned toward the
front again, book still in hand. Harry clenched his jaw, but I knew he wanted to say something. I
was pretty sure Snape had just made that rule up, but there was nothing I could do. If I argued
with him, he'd just take more points. I just hoped I'd be able to get the book back.

Potions passed uneventfully after that; I made another flawless Potion with Seamus, who had been
my partner ever since Sally left. Neville had been working alone for several weeks now, and he
seemed to be withdrawing more from the rest of us. I knew I'd have to sit him down and force
him to talk about what was bothering him at some point, but the opportunity just hadn't
presented itself yet.

After we'd left the classroom and were ascending back toward the Great Hall, Harry told us
he was going to go back for the book, and that he'd meet Ron and I for lunch. I hadn't been
alone with Ron since—well, ever. So I wasn't sure how our conversation was going to proceed;
turns out it didn't proceed at all, because he barely said two words to me the entire time
Harry was gone. I like to think he was feeling bad about everything he'd said to me, but who
knows?

Five minutes later Harry rushed into the Great Hall, without the book, and by the look on his
face I knew he was dying to tell us something. He slipped onto the bench next to me and across from
Ron, and then leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Guess what?”

“What?” Ron asked. I smiled at the predictability.

“I walked back into the Potions classroom and Snape was rubbing some kind of ointment on his
leg, and it was all cut up and bloody!”

Ron and I looked at each other. “And…?” Ron wondered.

“Don't you see? He'd tried to get past that thing—”

“Cerberus—” I offered.

“Yeah, that, on Halloween! Ron and I saw him heading in that direction!”

“Wonder what's under that trap door that's so important?” Ron asked. “You said Hagrid
took something from Gringotts over the summer…but wasn't that a really small package?”

“Ron,” I said. He blinked and looked at me, passivity written all over his face. “Valuable
things don't *have* to be large. Could be a precious gem or something.”

“In any case, Snape is after what it's guarding…I'd bet my broomstick *he* let the
troll in, to make a diversion!” Harry whispered excitedly.

I considered his statement as rationally as I could, and I had to dismiss it as wishful thinking
on Harry's part. Surely a member of Dumbledore's staff, at a school for children,
wouldn't be trying to steal something guarded by a Cerberus. It didn't make any sense at
all. For a moment I considered that Snape might have been testing defenses, but I shrugged that one
off too. There was more to this than Harry's simplistic accusations, but we just did not know
enough information to proceed.

“No, I don't think so,” I said. “He does seem to have a grudge against you, Harry, but I
don't think he would steal something Dumbledore wanted to keep safe.”

“Do you think all teachers are saints or something, Hermione?” Ron asked, and I heard some
snappishness in his voice. Harry cleared his throat and Ron's eyes pivoted to him for a second
and then back to me. “Well?”

“Of course not, Ron,” I responded. “But I don't think we know enough yet about what the
Cerberus is guarding and why Dumbledore wants it kept safe to start throwing around
accusations.”

“Yes, but—” he started.

“*But,*” I overrode him, “we should certainly keep an open mind.” He looked like he was
going to say something else; instead, he closed his mouth and nodded. Conversation moved onto other
topics at that point.

---

When Harry, Ron, and I rounded the final corner on our way to the Headmaster's office an
hour later, we were surprised to see Dumbledore leaning up against the gargoyle and enjoying what
looked like a lollipop. When he saw us, his face brightened into a smile and he strode in our
direction. His long white beard and his amazingly contoured robes trailed out behind him as he
came.

“Ah, how nice of you three to join me,” he said, stopping in front of us and extending his hand.
“Professor—or Headmaster—Albus Dumbledore, at your service.”

“Harry Potter, sir,” Harry said, shaking his hand.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Hermione Granger, Headmaster.”

“Delighted!” Dumbledore said, and then beckoned us to follow him back to his office. “Candy
cane!” he told the gargoyle, and it moved, very lifelike, aside so we could enter. “Password, you
know,” he told us. Once past the gargoyle, we stepped onto a moving spiral staircase, one that took
us around and around a central pillar for ten or fifteen feet and then deposited on a landing where
there was another door.

“Just through here,” the Headmaster said, and showed us into his office. It was a circular room,
more of an ellipse actually, with a high domed ceiling. Two panoramic windows behind
Dumbledore's large oak desk opened out on the grounds and the forests and mountains far beyond.
The curved walls were lined with magical portraits of countless witches and wizards, and the ones
that weren't asleep were looking down at us with interest. There were also several tables off
to one side filled with the strangest objects I had ever seen, each whirring or buzzing
lightly.

That's when I noticed the gorgeous red bird perched behind Dumbledore's desk; it trilled
just as I made eye contact with it and the music felt like it was a part of me. Harry and Ron
jumped a little, as if they had just seen it too.

“Sir, what is that?” I wondered. I had never seen something so wonderful and beautiful.

He looked where I had pointed. “That is Fawkes, Miss Granger; a phoenix, and my familiar.”

My eyes widened upon hearing that information. According to *Hogwarts, A History* only a
handful of witches or wizards during the past millennium had phoenix familiars, and that was
because who they bonded with had to be nearly pure of heart and soul. Dumbledore was one of the
few, it looked like.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, and flicked his wand at the empty space in front of his desk.
Three squashy armchairs appeared out of thin air—an impressive display of magic, however cavalier
for Dumbledore—so we each took one.

“Lemon drop?” Dumbledore asked, seating himself behind his desk. Ron took one of the yellow
candies, but Harry and I declined.

“Now that we have sufficiently disposed of the formalities, I believe we can settle down and get
to business,” the Headmaster told us, steepling his hands in front of his face. I swear his bright
blue eyes twinkled at us.

“Sir, is this about yesterday?” Harry wanted to know.

“Yes, partly,” Dumbledore confirmed. “You are very astute, Harry. But there are a few other
things I would like to discuss as well. First and foremost of which is I would like to know how you
are adjusting to Hogwarts.”

We looked at each other. None of us wanted to go first. Finally, I looked back to Dumbledore and
met his eyes.

“It's been tough at times, sir,” I told him. “Especially for me, since I'm a Muggleborn.
There seem to be a lot of things magical children, and the staff, take for granted about everyday
life in the magical world, things that I couldn't have possibly known. And we were just kind of
thrown into everything, without any kind of orientation. I couldn't even mail a letter to my
parents without asking another student how.” I hadn't meant to be quite so negative, but some
of the problems I'd noticed about Hogwarts just leapt out.

“I see,” he said, thoughtfully. Then he looked to Harry. “You look like you want to say
something. Go on,” he prompted. I watched Dumbledore carefully, because something about this
meeting wasn't ringing true. Why was Albus Dumbledore soliciting the opinions of a few first
years?

“I kind of agree with Hermione, sir. I grew up with Muggles”—Dumbledore's blue eyes
flashed—“so I've noticed some of the same things. I don't want anyone holding my hand, but
the first few weeks were…different. Maybe an orientation like she said would have helped.”

“And what about you, Mr. Weasley?”

“Well,” Ron said, leaning forward slightly. “Hogwarts is in my blood, I think. Charlie, Bill,
Percy, Fred, and George…mum and dad even…they've all told me things about this place over the
years, so it almost seemed familiar when I came here.”

Dumbledore leaned back and looked up at the rounded ceiling for a few moments. “I understand
that you, Miss Granger, and you, Mr. Potter, have still managed to climb to the very top of your
class. The academics weren't an adjustment?”

“It's just like learning anything else, sir. Put in a little hard work and the results
come,” Harry said, and I nodded.

“Classes were and are fine,” I said. “School is school. It's just the world itself is
different, so other things have been hard.”

The Headmaster leaned forward once again, and his face looked a little more careworn than
before. “Is there a reason why your mother will be disappointed with your academic performance, Mr.
Weasley?”

I was surprised at the direct question, but I silently applauded him for confronting Ron.
Perhaps some motivation from Dumbledore himself would knock some sense into Ron. He flamed red to
the very roots of his fiery hair.

“Maybe,” Ron mumbled.

“I myself have been subject to your mother's unhappiness on more than one occasion, so I
know how uncomfortable that will be for you. I trust that you understand what I'm saying?”

“Work harder?”

“Indeed, Mr. Weasley. You said yourself that Hogwarts was not much of an adjustment, so I would
like to see your marks reflect that. Your brothers—Fred and George, I believe—get into their fair
share of trouble, but don't let them fool you. They are some of the most brilliant students in
their year.”

Looking properly chastised and embarrassed, Ron nodded and looked at the floor. Dumbledore
turned to me after.

“Now, I understand what you've said about adjustment issues. But Minerva—Professor
McGonagall—has also told me on more than one occasion that she sees you alone all of the time. Is
there a reason for this?”

I guess it was my turn for the direct question, because I had not been expecting that. And
truthfully, I did not want to talk about it much, especially with the Headmaster, of all people. I
bit my lip.

“It's…hard…for me to connect sometimes,” I finally said. Dumbledore just arched a white
eyebrow at me. I wasn't getting off that easily. “I don't know how to explain it,
Professor. Sometimes I feel like I'm watching from outside my own body, and I don't like
what I see. The petty rivalries between houses, the obsession with Quidditch, and favoritism
I've witnessed several professors expressing…” I trailed off. I hope I hadn't gone too
far.

“You cite `the obsession with Quidditch' as a reason for your isolation,” Dumbledore said,
looking over our shoulders. “Is that because you do not like the sport, or because you feel like
you have nothing to contribute? Or something else?”

I sighed. I felt like he was missing the point, but I wasn't going to tell *him* that.
“I just can't talk about the same silly things day after day. I came to Hogwarts to engage in
the magical world and learn absolutely everything I could, not to discuss the seven hundred ways to
commit a foul in a Quidditch game.”

“Is that not a facet of said magical world?” Dumbledore returned. Was I having a debate with the
Headmaster?

“Of course it is, but not the *only* facet—Quidditch was a bad example, I suppose. And
I'm sure some of it is my own fault, Professor, considering how driven even I know I am, but
I'm not all bad…” Things were starting to get personal now, and if we continued down this road,
I might cry. And I did not want that to happen.

“No, you most definitely are not,” Dumbledore said, staring at me for several moments. He was
twinkling again. Then he turned to Harry.

“I would like your opinion on all of this, Harry—may I call you Harry?”

Harry nodded, but looked confused. “My opinion, sir?”

“Yes. Do you think I've been unreasonable by asking these questions?”

Harry looked at both Ron and I before locking eyes with Headmaster. “No, I don't think so,
but no one is perfect. We all have our problems.”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward. “No one is perfect. The single most important thing
I wish I could teach to students is to accept each other for who you are, not who you want them to
be.” He seemed to be glossing over the blatant prejudice people like Malfoy displayed, but I said
nothing. “That would not solve all of the problems, indeed not even most of them, but it would go a
long way for making Hogwarts a better learning environment.

“But, alas, I'm just the barmy old Headmaster, and it is not my job to force pearls of
wisdom upon my charges. I keep things running as smoothly as I can from a distance, watching over
what happens in this school as carefully as I can. But sometimes even I miss something, and I think
that has happened this year.”

“What did you miss?” I asked, after a short silence.

“The three of you,” Dumbledore said, quite simply. “Your dynamic could be something very
special, and might be someday, but for now my lack of intervention has hindered that. What I'm
saying,” he continued, seeing my confused look, “is I wish it didn't take a troll for all of
you to realize each other's worth. We're all humans, after all, and there is absolutely no
reason to treat each other as poorly as I've seen and heard about.”

Ron's face had gone scarlet from embarrassment again, but I had no sympathy for him at that
moment. Dumbledore continued to surprise me, though, with his insights.

“Not one of you is individually responsible for what has happened, but that does not mean each
of you is not to blame, either. Something we all need to work on, I think, is putting ourselves in
someone else's shoes. For myself, I should have realized a long time ago how traumatic coming
to Hogwarts the first time is for Muggleborns, but it never occurred to me.

“For you, Ron—is that ok?—it might be appropriate to look at things from Miss Granger's
angle when you think she is being stubborn about something. And you, Hermione—alright?—it could
help you to view Hogwarts through someone who's born and bred in the magical world if things
get confusing; and then ask someone! Come to me with your questions! Or any of the staff for that
matter. Don't just let things get worse and worse. I can't bear to see my students unhappy
or uncomfortable, and when Myrtle came to me yesterday and told me there had been a girl crying in
the third floor bathroom all day, I had to find out exactly what was going on.

“Harry, you might want to take a more active role amongst your classmates; perhaps if you had,
these issues would have never happened. We may never know, but the point is, if you see a problem,
do something about it! Intervene, within school rules of course, and then tell an adult about
it.

“We're all here for you, no matter how aloof we may appear from time to time. All of your
teachers have responsibilities to family and careers outside of their classrooms, but they will
make time for you if you ask for it. I am away on Wizengamot and ICW business about thirty percent
of the school year, but when I'm here, I am always willing to listen to my students.”

Fawkes trilled quietly in the ensuing silence, restoring a sense of calm to the room once again
after the Headmaster's lengthy and impassioned speech. Ron and Harry looked as bewildered as I
felt. This was not how I thought this meeting would go.

“Do you all understand what I am trying to say?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yessir.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Good. Now if you don't mind, Harry, I would like to take a look at exactly what transpired
in that bathroom yesterday,” Dumbledore said, standing up and going to a cabinet on one side of the
room.

“W-what?” Harry asked. “How?”

When Dumbledore turned around, he had what looked like a shallow stone basin in his hands. He
came back to his desk and set it down. I could see a weird translucent substance swirling around
inside, and when Dumbledore touched it with his wand, it started glowing.

“With this,” he said. “It's called a Pensieve, and it can show people your memories as they
happened. I believe you and Hermione are familiar with films?” Dumbledore asked. We both nodded.
“This will project the scene above my desk in a similar fashion, though it will be in three
dimensions.”

“How does it work?” Harry asked, and I was genuinely curious about it as well. Nothing I'd
read said anything about a Pensieve. Ron looked like he'd already seen one in action,
though.

“Place your wand tip to your temple, concentrate as hard as you can on the specific memory, and
then slowly draw your wand away from your head. Your magic, and the Pensieve, will do the
rest.”

Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket, placed it against his head, and closed his eyes. After
a brief pause, he began to draw it away from his temple and attached the end of his wand was a
pearly white string. It extended to about a foot before it dropped away and swung from the tip of
his wand.

“Place it in here and gently shake it off your wand.”

Harry did as he was told. “I won't…forget it now, will I?”

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “It is merely a copy of your memory,” he explained swirling the
substance with his wand. “Now we shall watch what happened.” He tapped the side of the basin and
immediately an image of Harry and Ron sprinting through the corridors filled out above his
desk.

It focused on Snape rushing off toward the forbidden corridor, as Harry had. Dumbledore looked
quite unsurprised by this, so I just kept watching. There was the troll…and they locked it in, only
to hear my scream for help. It went on from there, and the troll lay dead on the floor in about
twenty seconds or so. It had seemed much longer during the experience. The image disappeared just
as McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rushed in.

“I must congratulate you, Harry,” Dumbledore said, after a moment's silence. “Your quick
thinking probably saved three lives.” He sounded somber and…grateful?

Harry said nothing. I don't think he knew how to respond to praise. He just ducked his head
a bit.

“And your bravery, Ron, is commendable. Willingly distracting a mountain troll is something most
adults would not attempt.”

“And Hermione, I'm sorry you even had to be in that bathroom. It has been and always will be
one of my many shortcomings that I am not perfect, and I apologize most sincerely.”

I didn't know what to say. “Thank you, sir…”

He inclined his head in my direction. “I'm sure you are all wondering how the mountain troll
came into Hogwarts, and let me assure you that I am working on that problem.

“I think that is all for today, though. I hope this has been as illuminating for you as it was
for me. If you have questions or concerns in the future, any at all, do not hesitate to bring them
to Professor McGonagall or myself.”

We left Dumbledore's office that day with a lot on our minds. He had given us much to think
about; for me, he had showed that at least the staff was there if needed, and that isolation was
not the only solution. Harry and Ron were very quiet for the rest of the day, so I assumed they
were mulling over the Headmaster's words, too.

---

Routine returned to our lives for the next three weeks, as classes, homework, and Quidditch
practice filled out our schedules. I was on more amicable terms with Harry and Ron than I'd
ever been, but I missed Sally, and Neville was still keeping to himself. Harry and I continued to
excel in our classes—we were number one and two by a mile, over all of the Ravenclaws even—and the
Headmaster's words must have struck a chord in Ron, because he actually managed to get all of
his work done. Granted, it was not a groundbreaking achievement, but I think he might have begun to
have more success at the practical aspect of magic because he was doing the theory.

We never talked directly about our meeting with Dumbledore, but his words were always there
underneath our interactions. The more I thought about what the Headmaster had said, the more I
realized that he was not as infallible as most `sources' would have one believe, and that he
might have been trying to tell us that. By placing his own shortcomings in the context of our
recent trouble, he was humanizing himself and placing himself out there for us at the same time. I
still thought he was every enigmatic, but some of the mystery had evaporated that day.

As November twenty-third approached, Harry's nervousness about Quidditch increased
dramatically, to the point where he nearly stopped eating. The morning of his game against
Slytherin, he didn't touch the food. A few minutes into the meal I frowned at him.

“Harry, you've got to eat some breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry,” he said.

“Come on, just a bit of toast or something,” I prodded. He would end up feeling much worse
playing on an empty stomach.

“Hermione, I don't want anything,” he said, staring sadly at the platters of food.

“For me, Harry? One piece of toast?” I asked. His eyes met mine and there was a long silence. I
noticed little speckles of flint mixed in with the emerald that I hadn't seen before.

“Oh, fine,” he sighed, and took a piece of toast. He ended up eating three pieces and two
sausages. I smiled contentedly.

After breakfast Harry left for the Quidditch pitch and the locker rooms, and I joined Ron and
the rest of the Gryffindor students as we headed for the stands. Dean and Seamus picked out seats
in the top row, so Ron and I followed them up there. Lavender, Parvati, and Lily sat with some
second year girls, and Neville was by himself. I stopped on my way up the stands next to him.

“Neville, come join us,” I said, motioning with my hand up the stairs. He just looked at me.

“Come oooon,” I repeated.

“Ok,” he said, quite reluctantly, and followed me up to the other boys. Dean and Seamus had made
a banner that said POTTER FOR PRESIDENT in large, bold letters. I thought it was nice so I charmed
the letters to flash different colors. The boys ooh'd and ahh'd, but it was a simple spell,
really. Just point your wand and incant *luminus*.

We cheered as the players came onto the field, and shortly thereafter the game began. It was
fast and violent, and it took me a few minutes to calm down enough to look away from Harry, even
for a few moments. He circled high above the game on his broom, searching for the Snitch. Everyone
once in awhile he'd have to dodge a Bludger, but the Weasley twins seemed fairly capable
Beaters.

“Budge up there, move along,” a familiar said, about five minutes into the game.

“Hagrid!” I called out, waving him over to us. There was plenty of room on the top row for his
massive bulk.

“Bin watchin' from me hut,” he said, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “But it's
not the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” Ron said. “Harry hasn't done much, yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, though, and that's somethin',” Hagrid said, chuckling a bit. He
turned his binoculars upward to look at Harry.

Suddenly, the announcer's voice caught my attention: “…wait a moment—was that the Snitch?” A
palpable wave of excitement flew through the crowd as we all stood to find the tiny gold ball, and
all attention focused on Harry and the Slytherin Seeker. Harry leaned forward and went into a dive;
the other Seeker had been in front of him, but Harry's superior broom afforded him the
advantage.

“GO HARRY!” I screamed, joined by the cries of all those around me, as he reached out his hand.
Then, without warning, a big, burly Slytherin flew directly into Harry's way. If Harry
hadn't reacted as quickly, he would have crashed very hard into the other student. As it was,
he grazed the Slytherin's broom and was sent cart wheeling through the air for a moment. Before
I could even fret about him falling off, he had righted himself.

“FOUL! WHAT IN MERLIN'S BLOODY NAME WAS THAT?” Ron screamed, and I was too angry to even
think about his bad language. The Slytherin could have really hurt Harry!

The referee and our flight instructor, Madam Hooch, awarded Gryffindor a free shot at the goals
because of the blatant foul. Dean was still yelling at the field as one of our Chasers lined up for
the shot:

“Send him off, ref! Red card!”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Ron wondered. I guess I should have expected that Ron
wouldn't know a thing about football, considering it was a Muggle sport.

“Red card!” Dean exclaimed. “In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the
game!”

“But this is Quidditch,” Ron reminded him.

“They oughta change the rules,” Hagrid put in, agreeing with Dean. “Flint coulda knocked Harry
outta the air.”

The game went on from there. Both Keepers were doing a good job blocking shots, and the Snitch
was nowhere to be seen. I had to admit the game was fairly exciting and interesting, but it was
chilly way up here in the stands. I hoped Harry found the Snitch soon.

“Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing,” Hagrid mumbled, a bit later, looking through his
binoculars up at where Harry was circling. “If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost
control of his broom…but he can't have…”

I looked up and tried to focus on Harry's small form, and sure enough his broom was bucking
and shaking around very violently. He looked like was doing everything he could to stay on the
Nimbus. My heart started to pound—he was so high up, if he fell off…

And then the broom tipped right over, dumping Harry off; my heart must have missed a beat, but
Harry managed to grab onto the shaft with his hands. He was hanging from his broom probably three
hundred feet in the air, with nothing below him except air and hard earth. My hands flew to my face
as the broom bucked again, causing him to let go with one hand. Five fingers were all that stood
between him and falling!

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus wondered, nearly as out of breath as
I felt. All around us, people were looking and pointing at Harry.

“Can't have,” Hagrid said, nervousness pervading his voice. “Can't nothing interfere
with a broomstick `cept powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that ter a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

Something clicked in my brain just then, something that I'd read in either the second or
third year Defense text book, and I grabbed the binoculars from Hagrid's hands. I focused on
the crowd and panned quickly around the entire stadium. I stopped when I reached the staff
section.

“What are you doing?” Ron wondered. His voice was shaking.

“I knew it!” I exclaimed. “Snape—look.” I handed the binoculars to Ron, and he looked directly
across the pitch to where Snape was. He saw what I had, which was Snape staring at Harry and
muttering something. The man wasn't even blinking.

“He's doing something—jinxing the broom,” I explained.

“What should we do?” Ron asked, lowering the binoculars. He glanced up at Harry (the twins were
now circling beneath Harry to catch him if he fell, I noticed) and looked sick.

“Leave it to me,” I assured him, and rushed away down the stands. When I reached the bottom, I
sprinted with everything I had around the walkway. I couldn't let Snape do this to Harry!
Perhaps everything Harry had been saying about Snape was true, if the man was trying to jinx Harry
off his broom.

When I was one section away from Snape, I turned and raced up to the top of the stands again. I
didn't want him to know I was coming, so I would descend toward him from behind. At the top, I
turned again, and before I could stop, I had run headlong into Professor Quirrell, who was also
looking up at Harry. He gave a cry of surprise and fell over the top row of students, but I
didn't even stop to apologize. My mission was too important.

At Snape's section, I turned again, and slowed down a bit. I entered the row behind him,
crouching low, and took my wand out of my pocket. He was still staring up at Harry, muttering
something under his breath. It sounded like Latin.

“*Incendio*,” I whispered, pointing my wand at his cloak. Then I turned and ran; once I was
far enough away to avoid suspicion, I looked back. Snape had just noticed that he was on fire, and
whipped out his wand to douse the flames. He looked appalled.

I looked up and saw that Harry was able to fly properly once again.

“Yes!” I cried, jumping up and pumping my fist into the air. I ignored the strange looks from
students around me. Who cares what they thought? I'd saved Harry!

As I sprinted back toward my seat, I watched as Harry suddenly went into another dive. Everyone
had been so concerned with his recovery that they didn't even notice the dive until he was
twenty feet from the ground. He pulled up at the last second, and I thought he was going to puke;
he went down to all fours and gagged, and then coughed the Golden Snitch out into his waiting hand.
The game was over, Harry had caught the Snitch!

“I've got it!” I heard Harry yell, and chaos erupted in the stands. Turns out that the
Slytherin captain wanted to debate the legitimacy of Harry's win, since he had caught it in his
mouth, but he was never going to win that argument. The announcer was screaming out the result of
the game: Gryffindor 170, Slytherin 60.

Due to the confusion when the game ended in, Harry was able to slip away from the locker rooms
quickly and met Ron and I just outside. Hagrid asked us three if we wanted to have some tea in his
hut, and we agreed. Once we each had a strong cuppa in hand, and were comfortably seated around the
table, the conversation turned toward the broom incident.

“What d'ya think happened?” Harry wondered. “Is my broom faulty?” He looked crestfallen at
the possibility.

“Nah,” Ron told him. “It was Snape. Hermione saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering;
he wouldn't take his eyes off you.”

“Rubbish!” Hagrid said, looking down at all of us. “Why would Professor Snape do somethin'
like that?”

A thick silence fell over the hut as I wondered how we were going to tell Hagrid our suspicions.
Harry spoke first, though, and it was quickly apparent he had decided on the truth.

“We found out something,” Harry explained. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on
Halloween, and it bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.”

Hagrid almost choked on his tea cup. “How do you three know about Fluffy?”

“*Fluffy*?” I wondered. “You have a Cerberus named *Fluffy*?” I was incredulous. It
boggled my mind.

“Yeah—it's mine—bought him off some Greek wizard I met in the Hog's Head las' year—I
lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—” But he cut himself off.

“Yes?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

“Now, don't ask me anymore. That's top secret, that is,” Hagrid said, doing his best to
sound gruff. He sounded more frustrated that he'd said that much.

“But Snape's trying to *steal* it,” Ron reminded him. Harry and I nodded in
agreement.

“Nonsense!” Hagrid said, loudly. “Professor Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do
nothin' of the sort.”

“So why did he just try to kill Harry?” I wondered. I didn't know why Hagrid was being so
stubborn about all of this, because the evidence was definitely there. “I know a jinx when I see
one, Hagrid; you have to keep eye contact, and Snape was not blinking at all! Ron and I both saw
him!” My voice had risen considerably by the end without meaning to, and Harry and Ron were looking
at me with awe.

“I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid replied, just as vehemently. “I don' know why
Harry's broom acted like that, but Professor Snape wouldn' try ter kill a student! Now,
listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's
dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin'. That is between
Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—”

“So!” Harry cried, cutting off Hagrid's admonishment. “There's someone called Nicolas
Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid's face turned red and he told us we should be getting back to the castle. He seemed
angry at both us and himself. Harry and Ron spent the entire trip back to the common room
bad-mouthing Snape, but I considered Hagrid's words. I was not convinced Snape had nothing to
do with this, but I conceded the point that there was more going on than we understood. Perhaps
these were the type of concerns Professor Dumbledore wanted us to bring to him, but I stopped that
train of thought in its tracks. We weren't even supposed to know about *Fluffy* (I snorted
at the highly inappropriate name) or that it was guarding something.

The plot, one could say, had thickened.

-->



11. Chapter Ten
---------------



A/N: When Dumbledore said Harry, Ron, and Hermione's `dynamic could be very special'
(Chapter Nine), he was referring to their mix of academic motivation and childhood experiences. He
was not somehow looking into the future. Just clearing that up… With this chapter, this story is
already nearly as long as *Philosopher's Stone*. Oh dear.

Chapter Ten

Fall Term / Intercession 1991

Snow came to the Highlands with a vengeance in December, and by the second Sunday of the month,
the grounds were covered with more than two feet. That morning I woke up after the sun had already
risen into the sky—it was a lazy day for all, it seemed, because none of the other girls were up
yet—and just stared out our window for a while at the sparkling whiteness. The lake had partially
frozen over as well, and I had to shield my eyes against the glare reflecting off the ice.

Movement caught my eye, and I watched as a very bundled up Hagrid plowed his way through the
snow toward the Quidditch pitch. I had not talked to him since that evening after the Quidditch
game, but that did not mean Harry, Ron, or I had forgotten about our little mystery. Whenever we
could, we searched for Nicolas Flamel, but we'd had no luck so far. Between our classes and
studying for term finals, we did not have much time for any extra research.

I threw on a warm sweater over my nightshirt and descended to the common room. The fire crackled
merrily in the hearth, so I naturally gravitated in that direction to feel its warmth. There were a
few students down there already, and they were all eating breakfast.

Since Hogwarts had become truly cold, they had started serving breakfast in the House common
rooms so we didn't have to walk through the drafty corridors as much. I filled a plate and took
a seat adjacent to the fire. As I munched on the hot biscuits, Harry shuffled sleepily into the
common room. I waved him over, and I was suddenly in danger of snarfing my food at the sight of his
hair.

“Harry,” I said. “Your hair.”

He looked up, blinking his eyes blearily. “Huh? What about it?” he asked, taking some food from
the serving table and sitting across from me.

“It looks like you…tried to spike one side and forgot about the other side,” I told him, through
my slight laughter.

He ran his hand vigorously through his hair for several moments, with an amused expression on
his face.

“Better?”

I chuckled again. “No, not really, but don't worry about it. It's very *you*.”

He gave me a strange look and eventually just shrugged. Students continued to stumble in for
breakfast; Ron was one of the last, but somehow he still managed to finish his meal first. He was
like a human vacuum cleaner, when it came to food. One second his plate was full, the next his
mouth was full, and the last both were empty. It was like magic!

The portrait opened as we were all finishing up and McGonagall strode in. I'd only seen her
in the common room a few times before, so I wondered what she was doing here on a Sunday morning.
She had a long piece of parchment in her hands.

“Excuse me, Gryffindors, I need your attention for a few moments,” she called out, moving toward
the bulletin board and magicking the parchment to stick there. “As you all know, this term ends
next week, so the time has come to decide whether or not you are staying at the castle over the
holidays. The last day of finals is the seventeenth; the train leaves from Hogsmeade station at
nine o'clock on the eighteenth. Keep that in mind as you consider your plans.

“If you *are* staying at the castle, you need to sign your name to this parchment before
next Sunday, the fifteenth. We need an accurate account of how many students will be here during
intercession. Please inform anyone who is not here about what I've said. That is all,” she
finished, and fielded a few questions before leaving.

It was hard to believe that my first term at Hogwarts was already almost over, but here we were,
only ten days away from when we'd head back to London. A lot had happened, good and bad, but I
thought I was in better place than when I'd started. There were still problems, and nothing was
ever going to be perfect, but it seemed like I'd made a good friend in Harry. Ron and I were
coming along; we still had our fair share of disagreements, and we clearly did not see eye to eye
on a wide range of subjects, but with Harry's tempering influence over both of us and
Dumbledore's words still in the back of our minds, we were not cruel toward each other.

Home was very appealing, though, because I'd always loved Christmas. The house just smelled
so delicious, and all the lights and decorations were very beautiful. The materialistic side of me
loved the presents, as well, but I knew I was going to enjoy just being home more than anything
else. I missed mum and dad, and although our letters had been quite frequent during the term, they
were nothing like seeing them in person.

We all sat in silence for a few minutes, watching several students make their way to the
parchment and sign it. Eventually, Harry pushed himself out of the armchair, sighed, and headed for
the bulletin board. I cinched my eyes in confusion.

“Harry?”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at me with a questioning eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

He gave me a *what does it look like I'm doing* look. “Putting my name down on the
parchment,” he said.

“You're not going home over hols?” I asked. For some reason, Harry frowned. Ron cleared his
throat and shook his head slightly, but I ignored him. Why was Harry reacting like this?

“No, I'd like to stay at the castle,” he said, and turned away from me. His tone was very
curt, as if was I meddling in things he did not want me to know. But I was not about to let him get
off that easily—I pushed myself out of the chair and intercepted him on his way to the parchment.
He stared at the floor as I stood in front of him.

“You don't want to go home for Christmas?”

“Not particularly, Hermione. Is that alright with you?” he asked, looking up at me. His eyes
were hooded, brooding. He was unhappy about something.

“Why not?” I persisted. I wasn't trying to nag, but he was obviously really bothered about
this whole thing. I had to find out more.

“Because Christmas won't be much fun if I do,” he eventually said.

“What—” I started to question, but he cut me off with a wave off his hand. I could sense some
anger radiating off him now, or maybe it was hurt.

“Just drop it, please. My aunt and uncle would much prefer if I stayed here for Christmas, and
I'm fine with that.” He stared into my eyes for another few seconds, waiting for me to say
something, but I just listened to his words as they reverberated around my head. He stepped around
me and signed his name on the parchment.

Something was way off here; Harry was not telling me something about his home life, but whatever
it was caused him a great deal of stress. But foremost on my mind was a determination to take him
away from Hogwarts for the holidays. The castle was cold and impersonal, and he deserved to be with
family or friends on Christmas day. I continued to mull this over as we sat back down with Ron.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Harry asked Ron, who had been silent so far.

“Mum and dad are taking all of us to Romania to visit Charlie this year. Bill might even meet us
if he can get away from Egypt.”

I knew Charlie was his older brother and worked with dragons in Romania, but I did not know who
Bill was or why he was in Egypt.

“Is Bill another older brother?” I asked.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, he's a curse-breaker for Gringotts,” he told me. “Been working at the
pyramids for a few years now.”

“That sounds like fun,” Harry said, quietly. He sounded so incredibly sad in that moment…oh, I
just wanted to hug him! A glimmer of an idea started to take shape in my mind.

“They've been saving for the trip for two years,” Ron said, smiling a bit. He was looking
over our heads, probably imagining what Romania and dragons would be like. “We're leaving right
from King's Cross when we get back.”

“Tell me all about the dragons,” Harry said, smiling. I *knew* it was a false smile,
though.

“Sure,” Ron agreed, and he asked Harry if he wanted to play a game of wizard's chess. Harry
agreed and Ron went to get the board and the pieces.

“What about you?” Harry asked, turning to me. Ron hadn't come back yet. “What are you doing
over the holidays?”

“Going home,” I said, simply. “Spending Christmas with my parents at my house.”

“Ah,” was all he said, and I wondered if he was thinking about being alone for the entire break.
By the way he slouched into the chair, it was a distinct possibility. That glimmer of an idea had
been growing, and now I knew what I had to do. When Ron came back with the game, I excused myself.
I went up to my dorm and pulled out two pieces of parchment and a quill.

*Dear mum and dad**,*

*The train drops us off at King's Cross on December 18**th* *around
three or four o'clock. I can't give you an exact time because they haven't given us
one. I'm looking forward to coming home and seeing you guys again! Christmas is going to be
great this year.*

*I* *do* *have something I need to ask you**, though: is there any possibility
my friend, Harry Potter, could come home with us* *over* *hols? He said something about
his relatives (he's an orphan, so he lives with his aunt and uncle) not caring* *about
having him* *or wanting him home for Christmas. That doesn't sound right. He should be
with friends, at least, for Christmas. So what do you think? I'll talk to Headmaster Dumbledore
about it while I await your response.*

*Love,*

*Hermione*

I moved that finished letter aside and set my quill to the second parchment. As I was just about
to write, another completely separate thought occurred to me. There were two things I needed to ask
the Headmaster.

*Dear Headmaster Dumbledore*

*As the holidays are quickly approaching, there are two matters I would like to discuss with
you, if possible. Both concern students in my class and house, and I think* *your input would
be invaluable.*

*Please advise,*

*Hermione Granger*

I bundled up and headed for the owlery. I wasn't sure how letters reached Dumbledore, so I
took the failsafe choice and used a school owl. I attached the letter for my parents to a different
owl, and watched them both wing away over the sunny grounds. The one with Dumbledore's letter
wheeled around a few tall turrets and flew directly into a window that must have been
Dumbledore's office. Upon further inspection, it was close to the Gryffindor tower. Definitely
the Headmaster's office.

I headed back to the castle through the worn path in the snow between the doors and the owlery,
stamping my boots and shaking the cold out of my limbs just inside the entrance hall. I looked up
as I heard someone coming down the magnificent marble staircase, and I was surprised to see
Dumbledore.

“I thought I might find you on your way back,” he said, smiling down at me. He was wearing robes
of the deepest blue, with just the hints of silver lines throughout. “It does not take long for an
owl to travel from the owlery to my office.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Now, what can I do for you?” he asked, as we headed back up the stairs together. He clasped his
hands behind his back as we moved slowly in the direction of his office.

“What do you think about students staying at Hogwarts over the holidays?”

He tilted his head to the side, pushing his spectacles up his nose slightly. “It is a service we
provide for students who find it easier or more convenient to remain at the castle between terms. I
would prefer students spend Christmas with their families, but sometimes that simply is not an
option.”

“But if students don't have family they want to go home to, do they *have* to stay
here?”

“No, but of course then it is a question of where else they would go; why do you want to know,
Hermione?” he asked.

“Well…Harry signed up to stay at the castle today, and when I asked him about he closed up and
got all defensive about his relatives,” I explained. “It seemed like something was wrong, but I
didn't want to press. I like Hogwarts, but I don't think he should have to celebrate
Christmas here because he doesn't want to go home.”

“And…” Dumbledore prompted. It sounded like he knew what I was going to ask. We had reached the
gargoyle and rather than having to give the password, it moved aside for us.

“Would it be possible for him to come home with me? I'm sure my parents will love him and
I've already owled them to ask for permission,” I said, all in rush.

“I thought you might ask just that question,” Dumbledore said, directing me to another squashy
armchair and sitting behind his desk. “Do you think your parents will agree to have another child
in their home for the entirety of break?”

“I don't see why not,” I told him, and that was a very truthful answer. There was no reason
I could see why my parents would turn down my request. He twirled the end of his long white beard
around an index finger for a few moments.

“I admire you for taking the initiative in this matter, but unfortunately I cannot give you a
sure answer yet. I *can* tell you there is a strong possibility this could happen.”

“Why wouldn't he be able to come?” I wondered. Dumbledore chuckled then, probably at my
inquisitiveness.

“There are some issues that need to be resolved first, but none of them concern you directly, so
do not worry about them,” he said, rather evasively. But I knew enough to drop it at that point.
“Soon enough I will be able to tell you for sure, but until then, don't say anything about what
you have planned to Harry. Getting his hopes up just for a letdown in the end is not a wise course
of action.”

I nodded. “Ok.” I'd already raised my own hopes—it would be so much fun to have Harry at
home over hols!—but I didn't tell Dumbledore that.

“There was something else you wished to speak to me about?”

“Yes, sir…has there been any word on Sally?” The way his fine white brows crept up his forehead
suggested that this was not what he had been expecting.

“Miss Sally-Anne Perks, you mean?”

“Yes—Professor McGonagall told me the staff would do everything they could to get her back, but
I haven't heard anything since the day she left, and that was three months ago.”

Then the grandfatherly wizard, the Headmaster with incredible amounts of power and knowledge,
leaned forward and sighed like he was very tired. Everything in that noise sounded like he was
stretched thin, and I wondered at that moment how many other responsibilities he was thinking
about.

“You haven't heard anything, Hermione, because there has been nothing to report. Professor
McGonagall visited with Sally's parents, but they would not relent. I then went myself, on two
separate occasions, to try and persuade them to allow Sally back into Hogwarts.”

“And they still won't let her back?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“But why, sir?” I asked.

He took off his glasses and set them on the desk. There were pouches under his eyes I'd
never noticed before. “It's difficult to say, really,” he started. “Many times, Muggle parents
are hesitant about allowing their magical children to attend Hogwarts because it is so far away
from home. Parents do not want to miss out on their son's or daughter's childhood, and as
you know, Hogwarts students are at school nine months out of the year.

“But that is not usually the only reason why a student is withdrawn by their parents. There can
be a certain type of fear associated with Hogwarts, and the magical world in general; fear of the
unknown, if you will, but some parents do not want their children exploring areas of knowledge they
do not nor could they ever have access to.

“That sounds selfish, and it partly is, but in their minds, Sally's parents are doing what
they think is best for their daughter. They are trying to protect her, but in my mind what they are
really doing is denying a very significant part of who she is. I'm always very saddened when
this happens, but unfortunately there is nothing more I can do. She is underage both in the Muggle
world and in the Wizarding world, so her parents have complete control.

“I wish,” he said, and then faltered. His blue eyes shifted to the space above my head, and they
unfocused a little bit. “I wish we did not have to exist behind this cloak of secrecy, because
there is much we could offer them and much they could offer us. But in the end, it is *you
Muggleborn students* who suffer the most, because you somehow have to live in two worlds with
*total* separation between them.”

I sat quietly for some time after his words, thinking about what he'd said. I had never
quite looked at it from that perspective, that I was someone who had to go back and forth between
the two worlds in order to have any contact with my family, and that there was this absolute gulf
between those spheres of existence.

“So,” I said, after a little while, “there's no chance of trying again?”

He looked at me blankly, and then gave me a woeful smile as he put his glasses back on. “The
second time I showed up at their house, they threatened to call the Muggle authorities. Now, I
could have disposed of that situation quite easily, but I thought it best not to provoke them
further.”

“You're right. That wouldn't have ended well.”

“Indeed, Hermione,” was all he said.

I took a deep breath. “Sir…do you suppose I could attempt to see her over hols?” He sat up a
little straighter. “She only lives a few kilometers from me—I'm not sure how we didn't go
to the same primary school, really—so it wouldn't be any trouble at all. I could try to talk to
her parents, explain to them what they're making their daughter miss, that she's only half
a person.”

“I would never prevent you from trying your best in something like this, because if you can get
Ms. Perks back at Hogwarts, I would be eternally grateful. Every student we lose to attrition cuts
deep, and bringing one back would be a balm for my weary soul,” he said, quite melodramatically I
thought. But he had a point—why not *try* at least?

“So yes, you have my best wishes in this endeavor.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Is that all for today?” he asked. I sensed a dismissal.

“Yes, thank you again,” I said, standing. He stood as well and walked me to the door.

“My pleasure, Hermione. Remember what I said, though: not a word to Harry until we know for
sure.”

“I will,” I assured him, and left. I was excited at the possibility of killing two birds with
one stone over break, so to speak. I might get Harry to open up a little and I would be able to see
Sally again, maybe even get her back at Hogwarts! Of course, one half of that depended on
Dumbledore, but I crossed my fingers and hoped I could count on him to come through.

---

After Charms ended on the seventeenth, we were finally free of classes and exams. All we had
between us and vacation was one more day. I still hadn't heard from Dumbledore about Harry, and
I intended to find the Headmaster that day and talk to him about it again. My parents had responded
two days before saying they'd be delighted to have one of my new friends over for the holidays
(mum wrote on the bottom `*PS: Even if it is* *a boy!**')*.

I was not worried about my exams; I had been at the very top of my class all term, and I knew
first year material so thoroughly that every test had seemed very easy. Harry was right there
behind me, academically, but something seemed to be weighing more and more on his mind of late. I
was pretty sure it had something to do with staying at Hogwarts over the break while most other
first years went home.

Ron, Harry, and I headed for lunch in the Great Hall after dropping our books off in the common
room, and when we got to the entrance hall we saw a massive fir tree mostly blocking the entrance
to the Hall. As we came close, we saw Hagrid's huge, worn work boots under the piney
branches.

“Want any help, Hagrid?” Ron asked, attempting to look up at his face through the branches. None
of us had spoken to Hagrid in quite awhile. I wondered how Hagrid would act.

“Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron,” Hagrid responded, wrestling with the tree some more,
trying to get it through the doorway into the Great Hall.

“Would you *mind* moving out of the way?” a high, drawling voice asked. I closed my eyes
briefly, willing Malfoy away. Nothing good ever came out of encounters with that unpleasant
child.

“Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, and we all turned to look at
him. I noticed that Hagrid stopped fighting with the tree so he could listen to the conversation as
it played out.

“Bugger off,” Ron said, tiredly. I didn't even want to admonish him for his language.

“Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts? That hut of Hagrid's must seem
like a palace compared to the *Burrow*,” Malfoy continued on, sneering out the name of
Ron's house.

“Malfoy, really—” I started.

“Shut up, Granger,” he said, without looking at me. “I wasn't talking to you. I was talking
to Weasley here, telling him about how he might earn some of that money his father's been
looking for all his life—”

Ron lunged at Malfoy, and would have tackled him to the ground, but Snape stalked into the
entrance hall just then. He narrowed his eyes at the scene. Other students had begun to crowd
around, waiting to get into the Great Hall for lunch.

“WEASLEY!” Snape barked.

Hagrid cleared his throat. “He was provoked, Professor Snape. Malfoy here was insultin' his
family and his home.”

I cheered Hagrid for standing up to both Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. I would have had
points taken away if I'd said anything, but Snape couldn't take points away from
Hagrid.

“Be that as it may, *Hagrid*, fighting is against school rules. One point from Gryffindor,
Weasley; now, move along, all of you!” Snape ordered, just as Hagrid finally got the tree clear of
the doorway. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Snape pushed past the tree into the hall. Everyone else was
slower to follow.

“One of these days, I'll get him…” Ron threatened. I just shook my head a little at him.
There was nothing he could do.

“I don't like either of them,” Harry said, looking into the Great Hall. “Malfoy and
Snape—Snape because he's a royal git and he favors everyone in his house and Malfoy because
he's a sycophantic pain in the arse.”

“Whoa, Harry, big words. And watch your language, please,” I admonished him. He looked defiantly
at me for a moment, and then mumbled an apology. “As much as I agree with you, we have to live with
them. Might as well get used to it.”

“Come on you three, cheer up,” Hagrid said, returning our attention to the task at hand: getting
lunch. “It's nearly Christmas. Come and see the Great Hall, looks a treat,” he said, moving the
tree entirely out of the way so we could see the Hall as we entered.

And he was right. Flitwick, I assumed, had charmed the floor to look like solid ice, though it
wasn't slippery at all. Snowflakes fell from the magical ceiling and disappeared around eye
level; there were iced strings of garland, at least a dozen other magnificent fir trees all
decorated with moving ornaments, and icicles instead of the hundreds of floating candles. Amidst
all of the students eating lunch, Flitwick and McGonagall, and even Dumbledore, supervised the
placement of decorations.

“Ah, Hagrid, the very last tree,” Dumbledore said. “Please put it in the far corner,” he
instructed, pointing to where he wanted it. Then he turned to help Flitwick charm the icicles so
they wouldn't melt when lit. It was incredible watching them cast spells together. It was like
a well-choreographed dance. I tried to make eye contact with Dumbledore during all of this, but he
was rather preoccupied.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“None, really,” I responded. “Classes just ended, and we're leaving tomorrow on the train.”
I paused, wondering if we had any time left for our search for Flamel. “Think we should eat lunch
and head on over to the library?” I asked them. “We could look for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, as he and Harry turned to me. “Probably should.”

“The library?” Hagrid asked, sounding surprised. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't
yeh?”

Harry chuckled, and I knew he was going to tell Hagrid exactly what we were doing. Harry never
was very afraid of a confrontation. “Oh, we're not working!” he said, false brightness in his
voice. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is.”

Hagrid let go of the tree quite abruptly, and it almost toppled over ontp some students walking
by. He caught it just in time. “You *what*? Listen here—I've told yeh—just *drop* it.
It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'.”

“But we just want to know who Flamel is,” I said, trying to sound quite innocent. I even grasped
my hands behind my back and twirled a toe against the floor. I thought I might have pulled it off,
until I heard Harry's strangled chuckle behind my back.

“Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Ron wondered, and though it was a
well-placed question, I knew he just wanted to savor one of his last Hogwarts meals of the
term.

“Yeah, we must have been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere,”
Harry said. I could still sense the laughter in his voice. “I *know* I've read his name
somewhere—just give us a hint, Hagrid.”

“I'm sayin' nothin',” Hagrid said, and turned back to the tree.

“I guess we'll just have to find him ourselves, then,” I sing-songed, and we left Hagrid for
the Gryffindor table. Harry imitated my impression of an innocent school girl, and I had tears in
my eyes I started laughing so hard. Ron then fluttered his eyebrows coquettishly, which didn't
help matters, and I told him he better not let Malfoy see him do that.

“Why not?” he wondered.

“He'll think you're some kind of nancy boy!” I told him. He looked like a fish out of
water for a moment, and then Harry started laughing, and that got me laughing again, and it was all
downhill from there. It was a very merry lunch.

Toward the end, I finally managed to catch Dumbledore's eye, and he winked at me! It was
surprising, and I watched as he made his way through the Hall toward us, perfecting decorations as
he came.

“I noticed that you all have been enjoying your lunch,” Dumbledore said, coming to a stop at our
end of the Gryffindor table. The other first years and Gryffindor students looked up with varying
degrees of awe at having the Headmaster at the table. Perhaps my perspective had shifted in the
past month, but I could no longer look at him like that. And that was a good thing, really.

There was a smattering of replies, most of them decidedly meaningless, and then Dumbledore came
around the table. He leaned over Ron and Harry.

“Might I speak to Miss Granger and Mister Potter for a moment?” he inquired, using our last
names presumably because other students could still hear. Harry looked at me, inquiring with his
eyes if I know what this was about, and I nodded to him. We stood and followed Dumbledore toward
the exit.

“Quite the eventful term, no?” he said, pointing his wand at the masonry above the doorway.
Golden bubbles shot from his wand and splattered in perfect rings on the curves and arches.
“That's nice, I think,” he commented, absently. Then he turned to us.

“Harry, you are planning to stay at Hogwarts during intercession, are you not?” Dumbledore asked
him. Harry nodded slowly.

“Hermione noticed this and came to me with a request,” Dumbledore explained. Harry looked at me,
and his eyes were doing that *thing* again where they became really intense.

“What request, sir?” Harry asked, rather warily.

“Hermione?” he asked. He wanted me to explain it to Harry. I had no problems with that.

“I thought you might like to spend Christmas with a friend instead of all alone here at
Hogwarts, so I asked my parents and Dumbledore if you could stay with us over the holidays,” I told
him, and waited for his reaction. None was immediately forthcoming, however. He just looked at
me.

“And I agreed. After I looked into it further, it seems like it would be ideal for all parties
involved. Your parents approved, Hermione?”

“Yes, and I have the letter if you need to see it…”

“No, no, that's alright, my dear. I trust you.” Dumbledore looked closely at Harry just
then, who was still staring at me. I just raised both my eyebrows at him. I wanted *some* kind
of reaction. “Harry, what do you think?”

He swallowed (I saw his throat bob up and down) and blinked twice. “So-ounds,” he started, and
then cleared his throat. Had his voice just caught? “Sounds great,” he said.

“Really?” I squeaked, already super excited about the possibilities. Then he smiled at me.

“Really…thanks, Hermione.”

“Not a problem!” I said. “Oh, just wait until my parents meet you, they're going to love
you; I just know it!” I gushed, much to the amusement of Dumbledore and Harry. Looking back, they
had similar expressions on their faces, though Dumbledore's was no doubt colored by decades of
experience in dealing with excited females.

“I wish you good luck on your other mission,” Dumbledore said, winking at me again. “You both
enjoy your holidays. Come back rested and refreshed!” We thanked him and told him we would, and
then he left.

All along, even though Dumbledore had said this might not be possible, I had been hoping
desperately for Harry to come home with me. He didn't need to stay at the castle and I wanted
to have my friend meet my parents, and enjoy the holidays with us. I also wanted to get to know him
better, to understand more what made Harry Potter tick, and the time we were going to spend
together seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Harry was much chattier than he had been in a long time that evening, as we all talked about our
plans for the holidays. Ron was quite enthusiastic about seeing dragons, but I could tell he really
wanted to see his brother Charlie. From what Ron said, it sounded like it had been quite some time
since he'd seen either of his older brothers. I hoped for his sake Bill was able to show up, as
well.

Harry asked a lot about what my house was like, and how my parents were, and what we might be
doing, but I was as mysterious as I could be, which frustrated him in a good way, I think. I wanted
things to be a surprise for him. I wanted him to have no expectations, to just enjoy whatever came
his way instead of worrying about it. He'd saved my life, after all; it was the least I could
do.

So the next day, December 18th, we all boarded the train around nine o'clock. I
watched as Hogwarts faded into the snowy distance, thinking about how much it had changed my life
in four short months. There was something exquisite about facing the days, months, and years ahead
with new friends, though I've never been able to articulate exactly what I was feeling that
day.

Dean, Seamus, and Lily joined us in our compartment, and conversation was filled with stories
and tales of our first term at Hogwarts; some of them were fantastical, too much for even the
magical school, and some of them were true to life, but it was the telling of the tales, the
camaraderie they created that was the true magic.

Neville even joined us about twenty minutes into the journey; though he was very quiet for much
of the ride, I was glad that he had at least initiated contact. Perhaps the right time to open him
up was coming nearer.

Crowded as the compartment was with seven of us, I did not mind and didn't think any of the
others did, either. It was almost like we were all trying to hold onto some fading memory, some
experience that bound us together for the first four months of school, and by reliving those
memories the feeling would last a little longer. It was an ephemeral kind of thing, in the pit of
my stomach as I laughed at something truly ridiculous Ron said; all the while remembering how he
had treated me, of course. Mixing sadness and happiness like that created a kind of nostalgia
that's hard to forget, and I wonder if all the others felt it as well.

In any case, the journey passed quickly, and at 3:45 we pulled into King's Cross, Platform
Nine and Three Quarters. The station was full of waiting parents and siblings. I spotted mum and
dad standing by the archway to the Muggle part of King's Cross.

“See you in a few weeks!” Dean said, waving to us as he left. Seamus and Lily followed him after
they'd said goodbye.

“Have a good Christmas all,” Neville said, his first words in more than two hours.

“You too, Nev,” Ron said. Neville looked shocked at Ron's shortening of his name, but not
displeased.

“Thanks,” he said, and left after Harry and I had said goodbye as well.

“We should get going as well,” I said, hefting my suitcase out from under the seat. Harry
carefully took down his trunk from the overhead compartment. Ron had only brought his backpack with
him.

We stood around for a few moments, three first year Hogwarts students returning home after their
first term, unsure of what to say. There was so much we each *could* have said.

“Don't just read books to each other,” Ron said, joking half-heartedly.

“Don't come back extra crispy,” Harry returned, grinning at him.

“I'll try,” Ron agreed.

“Enjoy Romania,” I said. Ron didn't quite meet my eyes.

“I will…thanks.”

Ron left soon after that, and I turned to Harry. His green eyes had sobered a bit from the
playful banter with Ron.

I smirked at him. “What do you say, Harry—time to meet the parents?”

-->



12. Chapter Eleven
------------------



A/N: This could be the weirdest author's note I've had to write—please do not use my
public email address to “hook up” with me so we can “write some cool shit.” It will be considered
spam. One other thing: these chapters always end up much longer than anticipated. I guess
Hermione's perspective is truly compelling to develop and explore. Now I return you to your
regularly scheduled programming.

Chapter Eleven

Intercession 1991

*“What do you say, Harry—time to meet the parents?”*

Though the grin left over from Ron's parting words had mostly faded from Harry's face,
it returned again with my question.

“Dunno…should I be afraid?” he wondered, but his question was not serious, either.

“Trembling, actually,” I returned, and then laughed and pulled him by the arm into the
passageway. The train had emptied by this point, so our way was quick and clear to the exit. We
struggled a bit with our luggage—my suitcase and his trunk—but we eventually got our things off the
train.

As I stepped off the train onto the platform, I waved to my parents, who had just seen me. Harry
jumped off beside me, and we stood around our luggage as my parents headed in our direction. It was
incredibly good to see them after so long; mum's face lit up in a smile as she came closer, and
I couldn't resist the grin spreading across mine.

“Mum! Dad!” I said, moving the last few steps toward them. I crashed into mum, hard, and
embraced her. She laughed and hugged me back. I did the same to dad, and then turned back around.
Harry was watching all of this with a tiny smile at the corners of his lips.

“And this nice young man must be Harry Potter?” mum asked. I pressed my back into her and
nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Harry said, coming forward a bit. He looked slightly
awkward, and I stifled a laugh. Mum gave me a little push forward, and then walked around me.

“Likewise, Harry. We've heard *so* much about you in Hermione's letters,” she said,
not looking at me on purpose, I was sure. Harry's eyes cut to mine for the briefest of moments,
something like surprise in them, and then he looked back at mum.

“Yes Harry, it seems like you and Hermione have become good friends,” dad said, also moving
forward a bit.

For a moment, I avoided everyone's eyes; I moved to where Harry was standing and stopped by
his side again. I waited for his response to what dad had said, because we had never overtly
discussed our friendship before. As a matter of fact, I could not recall one instance where the
word `friend' was used in conjunction with our knowing each other—to the other person, at
least. But that seemed like what it had turned into, during the past two months.

Friendship: an unfamiliar word, for most of my childhood. Yet the boy I was standing next to was
staying at my house for the entirety of the holidays, as my friend. I was not able to express my
feelings at the time, but in a general sense I realized this was somewhat of a mental shift for me,
as a person. Prior to Hogwarts, I had been a loner, separated from others my age by my personality
and driven will to succeed. Now, four months after starting at Hogwarts, I had at least one true
friend.

But that of course was contingent upon Harry's acknowledgement of his role as my friend,
because friendship was—and is, and always will be—a reciprocal relationship. I had started to
consider Harry as my friend, but that was only true if he thought the same of me. So I held my
breath as I waited for Harry to respond.

Before he said anything, though, I felt impelled to look up. It wasn't until after I saw his
green eyes staring directly at me that I realized I must have felt his gaze. There was some kind of
hazy, unreadable emotion in them, something that he probably also wouldn't have been able to
express.

“Yes, I think we have, Mr. Granger,” Harry finally said, breaking eye contact with me and
looking toward my parents. I did the same and mum's eyes immediately captured mine. Her left
eyebrow tweaked upwards ever so slightly, and I thought I saw some amusement in her eyes.

“And I have to thank Hermione, once again, for inviting me to stay with you for Christmas. And
thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, for agreeing to her idea. It means a lot to me,” he told them, and
once again I wanted to hug him. It was amazing how he could do that with just his words, because
although Harry did not outwardly emote very much, the feelings behind what he said almost always
came across loud and clear.

“Oh, you're quite welcome,” mum said. “Paul, would you mind getting Hermione's suitcase?
Harry and Hermione can get his trunk,” she said, and suddenly the awkwardness of meeting the
parental units had passed.

“It's really no trouble at all,” mum continued, as we headed for the Muggle side of the
station. “We have plenty of extra room at home, and it is the least we can do. We don't want
any of Hermione's friends staying cooped at the school for the holidays.”

“So Harry, how did you and Hermione first get to know each other?” Dad wondered, as we moved
through the barrier. He had my suitcase gripped in both hands; Harry had one end of his trunk and I
had the other. Mum walked a little ahead of us all, looking back every now and then and listening
to the conversation.

I hoped Harry didn't say *at the business end of a mountain troll's club*. That
might not go over so well with my parents, because I had left out a few of the
more…*alarming*…details from my letters.

“Early mornings in the Great Hall, during breakfast, I think,” was what Harry actually said, and
I nodded in agreement as memories of our various chats about school flooded back into my mind.

“What do you mean?” mum wondered.

Harry looked at me. “We're usually the earliest first years to rise, so before the other
students get to breakfast in the morning, Hermione and I talk about what's going on in classes.
We've been doing that for most of the year.”

“It's paid off, hasn't it?” dad asked, hefting the suitcase differently as we passed
onto the pavement of Charing Cross road. “Hermione told us you two are the top students in your
year.”

“Hermione's brilliant,” Harry said, and I just looked at him. “She deserves the top spot,”
he continued, not meeting my eyes. I watched mum look back at dad, and I assumed their eyes met
briefly, because she smiled and then looked forward once again.

“We're glad you think so, Harry, because we certainly agree,” mum said. I was embarrassed
now—I didn't want to listen to people praise me! Harry had an incredible mind as well.

“But don't sell yourself short,” she went on. “You must be quite the student yourself, if
you're also ahead of all these—Ravenclaws, was it?—Hermione wrote us about.”

He finally looked at me. “I don't want to waste this chance,” Harry said, nodding slightly
at me, and then looking up at dad. “Hogwarts means a lot to me, and I want to make the most of
it.”

No one said anything for a few moments, as we all considered his words, which were deeply
measured and personal for anyone, especially an eleven-year-old. But if Harry had grown up with
Muggles, and his parents had been magical, then I think I might have understood at a very basic
level what the magical world represented to him. It was one of the only links to his family, and
his true heritage.

It had been a way out for me, a kind of reset to my young life; for Harry, it was a way in, to
the life he had been denied as an infant and to the legacy that had been waiting for him, however
willingly or unwillingly he would ultimately receive it.

As we passed into the car park, and as these half-formed thoughts were still running around my
head, dad fished his keys out of his pocket and directed us toward his auto. They had brought the
small SUV dad usually drove, which was a good thing because mum's sedan might not have fit the
four of us as well as our things.

“So where did you live before Hogwarts?” mum wondered, as we climbed in. Harry sat behind dad
and I was behind mum, on the passenger side; I glared at the back of her head for a moment, hoping
she hadn't stumbled upon sensitive subject matter with Harry. I was almost afraid to look at
him.

But Harry either wasn't affected by her question or brushed it off quite easily: “Little
Whinging, Surrey. Hermione said you live in West London?”

“This *is* West London, Harry,” I said. Charing Cross road, along with Piccadilly Circus,
Trafalgar Square, and Leicester Square were all the high points of West London. Hemmings Drive was
only a few short kilometers from all of them.

“That's right, the station is only about fifteen blocks from where we live, on Hemmings
Drive,” dad provided.

“Oh,” was all Harry said.

“So—Surrey? Do you come to London often?” mum asked.

“No, Mrs. Granger.”

“Really? Even with the West End only a half hour from Little Whinging—?”

Well, it looked like I would have to salvage this conversation. Honestly, from what I had told
mum, and from what she could have deduced herself, she should have known her questions were heading
down a dangerous road.

“So let's bring him Christmas shopping at Piccadilly and Leicester and all that!” I cut in,
so that Harry wouldn't have to answer her question. “It would be a great way to introduce him
to all of the wonders of West London.”

Nothing came from mum and dad for several moments, and I observed them pass some looks between
each other. They were doing that *thing* when they talked without actually talking, which
really irked me sometimes.

I looked at Harry, and he turned his head to meet my eyes. There was a question in them—he
glanced down at his hands and then back at me—but I was not sure what he was asking. Dad's
voice broke our staring contest:

“That's fine, Hermione. In fact, I think that's a marvelous idea. We could make a day of
it—shopping, food, and perhaps even a movie if anything good is playing at the cinema.”

“Great!” I exclaimed, enthused. Even though I lived almost within walking distance of all that
stuff, I had never gone on a regular basis. I hadn't had friends to go with, and mum and dad
did not shop there very often.

“What do you think, Harry?” I asked, hoping to open him up again. He had quieted down in the
last several minutes.

“That sounds fun,” he said, smiling again. “Thanks!”

“Oh, of course!” I said. “But we need to stop by Diagon Alley sometime before Christmas, too,” I
told mum and dad. “Harry and I probably need to get some magical things, as well.”

“I doubt that will be a problem, honey,” dad said.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at 18 Hemmings Drive. As we pulled into the driveway, I had an
odd moment of deja vu, perhaps because it had been so long since I'd seen my house. The sight
was so familiar, yet at the same time so distant, that I think my brain had to reconnect the four
months between the start of term and coming home for the holidays. There were no noticeable
changes, as far as my memory was concerned, but something felt different.

Looking back, I can only describe it as nostalgia, but I am not even sure to this day if that is
the correct term. The immutability of time and what it does to the interplay of memory and
perception has always been just beyond the reach of my articulation.

The *house* had not changed, but I had. I was seeing the familiar structure with slightly
older, worldlier eyes; the four months at Hogwarts, and all of the experiences encapsulated within
that time, had changed my point of view slightly. I did not understand that idea on December
18th, 1991, so what I felt was something strangely reflective.

“Home sweet home!” mum said, brightly. I nearly smiled at the incongruity of her statement and
the tone of my thoughts.

----------

I lay in my bed that night, utterly unable to sleep, thinking for several hours about the boy
sleeping in the guest room down the hall. I was only twelve during that first holiday recess, so my
thoughts never strayed toward the awkward sexual or romantic fantasies someone two or three years
older might have conjured up, but in a very real way I understood that this was the closest I had
ever been to sharing a piece of myself with another person.

Thoughts like those may be considered melodramatic, but I had never experienced a true mutual
friendship during my short life. I had very few expectations, on the one hand, because I did not
have any other good friends with which to compare Harry; but, on the other hand, my expectations
were literally insurmountable because of how many idyllic friendships and relationships I'd
read about over the years. My vast lexicon provided me with some profound examples of literary
friendship, and as I lay there I wondered if it was possible to mirror those in real life.

Of course these were just the thoughts of a little girl at three o'clock in the
morning—taken together with the knowledge of my future husband and two children, however, it begins
to mean something much more.

The next two days consisted of settling in at home and showing Harry the comforts of a
well-loved Muggle existence. Friday morning, the 20th, I rolled out of bed around 10:30
and went downstairs, only to find a note from mum and dad saying they'd been called into the
office for some emergency. They expected to return sometime in the mid-afternoon.

I thought nothing of it for five minutes, as I made some breakfast. However, as I sat down with
my food, and wondered if Harry was still asleep, I realized something substantial: my parents
trusted me enough to leave me home alone with someone they barely knew. Realistically, there had
probably been little alternative, and I had never caused trouble in the house, but it was still a
big step for me.

I almost bounced in my seat as I finished and put my dishes in the sink, because I just
*had* to wake Harry. It was an overwhelming and uncontrollable urge, so without thinking much
further I ran through the house and up the stairs.

The guest room's door was ajar, and I stood there for a second, looking through the crack
between the jam and the doorway. I could just barely see the bed, and the shocking mess of
indistinguishable blackness could only have been his hair. I knocked tentatively, too quietly, but
I know *now* I did not want to wake him. I wanted an excuse to steal into his room while he
was still asleep, and that was exactly what I did.

I was amped up for some reason, and my nerves thrilled a bit as I pushed the door in a few
inches and slipped into the room. I had to stifle some laughter with my hand as I took in his
slumbering form: he had thrown the bedspread off at some point during the night and lay on his
back, with the sheet tangled up in his legs. One arm was thrown behind his head, and his mouth was
slightly open. The slow, rhythmic rise-and-fall of his chest signified deep sleep.

I have no idea how long I stood there watching him, ready to bolt at the slightest noise. There
was some kind of hushed, ethereal quality to the entire thing. He looked so peaceful, so *at
home*.

I eventually retreated to the doorway and knocked smartly against the frame. Harry rolled toward
me at the sound, and slowly his eyes opened, revealing with startling intensity (as usual) their
vivid greenness.

He just started at me for several seconds, blinked thrice, and then ran a hand through his wild
hair. I smiled at him as he rolled onto his back once again and stretched.

“Morning,” he said, thickly. He sat up, still messing with his hair.

“It's hopeless, Harry,” I said, with some humor in my voice. I was still filled with that
warmth from simply observing him sleeping.

“Huh? What is?” he said, looking at me. He stopped trying to flatten his hair, though one hand
was still tangled within the raven locks.

“Your hair.”

He played with it for another second or two and then dropped his hand, raising his eyebrows. He
shrugged. Then he saw the bedspread on the floor.

“How did that get there?” he wondered, leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve it. His
balance must have still been off from lying down all night, however, because he misjudged and
toppled right off the bed. He dragged the sheet with him. There was a pronounced *oof!*

And then: “Ow.”

I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. I moved into the room once again to see if he was
alright, even as the sound of my laughter completely filled the room. It only grew louder when he
sat up with a comically bewildered look upon his face, rubbing the top of his head. His hair, which
he had actually helped a little, was completely out of control again.

“Something funny?” he wondered, untangling himself from the sheet, and piling it and the
bedspread on the bed. I stopped next to him, still laughing, and pulled his hand away from his
head. I felt there, gently—he went rigid very briefly when I touched him, though I willfully
ignored that—and found a developing bruise.

“Yes,” I told him, stepping back a little. “Your tumble off the bed.” He just looked at me for a
moment, quite nonplussed, and then cracked a smile.

“So what time is it anyway?” he asked, glancing toward the strong light coming in the
window.

“A little before 11:00,” I answered.

“Nothing like sleeping in, huh?” he wondered, and I nodded in agreement. We made our way
downstairs.

As we passed into the kitchen, he asked, “Where are your parents?”

“Emergency surgery or something,” I said.

He looked quite perplexed. “Are they ok?”

At first, I didn't know what he meant, but then I realized that I hadn't ever told him
what my parents did. So he must have thought one of them was undergoing surgery.

“Oh, yes—Harry, they're both dentists,” I said. “So really, they are Dr.'s Granger and
Granger.”

Dawning comprehension passed over his face. “So I shouldn't call them Mr. and Mrs.
Granger?”

I chuckled lightly as his cute concern. “No, that's fine. They actually prefer that to
Doctor. Their titles always seemed a little ostentatious to them.”

Now he looked perplexed again. “Ostentatious? I ruddy well don't know that word—you're
brilliant, you know that?”

I fought the urge to blush. “Really, Harry…this coming from the boy who called Malfoy
sycophantic?”

“Oh, I remember that,” he recalled, smiling fondly. “That was one of my finer moments,
wasn't it?”

“Yes,” I agreed, “though I seem to remember you cursing as well.”

“You really don't like that, do you?”

“What, cursing?” He nodded. “No, not really,” I said. “I guess I just don't see the point,”
I explained.

“Then you really wouldn't like my uncle,” he said, under his breath. I didn't know how
to respond to that, so I helped him make his breakfast in silence for a little while. “So what does
ostentatious mean?” he asked, as we both moved toward the table.

“Well…showy,” I answered, trying to explain. “Kind of like flaunting your wealth or any kind of
privilege just so others can see it.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“You're welcome.”

Conversation continued idly along for some time, even after Harry had finished his breakfast. It
was a peaceful late morning and early afternoon, as we just talked about wherever our thoughts led
us. Harry asked me some questions about my childhood and what it was like growing up with such good
parents, and I could tell that he was wondering what it would have been like for him to grow up
with his parents.

I was worried that he might become quiet once again, but thankfully he seemed to have been
dealing with the regret in his own way, because he continued to be chatty for the rest of that day.
Mum and dad came home around 2:30 and found us in the living room, watching some television. Harry
had said that he rarely got to watch the telly at his relatives' house, and it was then that I
started to really wonder how bad his childhood had actually been. Clearly television—or a lack
thereof—is not intrinsic to growing up and maturing, but for him to be so totally alienated from
the minutiae of Muggle life meant something more than just regular neglect.

There had been other little things here and there, not the least of which was his initial desire
to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, so I resolved to talk to mum and dad about it sometime. As
professionals, they might have a better perspective on some of the things I was struggling to
comprehend about Harry's state of mind.

That night, during dinner, mum had a proposition for us: “What do you two think about Christmas
shopping tomorrow? We could leave early and hit up Piccadilly and Leicester, get some lunch, and
then head to Diagon Alley in the afternoon. And if you wanted, we could come back here for dinner
and then head out afterward for a movie. How does that sound?”

Harry just looked a little overwhelmed, so I answered for the both of us. “Wow, that sounds
great! You coming with us, dad?”

“Of course!” he said. “I wouldn't miss a day out on the town with my favorite ladies, and it
will give Harry and me a chance to put our heads together on what to get you two,” he said, looking
at Harry and smiling. I could have kissed dad then, for including Harry so brilliantly in the
plans. Dad's grin was infectious, because soon Harry was smiling back and nodding.

“That's great, Mr. Granger, because I was going to ask for your help anyway—Hermione's a
hard nut to crack sometimes,” he said, rolling his eyes at me.

I made an affronted noise. “Excuse me, Mr. Potter? Just what is that supposed to mean?” My
parents were watching this with amused expressions.

“Nothing,” he returned, with an innocent look.

“Nice save, Harry,” mum said, now laughing a bit. She looked at dad. “But I think that's a
wonderful idea, Paul. It will give Hermione and me some time to think about what we're going to
get *you two*.”

“You don't need to get me anything,” Harry said, quietly, and looking down at the table. His
shaggy bangs fell over his face. “Letting me stay here for the holidays is gift enough,” he
continued, and the sincerity was very apparent in his voice.

Silence cut across the room like a knife. I looked toward mum and dad, with a plea to say
*something* in my eyes, and they glanced at each other. Dad nodded at mum and she looked back
at Harry.

“Harry,” she started, delicately, “did you tell your relatives where you would be staying this
Christmas?”

I thought it was an odd question, considering the circumstances, but I trusted mum. So rather
than interject my opinion, I just looked to Harry and waited for his response.

He continued to stare at the table for several seconds, and then he looked up without moving his
head. I could see his green eyes through the hair partially concealing his face. Slowly, he shook
his head.

“No, Mrs. Granger.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

“Because they don't care, and they're happier with me out of the house.”

I bit my lip. I didn't understand how Harry could be so blunt about the status of his home
life and be so unaffected. His words made me want to cry for him. My upbringing had been so full of
love that I could not fathom where he was coming from.

Even though I'd only known Harry for a few months, I was aware that he was compassionate in
such a way that should have been impossible with what little I knew about his childhood. And
besides, I could never, *ever* forget that he had saved me from annihilation. He had given me
a new lease on life.

And yet, his relatives apparently hated him and did not care about his well-being. They did not
even know where he was for the holidays, and apparently had not asked, either. I wondered what mum
would say next, in response to these realizations.

“We're happy to have you with us, Harry,” she said, looking at dad.

“That we are,” dad put in.

“And because you're with us for Christmas, you will be treated as part of the family while
you are here. It's the least we can do, really. So no more of that rubbish about not wanting
gifts! We'll just see what happens, ok?”

He finally looked up, flicking his hair from his face. He took a deep breath—I could see his
chest expand and his shoulders rise—and then exhaled noisily.

“Yes, ok. Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Granger.” He looked at me. “And thank *you*, Hermione.”

----------

We all went to bed early that night, even though Harry and I had slept in, because we were
planning on getting an early start. As it was so close to the holidays, the main shopping districts
were bound to be absolutely packed, so it would be helpful to get a jumpstart on the day.

And that's exactly what we did: we left the house at 5:30 in the morning, found a car park
near Piccadilly that was already half-full, and started in on our Christmas shopping. Surprisingly,
it wasn't cold exactly, but it was fairly chilly and damp, so we put on some heavier clothes
and joined the holiday throngs.

Harry had never been to the crowded, loud, bright, and modern shopping districts and I enjoyed
watching him drink in all the new sights and sounds. We did our fair share of window shopping,
because I only had two Muggle gifts to buy. Harry told me that he was going to buy mum and dad
small gifts as well, because of what they'd said the previous night, and I did not disagree
with him.

When I asked him about money, he actually laughed and told me that he had some left over from
the last time he visited Gringotts, before the start of the fall term. He had withdrawn a decent
amount of galleons—apparently his parents had left him well-off with some kind of trust fund—and
changed some into a few hundred pounds. He had not had any reason to spend the pounds since the
start of term, so he was still well-stocked in the money department. I secretly wished I had a few
*hundred* pounds to spend.

I did not say that to him, of course, because I knew how insensitive that would appear. Sure,
his parents had left him some money, but that didn't mean he was capitalizing on their death.
It was just one of the minor (and insignificant, really) comforts left over from his true
legacy.

We all finished with our shopping around lunchtime. I bought mum some scented candles and a
really amazing book about themed home decoration, and for dad I bought several political novels
that he loved to read. I had an inkling of what I wanted to get Harry, but it would have to be
purchased in Diagon Alley.

As we headed over to Leicester Square for lunch, I asked Harry what he bought for my
parents.

“I wasn't too sure what to get them,” he said, glancing up at my parents—they were walking
in front of us. He opened the bag he was holding so we could both peek inside. “So I asked the
bloke in the novelty shop for some ideas, and he suggested this for your dad”—he pointed to a kit
for making a ship in a bottle—“and these for your mum”—he pointed to a parchment and quill set (for
writing letters to Hogwarts, I assumed) and two small birdfeeders that could be hung off the back
porch.

I thought they were nice. They were not very personal gifts, but he did not know my parents very
well, so it was understandable.

“And what about me?” I asked, trying to look further into the bag. He didn't stop me, and
just smiled instead.

“There's nothing in there for you,” he told me, “so go ahead and look as long as you want. I
have a few ideas about what to get you, but I'm not telling! Anything that I'd get you I
would have to buy in Diagon Alley, anyway.”

“Just a hint?” I pouted.

He shook his head, drawing his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion.

“You're impossible!” I exclaimed, pushing him lightly.

He just laughed. “Any hints for me?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, there you go!” he retorted, and I knew I had been bested.

“You kids behaving back there?” mum asked, looking over her shoulder at us. At some point, dad
had wrapped his arm around her back, and they were walking quite close together. I felt a brief
pang deep inside me for some reason.

“Hermione's pestering me about her gift!” Harry said.

“Harry won't give me any hints!” I added.

She shook her head lightly at us, glancing sideways at dad. “Christmas is only a few days
away…you'll both find out then—I think you can wait that long.” She smiled and then turned her
head forward once again.

Harry gave me an *I told you so* look. I pushed against his arm again and shook my head,
pretending to be mad at him. It didn't last very long, though, because his jolly mood was
enough to set everyone completely at ease. He was whistling lowly and swinging the bag back and
forth, and it was such a contrast to his normally reserved personality that I had to smile. Soon we
were both whistling, and it turned into a competition over who could whistle the loudest, or the
longest, or highest.

Harry was just as amazed with Leicester as he was with Piccadilly, perhaps even more so because
some of the more upscale establishments could be found in the former. We ended up having lunch at a
very nice sit-down restaurant, and it was precious to watch Harry and dad argue over who would
leave the tip. Dad finally gave up and shrugged, and Harry grinned in triumph.

On our way back to the car park, mum said, “Thank you for that wonderful lunch, gentlemen. It
was delicious.”

“It was our pleasure,” dad said, winking at Harry.

“So…Diagon Alley?” I wondered. Mum and dad nodded, and I looked at Harry. We were both clearly
excited to return to the center of Wizarding commerce, because I had only been there once and as
far as I knew so had Harry.

We all stowed our purchases in the boot and enjoyed the short drive to Charing Cross road and
the now-familiar car park. From there, it was a quick walk to the Leaky Cauldron, which mum and dad
could both see this time. It must have had something to do with them already knowing where it
was.

“I hope we get through unnoticed,” Harry said, just before we entered the pub. I looked at him
with a question in my eyes.

“Why is that?” I wondered.

“The last time I was here, it took half an hour to get through to the Alley, because everyone
recognized me.”

“What do you mean?” mum asked. “Why would they recognize you?”

I could tell by the look on Harry's face that he hadn't realized he would have to
explain his fame in the Wizarding world. I stepped in and saved him from having to tell mum and dad
about what he'd done as a baby, which we had still never talked about. Perhaps that was a
subject I could broach sometime before we returned to Hogwarts.

“His…parents…were important figures in the Wizarding world. They were very well known, so
naturally when Harry appears in public, people notice.” I said all of this looking directly at
Harry, hoping for his approval, and his eyes said, loud and clear, *thank you*. I nodded
slightly at him.

“Oh,” mum said, still sounding puzzled, but knowing well enough (for which I was glad) to leave
the subject alone for now.

“Only one way to find out,” dad said, moving forward and opening the door. We all crowded
through into the pub, and as the door shut the sounds of the busy road on the other side cut off
completely.

The Leaky Cauldron was toasty, and although it was busier than when I'd visited over the
summer, it was still sparsely populated. Tom the barman was behind the counter, as he had been the
other time. He looked up as we entered, and I thought he might have recognized me from the smile he
sent our way; he definitely recognized Harry, however, and after a quick glance around the pub to
see if anyone else had noticed, he came around the bar.

“Harry Potter!” he said, quietly, moving with us toward the entrance to the alleyway. “It's
very good to see you again. How is Hagrid doing?” I wondered why Tom would ask that of Harry.

“Fine,” Harry said, turning toward the three of us. “Have you met the Grangers before?”

“Why yes, I think I have,” Tom said. “Hermione, correct?” I nodded. “How could I ever forget
such a beautiful name? And…was it Paul? And Jane?”

“Yes, and I'm impressed that you remembered,” dad said, shaking hands with Tom.

“It's my job to know my patrons well,” he said, ushering us into the shallow courtyard. “Are
you all doing a bit o' holiday shopping?”

“Yep!” I answered, brightly. I was already looking forward to getting Harry's gift, even
though I thought it might be very expensive. If necessary, I would ask my parents for some help
with paying for it.

“Enjoy, and happy Christmas!” Tom said, turning away as the brick wall rearranged itself into
the archway. We called our thanks over our shoulders as we watched, mesmerized once again by the
magical transformation, and then headed into the Alley.

“Are you going to get Neville and Ron something?” Harry asked, thinking of the two boys we had
associated with the most during the fall term.

Truthfully, I hadn't really thought about buying magical gifts for anyone other than Harry,
but he brought forth an excellent point. And he also reminded me of someone else for whom we both
could buy a gift.

“Yes, I guess so,” I answered. “I'm also planning on visiting Sally sometime after
Christmas,” I told him, and he looked quickly at me.

“Sally lives near here?” he wondered. I was glad he knew who I was talking about without
prompting.

“Yeah, only a few blocks from my house, actually. I still haven't figured out how we
didn't go to the same primary school—but, anyways, I think we should each get her a gift,
too.”

He gave me an absolutely stunning smile, one that was purely genuine and seemed impressed with
me somehow, and nodded. His compassion was showing again, because the thought of doing something
nice for someone else had brightened his face considerably.

“Brilliant idea, Hermione,” he said.

The Alley was just as packed as Piccadilly and Leicester had been; it seemed that wizards and
Muggles alike had similar ideas, this close to Christmas. December 21st didn't quite
qualify as last-minute shopping, but it was close enough.

Harry went fairly unnoticed, because it was so over-crowded, although I was sure a few people
recognized him. Harry seemed to have noticed it, too, because every now and then he would turn away
from something quickly. He was doing a good job avoiding his fame, although I knew at some point he
would have to face it directly. I hoped I was there to help him with it when he did.

Mum and dad were filled with amazement for most of the afternoon, as we wandered from shop to
shop exploring the various magical items for sale. I spotted what I wanted to get Harry in a
specialty goods shop, and I signaled to mum. She said something to dad and he left with Harry.

“What is it, dear?” she wondered.

“I think I've found what I want to get Harry,” I told her, pointing to a shallow stone basin
on the shelf. “Only, it's a little too expensive for me to buy with only my own money.”

“What is it?” she asked, repeating her question, though directed at something else, of
course.

After I described the item and its function (at which she was understandably amazed), she said
she would help me to buy it, and that repayment could be worked out sometime…

We met up with Harry and dad soon thereafter, and Harry had made a purchase in the interim as
well. It was sealed in a box and he would not give me any hints about what it was. I was similarly
silent about what I'd bought for him.

Eventually, we finished our shopping for each other and for Ron, Neville, and Sally, so we left
Diagon in the late afternoon. The 21st was the Winter Solstice, so the sky was already
almost completely dark by the time we'd returned to the auto on Charing Cross.

We returned home for dinner and some relaxation. Dad checked the movie timetables and saw that
our only realistic choices were *The Addams Family* and *An American Tale: Fievel Goes
West*, both of which had been released the previous week. They were playing at the Odeon
Leicester Square multiplex as well as some other movie theatres near Hemmings Drive, but we decided
on the multiplex because it was nice, had recently been refurbished and renovated, and was very
comfortable.

That left us with choosing which movie to see: after finding last week's newspaper and
reading about both movies, we decided upon the latter. *The Addams Family* seemed a little too
weird, and it had been quite some time since I had seen an animated movie at the theatre. From how
excited and intrigued Harry was, I didn't think he'd ever been to the theatre, period.

We set out once again and arrived about an hour early at the Odeon, which was fortunate because
the place was literally overflowing with people. It had always been a popular destination for
Londoners, but this close to the holiday season the masses obviously flocked to the theatres. We
eventually bought our tickets, and after splurging on popcorn, soft drinks, and candy (my parents
told us they were personally going to supervise the brushing of our teeth that night), we found our
seats.

Several times during the movie I noticed Harry grinning in pure delight, and it brought me much
happiness to see him enjoying himself so much. He was totally invested in the movie in a very
innocent way, such that I wondered how many movies he'd seen from start to finish. This time
with Harry was changing some of my preconceptions about the boy, mainly about how terrible his
childhood had actually been. From what I'd been noticing since we'd arrived back in London,
he had been seriously neglected before Hogwarts.

Suffice it to say, Harry loved the movie and the theatre experience and raved about it on the
way home. My parents were happy he had enjoyed himself, but their glances toward each other—and my
dad's eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror at one point—indicated they had been thinking
about some of the same things. So after Harry went to bed that night, mum and dad knocked on my
door and asked if they could talk to me for a little while.

“Of course, come in,” I said, sitting up and switching on the light beside my bed. They quietly
entered my room and sat down, mum at the end of my bed and dad at my desk. I thought I might have
had some idea of what they wanted to discuss, but I left it up to them to get the conversation
going.

“Hermione, we want you to know,” dad began, “that we think Harry is a wonderful person and a
great friend to have. We're glad you've found someone like him you can share your time at
Hogwarts with.”

“But…?” I wondered, sensing just that.

“But,” mum continued, nodding at my perceptiveness, “he's also somewhat of an enigma. We
were just hoping you could provide us with some insight.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you told us in your letter that his relatives did not care to have him home for the
holidays. Do you know why?”

I shook my head. “I only know that his parents died when he was a baby, and that he has been
living with his Muggle relatives since then. By all rights, Harry should be completely invested in
the magical world, but he knows about as much as I do…”

My voice trailed off. Perhaps that was what had been bothering me for so long. Harry was
unfamiliar with the magical world as any Muggle would have been, but he was also very unfamiliar
with the Muggle world. That would have been acceptable if he had grown up with his magical parents,
but since he had not, there was a missing piece in there. Only the most serious and abject neglect
could have shut Harry off from life so completely and for so long.

“Do you see what we're confused about, honey?” dad asked.

“Yes, I think I do,” I answered. “Something about his home life is very seriously wrong, even
more than I'd thought.”

Mum and dad nodded. I suppose it was only natural they would have figured it out very quickly,
with their level of education and expertise.

“What can we do about it?”

Mum sighed, and dad looked at the floor. “Nothing, at least while we know so little,” she said.
“Perhaps you could try to get more information from him, because he really is a sweet boy. I think
he'll remain a good friend for a very long time, and if there's any way we can help him,
we'd love to.”

I couldn't help it. I started crying right then and there. Dad looked alarmed and mum looked
surprised for a moment.

“What's the matter?” she wondered. I scooted over to mum and dad came over, sitting on my
other side. They both held me as I silently cried. I wasn't entirely sure where the sudden
emotion had sprung from, but I tried to tell them anyway.

“It's just…thank you,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks as more leaked from my eyes.
Mum stroked my hair and dad wrapped his arm around my back.

“For what?” he asked.

“For accepting Harry so easily,” I said. “And having enough of an open mind to let him stay here
for the holidays. He looked so lonely when he realized he would be staying at the castle for
intercession, and then so relieved and happy and thankful when I told him he could come home with
me…”

“You're welcome,” mum said, and I thought I might have heard some tears in her voice as
well.

“This means a lot to me, and I think it means a lot to Harry, too. I didn't have much luck
with friends before Hogwarts, and I'm thinking more and more that Harry didn't either, so
this is really nice for both of us. I'm glad that you let this happen, because it really does
mean so much,” I said, unable to say anymore because I was crying in earnest now.

I heard mum sniffle and she leaned into me some more, rocking the three of us slightly. We
stayed like that for some time, just the three of us sitting on my bed that chilly winter night.
Eventually, dad spoke:

“We weren't sure at first what to expect, but we trusted you enough to know that you would
make good choices when it came to friends. For that reason we agreed to have Harry stay with us,
and we're very glad we did. He's a wonderful young man and will be a very good friend to
you, we think.”

“Yes, he's really turned out marvelously for how neglected he seems to have been,” mum
added, no longer crying but with the traces still apparent in her words.

I laughed through my tears. “I'm glad you approve.”

“We're glad you have such a good friend,” dad said.

Sleep came easily and swiftly that night.

---------

December 25th, 1991

“Happy Christmas!” I shouted, bursting into Harry's room and waking him from a sound sleep.
He looked confused for about two seconds, and then he grinned at me.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione!” he replied, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. When
Harry was riled up, as he was now, he was agile and lightning-fast. He landed on his feet and met
me at the door, grabbing my hand and pulling me along the hallway. I just let him lead me.

“Are your parents up yet?” he wanted to know, sounding breathless.

“Yes, they're downstairs,” I told him, and he dragged me along even more adamantly. I smiled
at his innocent excitement, but that persistent voice in my head told me this was because he had
never had a real Christmas morning before. I pulled up at the top of the stairs. He tugged on my
hand, but I wouldn't budge. He glanced back with a curious look on his face.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing, Harry. I'm just so happy you're here with us this Christmas.”

The pressure on my arm abated and he looked down at our intertwined hands. Then he met my eyes
once again.

“Me too, Hermione. I couldn't imagine a better holiday, so far. Thanks.”

“Not a problem…now, who's ready for presents?”

His eyes lit up. “Let's go!” And he tightened his grip on my hand, pulling me down the
stairs. We raced into the living room and were greeted by the relatively calmer sight of mum and
dad sipping a cuppa on the sofa. The tree was glowing warmly with the multi-colored string of
lights, and the presents underneath it were piled high.

Harry dropped my hand and moved much at a much slower, more amazed pace into the living
room.

“It's beautiful,” he said, looking at the tree.

“Thank you,” mum said. “We put the finishing touches on it last night after you both went to
bed.”

We had gone to get the tree the day after our shopping trip, but hadn't finished decorating
it before we went to bed last night. Mum and dad had done a spectacular job with the rest of the
decorations.

“It's incredible,” I said, pushing Harry a bit, as he had stalled in the middle of the room,
and we took our seats in the armchairs on either side of the sofa.

“Thanks, Hermione,” dad said, setting down his mug. “Shall we get started with the festivities?”
he wondered. He looked from me to Harry, and we both nodded vigorously.

“Hermione, you're up,” mum said, so I went to the tree and picked out four gifts, one
addressed to each of us. When we all had gifts in hand, we opened them. I gave Harry one that had
*To Harry* scrawled across the paper and took a similar one for myself.

When we opened them we found matching flutes, which were roughly cut from the blackest wood I
had ever seen. We looked at each other, confused for a second, and then Harry mouthed
*Hagrid?* at me. I nodded, because they must have come from the friendly groundskeeper.

Mum received some practical things for the kitchen from dad and he received two of the novels
I'd bought him.

“What'd you two get?” they wondered.

Harry held up his flute as I blew into mine, and a noise sounding quite like an owl's
*hoo* filled the room.

“Well those are interesting,” dad said. “Who gave them to you?”

“We're not sure exactly,” I answered, “but we think it was Hagrid, who's one of the
…teachers at Hogwarts.” I wasn't sure how to explain Hagrid's real occupation, as I
wasn't completely sure what he really did.

“They certainly look a little rough around the edges, but they sound great,” he said. He sat
back down and Christmas morning progressed from there.

I had several presents from my parents, including some books, some flashy school supplies like a
new leather backpack and some real fountain pens, and some knickknacks for my room. They bought
Harry a backpack similar to mine, though a different color, and a few novels. He thanked them
profusely, which they accepted graciously.

Harry and I both received presents from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, which surprised me a bit because I
had never met Ron's parents, and I didn't necessarily consider myself Ron's friend. I
was more like a tolerated acquaintance, at this point. Harry said that he'd briefly met Mrs.
Weasley at Platform 9 3/4, and that Ron must have told his parents about us.

When Harry opened his package from them, he found an emerald green sweater and a tin of
delicious-looking fudge. I received a similar sweater—though it was purple, instead of green—and
some chocolate chip cookies.

Then it came time for our gifts for each other, and Harry made me go first. So I picked up the
two packages addressed *To Hermione, From Harry* and sat down in the armchair with them. One
was light and flat the other was fairly heavy and bulky. I opened the lighter one first, and I
smiled with a little warm spot glowing in my chest at what I saw.

Two legal pads with very expensive paper comprised the gift, but the inscription on them made it
very endearing and a very satisfying present. The top of each piece of paper said *From the
Desk* *of Hermione* *Granger* in flowing script and at the bottom in smaller, but
equally as expressive writing was *Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gryffindor House,
1991-1998*. It might not have seemed like much, but I thought it was absolutely perfect. The
second, larger package did not open as easily, and I had to enlist Harry's help to unwrap
it.

When the paper fell away though, I was momentarily stunned. I had no idea what to say. I was
looking at two things, actually: one item was a collapsible training broom and the other was a
suede-bound daily planner for 1992, with my name embossed in (was that real gold?) golden letters
upon the cover. The inside of the front cover also featured embossed letters, though much smaller
and down in one corner: *From Your Friend Harry Potter, Christmas 1991*.

The engraved paper and daily planner went very well together, and were extremely nice gifts, but
the broom seemed quite out of place. I looked to Harry, most likely with some confusion evident on
my face, because he started laughing immediately.

“I thought you might react like that,” Harry said, lifting the broom from my lap so mum and dad
could see the item. “Ever since you told me you weren't fond of heights, I've been thinking
about a way to help you get over that fear and also have a little fun every now and then. However,
since first years are not allowed brooms—”

“Except you, of course,” I reminded him, playfully.

“Too right,” he agreed. “So since we're not allowed brooms, I saw this training broom
advertised at Diagon and found out more about it. Apparently, it's used to help Muggleborn
witches and wizards to acclimate to flying—perfect for you—so it only goes about fifteen kilos per
hour and can only climb about five meters.”

He paused here for a second, and his smile grew. “Now here's where the real genius of this
is: it is not considered a real broom by Hogwarts rules, which means you can bring it back to
school and I can teach you how to ride it!” he finished, clearly enthused about the prospect of
playing teacher.

Truthfully, I wasn't sold on the idea, but if it was something he was committed to, then I
would of course approach it with an open mind.

“Thank you, Harry,” I said, laying the gifts aside. “Everything is wonderful.”

He nodded. “My pleasure,” he said.

Then I made him sit in the chair and handed my gift to him. Even though he had given me three,
and I was only giving him one, I was not worried. Each of my gifts added up to a kind of
whole—idiosyncratic, maybe, but whole nonetheless. The one gift I'd purchased for Harry, with
mum's help, was another kind of whole.

I watched in anticipation as he settled into the chair with the package in his lap. I hoped he
liked it.

The paper came off to reveal the Pensieve I'd found in that specialty shop, and his eyes lit
up in recognition as he carefully lifted it off his lap to eye level. Engraved around the outside
of the shallow basin was *Harry Potter - Gryffindor.*

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “This is a Pensieve, isn't it?”

I nodded, relieved that he had received the gift well.

“This is awesome, Hermione! How did you know that I wanted one? As soon as the Headmaster showed
us that one in his office…” he trailed off, still staring at the Pensieve.

I hadn't actually known that he'd wanted one, but it seemed like the perfect gift as
soon as I'd thought of it. It was an item that was entirely magical, and therefore belonged
completely to the new world we both shared; however, it was also familiar and practical.

Mum and dad asked questions about the broom and the Pensieve, and we explained briefly to them
the function of both. The Pensieve intrigued dad (because I'd already explained its function to
mum), as it would any sane person, and we promised a demonstration at some point. All the gifts had
been unwrapped, so mum and dad retreated to the kitchen to make us all some breakfast.

Harry and I sat on the floor by the tree discussing what we would do with all of the presents we
had received and how this was one of the best Christmases either of us had ever had. After a few
minutes of chatter, my eye caught something glistening on the floor behind the tree, and I pointed
it out to Harry.

He crawled under the tree to retrieve the item, and when he returned to his position next to me,
he looked perplexed.

“What?”

“Look at this, Hermione,” he said, thrusting the gloriously wrapped package under my nose. The
paper itself was green, but it was so sheer that it reflected the lights from the tree in a
beautiful display of color. There was a small note attached, with very narrow, loopy writing. It
read:

*Harry,*

*Your father left this is in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.*

*A Very Happy Christmas to you.*

“Huh,” I intoned, just as mystified as Harry had looked.

“Who else would send me a Christmas present?” Harry asked, very sincerely, and my heart nearly
split in two. His question had been an earnest one, which hinted yet again at how neglected he must
have been for so long, to expect so little love from those around him. I had no idea who had sent
the gift, or how it had come to be under the tree, but I did not doubt it was for him. I bade him
open the package so we could put this mystery to rest and perhaps guess at who sent it.

He ripped the package down the middle and a silky, shining, metallic gray cloth slithered to
floor, brushing against both of our legs. If the paper had refracted the light in wonderful ways,
that was nothing compared to the dazzling quality of this cloth. It looked like liquid silver.

“So what is *that*?” Harry wondered, picking up the cloth in both hands—and then we both
gasped. His hands had disappeared under the cloth, and the floor was visible beneath…

“Harry…”

“I know, Hermione. But that's impossible.”

We looked at each other, and then he stood up. I followed him to my feet soon after, and with
another look into my eyes, he swung the cloak over his head. I stared in shock as he completely
disappeared, leaving nothing but the tree where I had been looking.

“Am I invisible?” he asked, quietly.

Rather than answer, I reached out for the cloth. When I found it, I gently pulled it down over
his head, leaving it around neck level. I motioned for him to look down. He let out another gasp
when he saw that the rest of his body had disappeared.

“I think that's an Invisibility Cloak,” I said, stating the obvious. I had read about them
in *Hogwarts, A History*. They were supposed to be astonishingly rare and valuable, and one
had turned up on Christmas day at *my* house.

“Yeah,” was all Harry could say for a few moments as he played with the cloak, twirling it this
way and that. His body kept disappearing and reappearing in a dizzying display of skewed
perception. “Who do you reckon sent it?”

My mind could only come to one conclusion, and before I had drawn in the breath to tell Harry,
he reached the conclusion himself.

“Nevermind—it has to be Dumbledore. Who else would have known my dad well enough to have
something like this from him *and* know me enough to give me a Christmas present?”

I shrugged. “That's who I was thinking, too.”

“It's amazing,” he breathed. He eventually took it off and stored it in the guest room with
his other things. When we came back downstairs, breakfast was ready, so we joined my parents in the
kitchen. It had certainly been a Christmas morning to remember.

----------

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed and the winter night had reached its darkest
and coldest hour, I lay awake. I couldn't stop thinking about how nice this Christmas had been,
and how *different* it had been from past years. Mum and dad had always made the holidays
special, but there was something sublime about sharing it with another person closer to my age.
I'd had this warm spot in my chest since some point during this holiday recess, and it
didn't feel like it was going away anytime soon.

I smiled at nothing in particular as I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball under the warm
covers, content with existence and happy with how things had turned out. Two months ago, I had been
miserable, but somehow all that had changed and I was moving forward with a different
perspective.

These thoughts finally carried me to the edge of sleep, and just as I was teetering over the
precipice of consciousness, there came several lights taps on my door. I was completely awake
instantly, and I rolled over to witness the door opening and then closing halfway. I could not see
anyone, though.

“Hermione?” a soft voice called, and immediately I gathered that Harry had on the Cloak. “Are
you awake?”

“Yes,” I called, quietly, and sat up in bed. I pulled my frizzy hair back from my face and held
it there with a tie from my nightstand.

Harry twirled the cloak off and draped it over the end of my bed. He sat down, hanging his legs
over the side of my bed. He looked distraught for some reason.

“What's the matter?” I asked, extricating myself from the covers and moving down the bed
toward him.

He was silent for a time, fiddling with the bedspread in a very distracted sort of way. His
normally vibrant hair hung limply over his face.

“Harry?” I questioned, hoping for some kind of response. Suddenly, he looked at me, and I was
captured completely by his eyes. In the darkness of the room, they veritably shone with a presence
that I had only witnessed one other time, which was when he had saved me from the troll.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

I blinked. “You're welcome, Harry…but for what?”

“For having me,” he said. “For taking me into your home and showing me how wonderful life can
actually be.”

“It was nothing, really…” I returned, at a loss for words. Harry had never been one to emote, so
this sudden outpouring of feeling was a little overwhelming.

“But it *is*,” he asserted, and his voice did that *thing* where it sounded commanding
and sure of itself. “Especially after how I treated you for the start of term…this is more than I
could have ever expected, and you've given me two great gifts this Christmas. The Pensieve, for
sure, but also your family.”

“Well I'm glad I could give you a Christmas to remember,” I told him, moved by the sincerity
of his words.

“You definitely have,” he said, turning away slightly and rubbing his face. Had he started
crying? “I don't remember the only Christmas I had with my parents and the Dursleys have never
allowed me to participate in any of their celebrations. So this is the first time I've really
understood what it means to spend the holidays with good people…”

I could hear the tears in his voice, and the only thing I wanted to do was reach out and wrap my
arms around him. He was so vulnerable and honest and *good*; I was furious with his relatives
for how they'd treated him. He did not deserve that kind of childhood.

“It's been really good for me, too,” I told him, wanting to give him something about myself,
as well. “Before Hogwarts, I'd never really had friends to share things like Christmas with, so
this year has been very good.”

“I'm glad you're my friend, Hermione,” he said, still turned away from me. “If things
had turned out differently—I don't even want to think about that.”

I bit my lip. I would not cry. I would be strong for him.

“I'm lucky to have you as a friend,” I said.

He sniffled. “I wish…I wish I had been able spend some time with my parents,” he said, the
emotion now bleeding into his voice. “If Christmas with them could have been anywhere near as
perfect as this year's was,” he said, though he did not finish the thought.

I couldn't resist any longer. I crossed the small space between our bodies and wrapped him
in an embrace. He tensed for a moment and resisted the contact, but eventually he melted into my
arms and partially returned the hug.

“I'm sure it would have, Harry, and I'm sure they would be very proud of who you've
become.”

He said something incomprehensible and hugged me tighter. Looking over his shoulder toward the
doorway, I saw something that surprised me momentarily: mum stood there, looking at us with tears
in her eyes and a sad smile on her face.

Our eyes met, and she seemed to ask *do you have this under control?* I nodded ever so
slightly. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with one hand and turned away.

My room was silent for a long time as we just held onto each other. For the rest of that night,
at least, the demons haunting us both stayed away.

-->



13. Chapter Twelve
------------------



A/N: I've obviously taken some liberties with the geography of West London. I apologize to
all Londoners. Also, you may or may not have realized this back in Chapter Two, but I've
changed Hogwarts to the trimester academic year. For the 1991 - '92 school year, Fall term is
September 1 - Winter Intercession; Winter term is January 6 - Easter holiday; Spring term is April
20 - June 19. Because of the shortened length of the Spring term, Hogwarts educators will use it
mostly for reinforcement of that year's material and preparation for next year's. I think
this is reasonable?

Chapter Twelve

Intercession / Winter Term 1991-`92

“Harry?”

“Yeah, Hermione?”

“Where's Hedwig?” I asked, thinking for the first time of his wonderful snowy owl.

We were sitting on the sofa in the living room, two days after Christmas, watching some
television. Nothing too interesting was on, but it was a worthy enough diversion for the lazy
afternoon. He turned away from the telly to look at me.

“I left her at school,” he answered, quirking an eyebrow. “I wasn't sure if your parents
would want an owl in their house. Why?”

“Random thought, that's all,” I told him. He gave me a look that clearly said he did not
believe me.

“Hermione Granger does not have any *random* thoughts,” he said, loftily, and then grinned.
I stared at him for a moment and then grinned back, knocking into his shoulder with mine.

“Alright, alright…I was just thinking we should send letters to Neville and maybe Ron as well.
You know, see how they're doing and all that, and give them a hint or two about what we got
them for Christmas.”

He nodded. “Not a bad idea, but without Hedwig…”

I shrugged. “It's ok. Was just a thought—we'll see them in about a week, anyway,” I
said, thinking of our return to Hogwarts the following Saturday. We'd been home since the
eighteenth, and it was already the twenty-seventh; we only had a little more than a week left
before the fourth. Intercession was flying by, and I almost didn't want it to end. It had been
amazing so far.

Boxing Day had started off somewhat awkwardly, after our heart-to-heart the night before, but
neither of us had said anything we did not truthfully mean, so that weirdness faded throughout the
day and by dinner we had settled into our comfortable camaraderie once again. I had gone over the
conversation several times in my head since Harry had left my room very late that night, and I was
beginning to realize that it had provided us both with some needed catharsis.

Even if we hadn't revealed all of our troubles to each other, we had gone a long way toward
understanding the life of the other prior to Hogwarts. And with that understanding came a new
perspective on who we were when Fall term started, and how we had changed since then. It was
comforting, knowing that we had achieved a certain level of trust because of that conversation.

We continued watching the telly for some time as the afternoon waned toward evening. Mum and dad
passed in and out of the room, doing various post-holiday things. They were returning to work in a
few days, after their much-deserved time off. Conversation started and stopped, lulled for awhile,
and then restarted in fitful gasps, as was the normal course of idle chatter.

As dinnertime was approaching, Harry suddenly turned to me with a look of surprise on his face.
His green eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses.

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?” I wondered, not really in the mood to guess.

“I haven't thought of Nicolas Flamel since we left Hogwarts.”

As soon as the name passed his lips, I realized I had not thought of the mysterious man since
leaving the castle, either. We had occupied ourselves nicely since being home, though, so it was
understandable; and besides, home was such a different world than the medieval castle, that it was
easy to forget the day-to-day things on which we had focused. From my vantage point on the couch in
my living room, it was easy to forget our mortal encounter with Fluffy; on that same note, it was
also easy to forget my afternoon in the bathroom, crying my eyes out…

“I guess I haven't, either.”

He was silent for a moment. “D'ya think any of your books would have anything about Flamel?”
he eventually asked, eyeing the bookshelves in the living room, and probably thinking of the others
scattered around the house.

“Maybe,” I answered. Then I sighed and shrugged. “But we have so many…do we really want to spend
the rest of the holiday looking for Flamel?”

I'm sure it sounded odd to Harry, coming from someone who loved books as much as I did, but
I honestly did not want to spend the next week searching for an obscure name, with little
possibility for success. I wanted to continue to enjoy the rest of the time off from school with
Harry, and I also wanted to visit Sally either the next day or the day after. The hunt for Flamel
would just distract us from that.

When had hadn't said anything in awhile, I glanced away from the telly toward him. My
forehead creased as I considered his pensive gaze; he was obviously struggling with something, so
rather than inquire further, I let him work out what he needed to say.

“Not really,” he finally said, answering the question I had asked. “But it's just that
Flamel could have something to do with Voldemort, or my parents…” He trailed off and looked at me,
and I saw that same bittersweet longing for his parents in his eyes that I'd noticed on
Christmas night. It was somewhat more muted now, however.

I considered his words, understanding that this was the first time the Dark Wizard from the
history books had come up in conversation. We had never talked about his defeat of You Know Who, as
the books had called him.

“Is that his name? Voldemort?”

“Yeah…” Harry affirmed, sounding mystified.

“The history books I bought before the start of school would only call him You Know Who or He
Who Must Not Be Named. It was very annoying.”

Harry was nodding. “Hagrid—he told me about Hogwarts and that I was a wizard—wouldn't say
his name. So I asked him to spell it out, and he said he couldn't do that either, so he just
whispered it to me.”

“It must have been bad,” I pointed out, parsing this new information. “For everyone to cover up
his name, it must have been awful.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “it cost me my parents, didn't it?”

I had no idea what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence passed. Harry stared at the
floor, brooding about the topic at hand. He shook his head and looked apologetically at me.

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said. “That was a bit harsh.”

“But true,” I told him, hoping that we could continue to talk about these things. He nodded,
albeit reluctantly.

“So those history books…” he wondered. “What do they say about Voldemort and the war?”

“Not a whole lot,” I admitted, sorry that I wasn't able to provide him with more
information. “They mention your name and how you ended the long struggle against him, but almost no
details. It's almost as if…” I trailed off, thinking of how to articulate what I'd noticed,
and at what the concealment of Voldemort's named hinted.

“As if everyone *wants* to forget?” he asked, finishing my thought.

“Yes, exactly,” I said, looking at Harry and smiling. He had known precisely what I wanted to
say. “I mean, how much do *you* even know about what happened?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, shrugging. Then his eyes turned inward again. “Sometimes I dream
about high, cold laughter and a flash of green light, and there's this woman screaming…”

Harry had recurring nightmares about what I supposed was the death of his parents? How had I not
known that before and how did he mask them so well? Merlin, the boy had psychological fissures
deeper than most, yet was still well-adjusted and mature.

“But no one's really told me anything,” he continued. “Hagrid wouldn't reveal much and
who else do I know that could tell me more?”

“What about the Headmaster? Or Professor McGonagall…or Flitwick? They must have been at Hogwarts
when your parents attended.”

Harry looked like he had never considered this angle before. “You're right; it was probably
Dumbledore who gave me the cloak, and the note *did* say something about my father entrusting
him with it. Maybe he knew my parents well enough to tell me about them?”

That heartbreaking hope had crept into his voice again, reminiscent of two nights before, and I
could tell he was thinking about all the stories someone like Dumbledore might be able to tell him
about his parents. I just hoped Harry didn't dwell too much on the past and forget about the
present—but, I also knew that wasn't fair to him, because I'd had both my parents and their
love throughout my childhood. Harry hadn't.

“He probably could,” I answered.

Harry looked satisfied. “While I'm at it, I might as well ask him about Flamel—”

“Harry—” I warned, thinking that was not the best idea. We weren't supposed to know about
Fluffy or Flamel, and asking Dumbledore directly about the latter would reveal we had been out of
bounds.

“What, Hermione? He did tell us to go to him with any questions or concerns.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean questions we have because of rules we've broken.”

“I dunno…” He wasn't convinced.

“Can we just put this on hold until we get back to Hogwarts?” I asked him, turning my body on
the couch so I was facing him. I crossed my legs and leaned forward with my elbows on my thighs. “I
promise I'll help you look for Flamel when the new term starts.”

He faced me and looked into my eyes for several moments. That internal struggle was still
evident in his eyes. It's amazing how much someone's pupils can tell about what they're
thinking.

“It's frustrating,” he said, glancing down at the couch. “I *swear* I've read
Flamel's name somewhere.” He looked up again.

“Please, Harry?”

He chewed on his lip for a moment and then slowly nodded. “Alright. Maybe the Invisibility Cloak
will be handy for our search,” he said.

I chuckled lightly, thinking with resignation how many rules we'd be breaking this term, now
that Harry had an Invisibility Cloak. On the bright side, it certainly kept life interesting.

“Dinner!” mum called, and I turned off the telly. Harry and I headed for the kitchen, looking
forward to whatever delicious food mum had made this time.

----------

I was up early Saturday morning with thoughts of Sally interrupting my usual lie-in, so at
half-past eight, I roused Harry from his bed.

“Mmmph,” he mumbled, rolling over and then staring at me with bleary eyes.

“Time to get up!” I said, cheerily. His look of disdain was classic, and I laughed at him.

“Hermioneeeee,” he whined. “What time is it?”

“8:30,” I told him. “Now get up! We're going to see Sally today.”

That woke him some. He stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Alright, alright. I'm up,” he
mumbled, sitting up and throwing the covers back.

We had breakfast and attended to our various morning needs, and by ten o'clock we were
bundled up and ready to make the twenty-minute walk to Sally's house.

“Why don't I just drive you over there?” mum asked, looking at us standing by the front door
with slightly concerned eyes. “It is rather cold out there today—how far did you say it was?”

“Not that far, mum. Only fifteen or twenty minutes. And this will go much smoother if it's
only us two.”

“Really?” she wondered. “Don't you think an adult would be able to convince Sally's
parents easier than other students?” I had told mum and dad about Sally being withdrawn from
Hogwarts in a letter, and had elaborated for them at the beginning of the holiday. They had been
understandably puzzled by Sally's parents' extreme reaction. Sure, mum and dad had been
skeptical at first, but they had eventually accepted the magical world as something that belonged
to me. I didn't tell her that I had a feeling Sally's parents were the
opposite—close-minded, strict, stodgy, what have you—and that I was a little worried how this visit
might go down.

“No mum, I don't think so. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall already tried,” I
said. Harry quirked an eyebrow at this information. “They didn't get very far. I'm just
hoping because Harry and I have been at Hogwarts all term that we can show her parents what the
school is really like.”

“And what they did to her when they took her out of school,” Harry added. Both mum and I looked
at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Just that she's only half a person if she has to forget magic,” Harry went on, shrugging
his shoulders. My eyebrows crept up my forehead. Harry could really throw out the casual insights
when he wanted to!

“Oh,” mum articulated, probably just as unprepared for Harry's words of wisdom. “Well,
I'll be here all day,” she said, finally giving up on driving us to Sally's house. “If
things go well, would you like to have Sally over for dinner?”

I nodded, thrilled with the idea. “Yes! That would be great.” My hopes were already very high,
although I honestly had absolutely no idea how we were going to pull this one off.

“Ok, I'll plan dinner for five,” mum said, and watched us as we left the house. She waved
from the front window as we turned onto Hemmings Drive. Harry and I waved back. Soon enough, we had
turned the corner and my house was out of sight.

The sounds of our steps crunching on the pavement filled the silence for awhile; it was cold
enough for me to see my breath every time I exhaled.

“So how are we going to do this?” Harry asked, after a time.

“I'm not sure,” I said, and he looked at me. His face said *oh really?* “I just hope
she's home,” I said. “This would be quite the trip if she's not even there.”

“If she's not home today maybe we can get your mum to drive us over tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed, absently. I was trying to figure out what we could say to
Sally's parents to convince them that she should be at Hogwarts.

“It'll be nice to see her again, at least,” Harry said, shoving his hands into his pockets
and staring at the ground. “I liked Sally.”

“Me too,” I said, looking sideways at him.

“She was always pleasant and rather funny at times,” he continued. “And she was a pretty good
student—wait, am I describing you or Sally?” he finished, looking at me with a silly grin on his
face.

All in all, Sally was a girl I could accept being compared favorably with, so I just smiled at
him and shrugged my shoulders. I wasn't exactly sure where Harry was going with that line of
conversation, but it was making me slightly uncomfortable. I didn't know why, though.

“Anyways,” he said, “if we do get her parents to let her come back to Hogwarts, how will she
catch up with the rest of us? You know, with her studies?”

And Harry had raised another valid point. “I'm not sure,” I answered. “Perhaps we could help
her catch up.”

Harry nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded again. “I like that idea,
Hermione. That makes a lot of sense. We're top of our class, so I'm sure we could spare
some time to help her.”

“Even with Quidditch practice?”

He smiled again. Mentioning Quidditch always made him smile. I was realizing more and more that
I tolerated the sport—and was even mildly interested in it now—because it brought him such joy.
With our recent conversations in mind, it was even more of a source of happiness he should enjoy
and cultivate.

“I'm sure I could work something out,” he told me. “I dunno about you, but I'm actually
rather ahead in my reading.”

“But there's the practical—”

“Which comes easily to us both and you know it,” he pointed out. I didn't disagree with him,
because I knew he was right. But of course that did not mean we should put in less effort because
it came easily now; for all we knew, that could change in the future.

“Just don't get complacent,” I said.

He rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. He brushed some of his shaggy black hair away
from his face and resumed staring at the ground.

“With you by my side, Hermione, there's not a chance of that happening,” he joked.

I forced a laugh, because I knew he was just taking the mickey, but I wondered if he even
realized what he'd actually said. With me by his side…with him by my side…it was a decidedly
speculative turn of phrasing, looking indefinitely into the future. And if that future had us
working together, then his joke meant much more than he could imagined. He had basically guaranteed
with that one sentence that we would remain friends for a very long time.

Then again, perhaps my twelve-year-old brain was reading too much into the offhand comment of an
eleven-year-old boy; perhaps not. Only time would tell, and I surprised myself by knowing that I
was actually looking forward to the coming days, months, and years. Life is much more bearable when
you have people to share it with.

Those were fleeting thoughts, however, on that Saturday morning as we came closer and closer to
Sally's house. My main concern at that time was Sally and her plight, and how Harry and I were
going to rescue her. I don't know when it happened, but at some point I had started thinking of
our operation a rescue effort. Maybe it was because Harry had saved me once before, and he was with
me as we turned into her driveway and looked at her modest house. It was smaller than mine, but
still nice and well-kept. There were two autos in the driveway, so I assumed that she was home.

We both unconsciously paused at the start of the brick path to the front door. We looked at each
other in silence for several seconds, both trying to ascertain what needed to be said.

“Well, nothing like Gryffindor bravery, I suppose,” Harry said, and started toward the front
door. I followed at his heel.

He pressed the doorbell and we could hear it ring throughout the house. Nothing happened for a
few seconds, and then we heard the patter of feet moving toward the door.

“I got it!” a familiar voice called, and two seconds later Sally-Anne Perks pulled open the
front door. There was an instant of shocked silence, and then she gasped and a huge smile lit up
her face, stretching her mouth from ear to ear and showing all of her teeth.

“Hermione!” she cried, coming forward and crashing into a hug. I returned the embrace and
laughed into her hair. Merlin, it was good to see her again! She stepped back and looked at Harry,
who was smiling serenely at her.

“And Harry Potter!” she added, and then hugged him too. He returned the hug a little awkwardly,
patting her back, but she didn't seem to care. She looked at me over his shoulder and raised
her eyebrows. She mouthed *Harry?* at me. I just shook my head, trying not to laugh again.

As she stepped back, I noticed that she had changed some since I'd last seen her. She had
grown slightly, and her hair was longer and straighter than I remembered. There was also the barest
whisper of some womanly curves, beneath her t-shirt and jeans…

“Hello, Sally,” Harry said, glancing at me. “How have you been?” he asked.

She waved the question off. “Fine, fine, but come in! Get out of that cold,” she said, stepping
back into the house and moving aside so we could enter.

“Thanks Sally,” I said, taking off my heavy coat and my shoes.

“Not a problem,” she responded. “What are you two doing here, though? This is totally
unexpected.”

“Visiting,” I said. Harry nodded. “It's been a long time since we've seen you, so we
thought it would be nice to come over. Happy Christmas, by the way,” I said, removing her present
from my coat pocket and handing it over to her.

“Yeah, Happy Christmas, Sally,” Harry said, giving her his present. She just looked
flabbergasted for a moment.

“Wow you two…thanks!” she said, and it sounded like she was struggling against her emotions.
“Happy Christmas to you too! But I don't have any presents for either of you…” she trailed off,
looking sad all at once.

“That's ok, Sally!” I interjected. “You didn't know we were coming, and it doesn't
really matter anyway. We're just glad to see you!”

She eventually nodded and set the presents down on the low table by the door. We were still in
the foyer of her house.

“Well, let me have a look at you!” she exclaimed, and stepped back to scrutinize us. She
casually wiped the corner of one eye, and I saw some moisture on her finger as she dropped the hand
to her side.

“Like what you see?” I wondered, attempting to be funny. I even posed a little for her.
Harry's eyes moved back and forth between Sally and me.

“Of course, Hermione,” she laughed. Then she looked at Harry. “Do you live around here,
too?”

He shook his head. “I actually live in Surrey. I'm staying with Hermione for the holidays,”
he explained, though that was as far as he went. I knew he didn't want to get into the whole
story once again.

Sally nodded slowly, taking in this new information, meanwhile stealing glances at me. Her eyes
contained sparkles of laughter, though her face was sober. I just smiled at her, shaking my head
slightly at her assumptions. I never forgot what she'd asked me about Harry at Hogwarts, and
she seemed to heading along that train of thought once again.

“Yes, *Sally*, instead of making him stay at Hogwarts for the holiday, I invited him to
spend it with me and my parents. It's turned out quite nicely so far, don't you think so
Harry?”

“I think so,” he agreed, though by the look on his face I knew he was trying to figure out my
odd emphasis on her name.

And by the look on Sally's face, I knew she wondered why Harry hadn't just gone home for
the holiday. She wisely held back from asking, however, and I was glad for her intuitiveness.

“Sally?” a female voice called. “Who is it?”

Sally looked panicked for an instant, and then pursed her lips. “Some friends from school!” she
called back. I noticed she carefully avoided saying `Hogwarts'.

“Oh, how nice,” the voice called again, and it was closer this time. Soon enough, Mrs. Perks
appeared from a door to another part of the house. She was middle-aged, had short brown hair, and
was slightly overweight. “You didn't tell me any of your friends were planning on
visiting.”

“Well,” Sally laughed, a little uneasily, “here they are! This is Hermione Granger and this is
Harry Potter,” she continued, introducing us.

“Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Perks,” Harry said, moving forward and sticking out his hand. I
marveled at how quickly he had assessed the situation. “Sorry to just burst in like this, but we
wanted to surprise Sally with some presents,” he added, shaking her hand. She smiled down at him,
though to my eyes it seemed more patronizing than anything.

“It's nice to meet you,” I said, nodding at Sally's mum. I knew that we were going to
have a difficult conversation coming up, and I didn't want to get too cozy with her mum. After
all, she had pulled Sally out of Hogwarts. I wondered when Mr. Perks would make an appearance.

“Such pleasant friends, Sally,” Mrs. Perks said, looking at her daughter a little queerly.
Something seemed off about this whole thing. “You said you met them at school?”

Sally nodded. She was staring at the floor. “That's right.”

“Interesting,” her mum said, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Then why haven't we met them
yet? It's been some time since you were in school.”

I looked sideways at Harry, just as he was doing the same at me. I could see the confusion in
his eyes, and I was sure he could see it mirrored in mine. Was Mrs. Perks referring to Hogwarts?
And if so, surely there was some impending explosion toward us, since we represented everything the
Perks had tried to ignore?

Sally shrugged. She still didn't make eye contact with any of us. I thought she looked
forlorn, which devastated me. She was a wonderful girl with amazing vitality and a razor-sharp
mind; yet, I had only been in her house for a few minutes and already it seemed like her parents
treated her like rubbish. I thought of Harry's relatives: how could parents or aunts and uncles
treat their family so poorly?

“Dunno,” Sally said. “I haven't talked with either of them since last June.”

Harry and I looked quickly at each other again. I finally comprehended what was going on here.
Her mum had been talking about Sally's old school, the one she'd attended before going to
Hogwarts. If Sally hadn't been back since the previous June, that must mean she was now
home-schooled. It looked like her parents had really closed her off from the outside world.

“What's going on?” a new voice asked, and Mr. Perks sauntered into the foyer. He was fairly
tall, had sandy blond hair, and looked to keep himself in decent shape.

“Sally was just introducing me to some of her friends from school,” Mrs. Perks told him, giving
her husband what I thought were significant glances in our direction.

“Oh really?” he asked, looking us over. “Well, I'm Mr. Perks, and it's nice to meet
you,” he said, nodding at us. “Sally hasn't had friends from school over in quite some
time.”

“We wanted to surprise her and wish her a Happy Christmas,” Harry explained, motioning to the
presents on the table.

“Thank you, Harry and Hermione,” she said quietly, and unless I was mistaken, there seemed to be
a plea in her eyes. It might have been to keep quiet about Hogwarts, or it might have to bust the
whole thing wide open. I never did find out, though, because Harry charged forward like a true
Gryffindor and shattered the ice.

“We're actually not from Sally's old school, Mr. and Mrs. Perks,” he said, leaning
against the wall and crossing his arms. His eyes were hooded and began to smolder as I watched, and
whether he knew it or not, he had turned into an imposing figure within a time span of three or
four seconds.

“We know Sally from Hogwarts,” he continued, ignoring Mrs. Perks's savage snarl of
glee—probably because she had guessed that all along—and Mr. Perks's mildly surprised glare.
“And that's why we're here today, actually. We'd like to speak with you about Hogwarts
and what it really means to Sally.”

Sally was staring openly at Harry now, with her mouth hanging slightly open. Her eyes shifted to
me, and whatever plea had previously been evident was replaced with gratitude and perhaps a little
sadness. She probably thought our gesture was futile.

“Excuse me, young man?” Mr. Perks asked. “Are you presuming—”

“Get out,” Mrs. Perks said, with some venom in her voice. She pointed toward the door. “Both of
you get out of this house right now. We split from you people when we removed Sally from Hogwarts,
and we will keep it that way.” I saw Mr. Perks' eyes cut toward his wife; his forehead was
creased slightly. I wondered if we might be able to appeal to him more easily than his wife.

“No,” Harry said, quite simply. He was still leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed
over his chest. He was staring at Sally, who had sagged at her mother's words. “Exactly what do
you mean when you say `you people'?” he asked, interrogating them with his eyes.

I realized that I hadn't said anything substantial yet, but so far there hadn't been any
need. Harry quite clearly had things well under control, for now at least. The only other time he
had seemed this formidable was during his fight with the troll. This was a different kind of
battle, however, even though it was *also* for the heart and soul of a little girl.

Mrs. Perks sputtered for a few seconds. “Witches…and wizards…and magic!” she fairly screeched,
pointing her finger at us. “It's unnatural and we don't want any part in it. Now if you
don't leave—”

But Harry pushed himself off of the wall and squared his shoulders at her, cutting her off by
saying, “You sound like my ruddy aunt and uncle. And believe me, you don't want to be compared
to my relatives. You want to know what their idea of love and encouragement was? Try locking me in
a broom closet for days at a time, and feeding me the scraps from meals, and making sure everyone
hated me.

“And I'll give you one guess why they did all of that, but since you're so smart I bet
you're not going to need it.” No one said anything. “What, cat got your tongue?” he prodded,
and he was really on a roll now. I couldn't believe how poised Harry was—he was amazing! “They
did that stuff to stamp magic out of me. They neglected and abused me to prevent me from being like
`those' freaks at Hogwarts,” he continued.

I couldn't believe how much he was revealing about his home life; this was even more than
he'd told me. The bit about the broom closet hit something deep inside and I felt a pang
somewhere near my heart, but I bit my lip and said nothing, lest I interfere with the flow of his
argument.

Mr. and Mrs. Perks looks appalled at what Harry had told them, and Mr. Perks especially was
looking at his daughter with some new emotion in his eyes. Sally had stood there through all of
this looking at the floor, and it was only when Harry stopped that she looked up.

“But it didn't work, did it? I still have my magic,” he asserted, “and they're more
freakish than I'm ever going to be. There was absolutely nothing they could do to change that
part of me, yet they still treated me like rubbish for years. Is that how you want Sally to
remember you? Is that how you want your daughter to think of you when you're old and gray and
want her to take care of you? Will she remember when you made her deny half of herself, and then
abandon you like you are abandoning her?”

Harry's chest was heaving now, and I felt tiny goose bumps on my arms as something palpable
entered the air all around us. I could only attribute it to Harry's magic, yearning to break
free, so I laid a calming hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at me and willed me to say
something with his eyes.

“Everything Harry said is true, Mr. and Mrs. Perks,” I started. “Harry and I were both raised in
normal households”—though of course I used `normal' loosely when referring to Harry's
home—“so as I'm sure you are quite aware of, the introduction to the magical world was shocking
and a little overwhelming.

“My parents were skeptical at first, but they kept an open mind throughout last summer and
eventually came to terms with this major part of me. They didn't want to send me off to school
nine months out of the year, but they realized that they could not deny the magical side of me
without doing significant damage.”

I paused, making eye contact with Sally from my vantage point slightly behind and to the right
of Harry. She was standing just in front her parents. The first tears had started leaking from her
eyes.

“So we would like to ask you to consider exactly what you're doing to Sally by denying her
the magical side that will never, ever go away. She will live with magic for the rest of her life,
and if you try to stamp it out or ignore it, you will only alienate your daughter. Do you want
that?” I asked, making direct eye contact with her parents. I could *feel* Harry's
approval radiating off of him.

Mr. Perks sighed. It was an unreadable noise. He glanced at his wife again, and then spoke: “You
should know that your Headmaster has been here several times, as has that Professor McGonagall, and
every time we've turned them away.”

“You won't be able to turn us away,” Harry said, sounding sure of himself even though,
according to the law, the Perks could have us arrested for trespassing. I wasn't really looking
forward to that eventuality. “This is important to us,” he stated. “Sally is our friend and we miss
her, and we think you will regret for the rest of your lives—both of you—not letting her become who
she was meant to be.”

Sally ran forward then, crossing the few short paces between us and them in three strides, and
collided with Harry in a bone-crushing hug. I added to the embrace and we held onto Sally as she
started sobbing into Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced at me again and I could tell by the look
in his eyes that he hadn't been expecting this development.

But it was Mr. and Mrs. Perks who seemed most surprised by Sally's emotional display,
because they just stared at their daughter for a long time, both obviously occupied by their own
internal musings.

I felt tears behind my own eyes, because I empathized with Sally so much; I could only feel
simmering anger from Harry, though. His posture was slightly clenched, and I'm not sure how I
knew this, but inside he must have been furious with Sally's parents. By what he'd said—his
words still rang in my head—her parents must have reminded him strongly of his relatives.

Mr. Perks cleared his throat after a moment. He looked at his wife. “Anna, can I speak with you
in the living room?” She shook her head briefly, as if emerging from a stupor, and then returned
her husband's gaze. She then nodded and followed him from the foyer.

The three of us were left alone, and slowly Sally's sobs turned into sniffles. After several
minutes, she backed out of our arms and looked at us with a watery smile, rubbing her face with the
backs of her hands.

“Thank you so much, you two…” she trailed off, and her lips trembled again. Moisture pooled on
her lower lids and dropped down her cheeks, splattering on the hardwood floor. She kept herself
largely under control, however.

“There's no need to thank us, Sally,” I told her. “We are your friends and we want to see
you happy. We know you're going to be an amazing witch.” Harry nodded in agreement.

“If I'm half as amazing a witch as you are, or a wizard as Harry is, then I'll be
happy,” she laughed, sounding choked up again.

“You should give yourself more credit,” Harry said, smiling at her and then at me. He had a
twinkle in his eye.

She shrugged and conceded the point. “Whatever happens, you have no idea how much this means to
me.”

“I think I do,” Harry told her. He was staring at me. I fought the urge to look away or to
blush, because I knew he was referring to me inviting him home for the holiday, and most likely
specifically our late night Christmas chat. I'm not sure how much of this Sally picked up on,
but she gave me that same weird, knowing smile I'd seen a few other times.

There was some noise from the other room, and Mr. and Mrs. Perks came back into the foyer, where
we were still standing. Mrs. Perks looked annoyed; Mr. Perks looked resolute.

“You should thank your friends, Sally. I wish had such good friends when I was younger,” he
said, looking at Harry and me and inclining his head. “Because of them, we've decided to allow
you back at Hogwarts, but on one condition—”

Sally squealed and leapt toward her dad. She crashed into his middle and wrapped her arms around
him. He hesitated for a moment and then hugged her back, gently. Mrs. Perks watched all of this
with enigmatic eyes.

“Like I was saying, there is one condition,” he continued.

“And what is that, Mr. Perks?” Harry wondered.

“One of you needs to send a note to your Headmaster and tell him that we would like to speak
with him. If he can visit with us before the new term starts, then we will allow Sally back at
school. We have some things we would like to discuss with him.”

This was minor difficulty that a quick trip to Diagon Alley could fix. Since Hedwig was at
Hogwarts, we would have to rent an owl to send Dumbledore the letter.

“That sounds reasonable, Mr. Perks,” I consented, and watched as Sally disengaged from her dad.
The radiant smile spread across her face when she turned around made this whole afternoon and its
unpleasantness entirely worth it.

----------

Sure enough, Dumbledore was able to meet with the Perks and after doing so, stopped by my house
as well. My parents were quickly enamored with the `strange' but `wonderfully kooky' old
man because they both saw his inherent wisdom and power. It was impossible not to, no matter hard
Dumbledore tried to hide it at times.

He congratulated Harry and me for convincing Mr. and Mrs. Perks to let Sally back at Hogwarts,
and with what he had told me at Hogwarts in mind, it must have meant more to him than he was
showing with my parents in the room.

His visit was late Sunday night, December 29th, so after he left we had the week
ahead of us to begin catching Sally up on everything she had missed during her absence. We had
asked before he left if we could tutor her throughout the rest of the year, in the hopes of having
her take the end-of-year exams with the rest of us. He had agreed and wished us best of luck.

I know I told Harry that I didn't want to spend the rest of the holiday looking through
books for Flamel, but helping Sally with her studies was something entirely different. Harry must
have realized this, because he was never resentful over how invested I became with tutoring our
friend. In fact, though I would not have admitted this to anyone at the time, Harry was actually a
wonderful teacher and made the learning—and reviewing, in our cases—quite fun and amusing. Sally
came to my house for the tutoring, because she felt that her parents weren't yet comfortable
enough with us for it to be there.

Suffice it to say, that week passed very quickly, and Saturday, January 4th was upon
us before we knew it. The train left Platform 9 3/4 at nine o'clock that morning, so we were up
bright and early. By arrangement, we picked Sally up from the Perks' house, and even though it
was a tight fit, we were so happy to have her with us. Mr. and Mrs. Perks quietly hugged Sally
goodbye, though the exchange was strangely emotionless on both ends. They might still have all been
getting over the shock of the past week.

At the station, I said goodbye to mum and dad, and it was a teary affair. I wouldn't see
them again until summer, because I didn't think I was going to come home for the long Easter
weekend. Harry thanked them profusely for letting him stay at our house during the break, and they
just shrugged it off, telling him it was their pleasure and they had been happy to have him. Harry
and Sally crossed through the barrier to 9 3/4, but mum held me back for a second. She sent dad to
pull the car around. I looked curiously at her, wondering what she had needed me alone to tell
me.

“Do you still have those bras we got you over the summer?” she asked, and I was momentarily
stunned by her question. It wasn't at all what I expected.

“Um…” I stalled, blushing. “Yeah, they're at school. Why?”

She gave me a look. “I think you know why, dear. You might want to consider wearing them.
You're beginning to develop into a woman.”

I glanced down, realizing that what she said had some merit. The last time I'd examined
myself in the bathroom mirror after a shower, only a few days before, I vaguely noticed the nubs
developing on my chest. I should have been more excited, but I was understandably distracted with
helping Sally catch up.

I shrugged. “Ok, I'll try them out,” I said.

She half-smiled at me, looking wistful. “I know you wear those baggy school robes most of the
time, but bras aren't just for appearances, Hermione. They keep your chest looking healthy and
young.”

“Huh?” I wondered, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Breasts have a tendency to…sag,” she said. My eyes widened in realization. “They weigh
themselves down, and bras prevent that kind of damage. Wearing them now will pay off in your
forties and fifties, and beyond.”

I nodded. “Sure, I understand. Thanks mum.”

“You're welcome honey,” she said, leaning down to hug me. “Write us lots of letters!” she
exclaimed, and I nodded and waved to her as I turned toward the barrier. That same wistful smile
filled my last glimpse of her as the barrier swallowed me whole.

Harry, Sally, and I met Ron, Neville, and the other Gryffindor first years on the train, and we
passed most of the long trip telling each other stories about the holiday. They all listened as
Harry and I told them about how we had convinced Sally's parents to let her come back to
Hogwarts, and most were suitably impressed. Sally was ecstatic to be among us all again.

Ron had equally as fantastic stories, dealing mostly with the dragons he had encountered in
Romania. I could tell by what he was saying, though, that it had been incredibly good for him to
see his older brothers. Bill had made it from Egypt, so the whole Weasley family was together again
for the first time in many years. Being an only child myself, I had no idea what that felt like,
but reuniting with family members after so long must have been very rewarding.

Harry and I got Ron and Neville alone and gave them our Christmas gifts, which they appreciated
and had not been expecting. Ron, in particular, was shocked I got him a gift, and turned an
embarrassed red when I mentioned receiving a sweater from his mother. He said something about
mentioning me in a letter home. Neville thanked us and then produced gifts for all three of us.
They were mundane things, like candy and knickknacks, but I was touched nonetheless. He had been
distant since our experience with Fluffy and for him to get us Christmas gifts was a huge step. He
left quietly after we said our thanks.

This left Harry and me alone with Ron, so Harry took this opportunity to show Ron the
Invisibility Cloak. Ron couldn't think of anyone other than Dumbledore who might have given
Harry the cloak, and I realized we could have asked the Headmaster when he was at my house. It had
slipped our minds, though.

We pulled into Hogsmeade Station around 3:30 in the afternoon. Horseless carriages were waiting
for us this time—the lake was frozen over—and we chatted amicably as the carriages brought us from
the Station to Hogwarts. I noticed for the first time the winged boars over the gates.

The rest of that day was spent settling back into the dorms, and by dinner time all of us had
mostly finished unpacking for the term. There was an enormous welcome back feast that night, and it
was amazing to be back in the Great Hall, with the mesmerizing enchanted ceiling and hundreds of
floating candles. It was almost like going home, though in a different sense, of course.

Filled with the good food and the good stories from everyone's holiday, most of us turned in
early that night. As I was heading for the girls' dormitory to get ready for bed, Harry caught
up with me by the stairs.

“Happy to be back?” I asked him.

“Of course,” he said, smiling at me. He looked oddly pensive, though. “But the holiday was
really nice too.”

“I'm glad you think so, Harry,” I told him. “I think it will be one to remember.”

“Oh yes, without a doubt!” he exclaimed, looking very happy as he seemed to reminisce for a few
seconds. Then he quickly sobered.

“What?” I asked.

“I think I'm going to use the Cloak to see what I can find in the library about Flamel,” he
said, looking into my eyes.

“Harry…” I started, thinking of how to dissuade him. “Not only is that against the rules, but
you know that I said I would help you.”

He nodded, rather impatiently. “I know, I know, but we're not going to be able to look
through the Restricted Section together. I figure I might as well make a trip tonight and maybe a
few other nights and see what I can find.”

“The *Restricted* Section, Harry? Are you serious?” Some part of me realized that I sounded
slightly sanctimonious, but Harry was talking about breaking about ten different school
policies.

“Yes, Hermione. I am.”

I knew this was important to him, and I knew that he was just as stubborn as I was, so I
eventually just shrugged. “Nothing I say is going to stop you from doing what you want,” I told
him. “But please be careful. That note said `use it well,' and while I don't think this is
what the giver had in mind, take its advice to heart. Don't get caught. We just got Sally back
here. I don't want to lose you now.”

“You won't, Hermione. Ever. I promise.”

I went to bed that night with his parting words echoing around my head. I was worried about him,
but also weirdly calmed by what he had said. It had seemed so assured.

---------

Harry was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs the next morning, which was Sunday, the
fifth of January. He looked up when he heard me coming down the stairs, and his face broke into an
excited smile. He jumped up, and by his attitude I expected him to say he found information on
Flamel.

“Hermione! You'll never believe what I found last night!”

“Let me guess—something about Flamel?”

He shook his head vigorously, surprising me. “No, no, actually Filch nearly caught me in the
Restricted Section, and then I had to run from him and Snape—but, that's not important!” he cut
himself off, seeing the horrified look on my face.

“*Snape* almost caught you?” I asked, incredulous.

“Whatever, that doesn't mean anything now,” he said, almost stumbling over his words in his
excitement. “I got lost when I was running from them, and I ended up slipping into an unused
classroom to elude them. There was this giant mirror in there, and—Hermione, I saw my parents in
it. And my whole family too!” he said, and then took a huge breath. There was color high on his
cheekbones and his eyes were sparkling. I hadn't seen him this wound up in quite awhile.

“So there was a mirror,” I said, slowly, trying to figure out what he had said. “And instead of
your reflection, you saw your parents and the rest of your family?”

He nodded. “I saw myself in it too, but there was a crowd of people as well. And right in the
front was a woman with red hair and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen, kind of like mine,
really…” he trailed off. His eyes clouded over for a moment as he remembered what he'd seen.
“And next to her was a man with hair like mine, and he wore glasses too. They must be mum and
dad!”

“Are you sure it wasn't a really vivid dream, Harry?” I really had no other explanation for
what he was telling me.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Hermione, I'm positive! You should come tonight and see it with
me.”

“Me? Out after curfew again?” I asked, giving him my best stern look. He just laughed it off,
immune to it by now most likely.

“Yes!” he told me, and then grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the portrait hole.
“But for now, breakfast!”

Harry was energized all day, and both Ron and Sally asked him the reason as the day wore on. He
could hardly contain himself, and told them exactly what he had told me. He'd had to explain
the presence of the Invisibility Cloak to Sally, but the story did not make any more sense to her
once he had. She was equally as puzzled as I was, though she did say she wanted to see the mirror.
Ron said something along the lines of `wicked!' and `I'd like to see your mum and
dad.'

Reluctantly, I agreed to join the three of them on their late night journey, even though I was
worried about getting caught. I had already been on several adventures with Harry, and I trusted
him enough to want to see exactly what he was talking about.

So after everyone else had gone to bed, the four of us slipped out of the Gryffindor common
room, all huddled under the Invisibility Cloak. It was a tight fight, though not unmanageable, and
we slowly made our way through the castle. Harry circled around a few times, muttering to himself,
and just as we were all getting impatient with the endless journey beneath the Cloak, he pointed to
a door halfway down whatever corridor we were in. It was ajar.

“That's it,” he said, and we hurried forward. Once inside the empty classroom, we threw off
the Cloak and looked on with wide eyes at the mirror Harry had described. It was beautiful and
ornate, and it was as tall as the classroom. Gold framed the mirrored glass and two clawed feet
held the giant thing upright. There were words carved into the top of the frame: *Erised stra
ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi*. It was not any language I recognized.

Harry stepped directly in front of the mirror and immediately his face broke into a magnificent
grin. “There they are,” he said, pointing at the glass. “Mum and dad and the rest of the Potter
family…”

From my vantage point at Harry's side, I could only see him in the mirror. I glanced at Ron
and Sally, and by the dubious looks on their faces, it was apparent they were only seeing him, too.
I sighed, feeling sad for Harry. It had become very clear during the holiday that being part of a
loving family was what he wanted most, and he might have just been indulging that fantasy.

“I can't see anything,” Ron said.

“But look!” Harry said, gesturing at the mirror. “There are loads of them…”

“We can only see you,” I told him. He looked at me with confused eyes.

“Well, stand where I am,” he said moving aside and pushing Ron in front of the mirror. “What do
you see now?”

Ron's eyes widened, transfixed on the mirror. I could only see Ron's reflection. “Look
at me!” he cried.

“Yeah, and you can see your family all around you, can't you?” Harry asked. Sally and I made
eye contact, wondering just what in Merlin's name was going on.

“No,” Ron said, breathlessly. “I'm alone, but I'm different! I look much older…and, I
can't believe it, I'm head boy!”

“*What*?” the three of us said, at the same time.

“I am,” Ron said. “I have the badge like Bill used to—wait, I also have the house cup and the
Quidditch cup at my feet!” He squinted at the mirror. “Merlin, I'm even Quidditch captain!” Ron
gestured excitedly at the mirror, and then looked quickly at the three of us.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?” he wondered.

“How can it? My parents are dead…”

“Can I have a look?” Sally asked. Ron moved aside and she took his place. His face was still
rapturous from what he had seen. As Sally considered the mirror in silence, I looked back at the
inscription on the frame. There was something funny about those words…

“Wow,” Sally breathed, and I looked back at her. She was staring at the mirror, just as
mesmerized by what she was seeing as Harry and Ron had been. I could only see her reflection from
this angle.

“What do you see?” Harry wondered.

“I see, well I guess I see my family how it might have been,” Sally said. “There are my parents
and me, but there are also two younger boys and a younger girl. I'm doing magic for all of
them, and they're laughing and enjoying the show…” She looked at me with wide eyes, and I could
see a deep longing piercing her soul. She'd seen open-minded parents and siblings she'd
never had but apparently had always wanted.

The first word of the inscription kept bothering. *Erised…erised…erised*. I felt like I
should know it for some reason, but I was drawing a blank.

“Hermione, why don't you have a look,” Harry prompted. “We're all seeing different
things, so what *is* this mirror?” he wondered.

Sally stepped aside and I took her place. I stared at the inscription for another second before
lowering my eyes to the mirror, and when I did my breath caught in my throat. I was looking at the
most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

They must have noticed my reaction, because they all wanted to know what I was seeing. I
didn't even know how to describe the image. It was me, but much older; I guessed my age to be
around thirty. A young boy was running around my legs and I held an even younger girl in my arms.
Standing behind me was a male figure, though his face was obscured. The children both resembled me,
except the boy had black hair and the girl had green eyes…

“Well?” Harry prodded, waiting for my response.

“I—I think I see my chil—” I started, but was cut off by another, familiar voice. I almost
jumped out of my skin.

“So, back again?” it asked, and we all turned on the spot to see Dumbledore sitting on one of
desks that had been pushed against the wall. I closed my eyes, unable to believe our bad luck. We
had been caught out of bounds and breaking curfew by the Headmaster, of all people. We must have
walked right past him when we entered the classroom.

“We didn't see you, sir,” Harry said, glancing at the rest of us, obviously wondering how we
all could have missed him.

And against all odds, Dumbledore actually smiled at us. He stood from the desk and moved toward
us, conjuring five comfortable armchairs out of thin air.

“Strange how nearsighted invisibility can make you,” he said, motioning for us to sit. He
didn't seem angry at all, and I settled into my chair with a feeling of relief, though that was
quickly overpowered by curiosity. How had Dumbledore known we were here, and why had he waited so
long to reveal himself?

“So,” he began, “you all, like the hundreds before you, have discovered the wonders of the
Mirror of Erised.”

“We didn't know it was called that, sir,” Harry said. Dumbledore's spoken use of
*erised* prompted something in my brain, and with dawning comprehension, I looked once again
at the inscription.

“But I expect all of you have realized by now what it does?” he asked us, and the other three
shook their heads slowly.

The pieces finally fit together: “`I show not your face but your heart's desire,'” I
translated, reading the inscription backward, and pointing to it. The others seemed to understand
as well.

“So it showed me my family…” Harry said.

“And it showed Mr. Weasley himself as head boy, Miss Perks with an accepting and loving family,
and Miss Granger…?” he trailed off, and as I made eye contact with him, I blushed slightly. I
doubted he knew what I had seen, though the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

“How did you know—?” Ron asked, stopping himself at Dumbledore's chuckle.

“I do not need a cloak to become invisible,” he told us, very gently. It was a subtle reminder
of who was master at Hogwarts. “So what does the Mirror show us?”

“Our heart's desire,” I said, thinking of the inscription.

Dumbledore nodded. “The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised just
like a normal mirror. He would see himself reflected in its glass.”

“So it shows us what we want,” Ron said.

“Yes and no,” Dumbledore explained. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most
desperate desires of our hearts. You,” he said looking at Harry, “who have never known your family,
see them all standing around you.”

He looked at Ron. “And you, who have always been overshadowed by your brothers, see yourself
standing alone, the best of all of them.”

Then he turned his head to Sally. “You see loving parents and siblings, because you have always
wanted brothers and sisters and for your parents to accept you as you are.”

Lastly, he looked at me. “And you saw whatever represents lasting happiness in your heart, as
did the rest of them.”

He paused for several moments, steepling his hands and leaning forward slightly. “However, this
mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men and women have wasted away before it,
entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even
possible.”

We all considered his words in silence. Even though the object had showed me something truly
wonderful, and apparently my heart's deepest desire, I knew that I could never look in it
again. It might reveal more than I wanted to know at this time...

“The Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new home tomorrow. I ask all of you not to go looking
for it again. If you ever *do* run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to
dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

He looked at each of us in turn, and we all nodded. He then smiled once again. “Why don't
you all put that admirable Cloak back on and head to bed? It is *very* late. In fact, it might
even be past curfew, but I seem to have lost the time on the way here.”

We stood and readied for the journey back to the Gryffindor common room. Just before Harry threw
the Cloak over us all again, under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, he paused and looked at the
Headmaster.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Harry asked, and I wanted to chide him for his
forwardness. It was an extremely personal question.

“Thick, woolen socks. Several pairs, in fact.”

We all looked at each other, and Dumbledore must have sensed our confusion.

“One can never have enough socks,” he informed us. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I
did not receive a single pair. People will *insist* on giving me books. Now, off to bed with
you,” he finished, shooing us out the door with a gesture. Harry put the Cloak over us and we
headed back to the Gryffindor tower. We said very little, thinking about everything we had just
learned.

It seemed Hogwarts had just revealed another of her vast secrets.

-->



14. Chapter Thirteen
--------------------



A/N: **Reader poll!** **You** **decide: when Year Two rolls around, should Luna be Sorted
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at 11:59 pm GMT -5 (EST) and in the interest of fairness, **only votes within signed reviews will
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the story!

Chapter Thirteen

Winter Term 1992

It might have been the shock of being caught by the Headmaster out of bounds and after curfew,
but the new term started with very little fanfare and almost nothing exciting to break the monotony
of classes and homework. The morning after our run-in with the Mirror, we were provided with new
timetables for the winter term, but our schedules were exactly the same as autumn's had
been.

Every so often I would think about what I had seen in the Mirror of Erised, but it faded from
the front of my mind as the first few weeks of the new term rushed quickly past. Harry had stowed
the Invisibility Cloak in the bottom of his trunk as soon as we had returned to the common room,
and he had not had any reason to bring it out again. Our nighttime excursions had dropped off to a
mere memory, and that was fine with me. I did not relish the chance of expulsion or bodily harm,
and staying in after curfew in the safe, warm environment of our common room was a sure way to
avoid just that.

I was busy enough to invest myself in the details of student life, however, and that was another
reason not to miss our adventures. On top of classes, studying, and Quidditch practice for Harry,
we had taken it upon ourselves to tutor Sally so she could catch up with the rest of us. She
rejoined the flow of Hogwarts life with no trouble at all and was happier than she had ever been,
as far as I could tell. Ron even joined our tutoring sessions on several occasions, helping where
he could and possibly soaking up what Harry and I were teaching.

Since Dumbledore's chat before the winter holiday, Ron had approached his schoolwork much
more actively, and even though it still left some things to be desired, it was a vast improvement
over his academic mess during the first two months. I knew I was intelligent and hard-working, just
as I knew that Harry was intelligent and diligent; it was becoming more and more obvious, though,
that Sally was nearly as gifted as we were and with some application Ron would be no slouch,
either. And for the most part, the other Gryffindor first years were doing fairly well, which made
our Professors very happy. Ravenclaws were usually known for their prowess as far as academics were
concerned, and our Ravenclaw counterparts provided no reason for that notion to fade, but my
Gryffindor classmates were handling themselves ably.

For the most part, there was an easy camaraderie between the first years. The jarring transition
from pre-Hogwarts life into school away from home for months at a time had passed with the fall
term, so it seemed like we were much more tolerant of each other in general. There were still
arguments and antipathy every now and then, but it was mostly short-lived and petty in nature,
something young kids shoved together for long periods of time inevitably experience.

As January rolled into February, and as the frigid, snowy weather turned merely cold and rainy,
even Neville started to come out of his self-imposed shell. It was a painstakingly slow process,
constantly hindered by what I think was his very poor self-image, but it was there nonetheless.
Subtle glimmerings of confidence in his schoolwork appeared every now and then, and he was more and
more willing to be drawn into conversations with the rest of us.

Since term had started on January sixth, Harry, Ron, Sally, and I had formed a group of sorts,
though Ron and I still had our occasional difficulties with each other. Harry and Sally seemed to
temper our wilder arguments, however, so we eased into an odd sort of friendship—based more on
mutual wariness than respect. Since Christmas, Harry had been more comfortable talking with me
about himself, and it felt nice to be someone he could trust. Working closely together to help
Sally probably helped our friendship along, so by the time the first week of February was nearing
an end, the four of us were often seen together.

Neville was a provisional fifth member of our group, but he still hadn't fully committed
himself by the night of Friday, February seventh, when Harry came back from Quidditch practice
looking quite alarmed about something. In fact, Neville was somewhere else, so Ron, Sally, and I
motioned Harry over to us. We were sitting at one of the tables working through the rather easy
homework Quirrell had assigned. It was due Monday and because I preferred to get it out of the way
before the weekend officially began, I convinced the others to do it as well.

“How was practice?” Ron asked, as Harry sat down next to us. He was still dripping from the
rain, and his teeth were chattering. “And what's the matter with you?” Ron wondered, looking
closely at Harry for the first time.

“Harry?” I questioned, when he hadn't answered after several seconds. “What is it?”

“There's going to be a new referee for the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff…” he said,
trailing off and running a hand through his thick, wet hair. There were still drops of water on the
lenses of his glasses.

“And…?” Ron wondered. Sally and I looked at each other, concerned over Harry's sudden
reticence. Something had clearly upset him.

“It's Snape,” Harry said, finally looking at all of us. Light flashed off the water on his
lenses. “Snape is refereeing the next Quidditch match.”

Ron's mouth dropped open and I set my quill down, considering with just a touch of alarm
this information. I still wasn't convinced Snape had tried to harm Harry during the last
Quidditch match, even if the evidence I'd seen with my own eyes suggested just that, but I
didn't want the hateful Professor refereeing.

“What?” Sally asked. “What's so bad about Snape refereeing? I know he's a bit obnoxious
in the classroom, but…” Harry just slouched in his seat, dripping water onto the floor; Ron still
looked gobsmacked from what Harry had said, so I explained to Sally what had happened at the last
Quidditch match. When I told her that we more or less suspected Snape of trying to sabotage
Harry's broom, she scoffed and looked between Harry and Ron.

“Honestly, you two think that a *Professor* would try something like that?”

“Yes,” Ron asserted. “Snape's a git and he's been on Harry's case since the very
first day—”

“Yeah, but—” Sally started.

“But what?” Ron cut in. “As soon as Hermione stopped Snape from whatever he was doing during
that match, Harry was able to control his broom again. What *else* could it be?”

“Well…I don't know,” Sally said, shrugging. “I just don't think it makes much
sense.”

“Whatever else Snape's agenda might be, he certainly won't be fair toward Gryffindor,” I
said. “He hates your brothers,” I continued, looking at Ron and thinking of Fred and George, “and
it is well known that he dislikes Harry.”

“So what should I do?” Harry asked, finally peeling off his soaked Quidditch robes. He let them
fall to the floor with a muffled *th**w**ump*.

“Don't play,” Ron said. “Say you're ill.”

“Harry, don't listen to him,” Sally told him. “I seriously doubt anything will happen, and
we're all going to be at the match, anyway.”

Ron didn't look convinced. “Pretend to break your leg—or, better yet, *really* break
you leg,” he said, continuing to give Harry what I thought was really bad advice.

“Sally's right,” I said, agreeing with my female friend. She nodded at me. “You can't
let this stop you from playing. You *love* Quidditch, and besides, we need to win this match,”
I added, and he smiled at me. It was appreciative. He still looked worried, though.

“I have to play, regardless,” he said, sighing deeply. “We don't have a reserve Seeker. If I
back out now, Gryffindor won't be able to play at all.”

“Well, we can't have that, can we?” Sally asked, rhetorically, and we laughed. It might have
sounded just a touch troubled, but as Sally had said, we were all going to be there supporting
Harry.

Sudden commotion near the portrait hole drew our attention away from the conversation at hand,
and I nearly leapt out of my chair as I saw Neville stumble into the common room. He toppled face
first onto the floor, and I immediately knew that something was wrong. His legs looked like they
were stuck together. Harry, Ron, and Sally followed me as I moved toward Neville. Some laughter
ensued as Neville tried to stand, and he looked like he was about to cry. I helped him stand when I
got to him and recognized the spell he was under. It was the Leg-Locker Curse we had recently
learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“*Finite incantantem*,” I said, pointing my wand at his legs. They immediately sprang
apart.

“What happened?” I asked as I led him back to where we had been sitting. The attention of the
other students in the common room gradually returned to whatever they had been doing, the
night's entertainment over for now.

The five of us sat down and looked at each other for several moments, except Neville who stared
at the table. He still looked like he wanted to cry, but he also looked furious about something.
Harry and I made eye contact, and he shrugged. He had no idea what had happened, either.

“Nev?” Ron asked. Neville slowly looked up.

“What happened?” I repeated.

“Malfoy,” he said, and his voice wavered on the second syllable. “I passed him outside the
library and he drew his wand on me. He cast that curse and said he'd been looking for someone
to practice it on. And he told me I was perfect because I wouldn't know magic if it hit
me.”

Harry blew air out through his nose, and I could tell with a glance in his direction that he was
quickly becoming angry. His brow was knitted and he was leaning forward a bit.

“Malfoy's a git, too,” Ron mumbled.

“You should go to Professor McGonagall,” I said, looking directly at Neville and meeting his
eyes. “You need to tell someone about this, so Malfoy can be punished.”

He shook his head. “I don't want any more trouble.”

“More trouble?” I wondered, shaking my own head. “It's going to keep happening if you
don't do something about it now.”

“She's right, Neville,” Harry said. “You have to stand up to him, and if that means going to
Professor McGonagall, then we'll all go with you. She's our Head of House and should know
about this.”

“But why?” he asked. “Then I'll just be a tattle.”

“No, Neville, you won't,” Sally said. “Malfoy had no right to treat you like that. He broke
the rules. He should be punished.”

“Malfoy's used to walking all over people,” Ron said. “My dad's always telling us how
the Malfoys think they're privileged because of their money. But that doesn't mean you have
to lie down in front of him and make it easier.”

Neville looked down again, and I wondered if what Ron had said was entirely prudent. “You
don't have to tell me I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor. Malfoy's already done
that.”

“Oh Neville,” Sally sighed, “that's not what Ron meant. Don't take it like that.
Let's go to McGonagall and at least let her know what happened.”

Very reluctantly, Neville agreed to follow us to McGonagall's quarters, which were just off
the Gryffindor common room. I knocked on the door and shortly thereafter the Professor stood before
us, looking quite different in her evening robes.

She looked down at us over the frames of her glasses and arched a questioning brow. “Yes? What
can I do for the five of you?”

“Professor…can we come in?” I asked.

“Of course,” she answered, suddenly seeming to understand something was wrong. She moved aside
and beckoned us through the door. Comfortable living quarters greeted our eyes as we moved into the
first room. A desk in one corner was piled high with papers, and it looked like we had interrupted
some work. As we all took seats around the room, she waved her wand and conjured each of us
steaming cups of tea. It was sweet and refreshing, and just the right thing to ease the
situation.

“What's this about?” she wondered.

No one said anything for a moment, and then we all looked at Neville. He was staring at the
floor, fiddling with his cup.

“Go on Neville,” Sally prompted, and we all gave him similar encouragement. With a deep breath,
he looked up and told McGonagall what had happened outside the library. Her lips had almost
disappeared into a frown by the end of his story.

“And you ended the curse when he returned to the common room?” McGonagall asked, looking at me.
I nodded. “Then one point to Gryffindor for your spell casting, Miss Granger,” she said. Then she
looked back to Neville. “And one point to Gryffindor for informing me of this *incident*, Mr.
Longbottom,” she continued, placing what I thought was odd emphasis on `incident.'

Neville looked surprised to earn a point for Gryffindor, and McGonagall must have understood
why. She looked at each of us, individually, and then set her cuppa down. She leaned back in her
chair.

“I am happy you decided to tell me about this,” she said. “Too often occurrences such as this go
unreported in this school, and by informing me I can now do something about it. I will let
Professors Dumbledore and Snape know about this blatant disregard for school rules and disrespect
for a fellow student.”

“What do you think they will do about it, Professor?” Harry asked. He seemed slightly angry at
Malfoy for casting that curse on Neville, more than I thought was reasonable. Some kind of personal
grudge between Malfoy and Harry had seemed to be growing all year. Coming late to the magical
world, I had no knowledge of many of the ingrained prejudices, so I wondered if there was something
between the Potters and Malfoys I did not know about. Then again, Harry hadn't been exposed to
magic until the same time, so he most likely wouldn't have known about any kind of
long-standing feud, either.

“I don't know, Mr. Potter,” she answered, peering at him. “One can hope they will deduct
points from Slytherin and subject Mr. Malfoy to appropriate punishment, but that is out of my
hands.”

“How come?” Ron demanded. “He attacked Neville!”

“I realize that, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, placating Ron's volatile temper. “But
punishment is up to that student's head of house, which in this case is Professor Snape.
Professor Dumbledore can ultimately determine what kind of reprimand Mr. Malfoy deserves, of
course, but he will most likely defer to Professor Snape in this matter,” she said. I wondered why
she sounded bitter at the end there; perhaps it was just my imagination?

“It's not likely that Snape will do anything about it,” Harry said, lowly, though McGonagall
heard it.

“*Professor* Snape, Mr. Potter,” he corrected him. “It is not up to you how he decides to
deal with this situation, so best put it out of your minds for now,” McGonagall told us, and stood.
“As for any future conflicts, please let me know just as you have tonight. And you may all want to
learn the *finite incantantem*.”

“Yes ma'am,” Harry mumbled, and we all started for the door. Neville looked just a tiny bit
happier than before.

“Oh, and Potter?” McGonagall asked, as we neared the door. He turned to face her and the rest of
us did the same. “You may want to consider changing quickly out of your wet clothes in the future.
We do not want our Seeker getting sick before the match,” she said, smiling, and then waving her
wand in Harry's direction.

Warm air washed over me as her drying charm took effect, and he suddenly looked much more
comfortable in his newly dried clothes. Random displays of magic by Professors—especially outside
of the controlled classroom environment—were always exciting, and the others appreciated the spell
just as much as Harry had.

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, smiling back at her. The anger that had been present was no
longer there beneath his words.

“Not a problem,” she said. “Good night, everyone.”

“Night, Professor,” I called, and the others said similar things. We exited her quarters into
the Gryffindor common room, where there were still many students lounging about, though not many
were doing work. It was a Friday night and we all had the weekend ahead to enjoy.

One of the sofas was newly vacated, so I sat there with Sally and Neville. Harry and Ron sat
cross-legged on the floor in front of us.

“Thanks,” Neville said. “It probably won't mean anything, but thanks.”

“You're welcome, Nev,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Sally agreed, patting him on the leg. He looked up and smiled at us, though it was
strained.

“You're worth twelve Malfoys,” Harry said, his eyes sparkling. “The Sorting Hat chose you
for Gryffindor for a reason. Here, take this,” Harry said, pulling his bag from the nearby table
and acquiring a Chocolate Frog from its depths. “It'll make you feel better,” he said, tossing
Neville the candy. Neville's smiled widened as he unwrapped it.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said. I thought it was an extremely nice gesture from Harry, and as he
caught my eyes, I nodded and smiled at him. He just shrugged and ducked his head.

“Well,” Neville continued, after a moment, “I'm pretty tired. I think I'm gonna head to
bed. Do you want the card, Harry? You said you collected them.”

Harry nodded. “Sure, Nev,” he affirmed, reaching out and taking the card from Neville.
“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Neville got up to leave.

“And Nev,” Harry said, meeting his eyes as the other boy turned with a curious look on his
face.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Don't be a stranger this weekend. Look for us tomorrow—maybe we can all do something
fun.”

Neville said and did nothing for a long moment; then his face broke into that smile and he
nodded slowly. He glanced at all of us and continued to smile.

“Thanks… I think I will. Goodnight.”

We all said goodnight as he left, and I watched him retreat to the dormitories. There seemed to
be some spring in his step, and I hoped that we had finally broken through his stupor. Harry's
parting words had been brilliant.

“Spot on, Harry,” I told him, and he just looked at me, flicking some hair off his forehead.
“That was nice, what you said to him.”

“Nev's a good bloke,” he said, and Ron agreed. “S'bout time he did some stuff with us.
And maybe we can stop Malfoy from treating him like that if we're around him more.” He looked
down at the card in his hands, and I watched him read the information for several seconds.

“I agree—” Sally started to say, but Harry cut her off.

“*I've found him!*” he exclaimed, staring down at the card.

“Who?” Ron asked, before Sally or I could.

“Flamel! I *told* you I had read the name somewhere. It must have been on the train—look,
Ron, this is Dumbledore's card. This is the one I got on the train.” He was so excited he could
barely form words. Ron and I glanced at each other; Sally just looked confused. I realized that she
had no idea about Fluffy or Flamel because none of us had divulged that information.

“Listen to this,” Harry went on, shuffling closer to the couch and leaning onto it, with his
arms across what had been Neville's cushion. “`Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat
of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood,
*and his work o**n alchemy with his partner, Nic**olas Flamel*.'”

He looked up at me, and then at Sally, with the intensity of discovery blazing in his eyes. He
leaned back, resting on his laurels, and continually glanced between us and the card in his hands.
I considered his words in my head, trying to think of why the words `alchemy' and `Nicolas
Flamel' had triggered something within my brain. The name alone had not been enough to spark
the realization, but coupled with the description…

I almost slapped my forehead in frustration as I realized what I should have done weeks before
this. If only we had looked in an encyclopedia while we were at home over the Christmas hols, we
would have quickly found out all we needed to know about Flamel. He was known to both Muggles
*and* wizards, and even though I couldn't remember precisely why, I knew I had the source
in my room.

“Wait a mo'!” I said, jumping up and almost knocking Harry over. “I'll be right back!”
And then I was off, running as fast as I could toward the dorms, up the stairs, and into the first
years' room. The nightstand by my four poster held several large tomes, and I shuffled then
aside for the one on the bottom of the stack: *From Albion to Britain*. I ran back down to the
common room with the thick book in my arms. Harry, Sally, and Ron looked curious and even a little
nonplussed as I plopped back onto the couch with the book.

“What's that?” Harry asked, trying to look at the cover.

“It's called *From Albion to Britain*, and it's a complete history—or nearly so—of
both Muggle and magical Britain.”

“Why do you have *that*?” Ron asked, staring at the side of the book.

“Why else would I have it?” I wondered, looking at Ron with an arched brow. “To read, of
course.”

He scoffed, but said nothing more. I thought it might have been some growth on his part that he
didn't deride me for having the book.

“Is Flamel in there?” Harry wondered.

“Who is Flamel? What are you all talking about?” Sally asked, more confused than ever.

“Hang on a second, Sally. We'll explain it all soon,” I said, opening the book to the index
and flipping through the pages. The print was so small it was hard to read. Finally I found the
entry for *Flamel, Nicolas* and turned to the page. It said: *Nicolas Flamel is famous for
being the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone*.

“Ha!” I shouted, more of a noise than anything else. “I *knew* it!” I looked at Harry, and
saw that he was dying to know what I'd found. “We should have looked for him at my house like
you suggested. I'm sorry, Harry.”

He waved it off. “It doesn't matter—what did you find?”

“Nicolas Flamel is the only alchemist in the world who makes the Philosopher's Stone!” I
said, triumphantly. Three blank looks greeted my revelation.

“The what?” Ron asked, and Harry and Sally were just as clueless.

I ran my hand through my bushy tangles in frustrated excitement. I was almost bouncing in my
seat at this point.

“Here, just listen: `The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's
Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure
gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.'”

Little did I know that my reading aloud of the definition of the Philosopher's Stone was the
very first time any of us vocalized Voldemort's destructive quest for immortality. It never
ceases to amaze me how such a small pebble—that simple definition—can send forth ripples so very
far.

“`There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only
Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist. Mr. Flamel, who
celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life with his wife,
Perenelle.'”

Harry looked like he was quickly reaching the same conclusions I had, and Ron might have slowly
been getting there. Sally had none of the information the three of us had, so she looked completely
bewildered.

“So…” Harry mused, staring off into space, “Fluffy has to be guarding the Stone then…”

I nodded. “ Exactly! Flamel must have asked Dumbledore to keep the Stone safe. They are friends,
after all.”

“But why? No wonder we couldn't find Flamel in any recent books, he's six bloody
centuries old,” Ron said, ignoring my *look* at his language. “If the Stone's been safe
all those years, why would he want it protected now?”

“Are you all going to tell me what you're talking about?” Sally asked, now more resigned to
her curiosity than anything.

“Yes—but Ron, he must have known someone was after it, if he wanted the Stone moved out of
Gringotts!” Harry said, finally putting the last piece together.

“Gringotts?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, don't you remember the break-in that happened over the summer?”

Ron nodded. “My brother Bill said even the goblins in Egypt were very angry about the
theft.”

“Well, it was the *same vault* that Hagrid took something from when I was at Diagon with
him. He said it was Hogwarts business and that Dumbledore had trusted him with getting whatever was
in the vault,” Harry explained.

“And then Hagrid said whatever Fluffy's guarding is between Dumbledore and Flamel,” I
recalled, thinking of our visit with Hagrid after the first Quidditch match. Ron and Harry nodded,
both satisfied that we had discovered what Fluffy was guarding. I turned to Sally and began to
explain what we had been finding out in bits and pieces throughout the year.

My story led from what Harry had told me of his visit to Diagon Alley on his birthday through
this most recent revelation. Sally was appropriately appalled at finding out about Fluffy's
rather canine nature, and laughed at Hagrid accidentally revealing Flamel's name.

“Wow, you had a very eventful term after I left,” she said, marveling at our various adventures.
She paused and gave me a significant look, and I just *knew* she was wondering about the parts
I had carefully left out, like the incident on Halloween. As it wasn't completely relevant to
our search for Flamel, it wasn't something I really wanted to talk about just yet.

“So the question is,” Ron said, “why would Snape want it? Harry and I saw him rushing toward
that corridor on Halloween, and his leg was all cut up afterward.”

“*Anyone* would want it, Ron,” Harry replied. “The Stone makes gold and prevents
death.”

“Do you think it's safe?” he asked.

“Do we even know *for sure* if Snape is after it?” I asked, trying to bring some
rationality into the argument.

Ron rolled his eyes at me. “Oh, don't start that again, Hermione—”

“How can we?” Sally asked. “It might just *seem* like he is.”

Harry shrugged. “You're all right. We can't know for sure if Snape is after the Stone.
Let's just keep our eyes open between now and the match against Hufflepuff,” Harry said.

“And especially during the match,” I reminded him, staring into his eyes.

“Good,” Harry responded, “because I'm going to play. If I don't, I'll let the team
down. I can't let Snape bother me enough not to play,” he said, looking grim and determined.
“I'll show them…it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces when we win.”

“Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field, Harry,” I said, attempting to joke. It
fell rather flat, however.

“Wonderful, Hermione,” he said, dryly. “I'm just going to catch the Snitch as quickly as I
can. I'll end it before anything can happen.”

“Good luck with that, mate,” Ron said. Sally and I looked at each other, and there was worry
reflected in our eyes.

----------

Another week of classes passed routinely. The following Saturday evening, the fifteenth of
February, Harry, Sally and I were idly going over some material for Transfiguration in the library.
Sally had mostly caught up in all of our classes, remarkably quickly, and McGonagall and Dumbledore
said if she did well on her winter exams, then Hogwarts would consider her even with the rest of
us. Ron was somewhere with his twin brothers and we did not know where Neville was, though we had
filled him in on all that we had learned about the Stone.

He was surprised at first that we had pursued information regarding Fluffy, but then became
intrigued by the mystery. He didn't think Snape wanted to steal the Stone, which was surprising
considering how Snape treated him most of the time, but conceded that *someone* seemed to be
after it. During the last week of classes, he had been even more active with the rest of us, which
was a nice change.

Something I had just recently realized was that Gryffindor first years seemed to have split down
the middle—there were two five-person groups of fairly good friends. Lavender, Parvati, Lily, Dean,
and Seamus were often seen together; Harry, Ron, Sally, Neville, and I had been growing closer and
closer since coming back to Hogwarts. But that didn't mean we were unfriendly toward the other
five, or that they were unfriendly toward us. Quite the contrary, really—the other five were more
something like acquaintances.

Sally pushed her book away from her and leaned back, rubbing her eyes. The old wooden chair
creaked loudly in the thick silence of the library.

“It's Saturday night…I think I've had about enough of this,” she said, leaning forward
once again and flipping the book shut.

“I agree,” Harry said. “We've been over this stuff a dozen times. I know I'm set with
it, and if you're good, Sally…” he trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.

“Sure,” I said, flipping my book shut as well. Our whispers were carrying through the library; I
wondered how long before the librarian, Madam Pince, swooped down upon us.

“So what are your plans for tomorrow?” Sally asked, looking at both Harry and me.

He shrugged and I said, “Dunno. If this rain stops I would suggest going outside for a bit,
but,” I cut off, motioning toward the high windows. The patter of the incessant drizzle reached our
ears.

“Just relax probably,” Harry said. “Next week is going to be terrible with practice and the
match next weekend. Wood is going to drive us hard and the weather isn't going to make it any
easier.”

“Just don't get sick,” I said, thinking of when McGonagall had dried him off.

He rolled his eyes at me. “I'll try, Hermione,” he said.

Silence fell then, but I quickly noticed Sally's eyes darting between the two of us. She
glanced down at her book, fingering the spine for a moment, and then looked at me, brushing her
dark brown hair away from her face.

“So…what did I miss when I was at home?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Harry wondered, looking puzzled.

“You two seem to be much better friends than when I left, and Ron seems to tolerate you more,”
she said, looking at me. “If I remember correctly, he was kind of rude.”

Harry and I shared a glance that encompassed everything from my alienation, to the Halloween
incident, to Christmas night in my room.

“Well,” Harry started, laughing a little uneasily, “there was a big feast on Halloween, and at
some point Quirrell came rushing into the Great Hall screaming there was a troll in the
castle.”

“What?” Sally asked, surprised. “No one told me about *that*. So what happened, and how
does that relate to you two?”

“Ron had said something particularly…*rude*…to Hermione earlier that day, so—”

“So I spent the entire afternoon crying my eyes out in the girls' bathroom,” I cut in, for
some reason feeling like I needed to be the one tell that part and also hoping that Harry would not
back away from the *messier* details.

“Oh…” Sally intoned, looking closely at me again.

Harry nodded, and he looked uncomfortable. His green eyes were clouded with guilt. “I should
have said something to Ron, but I just let it pass. Sorry, Hermione…

“Anyway, around the time Quirrell fainted in the middle of the Great Hall, I realized that
Hermione wasn't with us and no one had seen her all day, so she probably didn't know about
the troll. Parvati said something about finding you,” he said, looking at me, “in the bathroom, so
Ron and I raced up there as fast as we could.”

“And what happened then?”

“The troll was just going into the bathroom when we showed up—that was the same night we saw
Snape rushing off to Fluffy's corridor—so we had the brilliant idea of locking it in the
bathroom.”

Sally looked horrified. “But Hermione was in there!”

I nodded. “I thought I could escape the bathroom before it realized what I was doing, but then
the door shut and locked. I did the only thing I could at that point—screamed my fool head off for
help.”

“So you and Ron unlocked the door and Hermione escaped?” Sally questioned, looking at Harry. He
shook his head. “Then what happened?”

“They unlocked the door,” I said, feeling goose bumps break out along my arms as I remembered
looking up and seeing Harry and Ron in the doorway. “And then they fought the troll.”

I looked at Harry. “And won,” I finished.

Sally stared at Harry. “You and Ron beat a *troll* by yourselves?”

“It was luck, really…” he said, trying to deflect the attention from him. But I wasn't about
to let him diminish his accomplishment.

“No it wasn't, Harry,” I told him. “You know the *tenus calculus* spell, Sally; well,
we had just learned the spell that same day in Transfiguration, and when the troll came straight at
us with this giant wooden club, he performed that spell and turned the thing to stone.”

“The club?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It fell on the troll's head and that…was that,” I concluded, rather
lamely.

“Wow,” Sally breathed, leaning back in her chair again. She raised her eyes to the high, vaulted
ceiling and just stared up there. “I sure did miss a lot.”

“It was our fault you were even there,” Harry said, breaking in. “If Ron hadn't said those
things, or if I'd stopped him, you wouldn't have been in danger.”

His eyes were boring into mine, and I just leaned forward and laid my hand on his. “Harry,
don't beat yourself up over it. We all did stupid things—I shouldn't have holed up in that
bathroom all day.”

“But you were there because of me.”

I shrugged. “It doesn't matter anymore. Last term could have started out better, but it
didn't, so there's nothing we can do about that now. I'm just glad we're all
ok.”

Sally chuckled. “Except the troll, of course.”

“Yes, except the troll,” I agreed. Harry took his hand from under mine and rubbed his face for a
moment. He then stopped and appeared pensive.

“Have either of you ever felt like Snape can read minds?” he asked, slowly.

“Huh?” I intoned, startled by the bizarre question.

“Remember when Snape and McGonagall came into the bathroom?” he asked, and I nodded. They had
both been furious. “Well, after Snape looked at the troll for a little while, he looked up and just
stared at me for a minute. I felt like…it felt like he was reading my mind.”

Sally turned to me and arched an eyebrow, cutting her eyes toward Harry. I had been subjected to
several Snape-stares during the year, but they had never felt quite as extreme as he had
described.

“Better hope not, Harry,” Sally said, after a moment. “Because then he would know *we* know
about the Philosopher's Stone.”

“Which would be unfortunate,” I said. “We'll be ready during the match, Harry, in case he
tries anything.”

----------

True to our word, when the next Saturday rolled around, we all headed for the Quidditch pitch
with our wands safely tucked in our pockets. It was cold and misty and the ground was very wet and
muddy, but thankfully the rain had abated for a little while at least.

“D'ya have your wand, Hermione?” Ron asked for the third time, as we neared the stands.

“*Yes*, Ron,” I told him, exasperated. “Don't nag.”

He looked offended. “You and Harry are the best spell casters, and he'll be occupied with
the Snitch. Just wanted to make sure…” I smiled at his unintended compliment and let his nagging
go. If I had been a little older and wiser, I might have seen the irony in the situation—*Ron*
nagging *me*—but my mind was occupied with the match. I was worried about Harry so I wanted to
be extremely alert.

As we settled into our seats high in the stands, Neville pointed across the pitch and squinted
to get a better look.

“Hey, is that Dumbledore?” he wondered. I looked where he was pointing and, sure enough, saw
that Dumbledore was among the spectators.

“I think so,” Sally said, sliding into her seat between Neville and Ron. I was on Ron's
other side.

“Then we have nothing to worry about,” Ron said, succinctly.

“How do you figure?” I asked.

“If Dumbledore's here, Snape wouldn't possibly try anything.”

“Did Malfoy ever get punished for using that curse on you, Neville?” I asked, looking at Ron and
then Neville. They both shook their heads. “And McGonagall said that she was going to tell
Dumbledore about the incident, didn't she?” They nodded again. “Then why wasn't he
punished?”

“Come on, Hermione, this is *Dumbledore* we're talking about,” Ron said, sounding quite
sure of himself.

I pursed my lips. “And that means what?”

Ron gave me a strange look. “Weren't you the most skeptical about Snape going after the
Stone?”

“I still am,” I said, “but I don't think we should let our guard down just because
Dumbledore's here.”

“She's right,” Sally backed me up. “And if Snape doesn't try anything, someone like
Malfoy could—”

“What about Malfoy?” an all-too-familiar voice asked, just as the players rocketed into the air.
I gripped my wand tightly in my hand, trying to ignore Malfoy's words from just behind us. I
wanted to focus on Harry. The cheering for the start of the match grew so loud everything else was
drowned out for a moment.

“Look—look at Harry go!” Ron said. “Ouch!” he then cried, and turned abruptly in his seat to
stare at Malfoy. I turned sideways so I could keep one eye on the match and the other on the
developing situation between Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and the four of us.

Malfoy had an ugly smirk on his face as he sat down between his two cronies. “Sorry, Weasel. I
didn't see you there.” Ron glared at him for a moment and then turned back around in his seat.
I was happy for his restraint. Too bad Malfoy had none.

“I wonder how long Potter's going to keep his broom under control this time? The Nimbus
seemed like too much power for him to handle during the last match. Anyone want to bet? What about
you, Weasel?”

Boos ricocheted around the Quidditch pitch as Snape awarded Hufflepuff a penalty shot. There
were some cheers mixed in, but the overwhelming response was negative. I wasn't sure what had
happened, but it looked like George might have purposely hit a Bludger at Snape. I smiled
internally at the image of the greasy Professor getting hit with an iron ball. Harry was high above
the other players, circling the stadium at a very high speed, looking for the Snitch.

Once the jeers and boos had faded away, Malfoy started in again. The boy just didn't know
when to shut up.

“I think I've figured out how they choose people for the Gryffindor team,” he said, clearly
enjoying this. Though Ron and Neville were still facing forward, the mutinous looks on their faces
suggested their patience was wearing thin. Crabbe and Goyle were notoriously stupid, so I wondered
if they could prevent Ron and Neville from shutting Malfoy up. I wasn't about to stop them.

“It has to be people they feel sorry for,” Malfoy continued, and I resisted the sudden and
ridiculous urge to correct him: *it has to be people for whom they feel sorry*. Come on,
Malfoy! You can't end a sentence with a preposition! “See, there's Potter, who has no
parents, and the twin Weasels, who have no money—and you, Longbottom. You should be on the team.
You have no brains.”

I sighed, quickly becoming just as exasperated as Ron and Neville looked. Even Sally's brows
were furrowed in frustration at the constant heckling from Malfoy. It was hard to concentrate on
the match with his taunts always in our ears, even though nothing too exciting had happened
yet.

Neville turned slightly and stared Malfoy in the eyes. “I'm worth twelve of you,” he said,
and then turned back to the match. He ignored Malfoy's derisive laughter, and I silently
cheered for Neville. He had stood up for himself.

Staring up at Harry, Ron said, “You tell him, Nev.”

“Longbottom, if brains were galleons, you'd be poorer than Weasel here, and
*that's* saying something!” Malfoy responded.

“Malfoy, if you don't bloody well shut up—” Ron started to say, but I cut him off.

“Ron! Everyone! Look!” I shouted, standing and pointing at the sky. Harry had tumbled off an
invisible cliff and was diving straight toward the ground. He was accelerating at an amazing rate
and if my eyes weren't deceiving me, he had an enormous grin on his face.

“You're in luck, Weasel! Potter's obviously spotted a Sickle!” Malfoy said, standing
with the rest of us. Before I could do anything to stop them, both Ron and Neville had turned at
the same time and pounced on Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle joined the fray.

“Go Harry!” I screamed, willing him to catch the Snitch. The match had only been going for about
five minutes so far, and nothing ominous had happened. Snape had just refereed with his normal sour
look. If he ended it now, not only would that be an amazingly quick game, but our worry would have
been for nothing.

Sally turned toward the five fighting boys and tried to separate them with a few well-placed
*wingardium leviosas*, but they were too tangled. I was preoccupied with Harry's
incredible dive and couldn't be bothered with separating them. I just hoped that Ron and
Neville pummeled some good sense into Malfoy.

Ten feet from the ground, Harry pulled up and raised his arm triumphantly. The Golden Snitch
madly flapped its wings between his outstretched fingers, but it was a futile gesture. Harry had
captured the Snitch!

“Ron! Sally! Neville! It's over—Harry's won it! He has the Snitch!” I yelled, deciding
on the spur of the moment to lean forward and hug Parvati and Lavender, who were in front of me.
They laughed joyously in shared exuberance at the Gryffindor win and smiled back at me with rosy
cheeks.

“Alright!” Ron said, throwing Crabbe off and emerging from the pile with a bloody nose. Neville
and Goyle came next, each slightly worse for the wear. Malfoy was on the bottom, and he looked
severely shaken up. I wasn't very concerned for him.

“Yeah Harry!” Neville said, pushing Goyle away and rejoining Sally and me with Ron. Malfoy and
his goons slinked away behind us, staring coldly at our backs. I just glared at him over my
shoulder for a moment. Neville rubbed his black eye and winced, but he was smiling.

“He did it!” Ron yelled, loud enough for anyone near to hear. “We did it! Gryffindor's in
the lead! Woooo!” he cried, happiness pervading his voice. Just before we were swept up in the
collective celebration with other Gryffindor students, I glimpsed Dumbledore saying something to
Harry down on the field. Their eyes met—emerald green and ice blue—and they smiled at each
other.

After that, we let the waves of joyous students pull us toward the castle, just as twilight
settled over Scotland.

----------

That night, during the ensuing celebration in the Gryffindor common room, was the first time I
actually felt like a part of the magical world. Fred and George, Ron's ever-resourceful twin
brothers, had secured snacks and drinks from the kitchens, and the Gryffindor tower was raucous and
celebratory late into the night. At that moment, every Gryffindor, whether boy or girl or first
year or seventh year, was a part of the team; even though Harry had pointed out the flaw of the
House system back on the first night, it *was* good for something at least: unity amongst
housemates.

Academic pedantry and social squabbling fell away as we all rejoiced in our quick and amazing
victory. Many people praised Harry that night, and it was the first time of many his name was on
everyone's lips at Hogwarts. The players all arrived back at Gryffindor tower about twenty or
thirty minutes after all of us spectators returned, because they had changed and showered before
joining the party. Fred and George were good hosts; as soon as they entered the common room, they
went around making sure everyone had food and butterbeer.

Conspicuous in his absence, though, was Harry. I immediately noticed he was missing from the
returning team members, and I cornered one of the twins as the rest of the revelers were noticing
the same thing.

“Where's Harry?” I wondered.

“You're Hermione, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, and you're Fred? Or George?”

He laughed. “I'm Fred. You can tell us apart by this little mole on the bridge of my nose,”
he said, pointing to the dark mark. “And I don't know where Harry is. He was right behind us,”
Fred said, and then turned away, striking up conversation with someone much older than both of
us.

I was puzzled. I had no idea where Harry could have gone. I was still riding the high from his
unexpected catch of the Snitch, so I only had enough time to start worrying before the man of the
hour came through the portrait hole. He looked excited and anxious, which was an odd combination
considering the circumstances.

Everyone crowded around him and congratulated him on the spectacular catch, and if he was
overwhelmed by all of the sudden attention, he did a good job masking it. He graciously accepted
the praise, deflecting most of it toward Wood's brilliant Keeping or the twins' excellent
Bludger skills. Eventually, he made it through the crowd to where Ron, Sally, Neville, and I were
waiting for him.

“Harry!” I said, hugging him briefly. Sally did the same after I stepped back and Ron and
Neville clapped him on the back. Harry's cheeks were flushed with excitement.

“Where have you been, Harry?” Neville asked. “That was an awesome catch!” he added. Harry then
looked closely at Neville's black eye, and then I saw his eyes cut toward Ron's swollen
nose.

“We did it! We won—you won!” Ron exclaimed. “And Neville and I fought Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle,
and we won!” he said, sounding even more excited.

“Wow—nice one, you two!” Harry responded, admiring their handy work. “Does that hurt, Neville?”
Harry asked, pointing to his bruised eye socket.

“A bit,” Neville shrugged. “But it was worth it,” he said, smiling.

“Too right it was!” Ron agreed, smiling contentedly.

“So Harry—is that the fastest the Snitch has ever been caught?” I questioned. He shrugged.

“Maybe, but all that matters is that we won!”

“Of course,” I agreed, grinning. “So where were you?” I asked. “How come you weren't with
the rest of the team?”

He suddenly looked conspiratorial. “Think we can slip out of here for a bit? There's
something I need to show you all—it's why I was late.”

“More adventures?” Sally asked, sounding dubious. Ron and Neville simply looked curious. The
latter's recent fight must have given him a jolt of courage, because he would have balked just
a week before at nighttime adventures.

“No, no,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Just something I need to show you away from prying eyes
and ears,” he continued, glancing around the common room at the partying Gryffindors.

“Sure,” I said, “just tell anyone who asks that you left something at the pitch,” I suggested.
“We can all meet in that unused classroom just down the hall, if you want.” I was curious about
what had distracted Harry so thoroughly from his marvelous win, so I wanted to hear what was on his
mind.

The others agreed and he said he would meet us there. To avoid suspicion, we slipped out of the
common room one by one, and ten minutes later we were sitting at four desks in the classroom,
waiting for Harry.

The door opened and he came in. He had the Pensieve I'd bought him for Christmas in his
hands, and he set it on the large desk at the front of the room.

“Is that a Pensieve?” Ron asked. Neville looked like he recognized it as well, though Sally did
not.

Harry nodded. “It is. Hermione got me this for Christmas.”

Ron looked sideways at me. “Wicked.”

“I'm glad you approve,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

“What is a Pensieve?” Sally wondered.

“It plays memories like movies,” I told her, explaining it in Muggle terms. She still looked
mystified, but nodded in acceptance of whatever she about to see.

Harry put his wand to his temple and began to withdraw the pearly strand of his memory. “When I
was putting my Nimbus back in the equipment shed, I saw someone come out of the castle and head for
the Forbidden Forest. I knew it was Snape just by the way he walked, so I mounted my broom and
followed him from above. This is what I heard,” he said, and placed the strand in the Pensieve. He
swirled the magical essence and it coalesced into a murky image.

*From a high vantage point, I could see Snape; he was outlined by the bright moon as it shone
into some kind of clearing. There was another figure there, and after several seconds I realized it
was Quirrell by the turban on his head.*

*“I'm not sure why you w-wanted to meet here of all p-laces, Severus,” Quirrell said,
stuttering as usual.*

*“I thought we would keep this private,” Snape said, and his voice was low and menacing. He
sounded genuinely frightening, not just his usual sneering self.* *“Students are not supposed
to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all.”*

*If Quirrell was surprised by what Snape said, he didn't show it. The two men stared at
each other.*

*“Have you found out how to get past Hagrid's dog yet?” Snape asked, leaning forward and
putting his face into Quirrell's.*

*“But S-Severus, I—”*

*“You do not want me as an enemy, Quirrell,” Snape said, now sounding truly cold. Quirrell
took a step back.*

*“I d-don't know what you mean.”*

*“You know perfectly well what I mean. I cannot be fooled by your little bit of hocus-pocus.
I'm waiting.”*

*“Severus, I r-really don't think y-you g-get it—”*

*“Very well,” Snape overrode him. The viewpoint shifted slightly as Harry leaned forward to
better hear what Snape said. I felt slightly nauseous as the disconcerting shift in perception
settled. “We will have another chat very soon, when you have had time to think everything over and
are ready to decide where your loyalties lie.”*

*I saw a clear night sky with* *a* *bright moon and twinkling stars as Harry rose
into the sky on his broom.*

Deafening silence echoed through the classroom as we all considered what we'd just
witnessed.

“So we were right,” Ron said, sounding slightly sick. “It *is* the Philosopher's
Stone.”

“Yeah, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to steal it with him.”

It was very hard to deny Snape's involvement based on this evidence, and as much as I
didn't want to articulate it, Snape was now a very dangerous person.

“Snape asked if Quirrell knew how to get past Fluffy,” I said, slowly, listening to the
conversation again in my head. “And then he said something about Quirrell's hocus-pocus. Other
than Fluffy, there must be other things guarding the Stone.” It all seemed to make sense now.

“Sure, like enchantments,” Ron agreed.

“And Quirrell would have set something up to defend against the Dark Arts,” Sally said, and I
nodded. He did teach DADA, and was supposedly the most qualified to cast spells for that.

“That Snape would have to break through to get the Stone,” I concluded. It took us all a moment
or two, but soon enough we all looked shocked.

“You mean,” Neville started, sounding very worried, “the Stone's only safe because
Quirrell's standing up to Snape?”

“Snape will have the Stone before March,” Ron said, summing up perfectly the tone of all our
thoughts. I looked to Harry and saw him gazing into the sparkling contents of the Pensieve. It
reflected in wavy patterns off his face. He looked at all of us.

“We should go to Dumbledore.”

-->



15. Chapter Fourteen
--------------------



A/N: The readers have spoken! **Luna shall remain in Ravenclaw by a vote of 29-11.** And I
must say, I think the poll was a resounding success. Many of you justified your choice, which
provided me with some great insight. I've been keeping this story's chapters the same as
canon's so far, but I've had to split the Norbert chapter (pages 228 - 241 US edition) into
two parts. It would have been too long (this first part is 11,000 words). Hopefully that
doesn't bother you!

Chapter Fourteen

Winter Term - Easter Intercession 1992

I couldn't fault Harry's logic, but I was very uneasy about bringing these concerns to
Dumbledore. Anything we brought to the Headmaster regarding the Stone would immediately reveal to
him just how *adventurous* we really had been. And that meant Dumbledore would also know how
many school policies we had deliberately ignored.

Neville seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “But Harry…you know I don't like
what's going on, it all seems rather fishy to me—d'ya really think we should tell
Dumbledore everything we know?”

Harry appeared to consider it for a short while, staring once again into the shimmering contents
of the Pensieve. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders and slowly nodded his head.

“Why not? This whole thing is beyond us now…”

“It was from the start,” Sally reminded him, and he conceded the point by inclining his
head.

“True, very true. So I guess we should have gone to him much sooner.”

“I don't really think that's what Sally meant, Harry,” I told him, cottoning on to her
train of thought. “If Dumbledore finds out how much we know, he could just expel all of us.” My
heart raced a little at that thought. In exactly what kind of mess had we mired ourselves?

“He wouldn't do that,” Harry responded, sounding quite sure.

Ron, however, wasn't quite as confident: “You never know *what* he'll do, Harry.
He's one of the most powerful wizards alive, and we're messing in his business *and*
telling him about it…?” I glanced at Ron as he trailed off, sensing some genuine apprehension. It
seemed as if Ron still idolized the Headmaster.

“It might be best to keep this to ourselves,” Sally said, agreeing with the general tone of the
conversation. Harry looked disappointed for some reason, though I was not sure if it was directed
at anyone in particular.

“I think so too,” Neville added, looking slightly apologetic.

“How can he argue with the memory, though?” Harry asked. He looked at all of us in turn, leaning
back against the desk and crossing his arms. The pose struck me as very professorial.

“He can't,” Sally said. “But that doesn't mean he'll like what he sees.”

“And he has absolute power here, Harry. If he thinks we've meddled too much, then who
knows?” I told him, rhetorically highlighting the possibility of severe repercussions.

I was torn. I wanted to help Harry and figure out the mystery of who was really after the Stone,
but I did not want to jeopardize my place at Hogwarts doing so. Deep down I didn't think
Dumbledore would react severely—or severely enough to expel us—but I was fairly sure he
wouldn't be happy. He had explicitly warned everyone at the start-of-year feast away from the
third floor corridor, and we had figuratively gone *way* past that.

Harry sighed, dropping his head toward his chest. “I understand. I don't want any of you to
get into trouble. I *am* still bringing this to Dumbledore, though,” he affirmed. “I'll
understand if you don't want to come.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as, for the very first time, Harry's
leadership over all of us asserted itself. None of us realized it then, but this moment was
something akin to our first test in his young, naive eyes. What he was really doing was putting
forth an ultimatum: go with him to Dumbledore and show solidarity in this little quest or head back
to the common room and let school *rules* stand in the way of justice.

We were all so young and involved way over our heads, so the truth of situation was lost on all
of us in such explicit terms, even on Harry. I think I might have sensed something of Harry's
subconscious thought process, however, because I paused momentarily to consider my response.

“I don't think I can come,” Sally said. “You and Hermione just got me back into Hogwarts and
I don't want to put that at risk. I'm sorry, Harry,” she said, and I could hear the
sincerity in her voice. She looked crestfallen at not being able to go with him.

He smiled at her. “That's ok, Sally. You don't have to be sorry.”

“I'm going to have to pass too,” Neville said. “This doesn't seem like a good idea to
me.”

“Ok,” Harry said. He then looked at Ron and me. “Well?”

“This is the worst bloody idea,” Ron muttered, “but you know me. I'm in.”

I decided as Harry's eyes settled upon me that I couldn't let him down.

“I'm coming,” I told him. “Dumbledore won't be happy, but this is something he has to
know, even if *we* don't know all that's going on.”

He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”

He turned to the desk to collect the Pensieve and then started moving toward the door. He looked
back at us.

“We should go now,” he said. “It's getting late, and I don't know how long this will
take.”

“Alright,” I said.

We parted ways with Sally and Neville in the corridor and watched for a moment as they headed
back to the common room. Sally looked over her shoulder and met my eyes, but then they turned a
corner and were gone.

The three of us strolled through the castle to the Headmaster's office with very little
conversation. We all had many things on our minds, so it was understandable, but it was
disconcerting nonetheless. I wanted to ask Harry how he intended to approach this whole thing, but
the moment never seemed right. He walked with a determined purpose and his head high, so I assumed
that he knew how he would break the ice.

At some point it must have started raining again, after the brief respite during the match,
because the patter of rain upon the castle reached my ears. It was a lonely sound, magnified by the
dark, cold, and empty corridors we were traveling; I looked at Ron behind Harry's back and he
was staring at the floor.

Finally, with the sound of rain growing louder all along, we reached the gargoyle outside the
Headmaster's office. We stopped in front of the lifelike stone structure.

“Do either of you remember the password?” Ron asked.

“Candy cane,” Harry said. I admit that I was impressed he remembered, because our meeting with
Dumbledore had been some months before.

Stone eyelids moved upward revealing icy gray eyes that peered intently at us for several
moments. Then it spread its wings dramatically, causing us to step back two or three paces, and
moved to the side. I saw the revolving staircase through the just-revealed doorway.

“Right then,” Harry said, and Ron and I followed him onto the moving staircase. It deposited us
onto the landing outside of the Headmaster's office.

We stood there in silence. The wind-blown rain was the only sound reaching my ears. After thirty
seconds of standing there and staring at the door, I moved forward and knocked on the wood. I
glanced at Harry and he nodded at me. There was possibly some doubt in his eyes, but we had come
too far to turn back.

“Enter!” a voice called, one which I knew to be Dumbledore's. The door swung open.

We walked into the Headmaster's office, and I once again marveled at the collection of
strange instruments, huge bookshelves, and countless portraits. His marvelous oak desk was still
the centerpiece of the room. Fawkes was sleeping on the perch near the window at the back of the
office. I could see the heavy rain blowing around the dark night through that same window, and I
could hear it cascading against the glass every now and then.

Dumbledore looked up from his desk and his eyebrows crept up in surprise, it seemed, at seeing
the three of us. He had on his traveling cloak and there was a packed bag on the corner of his
desk. He looked like he was finishing up some work and getting ready to travel somewhere.

“Good evening,” he said, closing something on his desk and motioning his hand toward the space
in front of us. Three familiar armchairs appeared and he directed us to have a seat. His tone was
brisk, albeit still friendly, at this late hour. I wondered where he was going.

“Evening, Professor,” Harry said, and I greeted him as well. Ron mumbled something nearly
incoherent.

“To what do I owe this pleasure? And so late at night, too,” he added, glancing at the large
grandfather cloak situated between one of the bookshelves and the window.

Harry removed the Pensieve from his robes and set it on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster
stared at it and then looked slowly at each of us. Harry's memory still sparkled in the shallow
basin.

Dumbledore responded by pushing a small dish of yellow candies toward us.

“Lemon drop?” he asked, reaching for the Pensieve and examining it. I didn't feel like
sweets this late at night and both Harry and Ron declined.

“This is splendid,” Dumbledore said, putting the Pensieve down on our side of the desk again.
“Where did you get it, Harry?”

Harry looked at me. I saw the memory of Christmas in his eyes, which caused me to smile. He
acknowledged mine with one of his own.

“Hermione got it for me for Christmas,” he answered. Dumbledore's gaze slid to me.

“Ah, how nice. It is a wonderful gift. But I am sure you did not come to see me at this hour to
show off your Christmas present—and you will excuse me for being brief, but I have to leave for ICW
business very soon.”

“ICW?” Ron wondered, looking up from the floor for the first time in awhile.

“International Confederation of Wizards,” Dumbledore responded. I rolled my eyes, thinking Ron
should have definitely known that. I hadn't even grown up in the Wizarding world and already
ICW were well-known initials.

“Oh,” Ron said.

“So,” Dumbledore continued, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the desk. His blue eyes
sparkled at us over his spectacles. “What can I do for you tonight?”

“Well, sir…” Harry started, and then trailed off. He stared at the Pensieve and I waited for him
to go on. Dumbledore looked on expectantly, though I saw his eyes dart toward the clock when Harry
said nothing more for at least a minute. I started speaking to save the moment.

“Sir, we think something very wrong is going on,” I said, and he refocused his attention toward
me. “Since last term we've been getting odd hints here and there about something hidden in the
castle, and recently we came across evidence that *someone* is trying to steal it.” I hoped I
was oblique enough to veil my explicit knowledge of the Stone, but also direct enough to make
Dumbledore understand.

His blue eyes hardened; Fawkes twitched on his perch.

“Hogwarts has many secrets,” he said, neither confirming nor denying my assumption.

“She does,” I agreed, nodding and thinking of the Mirror. “But as with anything, not all secrets
can be contained. At the beginning of the year, you mentioned something about the third floor
corridor being off limits—”

“For very good reason,” he said, interrupting me. This was not going at all how I wanted it
to.

“Yes, sir. We know that now. But we know what's behind that locked door, due to some rather
unfortunate circumstances…”

I lost my nerve to continue as Dumbledore continued to look more and more formidable. He
didn't look angry, exactly, but something about the gradual loss of the friendliness in his
face was quite upsetting. After I'd lost my voice, the continued sound of rain filled the
office.

“We know about Fluffy, sir,” Harry said, after a time, finally coming out and directly stating
some of the forbidden knowledge. Dumbledore pursed his lips. “And we know about Nicolas
Flamel—”

“These affairs do not concern you—”

“And about the Philosopher's Stone,” Harry finished, cutting the Headmaster off. For just an
instant, Dumbledore looked shocked, but then relative impassivity fell over his features. Some of
the portraits started grumbling, though none of their words were comprehensible and Dumbledore
looked sharply up at the walls, silencing them.

When his eyes returned to us, they were cold and had none of their usual twinkle. He still did
not appear mad, but this was the impartial Headmaster before us, not the friendly and benevolent
old man we'd come to know.

“So you have purposely broken many policies in the pursuit of this knowledge?” he questioned,
though it was obviously rhetorical.

Harry shook his head. He was disagreeing with the Headmaster! “No, sir…accidentally, really. We
stumbled across Fluffy after losing track of where we were—”

“I locked that door myself.”

Harry looked sideways at me. “Hermione and I combined *Alohomora* spells to open it. We had
no other option at the time.”

A new emotion flitted across Dumbledore's face and through his eyes, though it faded
quickly. It reminded me of the way dad looked when I'd brought home excellent grades from
primary school.

“I suppose I do not want to know why you had no other option. Why was an encounter with a
Cerberus not sufficient for your curiosity? Surely that would have warned off most sensible
students.”

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be offended or not—had Dumbledore just implied we
weren't sensible? Beyond that, however, I did not want Harry to bring Hagrid into this
conversation. His accidental slips had led to most of our knowledge, and I feared for his job if
Dumbledore found that out.

“I noticed a trap door in the very short time we were in that room,” I cut in. “The only reason
for the dog to be there would be to guard something, and the trap door was proof of that…”

“And?” Dumbledore prompted, clearly becoming impatient with us.

“And we saw Snape rushing off toward that corridor on Halloween,” Harry said. “Right after that
I saw his leg was all cut and bloody, so he must have had some kind of encounter with the dog.”

“*Professor* Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I hope I do not have to keep reminding you—oh
yes, Minerva told me of your little slip,” Dumbledore added, seeing the look of disbelief on
Harry's face. I saw Harry clench his jaw.

“But this still does not explain how you came to know about Nicolas Flamel or the
Philosopher's Stone,” the Headmaster said, settling into his chair.

“Right in here,” Harry said, tapping the side of the Pensieve with his wand. Dumbledore
considered it for a moment and then leaned across the desk, swirling it with his wand. As he did
so, he looked at Ron.

“You have very little to say, Mr. Weasley.” I noticed that Dumbledore had reverted to the use of
his surname. That could mean nothing good.

Ron's head snapped to Dumbledore. “Sir?”

“What is your involvement in all of this?”

Would Ron lie? Or would he tell the truth? I was curious to know, and I awaited his
response.

The redhead shrugged one shoulder. “I know everything they do, sir.”

“When I said you three could become very good friends, this type of thing was not what I had in
mind.”

The disappointment in his voice was palpable. Ron looked dejected and Harry looked angry, though
I could tell he was trying very hard to hide it.

The memory sprang from the Pensieve, projected over the desk, and we watched as the short scene
replayed itself. The three of us had already seen it and our shock was muted, but Dumbledore's
disbelief and anger were clearly evident after the image faded.

“So you violated yet another fundamental policy by flying into the Forbidden Forest?” Dumbledore
asked. The anger that had been absent before was now there, underneath his words.

“It was all so shady, sir,” Harry said, defending his actions. “A dark, cloaked figure slinks
from the castle toward the forest…of course I want to know what's going on!”

“Harry, you cannot continue to seek answers to whatever questions you have without thought to
the consequences. What you find could be dangerous. Did you not think about this before flying over
the Forest?”

Harry shrugged. “It wasn't on my mind, sir. And what about that *thing* in the castle?
Isn't that dangerous for the students?”

“There is a reason that corridor is off-limits.”

“With simply a locked door? One that Hermione and I could get through? Something's wrong
there, sir.”

“Indeed, something *is*. You should not meddle in affairs that do not concern you; none of
you should. The Stone and Flamel are my personal business, and quite frankly I'm very
disappointed that you would pursue these matters to such an extent.”

I deflated. Ron looked absolutely miserable. Harry still plugged on, however.

“Then what about Snape? What was he doing in the forest with Quirrell?”

Dumbledore stood abruptly. He placed his palms on the desk and leaned toward us. His face was
cold and unmoving. Fawkes moved restlessly on his perch, still asleep.

“You will refer to him as *Professor* Snape, Harry. That is one point from Gryffindor for
your repeated disrespect of a Hogwarts Professor.”

Harry shrugged it off, amazingly. I wasn't sure if I should stop Harry or not. They were
almost yelling at each other now.

“But that doesn't answer my question. Don't you think *Professor* Snape might be
trying to steal the Stone?”

Suddenly Dumbledore laughed, and it was a harsh, condescending noise. I hated it, and I could
tell both Harry and Ron did not enjoy it, either.

“You do not know anything about this,” the Headmaster said. “Making assumptions based on stolen
information and uninformed prejudices will lead you to dead ends and wrong conclusions. I think it
is best you forget about this entirely,” he said, clearly concluding our meeting. He straightened
up and organized some things on his desk. When none of us moved after a moment, he looked up
expectantly.

“I think that is all for tonight,” he said. “I must quickly finish up some things before I
leave.”

Harry fidgeted for a second. Then he stood from his chair and stared at Dumbledore.

“But if you're gone who will be here to protect the Stone?” There was genuine concern in his
voice. “Anyone could go for it!”

An unconcerned smiled settled over the Headmaster's face. “I doubt that. The Stone is
perfectly safe, even from those who should not know about it in the first place.”

“Wouldn't you be letting your friend down if something happened to it?” Harry asked, and I
instantly knew he'd finally crossed the line.

The room rapidly filled with some kind of pressure, and after a moment I realized it was
Dumbledore's magical presence. His blue eyes smoldered in their sockets.

“Nothing will happen to the Stone! This discussion is over. Please return to your dormitory or I
will be forced to deduct more points from Gryffindor!”

“I can't believe—” Harry started, but I laid a hand on his arm. At the same time, Fawkes
woke up, and with a soothing croon, glided to the desk. He landed between Harry and Dumbledore,
looking serenely between them. He crooned several more times, and slowly the atmosphere in the room
settled.

Harry looked at my hand on his arm and then into my eyes, and I saw something like regret and
appreciation mixed in there. When we looked again to Dumbledore, he was idly stroking Fawkes. His
expression had softened and turned inward.

“I *do* have some pressing business overseas,” he said, still staring at the Phoenix.
Various papers on his desk arranged themselves into two neat piles and then flew into the open bag,
which then slid across the desk into his waiting hand. “You will excuse me for not staying and
indulging this fantasy any longer. Please see yourselves out,” he said.

In the second before Fawkes and Dumbledore flashed out of the office in something of a
firestorm, the Headmaster looked at me. I could never be sure, but I thought I might have seen
remorse reflected in his eyes. But then they were gone; as the fire faded, we stared at the empty
space behind his desk.

Harry exhaled heavily and sat down. He put his head in his hands.

“That could have gone better,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

“At least we only lost one point,” I said. Harry started laughing at that, though it was a
hollow sound. In fact, its hollowness mirrored the sound of the rain all around us, still sweeping
against the castle.

“Why's it so sodding hard to believe that Snape could be going after the Stone?” Harry
asked.

“Dunno,” Ron said. “*We* know he's a git.”

“Not that I'm defending Snape,” I said, “but what if we really don't know what's
going on? What if what you saw in the forest means something completely different and we're
just fitting it to what we know?”

Harry and Ron looked at me. “Do you *really* think that, Hermione?” Harry asked. I
shrugged. “Because if you do, then I'll take your word for it. I'll just drop it right
here, right now.”

Ron scoffed. “After all that, you're just going to forget about it? You saw how he acted,
Harry…” he faded away. “*Something* is going on here.”

“Yeah, three kids are messing in his personal affairs,” I said.

“Do you, Hermione?” Harry asked, reiterating his question.

I wanted to tell Harry that we should just drop it, that we should forget about this whole
thing. I desperately wanted to say that we could move on from this ordeal without looking back and
without any reason to believe that perhaps we were making a mistake. I wanted to return to my
normal school life, filled with my relatively new friends and all the books I could read.

But I couldn't do that. Something didn't sit right with me, and as Ron pointed out the
Headmaster had reacted strangely. He had been angry, but had held back as well. He had even, as far
as I could tell, made a quick exit to avoid showing us his remorse. So I slowly shook my head at
Harry, and he seemed relieved that I didn't think we should forget everything.

“I think Quirrell and Snape are definitely up to something,” I said. “I *also* think we
should have more tact about this in the future. I don't know how much more meddling Dumbledore
will tolerate.”

“I think he barely tolerated it tonight,” Harry said, retrieving the Pensieve from the desk.

“You kids get out of here!” one of the portraits exclaimed, shaking a bony finger at us. Other
portraits nodded in agreement and began grumbling at us.

“Don't you think you've caused enough trouble for tonight?”

“Young people have no respect, these days…”

“You should be ashamed of yourselves…”

We heard these words thrown at us as we retreated toward the exit.

“Off to bed now, impudent Gryffindors.”

Ron finally snapped: “Oh shut up, ya bloody wankers!”

There were some affronted gasps, but we were out the door before any of them could say anything
further. I didn't even have the heart to rebuke Ron for his language. It had been a long and
tiring day; all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and close my weary eyes.

----------

Time is a funny thing. One instant I was obsessing over the Stone and the surrounding mystery;
the next instant—only a brief shutter-click away—I found myself studying for Winter exams.

Our ill-fated conversation with Dumbledore took place the night of February 22nd. After we left
his office that night, we settled on some kind of tacit agreement to let sleeping dogs lie—no pun
intended—for the time being and focus on school once again. Neville and Sally were not surprised at
how the meeting had turned out, and were quite happy that we'd only lost one point for
Gryffindor.

The milieu of everyday life consumed us after that; our days were filled with classes, homework,
extracurriculars, Quidditch for Harry, and other mundane things. And because we were so busy, time
flew by without us noticing, so that when April rolled around with much nicer weather, I looked
back on the preceding month and a half and wondered where it had gone.

The days hadn't seemed to go very fast, but at the end of it all looking back I questioned
how the forward movement of our lives had passed by so unnoticed. I think this is a phenomenon
everyone feels at some point—just when you want to enjoy life to its fullest and make the most of
the days, they accelerate and suddenly you're two months or two years further on.

My feelings mirrored this on the tenth of April, which happened to be a Friday, when Harry and I
headed for the library to get in some quality studying time for the impending exams. They ran from
the fourteenth to the sixteenth and then we had a three-day weekend for the Easter holidays. Sally,
Ron, and Neville had begged off the studying, citing Friday night as a reason. I wasn't worried
about them, though. Ron had picked up the slack enough to resemble a student who cared about his
classes; Neville was slightly above average and worked hard for his grades, so I knew he would
study at some point; Sally had to do well on these exams to be considered caught up, but she had
seemed fine in our latest review sessions.

I was the top student in our class and Harry was number two, so we obviously took our studies
seriously and not only learned the material, but mastered it as well. Case in point: Harry's
annihilation of that troll with the *tenus calculus* spell, which we had only learned that day
in class. At that point in our first year, I already knew that Harry was more powerful than me, but
that I would probably be able to retain and effectively use more spells than him. In some fantastic
part of my imagination, I realized that we would make a formidable dueling team: his power for
sheer offensive might and my depth for defensive prowess.

The two of us entered the library that evening and wound our way through the cramming students
to our favorite table near the back, coincidentally also near the Restricted Section. There were
very few students back here and it was quiet, which was perfect for us. We could quiz each other
without disturbing other students and also read uninterrupted, if needed.

As we pulled out our books and settled in for the evening, I reflected on the fact that we had
seen very little of Dumbledore since that rainy February night. He had appeared at very few meals
and I had only seen him twice in the corridors since then. He had been cordial both times, either
ignoring or moving on from the confrontation. When I asked McGonagall about his absence in late
March, she said his business with the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards had
been taking him away from Hogwarts very often. It was a strong reminder that the Headmaster was
juggling Hogwarts with all of his other responsibilities.

Harry and I started in on *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi*. After nearly an hour of
relentless memorization of various plants and their uses, movement near our table drew our
attention to the stacks. I glimpsed a dark, hulking form and reached for my wand without
thinking.

“Hagrid!” Harry exclaimed, though it was barely above a whisper. The large, friendly man
shuffled into view, plainly concealing something behind his back. One thing Hagrid could never be
was inconspicuous.

“What are you doing in the library?” Harry asked.

“Jus' lookin',” he said, glancing over our heads and all around us—anywhere *but*
us, really. “An' what're you doin'?”

Harry met my eyes and I could see something mischievous in his face.

“Looking for some information on Flamel,” he answered.

Hagrid opened his mouth to respond, probably to rebuke us, but then I saw him look at the books
on the table. He smiled triumphantly.

“Nice try, `arry, but I see those Herbology books. Yer studying fer exams, aren't yeh?”

“Yes,” I answered, somewhat surprised, though unsure of why, that Hagrid was astute enough to
notice our textbooks. “We found out about Flamel ages ago. And we know that Fluffy is guarding the
Philosopher's Sto—”

“*Quiet!*” Hagrid whispered, fiercely, cutting me off. He peered through the closest stacks
to make sure no one was listening. “Don' go shoutin' off about it, `ermione. What's the
matter with yeh?”

Harry rushed to my defense. “There are actually a few things we wanted to ask you, because
you've been such a big help so far. What's guarding the Stone other than Fluffy—?”

“*Not here!*” Hagrid cut in again. He looked nervous and kept shifting around whatever he
had behind his back. “Listen, come an' see me later, yeah? I'm not promisin' anything,
don' forget, but don' go botherin' about it in here. Students aren' s'posed ter
know. They'll think I've told yeh…”

Harry and I stared at him as he stood there, looking quite uncomfortable. He had, in essence,
told us most of what we knew. We had put a few of the pieces together here and there, but much of
the credit went to Hagrid.

“See you later, then?” I asked, hoping to break the awkward moment. Hagrid nodded slowly and
moved off, careful to keep whatever he was holding out of sight.

Harry leaned toward me; some of his jet hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it impatiently
away.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” he asked.

“Could it have something to do with the Stone?” I then asked.

Harry pushed himself out of the chair. “I'm going to see what section he was in. I'll be
right back.” He walked around the table and moved past me into the stacks, but as he went by he
briefly laid his hand on my shoulder. It was a nice gesture of friendliness.

He had two books with him when he returned, which he dropped on the table in front of me.

“Dragons!” he whispered. “He was researching about dragons.” I could feel his eyes on me as I
examined the titles of the books: *Dragon Species of Britannia* and *From Egg to
Inferno*.

I looked up. “But why?”

“Hagrid's always wanted a dragon,” Harry said, sitting down. “He told me the day I learned
about magic.”

“Aren't they illegal?” I questioned. “Binns said something about dragon breeding being
outlawed.”

Harry grinned at me. “Something? *Hermione Granger* doesn't remember exactly what one
of her professors said?” He put a hand to his heart and looked shocked.

“I'm not perfect, you know,” I responded, sticking my tongue out at him. He just raised his
eyebrows at me.

“I believe Binns said it was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709,” Harry said,
recalling the information I instantly knew to be right.

“Well, I'm impressed,” I told him. He looked pleased. “I guess we need to do some studying
for History of Magic, too.”

“Hagrid's first?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “But I wonder what he's up to…?”

We packed up our things and left the library, exiting the castle into the rather balmy spring
evening. Our footsteps squelched in the soft earth as we descended from the castle proper across
the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Harry knocked on the door and we heard some shuffling noises from within.

“Who's'it?”

“Just us, Hagrid,” Harry answered. The door opened and he was there, beckoning us quickly
inside. He shut the door just after I'd fully crossed through the entryway.

The first thing I noticed was how hot it was inside. The warm April evening was a nice relief
from the dreary winter months, but Hagrid seemed to be ignoring the weather. He had a fire raging
in his hearth and all of his windows and shutters were closed. I glanced at Harry as he loosened
his collar. There was a similar question in his eyes. We sat at Hagrid's table, where he joined
us after a moment of tending the fire. His beard looked singed.

“Yeh wanted to ask somethin'?”

“Yes,” I said, wanting to cut to the chase. “We were wondering what is guarding the Stone
*other* than Fluffy?”

“Why?” Hagrid answered, frowning through his beard. “I don' know meself and yeh know too
much already, anyway. It's here for a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I
s'pose yeh've figured that out fer yerselves? I dunno how yeh even knew abou'
Fluffy…”

“Hagrid,” I said, interrupting his rather scattered train of thought. I supposed flattery might
work on him. “You might not want to tell us, but we know you know almost everything that happens
around here. Professor Dumbledore trusts you enough for that…we only wondered who else he trusted
enough to protect the Stone.”

Hagrid was smiling now, and Harry was smiling at me. The whole thing was a little underhanded,
and I felt like I was taking advantage of Hagrid, but we had to know. Dumbledore had not provided
us with satisfying answers, and that route was closed to us now. Seeing Hagrid in the library had
ignited some of the old curiosity, which had been so easy to forget. I sensed that Harry felt the
same way.

“Well, how could it hurt? Let's see…he borrowed Fluffy from me; then some of the teachers
did enchantments, like Professor Sprout, an' McGonagall, an' Flitwick… Quirrell also, and
o' course Dumbledore too. Oh, an' Professor Snape,” he said, counting them on his
fingers.

“*Snape?*” Harry asked, eyes widening.

“Yeh,” Hagrid grunted. Then he realized why Harry was so shocked. “Yeh don't still think
Snape's going after the Stone, do yeh?”

“Well…” Harry said.

“We're not sure, Hagrid. Harry saw something very suspicious the night of the Quidditch
match against Hufflepuff, and when we went to Professor Dumbledore—”

“Just a mo'! *Dumbledore* knows you kids know about all of this?” Hagrid looked
positively bewildered, and possibly a little afraid.

“Don't worry,” I said, appeasing him. “He doesn't know *how* we know.”

“But that's not the point,” Harry cut in. “Professor Dumbledore reacted very strangely to
what we had to show him—”

“O' course he would! Yeh both are meddlin' in his business…tha's not very smart
o' yeh,” he told us, looking disappointed. It reminded me of how Dumbledore had looked.

“But if Snape was in on the protections, he would have been able to find out about the other
enchantments,” Harry pushed on.

“Except for Quirrell's and how to get past Fluffy, it seems…” I added. None of this was
looking very good for our illustrious Potions Professor.

“You're the only one who can get past Fluffy, right?” Harry asked.

“An' Dumbledore, o' course,” Hagrid answered. He sounded very proud. “And tha's the
way it'll stay, if I have anything ter say about it.”

“That's something, at least,” Harry said. He pulled on his collar again, suffering just as
much in the heat as I was. I glanced toward the fire, wondering not for the first time why it was
lit. “Can we open a window, Hagrid?”

“Can't. Sorry,” Hagrid responded, shortly.

Looking at the fire again, I noticed something dark in the embers, though it was obscured by the
flames. I nudged Harry and nodded in the direction of the hearth, and he looked over there too. He
stared at it for several moments.

“Hagrid—what *is* that?” he asked.

Then I remembered what Hagrid had been looking at in the library—dragons, or more specifically,
information on *eggs*. But Hagrid wouldn't be thick enough to have a dragon egg in his
hut, would he?

“What?” Hagrid asked, following Harry's eyes. “Oh,” he chuckled, nervously.
“That's…er…”

“Why do you have it?” Harry asked, moving closer to the fire to look at the egg. I joined him
and saw that it was perfectly ovular and had a sleek, smooth surface as black as Harry's
hair.

“Won it las' night,” Hagrid answered, coming over to the fire as well and stoking the coals.
He was beaming down at the egg. “I got into a game o' cards with some bloke in Hogsmeade.”

I asked the next logical question: “But what do you plan to do with it once its hatched?”

“I've bin doin' some readin',” Hagrid said, waving toward the books on his bed. I
had to duck out of the way of his huge hand. “It's all in there. Keep the egg in the fire
because their mothers breathe on `em…an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy
mixed with chicken blood every half hour.”

“But it's a *dragon*,” I reminded him. “Dragons breathe *fire*.”

“I know,” he said, sounding completely enraptured. “Ain't it a riot?”

“You live in a wooden house, Hagrid,” I said, simply. Harry shook his head slightly, smiling to
himself. Harry might have found it amusing, but Hagrid could get into serious trouble for this.

Hagrid shrugged. “Won' be a bit o' bother,” he said.

“Do you at least know what kind of dragon it is?” Harry asked, sounding resigned.

“Sure do,” Hagrid said. “Norwegian Ridgeback—quite rare, they are.”

We left soon after that. We immediately returned to the Gryffindor common room to inform Ron,
Neville, and Sally of the latest development in this wild year. We weren't sure they would all
be there, but as it was quite late, we assumed they would have returned by now. And sure enough,
when I emerged into the room through the portrait hole, the three of them were sitting on a sofa by
the fire.

“Oi, you two,” Ron called, waving us over. Sally was reading on her back with her legs thrown
over an arm of the sofa. She laid the book across her chest when she saw us. Neville and Ron were
playing chess, using the other half of the sofa as a playing surface.

“Hullo,” Harry said, sitting on the floor near them. I put my bag on the low table between the
sofas and joined him on the floor. “What've you lot been up to?” he asked.

Neville shrugged. “Not much. We went outside for a bit, but it's too muddy to do much.”

“What are you reading, Sally?” I asked.

She smiled at me, turning and curling her legs so she was facing us. “Reviewing for Defense,”
she answered, closing the book and tossing it to me. It was *The Dark Forces: A Guide to
Self-Protection.*

“How was studying?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows at me and looking at Harry. I couldn't
suppress the bemused smile that fell across my lips.

“Fine,” Harry said, “though we have more problems.” They all looked confused, wondering what he
was talking about.

Harry and I filled them in on our discussion with Hagrid that had started in the library and
moved to his hut. Ron was the most shocked of all when we told them about the egg, which surprised
me because for some reason I thought he would have liked it. Neville and Sally did not know what to
say.

“But he can't have one,” Ron said, pointing out the obvious.

“We know that, Ron,” I told him, trying not to sound annoyed. We had just been through all of
this with Hagrid.

“It's against our laws, Hermione,” he said. “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the
Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that—”

“Everyone? Or just purebloods?” I asked. “The only reason Harry and I knew that was because of
History of Magic.”

He looked properly rebuked, and inclined his head to acknowledge my point. “Still, it's hard
to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the garden…”

“And you can't tame dragons, anyway,” Neville said. “It's too dangerous. I grew up on
horror stories of encounters with wild dragons.”

“You should see the burns Charlie has from wild ones in Romania,” Ron agreed.

“Are there wild dragons in *Britain*?” Harry asked.

“Of course there are,” Ron said, sounding happy to know something we didn't for once. I must
admit, Ron's working knowledge of the magical world was useful at times. “Common Welsh Greens
and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. My dad has a
few stories about dragons…we have to keep putting spells on Muggles to make them forget.”

“Hagrid must know all of this,” I said.

“I'm sure he does,” Sally agreed. “But it sounds like he doesn't care.”

“Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life?” Neville asked. Harry chuckled and soon we
were all laughing.

----------

Winter term ended after our last exam on the sixteenth. The last three days had been filled with
studying and tests, but I was confident that I had done well. There were a few Transfiguration and
Charms theory questions that were challenging, but nothing else had given me pause. We wouldn't
find out the results of the exams until after Spring term had started, so for now we had the three
day Easter holiday weekend to enjoy.

I slept later than usual on Friday, the seventeenth, and when I descended to the common room, I
found Harry, Ron, and Sally already there.

“Morning,” I greeted them, yawning a bit and running my fingers through my hair. I frowned at
the tangles.

“Hullo there, Hermione,” Harry said, motioning for me to sit down on the sofa. Sally was on his
other side and Ron was stretched out on the floor, staring up at the high ceiling. He had what
looked like a letter in his hands.

“Where's Neville?” I asked, settling into the sofa.

“Probably still sleeping,” Ron answered, from the floor.

“Lazy bum!” Sally exclaimed, though she was joking. “What are your plans for this weekend?” she
asked.

“Dunno really…” Harry said. “Dean and Seamus were talking about playing some football tomorrow.
They wanted to get all of us in on it.”

“What's football?” Ron asked, sounding intrigued. Sally, Harry, and I just looked at each
other. Ron was *obsessed* with Quidditch and he didn't know what football was? There
really was an impossible gulf between the Muggle and magical worlds.

“A sport,” Harry told him, and Ron perked up even more. “It's kind of like Quidditch, except
you only use one ball and you're not on brooms.”

“Not on brooms?” Ron asked, sounding disappointed. “Sounds dull.”

“Don't let Dean or Seamus hear you saying that,” I warned. “They'll bore your ear off
for hours trying to convince you otherwise.”

“Come to think of it, kind of like Ron does with Quidditch?” Sally wondered, looking at me and
winking.

“Quidditch is *not* boring!” he retorted.

“Then you shouldn't think football is, either,” Harry said. “Dean or Seamus will probably
tell us more sometime today. I think it could be fun. We haven't done much outside since last
fall.”

“Well, you have Quidditch practice,” I reminded him.

“Fine, *other* than my Quidditch practice,” he added, shaking his head a bit and pushing on
my arm. “Speaking of that…” he trailed off. He leaned toward me.

“How about we take that broom I got you for Christmas out to the pitch this weekend? Maybe
Sunday sometime?” he suggested, whispering the words in my ear. He had suddenly invaded in my
personal space, but I wasn't uncomfortable.

Flying still didn't excite me, but I wanted Harry to know I appreciated his thoughtful gift.
The training broom had sat with my things in the dormitory since we returned to Hogwarts, nearly
forgotten, so I supposed this would be as good an opportunity as any to try it out.

“Sure,” I whispered back. “As long as you catch me if I fall.” I could feel his smile as he
leaned away.

“What are you two so thick as thieves about?” Sally wondered, looking at us suspiciously.

“Probably planning a study session,” Ron said, from his vantage point on the floor. He grunted
when I pressed my foot lightly into his stomach.

“What's that you have?” I asked, noticing again the letter in his hands. He glanced at it
and then continued staring at the ceiling.

“Letter from home,” he said, shortly.

“Parents?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. “Nah. From my little sister.”

“Aw, you have a little sister? That's so cute she writes you letters,” Sally said, and Ron
made a disgusted face.

“Ginny's anything but cute,” he said. “She's a little terror and she'll do anything
to get what she wants.”

“Oh, Ron, don't be so hard on her. How many older brothers do you have? She and your mum
have to be strong against all those males,” I told him.

“Ha!” Ron said, glancing at the letter. “That's what you think—she actually wrote me this
because mum's driving her spare. Said it's bloody suffocating at home and she can't
wait for Hogwarts.”

“She starts next year? Or when?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, next year. She's only a year younger than me.”

I realized that I did not when Ron was born. “When's your birthday?” I asked.

“March 1st, 1980,” he said.

“Oh, so we missed it?” Sally pointed out. “Sorry, Ron. Happy twelfth.”

He waved it off. “No big deal.”

We exchanged birthdays after that, for future reference. It's amazing how something like
that had never come up in casual conversation before. Sally's was November 14th, 1979;
Harry's was July 31st, 1980; I told them mine was September 19th, 1979; Ron informed us that
Ginny's was August 11th, 1981.

“So you're the oldest, huh?” Ron questioned, looking at me.

“Suppose so,” I responded, not really caring. Sally was less than two months younger than
me.

“And I'm the youngest,” Harry added. “Besides your sister.”

“When's Nev's birthday?” Sally queried.

“July 30th,” a new voice answered, and we all turned our heads to see Neville walking toward us.
He wondered why we'd wanted to know and we told him about sharing our birthdays with each
other. So we all told him, as well.

“Nev, you were born on July 30th, 1980?” Harry asked.

He nodded. “That's right.”

“Wow, so I'm only one day younger than you.”

“Kind of a coincidence,” Sally said. “I mean, what are the chances that out of only five of us,
two would have birthdays so close to each other?”

“Small world, I guess,” Neville said.

Friday passed easily, with us enjoying the time off from classes and studies as much as we
could. I spent some of Friday reading one of the novels from home, but after awhile I joined the
others by the fire. Dinner was provided in the common rooms that night for those who wanted it, so
we ate our delicious meals at the hearth.

Dean had told us about the football game planned for the next day, and it sounded fun and
interesting. All ten first years were going to play; apparently Dean, Seamus, and Lily had played
extensively before coming to Hogwarts, and Harry said he'd played a few times at his primary
school.

Saturday dawned warm and sunny—it seemed that we had finally left the last vestiges of winter
behind—so after breakfast we all meandered outside. Dean had wanted everyone to meet down by the
lake so the teams could be set.

I discarded my robes for jeans and a long sleeve t shirt, and when I examined myself in the
mirror before heading outside, I realized that my body was developing more rapidly than I'd
expected. Perhaps it was because the robes constantly obscured the actual shape of our bodies, or
maybe it was because I just didn't care enough yet, but my chest had filled out some since I
last noticed. If I was going to play soccer in just this shirt, I definitely needed a bra. So I put
one on and met Sally in the common room.

She was dressed similarly, reverting to Muggle attire like me when Muggle activities were
involved, and as I had noticed at Christmas, she was also growing into a young woman. She seemed to
be somewhat further along than me, though. We didn't talk about it, and instead just headed for
the shore of the lake, where we could see several people standing around.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville were already there; after Sally and I arrived, Lily, Parvati, and
Lavender made an appearance. Harry and Ron were the last two to show up, though they weren't
far behind the girls. Teams were set: Dean, Ron, Neville, Lily, and Parvati; Harry, Seamus, Sally,
Lavender, and me.

Ron examined the football for quite some time, trying to figure out why it didn't float
above the ground by itself. When Seamus explained that football involved *feet* and not hands
or Beater bats or broomsticks, Ron shook his head in bafflement and resigned himself to learning
through experience.

The game itself was a hilarious experience. Dean and Seamus and Lily dominated, of course, but
Harry did alright too. I even held my own when the ball came to me; it was nice to exert myself for
once, and as I kicked the ball as hard as I could across our makeshift field toward Harry, I let
out this *whoop* of joy. I received some interesting looks, but I think it might have broken
the ice, because everyone seemed to enjoy themselves much more after that. Playing that game of
football made me realize just how few physical activities we participated in at Hogwarts. Aerobics
weren't a priority with witches and wizards, it seemed.

The other team, with Dean and Lily, ended up winning with three straight goals to close out the
game, but we were all rosy-pinked and huffing and puffing with barely contained glee, regardless. I
congratulated Dean and Seamus on the stellar idea and told them I hoped we could do more things
like this in the future. Even Lavender and Parvati, who I'd long considered girly-girls, had
seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves. Lily had shattered my flighty impression of her when she
scored with a perfect bicycle kick. Dean and Seamus had stars in their eyes after that one.

Most of us relaxed for the rest of Saturday, easing away any soreness from the game and resting
after that sudden exertion of energy. Ron's twin brothers wanted to know how the game went, and
surprisingly Ron described the action fairly well. They commented that perhaps `Ronnie-kins'
had a new sport to fawn over.

That night, when we five girls were getting ready for bed, Lavender asked Lily the question that
had probably been burning in her mind all day:

“When did you learn to play football like that?” she asked. She made an odd motion with her
hands, simulating to some degree the bicycle kick. Lily sat on the edge of her bed and turned her
blue eyes toward Lavender, smiling and brushing her straight, light brown hair out of her face.

“My dad is a Muggle,” she reminded Lavender. “He grew up on football and had a chance to go pro,
but didn't because of mum and then me. So I've been playing as long as I can remember,” she
said, turning back her covers.

“You must have,” Parvati said, lying on her stomach, on her bed, and placing her chin in her
hands. “Because whatever you did when you scored that one time was really incredible.”

“Thanks,” Lily said, smiling again.

“What's it called?” Sally asked. “What you did, I mean.”

“A bicycle kick,” Lily answered, loving the attention.

“I want to try it sometime,” Lavender said, giggling.

Lily suddenly grew serious. “Don't ever try it by yourself, Lav,” she warned.

Lavender pouted. “Why not?”

“Because you could really hurt yourself. If you landed on your head you could break your
neck.”

“Are we witches or what?” Lavender asked, laughing. “If I hurt myself like that, it's
nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix with one night in the Hospital Wing.”

“You should probably listen to Lily, either way,” I said. “I think she knows what she's
talking about. And besides, if you wanted to learn how to do that, she would probably teach you.” I
looked to Lily for confirmation.

She nodded; I could see gratitude on her face for defending her warning. “Sure, of course. I can
teach all of you and we can play boys versus girls and smash them!” she exclaimed, and we all
started laughing at that. The five of us talked long into that night for the first time ever, and
it was interesting how comfortable it felt. I now appreciate the irony that it took a Muggle
activity as unexpected as football, but that night I was simply happy to be a part of the
conversation. Idly, I wondered about the girls that had tortured me during primary school, and what
they were doing now.

----------

“You ready for this, Hermione?” Harry asked, coming over to me in the common room the next
evening. We had all enjoyed a massive and scrumptious Easter feast earlier in the day, and many had
spent the rest of Sunday afternoon napping away their full bellies. I had been reading quietly in
the near-deserted common room for hours when Harry appeared from the dormitory.

“For what?” I wondered.

“For your lesson!” he said, smiling at me.

“Oh, right! Yes…let me change and get the broom,” I said, trying to cover that Harry's
planned lesson had slipped my mind. He didn't seem to notice, and if he did I doubt he cared.
We'd had a full weekend so far and he'd only mentioned it in passing on Friday.

“K,” he said, and I raced up the stairs to my dorm. I changed into Muggle clothes again,
remembering that broom-riding required pants from the infrequent flying lessons with Hooch. I found
the collapsible training broom and removed it from the package, and then returned to the common
room. Harry was waiting, dressed in his Quidditch jersey and a pair of jeans. The red and gold
jersey, with the large POTTER on the back, flattered him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet,
barely able to contain his excitement.

“Finally!” he said. “Come on!” He grabbed my free hand and pulled me across the common room and
out into the corridor. We rapidly descended through the castle and exited through the front doors.
We found ourselves immersed in the crisp evening air and the fading light of day. Harry was still
pulling me by the hand.

“Harry, easy,” I said, laughing lightly and pulling back on his hand. He looked at me and I
could see the excitement shining in his green eyes.

He did ease up and we strolled at a leisurely pace toward the pitch, which was deserted at this
hour. In fact, there wasn't a soul in sight. As we passed under the stands to reach the pitch,
I looked up and through the benches I could see the first stars twinkling down. I was glad I was
wearing a sweater because it was cooler than I'd expected.

We emerged onto the pitch and Harry led me to one corner; it was surrounded on three sides by
stands and the fourth by the Forbidden Forest.

“I'll be right back. I have to get my Nimbus from the equipment shed,” he said. I nodded and
watched as he walked across the pitch toward the stands on the far side. Without him by my side,
the expansive stadium was a lonely place, especially at the end of the evening like this. The
western sky was still fairly bright and provided enough light to see fifty or sixty meters, but the
eastern portion of the sky was growing dark, and quickly. I looked up again and saw those first
stars shining through all that unimaginable space between.

I reached up and, taking a band from my pocket, tucked my hair into a pony tail. The last few
inches of it fell over my upper back, resting on the outside of my sweater. I breathed deeply and
was rewarded with the clean, clear scent of the night air. In the silence of Harry's absence, I
could hear the peepers as they started in on their night song.

He strolled back into sight shortly thereafter, carrying the Nimbus and beckoning me toward him.
We met in the middle of the pitch and he swung astride his broom, where he hovered calmly, one
meter off the ground.

“So I guess just lay the broom on the ground,” he said, and I did as he directed. “When we had
those lessons with Hooch, did the broom jump into your hand when you said `up'?”

I shook my head. “It didn't *jump* into my hand, but it came eventually.”

He dismounted and laid the Nimbus on the ground. “Up!” he commanded, and it sprang into his open
palm. He looked at me. “You try it.”

I reached over my training broom and opened my hand. I took a deep breath and exhaled, watching
as the cloud of vapor dissipated in front of my face.

“Up!” I said, loudly. The broom slowly rose into my hand.

“Good job!” Harry exclaimed. I rolled my eyes at his patronization.

“Nothing like you, though.”

“It's a start. At least it only took one try,” he said. “One more time, and this time really
*see* the broom jumping into your hand. Really *want* it.”

I dropped the broom to the ground again and imagined the hard wood of the handle slapping
against the palm of my hand.

“*Up!*” I yelled, attempting to force my magic through the palm of my hand. Nothing
happened…and then the broom leapt to my hand like it was sucked there. The fading echoes of my
command twirled around the empty stadium.

“Very nice,” Harry told me, enthusiasm and pride evident in his voice. “Now, because that's
a training broom, it will only hover. You can't go up more than a few meters and you can't
go very fast. But if you feel comfortable with it I'll let you try the Nimbus—”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, smiling at his passion. Harry's zeal for
Quidditch was quite endearing, truth be told.

“Right,” Harry agreed, and although the light was fading too fast to clearly distinguish the
grin on his face, I could hear it in his voice. “So now you can sit on the broom like this. I
usually lean forward a little bit; otherwise it's uncomfortable after a little while.” He
demonstrated by swinging astride the broom again and leaning just ever-so-slightly forward.

“Be careful, though,” he warned. “If you lean forward too much, you'll start
accelerating.”

I nodded at his directions and swung my right leg over the broom. I settled on to the wooden
shaft and mimicked Harry's pose. I lost my balance for just a moment as the broom accepted my
weight and then rose slightly, so that the tips of my trainers could just barely reach the dewy
grass.

“Alright?” Harry asked, gliding to my side and gripping my upper left arm to prevent me from
nearly toppling again. I nodded shakily; I was glad he was right there beside me to prevent any
accidents. This floating feeling was something I had to get used to if I ever wanted to fly well,
which I kind of did so Harry and I would have something else in common. Just the few glimpses
I'd had this night, up close and personal, of how comfortable and natural Harry was with a
broom was enough to convince me.

Sure, I'd seen him play Quidditch several times, but he was way up in the sky and I was way
down in the stands, so I was removed from the action. I didn't get a chance to viscerally see,
as a spectator, the natural ease with which Harry commanded his broom. Now he was right next to me,
though, and I could tell he was more comfortable with the Nimbus than with anything else.

“I think so,” I responded, a little shakily. He loosened his grip on my arm and I drifted away
slightly. I held my breath for instant, feeling wobbly but not losing my balance again. I exhaled
and felt some of the sudden stress leave my shoulders.

“Ok,” Harry said. “Ok. Now, to move forward, lean forward a little more, like this.”

I watched as he pushed more of his weight toward the front of the broom, which dipped toward the
ground, and began to glide forward. His shoelaces were grazing the grass. He circled around and
stopped by my side again.

“Your turn,” he told me. “And I'm going to be right here the whole time.”

I tightly gripped the broom and slowly, *very* slowly, leaned forward some more. At first,
the training broom's forward movement was infinitesimal at best, but gradually it picked up
speed and soon enough we were cruising across the pitch at a very laid-back pace. Harry stayed next
to me for all of this.

“To stop, just ease up,” he said, and I followed his advice. I leaned back and the broom slowed
to a stop.

“Great job, Hermione!” he said, proudly, reaching across our brooms and briefly wrapping an arm
over my shoulders. Night was descending rapidly around us and I could just barely make out his face
near mine. His eyes shone in the darkness, however, and they were happy.

We had drifted toward the forested edge of the pitch, and it looked like a wall of darkness
rising out of the ground. He removed his arm from my shoulders.

“Ready to try again?” he wondered, and I nodded. For the next several minutes, we went over the
basics: starting, stopping, moving both backward and forward, and then finally turning. The last
bit gave me some trouble as I over-corrected a turn and toppled off the broom to the wet grass. We
were close to the Forbidden Forest again; I could smell its pungent night odor.

I landed on my back, laughing about my mistake, and stayed there as Harry pulled up next to me.
He was just a silhouette against the last traces of light in the western sky.

“I think that's enough for tonight,” he said, laughing along with me. He dismounted and
settled on to the ground next to me. We lay like that for awhile, staring up at the emerging night
sky.

The stars were out in force now, and I could also see the faintly glowing streak of the Milky
Way stretched above us. My world was filled with those stars, the sounds of the insects, and
Harry's presence next to me.

“Thank you,” I eventually said, turning my head to look at him. The grass rustled as he also
turned to look at me. I could see the distant lights of the castle reflected in his eyes, though
everything else was obscured in darkness.

“You're welcome,” he said, genuinely. His voice was warm and happy.

“So how do you think you did on the exams?” I asked, turning once again to the sky.

Some time passed before he responded, and in that time I realized that this would be a very
eerie location without Harry next to me. We were laying on the ground in near-pitch blackness at
the edge of the Forbidden Forest. But for some reason I was unconcerned, with him there too.

“I dunno. Well enough, I s'pose. They didn't seem too hard.”

“No, they didn't,” I agreed.

Conversation fell off after that. I enjoyed Harry's quiet company, but I wondered what he
was thinking about. We had already been through so much together, and we'd only known each
other for about eight months.

In time, he stirred and sat up, getting to his feet. I watched from the ground as he stretched
out his hand to help me up.

“Oh, look!” I cried, pointing straight up over our heads. He craned his neck and looked up into
the night sky. Several shooting stars streaked through the heavens above, fading away toward the
western horizon.

He looked down and I took his offered hand. After I was on my feet I didn't feel like
letting it go. He didn't seem to mind or didn't notice, because he said nothing as I
entwined my fingers in his. We grabbed our brooms with our free hands and started toward the
equipment shed across the darkened pitch.

“So what did you wish for?” I asked, assuming he would know the Muggle superstition of wishing
upon a falling star.

He squeezed my hand. “For good friends, always.”

-->



16. Chapter Fifteen
-------------------



A/N: Well, it's been quite the year! I just graduated summa cum laude from SUNY Geneseo and
I will be matriculating as an English graduate student at the University at Buffalo in September. A
note about this chapter: the end highlights a plot discrepancy between PS and HBP that I've
long wondered about…

Chapter Fifteen

Spring Term 1992

After the Easter holiday weekend was over, I entered the third and final term of my first year
at Hogwarts. My life had changed considerably during the year I'd spent in the magical world,
and it would certainly be changing much more before the rest of the year was over.

Classes started again on Monday, April 20 and I fell into the routine quite easily. We all found
out our winter term exam grades on Wednesday, and I was unsurprised to see all Outstandings. I even
had an O+ in Transfiguration, which was the only distinction between Harry's grades and mine.
He had all Outstandings as well, but no O+. Sally had one Outstanding and mostly Excellents; Ron
had a two Excellents and a bunch of Acceptables; and Neville had an even mix of Excellents and
Acceptables.

It was quickly apparent that the spring term was going to be a little different from the
previous two terms. Because of its shortened length, very little new material would be introduced,
except to prepare us for the following year. Much of the term would be concerned with reinforcement
of what we had already learned. Though I had already more or less mastered the material, review
would be a good and even welcome respite from the workload of the other two terms.

That first week of the term saw all of us first years interacting on a more active basis, which
most likely had something to do with the football game we had played. There was another planned for
the upcoming weekend, and I could truthfully say that I was looking forward to it. It had been
energizing and enjoyable, especially after being cooped up in the castle all winter.

During breakfast on Friday, as we were getting ready for another *highly* enjoyable Potions
class with Snape, Hedwig swooped into the Great Hall with the other owls. She was immediately
recognizable because she was the only white owl amongst the browns and grays of the rest of
them.

Harry reached out to stroke the beautiful bird as she gracefully landed on the table between
us.

“What is it, girl?” he wondered, untying the note from her leg. He fed her some bacon and she
hooted at him, taking off with the meat hanging from her beak. He looked across the table at me and
then at Ron, who was next to me, after reading the note. Neville and Sally looked curious, too.

He silently passed the note to me. Only two words were written on the small piece of parchment:
*It's hatching*.

I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows. I hoped Hagrid knew what he was doing with this
dragon, because it could turn out very, very badly for him.

I passed the note to Ron, who then passed it to Sally; finally, Neville received the small piece
of paper. We all just looked at each other in silence for a few moments. I don't think any of
us wanted to admit that we were just a little bit curious, because I'm pretty sure we were all
worried about this whole thing, as well.

“Are you gonna go see it?” Neville asked, eventually.

Harry shrugged; Ron nodded. “Maybe,” Harry said.

“Definitely,” Ron answered.

Sally glanced at me. “I dunno…”

“Well, regardless, we have Potions first,” I said. “And actually, we should probably get going,
or we'll be late.”

We stood from the table, picked up our things, and trudged down into the dungeons for another
lesson with Snape. *He* made it a point to tell us that Potions would still require the same
amount of work during this shortened term, and that his class would not be merely review for the
rest of the year. One part of me loved that Potions would still be rigorous, but the other part
blanched because Snape would be teaching it.

We had all fallen into a sort of routine, though, and Potions passed fairly uneventfully. As
long as we did our work quietly and efficiently, Snape rarely bothered us. He had even backed off
from picking on Neville, but that was probably because Neville's Potions work had picked up
over the year.

At one point I had to send some discreet signals to Harry, because he was glaring at Snape with
a very suspicious look in his eyes. If Snape saw it, it would probably start some kind of incident,
so no matter what our suspicions were, we had to keep them to ourselves for now. Nothing had
happened on the Philosopher's Stone front for quite some time, so it seemed like the mystery
would go unsolved, at least for the rest of this year.

After Potions let out, the five of us lingered in the hallway just beyond the classroom.

“Alright, who's going with me?” Ron asked.

“I guess I'll go,” Harry said. “S'pose we should support Hagrid.”

“And make sure he doesn't burn his house down,” I added, resolving to go with them.

“I, uh, oh alright, I'll come down for a look,” Neville said, surprising me a little bit.
Out of all of us, I would have expected him to stay behind.

We all looked at Sally expectantly.

“Come on, Sally. How many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?” Ron asked,
goading her.

“Yeah, but—”

“A *dragon* hatching—” Ron started.

“Shut up!” Harry said, fiercely.

I turned to follow the direction of Harry's stare, and I felt a dread in my stomach when I
saw that Malfoy had just walked out of the Potions classroom. He had stopped by the doorway and was
clearly listening to our conversation. I made eye contact with him for a moment and then he turned
and walked away. We watched him go in silence.

“How much d'ya think he heard?” Harry wondered.

“Dunno,” Ron answered, “but it doesn't matter. Let's go, or we're going to miss the
hatching.” He looked at Sally. “You coming?”

She pursed her lips. “If you *all* are going, I'll come along too.”

“That's settled then. Let's go,” Ron said.

We ascended to the Entrance Hall and then exited the castle through the massive front doors. It
was a beautiful day outside—warm and sunny and breezy—so our walk down to Hagrid's cabin was
pleasant and comfortable. The door was closed and there was still smoke coming from the
chimney.

I knocked on the door when we arrived, responding to Hagrid's gruff inquiry that it was just
the five of us. The door opened almost immediately and we were greeted with Hagrid's flushed,
smiling face.

“C'min! It's nearly out!” he exclaimed, ushering us inside. A wave of stifling hot air
washed over me as I crossed the threshold, so I immediately swept open my robes, loosened my tie,
and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. I didn't want to pass out in the middle of
Hagrid's cabin. I saw that the others were doing similar things to their clothing.

“Why's it so bloody hot in here?” Neville wondered. I looked at him quickly; I had never
heard him curse before.

“Got ter keep it hot fer the baby,” Hagrid explained, pointing at the table in the middle of the
cabin. The egg was vibrating slightly, and there were slowly spreading cracks along its shiny black
surface. It was quite evident that something was moving inside.

“Any time now!” Hagrid said. He sat down, facing the table, and we all stood around it, watching
the show. There were some clicking noises, almost like something was hammering on the inside of the
egg, and then suddenly a small part of the egg fell away. Sally gasped slightly when a long snout
with wide nostrils came through the small hole.

“Oh, so beautiful,” Hagrid whispered, entranced. The firelight reflected off of his beady eyes
as he stared at the egg.

The egg cracked noisily and a large part of it fell away. The hatchling tumbled out in an
ungraceful tangle of wings, body, and head. We watched with bated breath as it righted itself on
the table, trying to shake some of the egg goo off of itself.

It was an ugly creature. The wings were long and gangly, its body was skinny, and the head was
complete with tiny horns and the orangest eyes I'd ever seen. It swiveled its head to look at
all of us, and I got the distinct impression of a cool intellect hiding behind those vivid eyes. It
then crinkled up its snout and sneezed loudly, sending forth some sparks from its nostrils.

Hagrid made a delighted noise and reached to out pet the baby dragon, but it viciously snapped
at his fingers. The smile did not fade from Hagrid's face, however.

“So beautiful!” Hagrid said, again. “And bless him, look, he knows his mommy!”

While Hagrid stared unwaveringly at the dragon in front of us, I made eye contact with Harry,
Ron, Neville, and Sally. They all made movements that essentially told me they didn't know what
to think.

A question occurred to me: “How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, Hagrid?”

“Quickly, in fact—” he started to say, but something captured his attention. He jumped up,
almost knocking over the table, and rushed to the window by the door. The curtains had been drawn,
so he swept them aside.

“What? What's going on?” Ron wondered, sounding bewildered.

“Someone was lookin' in,” Hagrid explained, sounding breathless. “Looks like a kid, and
he's running back ter the school.”

We all glanced at each other again, and there was understanding in our eyes. We bolted to the
window and the door to catch a glimpse of this kid. Even before I saw the platinum blond hair and
the Slytherin robes, I knew it was Malfoy.

“Bollocks,” Harry muttered.

----------

Every time I saw Malfoy that weekend, I noticed a light smirk playing across his lips, as if he
knew something that was amusing only to him. I knew that it had something to do with the dragon,
and I was actually fairly surprised that he hadn't told anyone yet. As far as I could tell, no
one had said anything to Hagrid about the baby Norwegian Ridgeback currently residing in his hut,
and nothing had been said Harry, Ron, Neville, or Sally. For some reason, Malfoy was sitting on the
knowledge, and that made me more nervous than if he had told someone immediately.

Just when I thought we had left the Philosopher's Stone mystery behind due to lack of
information—and also due to Dumbledore's clear disapproval of our nosing around—we were sucked
back into a new intrigue, which could quite adversely affect a faculty member this time. I knew now
that having an unregistered dragon without a license for breeding was highly illegal, and would
surely get Hagrid sacked if anyone found out. I was worried for Hagrid, but I was also worried for
myself and my four close friends. We were now complicit with Hagrid in this little plot; I almost
wondered if I should just tell McGonagall, but I hesitated because I didn't think I could do
that Hagrid.

The planned football game for that weekend took my mind off events for a little while, but it
was only a short respite from the worry that had settled into my mind. The game itself was a good
time, as I had expected it would be, and there were more planned for the rest of the year. Dean,
Seamus, and Lily had of course dominated again, but it was exciting nonetheless. All of the first
years were bonding in a way that was probably unfamiliar to Hogwarts, looking back on it, because
we were using a familiar Muggle sport to bridge the gap in the magical world.

Dean, Seamus, and Lily got a chance to show off their skills in a mock shootout after the game
ended; Ron decided to be goalie (he apparently had always wanted to be Keeper in Quidditch), and
surprisingly did a fairly decent job at blocking their shots. Lily scored with her signature
bicycle kick the first time, but the next time she did that Ron blocked it. Dean and Seamus scored
a few times, but Ron blocked the majority of their shots during the shootout. He had absolutely no
qualms about diving side to side to stop the incoming ball, and the three football players could
only rave about his abilities after the shootout ended. Ron was smiling as a result of the praise
in a way that I had never seen before; it was rewarding to see him get compliments for something he
did completely on his own.

The next week of classes passed much like the previous week, with lessons and homework being
fairly straightforward and simple. I studied a little bit for upcoming final exams, but I felt like
I had a strong grasp on all the material, so I mostly just helped others where they thought they
needed it. Harry and I had fallen into some informal tutoring sessions on Tuesday and Thursday
evenings, and with finals approaching, they had become even more regular. On Thursday of that week,
April 30, all of the other first years sat down with Harry and me to review material, and the
session lasted for about two hours. So on top of the football games, all of us were coming together
on the academic side of things, as well.

During Potions on Friday, which was with the Slytherins, Malfoy could not stop staring and
smiling at us. It was getting on my nerves, but I knew that I couldn't do anything about it,
because Snape would surely favor him. After class ended, I signaled to Harry and Ron that I needed
to talk with them about something. As we made our way back up to the main level, Harry and Ron fell
in step beside me; Sally and Neville weren't far behind.

“I think we should go see Hagrid again,” I said to them.

“How come?” Ron asked.

“Because of Malfoy,” Harry supplied, and I nodded at him.

“Yeah, did you see how he was looking at us during class?” Neville asked.

“Like a little git,” Ron mumbled.

“We need to convince Hagrid to get rid of the dragon,” Sally said, and none of us disagreed.

So once we reached the Entrance Hall, we left the castle through the immense front doors and
headed for Hagrid's hut. There were a few students out and about, enjoying the beautiful
weather, but we were unimpeded on our journey across the grounds.

Harry knocked on the door and Hagrid let us all in after ascertaining that it was just the five
of us. Norbert was still on the table, though the baby dragon had nearly doubled in size. The cabin
smelled strongly of wood smoke and the table was gouged and charred in several places. The black
dragon stared at us malevolently, its orange eyes smoldering in their sockets.

“What's up with you lot?” Hagrid asked, reaching into a bucket by the table and pulling out
a rather disgusting dead chicken. He plopped it onto the table and I tried not to look as the
dragon devoured the bird; Sally looked like she was going to be sick as the bones crunched
noisily.

“We're here about *that*,” Harry stated, pointing at the dragon.

“Norbert?” Hagrid asked, glancing between us and the table.

“Huh? Norbert?” Ron articulated.

“Yeh…that's what I've decided to call him. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback,” Hagrid
responded, looking fondly at the beast. It belched, having finished the chicken, and some flames
erupted from its snout. Hagrid looked unsurprised.

“Great…” Sally said. “Hagrid…”

“What?” he wondered, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Just let him go,” Neville said.

“Set him free,” Harry added, urging Hagrid gently.

“He deserves to be in the wild,” I said, hoping that all of us could persuade Hagrid to part
with Norbert.

“But I can't,” Hagrid returned, disagreeing with us. “He's too little. He'd die out
there,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest. At that moment, as if
to reinforce his point, something howled from deep within the Forest. We all listened to the sound
fade away.

“Hagrid, you *can't* keep him,” I said.

He looked at me. “Why not,” he inquired, rather impetuously.

“It's illegal. It's dangerous. It's foolish. Do I need to go on?” I wondered, hoping
that I hadn't crossed the line with our genial groundskeeper.

“But he really knows me now,” Hagrid contended. “Watch this.” He faced Norbert, bending down so
he was eye level with the dragon. “Norbert! Norbert! Where's yer mum?”

The dragon continued to lick chicken blood off of the table, completely ignoring Hagrid's
calls. I looked at Harry and he looked at Ron. Neville was shaking his head and Sally was staring
at Hagrid as if he had completely lost his mind. Ron must have agreed with her:

“He's lost his marbles,” he whispered. “Completely, he has,” he added, nodding his head. I
wasn't about to disagree with Ron, though I did understand that a dragon was something Hagrid
had always wanted. I watched as Harry turned from Ron to Hagrid.

“Hagrid,” he said. When Hagrid didn't respond and instead kept staring at Norbert, Harry
repeated himself. “Hagrid!”

“Yeh?”

“Norbert is going to burn down your house or kill you,” Harry said. “In a month, he'll be
bigger than your house. You have to do something with him. He *can't* stay here. If other
people find out that you have a dragon, you're going to get sacked.”

“I know I can't keep him forever…” Hagrid replied, looking very forlorn.

“Malfoy could go to Dumbledore or McGonagall or *Snape* at any time,” Harry added, and I
thought that would be the icing on the cake. I had an inkling that Hagrid wasn't a big fan of
Snape, and if the Potions Professor had the opportunity to have some dirt on him, Hagrid would want
to avoid that.

“But I can't jus' dump him, I can't.”

Silence fell again as we all considered his words. What *could* we do with Norbert? Should
we just let him go, or would that be unfair to the baby animal? By the way it had devoured the
chicken, I thought it probably would have been able to take care of itself. However, I realized
that if it couldn't fly yet, then that assumption would be complicated.

Suddenly, Harry turned to Ron. “Charlie!” he exclaimed. Ron just looked at him, but my face
broke into a large grin. Of course Charlie could help us!

“Wha-what?” Ron asked. “I'm Ron. You must be losing it, too.”

“No, Ron—” Harry started, sounding rather exasperated.

“Your *brother*,” I said, looking significantly at Ron. Harry nodded.

“Yeah, your brother. Charlie, you know, the one in Romania?”

Ron's eyes lit up. “Oh! And he's studying dragons…”

“We could write to him,” Sally suggested, picking up what we were implying.

“Yer gonna write ter Charlie about Norbert?” Hagrid asked, once again staring at the dusky
creature on his table.

“It's perfect, Hagrid,” Harry explained. “He's studying dragons, so we could send
Norbert to him. Charlie can take good care of Norbert and then maybe put him back in the wild.”

“That's brilliant!” Neville added. “He won't be in any danger, and he'll be in good
hands. You can't do much better than that, Hagrid.”

“He's right,” I agreed. “Norbert will probably be killed if anyone finds out you have him,
so Charlie is probably your best option.”

“Oh, I dunno…” Hagrid fretted. He was close to tears.

“Malfoy is going to tell someone sooner or later,” Harry prodded. “How about it?”

We watched as Hagrid stared at Norbert for several long, silent seconds, but eventually he
slowly nodded his head. Norbert stretched, digging his claws into the table, and Hagrid reached out
to pet the dragon. I was unsurprised to see that Norbert snapped at his hand, which Hagrid withdrew
rather quickly.

“I suppose yer right…”

When we asked Hagrid what he wanted us to say in the letter, he waved us off, saying that we
could decide for ourselves. He wanted to spend some quality time with Norbert, so we left his cabin
and headed back to the castle, somewhat relieved that Hagrid had acquiesced to our plan. I would
not be completely stress-free until Norbert was far away from Hogwarts without being exposed, but
we had made a step in the right direction.

Once we were all back in the comfort of the Gryffindor tower, we sat at one of the tables off to
the side. I decided that we should write the letter then and there, so I summoned some parchment,
ink, and a quill.

“Alright…Harry, why don't you dictate?” I wondered, looking at him and holding the quill
above the parchment.

We all looked at Harry. He looked slightly baffled for a moment. I brushed my hair out of my
eyes as I waited for him to start.

“What? Why me?” he asked. His green eyes looked confused through the lenses of his glasses.

“Why not?” Neville asked. Harry shrugged. “You always seem to know what to say,” Neville
continued, answering the question. I nodded in agreement and neither Ron nor Sally protested the
statement. Harry seemed to consider it for a moment—I wondered what was going through his sharp
mind—and then shrugged again.

“Ok, if you want me to, but he is *your* brother, Ron.”

“It's ok, I'll just bollocks it up.”

Harry sighed rather dramatically, and then smiled slowly at all of us. He sat back in his chair,
rubbed his chin slowly, and then said in thick Cockney accent:

“Dear Charlie…”

Sally giggled and I smiled involuntarily at Harry's silliness. I wrote the salutation on the
top of the parchment, waiting for Harry to say more.

“Hello, this is Ron; I hope this letter finds you well in Romania. I am writing because my
friends and I have stumbled on a bit of a problem, which involves the groundskeeper Hagrid, someone
you probably know well from your years at Hogwarts. You see, Hagrid has had this lifelong desire to
own a dragon, and unfortunately he recently came across the means to actually get one. My friends
and I became involved with this dragon—a Norwegian Ridgeback, of all things—and we're trying to
help Hagrid get rid of it before he gets into trouble.

“That's where you come in: since you are a Dragon Keeper on a Dragon Preserve, it makes the
most sense to give Norbert (as Hagrid calls him) to you. Is that at all possible? I'm not sure
how we could manage that kind of thing without being revealed, but if you have any ideas and if
you're willing to take Norbert, that'd be great. Looking forward to hearing from you. Your
brother, Ron.”

I had to write feverishly to keep up with Harry because once he had started to speak the words
had begun to flow from his mouth without hesitation. All in all, I thought it was a very succinct
letter, hitting all of the right points and eliciting the perfect of amount of urgency.

“How was that?” Harry asked, as I looked up from the parchment.

“Fine,” I told him. “Hopefully Charlie can do something about this.”

“He should be able to,” Ron said. “He's pretty good with that kind of thing—a real problem
solver.”

“Good to know,” Neville said. “Maybe we won't be expelled after all.” Our laughter was
boisterous, but I thought it sounded just a touch uneasy. The thought seemed to have crossed all of
our minds.

----------

Harry and I posted the letter that night with Hedwig, prompting her to fly with as much haste as
possible. She cocked her head at the note tied to her leg for a moment and then swooped out of the
owlery, fading east into the darkening sky at a rapid rate.

“Think this will work?” I asked, as we started to head down the stairs.

Harry shrugged, brushing his hair away from his forehead. The motion revealed the scar chiseled
into his skin, which for some reason looked a little redder than the last time I'd seen it.

“I dunno. Why do you think Malfoy hasn't told anyone yet?”

“I'm not sure. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. What is he waiting for? He
could be trying to spring some kind of trap on us, to get us into trouble with Filch and
Dumbledore.”

“As if we need any more trouble with Dumbledore,” Harry muttered. I watched out of the corner of
my eye as he absently rubbed his forehead.

“Harry, has your scar been bothering you?”

We passed through the archway at the bottom of the Owlery stairs and onto the grounds as he
looked quickly at me, obviously wondering how I could have known. I had to squint against the sun,
which was low on the western horizon, to see him fully.

“A little bit,” he said. I'm glad he was able to admit it to me.

“More than usual?”

He nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I waited for him to continue as we
headed for the castle.

“Ever since that night in the forest when I saw Snape and Quirrell, it's been bothering me a
little more every day. At first it was barely noticeable, but lately it's becoming more than
just a tingle.”

As we mounted the marble steps to the front doors of Hogwarts, I turned to Harry and made him
stop. I turned him to face me and leaned in to peer at his forehead. He just stood there calmly,
not fighting my ministrations at all. The scar was definitely a deeper red than I could ever
remember seeing, and there was an ugly little line of darker purple running through the very center
of the scar. It was almost impossible to see, but it was definitely there. After a moment, I leaned
back and looked him in his green eyes.

“Have you thought about going to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Not really.”

“She could give you a potion for the pain, at least,” I suggested.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he then closed it and reached up to touch the scar. His eyes
turned briefly inward, but then they refocused on mine.

“I don't know if that's a good idea, Hermione,” he said, measuring his words
carefully.

“Why?” I wanted to hear his logic.

“Considering how this scar was given to me,” he started, “I think it might be best to avoid
numbing any pain.”

“I suppose…”

“Think about it,” he said. “This is the only mark I have from Voldemort's attack when I was
a baby, so if it's acting up, don't you think that could be a bad thing?”

I ignored Harry's usage of the wizard's name. “Or it could just be irritated.”

“Could be,” he agreed, but he hardly sounded convinced. I had to admit, what he was saying made
some sense, but it was somewhat masochistic of him to deal with the pain without any aid—something
that I would later realize was a hallmark of Harry Potter.

“Just let it go for now,” he said, and something in his tone of voice kept me from saying
anything further. We turned and entered the castle, and headed for Gryffindor tower.

After that Friday, we all took turns checking up on Hagrid. Harry went first on Saturday; I went
on Sunday; Sally went on Monday; Neville went on Tuesday; and, finally, Ron went on Wednesday. We
had decided that it would be best to go just before curfew, because there would be fewer students
to see what we were doing.

On Wednesday night, which was Ron's turn, Neville and Sally had both gone to bed after Ron
had left for Hagrid's. Harry and I were sitting in chairs by the fire and waiting for Ron. We
had been mostly silent for some time, preferring to alternately read and stare into the crackling
flames.

Our curfew of eleven o'clock was quickly approaching without Ron's return, so I hoped
nothing had happened to him at Hagrid's. When I had visited with him on Sunday, Norbert had
been fairly belligerent, and I had stayed only long enough to make sure Hagrid had everything under
control. He said he did, but the swiftly growing dragon thrashing around his cabin said otherwise.
Just as I was about to ask Harry if we should go look for Ron, there was noise by the portrait
hole. I looked over there expectantly and shortly thereafter Ron came into the common room, holding
up his hand in front of him. I could immediately tell there was something wrong.

“It *bit* me!” Ron exclaimed, coming nearer and holding out his hand.

“What? How?” I asked, standing and inspecting the wound. Ron or Hagrid had wrapped it in a
handkerchief, which was quite bloody now.

He rolled his eyes at me. “Honestly, Hermione…with its *teeth*.”

“I think she knows that,” Harry said, also looking at the wound. “How did you get yourself
bitten?”

“Why is it *my* fault all of the sudden?” Ron whined, looking at the bite marks on his hand
and blanching.

“I didn't say that…” I returned.

“Bloody hell! I'm not going to be able to write for a week! I'm telling you right now,
that dragon is the most horrible thing I've ever met. Hagrid treats it like a bleedin' dog
or something, but it's got fangs and it breathes fire—and it's getting so big!”

Ron's rant continued: “I was just feeding it some rats like Hagrid showed me, and it decided
to go for my hand instead. If I hadn't pulled it back, it probably would have bitten half of it
off! I'm not going down there anymore if that dragon's there—*Norbert* my arse!
It's a menace, I tell you!

“And, can you believe it? Hagrid yelled at *me* for scaring it when it bit me. As I was
wrapping my hand in this, he started singing it a lullaby…I couldn't believe what I was
hearing, so I just left.”

He finally stopped talking, and he just stared at us, very red in the face and breathing deeply.
The bite marks were deep and they looked raw.

“I'm done with this,” Ron said, rewrapping his hand. “I don't want anything to do with
the stupid dragon. The sooner Charlie can get it out of here, the better for all of us,” he
finished, and then stormed away. Harry and I watched him disappear up the stairs to the boys'
dormitory. After we had heard a door slam above us, we slowly turned to each other, unable to
contain the smiles spreading over our faces and the laughter that started leaking out. Ron had
hardly let us say anything, and his tirade had been amusing, although I was a little concerned
about his hand. He should probably have seen Madam Pomfrey, and I would tell him as much in the
morning.

As our laughter was dying, something tapped on a window to our left. Harry looked first and his
eyes lit up.

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed. We both hurried over there to let her in. “She must have Charlie's
reply.” He opened the window and she hopped inside; there was a letter on thick parchment tied to
her leg, which she held out to us. She clicked her beak a few times as Harry busied himself with
untying it, and as soon as he had the letter she flew back out the window.

“She must be hungry,” I commented, watching her go. Harry opened the letter and held it out for
us to read.

*Dear Ron,*

*How are you? Thanks for the letter—I would be happy to take “Norbert**” the Norwegian
Ridgeback, but it* *will not be very easy to get him here. I cannot take any time off at the
moment because it is our busiest season, so I think the best thing would be to send him over*
*with* *some friends of mine who are coming to visit next week. However, they must not be
seen carrying an illegal dragon. To rectify that, I need you to get Norbert to the top of the
Astronomy Tower at midnight on Saturday. My friends can meet you there and take him under cover of
darkness.*

*Love,*

*Charlie*

“And just how does he expect us to do that?” I inquired, looking at the letter a little coolly.
It was fairly presumptuous of Charlie to assume we would break several rules for his little
plan.

“Well, we do have the Invisibility Cloak,” Harry responded, folding the letter and putting it in
his pocket.

“But it'll be after curfew…”

“That hasn't stopped us before,” he said, smiling a bit. I guess it was an indicator of how
badly the dragon needed to be away from Hogwarts that I ended up agreeing with Harry. It was really
our only chance to get Norbert away without being discovered. As long as Malfoy did not say
anything between now and Saturday, it seemed as if we would escape this little fiasco
unscathed.

The next morning brought with it a hitch in our plans, however. Ron came to breakfast with an
extremely swollen and bruised hand, garnering some strange looks from our classmates and some of
the faculty. He could barely function it hurt him so much.

“Ron,” I hissed at him from across the table, “you *have* to go to the hospital wing. That
looks badly infected.”

“It's oozing green pus,” Sally pointed out, wrinkling her nose at the disgusting state of
his hand. Neville turned an interesting shade of green at her words, but he seemed to get it under
control after a moment. He turned away from Ron after that, though, unable to look at the
injury.

“But don't you think she'll recognize a dragon bite?” he asked, through clenched
teeth.

“It doesn't matter anymore,” Harry said. “It looks like Norbert's fangs are poisonous or
something, so you have to get it treated.”

Ron just nodded and left the table, heading out of the Great Hall. We visited him later in the
day, and he was resting comfortably, but he was worried about Madam Pomfrey. Apparently she had
asked him what bit him, and he had told her it was a dog. She obviously hadn't believed him,
but she didn't question him any further. So far he hadn't heard anything more, so maybe she
had let it go. We all hoped she had.

Ron stayed in the hospital wing overnight, so we brought him notes from our lessons and his
homework. His hand was improving; by Friday morning, he could actually flex his fingers. After
visiting Ron, we went to the Great Hall for breakfast and then headed to the dungeons for Potions.
Just outside the classroom, Sally wanted to see the letter from Charlie to clarify something, so
Harry dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“And what do we have here?” a familiar voice said. A hand reached around Sally's shoulder
and grabbed the letter from her.

“Hey!” she yelled, turning and drawing her wand on Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Harry had already
drawn his wand, and mine and Neville's joined theirs.

Malfoy just smiled at us, lowering his eyes to the letter.

“*Incendio*,” Harry growled, pointing his wand at the letter. It burst into flames in
Malfoy's hands, who dropped it to the floor in his surprise. Nothing but its ashes were left
after the flames had died.

Harry and Malfoy stared coldly at each other; there was a tense silence as the standoff
lengthened. We all lowered our wands slowly.

“So I heard some mutt sidelined Weasel—bit his hand, I guess,” Malfoy stated after a moment,
watching for a reaction from us. When none was forthcoming, he continued. “I wonder what
*really* bit him, because I doubt a dog could land him in the hospital wing for a few days.”
Crabbe and Goyle snickered beside him.

“I guess we will never know.” He turned to his lackeys. “Come on, you two, let's get inside
before Snape shows up and gives us detention Saturday *night*.”

He did not look back at us, but there was no need. His emphasis on the last word indicated that
he had read enough of the letter to know what we were up to.

After Potions, the five of us went outside and sat by edge of the lake. It was a breezy day, and
slightly cooler than the last few had been, but it was still pleasant. There were a few older
students swimming in the lake, which was still very cold. We watched them as we talked about what
to do.

“Malfoy clearly knows,” Neville said, for the fourth time.

“Obviously,” I said, becoming frustrated. We were being blocked at every turn. “But that
doesn't change the fact that Norbert needs to go.”

“I don't think I should be involved in this,” Sally said. She cited the same reason she had
before: she had been readmitted to Hogwarts and didn't want to risk any kind of administrative
punishment. If word got back to her parents that she had been involved with a dragon, they would
pull her from school again.

“That's ok,” Harry said, understanding her reason. “We only need three anyway. And with Ron
out of commission, it looks like you're going to have to help us, Neville.”

“Wonderful…” he intoned.

“Look,” Harry said, leaning back and staring up at the blue sky, “it's too late to change
plans now. Hagrid is already getting Norbert ready for the journey. And we do have the Invisibility
Cloak, which Malfoy doesn't know about. If he does decide to spring some kind of trap on us,
we'll have the upper hand.”

“Harry's right, Neville. We have to go through with this.” As much as I hated breaking the
rules and putting myself, my friends, and our education in jeopardy, this had gone much too far
already. It had to end.

“Alright, let's just be done with it,” Neville said, sighing. Shouts from the swimmers
reached our ears, and we all glanced in their direction. The giant squid had apparently decided to
join in their fun. One of the teens was riding on the end of its tentacle, smiling brilliantly and
waving at his friends.

“Don't think I'd ever see something like *that* in Little Whinging,” Harry
commented.

“Or be involved in the illegal transport of a rare dragon,” I added. Harry just looked at me.
There was a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

----------

Around eleven on Saturday, May 9, 1992—just after curfew had officially started—Harry, Neville,
and I crept out of the Gryffindor common room under the Invisibility Cloak. We all fit under its
breadth easily, but I was unconvinced that adding a dragon into the mix would still render us all
completely invisible. Regardless, we slipped silently through the deserted castle, hoping not to
meet anyone. We made it to the Entrance Hall without seeing a soul, but just as we were cresting
the stairs to descend to the ground floor, we saw Filch by the doors to the Great Hall. He appeared
to be surveying the Entrance Hall, as if it was his duty to watch the wide expanse all night. We
stopped at the top of the stairs and held our breaths, and after awhile Mrs. Norris slinked to
Filch's side. He stared down at the cat for several moments and then followed her down into the
dungeons.

We began moving again, descending and then exiting the castle. The night was very dark and it
was hard to see, but there was a light on in Hagrid's hut, so we used that as a beacon to guide
our way. The sky was completely covered with clouds, so there was no light filtering onto the
grounds. Whatever residual light from the castle's many windows from which we might have
benefited was lost by the time we were forty paces from its ancient stone walls, so we walked in a
nervous silence down the gentle slope toward the lake and Hagrid's. There wasn't even any
wind to break the stillness.

As we approached the hut, we heard Hagrid struggling with Norbert inside. The dragon was now
over eight feet long, but Hagrid said he would be able to contain it enough for us to bring it to
the top of the Astronomy Tower. I had wondered why Hagrid couldn't make the trip himself and
save us the trouble, but Harry rightly pointed out that Hagrid would look very suspicious traveling
through Hogwarts around midnight with a giant crate in his arms.

We shrugged off the Cloak at his door and Harry knocked; after several seconds, Hagrid opened
the door and stepped aside, showing the wooden crate in which he had packed Norbert. There were
tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, and his beard was a snotty mess. I almost felt sorry for the
big man—*almost*—but this was something that we had to do.

“There yeh are,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion. “He's got lots o' rats
an' some brandy fer the journey. He should have enough food ter last him `til Romania.”

The three of us looked at each other. “Ready?” Harry asked. Neville and I nodded at him. We
moved forward and picked up the crate, which wasn't as heavy as I thought it would be. Granted,
it was heavy enough, but it wasn't unmanageable. Hagrid draped the Cloak over us after we had
situated ourselves with the slightly awkward load.

“Bye, Norbert!” Hagrid whispered, bending down and whispering intensely. “Mum will never forget
you!” He wiped his cheeks with the backs of his huge hands, sniffled deeply, and waited until he
knew we were outside.

“Take care, you lot,” he said, and swung the door closed. We could hear his sobs as we moved
away from the hut.

We said nothing on our journey back to the castle or up the many flights of stairs to the
Astronomy Tower. I had severely underestimated the work it would take to get Norbert up to the top
of the tallest tower, but as midnight approached, we crested the last main staircase and found
ourselves in the corridor that would take us to the tower. We were all breathing and sweating
heavily.

“Nearly there,” Harry gasped.

“Thank Merlin,” Neville said, equally as out of breath. I preferred to stay silent, letting my
rasping lungs speak for themselves.

We started moving forward over what was essentially our home stretch, but Harry, who was in the
lead at the front of the crate, stopped suddenly and moved us to the side. He was peering ahead
into the gloom. He motioned for us to be silent.

I thought I might have heard some kind of scuffling, but I couldn't see anything. The noises
then suddenly drew much closer, and we shrank against the wall. Harry's Invisibility Cloak
would obviously protect us from prying eyes, but people could still discover us by running into our
physical bodies. Just as I thought the sounds were on top of us, light flared out and illuminated a
strange sight: McGonagall in her nightwear holding a distraught and red-faced Malfoy by the
ear.

“Detention!” she said, quite indignantly. Malfoy struggled against her grip, but she twisted his
ear. “And twenty points from Slytherin! I would normally express surprise at a student wandering
around in the middle of the night, but I cannot say that I'm surprised to find *you*
disregarding school rules, Mr. Malfoy. Explain yourself!”

“Professor—it's Harry Potter! He's coming. Midnight! They're supposed to be here at
midnight! They're bringing a dragon—”

“I've heard enough!” she told him, cutting him off and pulling him down the corridor toward
the stairs from which we had come. “Utter *rubbish*. How dare you lie about a fellow student
like that!”

“But Professor—”

“We shall see Professor Snape *right now* about this matter, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, and
Malfoy's response was lost to the echoing stones of the castle.

“Oh…my…” Neville said, barely able to form words.

“Just go,” Harry ground out, and we redoubled our efforts. The final hurdle was the spiral
staircase to the top of the tower, but after a few minutes of heaving and panting, we finally
reached the end of our journey. Harry pulled the Cloak off of us and bundled it under his arm, and
we headed for the edge of the Tower. After we had put the crate down onto the stones, I took a deep
breath and chuckled for a moment.

“Malfoy's got detention. How *righteous*,” I said.

Harry and Neville said nothing, which was odd considering how much they both disliked Malfoy. I
looked at them and found them both scanning the sky for Charlie's friends. It seemed like they
were all business at the moment, so I wisely shut my mouth and looked into the pitch black sky as
well.

As we waited in silence, I happened to glance straight up and saw that the sky was opening above
us. I tapped Harry and Neville on the shoulders and pointed over our heads, drawing their attention
to the small hole in the clouds. There were wisps and fragments of low clouds flitting through the
gap, but for the most part, the starlight was unimpeded in that small portion of the sky. After a
few moments of staring into that infinity, I was starting to lose my equilibrium, so I had to look
down once again. As I did so, I saw four brooms drawing close to the Tower.

“Here they are,” I whispered, and Harry and Neville looked where I was pointing.

“Almost right on time,” Neville pointed out, sounding very approving.

They landed behind us, dismounting and coming over with the brooms and something that looked
like a harness in their hands.

“Hi,” one said. He was tall and had brown hair. “We're Charlie's friends. He told us
that you would have a package for us. That's it, then?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good.” He scanned the three of us with his eyes. “No red hair, so no Ron?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, he was bitten by the dragon and he's been in the
hospital wing for the past few days.”

The older man frowned. The other three looked concerned.

“Pity. He alright?”

“He's fine,” Harry said, and we stood back as they hooked the four corners of the top of the
crate to the harness.

“We'll attach one of these hooks to each of our brooms and lift the crate together. Should
be no problem. We're just glad you were up here on time. I can't imagine it was fun lugging
this thing through the castle.”

At being called a “thing,” Norbert thrashed around violently. The crate held, though, and the
four men just chuckled.

“I see we have a live one for good ol' Charlie,” another said.

“Right. Anyway,” the first said, “nice meeting you. What are your names? Just so I can tell
Charlie that Ron actually has friends,” he wondered, grinning.

“Neville Longbottom.”

“Hermione Granger.”

Harry hesitated for a second or two. The four of them were staring at him. He sighed, probably
knowing that his name would get some kind of reaction.

“Harry Potter.”

Surprisingly, the four of them held back. The most visible reactions were sets of eyebrows
creeping toward hairlines.

“Fancy that,” another said. “Well, we need to go. Take care.”

They mounted their brooms and, after a moment of coordination, they started forward. We watched
them for five seconds before Harry threw the cloak back over us.

“Let's go,” he said, and we turned toward the door that would lead us back into the castle.
As we did so, though, we saw a flash of light around the edges of the door. We had just enough time
to glance at each other and move two steps away from the edge of the tower before the door burst
open and three figures ran into sight.

They were the three people we *least* wanted to see at the moment.

Dumbledore, with McGonagall and Snape at his heels, ran to the edge of the tower and searched
the night sky. His wand was out, as were the others', and he suddenly pointed it in the
direction the fliers had gone. I had a sinking sensation in my stomach…

“*IMPEDIMENTA!*” he boomed, and I watched completely mesmerized as a spell burst forth from
the end of his wand, so powerful that it thundered through the air as it traveled away from the
tower—and, unfortunately, blew our Invisibility Cloak off. It fluttered to the stones next to
us.

Even McGonagall and Snape had stood back in awe at the Headmaster's display of magical
power. The magnitude with which the spell had been cast was enough to give it a visible essence,
which looked like a milky white blob hurtling through the air.

It was bright enough to illuminate the riders as they approached the edge of the grounds, and I
could vaguely distinguish them as one looked back and signaled for them to veer away from the
oncoming spell. It missed them and continued onward, eventually fading as the night closed around
it.

“Who were they—” McGonagall started to ask, but cut herself off with a gasp as she turned and
saw us. Dumbledore and Snape looked where she was staring.

My heart began to race and I began to sweat uncontrollably as Snape narrowed his eyes at us. My
eyes flicked back and forth between the three of them as they just stared. Neville had looked down
and I knew that Harry was having a staring contest with the Headmaster. I didn't know what to
do!

Finally, Dumbledore reacted.

“I *sincerely* hope you can explain yourselves.”

-->



17. Chapter Sixteen
-------------------



Chapter Sixteen

Spring Term 1992

We stared at each other. No one seemed to know what to say. The Cloak fluttered in the night
breeze, sliding slowly closer to the precipice at the edge of the tower. I watched as Snape glanced
at the shimmering fabric. Dumbledore had slowly lowered his wand, but his face was no less stern
and unmoving.

“Who were those riders?” the Headmaster asked, after none of us responded for twenty more
seconds.

“Answer the Headmaster!” Snape commanded, taking offense to our silence.

“Severus.”

It was only one word, but Snape immediately backed off. Dumbledore did not even look at him,
instead continuing to stare at us.

“Please make sure that Mr. Malfoy is in bed,” Dumbledore added. “We would not want him wandering
the corridors once again.”

To my amazement, Snape did not argue with the Headmaster. He nodded and started toward the door
to the spiral staircase, suddenly stopping halfway there and turning back toward us.

“*Highly* questionable contraband, wouldn't you say, Potter?” His voice was cruelly
mocking. “*Accio* Cloak.”

Harry's shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly as the Cloak zipped toward Snape. I wanted to
reach out to take his hand, to tell him that he wasn't alone in this, but I knew that
wouldn't matter. Assuming that we were correct in thinking that Dumbledore had given the Cloak
to Harry, there might be some recourse for recovering it at a later date. For now, though, we had
to worry about being caught out so late. I was *not* looking forward to this discussion.

The door clicked shut as Snape disappeared down the stairs, which left McGonagall and Dumbledore
still staring at me, Harry, and Neville.

“I will ask you one more time. Who were those riders?”

“Friends of Charlie,” Harry answered, understanding that Dumbledore's patience was
thinning.

“Charlie Weasley?” McGonagall asked. We all nodded. “What on earth were friends of Charlie
Weasley doing here in the middle of the night? And *why* were you three involved?”

I glanced sideways just as Harry did the same, and I saw the answer to my unspoken question in
his eyes: protect Hagrid.

“Ms. Granger?” Dumbledore inquired, focusing on me. The use of my surname was a good barometer
for the level of the Headmaster's unhappiness. “Perhaps you can shed some light on all of
this?”

I shrugged after a moment, not wanting to get Hagrid in trouble.

“I see,” he said, thoughtfully. He stroked his beard with one hand. “How about you, Mr.
Longbottom?”

Still staring at the stones beneath his feet, Neville shook his head.

“Well, this *does* appear to be a mystery.” He paused, staring at Harry. As angry as
McGonagall looked, I was almost glad that Dumbledore was doing the questioning, though there was a
sense of quiet authority in his voice McGonagall never could have achieved.

“Would you all like to know how I knew those riders were here?”

Instinctually, I focused on the Headmaster with curiosity permeating my gaze. That particular
question *had* crossed my mind, but I had known that right now was a very inappropriate time
to suddenly ask it. He zeroed in on me.

“Ah, Hermione,” he said, smiling. There was my first name again. I had the ridiculous mental
image of a small child being lured toward a dark van by a smiling stranger with candy in his hand.
Dumbledore's smile was not sincere.

“You will be glad to know, I'm sure, that Hogwarts is protected by a series of complex wards
and charms. If unauthorized entry is gained by *any* means to school grounds, I know about it
almost immediately. So you can imagine my surprise when the anti-broom ward was triggered about ten
minutes ago.”

The phrase *Big Brother is always watching* clanged around in my head. That might have been
unfair to Dumbledore, because he had a school full of children to protect, but at the time I was
ashamed over having been caught out of bounds. I remember not being worried about expulsion,
though.

“I made haste for this tower, meeting Professors McGonagall and Snape along the way. It seems
that Mr. Malfoy had just been caught out of bounds. A most curious coincidence, don't you
think?” He again waited for one of us to say something. I think we had concluded that saying as
little as possible would be in our best interest.

“Very well,” he said. “*Revelo,”* he incanted, flicking his lowered wand. Every inch of the
top of the tower glowed blue for several seconds, including all of our clothing and our wands. The
world was a hazy nightmare of swirling color.

The blue began to recede, drawing toward several small areas at the edge of the tower, behind
where Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing. It became brighter and brighter as it drew inward,
finally focused in two piercingly intense spots of blue. Dumbledore turned toward the light,
flicking his wand again. The spell faded, leaving two spots in my vision. Harry and Neville were
watching his every move.

Dumbledore squatted, reaching out with a hand and lightly touching the stones where the spell
had just faded. He then brought the hand to his mouth, tasting the edge of his index finger with
the tip of his tongue. Without standing or turning, he looked at us over his shoulder. There was
knowledge glimmering in his eyes.

“Dragon blood,” he told us. I sighed. The game was up. I should have known that Dumbledore would
be able to figure it out without our help. Norbert's movements within the crate must have given
him some kind of wound, if there was blood on the stones.

McGonagall repeated what the Headmaster had just done, nodding her confirmation. “Makes sense,
if they were friends of Charlie Weasley. The question is, why and *how* did you three have a
*dragon*?”

As Dumbledore stood and faced us once again, he said, “I think I might know the particulars of
this little adventure, Minerva. Correct me if I am wrong, please. Let us say that a certain
groundskeeper obtained through various means an outlawed magical creature; let us say that some
friends of this groundskeeper found out about this magical creature and wanted to keep said
groundskeeper out of trouble; and let us conclude that these friends contacted Charlie Weasley, the
brother of one of the friends as well as a dragon keeper, to whisk the magical creature off to
Romania.”

Dumbledore certainly deserved his place as Headmaster if he figured all of that out from two
drops of dragon blood. There was nothing that I could say to refute his logic. It was all
undeniably correct anyway.

“How did you know, sir?” Harry asked. There was some wonder in his voice.

“Hagrid has desired a dragon since I first met him. It was not hard to guess how one came to be
at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” was all Harry said.

“What I cannot understand, however, is why you did not come to me or Minerva when you found out
about it?”

“We didn't want Hagrid to get into trouble…” I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. Right
now, I just wanted to go to bed. I was beginning to fall asleep on my feet.

Dumbledore smiled then, but it was patronizing rather than friendly. “Hagrid is a valued member
of the staff here at Hogwarts. He is also one of my most loyal friends. The professors and I would
have been able to expedite the removal of the dragon. Rather than `getting Hagrid into
trouble,' as you said, it would have eliminated any of these complications. So instead of
passing the situation off into more capable—*adult*—hands, you three have broken curfew and
are out of bounds.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, dropping my eyes. Now we were being properly chastised.

“Regardless of what I may have said when you came to me about what you had discovered within
Hogwarts, the professors and I are here for you when you encounter problems like this. I'm
quite sure the dragon was more innocently discovered than Fluffy. So, next time, if there is a next
time, come to one of us. Continuing to disregard the rules and partake in these nighttime
adventures just will not do.”

We nodded. Dumbledore didn't seem angry, but there was definitely frustration beneath his
words. It was almost as if he was implying that we didn't trust him completely, and that we
should. If that was the case, I wanted strongly to remind him of how he had reacted when we went to
him with our concerns about the Stone. The hypocrisy was killing me. Wisely, though, I kept my
mouth shut.

“I will leave their punishment up to you, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, glancing at her and then
walking away from us. “There are some things I need to finish before I turn in, so I trust you all
will be in bed as soon as possible.” Then he was gone, down the stairs and out of sight. We were
now alone on the top of the Astronomy Tower with one very pissed off Head of House. She glared at
us; in a way, her palpable disappointment made me more ashamed than anything Dumbledore had
said.

“Quite frankly, I'm disgusted,” she said, quietly. “I thought you had more sense, especially
*you*, Ms. Granger. For all of your booksmarts, you certainly seem to be lacking in common
sense. Somehow I'm not surprised that you, Mr. Potter, are involved in these shenanigans, but I
thought Gryffindor meant more to you. After winning those Quidditch matches, we were in the lead
for the House Cup. Well, let me tell you this: not after tonight!

“Mr. Longbottom, do you have anything to say for yourself? You have kept mum this entire
time.”

“No, ma'am,” he responded, shaking his head. His voice was shaking.

“I see.” She pursed her lips, drawing her robe tightly around her. The breeze was a little
chilly. “All three of you will receive detentions and fifty points will be taken from
Gryffindor.”

“*Fifty?”* Harry nearly yelled. He was gaping at McGonagall.

“Yes, Potter. Fifty points. *Each*.”

“But—” Harry tried to say.

“No buts. My word is final.”

“Professor, you can't—” he tried again.

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Potter. You should be ashamed of yourselves.
You've likely cost Gryffindor the House Cup. You acted rashly instead of using your talented
heads. Use this as a lesson for the future, because next time school policies are so wantonly
ignored, the punishment may be much more severe. Now return to your dormitories.”

She stared at us for several more seconds, shook her head, and swept on past. We heard her
footsteps echoing in the stairwell as she descended.

I wanted to say something, to end the sudden awkwardness, but nothing came to mind. We had quite
successfully shipped Norbert off to Charlie only to have everything completely ruined in the end.
It was actually amazing to me how we always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And one hundred and fifty points! That number was too large to even comprehend without some
perspective. In one night, Harry, Neville, and I had undermined everything that Gryffindor had been
working for the entire year.

Harry walked forward to the edge of the tower. His wand was in his hand; suddenly, with a primal
scream of frustration, rage, and anguish, he reared back and fired a spell into the night.

“*STUPEFY!”*

The red bolt of magical energy was large and bright and sizzled as it sped off into the
darkness, but it paled in comparison to the raw size and power of Dumbledore's earlier spell.
The echoes from Harry's cry carried over the grounds and back to our ears, just as the bolt
faded from sight. Harry's chest was heaving and his head was down. It was a good example of
something we would have to know for the practical portion of our Defense Against the Dark Arts
exam, but right now it was a release valve for Harry's tightly wound frustration.

I walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. His body felt like a rock beneath my
hand.

“Come on,” I said. My voice was barely audible. “Let's go back to the Tower.”

He nodded. As he turned, I slipped an arm over his shoulder, and as we passed Neville, I did the
same thing. We walked all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower with me between them and my arms
over the shoulders. Not a word was spoken.

-------

The clock had not even struck six when I woke the next morning. My sleep had been fitful and
restless; I kept dreaming over and over that I was walking through the Entrance Hall and everyone
was pointing and laughing at me. Knowing that I would not be able to fall asleep again, I rose from
bed and headed for the loo. I dropped my nightgown and knickers to the floor and wrapped a towel
around my body, staring at myself in the mirror.

A rather haggard image stared back. There were bags under my eyes and my hair was a tangled
mess. I smiled and startled myself with its rictus quality. I quickly turned from the mirror,
feeling my heart flutter in my chest, and stepped into the shower. I threw the towel over the
curtain and let the warm water flow down over my head and body.

The hot shower was the balm I needed. I felt my muscles relaxing and my shallow breathing
deepen; I felt as if I could face the day and the inevitable backlash from other Gryffindors with
my head held high. It was, after all, only the House Cup. We had not been expelled from Hogwarts
and we were still healthy and alive.

After five minutes or so, I heard the door to the bathroom open. During the next thirty seconds
of silence, I wondered who was also up this early; the other shower then turned on.

“Hermione?” a voice called over the sound of falling water. It was Sally.

“Morning, Sally,” I responded, raising my voice to be heard.

“How did it go last night?” she asked. I paused for a moment with a large dollop of shampoo in
my hand, wondering how I could explain to her all that had happened.

“Well enough,” I answered, lathering my thick hair with the vanilla- and strawberry-scented
shampoo. “We managed to get Norbert to the top of the tower undiscovered. Charlie's friends
were quick and efficient, and after a short time they were on their way.”

“And…?”

“And Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape showed up as they were flying away.”

“WHAT?!” Something crashed to the floor of the shower. It sounded like her shampoo bottle. The
sound of the water cascading over her body changed briefly as she undoubtedly bent to pick it
up.

“That's right,” I told her. “You heard me correctly.”

“But, but how did they know?”

“Well, as Dumbledore so *nicely* explained, Hogwarts is protected by a series of charms and
wards. Apparently Charlie's friends breached one or more of them.”

“Of all the bad luck…” she said, trailing off. I heard the sympathy in her voice. I was happy
that she had not accompanied us, especially because she was on what was essentially her second
chance at Hogwarts. If for some reason her parents had found out, she would have been gone again.
“What did the professors say?”

“Nothing good. They were all disappointed. Dumbledore didn't seem to be too angry, but
McGonagall and Snape definitely were. Harry's pissed, too. I haven't talked to him since
last night, so I don't know how he's taking it today, or how he slept for that matter.”

“You didn't sleep well?”

“Not really,” I admitted, standing under the shower and watching as the lather from the shampoo
pooled around my bare feet.

“How did Neville take it?”

“Dunno. He didn't say anything. But that doesn't really matter. McGonagall took one
hundred and fifty points, Sally.”

Silence, then: “Merlin, Hermione. Why on earth would she feel the need to take so many
points?”

“To make an example of us, I suppose. We didn't lie to them. Dumbledore figured everything
out on his own. And he wasn't even there when she took the points.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

“It's not your fault, Sally,” I replied, turning off the shower and grabbing my towel. As I
ran the fuzzy fabric over my skin, I said, “There's nothing you could have done to change the
outcome. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, as usual.”

I wrapped the towel around my mostly-dry body and stepped out of the shower. Sally's was
still running. I moved back in front of the mirror and began to brush my hair. My appearance was
much less haggard than it had looked, and that pleased me.

“So what are you going to do now?” she asked.

I paused mid-stroke to think about it. There was really only one thing we could do now:

“Nothing,” I said. “I guess we're just gonna have to lay low and study for exams.
They're coming up in a few weeks anyway. I really don't need to get into any more trouble.”
Her shower turned off and I could hear the towel running over her body.

“It's been a pretty wild year, hasn't it?”

In spite of it all, I chuckled. “Yeah, it has.”

She stepped out of the shower with her towel similarly wrapped around her body, and I watched
her in the mirror as she dried her hair with a second towel. She was a little taller than me and
had filled out a little more than I had so far, which was noticeable with nothing more than that
towel covering her.

We continued to chat about this and that as we readied ourselves for the day, eventually leaving
the dormitory and heading down to the Great Hall. Because we had woken earlier than normal, there
were very few students in the Great Hall. Neither Harry nor Neville was present, and Ron was still
in the hospital wing. He was due to be released this morning, so we expected him at some point.

Talking with Sally had eased the reality of the previous night, but I quickly sobered when we
passed the hourglasses that recorded house points. The Gryffindor hourglass had obviously taken a
huge hit, and I knew it wouldn't be long until everyone in the school knew why. Since today was
Sunday, the Great Hall remained nearly empty until almost nine o'clock; Harry stumbled in
around eight, Ron showed up shortly thereafter, and Neville came last. Neville was still very
quiet, though he wasn't sitting away from us like I had feared.

“One hundred and *fifty* points?” Ron repeated, incredulously. He looked flabbergasted.
“How is that even possible?”

“Ask McGonagall,” Harry grumbled. I looked closely at him. His green eyes seemed clouded.

Just then, a few older Slytherin walked into the Great Hall. They glanced in our direction and
grinned. “Thanks Potter! We owe you one!” they called. Harry looked sharply in their direction, but
they had already turned their backs, laughing loudly.

“Great,” he said. “Everyone knows already.” And it was true, because the few Gryffindors that
had come into the Great Hall had avoided us like the plague, except to glare malevolently in our
direction. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students seemed to be unhappy with us, but that might have
been because Gryffindor had been the only House with any chance of beating Slytherin for the House
Cup.

“Relax, Harry,” I said. “It's just the stupid House Cup.” He looked at me, his expression
unreadable.

Ron appeared surprised by what I had said. “I'm shocked you don't care about it,
Hermione,” he said. “But you're right. They'd have to be barking mad to care too much about
it. And besides, Fred and George have lost plenty of points over the years.”

“But one hundred and fifty?” Harry countered.

“Well, no,” Ron conceded.

“Cumulatively, maybe,” Sally said.

Harry shrugged. “We've ruined everyone's hard work,” he said. “I don't like
that.”

“Oh, what a load of rubbish,” Ron said. “Most of those points you just lost were from you and
Hermione anyway, with you winning our Quidditch matches and Hermione always answering things in
class.”

Again, Ron had a point. I couldn't fault his logic. Neville had even perked up at Ron's
words. “I guess,” Harry said, sounding skeptical.

“Nothin' we can do now,” Neville put forth. “Just gotta accept things.”

I nodded. “He's right. We need to lay low and finish the year. We can all study for exams
together. That'll keep everyone off our backs.” Ron groaned at the mention of studying, but it
was half-hearted.

Some of the other first years came in then, and they were more curious than mad about what had
happened. Only Seamus seemed to be upset at all about losing so many points. Fred and George
stopped by as well, congratulating us on beating them in lost points all in one go. They were
fairly awestruck that we had survived the wrath of Minerva McGonagall, especially because she had
been mad enough to take so many points.

I watched the Head table while we were in the Great Hall that morning, but Dumbledore,
McGonagall, and Snape did not show up for breakfast. After another hour or so of killing time, we
all decided to go outside and enjoy the nice day. Most of the older Gryffindors stayed away from
us, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. People were certainly pissed, and
Slytherin was outright gleeful, but most students had other things on their minds.

Primarily, those `other things' were exams, and we all fell into a routine as that week
faded into the next, spending most of our free time studying in a large group with the other first
years. The core members were always me, Harry, and Sally; Ron and Neville were there for the
majority of the time; and the other five first years showed up when they could or wanted to.

We all made excellent progress in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Charms,
Transfiguration, and Astronomy as the second week after our nighttime excursion rolled on past. I
had mostly mastered the material before the spring term had even started, so most of this was
review for me. Harry was the same way. For everyone else, the sessions were useful to fine-tune
their practical spell casting techniques, as well as drilling home any theory that would be on the
exams.

After Herbology on Monday, May 25, we left the greenhouse and headed for the shores of the lake.
We were going to study our Astronomy notes, using the extra space on the beach to spread out our
star charts. It was a beautiful day—warm, breezy, and sunny—so we wanted to take advantage of it as
much as we could.

As we were settling on to the beach, I took off my robes, loosened my tie, rolled up my sleeves,
and kicked off my shoes. The sun felt glorious on my exposed skin.

“Hermione has the right idea, I think” Sally said, imitating me. She went one step further,
however, and removed her dress shirt. She sat on the hard beach in her skirt and a white tank top,
piling her other clothing next to her. As we all got to work, I couldn't help noticing the
boys—Harry, Ron, and Neville—sneaking glances at Sally's bare shoulders.

If I could watch that scene now, as an adult, I think I would have a hard time not laughing. It
was clear that Harry, Ron, and Neville were interested in areas of skin they had never before seen
on Sally, and an irrational jealousy leapt up in my heart.

“It *is* hot,” I said, after several minutes. I stood, stretched to my fullest height, and
slowly unbuttoned my dress shirt. I threw the tie to the ground and slipped out of the shirt,
leaving me in my skirt and a white tank top as well. Sally looked at me, smiled her approval, and
went back to memorizing her star chart.

Sitting back down, I almost immediately noticed that three pairs of eyes had subtly shifted to
me. I had to work very hard to keep the smirk off my face, enjoying the attention for once. I knew
I was being very manipulative, but it was in fact a very hot day. Why shouldn't I take off the
hotter, more formal clothing we had to wear in class?

“Blimey,” Harry said. His face was red and there was sweat trickling down his cheeks. “I really
need to change out of these clothes. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

I half expected Ron and Neville to follow him, but they did not. Ron appeared to have lost
interest in his Astronomy notes and was staring out across the lake; Neville was concentrating
furiously on his star chart, in between glances at Sally and me, of course.

“We should invest in some suits for next year,” Sally said, speaking mostly to me. This drew Ron
out of his daze. He looked at both of us. “We can spend time out here on nice days, tanning up a
bit.” Ron and Neville were definitely listening now.

“That'd be fun,” I agreed, smiling at her. I happened to look toward the castle at that
moment, only to witness a black-haired streak exit the front doors at full tilt.

Harry had changed into khaki shorts and a white tee, which were now molded to the front of his
body as he sprinted toward us. His shaggy hair blew back from his head. He ran like the wind.

“Look at Harry,” I said, pointing at him. Sally, Neville, and Ron turned to look, making noises
of astonishment at Harry's speed.

“Wonder what he's on about?” Ron asked.

Harry pulled up a few meters from us, finally coming to a stop near his things. We all threw
questions at him, but he held up his hand. He then laced his hands behind his head and caught his
breath.

“Was Fluffy after you or something?” Neville asked.

“No,” he said, breathing deeply. The collar of his tee was soaked with sweat. “No, that's
not it at all.”

“Well, what is it?” Ron questioned, impatiently.

“I was passing an empty classroom on my way back and I heard Quirrell moaning,” he explained.
“He said something like, `No, no, not again, please…'”

“What?” I asked. “How do you know it was Quirrell?”

“He was stuttering. And I know his voice by now. It sounded like someone was threatening
him.”

“So then what happened?” Sally asked.

“I heard Quirrell say, `All right, all right,' after a few seconds. Then he charged out of
the classroom, thankfully in the opposite direction. I dunno what he would have said if he'd
seen me.”

“He gave in to whatever was threatening him?” Ron wondered.

“How do we even know someone was threatening him?” I wanted to know.

“It has to be Snape,” Harry concluded, sitting down on the beach.

“What? How do you know?”

“Who else could it be? After what I overheard in the forest earlier this year? Quirrell must
have finally caved…” Harry reasoned.

All the clues fit, but I wanted to continue our policy of not meddling in affairs that did not
concern us. It had worked wonderfully during the past two weeks; we had achieved an incredible
amount of studying, not to mention the fact that most of the ill-feelings toward us over losing so
many points had faded.

“There's still Fluffy, though,” I said, hoping that would reduce anyone's urge to
investigate any further.

“Snape could probably find out how to get past Fluffy without asking Hagrid,” he said. “There
has to be a book somewhere in Hogwarts that tells you how to get past a three-headed dog.”

“So what do we do?” That was Neville and he sounded anxious. Sally looked uneasy and Harry was
clearly torn between adventure and keeping out of things.

I stepped in. “Go to Dumbledore. After Norbert, he told us to go to him or McGonagall with these
types of concerns. We *can't* get into any more trouble.”

“Yeah, because our *last* meeting with him went so well,” Ron grumbled.

“It's the only thing we can do,” I asserted.

Surprisingly, Harry shook his head. I was about to argue with him, but he cut me off. “We
don't have enough proof,” he started, sadly. “Quirrell won't back us up and Dumbledore
seems to trust Snape. It would be his word against ours, and who do you think Dumbledore will
believe?”

“So there's nothing we can do,” Neville said, relief filling his voice. I smiled at the
absurdity of it all. Here we were, sitting on a warm beach on a gorgeous day, and we were worrying
over something that was primarily between the professors.

“Nope,” Harry agreed.

“But if we just did some poking around—” Ron tried.

“No,” Harry said, cutting him off. His voice had changed in pitch slightly, shifting toward what
I would now call command mode. “We've done too much poking around already.”

No one argued with Harry, so we returned to our Astronomy notes and star charts. The breezy
beach was then filled with talk about Jupiter's moons and the constellations.

--------

Tuesday, May 26 began like any other day, but soon after we had all gathered for breakfast, it
was clear that it would not *end* like most other days. I received a note via owl from
Professor McGonagall, as did Harry and Neville. They all said the same thing, which was to inform
us that we had to serve detention at eleven that night. We were to meet Filch in the Entrance
Hall.

That day passed in a haze as we wondered what kinds of awful things Filch had in store for us.
We had heard stories about students having to polish all of the trophies in the trophy room with
only a toothbrush, or having to clean Myrtle's bathroom with similarly inadequate tools.

Just before eleven that night, as Harry, Neville, and I prepared to leave the Gryffindor common
room, Ron and Sally said their goodbyes.

“You're going to lose some quality some studying time, Hermione,” he joked.

“I'm ready for the exams,” I said, smiling wanly.

“Good luck…” Sally said. We nodded at her and left through the portrait hole. The school was
dark and deserted, so we made it to the Entrance Hall without interruption. Filch was waiting there
with a light in his hand, and Malfoy was with him. This must have also been his punishment for
being caught the other night.

“One minute late,” Filch said, looking at his watch. Filch always creeped me out. He was—quite
literally, I might add—a dirty old man, and I always wondered why he was allowed to roam the halls
of a school filled with children. He never had anything good to say and often gave the older girls
somewhat lecherous looks. I wanted to hex him between the eyes when I saw him doing that.

“Follow me,” he said, turning toward the door and exiting the castle into the humid night air.
Clouds obscured both the stars and the moon, so the night was unusually dark. “I bet you'll
think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you? Oh yes, hard work and pain are the
best teachers if you ask me… Right, off we go, follow closely, and don't think about running
off. It'll be much worse for you if you do.”

Malfoy had neither said anything to us nor made eye contact, and I quite honestly preferred it
that way. The less he interacted with any of us, the better. He was a slimy Slytherin git and the
vindictive side of me was glad he had to share our punishment.

We followed Filch away from the castle down the sloping grounds in the general direction of the
lake. The lights of Hagrid's cabin, off to the left, grew brighter and larger with every
step.

“Is that you, Filch?” a voice called. It was Hagrid! “Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

I glanced at Harry, surprise and hope filling my face. He smiled at me, nodding, and then
squinted into the darkness in front of us. Filch looked back and caught Harry's grin.

“I suppose you think you'll be having a grand old time with that oaf?” he asked,
rhetorically. I narrowed my eyes at him. There had been no reason to insult Hagrid. “Think again,
all of you. You're going into the Forest and I'll be surprised if any of you come out in
one piece.”

That finally elicited a reaction from Malfoy. He stopped. “The Forest? We can't go in there
at night… There are werewolves, and all *sorts* of other things.”

“Not my problem,” Filch said, clearly enjoying this. “You should have thought of that before you
got yourselves into trouble.”

Hagrid's large form entered the circle of light from Filch's lantern. He was accompanied
by Fang and he had an ancient crossbow slung over his shoulder. There was a quiver of bolts in his
hand.

“I bin waitin' fer half an hour, Filch,” he said, looking at us. “All right, you three?”

Filch's back straightened. “Don't be too friendly with them, Hagrid. They're here to
be punished, after all.” I thought he sounded like a pompous arse. Hagrid must have agreed, because
he came a few steps closer and frowned at Filch.

“So that's why yer late? You bin lecturin' them?” The adults stared coolly at each other
for several tense seconds. “Well, yeh've done yer job,” Hagrid finished, turning away from
Filch. “Come on, all of you, we have work ter do t'night.”

The four of us walked past Filch, who had sunk down from his full height once again. He
couldn't resist a parting shot: “I'll be back at dawn…for what's left of you.” He
cackled like the idiot he was and turned away.

“Don't listen to him,” Hagrid said, gruffly. “Nothin's goin' ter happen ter any of
you.”

We followed Hagrid in silence past his hut to the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. The dark
night was even darker here at the edge of that vast tangle of trees and underbrush; there was an
earthy, ripe smell that pervaded the air around us, exacerbated by the high humidity. Various
sounds emanated from the Forest, including some that I did not recognize. Hagrid turned to us.

“I'm not going in there,” Malfoy said. He sounded very afraid. I looked at Harry and
Neville, to gauge their reactions. Harry was taking everything in stride, as I expected, and
Neville was stone-faced. If he was afraid, he was hiding it. As for me, I was with Hagrid and
Harry, so I was not worried.

“Yeh are if yeh want to stay at Hogwarts,” Hagrid told him, quite simply.

“But this is servant stuff, if my father knew—” Malfoy tried to say

“I'm sure yer father would want you punished accordingly,” Hagrid cut him off. “Yeh'll
do summat useful or yeh'll get out.”

Malfoy stared at him but said nothing more. My eyes had adjusted the deep darkness by this time,
so I saw something glinting in the low light by Hagrid's feet. He bent over to pick it up,
fiddled with it, and we were all abruptly illuminated by the bright glow of another lantern. The
edge of the forest was directly in front of us, and curving out of sight into the thick woods was a
worn trail. It was to this that Hagrid pointed.

“Listen carefully,” he ordered. “It's dangerous what we're gonna be doin', so no
one's to take any risks. Look there,” he continued, moving to beginning of the trail. He was
pointing at the ground by his boots. “See this shiny stuff?” I noticed a small, silvery pool of
some kind of liquid shining in the lantern's light. Harry and Neville moved forward to look at
it; Malfoy hung back, his face pinched in disgust and fear.

“This is unicorn blood. Something's been after unicorns in the Forest. This is the second
time in just the last few days. I found one dead last week.”

Now I noticed that the pools of shiny liquid continued haphazardly along the trail, disappearing
into the depths of the forest. The poor creature must have been wounded but still able to move.

“So tonight we're gonna try an' find it. We might even hafta put it out o' its
misery.”

“What if whatever injured the unicorn finds us first?” Malfoy asked, still playing the part of
the coward. Unicorns were supposed to be incredibly hard to catch, so I was curious more than
anything.

“Nothin' in here will hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” Hagrid told him. “An' as long as
you keep ter the path. So we're gonna split up and follow two different trails. Hopefully we
can find the unicorn before long.”

“I want Fang,” Malfoy said. Fang looked slowly around at him, his dopey eyes trying to figure
out why his name had been said.

“Sure, but he's a coward. Me, Harry, `n Hermione'll go one way, an' Draco, Neville,
an' Fang'll go another way.”

I felt badly for Neville. He had just pulled the short straw. Fang was a good dog, but he was a
big baby. And Malfoy couldn't be counted on for anything. I did not want to change my position
with Harry and Hagrid, however, so I did not say anything. Neville's shoulders had dropped a
bit, but he remained silent as well.

“If one of yeh finds the unicorn, send up green sparks. If fer some reason yer get inter
trouble, send up red sparks. We'll come find yeh. Practice for a mo',” he said, so we all
took out our wands and shot the colored sparks into the air. Malfoy couldn't get the green
sparks right at first, but he eventually mastered the simple spell.

“Let's go.”

Hagrid started forward, holding the lantern high and moving at a rapid pace. We almost had to
trot to keep up with him. Harry and I were directly behind Hagrid; Neville and Malfoy were just
behind us. The lantern did not penetrate beyond the edge of the path in this inky blackness; beyond
its halo, I could see nothing except dense foliage and shadow underbrush. It made me think of a
cocoon as the canopy blotted out the cloudy sky over our heads.

After several minutes of moving farther and farther into the forest, we came to a split in the
path. Hagrid pointed Fang down the right path, motioning for Neville and Malfoy to follow him. He
handed Neville another, smaller lantern that had been attached to the one in his hand.

“Remember, stay to the path. Raise red sparks if yer in any trouble.” We watched them fade into
the blackness.

“Come on,” Hagrid urged, starting along the left path. The Forest was wilder here, growing
closer to the path and smelling ever more pungent. There were distant howls as we stopped briefly
by the largest pool of blood yet.

“*Could* a werewolf be killing the unicorns?” Harry inquired, as we resumed walking.

“Doubt it,” Hagrid told him, searching the underbrush and swinging the lantern from side to
side. “They're not fast enough. Not many things can catch unicorns. In fact, I never knew one
ter be hurt before.”

I felt the cold prickle of unease at the base of my spine. For the first time that night,
Hagrid's words had unsettled me. It seemed that we could actually be dealing with something
very dangerous. As we walked, I moved closer to Harry, bumping his arm with mine. He said nothing
and did not react, other than to send me a reassuring glance.

The sound of running water grew steadily in our ears as we continued, and eventually we came to
a stream that cut directly across the path. It wasn't very wide, but the water was running
madly through its narrow channel. I could see spots of unicorn blood on both sides.

Hagrid hefted us over and then stepped over himself, shining the light along the stream in both
directions. He grunted and then motioned for us to move again. The Forest had suddenly encroached
upon the path like never before. Vines, roots, and low-hanging branches impeded our progress, and
the stillness of the night was quite oppressive. There was almost no noise now, as if the Forest
was waiting for something.

*Crack!*

Hagrid reacted faster than I had ever seen him move. He swept Harry and me into his free arm and
dropped us behind a tree just off the path, turning to face whatever had made the noise. It had
sounded like a branch snapping.

“Show yerself!” Hagrid boomed. His voice was quickly lost amidst the thick vegetation. I huddled
closer to Harry and grabbed his hand. I squeezed it tightly, peering around the tree at Hagrid.

“Show yerself! I'm armed!” Hagrid yelled again, brandishing his crossbow in the light of the
lantern.

Something moved just beyond the ring of light—I buried my face into Harry's shoulder, unable
to stand the suspense—until I heard him gasp softly. It was not a gasp of fear.

“Hermione, look,” he whispered, squeezing my hand. I looked around the tree again and saw
something quite incredible: a centaur! He was half stallion, half man; where his human appearance
ended, the powerful body of a crimson horse began. He stood nearly as tall as Hagrid as he
approached him.

“Oh, it's you, Ronan.” The relief in Hagrid's voice was tangible. “How are yeh?” The
centaur stopped directly in front of him and they shook hands.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” Ronan said, in a mesmerizingly deep, melodic voice. “Were you really
going to shoot me?”

Hagrid shrugged, shouldering the crossbow again. “Can't be too careful. You can come out,
Harry, Hermione,” he told us, so we stood and came around the tree. Ronan watched us carefully. His
tail swished skittishly back and forth.

“This is Harry Potter and this is Hermione Granger,” Hagrid said, introducing us. “They're
students at Hogwarts. This is Ronan. He's a centaur.”

“Nice to meet you, Ronan,” Harry said, letting go of my hand and stepping forward. Ronan looked
surprised to see Harry's outstretched hand, but after a moment of consideration, they shook
hands.

“Yes, very nice to meet you,” I said, coming forward as well. I stuck out my hand and he shook
it. His grip was very gentle.

“It is a pleasure,” Ronan told us, staring at his hand after I had let it go. “So you two are
students? How do you like Hogwarts? Do you learn anything?” His voice was misty and rose and fell
with each cadence.

Harry looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Some things, yes.”

“Well that's something,” Ronan said, looking skyward. The long tendons in his neck stood out
in the lantern's light. I looked up as well and saw that the sky had cleared overhead,
affording us a view of the starry heavens. “Mars is bright tonight.”

I looked at Harry, this time raising my own eyebrow. This centaur sure was a strange fellow. He
shrugged and we both looked over our shoulders at Hagrid.

“Sure it is,” Hagrid said, sounding nonplussed. “I'm glad we ran inter yeh, actually,
because there's bin a unicorn hurt. You know anything about that, Ronan?”

Still staring toward the sky, Ronan said, “The innocent are always the first. It has always been
that way.”

Hagrid grunted impatiently. “But have yeh seen anything?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” the centaur repeated.

“I meant anythin' unusual a bit closer ter home,” Hagrid explained, doing a remarkable job
keeping his cool.

Finally, Ronan looked at Hagrid. There was some kind of cool intelligence behind his eyes that I
hadn't noticed before. “The forest hides many secrets.” I thought it sounded like something
Dumbledore might say about Hogwarts.

More movement made Hagrid reach for his crossbow, but it was only another centaur. This darker,
taller, and more intense-looking centaur stopped next to Ronan. He stared at the three of us.

“Hullo, Bane,” Hagrid greeted him. “All right?”

“Evening,” the new centaur said. “I trust you are well?”

“Sure, well enough. I've just bin askin' Ronan if yeh've seen anythin' odd in
here? We're tryin' to find what's bin injurin' unicorns aroun' here.”

“Mars is bright tonight,” Bane said. Ronan nodded lazily in agreement.

“Right, o' course it is. We'll be goin' then,” Hagrid said, quite exasperated. He
shuffled us around the large centaurs and we resumed our walking. I glanced over my shoulder,
watching as they faded from view, still entranced by the night sky.

“Ruddy stargazers,” Hagrid mumbled.

“Are there many centaurs in here?” I asked.

“A fair bit,” Hagrid supplied. “Keep ter themselves mostly, but they'll show up if I ever
need something.”

“Can they do magic?” Harry questioned.

Hagrid shook his head. “O' course not. Nonhumans can't legally practice magic. I dunno
if they even could anyway. They're deep, centaurs…they know things, but no, they can't do
magic.”

We walked in silence for a long time after that, following the ever-increasing amount of unicorn
blood into the darkness. I was amazed that the creature hadn't simply bled to death by this
point. We also appeared to have passed the heart of the thicket, because at some point the trees
and underbrush had begun to thin out. The path was now gradually bending to our right, and because
the lantern could now penetrate further into the darkness on both sides, I thought I could see
shapes moving here and there. The hairs on my arms stood up as goose bumps rippled out along my
skin. It felt like we were being followed.

Red light suddenly filled the world in front of us, illuminating for just a moment the figures
of Malfoy, Neville, and Fang. Malfoy held his wand aloft, firing the sparks into the air, but his
face was covered by his other hand. Neville watched him impassively.

“What's this about?” Hagrid yelled, speeding up to meet them. We had to run to keep up with
him. The red sparks stopped as we came closer and saw that the two paths rejoined where they were
standing.

“Oh, it's you,” Malfoy said, rather breathlessly. We skidded to a halt in the wide space
where the paths merged.

“What's with the sparks?” Hagrid demanded, looking all around us with a hand on his
crossbow.

“False alarm,” Neville said, looking sourly at Malfoy. “He saw your light and panicked. I
*told* him it was just you three…”

“Shut it, Longbottom! Who knows what it could have been!”

Neville snorted and then made eye contact with us. There was a smile in his eyes I was glad to
see. He had obviously made it through his ordeal with Malfoy and Fang quite unharmed. Even his
posture was more relaxed than when we had last seen him.

“You great bumblin' idiot,” Hagrid said, staring at Malfoy. “We'll be lucky ter catch
anything now. Come on, let's keep moving,” Hagrid added, looking at the splotches of silver
blood covering the ground. “We'll all stick together now.”

The forest continued to gradually thin out as we walked along, until it had become more of a
grove than an actual forest. Knee-high rushes grew between the trees, glowing softly in the
starlight from the now-cloudless sky. It was an ethereal atmosphere, something I will never forget.
I had no idea how far we were from Hogwarts, but it felt like a great distance. The rushes swished
back and forth in the breeze, whispering in our ears.

“Look,” Hagrid said, stopping after what seemed like an hour and pointing at the ground. There
were hoof marks ground deeply into the path as well as splashes of silver all around, as if the
unicorn had struggled immensely at this spot. I followed the blood and saw that it disappeared into
the rushes on our left, which had been partially trampled and were also stained with the blood.

“We must be gettin' close now,” he whispered. “Quiet, and wands out,” he commanded, reaching
for his crossbow again.

Slowly, we left the path and made our way through the grass, staying just to either side of the
bloody, worn section. The trees here were very tall and thin, visibly swaying in the breeze. Their
foliage was so high overhead that I could barely see any of it.

The blood became thicker and thicker. I could hear running water again, and suddenly the tall
grass ended in a small clearing, through the middle of which ran another stream.

“Oh Merlin…” Hagrid breathed. The sorrow in his voice was overwhelming.

In front of us, in the middle of the clearing by the edge of the stream, was the unicorn for
which we had been looking. It was sprawled out, as if it had fallen during a full gallop, and it
was dead. It rested in a shining pool of its own blood. I felt sadness in my heart for the
beautiful creature, because it truly was beautiful. It had a perfectly white body and one golden
horn.

Hagrid doused the lantern and told us to be quiet once again. He sighted along his crossbow,
waiting for something happen. Nothing except the sound of the wind in the rushes met my ears for
the next few seconds.

Harry stepped to me, pointing his wand to the clearing in front of us, and whispered in my ear,
“Do you hear that?”

I cocked my head, and for a second, I heard nothing new. Then, ever-so-faintly, a slithering
sound joined the night breeze. I could not tell exactly where it was coming from or what was
causing it, but I also raised my wand. Neville saw Harry and me pointing our wands and did the
same. Malfoy merely stared at the unicorn.

I thought I saw something move in the stream just beyond the unicorn's body. I couldn't
be sure, because it blended so well with the dark water, but it looked like a cloaked figure—”

“*AAAAAAAAAHHH!!”* Malfoy screamed. It startled all of us so badly and everything happened
so quickly afterward that I can hardly distinguish one thing from another. Malfoy bolted with Fang
right on his heels; Hagrid turned to try to stop Malfoy from running alone into the Forest. Harry
started moving toward the unicorn, wand held high, and Neville and I instinctually followed
him.

“Malfoy!! Get yer silly arse back here!” Hagrid yelled, his voice several paces behind us
now.

Something moved by the unicorn and now I was sure that there was some kind of cloaked figure in
the stream. If I was seeing things correctly, its head was by the creature's open wound, and it
was lapping at the silvery blood. As we neared, and as I heard Hagrid crashing through the grass
somewhere behind us, it raised its concealed face and stared directly at us.

Harry suddenly staggered and clutched his head, going to one knee. His wand was still in his
hand, but he was no longer looking at the thing in front of us.

“Harry?” I cried, keeping my eyes and wand on the cloaked figure as I squatted next to him.
Neville stood over us, also pointing his wand straight at the thing.

“Scar…hurts…” Harry ground out, looking up and trying to stand. His eyes were watering. In the
low light I could see that his scar had turned an ugly, bloody red.

“*Harrrrrrry…Potterrrrr…*” something hissed, and I looked up to see the figure slithering
over the body of the unicorn toward us.

Hagrid suddenly yelled from somewhere behind us: “HARRRY!! NOO!! *EXPECTO PATRONUM!*” The
figure stopped for just a second, but then it resumed its progress toward us.

“*LUMOS!”* Neville yelled, illuminating a small circle around us. The approaching cloaked
thing recoiled from the light momentarily, but that defense did not last long.

“*Stupefy!”* I incanted as Harry was finally able to stand again. A bright red bolt jumped
from my wand, but it flew directly through the figure. Harry did the same thing with the same
results. The three of us started backing away because we did not know what to do; Harry threw out
of his arms in an ultimately futile attempt to protect Neville and me.

The sound of hooves grew quickly in my ears, and before we could react or do anything else, a
centaur jumped right over our heads and landed between us and the figure. It reared up on its hind
legs, punching at the cloaked figure with its front hooves. The thing hissed violently at the
centaur but quickly retreated, fading into the tall grass at the far edge of the clearing. As we
watched it disappear, I realized that I had grabbed the arm Harry had thrown across my chest. I
squeezed it once and let it go, looking at him. I stifled a gasp as I saw blood running down his
face from his scar.

“Are you two alright?” he asked.

“Are *you*?” I wondered, wiping some of the blood away with the sleeve of my robe.

Before Harry could respond, the centaur had turned to us. He was neither Ronan nor Bane; he
appeared to be much younger and was nearly as white as the dead unicorn. His muscles strained
against his flank.

“Are you three all right?” His voice was deep, urgent, and somehow comforting. He stared at us
with eyes that were almost as blue as the Headmaster's.

“Yes, I think so,” Harry answered for us. “But what *was* that thing?”

The centaur was about to answer, but Hagrid's thundering footsteps were approaching. The
centaur glanced in that direction, seemingly relieved to see Hagrid. Malfoy and Fang were with
him.

“Harry, Hermi—ahh, Firenze!” Hagrid exclaimed, stopping before the new centaur.

“Hagrid,” Firenze nodded. “This is the Potter boy,” he continued. “We need to return him to
Hogwarts as fast as we can. The forest is not safe at this time—especially for him. I will take the
four young ones on my back.”

Hagrid nodded. “Thank you, ol' friend.” He hoisted Malfoy onto the centaur's back; the
little git seemed too scared to do anything but hold on tightly. Neville went next; then it was my
turn; and finally Harry was lifted onto Firenze. The centaur's back was just big enough for the
four of us. I was pressed into Neville's back and Harry was pressed into mine. He wrapped his
arms around my midsection, and I copied him with Neville. I could feel Firenze's sinewy muscles
beneath me.

“Didya happen ter see what had killed the unicorn?” Hagrid asked, grasping Firenze's hand
for a moment.

Firenze nodded, but further conversation was interrupted by more galloping hooves. Soon
thereafter, Ronan and Bane crashed into the clearing.

“Firenze!” Bane yelled, sounding alarmed. “What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Are
you a common mule?”

“Do you realize who this is?” Firenze yelled back. “The quicker he returns to Hogwarts, the
better.”

“What have you been telling him?” Bane's voice was low and menacing. Harry shifted against
me, reminding me that we were very close together. There was almost no space between our bodies.
“We are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens! Have we not read what is to come in the
movements of the planets and the stars?”

“You misunderstand, Bane,” Firenze retorted, coldly.

“I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” Ronan interjected, in his mournful
voice.

Bane snorted, sounding more like a horse than a man. “What does that have to do with us? We are
only concerned with what has been foretold!”

“Silence!” Firenze yelled, asserting his authority over the other two. “Do you see that unicorn
behind me or understand why it was killed? I have set myself against the entity that has been
lurking in this forest! If that means I must have humans by my side, then so be it!”

Bane lowered his head and pawed the ground, as if he was going to charge Firenze. I leaned back
into Harry's arms, hoping that *something* could put a stop to all this arguing. I had
absolutely no idea what the centaurs were shouting about; I just wanted to be back at Hogwarts in
my safe, warm bed.

A rush of air signaled something else was coming, and I readied myself for whatever this new
intrusion was. Fire rapidly flashed outward from a singular point between the centaurs, revealing
at first a large red bird and then afterward the figure of the Headmaster. I don't think
I'd ever been more relieved to see him. Fawkes, the large red phoenix, flapped his wings and
then landed on Dumbledore's shoulder.

“Dumbledore! You received my Patronus, then?” Hagrid asked, stepping forward to greet the
Headmaster.

The Headmaster had appeared with his wand out, crouching low to the ground. He now stood and
straightened his glasses and his robes. He surveyed the situation briefly.

“Yes, Hagrid. Thank you for the warning,” he said. He looked at Bane and Ronan. They stepped
back under his steely gaze. “Good evening, Bane. Ronan.” There was very little warmth in his voice,
which surprised me. The two centaurs appeared to be afraid of Dumbledore, as if they had run into
each other in the past.

“I trust that you are not giving my students any trouble?” the Headmaster asked. Ronan shook his
head, turned, and galloped away from us. Bane met Dumbledore's eyes for several seconds,
finally shaking his head.

“Good night, then,” Dumbledore said, dismissing Bane. He backed away several paces before
turning and disappearing into the night.

“Why's Bane so angry?” Harry asked. “What was that thing by the unicorn anyway?”

“Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?” Firenze asked. Dumbledore had motioned something
to Hagrid, who now lifted us off Firenze's back. When we were all standing on the ground again,
Firenze turned to us. Dumbledore moved to stand next to the tall centaur.

“No,” Harry said, looking at me. I shook my head.

“We've only used their horns and tails in Potions,” I told Firenze. He nodded, looking at
Dumbledore.

“That is because it is an unspeakable act to slay a unicorn,” the centaur said, pointing at the
dead unicorn.

“Firenze is right, of course,” Dumbledore said. “Only one who has absolutely nothing to lose
would commit such a heinous deed. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an
inch from death.”

Fawkes flew from Dumbledore's shoulder to the unicorn, leaning over its wound and shedding a
few tears. When nothing happened, he trilled something akin to a lament.

Firenze said, “You have slain something pure and defenseless out of your own selfishness, so you
will live a cursed life from that moment on.” Fawkes continued his heartrending song, distressed
that another rare and beautiful magical creature had been so ignominiously killed. I could feel
tears welling up behind my eyes as I listened to the song. Hagrid was already sniffing back his
tears.

“Who'd want to do something like that?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, if you're going to be cursed forever, I think death's better,” Neville said,
watching Fawkes.

“It is,” Firenze agreed, again looking to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded, walking toward
Fawkes and the dead unicorn. He knelt by the phoenix, stroking his plume and inspecting the
corpse.

“That is, unless you just need to stay alive long enough to drink something else… something that
could bring you back to full power. Something that means you can never die—young man, are you quite
alright?” Firenze asked, staring at Malfoy, who I noticed was swaying on his feet. Without warning,
he crumpled to the ground.

“Wanker's gone an' fainted,” Hagrid mumbled, moving forward and picking up Malfoy.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, still looking closely at the unicorn. “Please carry Mr. Malfoy back
to Hogwarts. I will travel back with Harry, Hermione, and Neville when we are ready.”

“Yes sir,” Hagrid said, lifting Malfoy like he weighed nothing. “Come on, Fang,” he called, and
then lumbered away. Firenze watched them go before turning back to us.

I couldn't believe it. Malfoy really was a coward. The danger had long since
passed—Dumbledore was here, after all—but the stress of the situation had caused him to faint. I
shook my head in disbelief.

“Anyway, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

The proverbial light bulb flickered on in my head at that exact moment.

“The Philosopher's Stone!” I exclaimed, though I was not alone. Harry had yelled the same
thing. “The Elixir of Life,” I added. “But who would want it—?”

“Can you think of anyone who has waited many long years to return to his or her former power,
who has desperately clung to life by any and all means?” Firenze asked, solemnly, cutting me
off.

Another light bulb flickered on in my head, though this time it was a black light. Firenze
couldn't be implying what I *thought* he was implying…

“Do you mean to say that was *Voldemort?*” Harry inquired, staring at Firenze. He absently
rubbed his bloody scar.

Firenze bowed his head. Out here in the deep wilderness with no lights for kilometers in either
direction, the starlight reflected off his snowy mane. The clearing was absolutely silent for
several long moments. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as it reverberated through my
bones. Dumbledore was staring at us now.

“This is where I leave you,” Firenze said, almost sadly. “You are safe now. Good luck, all of
you. The planets…” he trailed off, looking up into the sky. “They have been read wrongly before,
even by centaurs. I hope that *this* is one of those times.” He turned away without another
word and slipped into the darkness of the surrounding forest.

There was a veritable pause in the fabric of time as we processed this new information. I
reached for Harry's hand again, enclosing it in both of mine. He was still rubbing his scar
with the other one. Dumbledore flowed to his feet with Fawkes on his shoulder and moved in our
direction.

“Let us return to Hogwarts,” he said, holding out and arm. “Please take hold.” Silently, almost
in shock, we grabbed his arm. The world was briefly filled with fire, snaking over every inch of my
body but not burning me, and my vision went dark. When it was restored, I saw that I had been
transported directly into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Fawkes trilled something conciliatory and
flew up the grand marble staircase.

“Come on,” Dumbledore prompted, gently, leading us upward toward the Gryffindor tower.
Absolutely nothing was said as we made our way through the castle. What could any of us say?
Honestly, what could we say or do to make what Firenze had just revealed any less overwhelming? We
had unwittingly stumbled into the midst of the most evil maniac to ever live. Or half-live. I shook
my head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

The portrait opened of its own accord as we approached the entrance to the tower. Neville went
in without a word, and Harry and I started to follow.

“Harry, Hermione, a word, if you will,” Dumbledore said. We turned toward him. I was surprised
to see him kneel before us, putting the three of us on nearly equal footing.

“Is it true, sir? What Firenze said?” Harry asked. His voice was…lost. I had no idea what could
have caused that emotion then, but now I'm sure he must have been thinking of his parents. I
cannot even begin to describe the anguish that must have been running through Harry. I kept my hand
in his, trying to lend him as much silent support as I could.

“It could be, Harry,” Dumbledore said. His voice was open and honest. There was no cloak over
his words tonight. He sounded like he had been shaken. “Which is why I want to tell you both to be
extremely careful,” he continued. “I will be watching things closely from now until the end of
term, but even I cannot see everything. You all need to look out for each other now.”

I nodded, drawing Harry closer to me. He looked at me, grateful for the support. Dumbledore was
watching this with hooded eyes. They were not twinkling tonight.

“I also want to return to you something that is rightfully yours,” he told Harry, reaching into
his cloak and pulling out something shimmery. “Just in case,” he concluded, handing the
Invisibility Cloak to Harry. They looked into each other's eyes for just one second. Dumbledore
then stood and motioned toward the portrait. “I think a good night's rest is in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. We turned to the portrait, calling good night to the Headmaster over our
shoulders. He waved and disappeared around the corner.

When we entered he common room, Sally, Neville, and Ron were having a heated discussion by the
fireplace, in which there will only embers. The clock on the mantle told the distressing tale of
two o'clock in the morning.

“Harry! Hermione! There you are!” Ron called. I dropped Harry's hand as we came nearer to
everyone.

“What did Dumbledore want?” Neville asked. His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

Harry held out the Invisibility Cloak for all to see.

“He gave it back to you?” Neville wondered. Harry nodded, dropping onto the couch beside
Neville. I sat next to him, trying not to fidget.

“Neville told us what happened,” Ron cut in, unable to contain himself. “It's gotta be
Snape! He wants the Stone for You-Know-Who, and You-Know-Who's waiting in the forest. And all
this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich!!”

Harry rubbed his scar again. “That was definitely Voldemort in the forest…”

“Don't say the name!” Ron hissed, recoiling from Harry.

“Firenze saved us, but I don't think he should have,” Harry continued, ignoring Ron's
outburst.

“Bane was so furious…” I commented.

“I know,” Harry agreed. “He kept saying that Firenze shouldn't have interfered with what
they'd read in the movement of the planets.”

Though I was skeptical of any kind of divination, what I had witnessed in the forest had shaken
me. I laid a hand on Harry's knee.

“Do you think they show that Voldemort's coming back?” I asked, not caring about using the
name. If we had truly come face to face with him, I had earned the right to say his name.

“They must,” Harry said. “And if Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort finish me off,
then that must be written in the stars too.”

“Stop saying his name!!” Ron said again.

“I don't know if that's what Bane meant,” Neville interjected, also ignoring Ron. “It
was hard for me tell exactly what they were talking about.”

“I think Neville's right, Harry. We don't know what Bane meant.”

Harry laughed hollowly. “Well, all we have to do is wait for Snape to steal the Stone, don't
we? Then Voldemort can return to full power and he can come finish me off, if he wants. Then I
guess we'll know what Bane was talking about.”

I squeezed his knee. “Enough of that, Harry.” He blinked and stared at me. “Everyone knows that
Dumbledore is the only one that Voldemort ever feared. Hogwarts is Dumbledore's school, so
nothing bad will happen.” I didn't care whether that was stupidly naïve; I just wanted Harry to
stop wallowing in his misery.

“Just like nothing bad has happened so far?” Sally asked. I shot her a look that told her to be
quiet. Her eyebrows crept up her forehead.

“And anyway,” I said, “Professor McGonagall says that divination is very imprecise magic. The
centaurs could be completely wrong.”

“Sure, they *could* be,” Harry said, breathing deeply. “But are they?”

It was with this question on all of our minds that we went to bed.

-->



18. Chapter Seventeen
---------------------



A/N: The board is set; the pieces are moving…

Chapter Seventeen

Spring Term 1992

I stood in the doorway of the Great Hall watching the Gryffindor table. Bright morning sunlight
slanted in through the high windows, throwing pools of golden radiance in a fixed pattern around
the room. My eyes were drawn to the lone figure at our table. He was bent over a book and a plate
of food, ignoring everything around him. It was only seven thirty, so there were just a few other
students at the long tables, most of whom were Ravenclaws. I did not see any professors at the Head
table.

The brilliantly lit Great Hall was quite the contrast from the darkness of our recent foray into
the Forbidden Forest. There was a disconnect between the imminent danger of the night before and
the pleasant scene before my eyes. Hogwarts had some sublime environments, especially during the
early morning and twilight hours, but they hid something more sinister, something that all the
wonderment my introduction to the magical world had hidden.

Wizarding society had a festering sore in the darkest reaches of its heart, and the boy sitting
at the Gryffindor table was a testament to the losses imposed by that darkness. Harry Potter had
lost his parents and, for all intents and purposes, most of his early childhood to the rampant
prejudice, arrogance, and fear that had allowed Voldemort to run roughshod over Britain during the
First War.

As I stood there watching Harry, my thoughts certainly were not as organized or coherent, but I
felt *something* overwhelming just beyond the tip of my tongue. Our supposed encounter with
Voldemort had sobered me immediately. Even though I was only twelve at the time, I sensed that some
of my innocence had irrevocably faded away during the night. I ached with overwhelming empathy—or
was it merely sympathy?—for Harry's pain and confusion at having suddenly come face to face
with the being that murdered his parents, but I did not know how talk about it with him. I was only
twelve. I was just as scared and confused as he was.

I took a deep breath and entered the Great Hall. I doubt he heard me coming, but Harry turned as
soon as I neared the end of the table. He smiled at me, but I noted that it did not reach his eyes.
I was careful not to stare at them, but they had aged considerably during the night. He was an old
soul in a young body, *made* old by the events all around us.

“Morning, Harry,” I greeted, sitting across from him.

“Hullo, Hermione,” he responded, pushing a platter of breakfast foods toward me.

“Thanks.” I loaded my plate and began to eat. Silence settled over the table as he returned to
his food and the book.

“What are you studying?” I asked. He lifted the book for a second, allowing me to see the cover.
It was our History of Magic textbook.

“I haven't been studying this as much as I should,” he explained. “It's hard enough to
stay awake during class… But I guess this is really the only subject I need to study for at
all.”

I had already memorized everything I thought would be necessary for the History of Magic exam,
but that seemed like another life now. Suddenly, exams looked less important than they had, as if
my priorities had shifted without me knowing.

When my thoughts returned to the present, I saw that Harry had returned to reading the book. He
was only speaking when spoken to, which was rather unusual for him. He had never been a chatty
person, but it had always been fairly easy to hold a steady conversation with him. For once in my
life, I did not know what to say.

He must have noticed that I had stopped eating because he glanced up at me. When he saw me
staring at him, he dropped the book to the table and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Harry…” I sighed, reaching across the table and gripping one of his hands in both of mine. His
eyes dropped to them.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, even though I knew it was a stupid question. Of course
everything wasn't alright.

“Dunno,” he said, still staring at the table.

“Harry, come on…” I wished I could see his eyes. They were much easier to read than his body
language, which could have meant frustration, sadness, or a number of other emotions.

“What if he came bursting in here right now?” Harry asked, suddenly looking up and capturing me
with his eyes. He wrenched his hand from mine and slammed his book closed. His plate actually
jumped off the table with the force of the impact. I had absolutely no idea how to react to his
sudden anger.

“Huh?” I intoned. A little voice in the back of my head—a voice that sounded suspiciously like
Harry, though I never would have admitted it—was laughing at my inarticulateness.

“*Voldemort*,” he said, quite loudly. There was no one around us to hear, so there were no
violent reactions. “What if he walked through that door right now?” he asked, pointing toward the
entrance to the Great Hall. I glanced over there, watching briefly as two sixth or seventh year
Hufflepuffs strolled in.

“He can't,” I said, trying to restart my stalled brain. Harry's question had taken me by
surprise. I knew that we had come into close contact with the left-over essence of Voldemort in the
Forest, but I hadn't actually thought about what would happen if Voldemort were to enter
Hogwarts. And of course what I did not know at that point was that Voldemort had indeed been inside
Hogwarts already—and for quite some time. In fact, he had been privy to all of our Defense Against
the Dark Arts lessons.

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“He wouldn't,” I tried. “Not with Dumbledore here.”

“How can we be sure? The Philosopher's Stone is exactly what he needs, and it's sitting
right here in Hogwarts.” Harry then mumbled something else that I didn't quite catch.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I don't feel safe anymore,” he told me. “And you shouldn't either. The Stone is bait,
Hermione, even if it's not intended to be. It's a powerful and priceless magical artifact
that *anyone* would want, and it's here.”

Harry had apparently thought about this extensively since the night before. The centaurs had
been the main topic of discussion in the common room, but Harry's concerns went far beyond
anything that had been foretold in the stars. He was talking about practical, urgent matters that
demanded our attention, even if we were only first years in way over our heads.

“Dumbledore wouldn't keep it here if he thought it was endangering students.”

Harry laughed in derision. I frowned at him, hurt that he was laughing at me. I couldn't
remember ever hearing that sound coming from his mouth—the cynical, jaded laughter of someone much
older.

“Right,” he said. “Just like Dumbledore wouldn't keep a bloody Cerberus in the school if
students were endangered.”

“Harry, you heard what he said last night—”

“I sure did!” Harry exclaimed, cutting me off and nearly burning into my eyes with his. “He said
that we have to look out for each other now, which means that he can't protect us!”

I remembered that part of the conversation, but I supposed I had not realized all of the
implications of what Dumbledore had said.

“Harry…” I said, at a loss for words. This conversation was going absolutely nowhere. If
Voldemort were to penetrate the castle's defenses and go for the Stone, there was very little
we could do. We were only first years. We couldn't hope to stand a chance against the most
powerful Dark wizard to ever live, even if it was only a remnant.

“He shouldn't *have* to protect us, Hermione. This is a *school*.”

“So let's finish this year on a good note! Let's ace the exams and enjoy our summer
holiday… Maybe Dumbledore will have moved the Stone by next year?”

Harry had frowned at the mention of summer holidays. Questions about his home life had receded
to the back of my mind since Christmas, but seeing that frown made some of them resurface. I hoped
that I would be able to see Harry this summer.

“Maybe,” he grumbled, looking down at the textbook. Suddenly, inspiration struck me:

“Quiz me,” I said, gripping his hand and squeezing it.

“What?”

“Quiz me, Harry!” I said, pointing to the book.

“Um, ok. On what?”

“Names, dates, whatever! Just quiz me! Then we'll know if I'm really ready for the exam
or not.”

He smiled, and this time it was the genuine version. The skin at the corners of his eyes
crinkled slightly.

“Hermione,” he said, opening the book, “I *know* you are more than prepared for this silly
exam.”

I couldn't help it; I knew I blushed a little. As I tried to ignore the warmth in my cheeks,
I swatted his hand.

“Flattery, Potter, will get you nowhere. You know just as well as I do that if *I'm*
prepared for the exam, so are *you*.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do. So because I walked in here on you studying, maybe I need to check that I've done
enough too.”

“Fine,” he nodded. “1333.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Hmmm….” I intoned, wracking my brain for the answer. Quite honestly, the date was unfamiliar to
me.

“I'll give you a hint,” Harry said. “It concerns something that *we* have been
concerned with all year.” No light bulbs were going off in my head. Apparently I really did need to
study a bit more. I looked at him and shrugged. He leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling
triumphantly.

“Guess I'll hit the books,” I said, disappointed in myself.

Harry chuckled. “You won't need to. That was a trick question. Perenelle Flamel was born in
1333.”

I pouted at him, having just understood his reference to what we'd been concerned with all
year. Perenelle was Nicolas's wife.

“Harry, that's not fair!”

“Gotcha,” he smiled, winking at me. Oooh, he was so frustrating sometimes!

For the next half hour or so, we quizzed each other about History of Magic. During that time,
most of the other students trickled into the Great Hall, with Sally, Neville, and finally Ron
joining us by the time we were ready to leave. They were still very concerned with what we had
talked about the previous night, but as with Harry, the conversation went nowhere. We were merely
first years; there was ultimately nothing we could do to protect the Stone—or even ourselves, for
that matter, if Voldemort really did show up—without bringing bodily harm or breaking about a dozen
school rules.

Hundreds of owls streamed into the Great Hall around 9:30, landing in front of each student and
depositing an envelope with an official Hogwarts seal. I slit the wax seal with my thumbnail and
pulled out the thick piece of parchment contained within. It said:

*Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

*Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore*

*Deputy Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall*

*First Year Final Exam and End of Term Schedule, 1992; Miss Hermione Granger*

Monday, 1 June 1992

9:00 - 11:30: Charms Theory

11:35 - 12:55: Lunch Period

1:00 - 3:30: Transfiguration Theory

4:00 - 5:00: Charms Practical

Tuesday, 2 June 1992

9:00 - 11:30: Potions Comprehensive

11:35 - 12:55: Lunch Period

1:00 - 3:30: Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory

4:00 - 5:00: Transfiguration Practical

Wednesday, 3 June 1992

9:00 - 11:30: Herbology Comprehensive

11:35 - 12:55: Lunch Period

1:00 - 2:00: Defense Against the Dark Arts Practical

9:30 - 11:00: Astronomy Practical

Thursday, 4 June 1992

9:00 - 11:30: Astronomy Theory

11:35 - 12:55: Lunch Period

1:00 - 3:30: History of Magic Comprehensive

*All first years should report to their regular classrooms for exams unless otherwise
notified.*

Friday, 5 June 1992 - Thursday, 11 June 1992

O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. final project / thesis presentation period. Times are posted with each Head
of House and in each House's common room. All students are encouraged to attend at least one
project or thesis presentation to show support for your classmates' hard work.

Thursday, 11 June 1992

Exam results are posted.

Friday, 12 June 1992 - Wednesday, 17 June 1992

Rest & relaxation period.

Thursday, 18 June 1992

12:00 pm - Graduation

6:00 pm - End of Term Feast

Friday, 19 June 1992

Last day of term.

Saturday, 20 June 1992

9:00 am - Hogwarts Express leaves Hogsmeade Station for London

*Enjoy your summer holidays and we will see you back here on September 1!*

“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned. “Eight hours of exams each day…”

“Almost,” Neville agreed, sounding just as miserable.

“How can you two possibly bugger these up?” Sally asked. “You're more than prepared.”

“Studying doesn't involve Snape breathing down your neck!” Neville exclaimed, earning smiles
and giggles from most of us and many nearby Gryffindors.

----------

“Have you seen Harry?” I asked, having just entered the Gryffindor common room. It was around
nine in the evening on Sunday, May 31. Our exams started in twelve hours, and I had just finished
some last-minute studying. I had looked for Harry prior to heading for the library, but I had been
unable to find him. I hadn't seen him since breakfast that morning, and when he had not
eventually showed in the library like I'd hoped, I began to wonder. As I entered the common
room, I saw that Harry was not with Sally and the rest, either.

“No?” Sally replied, with a question in her eyes. Ron and Neville were engrossed in a game of
chess, only shaking their heads in response. “We thought he was with you,” she said, as I came
closer.

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head once. “I've been in the library for the past few hours,
going over some things tomorrow.”

Sally rolled her eyes at me. “Girl, you need to relax,” she said, moving over on the sofa and
letting me sit next to her. “You're going to over-think the exams. You could have aced them all
at the end of the last term.”

“I just like knowing I'm prepared,” I said, shrugging.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she told me, smiling and leaning into me. “And thanks to you
and Harry, neither do I.”

“You're an exceptional student, Sally.”

“That's like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“There are worse things,” I laughed, resting my head on her shoulder for a moment. Sally was the
close female friend that I'd lacked before Hogwarts, and I couldn't imagine what would
happen if her parents ever tried to pull her from school again. In fact, I told myself I
wouldn't think about it.

“Shall we go find him?” she wondered. I could feel her light exhalations in my hair.

“Sure, if you want,” I said.

“I know *you* want to.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” I asked, coyly. I knew where she was going with
this.

“Nothing!” she trilled. We received some odd looks from Ron and Neville, who shook their heads
at us again; we just smiled at them.

“Right,” I said, laughing again. I lifted my head from her shoulder. “Shall we?”

“Sure thing,” she agreed, so we stood from the sofa and headed for the exit.

“Where are you two off to?” Ron called, when we had reached the portrait.

“An evening stroll,” Sally called back, and then we were in the corridor. We stopped, looking
both ways.

“So where could he be?” I asked.

“Dungeons are out,” Sally said. “And I don't think he's been with the Headmaster all
day. So let's go this way,” she pointed, and we set off to the right. We wandered most of the
first through seventh floors corridors for nearly half an hour, stopping at many points of
interest—the library, the Great Hall, some of our classrooms—but we did not find Harry.

We stopped in the moonlit third floor corridor by the Charms classroom. We could see the locked
door at the end of the long hallway, but everything looked undisturbed. In fact, the silver light
glinted off a thick layer of dust on the stone floor. Surely we would have been able to see
footprints if anyone had passed this way.

“Where to?” Sally asked.

“There's really only one place left,” I said. “The Astronomy tower.”

“Let's go then,” she said. As we ascended through the castle, I was heavily reminded of my
nighttime adventure with Harry, Neville, and a seriously pissed off drake called Norbert. We were
walking the same route as that other night, though it was still well before curfew.

“I should have put some pants on,” Sally said, as we neared the top of the tower's spiral
staircase. Cool night air wafted down over us, and I silently agreed with her statement. The shorts
I was wearing were not keeping my legs warm. Thankfully, I at least had on a long sleeve tee.

Sally and I emerged onto the top of the Astronomy tower. It was a little disorienting, suddenly
entering into an open space with the supremely clear night sky all around—it was almost like
floating away—but I quickly regained my bearings and searched the top of the tower. Sally nudged my
arm just as I saw him.

He was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the tower, turned away from us, resting his chin in
his hands. His elbows were resting on the insides of his thighs, so he was slightly hunched over.
He appeared to be staring into the night.

“Harry?” I called, grabbing Sally by the hand and pulling her toward Harry. He jumped, startled
at the sound of my voice, and looked over his shoulder at us. His glasses flashed as he turned.

“Hey Harry,” Sally said.

“Hi,” he said, uncoiling his body and leaning back across the stones. He looked very relaxed,
positioned like that. “How're you two doing?”

“Fine,” Sally shrugged.

I echoed her. “Fine,” I said. “How come we haven't seen you all day?” I asked, sitting down
next to Harry, with Sally on my other side. I glanced at the view before us, of the grounds and the
Highlands beyond; it was sublime, under the moonlight, and I wondered why I'd never taken the
time to look during our Astronomy classes. I supposed I my eyes had always been turned toward the
stars.

He was quiet for a moment, looking at me. He was wearing jeans and a tee, but he did not appear
to be cold at all.

“I've been up here for awhile,” he finally said. He pointed to his bag, which I had failed
to notice. “I was studying, but I decided that I didn't really need to. So I've just been
enjoying the view.”

“Oh,” I said, mystified.

“You should really come up here for sunset some day. It's quite beautiful,” he told us,
turning his eyes to the scene laid out before us.

“That sounds nice. I think I will,” Sally said. “I'm cold, though, so I think I'm gonna
go back to the common room. See you two there?” she wondered, pushing herself to her feet.

“Sure,” I said, looking at her and nodding.

“Yeah, see you, Sally,” Harry said.

“Bye,” she said. It was breathy, fading. I knew without looking that she was heading toward the
door to the stairwell.

Harry moved then, lying back and lacing his hands behind his head. His feet rested on the very
edge of the tower. I watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments.

“You ready for this week?” he asked, staring upward.

“Of course,” I said, still looking down at him from my slightly higher vantage point. The breeze
skittered across the top of the tower just then, blowing my hair around my face. I reached up and
pulled it back, tying it there with a band that had been around my wrist. Suddenly Harry was
laughing.

“I love your hair, Hermione,” he said. It was the last thing I had expected him to say, so I had
absolutely no response. He loved my hair? Why? It was a bushy, tangled mess; it was completely
uncontrollable.

“What?” I managed to say.

“I love your hair,” he repeated. “It's so…wild.”

I frowned, and he must have seen it, because he quickly clarified: “Not a bad wild. Obviously.
It's just so unique and so *you*,” he said.

“Your hair is quite wild too, you know,” I said. My arm was getting tired so I shifted, lying
back along the stones as he had. I copied him, lacing my hands behind my head. My ponytail was
fanned out to the right of my head.

“Oh, I know,” he responded. “Believe me, I know. I see it every time I look in the mirror.”

“Well I love *your* hair,” I told him. “It's just so *you*,” I added, echoing what
he had said.

He chuckled, and it was a beautiful sound. I wondered what he'd been thinking about up here,
all alone. He seemed much more relaxed than at any point during the last three or four days. I knew
he would never worry about the exams, because of how well he had done all year, but he had been
worrying about the Stone and what had happened in the Forest. Right now, all of that had apparently
melted away.

“So much has happened this year,” he said, breaking a long silence. I thought I might have
actually been beginning to doze.

“Yup,” I agreed. “Good and bad.”

“More good than bad, I think,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “The
holidays at your house especially.”

I felt warmth flood my being as I remembered those wonderful weeks at home during the winter
recess. Harry and I had spent so much time alone together—and we had successfully retrieved
Sally—that I could honestly say it was then that we became *real* friends. I remembered
Christmas night, when we had held each other in my bedroom; I remembered my parents accepting Harry
like one of their own; I remembered seeing a genuine, unguarded smile on Harry's face for the
first time.

“Definitely one of the high points,” I said, hearing the happy emotion in my own voice. “Your
flying lesson was another one.”

“We should do that again before term ends,” he answered. “We'll make you a Quidditch star
yet.”

“Ha ha,” I mock laughed. “Somehow I doubt that. But it would be fun to have you teach me
again.”

“Maybe after the exams,” he sighed.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The cool, humid night air invaded my nostrils, filling my
lungs with the refreshing essence of the lake, the Forest, and the Scottish Highlands. There was
just a hint of ancient stone beneath all of that. When I opened my eyes again, the stars and moon
were unnaturally bright. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and for that brief instant, I
enjoyed the sensory overload. I reached up and pretended that I could touch the stars…

“Hermione?”

“Harry?”

“Are you glad you're magical?”

“Yes, of course—”

“No, I mean, are you *really* glad?”

“Yes, Harry. Are you?”

“I think so.”

-----------

I had little time to reflect on Harry's question during the next week. At nine the next
morning, exams started with the theory portion of Charms. I smiled to myself when I read the
question asking which syllables to stress for the incantation *tenus calculus*. Harry had used
that spell spectacularly to save me from a Troll, and that all seemed so far away that I could now
laugh about it. It was hard to recall that feeling of impending, inevitable death whilst sitting in
our sunny Charms classroom.

Nothing fazed me for very long during that first exam, so after our lunch break when we all
compared answers, we headed for the Transfiguration classroom. I was expecting this exam to be the
hardest, and it was certainly harder than Charms, but there were no questions that stumped me. I
finished in about an hour and a half, so I had some time to practice for our Charms practical at
four o'clock. Harry joined me down by the lake, where I was casting various spells; the others
eventually joined us as well. When it was time, we went back to the Charms room and cast several
Charms for Professor Flitwick. I successfully completed all the spells.

We all compared notes again that night. Harry and I had apparently had the fewest problems with
Monday's exams, so we woke up Tuesday ready for the next round. The day began with our
comprehensive Potions session, which was relatively easy but, as Neville had said, also annoying
with Snape hovering over our cauldrons. The practical portion of the exam had us making a
Forgetfulness potion—cruel irony for a final exam. After lunch we sat for the theory portion of
Defense; again, I found nothing difficult.

I noticed that Quirrell looked absolutely terrible, though. He was sweating profusely and
shivering, which were contrasting reactions that were not normal. He was either running an
incredibly high fever or there was something else seriously wrong with him. His classroom smelled
funnier than it usually did, something like a cross between garlic and rotting vegetation.

In any case, after a short break, we performed Transfiguration spells for the practical portion
of that exam, during which we had to transform mice into snuffboxes. It was the easiest of three
spells we had to complete; the other two had us transforming our desks into gleaming marble and
turning fire into water. The last was something that we had never actually done in class. Instead,
we had to combine some of the theory we had learned with two other spells to perform the correct
Transfiguration. Needless to say, I sweated that one out, but I managed to complete it during the
last quarter of the hour. Harry had finished the third transfiguration ten minutes before me. The
only other students to successfully finish all three spells were Hannah Abbot and Sally, both of
whom finished as McGonagall indicated time had run out.

There were many sour looks after that exam, but Wednesday was a new day, so we all tackled it
with our heads held high. Two straight days of exams were taking their toll, though, as some
students looked rather bedraggled as we all left the Great Hall for the first exam of the day. Our
comprehensive Herbology exam was first, followed by lunch and the practical half of the Defense
test, when we had to successfully cast the Stunning spell. After watching Harry cast the spell at
full power on top of the Astronomy tower, I knew that he would have no trouble. We also had to
prove that we could cast the basic Shielding charm and a light spell designed to blind opponents,
with an incantation of *solus*. I must have put too much power in the *solus* spell or
not learned how to control it properly, because it was quite honestly the brightest thing I had
ever seen. Quirrell shrieked and covered his face when I cast the spell.

We had a long break after that before our Astronomy practical, so we spent much of the afternoon
by the lake. We discussed many things, including the receding memory of our time in the Forbidden
Forest, how we thought we were doing on the exams overall, what we were doing for the summer, and
that we couldn't believe we'd already nearly completed one full year at Hogwarts. There are
many things I regret about my time at Hogwarts, but if I could have even one of those seven years
back, I think I would. There's something about growing up among your friends that is impossible
to recapture after you've left, and it's a feeling only those that have graduated and moved
on will know.

The Astronomy practical turned out to be the easiest of our exams because we had all spent so
much time studying our star charts, so I finished it relatively quickly and went straight to bed. I
was tired and wanted to be fresh for the last day of exams.

The next morning, after eating breakfast, we sat for theoretical Astronomy. More than once, I
noticed Harry rubbing the scar on his forehead, which I hadn't seen him doing since the Forest.
I asked him about it at lunch, but he just shrugged it off, saying that it was aching a little. I
was worried about him, but I didn't pursue the matter right then. We had our last exam after
lunch—History of Magic—and then we were free! I don't remember much of that last exam, thinking
about what could suddenly be bothering Harry again, but I do remember it being a breeze. First year
was over!

We all cheered when Binns told us that time was up, and after we handed in our parchments, Ron
suggested that we head down to the lake. His twin brothers had said that most of the students
usually congregated on the beach after the last exam was over. So after we had returned to the
common room to change into summer clothing, we joined the growing throngs of students moving
through the corridors and outside.

“Well, there's a bloody lot of them,” Neville observed, when we had reached the beach. There
were groups of students of all ages scattered around, from one edge of the beach to the other.
There were even a few groups of older students where the Forest came almost to the edge of the
lake. The giant squid was lounging in the shallows, spraying students with water who came near it.
I had always wondered how such a beast found itself in the lake, but it was very docile and had
never shown any cause for concern. It made weird *squeeing* noises as several seventh years
mounted its tentacles. It lifted them gently in the air, giving them a ride through the warm summer
day. We shaded our eyes as we watched this show.

“I would love to know why my scar started aching,” Harry said, drawing our attention away from
the squid. He was probing his forehead with the tip of his right index finger.

“Hospital Wing?” Ron suggested. He was lying on his side with his head on his hand.

“Thanks Ron,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes at him. “But I'm not ill.”

“Then…?” Neville wondered.

“It could be a warning,” Harry said. “The last time it felt like this was in the Forest.”

“Really think so?” Sally asked.

“Could mean danger's coming,” Harry shrugged, though he didn't sound too worked up. It
was hard to think about the possibility of Voldemort stealing the Stone and returning to full power
out here in the sunshine, with laughing students all around us.

“Dunno,” Ron put in. “But I think we should just relax for now. The Stone's safe as long as
Dumbledore's here, and I dunno if Snape ever figured out how to get past Fluffy.”

“Sure,” Sally said, smiling. “And Neville will play professional Quidditch before Hagrid lets
Dumbledore down.” She playfully elbowed Neville and he laughed in return.

“By all means, Neville,” Harry said, laughing along with him. “You can be Seeker for Gryffindor
next year.”

“Then we'd never win!” Ron exclaimed, rolling onto his back and throwing his arms into the
air. “You better play all seven years Harry. I don't think I can take losing any Quidditch
games.”

“You never know, someone better might come along…” Harry told us.

“Right,” I scoffed, “someone better than the youngest Seeker in a century? Somehow I doubt
that.” Harry smiled at me, shaking his head, and laid back on the beach.

Conversation wound around and up and down for quite some time after that; we had plenty to talk
about, with exams just behind us and the summer ahead. The other Gryffindor first years joined us
for about an hour, leaving eventually to do something else. They all thought the exams were as hard
or easy as they'd each expected.

As early evening approached, Harry began to grimace and rub his scar in earnest. When
questioned, he said that it had just started hurting much more than before.

“Hospital Wing?” Ron asked. “And this time I'm serious.”

Harry shook him off. “No, Pomfrey's not going to be able to do anything.”

“How d'you know that?” Sally wondered.

“Think she'll be able to cure something Voldemort gave me?” Harry asked, ire now present in
his voice.

“Dunno,” she mumbled. Harry took a deep breath and visibly relaxed.

“Look,” he said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. But this pain is really
starting to annoy me. The ruddy ache just won't go away.”

“Think Hagrid would have any suggestions?” I asked, drawing my knees to my chest and staring out
over the lake, where the lowering sun had created a blazing orange streak on the water.

“Really? Not sure Hagrid could do—” Harry started, but cut himself off. There was a sharp intake
of breath. I glanced at him and saw that his face was stricken, as if he had been hit with a bolt
of lightning.

“Harry?” I questioned, drawing the attention of the others to his reaction.

“Of course…” he breathed.

“What?” Sally and Ron asked at the same time.

“How could I have not seen it before?”

“Seen what before?” I asked.

“It's so obvious!” he said, jumping to his feet, surprising me momentarily with his abrupt
show of agility. “Come on, all of you! We have to go see Hagrid!”

“What? Why?” Neville wanted to know, though he was standing.

“Well,” Harry began, trotting in the direction of Hagrid's hut with all of us in tow.
“Hagrid wanted more than anything in the world to have a dragon, and suddenly a stranger shows up
who just happens to have an egg.”

I vaguely wondered what the rest of the students thought as they watched five first years jog
away from the lake. We must have looked like a very interesting and unique bunch. Ron and I kept
pace with Harry, and Sally and Neville were just behind us.

“And isn't that even funnier?” Harry asked, rhetorically. I could see where he was going
with this, and my stomach began to knot itself into a ball. If what Harry was suggesting were true
at all, we were all in big trouble. *Serious* trouble. “That the stranger happened to have
something that is highly illegal? They're right lucky to have found Hagrid, aren't
they?”

“What do you mean?” Neville asked. I glanced at Ron behind Harry and saw that he understood what
Harry meant as well. There was a dark look in his eyes.

“You'll see,” Harry answered. “Come on!” He increased his speed gradually so that we were
sprinting by the time we reached Hagrid's. We rolled in at out maximum speed as Hagrid exited
the hut, carrying a large wooden bowl with him. He raised his eyebrows at our running forms.

“Hullo, all of yeh,” he said, putting the bowl on a table by his door. He began to mash some
kind of squishy vegetable that I did not recognize. “Yer exams are over, right? Want a drink?”

“No thanks,” Harry said, having regained his breath first among us. “But I have to ask you
something, Hagrid.”

“Ask away then,” he said, turning toward us with a little smile on his large, hairy face. I felt
my heart melt for Hagrid. He was such a nice man, yet he always ended up doing the wrong things at
the wrong times.

“You remember the night you won Norbert from the stranger? What did he look like?” Harry asked.
We all waited with bated breath for the answer.

Hagrid looked puzzled. “Dunno, he wouldn't take his cloak off.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Yeh get alotta funny folk in the Hog's Head,” he said. Harry interjected:

“How funny?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of `funny' was he, Hagrid?”

“Dunno, Harry,” Hagrid said, peering down at him now. “Mighta been a dragon dealer or
somethin'. He kept his hood up, so I never saw his face.”

Harry looked disappointed, so I laid a hand on his shoulder. Everyone was quiet for a moment as
we processed what had been said.

“Did you talk to him about anything in particular? Like Hogwarts?” Harry questioned further.

“Er, that mighta come up,” Hagrid told us, scratching his head. “We talked about me bein'
the gamekeeper and what sorta creatures I hafta look after. Eh…I can't really remember too much
because he kept buying me drinks.”

“Try, Hagrid. Please,” I implored.

“Alright, alright… He said he had an egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted. So
o' course I said sure but he wanted ter know that I could handle a dragon. I told him after
Fluffy a dragon was easy.”

“Did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked. I could feel his shoulders sinking slightly,
something that I wouldn't have noticed if my hand wasn't resting on his right shoulder.

“O' course! Who wouldn't be? How many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet? I told him that
Fluffy's easy if you know how to deal with him—all yeh hafta do is play some music and
he'll go straight ter sleep—”

Hagrid clapped one of his huge hands over his mouth, his eyes widening in shock.

“Ferget I said that! I shouldn't have said that—where're yeh goin'?” he asked, but
we were already running, once again just behind Harry as he led us back toward the castle. I looked
over my shoulder at Hagrid's receding form, and he was still standing there, staring at us.
Harry was sprinting again, and it was *very* tiring running at full speed up the slope toward
Hogwarts. Neville fell a little behind the rest of us as we neared the front entrance. We waited
for him just inside the Entrance Hall.

“We've gotta go to Dumbledore,” Harry said, panting and leaning over, placing his hands on
his thighs. “This is exactly what he was talking about. We can't do anymore snooping around—we
have to go to Dumbledore,” he repeated. I thought his logic was sound.

“What're you talking about?” Sally asked.

“Honestly, did you miss all of that?” I questioned, looking at her. She shrugged. Neville
arrived at that moment, wheezing and haltingly asking what was going on.

“Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, Sally,” Harry explained. His tone of voice
implied that his patience was wearing thin and his frustration was quickly growing. His jaw was set
and his green eyes were ablaze. “It had to have been either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak,
and Hagrid woulda been easy to get answers from once he was drunk.”

“Are you sure?” Sally asked. She was dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Harry said, vehemently. There was purpose in his voice and it thrilled me, as much as I
hated to admit it, to be in the thick of things once again. “I just hope Dumbledore believes us.
Firenze might even back us up if we suggest that to Dumbledore. Come on, let's go to his
office.”

We had just turned toward the grand staircase when McGonagall exited the Great Hall. We stopped
when she narrowed her eyes at us and started in our direction.

“What are you five doing inside? Dinner isn't for another half hour.”

“We're going to see Professor Dumbledore,” I said, stretching to my full height and looking
braver than I felt. I was still slightly stung from losing those fifty points. We had been rather
chilly toward each other since then.

“Why?” she wondered, surveying all of us. Neville withered under her glare.

“Er, well, it's a secret,” Harry said, rather lamely. I looked at him, signaling with my
eyes that he should have said *anything* else.

“I see,” she said, with no warmth in her voice. “You will be unhappy to know that Professor
Dumbledore left fifteen minutes ago on urgent Wizengamot business.”

“He's *gone?*” Harry asked, shock and fear now evident in his voice. I wondered how
Dumbledore could leave, after he'd told us that he would be watching things more carefully from
now on. McGonagall obviously hadn't heard the details of our encounter in the Forest, or she
would have been asking some pointed questions at this point.

“Professor Dumbledore is an incredibly busy man, Potter. On top of his Headmaster duties, he is
the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of
Wizards—”

“Yes, yes, we know all that,” I said, interrupting her. She was silenced with shock. “But he
*can't* leave, not now. This is too important for him to be gone.”

She grunted. “More important than the Wizengamot, I suppose?”

“Oh, bollocks it all!” Harry exploded, throwing his hands into the air and walking toward
McGonagall. If my eyes weren't deceiving me, she had taken a small step backward. “Professor,
it's about the Philosopher's Stone—”

“*What?!”* she screeched, holding her hand over her heart. “*How* do you know about
that?”

“That's not important!” Harry said, loudly. “We think—no, we *know*—that someone's
going to try to steal the Stone! We need to talk to Professor Dumbledore!”

All the pieces had fallen into place for Sally, Neville, and Ron, because now they looked sick
with their own fear and apprehension. Things were finally coming to a head and the most powerful
wizard of the age was not in the castle. I was tempted to bury my face in my palm at the futility
of it all.

“Potter, enough of this,” she said, reasserting her dominance. “The Headmaster will be back
tomorrow, and if you *must* speak with him, you can do it then. I do not know how all of you
found out about the Stone, but it is impossible to steal.”

“But—” Harry tried.

“I know what I am talking about,” she cut him off. The chill in her voice could have frozen the
sun. “I suggest you all return to the lake and enjoy the remainder of the day with your
classmates.” She nodded once and turned away. We watched as she ascended the grand staircase. As
soon as she had turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Harry turned to us. We all huddled
together at the base of the stairs.

“It's tonight,” Harry said.

“Snape's going through the trapdoor,” I added. He nodded.

“Yes. Why wouldn't he? He's found out everything he needs to know and now
Dumbledore's gone.”

“But how can we be sure?” Sally asked.

“Only one way…” Harry said.

“But we'll all get expelled!” Neville whispered, furiously.

“And what do we have here?” a familiar and hated voice asked. We all raised our heads to see
Snape staring at us from halfway across the Entrance Hall.

“Why are you all inside?” he asked, repeating McGonagall's question.

“We were, uh—” Harry started, but Snape waved him off.

“You want to be more careful. When you hang around like this, people become suspicious. And
suspicious people tend to take points away from relevant houses. I don't think Gryffindor can
afford to lose any more points, can it?” Snape had a malignant smile on his face. I could almost
*feel* the rage and hatred radiating off of Harry.

“So be warned, Potter,” Snape continued, walking past us and up the stairs. His voice was as
hard as diamonds. “If there are any more nighttime wanderings, I will personally see to it that you
are expelled from Hogwarts.” And then he was gone. We stared after him with different emotions in
our eyes; there was no doubt that the emotion in Harry's was hate.

“Well that's it, isn't it?” Harry asked, breathing heavily.

“What do we do?” Neville asked. He was fingering his wand. Ron and Sally were still looking up
the staircase.

Harry looked at Neville. “I'm going to get my Cloak and I'm going after him. I'm
going to get the Stone before he does.”

“You can't!” Sally exclaimed. “That'd be madness.”

Harry shrugged. “Call me crazy, then.”

“Harry…” I said. I wanted to tell him that he would be expelled and lose more points for
Gryffindor, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. This had moved far beyond the realm of
house rivalry and Hogwarts. This was fate-of-the-Wizarding-World stuff we were talking about
here.

“What?” he asked. But I had nothing to say.

“You'll be expelled, that's what!” Sally said, voicing what I had half-wanted to
say.

“SO WHAT!” Harry yelled, startling all of us. His voice echoed around the Entrance Hall, coming
back to our ears more than once. His face had turned an alarming shade of red and his eyes were
smoldering behind his glasses. He reached up and yanked his bangs away from his forehead, exposing
his scar. It had turned a livid, bloody red again.

“Don't you understand?” he asked, voicing dropping slightly into that powerful command mode.
“Don't *any* of you? If Snape gets the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort's coming
back!” Ron flinched; Harry sent him a scathing look, pointing at him. “It's just a stupid name,
Ron, so don't be ridiculous! Haven't any of you heard what it was like when he was alive
and powerful? Hermione,” he said, looking at me, “I know you've read those books about him. You
must have a pretty good idea of what it'd be like if he came back.”

I nodded, unable to say anything. Harry's words had captured me.

“There won't be a Hogwarts to get expelled from, Sally. He'll flatten it without one
look back. I don't care about losing points, because that doesn't matter anymore. Do you
think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house cup? Do you think
he'll show mercy if you're top of the class, or the star Seeker, or the best chess player
around?”

Not one word was spoken in response. Harry's words were washing over us now.

“If I'm caught before I reach the Stone, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait
for Voldemort to find me there. It's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm
*never* going to his side! I'm going through that trapdoor and nothing anyone says will
stop me. Can't you understand? Voldemort killed my parents!”

The speech rang in my ears as Harry stared at us. He searched each of our faces, waiting for
someone to say something, and when no one did he eventually turned toward the staircase.

“You're right, Harry,” I said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He gripped mine
tightly.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping my hand after a moment and continuing up the stairs.

“Will that Cloak cover all five of us?” Sally asked, glancing at each of us briefly and then
moving a few steps up the stairs. Harry had stopped and turned. He was now looking at us with
confusion in his eyes.

“The five of us?”

“Come off it, Harry, you didn't think we'd let you go alone, did you?” Neville asked,
moving up the stairs and standing next to Sally.

“Of course he didn't,” I said, standing next to Neville.

“Let's do this, Harry,” Ron said, standing next to me. The four of us were looking up at
Harry now.

“But if we get caught, all of you will be expelled.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” I wondered. “That means nothing now.”

“Alright…”

“And they wouldn't throw me out anyway,” I said, trying to inject some humor into a
situation that had quickly gone from bad to dangerous and, most likely, extremely foolish.
“Flitwick told me that I received a perfect score on our Charms theory exam. They're not
throwing me out after that.” And Harry actually smiled. It was a wonderful sight.

“No surprise there, Hermione,” he said, making eye contact with me for three or four seconds.
There was genuine gratitude in his emerald eyes. “Here's the plan: you four go to the Charms
classroom and I'll meet you there with the Cloak. Then we'll go from there.”

He turned and ascended the stairs, leaving us to stare at the back of his head, which was held
high in spite of it all. Oh, so brave…

It's too bad that night was the beginning of Harry's disillusionment with the Wizarding
world.

-->



19. Chapter Eighteen
--------------------



Chapter Eighteen

Spring Term 1992

“Is there anything you think we'll need?” Ron asked, looking at me. Neville and Sally turned
their eyes to me as well. Suddenly, I had become Harry's de facto second-in-command.

“Umm…” I said, eloquently asserting my temporary leadership. “Wand check?” I questioned,
removing my wand from my back pocket. The others held up theirs.

“Other than that, I dunno,” I said, shrugging. “Who knows what we'll run into down
there?”

“Then let's go,” Neville said, starting up the stairs.

“Looks like we're missing dinner,” Ron said, rather sadly. Sally chuckled and swatted his
arm. “Always thinking with your stomach, aren't you?”

“You know it,” Ron said. We had reached the landing and turned, heading through the corridors
toward the Charms room. Most students were either outside or already in the Great Hall, so we did
not pass a soul on the way. The warmth of midday had remained in the stones, creating lingering
heat in the atmosphere that was completely at odds with our current task. We were essentially
walking directly into the unknown, which surely constituted some kind of mortal danger.

The thought was necessarily the pink elephant amongst us at that point, as we all chose not to
talk about what was ahead of us. We walked silently through the corridors, side-by-side with our
wands out, and slowed only when we reached the door of the Charms classroom. It was shut and most
likely locked.

“Should we wait in the hall?” Sally asked, after confirming my suspicion by jimmying the
knob.

“Are you a witch or what?” Ron asked, pointing his wand at the door. “*Alohomora*,” he
said. The door clicked and swung halfway open. I looked at Ron and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

“I'm impressed,” I told him.

“Hanging out with you and Harry is rubbing off, I guess,” he responded, though his shoulders
were straighter. Sally and I made eye contact briefly, smiling at Ron's well-earned pride.

We entered the classroom we had just used earlier in the week for exams, noticing immediately
that it was completely bare. The desks and all the other furniture had been removed. The room was
fairly expansive without all that clutter.

“Wonder where Harry is?” Neville asked, after several minutes had passed. We were all standing
around awkwardly, unsure of what to say, but not wanting to break the uneasy silence.

“Right here,” a soft baritone said, and we turned as one toward the doorway, watching as Harry
twirled the Cloak from his hidden form. He faded into view, wearing jeans and a dark long-sleeve
tee. He had his wand and the Cloak in one hand, and something else in his other one. It looked like
a piece of wood.

“What's that?” I asked, pointing. He held it up; I thought it looked vaguely familiar.

“The flute Hagrid gave me for Christmas. He gave you one too, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I nodded.

“I figure we'll need it to get past Fluffy.”

“Too right,” Sally agreed. “So are we all really going to fit under that thing?” she asked,
motioning toward the Cloak.

“Do we need to?” Harry responded. “I haven't seen anyone in the halls.”

“S'pose not,” Sally answered, and Harry turned away. We filed out of the classroom after
Harry, naturally flowing into some kind of order: Harry, me, Ron, Sally, and Neville. We made the
first right and the locked door came into view—except, it wasn't closed and locked. Harry broke
into a run as soon as he noticed this.

“Look—” he started, excitedly, but was cut off by something very unpleasant.

“What do we have here?” a voice called, and we all screeched to a halt, looking up. Peeves
floated overhead, staring down at us with a wicked smile on his face.

“Peeves,” Ron groaned, lowering his face to his palm.

“That's right! Looks like Peevesey gets to play with some ickle first years!” He blew a
raspberry at us and cackled. I clenched my jaw and raised my wand, knowing that we did not have
time for this.

“*Petrificus totalus!*” I incanted. Invisible magic leapt from my wand toward Peeves. He
had enough time to look comically surprised before the spell took hold, freezing him in place. We
moved out of the way as he slowly floated to the floor.

“*Brilliant,*” Neville breathed, looking at me with wide eyes.

“I don't think that's supposed to work on Peeves,” Ron said, also looking at me with
wonder. I glanced at Harry and saw a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Why not?” I wondered.

“Well, he's a Poltergeist,” Ron answered. “If Fred and George had known that spell worked on
him, they would have done it *ages* ago.”

“Now we know,” I said, turning toward Harry and nodding.

“Right,” he said, motioning toward the door. “It looks like someone has already been here.” That
immediately sobered all of us. The door was ajar, and from within the room we could hear
Fluffy's heavy breathing. Harry lifted the flute to his lips and started playing some rough
tune, indicating that we should follow him with his head. He used his body to push the door open;
as I crossed the threshold behind Harry, I saw the last of Fluffy's six eyes closing in
music-enhanced sleep. Harry continued to play as we crept toward the trapdoor, which was also
open.

We stood in a circle around the square whole in the floor, staring down into the blackness
below. Harry never stopped playing the flute, ensuring our safety while in the same room as the
Cerberus; we silently considered the gaping maw into which we evidentially had to jump. One by one,
we made eye contact, nodding at each for assurance. Neville tightly clenched his wand in his right
fist and, closing his eyes, leapt first. I watched uneasily as he disappeared into the blackness.
Three seconds passed, and Ron followed; then Sally went, holding her nose as if she were jumping
into water; I stared into Harry's eyes, seeing only resolute determination there, and
jumped.

Down, down, down… I fell for five seconds through formless blackness, suddenly landing on a
squishy, ropey substance. There was a dim light coming from somewhere beneath me, which I noticed
as I moved out of the way so Harry did not land on my head. Two seconds later, rushing air signaled
Harry's approach. He landed on his bum next to me.

“Everyone all right?” I asked, placing a hand on Harry's arm. He glanced at me, standing on
the not-so-solid ground, and put the Cloak and flute in his pockets.

“Yes,” three other voices called. I could see their outlines in the weak light.

“What is this stuff?” Sally asked, moving closer. She was looking at the ground. I looked down
and saw that we had landed on some kind of interlocking green vine. Closer inspection revealed that
it was slithering slowly along, curling over itself like the sinuous body of some very long
snake.

“Broke our fall, whatever it is,” Ron observed. He had obviously failed to notice that the plant
was gradually moving up the edges of our shoes, so slow as to almost be unnoticeable.

“Lucky,” Neville commented.

“Lucky?” I asked. I motioned to our feet. “Look!”

“Oi, what's this?” Ron asked, panic creeping into his voice. The vine had suddenly reached
up to wrap around his ankle.

“Must be one of the protections,” Harry muttered. “*Lumos!*” he called, holding his wand
aloft. My breath caught as my eyes saw the newly revealed portion of the room in which we had
fallen; the vines covered literally every square inch of the walls, meeting underneath us to create
a false floor. I squinted, peering through their dense tendrils, and saw the stone floor about six
feet lower.

“Not good,” Sally breathed, reaching down and trying to stop a vine from crawling up her
leg.

“This has to be Devil's Snare,” I said, recalling something I'd read in our Herbology
textbook.

“Good, now that we know what it's called, we'll be alright!” Ron said, sarcasm dripping
from his voice. He was now wrestling with the vines, which had reached his waist. I shook my leg
hopelessly as a silky vine wound its way up my calf.

“Quiet!” Harry said. Everyone fell absolutely silent. “I remember this now, Hermione. Professor
Sprout said this plant likes dark, damp places.”

“So light a fire!” Neville yelled, now being pulled down by the vines. His eyes were bulging in
fear.

Harry looked at me; I nodded. “*Incendio!*” we yelled, brandishing our wands and shielding
our faces as hot flames poured forth. The Devil's Snare actually seemed to shriek as the fire
danced over the vines, and I could feel the vine on my leg retreating. Harry and I kept casting the
spell for another few seconds, waiting until the vines had loosened enough for all of us to drop
through to the stones below before lowering our wands. I was sweating uncontrollably and my heart
was racing. A quick look around told me that everyone else was in a similar state. The
`ceiling' above us was a wriggling mass of Devil's Snare.

“Everyone ok?” Harry asked, standing and looking around. There were various answers, but the
long and short of it was that we had all made it through this first test.

“Wands up,” he said, raising his wand and lighting it again. “Never know what's coming
next,” he told us, setting off down the only corridor leading away from this small room. We fell
into line again, each of us holding our lit wands aloft, wondering what we'd encounter around
the next curve. The darkness down here was total, so our wands only penetrated a few meters around
us. As far as I could tell, the stone corridor in which we found ourselves was sloping gently
downward, curving slightly to the left or right every fifty meters or so.

“D'ya hear that?” I queried, straining my ears. I thought I heard some kind of rustling
sounds, like the wind blowing through drawn curtains. The darkness around us seemed to be fading,
and the corridor straightened out as we continued along. Indistinct light grew in front of us, so
Harry lowered his wand; we all followed his lead and did the same, slowing as he held up his hand.
We crept forward, listening as the noise became louder and louder.

We stopped at the threshold of a very large room, lit somehow with a vague gray ambience. There
were tiny shadows flitting around overhead, sparkling shallowly in the low light, and they must
have been causing the noise. I looked across the room and saw another door.

It was open. There were two brooms on the floor near it, looking as if they had been dropped
there and forgotten.

“What do you think?” Sally whispered. Her eyes were turned upward; there was uneasiness in her
voice as she considered whatever those things might be.

“Snape's already been here,” Ron observed, pointing toward the door. “Think we're
catching up to him?”

“Could be,” Neville said. “He's had to go through the same things.”

“But he already knew how to defeat the protections,” Harry added. “He could already be at the
Stone.”

“Then let's go,” Sally urged, starting to move forward into the room.

“Wait,” I implored, stopping her with my hand. I had been watching the shadows above us as they
had conversed, and I hadn't liked the way they'd seemed to flock like birds. There was
clearly some kind of magic controlling them.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“When you go,” I said, finally looking them, “don't go slowly. *Run* across the
room.”

“But we don't know what's through that door,” Neville said.

“We don't know what those will do, either,” I responded, pointing over our heads. We
silently regarded the rustling shadows for a long moment.

“Right. Listen to Hermione,” Harry said. “Everyone put out your wands, except for Hermione.”
Three wands blinked out, leaving only Harry's and mine lit.

“On three,” Harry whispered, moving into a position similar to what a sprinter would look like
in starting blocks.

“One.” I crouched, mirroring Harry.

“Two.” I tensed my muscles.

“*Three!*” he yelled, exploding from the doorway into the room. I felt adrenaline and
endorphins surge into my veins as I pushed myself toward the far side, accelerating as quickly as I
could. Echoing footsteps around me indicated that the others were there as well, even though I
couldn't see them in the crazily swinging light of our two wands. The rustling noise quickly
increased to a fever pitch as we reached the halfway point, and I chanced a look upward. I nearly
stumbled as I saw ten thousand shadows suddenly diving toward us, their razor sharp wings flapping
madly as they dropped to the floor.

“Go, go, *go*,” I screamed, lowering my head and pushing my body to its limits. I
didn't want to know what would happen when those things reached the floor…

Harry was the first to reach the far doorway; he leaned back and threw his legs out, sliding
through on his denim-clad legs and twisting his body around at the same time. He raised his wand,
illuminating the doorway for the rest of us. I sprinted into the corridor beyond the doorway,
stopping and turning just beyond Harry. Ron was just behind me, followed closely by Sally, and
Neville was about ten meters behind her.

“Nev!!” Harry yelled, and Sally and I screamed as he was suddenly engulfed in that mass of
shadowy things. Their wings sparkled as they swarmed him, completing engulfing his running form. He
continued at full speed for another second, slowing as whatever was happening to him began to
affect his forward progress. He emerged from the cloud just in front of the door, wildly swinging
his arms around his face, with his eyes tightly shut and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Harry and Ron caught him as he stumbled into the corridor, laying him on the floor; I raised my
wand over his prostrate form, stifling another scream at the scene the light revealed. Sally could
not contain her own moan.

“Oh, Merlin…” Ron whispered. We crowded around Neville, trying to figure out what to do for our
friend. His clothes were torn and there were tiny cuts over every inch of his exposed skin, all of
which were bleeding. He was losing blood at an alarming rate, and his breathing was already very
shallow and fast. He had lost consciousness when Harry and Ron caught him, so he did not move.

“What do we do?” Sally asked, her voice high with fear.

“Someone has to take him back,” Harry said. His voice was laced with guilt. I put my hand in his
to try to tell him that this wasn't his fault. It was Dumbledore's—this *whole bloody
mess* was entirely Dumbledore's fault.

“How?” I asked, looking back into the room. The shadowy, winged things had resumed fluttering
around about fifteen meters in the air. The magnitude of the situation had suddenly hit me. Neville
was injured badly and we were just eleven and twelve year olds, in the middle of something that was
way beyond our training.

“Use the Cloak,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket and unfolding the shimmery fabric. His
other hand was still in mine. “Those things shouldn't be able to see you if you're beneath
it. And take a broom, too,” he said, pointing at the brooms just on the other side of the doorway.
“Otherwise you won't be able to get out.”

“I'll go,” Sally said. “I'll take him. You three go on and finish this.”

Harry nodded. “You're going to have to Levitate him,” Harry instructed. “When you fly into
Fluffy's room, don't stop. Fly straight out the door, which I know we left open. Fly all
the way to the Hospital Wing if you can.”

“Ok,” she said, pointing her wand at Neville. “*Wingardium leviosa*,” she said, and his
bloody body lifted from the floor. Too much of his blood had already pooled beneath him on the
stone…

“Hang in there, Nev,” Harry whispered, bending close to his face. He then wordlessly handed the
Cloak to Sally and we watched as they disappeared beneath it. Five seconds later, one of the brooms
also disappeared from sight. We all watched, barely breathing, as Sally and Neville invisibly
recrossed the room; thankfully, mercifully, those things did not notice their return journey.

“If any of us had been a little slower…” Ron said, trailing off. His voice was trembling.

I took a deep breath and straightened out, pulling Harry up by the hand. I searched for
Ron's hand and found it. He held onto mine like a lifeline.

“Let's go,” I commanded, sounding much braver than I felt. The boys did not protest, so I
led them down the corridor, walking between them with one of their hands in each of mine. As we
left the room behind, it became oppressively dark once again, so Ron lit his wand. Three lights in
the darkness—down from five—moved relentlessly forward, ever deeper into this hidden labyrinth
beneath the Charms wing.

After an interminable time, we approached another opening in the hallway, known to us only
because the vast blackness expanded out into infinity, well beyond the reach of our spells. We
stopped and I dropped their hands, wanting to be ready for anything. I was just beyond the edge of
whatever threshold we had just crossed, and I did not fancy being attacked by another wave of those
flying things.

“What now?” Ron whispered, swinging his wand around, trying to see anything in the void beyond
us.

“Move, but slowly,” Harry cautioned, so we inched our way forward. The blackness neither receded
nor ended. If we weren't careful, we could lose ourselves in this endless night.

“Argh!” Ron called, and I threw my arm over my eyes. Bright, white light had suddenly
illuminated the space all around us, and my eyes burned. They had been so used to the darkness that
they had been completely unprepared for the new light.

“Bloody hell, that hurt,” Ron complained. I was seeing spots.

“Shush,” Harry said, though I could hear pain in his voice as well. After a moment, I removed my
arm from my face, slowly opening my eyes. I had to squint, as they were still sensitive to the
light, but I could gradually see a very large, rectangular room. The lights were coming from far
above us.

“Any ideas?” Harry asked, after another minute. It took me a few seconds to parse the image in
front of me.

“Is that a chessboard?” I asked, hearing wonder in my voice. We were standing about five meters
behind the black pieces, looking across the board at the white pieces. They were all made of stone
and at least three meters high. Most curious of all, however, was the faceless quality of the white
pieces. Their heads were featureless marble.

Beyond the chessboard and the pieces was another door, this time shut firmly. It was white,
rather than gray or black, and stood out in stark contrast against the wall.

“Looks like it,” Harry said.

“Do you think we have to play our way across the room?” Ron asked.

“How?” I wondered.

“I think,” Ron answered, “we're going to have be chess pieces.”

“Great,” I mumbled. Chess had never been one of my strong points. For some reason, even though I
prided myself on my intellectual abilities, the tactics of chess had never made much sense to me. I
just couldn't see more than three or four moves into the future.

“Never fear, Ron is here,” Harry said, and though the words sounded like a joke, his voice was
entirely serious.

“I knew chess was good for something,” Ron said, moving forward. His voice was far away, as if
he was thinking hard about something.

“Ok, don't be offended, but neither of you are that good at chess—”

“We're not offended, Ron,” I said, looking pointedly at him. “You're very good and we
trust you. Just tell us what to do.” Harry nodded in agreement.

Ron looked at me for a long moment. Red eyebrows crept toward redder hair. “Thanks,
Hermione.”

“On with it,” I nodded.

“Harry, take the left bishop; Hermione, take the castle next to Harry. I'll take the knight
on his other side.”

Stone grinding on stone drew our wands toward the chessboard, but the three pieces Ron had just
named were only moving to the side. They seemed somehow sentient, understanding that Ron wanted to
replace them with us. We moved to our positions.

“White always plays first,” Ron said. We stared across the board, waiting. In just a few more
seconds, a white pawn moved forward two squares. Ron then directed our pieces, as well as me and
Harry, for the duration of the most important chess game of his life.

I could hardly contain the shaking in my legs as I watched the white queen take the other black
knight, smashing it into pieces with the flat of her sword. Soon enough, black and white shards
littered the chessboard, which I carefully stepped over as Ron directed me to each new square. I
ducked out of the way when the white bishop obliterated a black pawn near me, sending sharp stone
flying in all directions. I felt sharp stings on my right cheek as the smallest pieces grazed my
face.

“Harry, move diagonally four squares to the right.”

“Hermione, take that bishop, go on.”

And so it went. Eventually, the pieces had dwindled significantly. After the white queen had
moved to within striking distance of one of our last pieces, Ron stalled for a moment.

“We're nearly there… Let me think,” he said, rubbing his chin and staring around the board.
The rubble of the game was a testament to the skill of the conjurer as well as Ron's skill,
which were evenly matched. In my heart of hearts, I knew that McGonagall had transfigured this
particular protection, but it was so odd to think about school and teachers in the midst of this
real danger.

“Yes,” Ron said, squaring his shoulders. Harry and I looked at each other behind Ron's back.
“It's the only way.”

“What is?” Harry asked, eyeing the white queen. Her faceless head had started to bother me.

“I have to be taken.”

“Ron—”

“No!” I shouted, overriding Harry. “Ron, you've seen what's happened to all the other
pieces.”

“I know, Hermione—” he started.

“There must be some other way!” Harry said.

“That's chess,” Ron yelled, sounding every bit as commanding as Harry had many times before.
“You have to make some sacrifices in order to win. I take one step forward and the white queen will
take me, which leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”

“But—”

“DO YOU WANT TO STOP SNAPE OR NOT?” Ron yelled, much louder than before. That silenced Harry and
me. Ron stared both of us down, daring us to disagree, but we both nodded.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Ron, I…”

“It's ok, Harry. I understand. Hurry, though—he could already have the Stone.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, unable to say anything else. Ron's face was ashen, but it was
hard.

“Don't wait around once we've won,” he said, and moved forward. The faceless queen
turned toward him and moved, raising her sword as she approached. Ron held his head high as the
queen entered the adjacent square. I held my breath, partially covering my eyes. I flinched as the
sword hit Ron across the midsection—Harry yelled, “Ron!” and Ron let out an *oof!* as the air
was forced from his lungs—causing him to do down. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he
lay there in between the shards of other pieces. I could see that he was still breathing
though.

Harry growled, his face twisted in a snarl of rage, and he moved into position to checkmate the
white king. It threw its crown away and the white pieces left the board; after they'd all
cleared away, all the surviving pieces and all the shards disappeared in puffs of white and black
smoke. The room was abruptly very empty. Ron's fallen form lay between Harry and me. We rushed
over to him, examining him as best as we could.

“Is he…?” Harry asked, trailing off. I shook my head, taking Harry's hand and placing it on
Ron's chest. Through his hand, I could feel Ron's strong heartbeat. There might have been
some internal injuries or, at the very least, severe bruising, but there was nothing we could do
for him now. He had been knocked out and we needed to go on.

“Come on,” I said, pulling Harry up. “He wanted us to keep going. As soon as we can, we'll
come back for him.”

“Will he make it that long?” Harry asked, letting me lead him toward the white door. It had come
ajar since I'd last looked at it.

“He has to,” I said, thinking of Ron's selfless act. He and I had not started on the best of
terms this year, and our friendship had only been lukewarm through most of spring term, but his
bravery had impressed me. He had let himself be taken so Harry and I could go on. I drew Harry
closer to me as we approached the door, not wanting to lose my last shield against whatever horrors
awaited us.

“It'll be alright, Hermione,” he said, walking next to me and against my side now.
“There's nothing we can't do together.”

“I know, Harry,” I responded, miraculously smiling. His words had warmed my heart.

I pushed the heavy white door in when we reached it, bracing myself for the next room, but the
swinging door revealed only a small space containing a low table with seven different flasks on
top, in a neat little row.

“This one has to be Snape's” he said.

“Then he probably walked right through,” I answered, sadly. Harry pulled me through now; as soon
as we had both entered the room, the door behind us disappeared. Ugly purple fire replaced it.
Across the room, black flames appeared where another doorway had been.

“We're trapped,” I whispered, holding onto Harry. He glanced back at the purple flames and
forward at their black counterpart.

“Let's see what this is all about,” he said, with resignation in his voice. We had started
as five, as now we were down to two.

As we neared the table, I saw a roll of parchment stuck between the third and fourth flasks. I
pointed and Harry reached for it. When he unrolled it, I saw that it was filled with writing. As
Harry held it out, we both read these words:

*Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,*

*Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,*

*One among us seven will let you move ahead,*

*Another will transport the drinker back instead,*

*Two among our number hold only nettle wine,*

*Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.*

*Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,*

*To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:*

*First, however slyly the poison tries to hide*

*You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;*

*Second, different are those who stand at either end,*

*But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;*

*Third, as you see clearly, all are different size**,*

*Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;*

*Fourth, the second left and the second on the right*

*Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.*

*We wish you the best of luck moving past these gates,*

*For if you do, on the other side immortality awaits.*

Even before I had finished reading the parchment, I was smiling. I knew we could figure this
out! This was simple logic and we were both the top students in our year. On top of it all, the
closing lines of the riddle stated that the end of the road was just beyond the black flames.

“*Brilliant*,” Harry intoned, glancing back and forth between the parchment and the
vials.

“I know; it's just logic. Some of the greatest wizards probably don't have an ounce of
logic, but I *know* we do.”

“So we won't be stuck in here forever, like they would be,” Harry added, smiling. We leaned
our heads together, quite involuntarily, and stared at the parchment.

“So,” I said. “Seven bottles. Three are poison; two are wine; one will see us safely through the
black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.”

Harry was nodding. “And neither of the flasks on the end will get us through the black
fire.”

“Right,” I noted. “But that doesn't mean that one of them won't get us back through the
purple flames.”

“Oh, yeah, you're right of course,” he agreed, scratching his head.

“Ok, well, the last clue means those two have to either be poison or wine,” I said, scrutinizing
the flasks.

“This one's poison,” Harry said, pointing at the one on the left. “It's on the left of
this one and it won't get us through the black flame.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed. “Third from the left—the smallest—and second from the right—the
largest, can't be poison. That means the one on the far right has to get us through the purple
flames!”

“How do you figure?” he wondered.

“It can't be poison and it won't get us through the black flames. If the far left is
poison, then second from the left has to be wine. That means second from the right has to be wine
as well, which takes care of the two flasks of nettle wine.”

“Oh!” Harry yelled, comprehension filling his face. “So the third from the left has to get us
through the black flames!”

“Right! And third and fourth from the right are poison.”

“Wow, we're smart!” he said, laughing a bit.

“We do seem to be able to accomplish things when we really want to,” I said, verifying that our
assumptions were correct. I could find no flaws in our logic. The third from the left would get us
through the black flames and the one on the right would see us back through the purple fire.

“One problem, Hermione,” Harry said. His voice had quieted. He pointed to the small vial
containing the liquid for the black fire. “There's only enough for one of us in there.”

“Oh…” I breathed. After a moment of silence, he took my hands and turned toward me. His face was
deadly serious, but I could see a number of emotions burning in his green eyes. My lips trembled as
I considered our new dilemma.

“Drink the one on the right,” he told me, gripping my hands tightly.

“But…?”

“Listen, Hermione,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. His scar was deeply scarlet and standing
out against his forehead. Here was the boy that I had befriended during the past year, and he was
telling me to abandon him and go back. “Go back and get Ron, and get help” he said. “Wake him if
you can and take the other broom by that one doorway. If you can't wake him, leave him and go
for help anyway. Use Hedwig to owl Dumbledore. Do whatever you can to convince the other
Professors; I might be able to keep Snape occupied for a little while, but I'm no match for
him, not really.”

“Harry…” I trailed off, not wanting to cry but afraid that I was going to anyway. Harry was
talking about suicide, or something like it. “What if Voldemort's in there too?”

He shrugged, effortlessly brave in the face of certain death. He was not thinking about himself
at that point.

“I was lucky once, wasn't I?” he asked, rhetorically. My eyes flicked to his scar. “I could
be lucky again.” He squeezed my hands, as if to let go, but I didn't let him. Not yet.

I pulled him against me with all of my strength, throwing his arms around me and wrapping him in
mine. I pressed my face to his neck and trembled mightily for a moment, wanting to sob but not
doing so. I would be strong for Harry.

The strength of my embrace must have stunned him, because he held me loosely for a second; then,
he wrapped me tightly in his arms, rubbing my lower back and as I held onto him. It was
inexpressibly comforting being in his arms.

“Hermione…” he said, after a length of time. I could feel the vibrations of his voice in my
face. One of his hands went to my hair, stroking it briefly. I didn't realize it until many
years later, but it was the gesture of someone much older.

I finally lifted my head from the hollow of his neck and shoulder, stepping back and staring at
him. I sniffled and wiped my sleeve across my face, erasing the few tears that had indeed fallen
from my stubborn eyes.

“You're a great wizard, Harry. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

He scoffed, uncomfortable with the praise. “I'm not as good as you are.”

“Me!” I exclaimed, incredulity coloring my voice. “You're *just* as good as I am! Sure,
we have our books…and our cleverness! But Harry, they'll never be as important as
friendship…and bravery…and trust…and—oh Harry, please be careful!”

I've never been able to figure out what I was going to say after `trust,' but if I were
under the influence of Veritaserum I wouldn't be surprised if `love' was the answer.

That moment, standing there with Harry between the two walls of flame, was the single most
defining instant in our early friendship. There was boundless loyalty and support flowing between
us, and it solidified the bedrock of our future relationship. A scared and selfless twelve year old
had just subconsciously aligned herself with an equally scared and selfless eleven year old.

“I'll try,” he said, voice trembling a little. “You have all those things too, Hermione.” I
gave him a watery smile. I had nothing else to say. “You drink first,” he told me, pointing toward
the flask on the right.

I reached for it and downed its entire volume in one gulp, shuddering suddenly at the intense
feeling of coldness spreading through my body.

“You alright?”

“Yes, it's just very cold.”

“Go before it wears off—”

“Good luck, take care—”

“GO, HERMIONE, NOW!” he commanded, and I began walking toward the purple flame. I looked over my
shoulder, watching as he drank the contents of the smallest flask, third from the left. He
shuddered as I had; then he stood at his full height and walked around the table. He looked back
over his shoulder at me, nodded once, and disappeared through the black fire. He was gone.

I turned my head forward, ignoring the tears that had started once again, and passed through the
purple flames.

-->



20. Chapter Nineteen
--------------------



A/N: I promise that my next update will be another installment of *Bearings*. You can find
focused author feedback for *this* story here:
http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=34954. And now the epic conclusion to Year One.

Chapter Nineteen

Spring Term 1992

I was disoriented as I passed through the flames, because they violently licked over my body,
hungrily trying to burn me, but I felt nothing. My vision cleared after a second and I was back in
the chess room; it was still completely empty except for Ron's crumpled form. Trying not to
think of what Harry might be enduring behind me, I rushed forward and knelt by Ron's side.

“Ron!” I called, shaking him. His head lolled crazily to the side. At least his chest was still
moving.

“Oh Ron, come on, wake up!” I tried again, shaking him a little harder. It's too bad
*ennervate* isn't taught until fourth year, because I could have most definitely used it
at that moment.

He twitched; I felt it in the muscles of his upper arm. I stopped shaking and watched. It looked
like his throat was working… then he rolled over slightly and coughed several times. They were
deep, chest-busting coughs, almost like he hadn't breathed properly in a long time.

“Ron. Ron!” I said, and he opened his eyes. They were unfocused for a long moment, as his brain
climbed back to consciousness, but soon enough he recognized me.

“Her—Hermione!” he exclaimed, sitting up a little. He grimaced and wrapped an arm around his
midsection, where the white queen had struck him.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“Dunno,” he said, trying to stand. I helped him up. He looked around suddenly, searching the
entire room. “Where's Harry? And were you crying?”

I hastily wiped my sleeve across my face, removing any errant tears. “No—yes. Uh, Harry, well he
went on, and I couldn't…” I would *not* cry in front of Ron.

“What do you mean? Why couldn't you go with him?”

“There was this potion you had to drink to move to the next room, but there was only enough for
one person.”

“And Harry naturally decided to be the one to move on,” Ron said, though it was a statement, not
a question.

“Something like that,” I nodded.

“Figures,” he muttered. “So he could facing Snape—or *You Know Who*—by himself?!”

“Yes,” I said. I resisted the temptation to say the name just to watch Ron flinch. Now was not
the time.

“Well—bollocks… What do we do now?”

“Are you ok to walk?” I asked.

He pressed gingerly on his abdomen. “I think so.”

“Then we need to go for help,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him the way we had come.
“McGonagall, Flitwick, even Dumbledore if he's back. And we need to *hurry*!” I said,
remembering that Harry could very well be facing a Dark Lord without any help. Oh Merlin, how did
all this happen? How is it that five first years were left to save the Stone? I could feel the
frustration that had been underneath my observations of Hogwarts for the entire year slowly
simmering into a rage, which would soon become a towering inferno. For now, though my mind was
singularly focused on getting us out of there.

I started to trot, pulling Ron along with me when he didn't complain. He was still holding
his stomach, but he seemed to be managing. We moved along the corridor between the chess room and
the winged-creature room quickly, coming upon the threshold of the latter in just a minute or two.
As we approached, I could hear the sinister swish of those razor wings high overhead. I shuddered
involuntarily as I remembered what they had done to Neville. I hoped he was alright.

“Now what?” Ron whispered, crouching just before the entrance to that room. He looked at me,
waiting for an answer.

“We both made it across last time,” I answered, though I knew that was not the best thing to do.
We might have only made it across because those winged things had gone for the slowest person,
which had been Neville. We might not be so lucky this time.

Ron looked dubious. “I dunno, Hermione…”

“Well, what about the broom?” I asked, pointing to the one remaining broom, which was just out
of reach. “We could both ride it across, and actually we're going to need it to get out of
here.”

“That's better than running across.”

“Ok, let me get the broom,” I said, inching forward. My eyes were turned upward, and I was
sincerely hoping that the half a meter I would have to cross into the room would not set those
things off.

“Hermione—be careful!” Ron whispered, fiercely. From the sound of his voice, his head must have
also been turned toward the ceiling, which was far overhead, unseen.

“I know,” I responded, now fully in the room. They hadn't started toward me yet… “Got it!” I
told him and lunged backward into the hallway. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel
sweat trickling down the sides of my face. I knew that my hair must have truly been a frizzy mess
at this point, with all the running, sweating, and worrying I'd been doing for the last hour or
so.

“Ok, let's get on,” I told him, sitting toward the front of the broom. I was still a little
awkward on these things, but Harry's flying lesson had helped me overcome my initial fear.

“Er…” Ron intoned, settling uncertainly onto the broom behind me. I smiled to myself as I
realized he was carefully avoiding touching me.

“Ronald,” I said, “you're going to fall off if you don't wrap your arms around me.”

“Wha-what?!” he yelped, as if he had been burned.

“Honestly, hold on to me,” I said, huffing a bit. Boys! They could be frustrating and immature!
“You're going to fall off if you don't.”

“Oh, um, ok,” he said. The broom shifted slightly as he inched forward. I felt his hands settle
on my hips. That would have to be good enough.

“Hold on!” I called, and leaned forward like Harry had shown me.

We accelerated into the room. I heard the swishing noise change in pitch as those things no
doubt dove for us, but I was concentrating too hard on keeping the broom on course to look up. In
no time, we were safely across the room and into the other hallway, having left those winged
creatures behind.

“Where did you learn to fly like this?” Ron asked, yelling in my ear to be heard over the air
rushing past us. I thought my hair must have been flying back into his face.

“Harry taught me!” I yelled back, to which I received no response. We were flying very close to
the ground, so this was manageable for me. If we'd had to do any kind of aerial acrobatics,
then there might have been problems.

We zoomed along the corridor, making good time as we headed back to the room with the
Devil's Snare. As before, I noticed that the corridor had a gentle slope, though in this
direction it was ascending. Shortly thereafter, we came upon the Devil's Snare. I pulled the
broom to a stop, brandishing my wand over our heads to illuminate the slowly creeping vines of the
plant.

“Same thing as last time?” Ron wondered, holding his wand over his head.

“Yes,” I affirmed.

“*Incendio!*” we both incanted, sending jets of flame toward the vines. They parted before
the fire very quickly, leaving us a rather large hole to fly through. “Keep it going!” I called,
kicking against the floor and rising straight through the air. We passed through the vines
unmolested and then through the trapdoor. I saw that Fluffy was not asleep, and I knew that it
would only take several seconds for the dog to overcome its surprise and snap at us, so I turned on
the spot and flew straight through the door into the third floor corridor.

“*Colloportus!*” I incanted, having stopped and turned just beyond the threshold. The door
slammed shut, cutting off Fluffy's growing growls.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Ron breathed. There was wonder in his voice.

“What?”

“You're scary,” he told me. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. “Brilliant,
yes, but scary,” he finished.

I laughed. “Thanks Ron, I think? How's your stomach?”

“Hurts,” he answered. “But I'll survive. What now?”

“Hospital Wing!” I told him, dismounting and sticking my wand into my back pocket. Ron was there
beside me, doing the same thing.

“Wouldn't it be faster to fly?”

“Too many tight corners,” I said. “Come on!” So we set off at a dead run toward the Hospital
Wing, pounding through the wide stone corridors of Hogwarts like our very lives depended on it.
Everyone must have been at dinner by now, because the hallways were completely empty. As we neared
the final corridor, we suddenly found ourselves running headlong toward the Headmaster, who was
sprinting toward us.

“Hermione, Ron!” he called. His face was unlike I had ever seen it—his usual mask of passivity
and benignity was gone, replaced by a tight, worried expression.

“Headmaster!” I called. “It's Harry—” I started, but he cut me off as we halted near each
other. Ron was by my side.

“He's gone after him, hasn't he?” he said, searching me intently with his eyes.

“Yes! And he's all alone!”

He eyes slipped close for the briefest of instants, and I suddenly saw him for how old and
careworn he really was.

“FAWKES!” he called, and two seconds later the glorious Phoenix was there, resting on his
shoulder.

“Take me to the room with the Mirror of Erised!” he yelled, and then they were gone in a flash
of light and heat.

“What the…?” Ron asked.

“He's gone to help Harry!” I told him, and grabbed his hand. Merlin, if anything had
happened to Harry… “Let's go!”

I pulled Ron along as we rounded the corner and saw the doors to the Hospital Wing ahead of us.
We exploded into the long room, noticing that Madam Pomfrey and Sally were near the back of the
room. They both looked in our direction as the doors banged against the wall.

“Hermione! Ron!” Sally called, running toward us. I slammed into her, embracing her with all my
strength. She and Ron hugged as well, though it was not nearly as powerful. Ron looked very
uncomfortable.

“Are you alright? Where's Harry? Did Dumbledore go after him?” she asked, all at once.

“Yes, we're fine. Harry had to go on alone—it was the last protection! And yes, Dumbledore
went to help him,” I answered. Ron was looking back and forth between us with a rather bewildered
expression on his face.

“Oh…oh, I hope everything's alright!” she exclaimed. Her hair was looking as frazzled as I
knew mine was.

“How's Neville?” Ron asked, refocusing us.

“Uh, alright I think,” Sally answered. “He lost *a lot* of blood, but Pomfrey's been
giving him blood replenishing potions, and she easily healed all his wounds. He should be fine
tomorrow or the next day.”

“Good,” I breathed, and Ron and I followed Sally over to Neville's bed. Madam Pomfrey nodded
at us, doing some diagnostic tests on our fallen friend. Neville was white as a sheet, but his
chest was rising and falling rhythmically, which was a very good sign.

“Madam Pomfrey, Ron needs to be looked at as well,” I said, ignoring Ron's look of betrayal.
For all I knew, he could have serious internal bleeding.

“Oh?” she asked, looking at Ron and then moving her wand to him. “What happened to him?”

“He was struck in the abdomen,” I told her. She ran her wand over him, muttering under
breath.

“It appears that you have a cracked rib and severe bruising, Mr. Weasley,” she said, motioning
toward a bed. “Lie down and I'll have you fixed in a jiffy.” He did as he was told, even though
he was grumbling about it.

The next few minutes passed in a haze as my body cooled off from its prolonged usage of
adrenaline and endorphins. I hadn't noticed it before, but I was drained of energy. After
Pomfrey had attended to Ron and given him a few potions, she noticed me sagging next to
Neville's bed.

“What's the matter, Ms. Granger?”

“Just tired is all,” I said.

“Here, drink this,” she said, handing me a Pepper-Up potion. She gave one to Sally as well. It
tasted awful, but it did the trick. I perked up almost immediately.

“Now, will someone tell what is going on?” Pomfrey asked. Her eyes were moving between Sally and
me.

“Er, well…” Sally started, though she obviously had no idea what to say. I wasn't even sure
we *should* tell Pomfrey, even though it was clear that Dumbledore already knew what was
happening.

Before I had a chance to explain the gist of things, the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open,
focusing the attention of the room on four new figures. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and
Snape strode into the room. My heart skipped several beats as I saw that Dumbledore was levitating
Harry in front of him. All of their faces were hard.

“Harry!” I screamed, leaping over a chair that was in my way and running toward him. Sally was
right behind me.

“Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore said, “I assure you there is nothing about which to be immediately
alarmed. Harry is fine, considering what he just went through. Now if you please, stand aside so
Madam Pomfrey can administer the proper care.” His voice was tight and commanding, but there was
also an undertone of understanding. I did as I was told and observed as he laid Harry on the bed
between Ron and Neville. The Professors stood back and let Madam Pomfrey work.

“Albus, what happened to him?” Pomfrey asked. There was some kind of accusation in her
voice.

“Harry has just prevented disaster, yet again,” the Headmaster, and his voice resonated with a
soul-wearying sadness. I looked at him, seeing that he was staring intently at Harry. I glanced at
Sally and saw a question in her eyes, to which I shrugged.

“His magical core is completely exhausted,” Pomfrey said. “I've never seen that in someone
so young. And there appear to be burns on his hands and throat.”

I just stared at Harry's prone form. The usual vivacity he exuded was completely absent,
though he was breathing and still alive. His hair hung limply across his forward and his eyes were
closed, obscuring his normally vibrant green irises. I noticed the marks on his throat that Pomfrey
had mentioned. They looked like someone had tried to choke him.

“Yes, he has come through something that someone so young should never have to endure,”
Dumbledore sighed. From the tone of his voice, I knew that his thoughts were far away.

That frustration that I had felt boiling toward rage earlier was back again as I looked at the
three Professors standing over Harry's bed. This had all happened because of *them*. They
had ignored the signs—wait a minute, Snape was here! That meant that he couldn't have been the
one who had gone through the trapdoor before us…

A feral noise escaped my throat as I approached the Professors. I knew Sally had suddenly backed
away from me, and I could feel her eyes on me.

“Professors,” I said, my voice low and angry, coiled like a snake and ready to strike. “What is
the meaning of this?” I asked.

They all looked at me, appearing to have forgotten I was even there. Their thoughts had carried
them far away from the Hospital Wing. Snape's face was a mask of cold impassivity; McGonagall
looked tired and overwhelmed; and Dumbledore looked old and beaten.

“Ms. Granger,” McGonagall responded, “I'm sorry—”

“You're sorry?!” I asked, incredulously. My temper was dangerously close to running away
from me. “You think apologies can fix this?!” I nearly screeched. Snape was the first to overcome
the shock at being addressed so insubordinately.

“Ms. Granger, you will show your Head of House the proper respect!” he demanded, eyes burning
angrily into me. I met them without flinching. “That is ten points from—”

“Severus,” the Headmaster interrupted. Snape looked at him, snapping his mouth shut. “Please see
to it that more blood replenishing potions are brewed. Mr. Longbottom's treatment has depleted
our stores.”

The muscles in Snape's jaws worked as he stared at the Headmaster, but he eventually nodded.
“As you wish, Albus,” he said, and walked away from us, glaring at me on the way out. He
disappeared around the corner of the doorway with a flick of his dark cloak.

“Hermione,” Dumbledore said, and I could sense that he was trying to placate me. “You do not
fully understand—”

That did it. Some internal switch flipped inside me and I was no longer Hermione Granger, the
first year who respected authority. I was Hermione Granger, the first year who had just watched two
of her friends fall. And all for what?

“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T UNDERSTAND? WERE YOU THERE?” I screamed at him, nearly
frothing at the mouth. McGonagall and Sally took shocked steps backward. Ron's eyes widened as
he stared at me.

“No, of course not—” the Headmaster tried.

“THAT'S RIGHT. OF COURSE YOU WEREN'T THERE. YOU HAVEN'T BEEN THERE AT ALL THIS
YEAR,” I ranted, losing all sense of control as I finally vented the things that had been bothering
me all year. “THERE HAS BEEN A DANGEROUS MAGICAL ARTIFACT IN THIS SCHOOL THE ENTIRE YEAR, AS WELL
AS AN EXTREMELY DANGEROUS MAGICAL BEAST. THIS IS A SCHOOL! A BLOODY SCHOOL FOR CHILDREN! HOW CAN
YOU JUSTIFY YOUR ACTIONS?”

I paused long enough to wait for some kind of response. My chest was heaving and I could sense
some kind of disturbance within me, as if my magic had noticed my inner psychological turmoil and
was reacting accordingly.

“Ms. Granger!” McGonagall said. Her voice was breathless. “You will not speak to the
Headmaster—”

“I'LL SPEAK TO HIM HOWEVER I BLOODY WELL WANT TO!” I raged, cutting her off. Her hand flew
to her chest as she took another step back. “MANY ACTIONS BY STAFF MEMBERS THIS YEAR HAVE BEEN
COMPLETELY INEXCUSABLE, AND IT'S ABOUT TIME SOMEONE TOLD YOU TWO EXACTLY WHAT THEY THINK. THIS
IS A SCHOOL FOR CHILDREN, FOR *TEACHING*, AND THERE ARE *SO MANY THINGS WRONG* THAT I
DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN.

“Firstly, the blatant favoritism professors like Snape show is absolutely out of control,” I
continued, though the volume of my voice had dropped a little. “The House Cup is a complete joke
and so are many of our Potions classes. He shows a complete disregard for the best interests of any
student not in Slytherin, which makes it nearly impossible to be productive in his class.”
Dumbledore was just staring at me, absorbing everything I said.

“There was NO ORIENTATION for students like me who had no knowledge of the magical world before
last summer, and how do you think that made me feel? I was just thrown into this environment with
no guidance, having to figure out many things for myself. And do you know how painful it was to
realize that some students call you names and push you around JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE TWO
MAGICAL PARENTS? DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUS THAT IS? HARRY AND I ARE THE TOP TWO STUDENTS IN OUR
YEAR, AND WE HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF HOGWARTS OR THE WIZARDING WORLD BEFORE LAST SUMMER.

“The blood superiority complex so many people seem to have is obviously completely meaningless,
yet it persists in these walls because students like Draco Malfoy are allowed to run around
spouting it without any repercussions.”

I looked at McGonagall, focusing my ire on her for a moment. “Do you remember when you told us
that you didn't want any trouble with Malfoy this year? Why was that? Why wasn't he
punished for the countless times he called me a Mudblood? Or for the many times he physically or
magically assaulted someone in the halls? Snape always turned a blind eye, and because Hogwarts has
that stupid policy where only the student's Head of House can administer punishment, NOTHING
WAS EVER DONE. HOW ARE WE EXPECTED TO LEARN ANYTHING WHEN THAT KIND OF FAVORITISM EXISTS?”

I glared at them, collecting my thoughts. Dumbledore must have thought my tirade was over.

“Hermione…” he started, but I held up my hand.

“Oh no, I'm not finished yet,” I said, hearing the hardness in my voice and not believing it
was mine for a second. “I've only really *touched* upon the biggest problem, which is the
whole mess with the Philosopher's Stone. Why, Headmaster? *Why?* How could you keep that
in this school, knowing that all the wrong people were probably after it?”

“Hogwarts is the safest place—”

“IT WAS BAIT!” I screamed, advancing a few steps toward him. Pomfrey dropped her wand in shock
at the level of my voice. Everyone in the room was now staring fixedly at me. I was a whirlwind of
self-righteous anger, and I was not going to stop until it had burned itself out.

“IT WAS BLOODY BAIT FOR VOLDEMORT!” I continued, ignoring the flinches from the assembled
people, with the exception of Dumbledore. “YOU *KNEW* THAT THIS COULD HAPPEN. YOU TOLD US THE
NIGHT OF THE FOREST THAT THIS WAS A POSSIBILITY, YET YOU DID *NOTHING!! NOT A BLOODY THING!*
HOW IS THAT RESPONSIBLE AT ALL? YOU'RE THE HEADMASTER OF THIS SCHOOL—YOUR DUTY IS TO PROTECT
ALL OF US.

“YET HARRY AND THE REST OF US HAD TO GO AFTER THE STONE OURSELVES TO MAKE SURE IT WAS SAFE. DO
YOU KNOW WHY HARRY HAD TO GO AFTER THE STONE? DO YOU?”

I waited for an answer. None was forthcoming.

“It was for his pa-parents,” I told them, as my voice broke. I burst into tears, but I did not
care. “It was because Voldemort killed his parents! He thought it was his duty to make sure
Voldemort didn't use the Stone and return to full power. So naturally we all followed AND LOOK
AT WHAT HAS HAPPENED. WE'RE ONLY *FIRST YEARS*! THIS IS TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE AND I WILL
NOT STAND FOR IT! THERE NEEDS TO BE SOME SERIOUS CHANGES HERE OR I DO NOT THINK I WILL BE ABLE TO
RETURN TO HOGWARTS NEXT YEAR!”

The tears were still falling from my eyes as I finally stopped; my heart was pounding against my
ribcage and my hands were clenched in fists of rage. I could not believe how many things were wrong
with Hogwarts, or that it had taken so long for me to finally lose control. My last statement was
not an empty threat, either—I knew I couldn't stay here if every year was like this. It was too
much stress for my young body to handle.

“Surely you wouldn't withdraw?” McGonagall asked. Had she not heard everything I had
said?

“And why not? Why would I want to stay here when my life and the lives of my friends are
endangered EVERY SINGLE DAY?”

“Well—” she started.

“Are the exam results in?” I overrode her. She nodded mutely. “And how did I score?”

“Top in your year,” she said. “And although all the results for the rest of Europe haven't
come in yet, you likely scored highest across all of magical Europe.”

I would celebrate that later. For now, I had to make my point. “I'm sure you wouldn't
want to lose me, then,” I said. “But if I have to, I fully intend to withdraw during the summer
holiday. I don't want to come back to Hogwarts if I'm going to be treated like sullied
garbage.”

“I don't either,” Sally said, speaking for the first time in several minutes.
“Hermione's right. What's been happening here is ridiculous.”

Silence stretched its hand across the Hospital Wing. I could almost hear my raised voice still
reverberating off the walls. Some part of me was unable to believe that I had just yelled at the
Headmaster and my Head of House, but I knew it was necessary. Two students had nearly died as a
result of recent events—and those two students were my friends.

My eyes settled on Harry. I was doing all of this for him, really. He was an exceptional student
with a horrible past that had followed to him Hogwarts, which was supposed to be a safe place to
learn about the magical world. Instead, it was dangerous and filled with prejudice and
discrimination. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to spend the next six years here.
Perhaps I could look into those other magical schools at which McGonagall had hinted when she
revealed my scores.

Dumbledore sighed. My eyes slid back toward the Headmaster, and I saw him glance toward
McGonagall.

“I am truly sorry that it has come to this,” he said, sounding every bit as old as he actually
was. “This was never my intention. I merely wanted to protect the Stone and prevent something
horrible from happening, but it seems my plans have gone horribly wrong. I do not fault you for
your outburst, Hermione, nor will I be punishing you for insubordination. Your Professors and I
will take what you have said into consideration during the next few days. I do *not* want to
lose you or your friends,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically open and emotional. His eyes
settled on Harry.

“You are all very talented and hardworking, and you have just done *invaluable* service to
the school. Rest assured that I will not ignore what you have said here today. Minerva, if you will
follow me?” he said, looking at her. He stood and headed for the exit, with McGonagall following
him. They disappeared from sight and the doors closed of their own accord.

“I'll be in my office,” Pomfrey said, quietly, glancing at me and then turning away. She
shut the door, leaving me with my four friends, two of whom were unconscious.

“Scary,” Ron said, nodding to himself. “Brilliant, but scary,” he continued, repeating what
he'd said earlier. I shook my head at him, smiling a little. I wiped my sleeve across my face,
taking care of the lingering wetness of my angry tears.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Sally said, moving closer to me and wrapping an arm around my back. “Who
knew?”

“I don't know where that came from,” I told her, laughing a little. It all seemed so surreal
now, though nothing that I had said was any less important or real.

“I do,” she whispered, nodding toward Harry's bed. I knew, deep down, that she was right.
The lion in me had risen to defend my friends.

-------

After a time, when things had calmed and my heart rate had returned to normal, I realized that I
did not know what had happened to Harry—or, more importantly, *who* had been ahead of us
through all of those protections. Dumbledore had not revealed anything and I hadn't thought to
ask. Harry would have to provide us with the information whenever he woke.

Ron had only stayed in bed for about an hour, eventually joining Sally and me between Harry and
Neville. We had pulled some chairs between their beds so we could be close to both of them. Idle
chitchat passed between us as we waited for them to come around. Madam Pomfrey had told us that it
would only be a matter of time, and that we were lucky to still be with them. All other
students—who of course already knew that *something* monumental had happened—were not allowed
within fifty meters of the Hospital, but the Headmaster had allowed us to stay.

If he thought that small action would make up for all the problems of this past year, then he
had another thing coming. I knew that I also wanted to speak with him about Harry's home life
at some point, but that was an entirely different conversation than the one that had just taken
place.

As the late evening turned toward night, Ron said he was sleepy. I expected him to return to the
Gryffindor tower, but he instead laid down on one of the nearby beds.

“Just in case,” he said, rolling away from us and pulling the sheet up. Within two minutes, soft
snores were coming from his resting form.

Sally stretched and tilted her chair back, resting her head on Neville's bed and her feet on
the edge of Harry's. It looked rather precarious, but I said nothing.

“Who d'ya think it was?” she asked. Her voice sounded tired.

“Ahead of us?” She nodded. “I dunno. If it wasn't Snape…then I really don't know.”

“Could it have been Voldemort himself?” she wondered.

“I don't see how. He would have had to use the Stone to become corporeal again.”

She looked at me; the low light of the Hospital Wing reflected off her eyes. “That's a big
word, Hermione.”

I smiled softly. “So sue me.”

“So your tops in our year *and* across all of Europe?” she asked, playfully.

I blushed. “Erm, I suppose so.”

“Oh, don't be so modest,” she laughed, swatting my arm. “We all knew you would do
amazing.”

I was quiet for a minute, thinking about what she'd said. It was odd to have tacit support
from kids I could call my friends; prior to this year, that had never happened to me. At least
*something* good had come out of this mess.

“Thanks, Sally.” She just smiled in return. And so time stretched on; Ron slept and Sally and I
talked here and there about miscellaneous things, but mostly we were waiting for our boys to wake
up. Finally, after what seemed like an endless wait, Harry stirred in his bed around two in the
morning. Sally and I shot out of our seats and leaned over him.

“Urrghh,” he articulated, stretching involuntarily and blinking owlishly at us. His eyes cleared
and widened, and he quickly sat up. “Hermione! Sally! Where are the others! What happened?!” Then
he squinted and blinked a few times. “And where are my ruddy glasses?”

“Right here, Harry,” I told him, gently placing his glasses on his face. They had been on the
nightstand next to his bed. He blinked a few more times, clearing his emerald eyes.

“Thanks,” he breathed, now looking around the room. “Hospital Wing?”

I nodded. “Dumbledore brought you in,” I told him, preferring to skip my tirade at the moment.
“Neville's right there behind us and Ron's sleeping over there,” I added, pointing. Harry
glanced at them and back at us.

“Are they alright?”

“As well as can be,” Sally nodded.

“Good,” Harry sighed, relief filling his voice. He sagged a bit, only to sit straight again.
“Hermione, Sally, it was Quirrell!” he whispered, furiously.

“What?” I asked, unable to process this new piece of information as quickly as I would have
liked.

“It wasn't Snape—it was Quirrell *all along*,” Harry said.

“Oh my…” Sally breathed.

I was shocked. Our bumbling Defense teacher had been the one after the Stone the whole year? But
that didn't make any sense; we knew it wasn't Snape, but Quirrell?

“Quirrell was in the next room?” I asked.

Harry nodded. “He was waiting for me.”

“What? Why was he waiting for *you*?” I questioned. None of this was making any sense.
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it with a thoughtful look on his face.

“This will be easier with the Pensieve,” he said. “Wake Ron and have him get it for us.”

I nodded and did as he said. Ron was ecstatic that Harry was awake and he was just as curious
about what had happened as Sally and me, so he left for the Gryffindor tower. Harry told him to
take the Invisibility Cloak that Sally had lain at the foot of Neville's bed to avoid questions
running into anyone. We waited in near silence for Ron's return, which was quicker than I was
expecting. He was breathless as he set Harry's Pensieve on the bed, saying that he had run all
the way there and back.

Harry concentrated briefly, putting his wand at his temple, and then withdrew the pearly memory.
He deposited it into the shallow stone basin and swirled it with his wand. The evanescent light
diffused around the Hospital Wing, then solidifying into an image: Harry emerging from the black
flames into a large room with only two other things. They were Professor Quirrell and the Mirror of
Erised.

We watched, transfixed by the events unfolding before us. I glanced at Harry a few times, to
make sure he was handling this memory well, and he seemed to be studying it as hard as we were.
After Quirrell and Harry discussed how Snape had actually been trying to *prevent* him
stealing the Stone, the faux-Professor turned to the Mirror and said that it was the key to
acquiring the Stone.

*“I see the stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?”*

*“But Snape always seemed to hate me so much,” Harry said, clearly trying to distract
Quirrell.*

*“Oh he does,” Quirrell responded, still staring intently at the Mirror.* *“Merlin, yes.
He was at Hogwarts with your father—didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never
wanted you dead.”*

*“I heard you a few days ago,” Harry said. “You were sobbing.”*

*Quirrell turned toward Harry; his face was tight and maybe even a little afraid.*

*“Sometimes I find it hard to follow my master's instructions.”*

*“You mean Voldemort was there with you?”*

*“How dare you say his name!” Quirrell screamed, coming toward Harry for a moment. Then he
seemed to remember why he was there and turned back to the Mirror. “But yes, he is with me wherever
I go. I met him when I traveled around the world. I was only a foolish young man, full of
ridiculous ideas about good and evil. The Dark Lord showed me how wrong I was—there is no good and
evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it…”*

*“Well, I think that's rubbish,” Harry said. Quirrell rounded on him again. “The way
we* use *our power makes us good or evil, or maybe even something in between.”*

*Quirrell laughed; it was a high, cold sound. “Just as foolish as I once was, Potter.”*

*“Only a fool would become Voldemort's servant,” Harry retorted. His bravery was
remarkable, considering he was bound by magical ropes and at the mercy of Quirrell.*

*The man ignored Harry, however. “**What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me,
Master!”*

*A raspy, whispery, malignant voice answered: “Use the boy…use Potter.” It seemed to be coming
from Quirrell, who summoned Harry to him* *and banished the ropes**. Harry was positioned
directly in front of the mirror. “What do you see?” Quirrell demanded.*

*Since this was Harry's memory, we could see what he saw in the Mirror.* *At first,
he saw his own reflection, but Mirror-Harry then smiled at him. Mirror-Harry reached into his
pocket and pulled out a small, red Stone. He then dropped it into his pocket.*

*“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” Harry lied. “I've won the House Cup for
Gryffindor.”*

*“Get out of the way, you ruddy useless excuse for a wizard!” Quirrell said, pushing Harry out
of the way. Harry went for his wand as that other voice said something again.*

*“Potter lies,” it said.*

*As Quirrell turned toward Harry with a snarl on his face, Harry raised his wand fired off a
Stunner. Quirrell's hastily raised shield blocked most of the spell, but some of Harry's
magic managed to strike the man, knocking him backward and off his feet.*

*“FOOL!” that other voice screamed. “YOU NEVER DISARMED HIM!”*

*Knowing that he was outclassed, Harry ran for it. Before he reached the exit, though, magical
flames sprang up all around the room.*

*“*Expelliarmus!” *Quirrell shouted, which Harry dodged. They dueled for another minute,
and Harry did very well, but Quirrell was too experienced and too powerful for him. Quirrell was
curiously using non-lethal spells; Harry was using everything in his limited arsenal. Eventually,
Harry found himself bound in magical ropes once again. Quirrell contemptuously kicked his wand out
of reach.*

*“Let me speak to Potter,” the voice said. “Face-to-face.” Quirrell blanched but said nothing,
instead reaching up to his turban and unwinding the fuscia cloth. It fell away and Quirrell turned
on the spot, revealing the strangest and most horrifying thing I'd ever seen: another face was
plastered to the back of his head, though it had slits for nostrils and red eyes.*

*“Harry Potter,” it said, simply, and I knew without a doubt that it was Voldemort. The Dark
Lord had been residing on the back of Quirrell's head all along.*

*“Do you see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor. I have form only when I can share
another's life force, but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and
minds.” Voldemort cackled, sounding every bit as malevolent as he was supposed to be.* *“Once
I have the Elixir* *of Life,* *all of* *that will no longer matter. I will be able
to create a body of my own.”*

*Harry struggled against his ropes. “You'll never get the Stone!” he yelled. “You'll
have to go through me first, you murderer!”*

*The face stretched into a rictus grin.* *“Very well. Quirrell, take the Stone from his
pocket and then kill him. He has outlived his use, just as he has long outlived his undeserved
fame.”*

*Quirrell advanced upon Harry, who struggled mightily against the ropes binding him, but it
was a futile effort. Harry kicked out as Quirrell came near, catching the man in the shins.
Quirrell screamed in rage and pain, moving quickly and kneeling across Harry to stifle his
movements. Harry had just enough* *slack* *to move his hands, and he grabbed
Quirrell's arms before he could reach into his pocket and* *retrieve* *the*
*S**tone. Quirrell suddenly screamed even louder as some new pain enveloped him.*

*“What is this magic?!” Quirrell roared, backing away from Harry and staring at his arms. The
flesh was literally melting away from the bones where Harry had touched him. The ropes binding
Harry fell away, probably because Quirrell was too preoccupied with the disgusting thing that was
happening to him.*

*“GET THE STONE!” Voldemort yelled.*

*“Master, I can't touch him!”*

*“Then kill him, you fool! KILL POTTER!”*

*Harry lunged for Quirrell, not waiting to see how Quirrell would respond to Voldemort's
command. He grabbed Quirrell's face, knocking him over; they were writhing on the ground;
Quirrell was trying to get Harry away from him; he had his hands around Harry's neck.*

*“MASTER!” he screamed. “MASTER, HELP ME! MY FACE—I'M DYING! MASTER…” He finally managed
to push Harry away, but it was too late for Professor Quirrell. Parts of his skull were showing
through the ragged flesh on his face. He sputtered a few times and then fell over,
unmoving.*

*“NOOOO!” a primal scream of rage and anguish echoed through the room. “POTTER, YOU HAVE
SPOILED MY PLANS* *ONCE MORE**!* *IT'S TOO BAD YOUR PARENTS AREN'T HERE FOR
ME TO KILL AGAIN!* *MARK MY WORDS, THIS IS NOT THE LAST TIME WE SHALL MEET!* *NEXT TIME I
WILL KILL YOU, YOUR FRIENDS, AND ANYONE ELSE WHO GETS IN MY WAY**!”*

*As memory-Harry's vision was fading due to magical exhaustion, a white vapor materialized
from Quirrell's body**. It rushed toward Harry, who threw up his arms, and then everything
faded to black.*

The Pensieve went dark and we stared open-mouthed at what we had witnessed. Harry had faced
Voldemort and had survived once again.

“Oh, Harry!” I cried, moving along the bed and embracing my friend. He returned the embrace;
Sally and Ron joined in soon thereafter, adding their support to what must have been a truly awful
experience. After all, Harry had been forced to kill someone…

“So, is Quirrell…dead?” Ron asked, the first to break from the hug.

Harry nodded mutely.

“Harry,” Sally said, “you did what you had to do. You shouldn't feel guilty about it.”

“I know,” he responded. “But I still don't like it.”

“He was going to kill *you*,” I told him. “There was nothing else you could do.”

“I could have gone for my wand—I could have tried to Stun him!”

“You wouldn't have had enough time,” I said, shaking my head.

“Hermione's right, Harry,” Ron said, leaning forward and placing a hand on Harry's
shoulder. “He would have killed you. You did the only thing you could.”

His shoulders sagged. “I guess so.” His forlorn body language made me want to hug him again.

“Harry,” I said instead, “Voldemort isn't gone forever, is he?” He met my eyes and began to
shrug his shoulders, but a familiar voice interrupted our conversation.

“No, Hermione, unfortunately he is not.”

We all turned to see the Headmaster standing behind us, looking better than he had the last time
I'd seen him. His usual twinkle had returned to his eyes, though there was a certain gravity
around him that had been absent.

“So You-Know-Who is coming back?” Ron asked.

Dumbledore sat on the end of Neville's bed. “Call him Voldemort, all of you,” he said.
“Always use the proper name for things. Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“Ok,” Ron replied.

“As far as Voldemort is concerned, he is still out there somewhere, waiting for the chance to
regain a body. Not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may have
only delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what
seems like a losing battle next time—and if he is delayed again, and again, he may never return to
power.”

“Why was it Harry in the first place?” Sally asked. “Why should Harry be expected to fight
Voldemort?”

“A reasonable question, Ms. Perks, and unfortunately one that I do not currently know how to
answer. In light of Hermione's recent comments, I shall be considering this question closely.”
Harry looked another question at me, but I motioned that I would explain later. We didn't need
to relive my outburst with Dumbledore there.

“Sir,” Harry said. Dumbledore looked at him. Harry then looked at all of us. “There some are
things that I think we would *all* like to know the truth about.” We all nodded, agreeing with
Harry, even though we were unsure of exactly what he meant.

“The truth,” Dumbledore said, softly, “is a beautiful and terrible thing. It should therefore be
treated with extreme care. I shall answer as many of your questions as I can, only abstaining when
I have a very good reason to do so. I will not lie to you, though.”

Harry nodded. “Well…”

“Go on,” I urged him. He smiled gratefully.

“Why did Voldemort go after me the first time? Why was he so concerned with my parents and
me?

Dumbledore closed his eyes, shaking his head briefly. “This is unfortunately one of the
questions that I cannot answer at this juncture. When you are all older,” he said, “I will happily
answer this. But for now, you should put it from your mind.”

“Hiding more things from us?” I wondered. The Headmaster looked at me.

“Your minds are not yet equipped to protect the information,” he said. “Otherwise I would tell
you.”

“Then how do we protect them?” Sally asked.

“Through a branch of mind magic called Occlumency, which is very difficult to learn and even
harder to master. As I said, it would be best to put that question from your minds for now.”

“Fine,” Harry said, shrugging. I don't think I would have let the Headmaster off that
easily, but I let Harry ask his next question.

“Why couldn't Quirrell touch me?”

“Your mother died to save you, Harry. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is
the power of love. He did not realize that love as powerful as your mother's leaves its mark—to
have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved you is gone, is a kind of protection
from Voldemort's type of magic that lasts forever. It is in your skin, your blood, your very
magic… Quirrell, who was possessed by more than just hatred and greed and ambition, could not touch
you because of that protection.”

I reached for Harry's hand as Dumbledore spoke of his mother. This had to be very hard for
him.

“How did you come by my father's Invisibility Cloak?” Harry asked, after a moment.

“James entrusted it to me when the three of you went into hiding. He knew it was useless against
Voldemort, because, like me, he can see through the Cloak's charms. As a rather priceless
magical artifact, he did not want it to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

“Oh,” Harry said, thinking over everything that had been said. Then he asked another question:
“Quirrell said Snape—”

“*Professor* Snape,” Dumbledore corrected. I cleared my throat, but the Headmaster ignored
me. There was no reason why we should have to call that foul git a Professor. He didn't deserve
the title, even if he had been trying to protect the Stone and Harry. He treated most of us like
rubbish.

“Sure, him,” Harry said, brushing off the correction. “Quirrell said he hates me because he
hated my father.”

Dumbledore nodded. “They did detest each other—not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy, I suppose.
Your father did something Professor Snape could never forgive.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“James saved his life.”

“*What?*”

“Funny the way people's minds work, I suppose,” Dumbledore continued. “Professor Snape could
not bear being in your father's debt, so he took it upon himself to protect you. Then he could
go back to hating your father's memory in peace…”

“That's ridiculous,” I interrupted, having had enough of this talk about Snape. “Harry is
*not* his father, no matter how many times people say he looks just like James.
*Professor* Snape should not be treating Harry any differently than the other students.”

“Old grudges die hard,” Dumbledore said.

“He needs to be more professional!” I demanded. A staring contest between me and the Headmaster
ensued for several seconds. Harry cleared his throat.

“Just one more question, Professor,” Harry said, giving me and the Headmaster a rather strange
look. “How did I get the Stone out of the Mirror?”

Dumbledore smiled, and in the low light of the Hospital Wing, it made the years melt away from
the Headmaster.

“Only someone who wanted to *find* the Stone, but not use it, would be able to retrieve it.
Otherwise, they would only see themselves making gold or drinking the Elixir of Life. It was one of
my more brilliant ideas, if I do say so myself,” he concluded, humming merrily to himself for a
moment. We all glanced at each other, smiling slightly at the Headmaster's kooky antics. I
wondered if he actually was crazy.

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore said. “It is nearly four in the morning. I suggest you all get some sleep.
You have had a long day.” He stood and started away, but then he stopped and half-turned toward
us.

“You all have given me much to think about,” he said, looking at me in particular. “Please know
that I appreciate your work ethic, your independent spirit, and your tenacity.” With that, he
turned again and was gone.

“Ok, can someone tell what is going between you and Dumbledore?” Harry questioned, looking at
me. I chuckled uneasily, remembering my earlier outburst.

“She's a scary one, Harry,” Ron said. “Don't ever get her angry at you.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, still looking at me. I felt my cheeks heat up a little.

“Hermione told the Headmaster off,” Sally explained. “She explained to him what a right foul git
Snape has been, among many other things.”

“If by explain you mean yell him into the next room, then yes,” Ron said, looking smug.

“I think everything I said was reasonable,” I defended myself.

“It was,” Sally assured me.

“Can you show me?” Harry asked. He motioned toward the Pensieve, which was still lying between
us on his bed.

“Sure,” I said, only hesitating for a moment.

“Just concentrate on the memory and use your wand to pull it out.”

I did as he instructed and deposited the glowing strand into the basin. He swirled it with his
wand and we sat back as the earlier scene replayed itself before our eyes. My dulcet tones filled
the Hospital Wing once again, though through the memory it was quieter than it had been.

After it had faded, Harry just stared at me. There was gratitude, sympathy, and a number of
other emotions swirling in his eyes. He reached for my hand and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said. I thought I noticed a tiny tremble in his voice.

“For what? All I did was scream a bit.”

“No,” he corrected me. “You said everything that needed to be said, something I don't know
if I could have done. So thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“Did you really mean what you said?” Harry asked.

“Which part?”

“The part about withdrawing from Hogwarts.”

I shrugged. “If it comes to that, then yes. There are plenty of other magical schools around
Europe that would be happy to have us, I think. But I don't really want to leave here, not if I
can help it. I suppose we'll just have to see what Dumbledore does.”

“Thank you, all of you,” Harry said.

“For what?” Ron asked.

“For being my friends.”

----------

Neville woke up early that morning—Friday, June 5, 1992—and we filled him in on everything that
had happened. He was understandably a little overwhelmed and said that it would take time to
process everything, but he was glad that we were all alright and that Voldemort had been stopped.
We complimented him on his bravery and were extremely happy that he had recovered so quickly.

It was inevitable that we would rejoin the school's general population, so later on Friday
we all left the Hospital Wing. Sure enough, during the next week when the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.
students were presenting their final projects, the five of us were inundated with question after
question about what had happened. We answered them as best as we could, avoiding the more sensitive
information about the Stone and Voldemort. Ron's brothers—the Twins—thought we had pulled off
the mightiest prank imaginable, and they would not leave us alone.

Harry and I attended several of the presentations, with Sally, Ron, and Neville tagging along
for some of them, but the magic was honestly over our heads. I could understand some of the theory,
but not enough for the presentations to really mean much at that point.

Even though I had been told that I was top in my class, I was still nervous about the exam
results, which came out on the morning of Thursday, June 11. They were flown into the Great Hall
attached the legs of myriad owls. We all tore into the envelopes to see our scores. My score report
looked like this:

*Hermione Granger*

*First Year Final Exam Score Report*

*June 1992*

*O - Outstanding; E - Exceeds Expectations; A - Acceptable; P - Poor; D - Dreadful; T*
*-* *Troll*

*A plus (+) sign indicates an exceptional performance.*

Charms: Theory: O+

Charms: Practical: O

Transfiguration: Theory: O+

Transfiguration: Practical: O+

Potions: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Theory: O+

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Practical: O

Herbology: O

Astronomy: Theory: O+

Astronomy: Practical: O

History of Magic: O+

*Class Rank: One*

*European Rank: One*

*Global Rank: Three*

*Congratulations on a job well done!*

“Wow, Hermione,” Sally breathed, next to me. “That's a lot of O's.”

“Thanks,” I responded, barely able to speak. I was ranked third *in the world*! Never in my
wildest dreams had I imagined that I could do so well, especially considering I did not know about
magic until only eleven months before.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Neville said, looking at my score report. Sally had taken it from me and
they were passing it around. “That's amazing.”

“Well done!” Harry exclaimed, also looking at the parchment. “I expected no less!”

“We all knew she would this well,” Ron said, focusing more on his breakfast than any of our
scores. “Congrats, though.”

“Thanks, Ron. And thanks everyone. Good job to all of us!”

It turns out that I was ranked first in our class, Harry was second, Sally was fifth, Neville
was ninth, and Ron was fourteenth. All five of us were in the top half of our class. Harry was
ranked fourth through all of Europe and tenth globally. It was not something I understood until
later in life, but the five of us represented a formidable pool of magical and intellectual talent.
Such talent could explain many of our successes against unfathomable odds during later years at
Hogwarts.

In any case, the next week passed peacefully, though we were all still being asked questions
about what had happened beneath the trapdoor. Rather fantastic versions of events had begun
circulating amongst the students, and we did our best to refute the wildest ones, but it was
harmless fun really.

We spent our days outside in the warm Highland sunshine, playing both Muggle and magical games
with the other first years. It was nice to be free of schoolwork, stress, and the shadow of
Voldemort, if only for a little while. That final week passed more quickly than I care to remember,
and soon enough we were all seated on the breezy grounds for the graduation ceremony. Seventh years
that I had only passed in the corridors walked across the stage, accepting their diplomas with
smiles on their faces and proud parents in the audience. It was odd to think that, assuming I
stayed at Hogwarts (which of course I did), I would be walking across that stage in six years. It
seemed like a long time, but considering how fast my first year had slipped away, I knew that it
would be upon me sooner than I expected.

The end of term feast was that night, which was Thursday, June 18. Every single student
assembled in the Great Hall at the usual time, and we were not disappointed. The amount and
diversity of food before us was incredible, and I think even Ron's legendary appetite was
satiated by the end of the meal. The only thing that bothered any of us was the fact that the Great
Hall was decorated in Slytherin green and silver, since they had won the House Cup. The last
Quidditch match had been cancelled, defaulting the House Cup to Slytherin.

As the feast was winding toward its conclusion, Dumbledore stood from his chair walked to the
winged podium at the front of the Great Hall, just in front of the head table. He raised his arms
and silence fell over the gathered students, many of whom still had their graduation robes draped
over their shoulders.

“Another year gone,” the Headmaster started, sweeping over all of us with his bright blue eyes.
“And what a year it has been—full of surprises, triumph, heartbreak, and ultimately bravery and
loyalty.”

He paused, letting us all consider his words. For some reason, I knew he was referring to Harry
and the rest of us.

“As I understand, the House Cups now needs to be awarded.” He was then briefly interrupted by
cheers from the Slytherin table. “Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin. However, recent events must be
taken into account.”

If it were possible, the room became even more silent than before. The Slytherin students were
no longer smiling.

“Firstly, and most importantly, I must tell all of you that I have been forced to take a hard
look at what has been happening at Hogwarts. Change is not something I take lightly, especially in
the face of traditions that have been in place more than a millennium, but when you return for
another year in September, you will notice some changes throughout the school.

“The House Cup will no longer be awarded at the end of the year.” Whispers and murmurs spread
rapidly throughout the Hall. “Yes, you heard me correctly. House points will still exist, but they
will only be used to reward, not to punish. They will be awarded for extraordinary work, and the
House with the most points at the end of year will receive an exclusive dinner on the very last
night with me and the rest of the staff.

“Also, I can tell you here and now that certain school policies will change, which in the past
may have allowed the quality of teaching here at Hogwarts to slip below what I consider to be its
most important legacy: unmatched magical education, anywhere in the world. Expect *all* of
your classes and Professors to be held to the highest standard.”

He took a deep breath. I looked at the rest of the Head table, and I noticed that Snape was
scowling. It seemed as if he would no longer be able to treat Gryffindors like trash. I hoped what
Dumbledore was saying was true. I hoped that he would stand by his words, because if he did,
Hogwarts would be a better place and one in which I could remain for the next six years. I looked
at Harry, Sally, Ron, and Neville, and we all nodded. It seemed as if my outburst had been
worthwhile.

“Though this may mean very little to some of you, I am withdrawing my tenure as Supreme Mugwump
of the International Confederation of Wizards. Hogwarts is where my heart is, and it shall be where
my focus remains for the rest of my life. I do not take lightly my responsibilities as Headmaster
of this school, and recent events have forced me to reevaluate my position. So with all of that
said, I do believe we are due for a change in our scenery!”

He clapped his hands, and the Slytherin decorations immediately disappeared, to be replaced with
banners and streamers from every house. Crimson and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, green
and silver—we were all represented. A spontaneous round of applause and cheer went up, and
Dumbledore smiled brilliantly at all of us. He looked genuinely happy in that moment.

“Now,” he continued, after everyone had settled down. “There are a few awards I must hand out
before we all go our separate ways for the summer. Five, to be precise.”

I felt my heart rate increase. I reached for Harry's hand, which closed over mine. He
squeezed it, lending silent support.

“First, for showing exemplary courage and a most helpful attitude, I award a Special Services to
the School plaque to Ms. Sally-Anne Perks!” The Gryffindors cheered the loudest as a very red-faced
and embarrassed Sally made her way to the podium, where Dumbledore gave her the award. She nearly
ran back to her seat.

“Second, for exuding bravery even in the face of certain danger, I award a Special Services to
the School plaque to Mr. Neville Longbottom!” Again, our table cheered the loudest as Neville
received the award.

“Third, for the best-played game of chess that Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award a
Special Services to the School plaque to Mr. Ronald Weasley!” Ron looked absolutely floored. The
twins were yelling that their mother would never let him live it down.

“Fourth, for the use of cool logic and sharp intellect all along, I award a Special Services to
the School plaque to Ms. Hermione Granger!” Harry, Ron, Neville, and Sally cheered the loudest for
me as I received the honor, but the other Gryffindors were nearly as boisterous. I couldn't
help grinning hugely as I returned to my seat. It felt immeasurably good to be *recognized*,
even if it was only fleeting.

“And finally,” Dumbledore concluded, “for pure nerve, absolute selflessness, and incredible
valor, I award a Special Services to the School plaque to Mr. Harry Potter!” The Great Hall went
wild; the twins started a *Potter! Potter!* chant as he went to the front to accept his award.
When he approached our table again, I wrapped him in a huge hug, and if anything, the noise in the
Hall grew even louder. He was laughing and saying something that I couldn't hear over the
din.

“What?” I yelled, leaning back and looking into his smiling face.

“Here's to us!” he shouted, and pumped the award into the air over his head. I hugged him
again, glad that he could still act like a kid after all that had happened.

---------

After the boisterous and unexpected conclusion to the end of term feast, the last thirty-six
hours of my first year were quite anticlimactic. We all went to bed feeling very good about
ourselves that night; Dumbledore's speech about the expected changes still twirled around the
back of my head, but I had all summer to think about what they really meant. For now, I was happy
that he had actually listened to me, seeing as I was only a first year, and he was (supposedly) one
of the greatest wizards to ever live.

The next day, which was the last day of the term, we packed and tried to spend as much time
together as possible. At one point, I slipped away from the rest of them and headed for
Dumbledore's office. There was something I needed to ask him before I left for the summer.

However, when I reached the gargoyle, I realized that I had forgotten the password. I huffed and
stomped my foot in frustration. I think the gargoyle actually raised an eyebrow at me.

“Something I can help you with, Hermione?” I spun on the spot and saw that Dumbledore was
approaching.

“Yes sir,” I told him.

“Bertie Bott's,” he said, and the gargoyle moved aside. I had no idea what that password
meant, but I nonetheless followed him up the spiraling staircase and into his office. He directed
me to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“I hope what I said yesterday eased some of your worries,” he told me, leaning back in his
chair.

“They did, sir, and I wanted to thank you for taking what I said into consideration.”

“It was hard not to,” he said, smiling. I blushed, knowing that I would probably never get away
with such a lack of restraint again.

“Sir…does Harry *have* to stay with his relatives for the summer?”

He cocked his head. “Why do you ask?”

“He said something about having to go back to them.”

“It is prudent that he return to them, yes,” Dumbledore replied, and when I opened my mouth to
speak, he held up his hand. “However, he need not be there more than two weeks.”

“So after those two weeks he could spend the summer wherever he wishes?”

“Yes. I assume you have something in mind?”

I nodded. “I was thinking that he could spend most of the summer at my house, though I think at
some point we would go to Ron's. He also said something about all of us spending time at his
house.”

“If that is something Harry wants to do, I have no problem with it. After those two weeks, he is
free to do as he pleases.”

“Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why does he have to spend *any* time with them?”

He smiled again. “Always the inquisitive one. Suffice it to say that it is in his best interest
to spend two weeks with his *blood* relatives.”

Hearing his odd emphasis on blood, something clicked in my brain: “It's magic, isn't it?
Some kind of magic that protects him?”

“Perhaps,” he responded, twinkling enigmatically.

---------

The next morning—Saturday, June 20, 1992—we all boarded the Hogwarts Express for the journey
home. The return to London was bittersweet, because we were leaving behind a place that had become
a part of all of us, and we would be leaving our friends for at least part of the summer.

The trip was filled with stories about our exploits during the past year, which could be retold
with humor and wonder now that the immediate danger had passed. Ron even cracked a joke about the
white queen; it was actually very funny and had us all in stitches.

At one point during the train ride, I looked slowly around the cabin; it held me, Harry,
Neville, Ron, and Sally. They had become my best friends during our first year, and I never, ever
wanted to lose them. Harry was on my right and Ron was on my left, so I threw my arms over their
shoulders. Sally smiled at me and put an arm over Neville's shoulder.

“What's this for?” Ron wondered.

“It's for us,” I told him. “For all of us. Whatever happens, we have each other. Right?”

“Right,” they all said.

“Good!” I exclaimed, pulling Ron and Harry toward me. “Even if next year isn't quite
as…adventurous as this one has been, it will still be amazing with all of you.”

“Cheers!” Neville replied, laughing and smiling.

“Cheers,” Harry said, with wonder and acceptance and gratitude in his voice. “Friends forever?”
he asked.

“You know it,” Ron said.

“Friends forever,” I repeated.

As all journeys must, ours came to end as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine and
Three Quarters. I saw my parents waiting for me by the exit.

“Stay in touch, all of you,” I said. “In a few weeks, we should all get together at my
house.”

“Sounds good!” Sally said.

“I'm in,” Neville added. Ron and Harry nodded.

“And after that, I'd like to bring you all to the Burrow. I'm sure my parents would love
to meet everyone. And there's loads to do there, too,” Ron said, as we moved toward the exit
with our luggage.

“This summer won't be so bad, then,” Harry commented. “If we're all getting together,
then we'll be back at Hogwarts before we know it.”

“Ronnie!” a voice suddenly called, and I laughed as Ron's face turned dark red. A woman who
must have been Mrs. Weasley rushed over to him and wrapped him in her arms.

“Mum!” he protested, trying to escape her embrace. Neville and Sally said their final good byes
through their laughter. Sally headed for her smiling parents, which I was glad to see, and Neville
headed toward his grandmother. She was the same woman I had seen at the very beginning of the
year.

The rest of the Weasleys gathered around us. Ron's younger sister was there as well, but she
stood quietly and shyly behind her mother.

“Busy year, all of you?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Come on, show her,” Fred urged.

“Yeah, do it, ickleronniekins!” George added.

“Don't call me that!” Ron retorted.

“Show me what?” Mrs. Weasley asked, suddenly sounding wary.

“Only his Special Services to the School award!” Percy finished. Mrs. Weasley's eyes went
wide.

“My Ronnie got one of those?!” she screeched, pulling him into another embrace.

“Geroffme!” I heard him say, somewhere in his mother's abdomen. I laughed and turned away
with Harry, calling my goodbyes over my shoulder.

We stopped halfway toward my parents, who waved at us. Harry's relatives were nowhere in
sight.

“They're not here yet?” I asked.

“No, but they will be. We got in a little earlier than I told them to expect us.”

“Ok,” I shrugged. “If you say so.”

“See you soon, then?” he asked, turning toward me and taking my hand.

“Of course, Harry!” I responded, wrapping him in my arms. It had become quite common for Harry
and me to hug each other. I vaguely wondered what that meant.

“I'll write soon.”

“Me too,” I said.

He smiled at me. “Thank you, Hermione.”

“Thank *you*, Harry.”

We just stared at each other, mutually understanding that no words could express our gratitude
for the other. Our first year together had ended and I was looking forward to many long years of
friendship…and, as some tiny but powerful voice deep within my heart was telling me, perhaps even
something more. Only time would tell.

-->



21. Postscript Year One
-----------------------



A/N: Sorry, couldn't resist. Thanks to brad for coining the term “Quirrelmort.”

Postscript, Year One

March 2014

Hermione has asked me to write some afterthoughts for each year of her memoirs, so here I am,
Harry Potter, at your service. I know that I will never live up to Hermione's amazing writing
abilities, but she insisted that I add my voice to these memories. Who am I to disagree with one of
the brightest witches to ever live (and, coincidentally, the one with the cutest arse that I've
ever seen)?

As you have already witnessed, our first year at Hogwarts was similar to how it has previously
been portrayed. From the way Hermione met me and Ron on the Hogwarts Express to my final
confrontation with Quirrelmort, the major events were nearly the same. However, the devil is in the
details, as the expression goes, so I honestly cannot fathom why so many of them were changed or
outright removed. For instance, Sally-Anne Longbottom remains to this day one of our best friends,
yet she is only briefly mentioned during the Sorting in the books you all know. Why would Joanne
(or the Ministry of Magic, which commissioned her to write the books) want to remove Sally? She was
and is an integral part of our core group of friends.

Also, having more to do with me than anyone else, is the question of why I was dumbed down? I
arrived at Hogwarts with a fierce desire to prove myself, both magically and
intellectually—something Hermione can relate to, as well—because failure meant permanently
returning to the Dursleys. I never accepted mediocrity, nor did any of my friends. My friendships
were obviously rocky at first (something Joanne nearly portrayed correctly), but as soon as the
incident at Halloween had happened, all of those petty squabbles were history. Even Ron and
Hermione grew into their friendship by the end of the year, as you have seen.

The third major difference between real events and the events you have read in those books is
the level of mortal danger at Hogwarts. Every situation in which we were endangered was toned down
by Joanne, to such an extent that our race through the gauntlet for the Stone was mere child's
play. I do not know why that happened, but after reading through Hermione's account of our
first year, I know she has brilliantly portrayed the *genuine* threat to our lives.

Finally, as you might have just realized, later years at Hogwarts were significantly different
than those books because of the changes Albus instituted at the end of our first year. I have read
Hermione's rant over and over again, and I still cannot express how well-timed and
well-articulated it was. She was only twelve at the point, yet somehow she was able to hit upon all
of the major problems that we had encountered at Hogwarts. And she did it with *style*. I
certainly don't think she's scary, as Ron does—unless I've left the seat up—but she
surely is brilliant.

So where does that leave us? At a crossroads, I believe; where what you all *think* you
know and what *actually* happened begins to diverge faster and faster. By the end of our time
at Hogwarts, as you will read when Hermione chronicles our entire history, you may only barely
recognize the story of our lives. Joanne made some very odd and, quite frankly, disturbing choices
as she wrote about our fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years; while the end result is the
same—Voldemort dies and the Second War ends—the road to the closing chapter will wind down some
very unfamiliar paths.

Joanne called her epilogue “Nineteen Years Later.” Just as an example of how inaccurate that
actually is, Voldemort fell fifteen years and nine months ago. How could she write about our lives
nineteen years after Voldemort's demise if we haven't even reached that point?

But I digress. Those books are neither here nor there. Hermione's memoirs are what count.
They are all the truth we will need. So hang onto your hats as our second year begins…

Your friend,

Harry James Potter

-->



22. Year Two Chapter Twenty
---------------------------



A/N: Well here I am after a long absence - yes, I know, seems to be the rule rather than the
exception with me. Much of this chapter is a long-planned bomb right in the middle of early canon.
And while it might appear like an indulgence on my part at this time, it really is mostly a way to
empower Harry like he should been empowered in the original story. Take that JK!

Year Two Chapter Twenty

Summer 1992

"Mum!"

"Yes, Hermione?" she called, her voice wafting up the stairs and into my room.

"Are you *sure* I can't use magic to do something about my teeth…?"

No response was immediately forthcoming, and I cocked my head at my reflection to listen for
further words from my mother. I was currently standing in my room on the morning of the second day
of summer, staring at myself and judging what I saw rather critically. My tangled hair and my
buckteeth had never been a huge issue for me—though they were always in the background of my
self-consciousness—but now that I was home for the summer…

I could literally *feel* the weight of time pressing down on me. That strangely reflective
feeling I had felt at Christmas upon coming home after the autumn session was back again, except
now it was magnified by a year's passage, rather than only three and a half months. The
Hermione that stood before this mirror was two inches taller, ten months older, and just a little
more of a woman than the Hermione that had left for Hogwarts at the end of the previous summer. My
appearance was not very high on my list of priorities, but I began to feel the need to take
*some* pride in the way I looked. And, honestly, my front teeth were the first things on a
short list that I wanted to fix.

These reflections all passed within the space of several seconds, and I was still gazing at my
doppelganger when I heard my mother's footsteps on the stairs. She had chosen to come confront
me rather than continuing this conversation across the entire house. I turned my
shorts-and-tank-top-clad body expectantly toward the door; a moment later, my mother appeared,
already frowning slightly at my question. She stood there looking at me with an inscrutable
expression in her eyes. I just lifted my eyebrows at her, waiting for whatever reprobation she
would send my way.

"Hermione…" was all that came out at first, and she moved into my room, sitting on my
bed. She continued to regard me.

"You know that we have been over this before, in your letters," she eventually pointed
out. I took a deep breath, placed my hands on my hips, and shook my hair out of my face. The summer
humidity was wreaking havoc on it.

"Yes, but all that you and dad said was to wait until the summer so we could discuss it
more. Well, I waited, and now we're discussing it," I replied. My eyes shifted to the left
as I was momentarily distracted by the room suddenly brightening threefold. The late June sun—in
fact, it was the day after the summer solstice—had appeared magically, it seemed, from behind a
puffy fair-weather cloud. For some reason, I missed Harry in that moment.

"What do you think is wrong with your teeth?" she asked, and I glared at her. It was a
loaded question and her innocent look told me she knew as much.

"Oh, come on, you're a dentist, don't play games with me, mum!" And even
though my frustration was quickly becoming palpable, a smile still tugged at the corners of her
lips.

"Enlighten me," she said, simply. I off-handedly noticed how the sunlight glinted
beautifully off her sleek hair, so similar to mine in color but not in style.

"How about the fact that I look like a beaver?" I queried. "My front teeth are
far too large for the rest of my face."

"You will most likely grow into them, Hermione," she told me, in what I thought was a
very patronizing tone.

"So you agree with me that they are huge?"

She shrugged. I thought she was being far too casual about this. "Very few people have
perfect teeth, and you know that. *Other* than your front teeth—which *may* be a little
large in comparison to the rest—all your teeth are white, you are cavity-less, and they are
straight. You cannot really ask for more, Hermione."

"But, Mum," I started, wincing at the sound of my own voice as I whined a little bit,
"if magic can fix this quickly, painlessly, and easily, why won't you let me?"

The smile slipped from her features. "So is it always about magic now?"

For just a moment, I was confused. My logical brain did not comprehend the relevancy of her
question, which seemed to be rather incongruous to the matter at hand. Then, with lightning speed,
I realized something really fairly obvious that changed my perspective on my parents forever: magic
was completely foreign to them, dangerous and uncontrollable even, and if they let me fix my teeth
with my newfound capabilities, they would lose their sway over their daughter even in the realm of
their professional lives. Call it a last-ditch attempt to maintain at least one normal parental
conceit over their progeny, but I understood it at the time less verbally and more emotionally. I
immediately softened my stance and my voice.

"No, not always, mum," I responded. I moved to sit beside her on the bed. "But
you *do* understand that it is a very important part of my life now, right?"

"Of course, dear," she said, wrapping an arm around me and resting her chin on the top
of my head. "How could I not?"

I nodded. "Good, because it isn't going away."

"I know," she told me, and I could hear that whisper of a smile back in her voice.
"Truthfully, your father and I are amazed at how happy you seem, which is a strong argument in
favor of magic for us."

"Is my attitude really that different?" I wondered, more to myself than to her.

She chuckled lightly. "You might not see it, but we certainly do. You are a changed
girl—no, young woman—Hermione. The girl that left this house last September changed into a young
woman who is not merely on autopilot, not only coasting through her classes, and no longer spends
an entire summer cooped up in her reading chair in her favorite corner."

"But I've only been home for two days, mum," I said, unable to believe my parents
had seen such a radical shift in my personality in such a short time. I didn't *feel* like
a different person.

"Have you started on your homework for next year yet?"

"No," I said, "but—"

"Have you really even stopped smiling since you got home?"

"Umm…"

"Have you stopped talking about Harry and Sally and Ron and Neville at all?"

I blushed. "No, I guess not. And I haven't started my homework yet because I want to do
it with my friends when we get together in a few weeks."

"Exactly," mum said. We both looked at each other. "Hogwarts and *magic* may
be incomprehensible to me and your father, but we certainly see and understand the positive effects
it has had on your life." I continued to look at her. "For the first time in your life,
Hermione, you seem genuinely happy. And you have friends your age to turn to now, rather than just
your parents. We'll always be there for you, no matter what, but you seem to be finding your
place in the world and we are so very proud of you."

I couldn't help it. I had tears at the corners of my eyes. I smiled heartily at mum and
chuckled as I wiped the tears away, leaning over and hugging her tightly.

"Thanks mum," I told her.

"You're very welcome," she replied. "Now, as for your teeth, I will speak to
your father when he gets home tonight." Dad was at their practice while mum had taken the week
off to be with me for my first week home. And because that was the best I could hope for, for now
at least, I quietly acquiesced.

Before anything else could be said, the phone rang. Mum ran her hand through my hair one more
time before pushing off my bed and leaving the room. I listened as she padded down the hall toward
my parents' bedroom, where they had cordless phone. I heard her pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" … "Yes, this is she." … "Oh, hello Harry! Of course!"

As soon as I'd heard the name of my best friend, my heart rate spiked and I sped out of my
room. I met mum coming out of her room with the phone in her hand. I hoped nothing was wrong with
Harry!

Her eyebrow tweaked upward at the expression on my face before handing the phone to me.
"It's Harry," she said.

"Yes, yes," I answered, waving her off. I started back to my room. "Harry?"
I queried, after placing the phone to my ear.

"Hermione?" came the familiar voice.

"Yup! How are you?" I wondered.

"Oh, I'm mostly fine," he told me. I had now entered my room. "But my bloody
relatives locked all of my magical stuff away so I can't even write any of you. They padlocked
Hedwig into her cage!" he exclaimed, and the amount of affront in his voice was almost
comical. If this wasn't my best friend calling, and if he hadn't been clearly distressed
about something, I suppose I might have laughed. As it was, though, there was only concern coursing
through me.

"Harry, what's wrong? And when did they do all of that?"

"The day we got home from Hogwarts. They picked me up from the station about fifteen
minutes after you left and as soon as we got home, they locked everything away."

"How come you're just calling now then?" I was sitting at my desk partially facing
my door, and mum was standing there, watching and listening.

"This is the first opportunity I've had to use the phone. My uncle is at work, my aunt
is out shopping, and Dudley is off somewhere with his friends."

"They don't let you use the telephone?" I asked, not able to believe that simple
fact. For some reason, on top of all the other injustices I'd heard about, this seemed the most
grievous. His relatives really were beasts that would have to be dealt with some day.

"Hermione, they hardly allow me out of my room. Why would they let me use the telephone? To
them, I'm not worthy of having friends." Bitterness had invaded his voice during that last
statement.

"You are, Harry. You most definitely are. I'm proud to call you my friend, and you know
that."

There was a pause, then: "Thanks, Hermione. You know I feel the same way. But now to the
reason why I called—that first night back I got a message via owl from Gringotts. Luckily it flew
into my bedroom, otherwise my relatives probably would have had a fit. They want me to come to the
bank at my earliest convenience so they can discuss some things about my inheritance."

I was silent for a moment. This was news, indeed. Harry had been personally contacted by the
Wizarding bank, Gringotts, because they wanted to discuss with him some things about his
inheritance. As the last Potter—as far as I knew and as far as he'd hinted—I'd assumed
something like this was coming, but not for a few years at least. After all, Harry was still only
eleven.

"Hermione? You there?"

"Yes, sorry," I quickly said. "Was just thinking."

I heard him laugh. "Somehow I'm not surprised. But, really, what am I going to do? I
can't get to Gringotts and I can't even write them to let them know."

I needed to think about the problem for only two seconds. Looking at my mom, I spoke into the
phone. "Why don't we make a trip to Diagon Alley today? It's still early in the
summer, but we could get whatever we need for next that we don't already have. Mum's home
and she might be able to take us?" The last sentence became a question as I raised an eyebrow
at mum.

"Do you think she would do that?" Harry asked, relief flooding his voice.

"Mum?" I asked, directing my question to her. "Fancy a trip to Surrey, then
Diagon Alley?" I smiled my best, most charming smile at her.

"What's going on, Hermione?" mum asked. She had only heard my side of the
conversation.

"Harry was contacted by the Wizarding bank because they want to discuss his inheritance,
but he has no way to get there and no way to tell them that."

She looked confused. "Doesn't he have an owl?"

I pursed my lips. "Yes, but his relatives are preventing him from using Hedwig."

She narrowed her eyes at this. "Are his relatives home right now? Because if they are,
I'd like to have a word with them." She reached for the phone.

"They're not, mum. That's how Harry can call now." I wondered if I'd said
too much—mum looked shocked and appalled. I hoped I hadn't broken Harry's confidence in
me.

"Then yes, of course we'll help Harry. Tell him to expect us in thirty or forty
minutes."

"Did you hear that, Harry?" I asked, once again directing my voice into the phone.
"Mum said she'd take us to the Alley!"

"Awesome, Hermione! You're brilliant, and so is your mum! Tell her I said thank you,
please."

"I'll do that. She said to be ready for us in thirty or forty minutes. Four Privet
Drive, Little Whinging, right?"

"Good memory," he said. "So I'll see you soon?"

"Yes!" I told him.

"Great! See you in a few," he signed off, and hung up the phone. I smiled at mum again
as I handed the phone back to her. It looked like I'd get to see Harry much sooner than I'd
anticipated. When Dumbledore said that Harry would have to stay at his relatives' for two
weeks, I had assumed that would be the duration of our separation. That had just been shortened to
less than two days.

"Ready to leave now?" mum asked, leaving the room to hang up the phone.

"I just have to find my flip-flops, then I'll be ready!" I yelled back, rushing
out of my room and down the stairs. I hadn't brought my sandals to Hogwarts, and they
hadn't turned up since I came home.

"They're in the closet by the front door," mum yelled back, her voice coming down
the stairs. I ended up finding them exactly where she said they were, albeit in the back and under
two other pairs of shoes. I extracted myself from the closet and put the sandals on as mum came
down the stairs. She plucked her car keys from the bowl on the table by the door, slipped on her
own flip-flops, and off we went. I was fairly bouncing in my seat as our journey to Surrey
continued.

Mum couldn't help but laugh every few minutes at my excitement. I didn't care, though,
because this was an unexpected and welcome surprise. It had been odd, these last few days, without
Harry, Ron, Sally, and Neville around; we were in each other's company almost every waking
moment while at Hogwarts, so this sudden separation was a bit jarring. It was just another hazard
of the boarding life that I had recently discovered.

We reached Harry's house on Privet Drive around 11:30 in the morning; it was a bright sunny
day with a few of the aforementioned puffy clouds; there was a light breeze cooling our warm skin
as we stepped up the drive toward the front door. Privet Drive was a picture of suburban
serenity—or perhaps the stuff suburban nightmares are made of—and this house was no different,
literally and figuratively, from all the others I could see on the street. As we neared the front
door, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. The front curtains were swinging behind their
window.

Before we could ring the doorbell, the door was thrown open and Harry greeted us with a smile. I
moved forward and hugged him. As we came apart, he looked toward mum.

"Thank you for this, Mrs. Granger. I have no idea what the goblins want and, well, this is
about my family, so I don't know how much longer I could have waited."

She smiled at Harry, though she was confused. "Goblins?"

I suddenly realized that I had never been in the company of goblins before, either. I'd
heard Harry talk about them on a few occasions, especially with regard to the Philosopher's
Stone, but both times I'd been in the Alley, I had no reason to go Gringotts. With Harry,
however, it seemed there was reason enough.

"Goblins run Wizarding banks, mum," I explained. "Odd that, really, considering
magical people trust them with their money but little else."

"Are they, err…monstrous?" she asked, obviously unsure of how to phrase her question.
Harry smiled at her, a smile that reached all the way to his eyes, and shook his head. He knew what
she meant.

"No, but they can be a little fierce. So don't be surprised if they're rather
abrupt."

"Ok." She looked past Harry into the house. "Are your relatives back,
Harry?"

"Nope. I have no idea when they'll be back."

"Do they do this often, Harry?" I asked. "Leave you to yourself?"

He shrugged. "As long as I don't come out of my room except for meals or ever mention
magic at the table, they pretty much leave me alone. I think they're afraid I might do magic on
them, even though I'm still underage." He grinned maniacally at that. I laughed at the
glee in his eyes, though I doubted he would actually do something to them. Little did I know how
deep his dislike of the Dursleys ran, or how much they had actually neglected him over the years.
Later in our Hogwarts career, when the full story of his childhood came out, he would have to hold
me back from Apparating to Four Privet Drive and cursing the shite out of them.

Mum frowned at this information, but decided to say nothing. "Ok then, shall we?" she
asked, and we both eagerly nodded.

We had made it halfway down the steps when Harry stopped, a forlorn look on his face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"My wand—it's locked in the cupboard under the stairs." He looked back at the
house. "What if I need it for something while we're in the Alley?"

"I'm sure you can manage with your good looks, Harry," mum said, guiding us to the
car. She had a smile on her face.

"Thanks, Mrs. Granger," Harry replied, sounding slightly less sad. I noticed, however,
that he did have a parchment in his hand.

"Is that the letter Gringotts sent?" I questioned, pointing at the parchment as we got
into the car. He nodded and passed it to me. It said:

*Dear Lord Harry James Potter,*

*It has recently come to our attention that certain matters regarding your inheritance remain
unresolved, even though you are now approaching your twelfth birthday. We apologize sincerely for
this oversight and wish to rectify this situation as soon as possible. Please come to Gringotts in
Diagon Alley at your earliest convenience and ask for your account manager, Vinx.*

*Most sincerely,*

*Gringotts Bank - United Kingdom, Diagon Alley*

"*Lord* Potter?" I wondered, looking at him. He returned my gaze with wide eyes,
ultimately shrugging and looking as perplexed as I felt.

"What do you mean, dear?" mum asked.

"This letter Harry received from the Wizarding bank is addressed to Lord Harry James
Potter."

"Really?" There was surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes, really. It appears that Harry here is a member of the nobility," I responded.
Actually putting into words what the title of Lord meant made it even more unreal. "How come
you never said anything?" I asked Harry, staring at him.

"I never knew," he answered, quietly. "Until Hagrid told me the truth last
summer, my relatives led me to believe that my parents killed themselves in a drunk driving
accident. I had no idea my father was Lord James Potter."

"If you really are Lord Harry Potter, your father might not have ever been a Lord,"
mum said. We both looked at her in the rearview; she glanced back at us every now and then.

"How so, mum?" I wondered.

"Noble titles are always passed down through the oldest living male heir of any family. So
if you grandfather was still alive while your father lived, your father would have never been Lord.
That is why the vast majority of Noble men are very old, at least in their fifties."

"Makes sense," Harry said, looking out his window. Our journey back into London was
progressing nicely, and we would be on Charing Cross road near the Leaky Cauldron in another twenty
minutes. "But why am I just finding out about all of this now? Surely if my grandfather were
still alive when my father was killed, I wouldn't have been sent to the Dursleys?"

"And even if he wasn't," I said, partially answering or acknowledging Harry's
question, "how could a Lord be sent to such despicable people?" My voice had lowered into
a growl as I thought of what I knew they had done to Harry.

Harry laid a hand over mine and squeezed. "It's ok, Hermione. I have friends I know I
can count on now. That's all that matters to me." A warm feeling spread from that hand
through my body, eventually resulting in a large smile spreading across my face.

The rest of the trip passed into idle speculation about the nature of the request; what kind of
oversight could Gringotts have noticed, and how did that apply to Harry's account? If he was
the last male heir of his family, why was he just finding about his inheritance? The questions were
endless, and it looked Harry had thought for quite some time about this, because most of them came
from him. I could tell that he was desperately hoping for not only relevant answers but also some
connection to his family history; I hoped for his sake that the goblins were able to provide this,
because if there was one thing in this world that Harry desired, it was family. I remembered the
Mirror of Erised and the power it had briefly held over my friend.

Mum parked in the car park near the Leaky Cauldron and we hoofed it the rest of the way. As we
passed through the small pub, Tom greeted us once again by name. I tapped the bricks and watched,
still mesmerized, as they parted for us. Harry led the way through and my mum and I followed him
into the Alley proper. It appeared to be a rather slow day, because there were only two or three
dozen witches and wizards moving about doing their business, so we headed for Gringotts unimpeded.
I thought a few of them might have recognized Harry, but only because the cut of their eyes led me
to believe they were looking at his scar. Harry seemed oblivious to this, though, and determinedly
led us to his destination.

The large, white marble building stood out from the rest in the Alley, and mum marveled at the
intricacy of the architecture as we ascended the stairs toward the lobby. My mum and I got our
first sight of goblins as the two guarding the doors came into view: they were rather short,
greenish-brown figures with pointed ears, large fangs, and scruffy hair. They did not move or make
a sound as we walked past them into the cool silence of the bank.

The setup was much like a Muggle bank, with tellers at various windows, though more medieval in
feel. The large lobby was lit by torches and there appeared to be a tunnel hewn out of the rough
rock beneath our feet leading away from one corner. Harry approached an unoccupied teller with mum
and me on his heels.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said, politely. The goblin leaned over the tall desk and looked
down at him.

"May I help you?"

"Er, yes," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter and I received this
letter—"

"I'll take that," the goblin interrupted, snatching the proffered letter from
Harry's outstretched hand. "Ah yes, this seems to be in order. Give me just a moment, Lord
Potter, and I will have Vinx summoned." The goblin teller turned and walked out of sight
through a set of double doors, but not before eyeing me and mum for a moment. It wasn't a
hostile gaze, but it wasn't exactly friendly either.

I took a moment to look around the lobby more closely. Every new detail that I saw reaffirmed my
original impression that this place was gothic incarnate.

"Certainly gives Hogwarts a run for her money, right Harry?" I said, rhetorically.

He nodded silently, glancing around the lobby. His eyes kept returning to the door through which
the teller had slipped, though. And we did not have to wait long, because shortly thereafter, the
teller returned with a rather more regal looking goblin, both in dress and also stature.

"Lord Potter! Delighted to meet you!" the goblin exclaimed, smiling and showing many
pointy fangs. Mum might have winced and my eyes might have opened a little wider than they already
were, but Harry just took it coolly. The goblin bowed before him.

"Vinx?" Harry questioned. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Nice to meet
you."

The goblin regarded Harry's hand from his bowed position for just a moment; suddenly, he
straightened and, if anything, his fierce smile widened. He accepted Harry's handshake
vigorously.

"Ah, how like your father you are!" the goblin said, genuine joy seeming to color his
voice. "He also had a distinct attitude toward the prejudices the rest of your magical friends
have—which is to say he completely disregarded them. We called your father friend here at
Gringotts—like his father before him and his father, too, and so on—so I hope we can do the same
for you."

Harry had wonder in his eyes. "You knew my father?"

Vinx finally dropped Harry's hand. "Of course, Lord Potter. He often visited with his
father, your grandfather." Vinx's eyes turned toward me and mum. "And who are these
lovely ladies?"

"Oh!" Harry jumped, and turned toward us with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Sorry, you two. This is Hermione Granger, my best friend from school, and this is her
mum."

Mum and I stepped forward, also shaking the goblin's hand. I noticed Vinx was careful not to
cut me with his short, sharp claws.

"Jane Granger, pleased to meet you," mum said.

Vinx was totally grinning now. "More who disregard the idiotic attitudes! I love
this!"

Jane smiled in return at the enthusiastic goblin. "Actually, I'm a Muggle, so I only
found out about goblins today. And I must say, so far I am very impressed," mum said, handling
herself very well.

Vinx looked at Harry knowingly after shaking our hands. "So it seems befriending and
tolerating other magical species as well as Muggles and Muggleborns runs in your family, Lord
Potter. As I originally said, delighted!"

A chuckling and very happy goblin led us through the double doors down a wide hallway. After
about fifty paces, during which the hall gently curved to the left, we stopped at one of the many
doors. The letters on the frosted glass indicated that this was Vinx's office, and that he was
an account manager. We entered the large, comfortable office and, as Vinx went around to sit behind
his desk, he directed us to three of the chairs facing him.

"Please, please, have a seat, and we can get started," he said. As we sat down, I
noticed that Harry looked quite nervous, so I reached for his hand. He squeezed mine with his and
gave me a grateful look.

"So, Lord Potter, do you know why you are here?" Vinx asked, while organizing some
parchment on his desk.

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "No sir. I understand what your letter says, but I
don't know what it means."

Vinx chuckled. "Ah, I see. And please, just call me Vinx."

"Then just Harry please," he returned, with a smile.

Vinx inclined his head. "As you wish. Now, as we will be discussing some rather sensitive
issues regarding your accounts today, I want to make sure that you approve of these women hearing
it."

"Of course. I have no secrets from Hermione, and I don't mind if her mum hears any of
it. I guess I don't really know what we're going to be talking about today, though."
Harry glanced at me; I gave him a reassuring nod and silently thanked him for trusting us. Mum was
listening and watching.

"We can proceed. Do you have your wand, Harry?" His shoulders immediately slumped, and
I squeezed his hand. I knew how much he hated to have all of his magical things locked up by his
relatives.

"No, I don't. My relatives took away all of my magical things for the summer," he
stated, dully. For the briefest of moments, Vinx looked absolutely outraged. It passed so quickly
that I doubt Harry saw it.

"I see…" Vinx considered for several seconds. "Would you consent to providing a
drop of blood, just so we can verify that you are in fact, Harry James Potter?"

Harry looked mystified, but nodded anyway. Mum and I watched silently as Vinx pricked
Harry's finger and collected a single drop of blood on a dark purple parchment. After several
seconds, the parchment turned red. Vinx nodded and put the parchment away, apparently
satisfied.

"Not that I had any doubts, but we can never be too careful, especially regarding one of
our oldest and most esteemed accounts."

This piqued my curiosity and I perked up. "Oldest?"

"Indeed. The Potter name goes back as far as we have reliable records, and most likely much
farther."

Harry said nothing, instead keeping to a sort of shocked silence. I just turned this information
over in my head. So Harry was apparently a Lord with a vast family history; the first twinge of
doubt entered my mind at this information. What could a Lord want with a silly little girl like me?
I should have known that titles, land, and wealth would mean little to Harry, especially if he
didn't have anyone with whom to share those things.

"I'm beginning to understand the magnitude of the gaps in your knowledge, Harry, and I
mean no insult," Vinx said, leaning back in his chair. "But before we get to all of that,
I need to explain why we sent that letter." He paused here, appearing to consider something
for a moment. "All of our accounts are tied by familial blood to a set of wards that dictate
the status of said accounts. For instance, if the bearer of the account passes away, the wards are
keyed to let us know if there are any soluble heirs—by blood or bequest—to claim the holdings. With
our most ancient accounts, of which yours is one, these wards have been empowered by a millennium
or more of ambient magic, making them some of the strongest and most reliable magical sources of
knowledge in the world.

"When your parents died, Harry, we were the first to know that you had not died with them.
Our wards are configured to alert us of sudden changes in the bearers of accounts, and although
your father was not Lord Potter when he died, the future mantle of Lord was passed onto you. We
knew this because you were still alive. Your grandfather passed away soon after that Halloween in
1981—you did not know this?"

Harry's flabbergasted look had prompted the question. He shook his head and glanced at me;
there were a whole host of emotions playing in his green eyes, many of which were beyond
articulation. Here was his family, his history, his heritage…and he had known nothing. I wondered
who could have withheld this information for so long? My thoughts could only lead me to
Dumbledore.

"I guess I am not surprised, considering other things,' Vinx muttered. "Anyway,
when your grandfather passed away, the title of Lord Potter was held in trust until you reached
your majority… Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Excuse me, Vinx, but reached? Is that a hypothetical or a true past tense?" I
wondered. Vinx grinned at me.

"Glad to see you have sharp friends, Harry. It is true past tense—Harry, you became Lord
Potter on your eleventh birthday, a little less than a year ago."

There it was. The bomb had been dropped. It was one thing seeing "Lord Potter" at the
top of the letter Harry had received, but to hear it from the Potter's supposed longtime
account manager was something else. Harry Potter, my best friend from my first year at Hogwarts,
was magical nobility.

"Uh, what?" Harry asked. He looked at me and mum, then back to Vinx. "So I'm
really a Lord? But what does that even mean? And if that's true, why did I not hear about it
when I turned eleven, or before?"

"All very relevant questions, Harry," Vinx said, nodding at Harry. "When your
parents died, their wills were sealed by the Ministry for Magic for unknown reasons, but as the
magical heir was still alive—you—we did not pursue the matter then. We assumed you would show up on
your eleventh birthday to claim your birthright, by necessity unsealing your parents' wills and
putting the Potter accounts to rights after nearly a decade of flux."

"But I did come here on my birthday last year," Harry said. "I was with Hagrid.
How come nothing was said to me then?"

"We would have, except he had your vault key. This was highly unusual and very suspect, so
rather than startle you with the information and alert a possible thief to your true standing, we
decided to investigate the issue as quietly as we could. Let me ask you this: do you have your
vault key now?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but it's locked up with the rest of my things at my
relatives'."

"No problem, really. I was just curious. That does not mean, however, the person from whom
Hagrid acquired that key does not have a copy. Copying vault keys is highly illegal and carries of
heavy penalty, but it has been done. I would suggest, at your earliest convenience, that we re-key
your vaults, both to a new physical key and also to your blood."

"Sure, whatever you think is necessary," Harry said, sounding quite overwhelmed. He
thought for a moment. "Hermione," he said, turning to me, "do you think Dumbledore
has anything to do with all of this?"

I nodded. "I was thinking along those lines."

He turned back to Vinx with a sour look on his face. "So what did your investigation
uncover?"

"Without your parents' wills, it was difficult to really ascertain anything concrete,
but it appears that some powerful force within the ministry had their wills locked down while
sending you straight from the ruins of your parents' house to live with your relatives. We knew
you were alive before you arrived here last summer, but we could never find you. There appear to be
powerful wards at your relatives' house, which blocked most of our attempts to contact you. We
were surprised you received our letter this summer, and were resigned to contacting you when you
had returned to Hogwarts.

"Though these things all amount to what looks like a nefarious plot to gain control of your
title and all its accoutrements, detailed audits have revealed nothing out of order. Whoever did
this seems to have wanted to keep you ignorant of your family's history and wealth, and nothing
more."

"Nothing more?" I asked. "How about having Harry grow up mentally, verbally, and
probably physically abused by his awful relatives? How about denying Harry the knowledge that his
family had a history and a title, not to mention the fact that his parents were nobles instead of
drunkards that killed themselves? Who would do something like that?" I asked all these things,
keeping my eyes on Harry, even though I was sure it had been Dumbledore. I couldn't for the
life of me fathom why the Headmaster would do something like that. Harry nodded at my questions,
looking rather pained.

Vinx was quiet for a few seconds, looking at us. I briefly thought I'd offended him. But his
next words allayed that fear: "Right you are, Miss Granger. I apologize for misspeaking. How
about we mollify some of those questions? Harry, I have something here for you." Vinx opened a
drawer in his desk and pulled out a small jeweler's box. He pushed it across the top of the
desk toward Harry.

"Go ahead, open it."

Harry hesitantly reached for the box. I watched as his hand closed around it. He looked up at
Vinx as he brought it back to his body. As he opened it, he looked down, and I gasped at what was
revealed. Mum, who had so far been silent, also made a noise of surprise. Inside the box was one of
the most beautiful and elegant rings I had ever seen. It looked to be made of white gold or
platinum and had a large ruby setting, with what looked a small family crest engraved at the top of
the stone. Harry stared at it wondrously.

"This is your birthright, Harry," Vinx explained. "By putting on that ring, you
claim your Lordship and ascend to the rank of Lord Potter, with all of its attendant privileges,
wealth and lands."

I kept hearing about these lands and privileges, but so far Vinx had not been forthcoming about
what being Lord Potter actually meant. Before I could ask, though, Harry spoke, still gazing at the
ring.

"It's beautiful, Vinx."

"It is," Vinx replied, smiling. "Your grandfather was the last person to wear
that ring. It is pure platinum with a four carat ruby. The engraving you see on the stone is your
family crest, which most prominently features a hippogriff with the ancient sword and poleaxe of
your family. It has been magically restored and preserved several times over the course of history,
but that ruby is most likely from the time of the late Roman empire, as far as we can
tell."

I stared at the 1500 year old stone as Harry removed the ring from the box, which he placed back
on the desk. He took a deep breath, sliding the ring on the ring fourth finger of his right hand. I
felt a pulse of magic and there was a small flash of light, centered on the ring, and when my eyes
cleared I saw that it had resized to fit his finger.

Vinx cleared his throat, and all of our attention refocused on him. "You may now seal your
rightful place as Lord Potter."

Harry stared blankly at him.

"I think he wants you to say something," I whispered, nudging Harry with my arm.

"Oh! I, uh, claim the title of Lord Potter."

As soon as the words were out of Harry's mouth, another flash of magic swept through the
office, and Vinx's desk was suddenly cluttered with various documents that had appeared out of
thin air.

"Congratulations, Harry. You are now the Head of a Noble and Ancient House. As you can see
by the things that just appeared, the lack of a rightful Head for the last ten years has left some
unfinished business, not all of which is important at the moment—but some of these things we should
get to right now."

The phrase "Noble and Ancient House" triggered something in my memory, something that
I had read the previous summer in a magical history book. I couldn't contain myself so I
interrupted before Vinx could proceed.

"I'm sorry, but you said Noble and Ancient House?" I questioned. "So does
that mean that one of Harry's ancestors was a Knight of the Round?"

"Very astute, Miss Granger," Vinx replied, grinning once again. "All of the
original Most Noble and Ancient Houses were instantiated in 522 at a meeting of the Knights of the
Round; more have been commissioned since, but the Potter name was one of the original twenty or so.
In fact, it is one of the few unbroken lines to stretch so far back."

Harry, if possible, looked even more bewildered. Mum did not look much better. It seemed to be
information overload at this point, and something was telling me it would only get worse.

"Knights of the Round?" Harry asked.

"Knights of the Round table, Harry," I supplied. Then I smiled at him. "This
means that your ancestor personally knew and fought beside King Arthur Pendragon."

"*King* Arthur?" Harry wondered. "You mean, sword-in-the-stone King
Arthur?"

I nodded. "That's the one."

"I thought he was just a myth."

"To the Muggles, he is," Vinx said. "But our reliable histories and records go
back much farther, *and* they have not been impeded or systematically destroyed by the various
world religions in the intervening millennium and a half. Arthur Pendragon lived from 479 through
537, and he is now commonly known as King Arthur. Your ancestor, Marcus Potter, served him as a
Knight of the Round from 499 through Arthur's death in 537, when Marcus retired from public
life to raise a family. You can, of course, find all of this information in your detailed family
histories contained within your main vault."

Harry's eyes literally sparkled at the thought of connecting with his family; I knew he had
already basically disregarded the fact that his family was of some importance to world history, and
was focused only on the fact that he *had* a family. Having been bereft of one for his entire
life, this conversation with Vinx was redefining his present and his future.

"But now on to business!" Vinx said, reaching for one of the many parchments on his
desk. "Here I have your parents' will, which you can unseal by a direct verbal order. The
statute of limitations has passed on the original Wizengamot order to suppress this will, so you
have complete control over this document."

Vinx mentioning the Wizengamot in conjunction with the will was another nod toward
Dumbledore's likely involvement in all of this. Harry and I made eye contact briefly, and I
could tell he was thinking along the same lines. *Something* flashed in eyes; the Headmaster
might be enduring another shouting match from a young student in the near future.

"Please unseal the document, Vinx," Harry requested; there was yet another flash of
magic, though this time very faint.

"Very well." The goblin account manager slit the wax seal with a claw and laid the
parchment on the desk. He started reading:

"*Fourteen July 1981. We, Lord James and Lady Lily Potter, being of sound state and mind,
do hereby declare this to be our last will and testament. All titles, lands, wealth, and privileges
associated with House Potter are to be passed uncontested to our son, Harry James Potter, on his
eleventh birthday thirty-one July 1991; until that day, it should be held in trust by Gringotts and
the appropriate authorities, so that no undo harm comes to our estate or our son's
future.*

*In the unfortunate event of our deaths, Harry's guardianship passes to the following
people, in this order: Sirius Black; Remus Lupin; Albus Dumbledore. Harry is to be raised as the
Lord Ascendant of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, but with as much integration as
possible between both the wide magical world and also the wide Muggle world. We want our son to be
balanced in his upbringing.*"

Vinx stopped reading and looked at us. Harry had tears at the corner of his eyes, and I had
scooted over to him and put my arm around him. Mum looked like she needed a good cry too. The
voices of the dead had just come to us out of the very real past, and it was heartbreaking to think
that some bureaucratic process had stopped Harry's parents' wishes from being followed.
Dumbledore was actually named as a potential guardian, so that might ease some of the man's
blame. Though, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that no one could have known,
outside of their group of friends. The will had never been read.

"There you have it, Lord Potter. Per your parents' wishes, you are officially Lord
Potter and the Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter. All of their monies, properties,
vaults, items, and privileges have passed to you."

"But what does any of that matter?" Harry questioned, thickly. "I would much
prefer to have them back."

"I'm sure, Harry. And I am truly sorry for your loss. James and Lily were well-liked by
the goblin nation, something that cannot be said of too many wizards. However, before you write all
of this off, let me give you a brief summary of exactly what you have inherited."

Vinx referred to another parchment on his desk. "Cash or cash equivalents: 775 million
galleons. Total value of liquid assets: 1.94 billion galleons. Seven major properties, including:
the Potter ancestral Manor in the Scottish Highlands; a hunting lodge in the Canadian Rockies in
Northern British Columbia; a beach house on the Pacific in New Zealand; a penthouse suite in
Manhattan in New York City; a jungle hideaway on the Amazon river somewhere east of Barcelos,
Brazil; a villa on the Mediterranean near Nice, France; and, finally, a sheep ranch on the Ukok
plateau in southern Siberia."

My mind boggled at what was being said; the numbers were literally incomprehensibly huge, and
the sheer diversity of Potter properties was just as hard to figure. Vinx, oblivious to our shock,
kept reading from the parchment:

"The Lord Potter holds a hereditary seat on the British Wizengamot and an honorary seat
within the International Confederation of Wizards. Your family has significant investments in both
the Wizarding and Muggle spheres of business. Your family owns two vaults at Gringotts: one is your
trust vault, which you have already visited, and one is your main vault, which is Vault Number
Five. It contains innumerable priceless magical artifacts and family heirlooms, along with a few
hundred million galleons. We have an itemized list here, and have tried to appraise most of it, but
some items are beyond even our capabilities. They either pre-date known history or are unique
enough to be literally, rather than figuratively, priceless."

Vinx finally looked up. He immediately started laughing—or at least I thought it was the goblin
version of laughter—and laid the parchment back on his desk.

"I see I have surprised you enough for one day, Lord Potter. Suffice it to say, you are now
among the world's richest, especially considering the Pounds-to-Galleons conversion
rate."

"And just what is that rate?" mum asked, breathlessly.

"As of this morning at nine, it was eight pounds to one galleon."

"So my family has more than five billion pounds?" Harry asked. I marveled at how calm
he was. I think I probably would have fainted by now if this was my family we were talking
about.

Vinx nodded. "Yes."

His eyes lit up, and for a moment I thought I was going to be disappointed in him. I thought he
would let it all go to his head; he wouldn't need little old me as a friend any more, would
he?

"That means I don't have to wear Dudley's old castoffs anymore!" he
exclaimed.

Vinx laughed again; he started to organize the papers on his desk. "I enjoy your attitude,
Lord Potter. It is quite refreshing to see someone keep a level head when they're informed
they're one of the richest people in the world. I had no doubts, really, with your parents
being who they were, but it is nice to see it in person.

"The last piece of business today is this," he continued, opening his desk and
removing a small plastic rectangle. It looked suspiciously like a bank card. "This debit card
is linked to your main vault—in fact, your trust vault has been emptied back into the main
vault—and can be used in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. It is keyed to your blood and will
only work if you present it to the clerk."

Vinx handed the card to Harry, who reached out to take it. He tilted it toward me so I could
see: in gold lettering across the top was Bank of England Preferred. I suddenly realized that
Harry's life had changed forever. For some reason, the bank card was the thing that really
forced that recognition home.

Vinx also handed Harry a thick roll of parchment. "This details your House's account
with Gringotts and should provide much more information than I am able to today. Should you have
any questions, please do not hesitate to ask us, either in writing or in person. The Potters have
always had a good relationship with the goblin nation, and we hope this can continue, Lord
Potter."

Harry nodded, still staring at the bank card. "Thank you so much, Vinx," he said,
quietly. His voice sounded somewhat choked up again.

"Harry, you might want to inquire about a solicitor," mum put in, gently. Her former
shock had passed—or she had just suppressed it for Harry's sake. Harry glanced at her, nodded,
and looked at Vinx.

"Does Gringotts employ solicitors?" he asked. That sadness had left his voice again,
to be replaced by something more befitting a Head of a Most Noble and Ancient House.

"Indeed we do."

"I would like to hire one, permanently. Any recommendations?"

"I myself am a solicitor, Lord Potter. It comes with the nature of my job," Vinx
replied.

Harry nodded in acceptance. "Very well. My family trusted you with our accounts for the
last ten years, so I am sure I can trust you to pay yourself adequately?" I had to hide a
smile; Harry was falling into the role quite nicely. There was something else about him in that
moment that was hard to pin down, but later I realized that he'd looked and sounded quite
sexy.

"Thank you, Lord Potter. If I may make one suggestion as your solicitor?" Vinx asked.
Harry nodded again. "Please visit a clothier in Diagon Alley at your earliest convenience and
present your Head of House ring. They will fit you with the appropriate Wizarding attire, which as
Lord Potter you should wear to any official magical functions."

"Ok…" Harry said, obviously thinking. "Will I be attending these things
frequently?"

"Not for several years, I'm sure. However, you should have the Potter crest emblazoned
on your Hogwarts robes. Being a Lord, and especially one of such high standing, affords you some
privileges—you may be loath to use them, and if you're anything like your mother you probably
are—but they lend you a certain credence that will allow you to get the right things
done."

When the ensuing silence stretched on for several seconds, it seemed as if the meeting had
closed. I had one more question that I would not let go unanswered, however.

"Vinx, sir?" I asked.

"Please, just Vinx. Any friend of the Lord Potter is a friend of the goblins."

I smiled and blushed. "Then just Hermione, please." He nodded. "I was wondering
about Harry's living arrangements? You listed several properties under House Potter, and I
wonder if any would be amenable alternatives to Harry's current situation?"

"I should think so, Hermione. But, Harry, why do you live your relatives? Is there some
special reason?"

Harry just looked at me, and quite darkly. He knew of my conversation with the Headmaster at the
end of term, about him staying at the Dursleys for two weeks.

"It would seem as if living with his blood relatives gives him a form or protection that is
nearly unmatched…" I started.

"Blood wards?" Vinx wondered. I shrugged. "They can be effective, but only
combined with the other usual wards—anti-Apparition, anti-Portkey, Notice-Me-Not, even
Fidelius." He paused, shuffled some parchments, and read something.

"Potter Manor in the highlands is probably much safer than your relatives' house,
Harry. Not only does it have all of the above, including one of the oldest and most entrenched
Fidelius charms in the world, but it is also Unplottable. Unless you already know where it is, or
have visited yourself, it is quite impossible to find. And the beauty of it is because it has
remained unoccupied for a decade, only you can actually find it, Harry. You don't know where it
is, and you have not visited, so you have to activate the Fidelius by using the special Portkey in
your vault. Only the Lord Potter can use it, and only if he is not under any sort of compulsion or
disguise."

"What about my friends and their families?" Harry asked, looking at me. His emerald
eyes were very easy to get lost in.

"You can of course allow them access; after the first time, they should be able to
return."

"Alright. Well, thank you for your time today, Vinx. You have given me a lot to think about
and read over. If I have any questions, I will owl you directly. At this point, I think I would
like to move to the Manor as soon as possible, but that is not something I can decide today. I need
the input of all friends," Harry finished, still looking at me. I smiled warmly, finally
satisfied that my previous doubts about all this going to Harry's head were for naught. But
that didn't change the fact that he was mind-bogglingly rich!

We took our leave of Gringotts soon after; mum placed the thick roll of parchment in her purse
for safekeeping while we were shopping, and Harry slipped the debit card into a pocket. We bought
our supplies for the next year, with the exception of our Defense textbooks because we did not know
who the new teacher would be, and ended up at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

When Harry flashed his Head ring, the proprietor was all in a tizzy; we left the shop with 5 new
robes each, even mum, because Harry had explained that he wanted to splurge a little now that he
actually had money of his own. Mum and I were teasing him that the "money of his own" was
only a few billion pounds, and he took the ribbing good-naturedly. This increased my hope that
Harry would come out the other side of all these revelations just as normal, charming, noble, and
cute as he had been before. And yes, those were all the adjectives that went through my mind at the
time.

We then crossed into Muggle London. Harry asked where he could do some shopping for regular
clothes so he did not have to wear his cousin's hand-me-downs anymore. Mum and I looked at each
other for all of one second before saying in unison: "Harrods!"

For the next three hours, Harry fully experienced an extensive shopping trip with two excited
females. Add in the fact that we were essentially picking out an entirely new wardrobe for him, and
that he had absolutely no budget, we were in heaven. We walked out of Harrods around five in the
evening with a slightly shell-shocked Harry, but otherwise he was none the worse for the wear. He
thanked us profusely for our help throughout the day, saying he felt bad about taking so much time
from us. Mum shrugged it off, saying that she had called dad at the office from a payphone earlier
in the afternoon to explain where we were.

Conversation remained fairly light on our 30-minute ride back to Surrey; I knew that Harry would
need to talk about everything that had been said today at some point, but he seemed content to let
it lie for the moment. I didn't want to push him, but I knew that we should talk sooner rather
than later.

"Harry…" I said, as we entered Little Whinging. I noticed mum looking at us in the
rearview mirror.

He turned to me. "Hermione?" There was a playful smile at the corner of his lips.

"What do you think about all of this?"

"I think the Dursleys are going to be pissed when they find out that Dumbledore has been
playing them all these years. You *know* if they knew even a little bit of what we heard today
they would have treated me exceptionally well to try to benefit."

"And?" I asked.

"So, as it stands, they will be disappointed. As soon as I can, I am getting out of there.
You heard what Vinx said. Dumbledore's excuse that it is for my protection holds no weight
anymore."

"True," I conceded. "Does this mean you'll go to your ancestral
Manor?"

He shrugged. "I guess so, but I don't even know what that means. I'm a little
overwhelmed at the moment, so I have to take it one day at a time. And I hope you'll help me
along the way?" he asked, looking at me with those burning green eyes. There was a
vulnerability in them at that moment he rarely showed, and I think I might have loved him then. It
was not a solid feeling, nor was it one I would explicitly articulate for quite some time, but it
was there and it made me realize how much Harry meant to me.

"Of course I will!" I exclaimed, smiling and leaning over to hug him. He laughed and
hugged me back with one arm.

"Thanks, Hermione!"

We pulled onto Privet Drive just then and suddenly the temperature in the car plummeted. I
looked around for the source of the sudden change in atmosphere, and I instantly realized that
Harry's expression had unequivocally changed. His laughing smile had turned into a hard glare,
and he was staring in the direction of his relatives' house. I looked over there, and before I
could help myself, a little growl escaped my lungs. Mum pulled into the driveway and placed the
thick roll of parchment about Harry's account and family in a shopping bag; we all exited the
vehicle, Harry's many packages in our hands.

A staring contest ensued between us and the figure sitting calmly in a lawn chair on the porch
of the house. Albus Dumbledore was waiting for us.

-->



23. Chapter Twenty One
----------------------



A/N: Blink and you'll miss a potshot at the Elder Wand. By the way, the Deathly Hallows,
should the story get that far, will not be featured in this story. Talk about the ultimate plot
contrivances… If you've read *Bearings*, you will recognize Potter Manor. And lastly, I
promise the summer will move more quickly after this chapter.

Chapter Twenty One

Summer 1992

“Ah Harry, so you have returned,” Dumbledore said. He did not move from his chair. His tone of
voice was completely ambiguous, and his facial expression was not revealing his current emotions.
“And I see you have Miss and Mrs. Granger with you. How nice.”

“Headmaster,” I said, as curtly as possible. Mum simply nodded at him. His white eyebrows rose
toward his white hair at my tone.

“Sir,” Harry said. A beat, then: “What are you doing here? You have never visited me before.” I
could tell by the way Harry had said it that it was meant to be a slight dig at the Headmaster.

He completely ignored Harry's question. “Where were you?” he asked.

Harry just stared at him. Eventually he looked at me and mum and directed us to follow him with
his eyes. He began to walk toward the house, and I followed. Mum shook herself and fell in step
behind me. Dumbledore watched all of this impassively. As Harry mounted the two steps to the porch
and started to walk past him, Dumbledore finally moved. He stood up much more quickly than expected
for his age and moved between Harry and the front door. I noticed he had his wand in his hand.

“Where were you, Harry? Hermione? Where did you take them, Mrs. Granger?” Harry had stopped
directly in front of Dumbledore, and was now looking up into his face. It was a contest of wills,
and I began to sweat. Harry might be stubborn, but Dumbledore was reputedly as powerful as Merlin.
I fleetingly wondered what immolation felt like.

“Excuse me, *sir*, I would like to enter my *home*,” Harry ground out. This verbal
game of shadows was getting us nowhere; I was sorely tempted to blow the whole thing wide open and
tell the Headmaster, once again, exactly what I thought of him and his apparent machinations.

“I will ask you only one more time, Harry—”

“Or what?” Harry demanded, suddenly very angry. I felt an ethereal push against my being, and I
knew that it was Harry's magic. His emotions were strong enough to make his magic tangible.
“You placed me here the night my parents were killed, so you should have absolutely no objection to
me wanting to go back inside this godforsaken dump called *home*.” He was breathing heavily so
I rested my hands on his shoulders from behind to try to calm him down. Mum was no doubt watching
this confrontation from behind me, taking it all in and analyzing every little detail.

Dumbledore did not respond for a moment. He looked closely at Harry, me, and mum. His eyes
settled on the various packages. Something seemed to dawn on him.

“Show me your right hand, Harry,” he demanded; up until this moment, Harry's right hand had
been resolutely stuffed into his pocket.

For a moment, I was unsure what Harry was going to do—if he'd had his wand, he might have
tried to curse the Headmaster—but eventually he pulled his hand from his pocket and shoved the
Potter family ring in Dumbledore's face.

The Headmaster's eyes widened, in what amounted to rather superfluous surprise. He had
obviously suspected exactly what his eyes were confirming.

Several things happened at once, almost too fast for my eyes and brain to follow:

Harry fell back a step, bumping into me, and causing me to bump into mum;

Dumbledore raised his wand against the three of us, drawing in a breath for whatever spell he
had in mind;

Harry raised his hands, palms outward, toward the Headmaster's chest;

Dumbledore's wand flashed and Harry yelled, “NO!”

The Headmaster was thrown into the front door, landing on his bum with his wand at Harry's
feet.

The shocked silence that ensued was broken only by Harry's heavy breathing and
Dumbledore's stuttered albeit brief cough. Mum and I fanned out to Harry's sides as he bent
to pick up Dumbledore's wand. I was so thoroughly outraged at what the Headmaster had attempted
to do that I could not form a coherent thought, except for the fact that Harry had just
prevailed—and wandlessly—over the most powerful wizard since Merlin. The anger radiating off mum
was almost as powerful as Harry's ambient magic, though of course not physically palpable.

“Explain yourself!” she demanded. “This behavior is absolutely unacceptable—criminal even—and if
I do not receive a satisfying explanation within the next ten minutes, I am withdrawing Hermione
from Hogwarts and reporting everything that has occurred to the proper authorities.”

Dumbledore looked like he was about issue a scathing retort, but I watched as his eyes settled
upon Harry, who was currently eyeing the Headmaster's wand with something like detached
curiosity. He held it in such a way that a twitch of his fingers would snap the wand in half. The
sight of Harry so casually holding so much power between his fingers is something that I will never
forget. People always used to say that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared,
but if you saw Harry in that moment, you would have been forced to add him to that short list.

So instead of saying something that would get his wand snapped, Dumbledore sagged a little and
acquiesced with a wave of his hand.

“Come, let us go inside and have a seat in the parlor where we can discuss things away from the
prying eyes of the neighbors.” He stood and, after opening the front door, moved inside the house;
we followed him inside behind Harry, who still held the wand between his fingers. I supposed that
it was our insurance policy. None of the Dursleys appeared to be home, even after all that time had
passed since we'd left. Dumbledore sat in a chair by the fireplace, and the three of us at on
the sofa, facing him.

“If you don't mind, Headmaster, I think I will keep your wand for now,” Harry stated,
meeting the other man's eyes. Dumbledore nodded slightly.

“As you wish, Harry,” he sighed.

“Don't you mean Lord Potter?” I asked, unable to resist. Dumbledore started, but nodded
again.

“Yes, and I apologize for the slight, Lord Potter,” he corrected. He had never looked more his
age.

“Why?” Harry asked, after a lengthy pause. It was a simple question—simple but eloquent,
considering the circumstances.

“The answer to that question is quite complicated,” Dumbledore began, “and I rather think that
some of the information is perhaps a little too sensitive for someone your age—”

“Someone who is a Lord and the Head of a Most Noble and Ancient House,” Harry said, interrupting
the Headmaster. I rested my hand on Harry's leg for moral support, preferring to let him handle
this. He seemed to have it under control at the moment.

“Which you have been for only a few hours, Harry,” Dumbledore returned. “Adding the title of
Lord to your name does nothing concrete to prepare you for the horrors of the world—”

“Like abusive guardians? Like sleeping in bloody cupboard under the stairs for the first eleven
years of my life? Like thinking your parents were alcoholics and had killed themselves in a car
accident because they were boozing? Like vanquishing the most evil dark lord in centuries
*twice* during my short life?” Harry asked, rhetorically. His voice has risen considerably by
the end. Dumbledore had a disbelieving look on his face, as if the information Harry had just
supplied to him about his upbringing was news. I found that hard to believe.

“Why do you look so shocked, Headmaster?” I asked. “Surely you must have known about Harry's
living conditions—you did, after all, leaving him here *against the express wishes of his
parents*.”

“I had no idea…” he said, his thoughts clearly far away.

“You mean to tell me you never checked on Harry, not *once*, during the last twelve years?”
mum asked, raging again. “How could you do that? How could any responsible adult do that?”

“I assumed that because Harry was of Lily's blood Petunia would treat him as one of her
own.”

“Then you obviously did absolutely no research into the matter before you unequivocally decided
to cast Harry's fate to the wind,” mum continued. “It should have been painfully obvious from
even the most cursory of inspections that Harry was suffering a childhood no moral person would
wish upon anyone else.”

Dumbledore had no counter and merely looked to Harry to support or refute what mum had just
said. Harry eventually just shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. I squeezed his
thigh to let him know that he should not be embarrassed over the pain others had inflicted upon
him.

“Why did you not write me about this, Harry? Or even tell me about these things during our many
meetings at Hogwarts?”

“I assumed you knew,” Harry answered. “And I couldn't write you this summer, even when
Gringotts contacted me, because the Dursleys locked all of my magical things in the cupboard under
the stairs. Hedwig is locked in her cage in my room.”

Dumbledore's eyes hardened at this information. “Is that so?” he asked, dangerously. Harry
nodded.

“Lord Potter, I swear upon my magic that I will not turn my wand upon you, Miss Granger, or Mrs.
Granger again. It was foolish, thoughtless, and unfortunately a knee-jerk reaction. In my old age I
have become rather set in my ways, and any surprises to those ways are not well-received. Please do
accept my apology and my oath,” the Headmaster said, and there was a flash of magic throughout the
room as the oath took hold. Harry stared coolly at him for just a moment; then, quite casually, he
flicked the wand toward the Headmaster. Like a practiced seeker, Dumbledore snatched it out of the
air.

“*Accio* Harry's things locked in the cupboard. *Accio* Hedwig's cage,” he
said. There was a muffled bang as the door to the cupboard under the stairs was thrown off its
hinges, landing in the middle of the hallway to the kitchen. All of Harry's magical belongings
floated gently out of the small space, stopping in front of Harry and settling to the floor. Harry
looked like Christmas had come early; his eyes lit up and a happy grin spread over his face. He
immediately reached into his trunk for his wand, which he put in his lap. Our attention was then
drawn to the stairs, from where a hooting was now coming. Hedwig's padlocked cage was floating
slowly down from Harry's room, eventually settling in front of Dumbledore.

“*Alohomora*,” he incanted, and the padlock fell away. “Have a good fly, beautiful,”
Dumbledore whispered, opening the cage and flicking his wand again. The bay window behind us was
immediately without glass, which was soon replaced by another flick of the Headmaster's wand. I
watched Hedwig wing into the early evening sky for a few moments.

“Thank you,” Harry said, returning my attention to the parlor. “But that does not excuse you
from certain things… from certain explanations.”

“I figured as much,” Dumbledore replied.

“Why was my parents' will sealed by the Wizengamot?” Harry wondered. This was the question
for which I had been waiting; the Headmaster's explanation would have to be a good one to
satisfy me.

“There were countless people after the Potter title and fortune directly after the death of your
parents. It was felt to be in your best interest to remove you from that whirlwind as quickly and
resolutely as possible, so you didn't have to grow up with that on your head.”

“And by `it was felt' do you mean *you* felt that way?” I questioned.

“For the most part, yes.”

“But who were you to make decisions like that on my behalf?” Harry asked.

“I was the so-called Leader of the Light, Harry. There is some information regarding you that
you do not have, something which should wait until you are much older, which informed my decision
to place you here. Obviously I was unaware of the treatment, otherwise I would have removed you
immediately.”

“What information?” I asked.

Dumbledore looked like he realized he'd said too much.

“I believe that it is in our best interest to hold off on that conversation for a few
years.”

“No,” Harry said. “I've had enough of the lies. I've had enough of other people deciding
what's best for me. I am now Lord Potter and, although I am only eleven, I now have the right
to know everything. Tell me why I'm so important, Headmaster. Tell me why Voldemort came after
my parents that night.”

Mum caught my attention then, mouthing “Voldemort?” at me. I shook my head and mouthed “not now”
back at her.

Once again, Dumbledore drew himself up and was most likely about to tell Harry off, but again he
eventually deflated.

“Very well.” His wand flicked. “Silencing charm,” he explained. “This is an extreme
simplification, mind you, but essentially you are the one fated to ultimately destroy or be
destroyed by Voldemort.”

“Fated?” Harry asked, sounding just as confused as I felt. Mum had narrowed her eyes; her
perceptiveness would undoubtedly cause some problems later on, because I had refrained from telling
my parents about our more dangerous activities at Hogwarts.

“A prophecy was made about a boy born at the end of July to parents that had defied Voldemort
three times. You and Neville Longbottom fit the bill, but *you* ultimately fulfilled that part
of the prophecy when Voldemort gave you that scar,” Dumbledore said, pointing to Harry's
forehead.

“So that's why he killed my parents that night, and tried to kill me?” Harry wondered out
loud. “It was personal and he felt like he had to do the job himself…”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, and because you somehow turned the Killing Curse back upon Voldemort
and became the Boy Who Lived—an instant celebrity—I felt that you should grow up away from all that
attention and have as normal a childhood as you could.”

“Obviously you felt wrong,” I muttered, turning over all of this new information in my head.
Voldemort's sick obsession with Harry now made sense; this knowledge would have been dead
useful the previous year, and I was about to tell the Headmaster that when Harry started speaking
once again.

“But why did you leave me *here*?” Harry wondered. “My parents' will specifically
stipulated that I have a balanced childhood. If that didn't lead me to *normality*, then
surely nothing would—especially this mockery of a family you call the Dursleys!”

“So the will was unsealed then?” Dumbledore clarified.

“Of course it was,” Harry replied. “The Wizengamot was powerless to stop me, even if they had
still wanted to.”

Dumbledore's guilty look exposed the true nature of the situation. “It was *you*!” I
exclaimed. “You abused your position as Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot to have the will sealed
before it could be read!”

Dumbledore's eyes dropped to his lap. “Yes,” he admitted.

“But why?” Harry asked, sounding sad and confused. I looked at his face saw such a
heart-breaking, soul-aching, bone-wearying sadness etched there that I couldn't help but start
crying. He had gone through so much during his short life, and all because some old man had deemed
it in his best interest to hide him away from the world. “It's not as if my parents wanted to
put me directly into the spotlight,” he continued. “They clearly wanted me to have as normal a
childhood as someone in my position could have had, with one of three guardians they *assumed*
would look out for me, *for me*.”

Dumbledore must have sensed something odd in Harry's repetition and emphasis, because he
looked up with a questioning gaze.

“My parents named you as a potential guardian, Headmaster,” Harry said, rather sadly. He sounded
tired now, as if all this drama had drained him of most of his energy. Truthfully, I was feeling
quite drained myself. My nerves were shot and my face was wet from the few fat tears that had
leaked from my eyes.

“You and two other men—Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. What happened to them? I'm assuming
they were friends of my parents, so why did they not question my placement here?”

Dumbledore's mouth had dropped open in genuine surprise, though in his eyes I could see an
encroaching sadness that nearly matched Harry's.

“They named me as your guardian?” he asked, almost a whisper.

“Yes, after Black and Lupin,” Harry answered.

“They named *me* as your guardian…” the Headmaster repeated, although his voice had turned
inward. “Then placing you here was moot anyway…and Sirius…”

Abruptly, the Headmaster stood. The sadness was still in his eyes, but his face was resolute and
determined. I caught Harry's hand instinctively gripping his wand out of the corner of my
eye.

“Excuse me for my sudden departure, but I believe I have a few wrongs to right,” the Headmaster
said, with vigor. He looked alive again; the years fell away from his countenance as he was given a
new purpose. “I do not know how to thank you for telling me that about the will, Harry. You have no
idea how much that means to me, that Lily and James would have trusted me enough for actual
guardianship. I now need to live up to their esteem of me, something I know I cannot do immediately
but hope to eventually. I promise that I will make all of this up to you, somehow. Please do
forgive any trespasses, and I will not try to stop you from leaving this house. All that I ask is
that you keep an open mind with regard to me, so that we can have another conversation at whichever
property you choose to reside at for the summer?”

Harry looked bewildered at the sudden change in the Headmaster's demeanor. He nodded slowly
at the request. “Of course, Headmaster.”

“Thank you. I shall now take my leave of you—oh, one more thing. As an emancipated magical Lord,
the underage restriction on magic no longer applies to you.” His eyes twinkled. “Use it well,” he
added, and vanished with a slight *pop*.

“I think you both need to explain this Voldemort to me,” mum said. Harry and I looked at each
other, suddenly worried for our future, together and at Hogwarts.

----------

Much later that night—Tuesday, 22 June 1992—Harry and I sat close to each other on my bed. From
the moment Dumbledore had left the Dursleys until now, we had been grilled by mum, followed by dad,
about exactly what had occurred during our first year at Hogwarts. Near the beginning of that long
and difficult conversation, it had been decided that Harry would be staying the night at my house,
to be taken to Gringotts the next day. He would then move on to wherever he would stay for the
summer, which we had eventually decided would be the ancestral Manor in the Highlands. Mum and I
would accompany him at first to make sure he was provided for and taken care of; after that, he
would have a freedom of movement due to the nature of his Lordship that he had never enjoyed.

Because the specter of Voldemort had not sprung up overnight, it had been necessary to go into
Wizarding history at some length to explain the prevailing bigoted attitudes. Mum and, after we had
returned to my house, dad had both been appalled at how backward the magical world was, and their
automatic reaction had been to declare our removal from Hogwarts and magical society in general.
The ensuing argument could have been much more difficult if not for one thing: mum had witnessed
Harry reclaiming his family's history, which was undeniably and inextricably steeped in the
magical world.

As Harry explained that it would now be impossible for him to leave magic behind—and subtly
reminded my parents that they had no legal power over him as Lord Potter—he turned the tide in the
argument. His impassioned words about living up to his parents' legacy and making them proud
brought tears to my eyes and my mum's. His trump card was claiming that he did not think he
would be able to do that without me. Mum and dad's eyes changed at that statement, and even
though Harry had gone on to say the same about Ron, Sally, and Neville, he had named me first and
with the most emotion in his voice.

Ultimately it was left up to us to decide; they said if I wanted to remain in the magical world
they expected I would be much more forthcoming and truthful about what was happening. They did not
want to lose me as a daughter to the completely separate sphere of existence, and they were afraid
if I didn't share everything—the good with the bad—that it could happen. Harry assured them he
would not let that happen, and with his considerable financial and familial influence, of which he
had just learned, he now had the means to make sure that it did not.

Dad couldn't resist poking some good-natured fun at the eleven-year-old billionaire sitting
in his house, and it had lightened the mood considerably. After the conversation had dwindled to a
close, my parents had left us to think and chat in my bedroom. Harry's things were down the
hall in the spare bedroom, where he would again be spending the night, just like the holidays.

“That could have been worse,” I said, picking up after a short period of silence.

“S'pose so,” Harry mumbled, falling back and sprawling out across my bed with an
*oomph*. I turned my body to look at him and rested my chin on the palm of one hand; my hair
partially obscured my face because of this movement.

“What are we going to tell our other friends, Hermione,” he eventually asked, revealing what had
obviously been bothering him.

“The truth, I'd imagine.” He smiled and looked over at me. “What?” I asked.

“You're pretty amazing, you know?” he said, catching me completely by surprise.

“Um, thanks?”

“No, really,” he said, sitting up and putting his face right in mine. Those eyes of his were
radiating warmth and sincerity. “You took all of this in stride, even when Vinx revealed that I am
one of the richest people in the world.”

I pointed out the obvious: “You took this pretty well too, Harry.” His proximity was a little
disconcerting. It was sending thoughts cartwheeling through my brain that I had never before
entertained.

He shrugged. “I had to.”

“Well, so did I.”

“How so?” he wondered, cocking his head a bit. Merlin, he looked so cute! I errantly wondered
what he'd do if I leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. I shook my head to clear that
image away.

“You're my best friend. You think I would let something like a little inheritance come
between us? It doesn't make you a different person.”

“No, just a Lord,” he replied, smirking.

I laughed. His feigned arrogance was actually quite funny, considering that I knew Harry would
never want to use his title or his wealth to his own advantage over someone else. Unless…well,
unless that someone else was a Malfoy.

“You know, Harry,” I said, smirking right back at him. My voice had a devious tone to it. “I
wonder what Malfoy will say when he sees the Potter crest on your Hogwarts robes?”

He chuckled and flopped back once again. I was momentarily annoyed that I'd lost my chance
to so casually and briefly press my lips against his. But who was I kidding? If I had done that at
that very moment, there's no telling what might have happened. Harry could have run screaming;
my parents could have walked in at that moment; I could have ruined our friendship. Or, it could
have been amazing. Alas, that night was not when I found out.

“Nothing good, I'm sure.” He paused, closing his eyes. “Do you think we should antagonize
people about it?”

It was a relatively mature and reasonable question for someone his age, especially someone with
newfound wealth and power. And I was happy beyond expression that he said *we*, rather than
*I*.

“I don't think we should go out of our way to do that sort of thing,” I said, slowly,
thinking carefully about this. “But I also do not think we should ever back down from any kind of
challenge to your name or your station. Do you know what your family crest says, Harry?”

We had briefly looked at the thick roll of parchment Vinx had provided. It had boggled our
already-saturated minds even more, so we only really glanced at it. In the near future, though, I
fully planned on tackling it in some depth with Harry.

“Something in Latin,” he asked, sounding amused.

“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. Your family motto is *Animus Ab Aeterno*. Any idea what
that means?”

“No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me!”

I smacked his leg, enjoying his brighter mood. It felt immeasurably good to simply relax with my
friend, after such a monumental day. We had found out he was a Lord, that he was filthy rich, and
that he could wandlessly hand Dumbledore his arse. It had been fueled by powerful and desperate
emotions, but that magical feat had nonetheless been something to remember. I had been wondering
all evening how Dumbledore planned to right his wrongs with Harry, but that was neither here nor
there at the moment.

“Literally, it means *spirit out of eternity*. The essence of the phrase, though, is
something more along the lines of *courage from time immemorial*.” He was just looking at me
from his position on his back. “Any idea the significance of that?”

He shook his head. “It sounds impressive, but otherwise, no.”

“It *is* impressive. Family crests and mottos are legally sanctioned entities, which means
that the phrasing is very important. *Ab Aeterno*—from time immemorial—in legalese means
stemming from a period of time before reliable records exist. As you heard today, the magical world
possesses those types of records much farther back than its Muggle counterparts. So for the Potter
family motto, of all things, to contain that phrase means your family is actually much older than
Vinx intimated.

“Sure, Marcus Potter may have sat at the Round with Arthur Pendragon, but your line must go much
farther back. The Potter name was important enough by 522 to become a Most and Ancient House *at
that time*. I wouldn't be surprised if you find when you peruse all of that information that
your genealogy runs backward through most or all of recorded history. *Ab Aeterno* implies
this, and for it to be part of your official family motto, it must be true.”

Harry was just staring at me.

“What?” I wondered, suddenly self-conscious. I had let my mouth run away from me and Harry was
probably thinking I was ridiculous.

“You're brilliant, Hermione,” he said, and sat up quickly. He leaned into me and wrapped his
arms around me. I was still for a second; then I returned the embrace with a vengeance. Harry
Potter was my best friend and through the trials of the day I was actually beginning to think of
him as something more. I did not have the courage to say or do anything about it just yet, but the
seed had been planted and it would grow quickly.

“Thanks, Harry,” I said, pulling back and not trying to hide my blush. “Anyway,” I continued, “I
don't think we should let the bigots, the ignorant, or the sycophants”—to use one of his
words—“get away with anything they do directly. As a Lord you have a greatly expanded set of
rights. I'd suggest getting your hands on an official Hogwarts Code of Conduct and seeing what
you can and cannot do as both a Lord and an emancipated magical citizen.”

He nodded. “Good enough for me. You *do* know that I would be completely lost without
you?”

“And I would be dead to a mountain troll without *you*,” I replied, quietly. His green eyes
locked with mine; in that instant, our friendship was elevated to the level of an amorphous area
between friends and something more. As he left my room for his bed that night, he lingered in my
arms during our goodnight hug longer than was really necessary. I was not complaining.

---------

The next day was a whirlwind of activity and passed at an extremely rapid pace. After stopping
at Sally's in the morning and explaining much of what had happened to her—and allowing her to
recover somewhat from her shock—mum took me, Harry, and Sally back to Diagon Alley. Harry stopped
at the Owl Emporium after realizing he needed to send Ron and Neville a note about what had
occurred; following that, we all entered Gringotts. Vinx met us in the lobby after a few minutes
and we began the long, twisting, and frightening journey down to Harry's vault. I was fairly
certain I caught a glimpse or two of some large creature with wings when we were near the oldest
vaults.

The Potter family vault was one of them, as it was Number Five, so we watched as Vinx rekeyed
the vault to Harry's blood. He also produced a brand new physical key, which only Harry could
actually use. When Harry opened the vault, the intangibility of a few billion pounds suddenly
became tangible; and his family history, which we had been discussing the previous night, was
physically manifested by the contents of that vault. Mum, Sally, and I walked through the vast
piles of galleons with Harry, stopping every now and then at interesting-looking items, but
eventually we tired of the near-endless room and left the vault. Harry requested an itemized list
of everything contained in the vault, which Vinx said would take several weeks to compile. Harry
told him it was no problem and asked for just one more thing: the special family Portkey to Potter
Manor. Vinx showed him where it was in the vault—the goblin would die a most painful death if he
attempted to touch it—and Harry started toward it.

He stopped two paces away from it, though. “How do we leave the Manor?” he wondered, turning
back to Vinx. “I need to go back with the Grangers after we have a look around to get my things,
and I'm sure these three fine ladies don't want to remain my prisoners for the rest of the
summer.”

I thought there might have been worse things to endure—and by Sally's smirk, directed toward
me, she could tell where my thoughts were—but wisely said nothing.

The always-enthusiastic goblin cackled and informed Harry that, as the Lord of a Most Noble and
Ancient House, he had the right to create a Portkey whenever and to wherever he wished, as long as
it did not violate the Statute of Secrecy. Harry did not know how to make one, but Vinx assured him
it was actually quite easy: one need only point one's wand at an inanimate object, think of the
exact destination and an activation word, and incant *portus*. The creation and use of
Portkeys was heavily restricted for good reasons, which led to the myth that they were hard to
make, but Harry was not bound by those laws. This meant he could Portkey all of us back to our
living room, if he wanted.

Mum then said perhaps they should depart to the Manor from our house, so we didn't have to
worry about the car later that day. Harry agreed, and after learning the activation word for the
Portkey from Vinx—*fortiori*—he picked up the small marble version of his family crest and we
left Gringotts. All we could talk about on the short ride home was what the Manor would be like,
especially because it was the ancestral home of one of the oldest families in the world. I was
imaging some kind of gothic castle, like Hogwarts, though honestly that probably would have been
disappointing. For some reason I knew Harry was more modern than that, and if it turned out to be a
bloody big castle, I wondered if he might try one of the other major properties.

He set the Portkey on the coffee table in the middle of our living room; after we all had a
finger on it, he said the magic word. Our world tilted and spun for several seconds.

The air-conditioned coolness of my house was suddenly replaced with a windier, slightly warmer
climate; the muted natural light of the living room was replaced by bright June sunshine; and our
house was replaced by an expansive Scottish heath. We all looked around to make sure all had made
it intact; when we saw that all four of us were there, Harry put the Portkey in his pocket.

I took a moment to absorb the breathtakingly beautiful landscape around me. We stood on a narrow
dirt path—narrow only because the wild Highland grasses had grown up to the very edge. In all
directions except to our right, the heath expanded outward from us like some vast mythical
landscape. The reddish-brown and light green grasses swayed in the ever-present breeze, and I
inhaled deeply as the crisp, clean scent of unpolluted air filled my nostrils. Behind us and to the
right (to the east, judging from the position of the sun in the southern half of the sky), the dirt
path extended toward a loch and continued along its edge until it was no longer distinguishable. My
eyes followed that loch up our right side, marveling at the dark blue color of the water—and the
sandy beach I saw on the opposite shore—before catching my first glimpse of the Manor. It was a
three story mansion, for lack of a better word, that was rectangular yet elegant. To our left, to
the west, there was a line of short, dark green trees in the far distance; the land between here
and there was nothing but pure heath, with multicolored scrub-like growths and grasses swaying in
the wind.

In the far distance to our west and also our northeast, I could faintly make out the snow-capped
tips of two bens. I understood that Potter Manor must have been almost as far north as Hogwarts for
there to be snow-capped bens in the vicinity in late June. All in all, it was a bit much to take
in, even with the natural beauty of the Hogwarts region to which to compare it; this was
Harry's ancestral family home, and that meant much more to him and even me, Sally, and mum than
Hogwarts ever could.

“Wow,” mum eventually managed to say. “Paul and I have always meant to come up here for an
extended vacation. The Highlands are supposed to contain some of the most beautiful and primal
landscapes in the world, and I think this proves it,” she continued, spreading her arms wide and
turning in a complete circle. I smiled at her look of girlish glee. “And to think, we've never
actually come up here, even though it's basically right in our backyard.”

“Any idea how far north we are?” I asked, looking at Harry. He was absorbing the sights and the
singular sound of the ever-present wind along with the rest of us; my question, however, shook him
from his amazed state of mind.

“Yes,” he said, sounding mystified and amused. “As soon as I activated the Portkey, *that*
information seems to have been implanted directly into my brain. The manor you see up ahead is
situated at precisely 58.135664 degrees north, 4.627801 degrees west. It is on the west shore of
Loch Shin, which is 17 miles long and drains into the North Sea by way of the River Shin,” he
continued pointing at the long loch to our right. “To the west, you can see Ben More Assynt; to the
northeast, you can see Ben Klibreck. The A838 runs near here, along the eastern edge of Loch Shin.
It seems as if my parents or grandparents used automobiles, because the dirt road we're
standing on now connects to the A836 at the southern tip of Loch Shin, at the small town of Lairg.
If you follow the A836 north, it runs into the 838 and *that* continues north up the loch and
well beyond, eventually ending near the North Sea at the town of Tongue.”

I greatly enjoyed the detailed information. When I tried to repeat some of it for
clarification—namely, how close to the North Sea we actually were—I found that I could not. The
information that Harry had shared was stored in my brain, but I could not speak it. It was a
curious feeling, unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

“Harry…I can't repeat what you just said,” I told him.

He sent me a questioning look, but then realization dawned upon his face. “That must be part of
the protection Vinx was talking about. What did he call it—the Fidelius? Isn't that what the
charm does? I seem to remember Flitwick muttering about it one day.”

“Oh,” I said, realizing he was right, of course. “When did you get so smart?” I asked,
smiling.

“I'll have you know, Miss Granger, that I am number two in our year!” he exclaimed, in his
best pompous voice.

“Yes, Hermione,” Sally interjected. “I think he might give you a run for your money next
year.”

I was about to retort something along the lines that it would be impossible for Harry to do
that, completely seriously, when I realized two things: Sally had been taking the mickey and I
didn't really mind if Harry did. Maybe a little friendly competition could be a good thing. It
would push us to be the best magical students we could be. I was already third in the world; maybe
I could move up to first this coming year.

“Maybe,” I eventually replied, giving her my best enigmatic smile. Her eyes twinkled as she
laughed in response.

“Well, who wants to check out the Manor?” Harry asked, and was immediately assaulted with a
unanimous affirmation. As we walked up the gently sloping lane toward the gigantic house, we rose
slightly above the surrounding landscape. The Manor was situated on a little rise of five or ten
meters, which meant that it was the highest point in the vicinity. With the exception of the two
visible bens, the land opened out and gently down, creating the seeming effect of being at the top
of the world. The big sky and the nearly treeless land were stark contrasts to my London home,
where all you saw were buildings, roads, and homes. It was slightly desolate, but not in a
melancholy way. The natural beauty of the landscape overrode any feelings of isolation.

The Manor was indeed three stories. The ground floor consisted of the following: a grand foyer
with a large marble staircase to the upper floors; a large kitchen and dining area that was open to
the bright sunshine; a comfortable but quite large living room; a truly massive library that had me
drooling for its possibilities; and an office of sorts. Curiously enough, there were Muggle
electronics here, though they were obviously outdated. Most appeared to be from the early 1980s.
After returning to the foyer, we ascended the marble staircase, which split at the first floor; one
half gently curved to the right and the other to the left, rising out of the sight to the second
floor. The first floor was split into two wings; the right (east) side of the floor was the
Master's compartments, with a truly lavish bedroom and bathroom, and several smaller apartments
for members of the Head's family; the left (west) side of the house contained numerous
apartments that were even smaller, though no less grand, which were most likely for guests of the
family.

After returning to the east wing and staring longingly at the master bathroom, which was
essentially a complete spa, for several minutes, we ascended to the second floor and were
pleasantly surprised by what amounted to a truly massive loft, extending the entire length and
breadth of the house. There were many skylights and large glass doors, which all led to balconies,
creating an open-air effect that was sublime. One corner of the expansive space held a comfortable
lounge, with squashy chairs and what looked like a bar and a small kitchenette. I turned in a
circle, taking in the rest of the huge space: there was some gym equipment off in another corner,
and another small library opposite it. The rest of the area, the great majority of it, was wide
open, with nothing except plush carpeting and heaps of sunlight.


“My word, Harry,” mum said. “This place is something else.”

“A girl could get used to this,” Sally said, lightly. She then lay down in a fall of sunlight
from a skylight; her light brown hair reflected the warm light gloriously.

“I don't see a reason why you girls *can't* get used to this,” Harry said. Both
Sally and I looked at him. “Do you see the size of this place? I don't need this all to
myself—that would be ridiculous. I would probably get lost in here and never be found again.”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, wondering where his thoughts were leading him.

“Let's a try a little experiment first,” he said, and drew his wand. “Hold out your hand,
Hermione,” he said. I did as I was told, curious as to what he was planning. He touched the tip of
his wand to a ring I wore on the middle finger of my right hand. It was just some cheap trinket
that I'd had for several years.

“*Portus*,” he incanted, and the ring glowed blue for a second. “*Portus*,” he said
again, and the blue glow briefly reappeared. “Ok, the activation word for you to go back to your
living room is Flamel. And the word to come back here is Fluffy.”

“Can you do that? Make round-trip Portkeys?” Sally asked, sitting up now and staring at the
proceedings.

“I guess we'll find out,” Harry said, shrugging. “If you don't reappear here in two
minutes, we'll all Portkey back to your house.”

“Ok,” I replied. I looked at mum. “See you in a minute,” I told her. “Flamel.” My world tilted
and blurred, inducing a short bout of vertigo; everything then cleared and I was standing in my
living room in West London.

“Merlin, I love magic,” I breathed. “Fluffy.” The process repeated itself and I was back at the
Manor.”

Harry clapped his hands excitedly. “It worked!” he said. “Any problems?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Ok, then please try it again,” he said.

“How come?”

“I want to make sure that the Portkeys I create are good for more than one use. It would be
rather obnoxious if I had to do that every time someone wanted to come or go from the Manor.”

“True,” I said, nodding. I activated the Portkey and once again found myself back at home. Five
seconds later, I was standing in the second-floor loft of Potter Manor.

“That is dead useful,” mum said, smiling at the proceedings. “Your father would absolutely love
this. He would think it's like Star Trek.”

“Beam me up, Scotty,” Harry said, and we all laughed. After repeating the process of creating
the round-trip Portkey out of mum's necklace, Sally's bracelet, and his own Head of House
ring, we all returned to my house in London.

Mum sat us all down in the living room. “Now Harry, I think we all agree that the Manor is a
much better place to live than at your relativess. Safer even. And I also realize that as an
emancipated Lord I have no authority over you, but I do think you are a bit too young to be living
all by yourself in that huge Manor. Not only will it get lonely, but you still need to provide for
yourself—things like food and common household supplies…” She trailed off when Harry looked like he
wanted to say something.

“I know what you're saying, Mrs. Granger, and I mostly agree with you. I have been cooking
most of my life, though, and I have absolutely no problem making myself meals. In fact, I will eat
infinitely better making my own meals than I ever did at the Dursleys.”

For a moment it looked like she wasn't going to believe Harry about his purported culinary
skills, but then she must have remembered this was Harry Potter. He was an amazing boy with a truly
ludicrous amount of money; if he could actually cook for himself, he would have no problem
affording five-star meals three times a day.

“And as for living alone, I hope that doesn't happen. I made those round-trip Portkeys for
you with good reason. You can visit any time you want, and I really do mean that. They take you to
that loft, so it's not as if you would walk in on me showering or something,” he cracked,
smiling. I laughed out loud at the image of someone Portkeying into a shower.

“Harry?” Sally asked. “Do you think you could recreate the home destination for mine? While I
love you, Hermione, I don't think I need to be appearing in the middle of your living room. How
about the foyer of my house, which you saw at Christmas?”

Harry nodded and did as asked. “I want to provide Portkeys to your dad, Hermione; and to your
parents, Sally; also, to Ron and his parents…and I suppose the rest of his family, too; finally, to
Neville and his Gran.”

“You don't mind so many people having access to your new house?” mum asked. She seemed
concerned that it would be an invasion of privacy.

Harry shrugged. “Mrs. Granger, I've never enjoyed the luxury of having friends over to my
house. Now that I have the opportunity, I mean to use it. I was not joking when I said you can pop
in whenever you want. My home is open to my friends—” he cut himself off. “It feels so good to say
*my home*,” he said, quietly. There was a beautiful and genuine smile on his face, crinkling
the corners of his eyes.

After another few minutes of conversation, we drove Sally back to her house. Her parents both
worked from home, so Harry was able to explain everything to them. After a quick trip to the
beautiful Manor, they were sold, so he created Portkeys for them as well. When we left, I saw stars
in their eyes; I pointed it out to Harry, and he just shook his head. Sally had promised that she
would be visiting as soon as possible, so we left with the knowledge that we would be seeing our
friend very soon. Mum then brought us to the market to pick up supplies for Harry, including food
and other common goods; that led to a conversation about the Muggle appliances (including a
refrigerator) that had seemed to be in working condition. The odd thing was there were no utility
poles anywhere near the Manor, so we could not fathom how the house was electrified. Harry shrugged
it off and said we would eventually find out. For now, as long as the essential things were
working, it did not matter.

We returned to my house, gather Harry's things, and Portkeyed to the Manor. After helping
Harry put everything away, mum convinced Harry to have dinner with us at our house, which would
give us all a chance to explain everything to dad. He acquiesced with a promise that we would all
return here after dinner for an evening of relaxation and exploration.

Just before we went back to my house, a sudden fear of mine was allayed when we tested the
Portkeys to ensure no unauthorized users could come to the Manor. Harry's magic apparently
keyed the Portkey to a specific user, because I could not use mum's Portkey and she could not
use mine. Harry, however, could use both of them. We landed back in my living room with a new peace
of mind.

----------

Just after 9:30 that night, I was sitting on the west-facing second floor balcony with Harry,
mum, and dad. The familiar Highland chill had crept into the late evening—familiar because of our
time at Hogwarts—so my parents and I had popped back to our house about an hour before to put on
some warmer clothes. I was currently wearing jeans and a comfortable hooded sweatshirt; Harry was
looking resplendent in a new pair of jeans and a new sweater we had purchased the previous day at
Harrods.

The amazing thing about this moment was that sunset was still approximately forty minutes away,
whereas in London it had already set. Because the land was flatter here than at Hogwarts, we did
not lose the sun earlier than actual sunset, so we were enjoying our first true northern evening.
Conversation had wound up and down through the course of the night; dinner had been a hearty affair
back at my house and, after making a Portkey for dad, we had all returned to the Manor. We had
first taken an extended tour of the grounds, moving from the shores of the loch back up to the
Manor and on past into the wild heath beyond. It was invigorating, almost surreal, to be surrounded
by so much untouched natural splendor. The Manor, due to its size, could have been a blight on the
landscape, but the colors were just right and for some reason it seemed to actually add to our
surroundings, rather than detract.

We had returned to the Manor from the wide heath as the chill of evening had begun to settle
over us, exploring for the next half hour the grandiose home in some detail. Whereas before we had
just taken a cursory glance at most of the rooms, now we actually walked through them and inspected
them with dad. The library still set my heart racing for the pure volume of knowledge that must be
contained on those endless shelves, and I knew that I would be completing my summer homework there.
Our exploration had eventually led us to the second-floor loft and the west-facing balcony, where
we now sat in our warmer clothes.

“Harry, I must say, you are handling this extremely well,” dad said. Harry continued to stare
toward the west, where the lowering sun was now adjacent to the top of Ben More Assynt. The
colorful heath was alive with the burning hues of sunset.

“I suppose I couldn't really handle it any other way?” Harry asked, rhetorically. He looked
at each of us in turn. “As Hermione so adequately explained to me, my family has a long and storied
history—to me, it means everything that I *now have* is from that family, and I mean to live
up to the legacy. I've been given these wonderful gifts—wealth, property, a title—and I do not
want to waste them.

“I told you once that I meant to make the most of the opportunity Hogwarts had afforded me, and
I mean to do the same with all of this.” He swept a hand over the vista before us. “*And* I
want all of my friends and their families to use and enjoy this with me. After all, what is wealth
and property if all you have is yourself?”

I reached for Harry's hand and held it, moved by his measured and thoughtful words. This
boy—no, this young *man* in a boy's body—was growing on me in ways I did not know how to
properly express. He was my best friend and he had been absolutely wonderful during the past
several days, involving me in everything.

Mum and dad were silent for a few minutes after that, thinking about what Harry had said, but
soon enough conversation had moved to lighter fare. We sat and talked until the sun had finally
slipped below the horizon around 10:20. And so as twilight settled over the Highlands and Potter
Manor, mum and dad took their leave, Portkeying back to our home after I promised I would not tarry
long.

“You've been great, Hermione,” Harry said, after the departure of my parents. “Thank you for
everything and for understanding.”

“As you said earlier, could I react any other way?” I wondered, moving my chair closer to
Harry's and leaning into his side. I wanted the warmth from his body, but I also just wanted to
be near him. He leaned back into me, slipping an arm around my back.

“You could have been jealous. You could have been freaked out by my anger at Dumbledore. You
could have hated me for making you think your parents might pull you out of Hogwarts…” he trailed
off as I placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. We were now looking into each other's
eyes.

“But you know me, Harry. You know I would never do anything like that. We're best friends.
We support each other in everything.” He stared into my eyes for another moment, nodded in
confirmation, and then leaned forward into an embrace. We stayed like that for at least another
minute or two before breaking apart. The yellow in the west was fading to a bronzed orange.

“I should probably head home,” I said, thinking about Harry alone in his house all night. Some
part of me knew that he would be just fine, even though my rational brain was telling me *I*
would be lonely. Harry had a lot to think about from the last two days.

He nodded. “Yes, it's been a long day. Thank you again,” he said.

“Of course,” I replied, and then leaned forward. Before I could second-guess myself, I had
pecked him on the cheek. He absently raised a hand to his face and gave me a curious smile. I stuck
my tongue out at him and whispered *Flamel*, watching those green eyes disappear as my Portkey
whisked me away from Potter Manor.

I was floating on air as I readied myself for bed that night.

-->



24. Chapter Twenty Two
----------------------



A/N: Gah! I'm too invested in this story to abandon it; I have too many ideas for what this
story can do to just let it go. I'm un-abandoning it. But I will say that it will probably
never be truly finished. A little fact: I absolutely adore Dobby. A close read of chapter two of
CoS seems to suggest that Dobby knew explicitly what a Horcrux was, something that could have saved
Harry & co. a lot of trouble later on. Also, I think it was stupid to make Harry and Nagini
Horcruxes. There will be no living Horcruxes in this story.

Chapter Twenty Two

Summer 1992

Harry Portkeyed from Potter Manor to my living room the morning of 30 July 1992 as my parents
and I were eating breakfast in our bright, sunlit kitchen and dining room. Even though his arrival
had made no noise, I knew he was there because I could feel a tingle along my magic that signified
his presence.

“Harry!” I called, somewhat startling mum and dad from their separate musings. “We're in the
dining room!”

Mum smiled at me and shook her head; though I had explained several times to her how I knew he
was near me before anyone else could reasonably know such a thing, she still found it somewhat hard
to believe. She had teased me a few times about our “magical” connection to each other.

“Morning, everyone,” Harry greeted us, as he walked into the room. He looked quite nice but
casual in thong sandals, khaki shorts, and a bright polo. In fact, as we all greeted him and he
took his seat next to me, I looked more closely at him than I had in a while.

The five weeks or so that had passed since he'd officially left the Dursleys for the Manor
had done wonders for him. Not that he had been bad looking before, but the open air and sunshine of
the highlands had given his complexion some color; his own home cooking—which I had sampled several
times and was just amazing for a young boy—was keeping him more nourished than even Hogwarts had,
and he had seemed to grow and fill out a bit in just that short time. It was probably an illusion
or wishful thinking, because five weeks was really not a large enough amount of time to notice such
things, but he was as happy and as healthy as I had ever seen.

“Morning Harry,” dad said, looking up from the newspaper spread before him. “How was your
night?” he wondered. Harry usually spent a third or half of each day at my house with me or me and
my parents, but the rest of his time was generally spent at the Manor. He was, after all, a magical
Lord with land and wealth. He could really do exactly as he pleased, sod what everyone else said. I
was extremely delighted that I still figured into his plans; in fact, as the summer had worn on
through July, he had come to accept quite easily all that had come with ascending to Lord Potter,
and now it was commonplace to talk about what new things he learned about his family's wealth,
properties, or history.

“Quite good,” Harry said, pouring himself some orange juice and sipping it briefly. He normally
ate his breakfast before he appeared here in the morning, so as to not be too much of an
imposition. Mum had tried to dissuade him from such foolishness, but he had remained firm and said
he would only relent if they could enjoy an equal amount of breakfasts at the Manor. As mum and dad
were usually very busy with their dental practice, they could not, so the current arrangement stood
for now.

“I finally got around to looking at the rest of the library,” he said. I perked up at this.

“Find anything good?” I wondered.

He smiled, shrugging. His eyes were on me now. “Sure, I guess, but I wouldn't really know
what you'd consider good. Why don't we head up to the Manor today so you can have a look at
some of the older volumes. I think some of them might be from the same time period as the Potter
histories I've been reading lately; the handwriting looks nearly the same.”

While that was exciting in its own right because the histories of which he spoke were from
before the death of Julius Caesar, I knew this was a bit of misdirection. We had talked about
taking today to plan a joint birthday party for him and Neville, whose birthdays were the next day.
It was somewhat of a surprise party—obviously not for Harry—so my parents only knew that we were up
to something, not specifically what that something was.

I smiled back at him. “Sure, that sounds great!”

“Just don't keep her too late, young man!” dad said, doing his best to sound like he was
scolding Harry. At the beginning of the summer, Harry probably would have cringed at what was
supposed to be a joke, but now he just chuckled and took it in stride.

“Or course not! Why don't you two come up after work and we can all have dinner
together?”

“That sounds lovely, Harry, but you *must* let me do the cooking this time!” mum said.

Harry shook his head, grinning at her. “No way, Mrs. Granger. My house, my cooking!”

I laughed at the ongoing battle between Harry and mum, to which there was absolutely no end in
sight. Dad and I shared a glance and his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

“Harry, please, call us Paul and Jane,” dad reminded Harry, turning his attention once more to
my best friend.

This stopped Harry short. He nodded his head once. “Ok, yes, I'm sorry I keep forgetting
Paul; Jane. It will just take some time to get used to it.”

“That's ok, Harry, but you don't have to worry about offending us. You're nobility
and you're one of the wealthiest people in the world. Really we should be calling you Lord
Potter,” mum said. She was obviously taking the mickey. “And besides, there is the other more
important point: your our Hermione's best friend!”

“Oh, Lord Potter!” I crowed, making eyes at him. Dad started laughing uproariously at that, and
even Harry began to laugh again after a moment. “Better watch out, Harry, because all the girls at
Hogwarts will be doing that this year,” I added. I was satisfied as the smirk wiped itself right
off his face. He looked mortified.

“Merlin, Harry, you defeat Voldemort not once, but twice, and the thought of some attention from
females sends you running?” I asked him, still playfully.

“You and Sally are enough for me!” he exclaimed, with utmost sincerity. This set mum and dad off
again, and breakfast continued to be a boisterous affair to its conclusion. It was easy to forget
that Harry was Lord Potter when he acted like an eleven-turning-twelve year old boy should. It was
very endearing, too. I put my arm around him toward the end of breakfast, letting him know that I
was of course just teasing him. He naturally settled into me.

My parents soon left for work, leaving me alone in the house with Harry. Some part of me
understood that they had been extending a lot of implicit trust that summer, with Harry and me
alone together so much, but that was actually furthest from my mind at that moment. Real, honest
thoughts like that would not come until the next summer.

“So we decided that the Manor would be the best place for this party, right?” Harry asked,
reaching for my hand as he clarified the result of an earlier conversation.

I nodded. “Yes. More room. More things to do. And because this is so last-minute, it will
probably entice anyone on the fence to come to the party. The Manor is just too unbelievable to
pass on an opportunity to spend a day there.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, warmth in his voice. “I agree. I'm glad my family had such good
taste.” His hand tightened on mine and I prepared for the feel of Portkey travel…

When nothing happened after a moment, I looked quizzically at him. He just raised his eyebrow at
me, this time saying the activation word clearly and loudly. Nothing happened again.

I tried my Portkey, still holding onto his hand. Again, nothing happened. Now Harry looked
genuinely puzzled, and I was feeling much the same way. Our Portkeys had never failed before.

“I'll make a new one,” he said, pulling his wand from his pocket and wielding the ancient
familial magic of the Potter line to make my unused fork into a Portkey to the Manor. I saw and
felt the magical flash of the spell, indicating that it had worked, but when Harry picked up the
fork and said the activation, nothing happened.

I suddenly felt the ice cold trickle of fear dripping down my back as I sensed that we were
being watched. Harry's narrowed eyes told me that he felt something was wrong, too. His jaw
clenched and he gripped his wand a little more tightly, searching the room with his eyes while
barely moving his head. I carefully pulled my wand from my back pocket and did the same. I knew I
wasn't supposed to do magic because of the underage restriction, but Harry had no such
limitations anymore, and if it came to a firefight, I would be right there alongside him.

I flinched as, without warning, *something* popped into existence on the table in front of
us. Harry let loose with a bit of wordless magic, but I wisely stayed my hand to see what the
results would be. Whatever spell Harry had cast out of his surprise was batted away harmlessly by
the creature at which we now both stared. I didn't think about it at the time, but it was the
first among many subtle hints about how powerful Dobby really was.

The little thing on the table had huge, bat-like ears and wide, glossy green eyes that were
slightly larger than tennis balls. It stared at us from above high, petite cheekbones for a moment,
taking in the sight of Harry and me; finally, it bowed almost to the table, so that its long, thin
nose was actually touching the wood. I next noticed that it was wearing a ratty old pillowcase with
rips for its arms and legs.

For such a regal looking creature I wondered how or why it was dressed so poorly.

“Er…” Harry started. He looked at me. I shrugged. I had no idea what this was or why it was in
my house.

“Hello?” Harry both said and asked.

“Lord Harry Potter!!” the creature shouted, finally standing straight and looking at us. Its
voice was reedy yet the words were articulate. “So long, so very long has Dobby wanted to meet you,
my lord… Such an absolute honor it is…”

“Thank you,” Harry returned, glancing at me and raising a rather ironic eyebrow. We both had no
idea what was going on, but this creature clearly knew who Harry was.

“What—,” Harry started to ask, but cut himself off. “*Who* are you?”

“Dobby, my lord. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf.”

Harry paused for a moment, thinking about what to say next, so I charged ahead.

“Pleased to meet you, Dobby. I'm Hermione Granger,” I said to him, sticking out my hand.
Dobby's eyes widened comically and fat, wet tears pooled along his bottom eyelids. For a moment
I thought I had grievously offended him somehow and was about to withdraw my hand when he reached
out and shook it vigorously.

“Oh, Dobby has heard and seen much about Lord Potter's Grangy,” he said, through his tears.
He was still shaking his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry go red from lack of oxygen
as he tried not to laugh at what Dobby had called me. “You is the smartest witch of your generation
and likely one of the most powerful. It is an honor to meet you as well, Miss Grangy.”

I smiled at Dobby, not bothering to correct him about my name. It was neither here nor there—and
Grangy was far better than Hermy.

“Thank you, Dobby,” I said. “Why don't you have a seat and tell us why you're here,” I
told him, motioning to a chair on the other side of Harry with my hand.

But this time tears did not just well up in Dobby's eyes. He literally burst into noisy
sobs, staring at us wondrously.

“Sit down!” he wailed. “Never, never have I ever, not once, never…”

“Dobby,” Harry said, trying to placate the tiny house-elf. “We did not mean to offend you. We
just thought you might be more comfortable—”

“How could Dobby be offended?” he asked, though the words were choppy due to his huge, sobbing
breaths. At least the tears had stopped. “Dobby has *never* been asked to sit by a wizard or a
witch, as if Dobby were an equal, it is just *unthinkable*.”

“Then you can't have met many decent people,” I said, trying to placate him as he finally
settled into the chair.

Dobby the house-elf shook his head briefly. Suddenly his large eyes widened and he stood on the
chair, turned around, grabbed the back with both hands, and started beating his head into the
wood.

“Bad Dobby!” he screamed. “Bad Dobby! Bad bad bad!”

“Don't do that!” Harry yelled over the elf's voice. Harry hurriedly leaned forward and
grabbed Dobby by the shoulders and pulled him back, preventing him from hitting his skull against
the chair again. He looked at me and Harry a little cross-eyed.

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, keeping his hands on Dobby's shoulders. I doubted it
would prevent further outbursts if the elf really wanted another go at the chair. I was beyond
bewildered now—just confused as all hell and getting more and more concerned about this situation
with each passing moment.

“Dobby had to punish himself, my lord. Dobby almost spoke ill of his family.”

“Your family?” I asked, not liking the sound of that one bit. If this episode with this Dobby
character tied Harry or me to any unfortunate business, I would be one pissed off witch.

“The wizard family Dobby serves, my lord. Dobby is house-elf, after all—bound to serve one house
and one family forever.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Harry finally took his hands away from Dobby as he
glanced at me. He obviously thought this was as strange as I did. And what was that about
house-elves serving families?

But I knew those questions could wait. More pressing was the reason why this house-elf had taken
it upon himself to visit us.

“Do they know you're here?” I asked. Dobby's huge green eyes—a lighter shade than
Harry's—turned to me. There was fear and possibly revulsion reflected there.

“Oh, no, Miss Grangy, definitely not. Dobby will need to punish himself most severely for coming
to see the both of you. Dobby would likely have to boil his hands or close a door on his ears for
even *thinking* about this.” He looked at Harry. “If they ever knew, my lord…”

Harry blinked and shook his head slightly. I could feel a headache coming on. “But, Dobby,
wouldn't they notice if you boiled your hands?”

I had to smile slightly. Even though we had no idea what was going on, Harry's concern was
still for this diminutive creature who referred to himself in the third person and was apparently
enslaved.

“Dobby does not think so, my lord. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, every
day in fact. They lets Dobby get on with the punishing, my lord. They often reminds me to do some
extra punishing, too.”

That cold trickle of fear down my back from earlier had been replaced with utter confusion and
now some concern for this house-elf was creeping in, too. It sounded like he led a miserable
existence, and that he was risking life and limb coming to Harry and me for some yet unknown
reason.

“But why don't you leave? Or escape?” I asked. I thought it was obvious question, especially
since he was here now.

“A house-elf must be set free, Miss Grangy. And the family will never set Dobby free. As Dobby
has heard Muggles say, hell would freeze over before that happened. Dobby will serve the family
until he dies.”

We both just stared at Dobby. So it really was some form of slavery.

“Can't we help you?” Harry wondered, which set Dobby off again. I almost wanted to roll my
eyes at the predictability of it. He was sobbing as he stared adoringly at us.

“Lord Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby! Dobby has heard of your greatness, my lord, and of
yours, Miss Grangy, but of your kindness, Dobby never knew.” He then proceeded to blow his long
nose into the dirty pillowcase.

I noticed the red of embarrassment high on Harry's cheeks. “Whatever you might have heard
about my greatness is a load of rubbish. Hermione, on the other hand, is extremely great. She's
top in our year and a wonderful friend!” he said, turning to me and smiling, which reached all the
way to his green eyes.

Before I could add that Harry was second in our year and equally as wonderful a friend—and
therefore just as “great”—Dobby sniffled and spoke again.

“Lord Potter is humble and modest. My lord speaks not of his triumph over You-Know-Who—”

“You mean Voldemort?” Harry queried.

This shut the elf up for a moment, since he had clapped his hands over his ears and was rocking
back and forth in his chair with his eyes closed.

“Not the name,” he started mumbling. “Do not speak the name!”

“Sorry?” Harry half-heartedly apologized. He looked at me again and I shrugged my shoulders.
This had gone absolutely nowhere so far.

Dobby took his hands from his ears and opened his eyes. There was now a deep, dark fear in his
eyes, mixed with the adulation of Harry that was shining through.

“Dobby heard tell that Lord Harry Potter met the Dark Lord again, *for a second time*, just
weeks ago. And that Lord Potter prevailed *again*.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“I suppose you could say that,” Harry answered. “Though I would have never even had the chance
to meet him or stop him if it weren't for my friends, Hermione, Ron, Sally, and Neville.”

The house-elf nearly swooned. This was getting ridiculous. “Oh, my lord! And Miss Grangy! You
and your friends are most valiant, bold, and courageous! All have faced so many dangers already!
But Dobby has come to protect Lord Potter and Miss Grangy, to warn them…”

Goosebumps made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up as Dobby trailed off. I gripped my wand and I
noticed Harry doing the same.

“About what?” Harry asked, carefully.

“Lord Harry Potter and Miss Grangy *must not go back to Hogwarts* for their second
year.”

“Why?” I immediately asked. This was not logical at all and I just wanted this whole thing to
end. Then we could figure out why we couldn't Portkey to the Manor and get on with our day.
This house-elf was clearly crazy.

“Harry Potter and his must stay where they is safe. They is too great, too kind, too important
to lose. If they do go back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger.”

I was about to ask another question, but Harry carefully laying his wand on the dining table
stopped me. I caught of glimpse of his eyes and saw that Harry had definitely had enough of
whatever this tripe was.

“Dobby, I want you to listen to me carefully. I mean you no disrespect, but you must be able to
see how all this seems to us? We have never met a house-elf before, and you're not exactly
doing a wonderful job convincing us of anything. Instead you just do as everyone else has in my
life—order me around and tell me to do things or not to do things without explaining why. I'll
give you one chance to tell me what this mortal danger is, and then we're done here.”

Dobby's ears had gradually drooped to his forehead during Harry's short speech.
Nonetheless, he still made eye contact with Harry as he began to speak.

“There is a plot, Lord Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts this year.
Dobby has known it for months, my lord. Lord Potter must not put himself in harm's way! He is
too great!” The elf was literally shaking as he spoke.

“*What* terrible things?” I asked.

“*Who* is plotting them?” Harry questioned.

Dobby made to bash his head against the chair again, but Harry's Seeker hands grabbed him
before he could do this. He held Dobby in place.

“All right! You can't tell us! We understand! You don't need to beat yourself up over
it!” Harry nearly yelled at him, exasperated.

“Why are you warning *us*?” I questioned, after a moment of silence in which only heavy
breathing could be heard.

I could only draw one conclusion, though, and it chilled me to the bone. Harry voiced what I was
thinking.

“Does this have to do with Voldemort?” Only Harry's grip on Dobby prevented the house-elf
from covering his ears again. As it was, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “You could just nod
your head,” Harry suggested. The tennis-ball-sized eyes opened slowly.

Dobby shook his head once…but then nodded it once as well.

Harry looked confused. “Indirectly then, Dobby?” I asked. “It does and it does not have to do
with Voldemort?” There was barely a reaction this time from the elf, knowing that we would say the
name regardless.

He nodded his head.

“You should go to Dumbledore,” Harry told the elf. “You should bring this information to
Headmaster Dumbledore—you know the Headmaster, right?”

Dobby nodded. “Albus Dumbledore is the greatest head Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows him, my
lord. Dobby has heard that Dumbledore's strength rivals that of You-Know-Who's at the
height of his power and that he was the only the wizard You-Know-Who ever feared. But, my lord,
Miss Grangy, there are powers even Dumbledore does not know about, powers no decent wizard
should—”

He cut himself off and struggled to punish himself again. Harry held him firmly to his spot.

“You are telling the wrong people this information, Dobby. Dumbledore or someone else in a
position of power should hear what you're saying,” I said, unsure as to the veracity of the
elf's claims and therefore unsure as to how worried I should be over what he was saying. This
was all so crazy.

He shook his head. “Dobby can't do that. Dobby is harming himself every moment he is here
with Lord Potter and Miss Grangy. If Dobby were to tell someone who could stop it, he would
instantly drop dead.”

“Then we'll tell Dumbledore,” Harry said. “We'll tell someone so you don't have
to.”

The elf shook his head vigorously once more. “That would mean Lord Potter would have to have
contact with Hogwarts again! And that cannot be! No, Dobby will not let this go any further—”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dobby, but I am a magical Lord and can, quite frankly, do
as I please. As soon as you leave we'll be leaving for my home. From there, we will most
certainly tell someone,” Harry said.

I wasn't exactly angry at Dobby—if he was truly magically enslaved how could we blame him
for not revealing what he physically could not?—but that didn't mean I didn't want to punch
him any less. This whole situation had rocketed past strange into downright mind-numbingly stupid.
There were so many options available to Harry and me after Dobby left that he just needed to get
going already.

Dobby fidgeted momentarily and shifted his eyes to the side. He looked nervous about what Harry
had just told him.

“Lord Potter's home in the Highlands? Where he normally Portkeys?” the elf asked. Both
questions were rhetorical in nature, which explained his nervousness.

“Dobby…” I said. Something in my voice must have alerted Harry to the trouble. He looked at me
and then back to Dobby. “Did *you* make it so we can't Portkey to Harry's house?” I
concluded.

The elf was now so frantic he was bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking anywhere but us.
“Lord Harry Potter and his Miss Grangy must not be angry! Dobby hoped if they were unable to go to
Harry's ancestral home they would just forget about Hogwarts! And magic!”

Harry's voice was low and angry when he next spoke:

“Do you realize how absurd that is? Magic is my *family*. Stop whatever it is you are doing
to prevent us from Portkeying out of here,” he demanded.

“Will Harry Potter say he is not going back to Hogwarts?” Dobby asked, shrugging out of
Harry's hands in a decidedly human gesture and climbing onto the table once again.

“No.”

“Then Dobby has no choice, my lord—”

“As Lord Potter, I demand it!” Harry tried again,

Dobby gave us a tragic look. “Lord Potter has no authority over Dobby. Only Dobby's family
does. Dobby must leave now.”

“Wait—” I tried, but the house-elf vanished. There was the faint crackle of a magical discharge,
but then nothing.

Harry tried the Portkeys again and made another new one, but nothing worked. He looked
desperately at me; being cut off from his home and newly discovered heritage was in danger of
overwhelming him, and was making it so he could not think clearly.

“Calm down, Harry, it's alright,” I said, leaning in and giving him a hug. He relaxed slowly
as he returned the hug. “Let's think about this. I doubt Dobby could prevent us from using a
Portkey over a very large area, so we just walk far enough away from my house and try it
again.”

“What about the rest of what he said?”

I shrugged. “I guess we tell Dumbledore when next we seem him?”

Harry nodded. “I could also write to him, I suppose…”

Further contemplation of how to pass on Dobby's veiled threats was cut off, however, by the
ringing of my doorbell. Harry followed me as I went to answer it, staying close behind me. He had
his wand in his hand still and I didn't blame after all that Dobby had said. I threw open the
door and stopped the greeting that was about to leave my mouth. I was shocked once again that
morning. I could almost sense Harry's shock from beside me, as well.

Standing on my porch in an expensive, tailored business suit was none other than Albus
Dumbledore. This would have been strange by itself, but we had not seen him since that day he had
been waiting for us upon our return from Gringotts. It seemed that there had been changes other
than his attire since then.

His beard was no more; whatever facial hair he had was instead trimmed into a neat little
goatee. His hair was considerably shorter, though it was still long enough to be pulled tightly
into a ponytail that reached to between his shoulder blades. His glasses no longer sat at the end
of his crooked nose—they had been replaced with a pair that had slightly larger lenses and sat
comfortably on the bridge of his nose, as glasses were supposed to. He had his arms clasped behind
his back and was the image of perfect health and wealth.

The most disconcerting thing of all was definitely the business suit. I had never before seen
Dumbledore in anything other than his brightly colored robes.

The Headmaster smiled at our obvious surprise. “Ah, how fortunate,” he said. “I had hoped to
find at least you here, Hermione, but I see that you are not alone.”

“Sir…what…?” Harry managed.

“I have many things I wish to discuss with you two, and I know that I cannot reach Potter Manor
myself, so I thought I would ask Hermione if she could get in touch with you. But this is not
something we should do while standing in the doorway. May I come in?”

“You're not going to try to curse us again, are you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. With the
drastic changes visually evident in the Headmaster, who knows? His sanity could have been
compromised.

Dumbledore had the good grace to look ashamed. “No, I will not be lifting my wand against you. I
deeply regret that hasty action and, even though I have already taken a magical oath against it, I
will apologize once again and say that it was probably one of my gravest mistakes.”

Harry and I looked at each other. A silent conversation passed between our gazes and he nodded.
We stepped aside and let Dumbledore cross the threshold into my home.

“Actually, sir, you're just the wizard we wanted to see,” Harry said as we led the
Headmaster into the living room. With Dumbledore's curiosity piqued by that simple statement,
the rest was easy: Harry and I told him the story of the rest of our morning, leaving out no
details. We sat on the couch across from the chair he was in; he listened attentively, asking only
a few brief questions.

“So you cannot Portkey out of here?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded the confirmation. Dumbledore stood and drew his wand, pointing it straight up into
the air before we could even think he might be drawing on us. He began to mumble under his breath.
After just a moment of that he stopped, smiled at us, and sat back down.

“There was a house-elf anti-Portkey ward around this property, but I have removed it. You should
be free to Portkey at will now.”

“Thanks, Headmaster,” Harry said. The old man in the business suit inclined his head. “You said
you had some things to discuss?”

“Yes.”

“We were about to head up to the Manor before Dobby interrupted us. Do you want to talk there?”
Harry inquired. I thought he was extending the Headmaster a lot of trust, considering how their
last meeting had started.

“I would be delighted, Harry, Hermione,” he said. He seemed very pleased to have been invited to
Harry's home. Harry held out his hand to me and leaned forward, doing the same for the
Headmaster. I looked into his eyes as we both reached for his hands, and they were asking me to
trust him. I nodded and smiled.

“*Fortiori*,” he said, and the world tilted out of true as we Portkeyed to the Manor.

Like always, we appeared in the second-floor loft, which was beginning to truly brighten with
midmorning sunlight. As usual for summer in the northern Highlands, there was barely a cloud in the
bluebird skies. I knew this because of the many balconies and skylights, which all showed the
wonderful picture of an exquisite July day.

“So what about this Dobby character?” I wondered, as Dumbledore and I followed Harry toward the
stairs that led to the rest of the Manor. I saw that Dumbledore was looking around with something
akin to warm recognition, as if he had been here before but not in some time.

“Well, you both did the right thing in telling me about what transpired. While I would not
exactly say his threats were credible, he does belong to the Malfoys…”

“The *Malfoys*?” Harry asked, leading us down the stairs. “Now I really feel sorry for
him.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed, sighing. “Unfortunately he took a great risk in telling you anything
about his family or his master's plans. As I am sure you have experienced at Hogwarts already,
the Malfoy family is not exactly the most pleasant bunch of people in magical Britain. While anyone
would be hard-pressed to get anything dangerous inside the school, rest assured that, because of
this, we will be taking the proper precautions when school starts in the September. This means that
everyone will likely have to be searched.”

“After our rather strange morning, Headmaster, I am sure that Harry and I do not have a problem
with that,” I said, liking what I was hearing so far. As Dobby's information had been spotty
and veiled, at best, there was little Dumbledore could do. After all, you couldn't get a search
warrant based on the possible ravings of a rogue house-elf.

“Not at all,” Harry agreed. We had finally reached the ground floor foyer. Harry turned right
and led us through a door and into the large kitchen and dining area. He motioned toward the patio
off the back of the kitchen, some of which had just entered into sunlight as the orb rose higher
intp the sky.

We stepped out into the Scottish air, sitting around a large, circular table in comfortable
chairs. It was around 20C, which was comfortable in the sun.

Deciding to break the ice, I asked, “Sir, why are you dressed like that?” Dumbledore had wanted
to speak with us for a reason, so no use delaying.

“Right to the heart of the matter,” Dumbledore said, touching his forehead as if awarding me
points in a duel. “The answer to that question is the result of a long story, one I hope to be able
to tell you two this morning.”

“By all means,” I said. Harry agreed.

“When I left you last I knew that I had to change some things before I saw you or any of the
other students again,” he started, taking his glasses off and setting them on the able. With his
goatee and shortened hair, it made him look half his age. “What you said to me, Hermione, in the
Hospital Wing struck me at the time, as you saw at the leaving feast, but it wasn't until you
told me, Harry, that your parents had named me in their will as a possible guardian should anything
have happened to them that I was really pushed off my rocker.

“Something you have to understand about me is that I am very old. I am, modesty aside, magically
quite powerful, and that has kept me looking much younger and much healthier than my years would
normally allow. I was born on August 14, 1852, which means I will be turning 140 in about two
weeks.” He then laughed at the open shock on our faces.

“As you are both quite magically powerful yourselves—and you yet have much growing to do in that
regard—I am sure both of you can look forward to lives just as long if you take care of
yourselves.”

With that revelation percolating in our brains, he continued:

“In all of that time, I had ascended to three positions of power within the magical world: Chief
Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and
Headmaster of Hogwarts. These positions did not come all at once, but my position as Headmaster was
the most recent, which unfortunately as I look back I am loathe to admit put it third on my list of
professional priorities.

“I know I said at the leaving feast that I would be withdrawing my tenure as Supreme Mugwump,
and I have done that already. But since then I have also decided to withdraw my tenure as Chief
Warlock, which I have also done already. At this point in my life I can safely say that Hogwarts
*should* have and *does* have my full attention.

“What you told me about your parents, Harry, reminded me of what outstanding and unstoppable
students they were. Their scores may not have been quite as high as your own or Hermione's so
early in their careers at Hogwarts, but by the time they graduated they were top in everything.
They were dedicated to each and to the rest of their little group of friends, they were outstanding
students and athletes, they fought extremely hard for a cause they believed in, and they were very
capable, loving parents for two who were so young.”

Harry was just listening to all of this with rapt attention. I was erring on the side of the
caution and keeping my eyes and ears open, but that did not mean that this wasn't all
fascinating.

“James and Lily Potter were examples of the finest Hogwarts could produce, in all senses of the
term, and unfortunately that was probably only half of them because of what the school actually
offered. There was a war going on at the time and blood prejudice had nearly split the school in
two, so the classes were often quite strained and professors would come and go very quickly. If
Hogwarts had been able to match its educational legacy I have no doubt that your parents would have
been much more formidable than they already were.

“Which brings me to one of my points. Hogwarts *has not* matched its educational legacies
for quite some time, since probably before the war with Grindewald. There are various excuses I
could give for myself and for the heads before me, but in the end it all comes down to our divided
attention. We were not showing the school and the education of the future of our society the
respect it deserved, which is something I intend to change drastically as we move forward into
another year.

“I examined your and your friends' test scores in some detail—from a Hogwarts perspective, a
European perspective, and a global perspective—and I came to the conclusion based on cold, hard
statistics that there has not been a group of first years as capable as you ten Gryffindors in a
very, very long time, if ever. I don't say this to put pressure on you; quite the opposite,
actually. I say this to put pressure on Hogwarts herself, to push you to the best of your
abilities. Anything else would be a waste of your time there.

“To that end, and toward overall educational reform at Hogwarts, there will be further changes
from what I mentioned at the leaving feast. You will still live in your Houses and be sorted in
your first year, but most other House divisions will cease—no House tables, no House cup, no House
Quidditch rivalry. House points are being eliminated entirely, beyond what I said at the end of
last year, because even points awarded on merit will probably cause some unlikely competition.

“Instead, you will now be ranked according to year as most other magical schools do it; you saw
that ranking on your exam marks, but now it will become more integral to what we do at Hogwarts. As
Headmaster, I will now be taking a more direct role in evaluating classes and professors, sitting
in on at least one class for each professor every week.

“Also, several classes are being eliminated from the curriculum. I know you've taken
neither, but Divination is being dropped entirely and Muggle Studies is being suspended for at
least a year while Professor Burbage updates the curriculum to the current decade. The
Ministry's approved curriculum predates the Second World War.”

I was appalled by this. I had wanted to take Muggle Studies in my third year to experience
Muggle life from the Wizarding perspective, but it was obviously decades old and useless. I did not
interrupt Dumbledore, though, because he was on a roll.

“Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, Care of Magical
Creatures, Charms, and History of Magic will all remain, though I have already sacked Binns and
banished him from the castle. It has been nearly a century since that class was worth anything, and
the search is currently on for a History professor who will be up to our new standards.

“Ancient Runes and Arithmancy—key to a deeper understanding of magic than just silly
wand-waving—will now be required for all seven years at Hogwarts; as will all classes, actually,
even if students decide not to take NEWTS. After all, what is the point of spending two more years
at Hogwarts beyond OWLS if just to slack? In any case Second and Third Years this year will be
required to move doubly fast in those subjects to catch up with the planned curriculum. Third years
will also probably have similarly-paced instruction for the beginning of their Fourth year. Fourth
and Fifth years who had not taken the course in the past we hope to have ready for their OWLS by
the time they graduate, and to that end they will take a combined class. Sixth and seventh years
who were not in those classes will at least be exposed to them before they graduate.

“We are also adding two new courses to the curriculum this year—yes, Hermione?” he asked,
sensing I wanted to interrupt him. Harry was still absorbing everything, though I was happy to see
his eyes light up at all the magical education that would now be available.

“Two more courses? On top of adding Runes and Arithmancy? Won't that overload some of the
less educationally-inclined students?”

Dumbledore returned with a feral grin that surprised me. “Right you are, Hermione, but I can
assure you that the new Hogwarts will not tolerate slackers. We will of course offer any extra help
needed by students who are genuinely putting forth the effort, but subpar performance caused by
subpar work ethics will be dealt with unequivocally. Hogwarts was once the greatest magical school
in the world, and though statistically it still sits in the top twenty percent, the reality of the
situation is that the extra-bright students at the top of the pile pull the rest of the
underachieving school up.

“The two classes we are adding are also much more practical in nature than nearly every other
class, which should entice students to do their best. The first will be called Magical Dueling and
Combat. It will be taught once per week per year by Professor Flitwick. He is an internationally
renowned duelist and jumped at the chance to teach this.”

“Wicked!” Harry said, which was his first word in quite some time. “Are we also going to have a
better Defense professor this year?”

“I was getting to that, but yes, most assuredly. The *other* new class will be called
Advanced Spellcasting and will focus on non-traditional ways of using your magic, such as wandless
and wordless spellcasting, spells cast from staves, group casting, runic empowerment, and many
other things.”

I couldn't help but smile as I imagined the possibilities of that class. It sounded like
exactly what students needed—something outside the box to occasionally take their minds off more
rote classes and push them beyond normal boundaries.

“And who will be teaching that class?” I asked.

“Me,” Dumbledore responded, grinning at us. I honestly don't think I'd ever seen him
that happy.

I couldn't stop my mouth before it ran away from me:

“The great and all-powerful Headmaster Dumbledore would deign to interact with—to
*teach*—mere students?” I questioned. Though it was said partly in jest, I heard the
bitterness buried deep in my voice. Dumbledore's smiled lessened but did not disappear. I felt
Harry's hand close over mine under the table, offering me silent support.

“Bluntly, Hermione, I have been a manipulative old bastard for far too long now. Excuse my
language, please,” he added. He didn't sound too sorry about it. “I have played so many things
too close to my chest over the past few decades that I lost sight of what is really important, and
that is teaching the future of our society how to be upstanding, knowledgeable, and tolerant
witches and wizards. I have also somewhat lost touch with the wider world, which is why you see me
dressed as I am today.

“During the past five weeks, I have caught myself up to the goings-on of the Muggle world, and I
must say that it is overwhelming how quickly things change with them. Their technology is amazing
and now does much of what only magic could accomplish a century ago. I have been living among
Muggles in City London while working with the Ministry and Hogwarts to push all the changes I have
just told you about. I want to be an informed Headmaster, not some useless icon who sits in his
office thinking about how best to impress his awestruck students.

“Harry's parents naming me as a possible guardian proved to me just how out of touch I was,
because I felt that I had to quite illegally circumvent the laws in place to protect Harry. Not
only was that morally reprehensible, but it was also completely against everything I had been
raised to be as an upstanding magical citizen. The fact that I was my own Head of House doing that
to another future Head of House makes it even worse.

“Lord Potter, you would be completely within your rights to declare a blood feud on me and House
Dumbledore if you wanted, but I hope to avoid that presently and in the future with my new approach
to being a Headmaster and a teacher. I have nearly endless mistakes to atone for, but I want to
start right now.”

Harry and I watched as he pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Lord Potter, I formally
apologize for any slights to yourself or House Potter. I have consulted with Gringotts and included
in this envelope is a bank draft for an amount they considered adequate reparations for hardships I
have caused you. This includes, among other things, keeping secrets from you and your parents about
the prophecy and Voldemort.” He pushed the envelope across the table toward Harry.

“The money is only the first formal step. Remus Lupin, who was the first man named in your
parents' will, is employed as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. He was
one of the most intelligent students that has passed through Hogwarts and a very powerful wizard;
the fact that he is also a lycanthrope took some convincing of the Ministry, but after he sat for
and passed their Auror exams, they allowed me to hire him uncontested.”

“Lycanthrope?” Harry asked.

“A werewolf,” I supplied.

“Yes, Hermione. He was bitten when he just a boy and has lived with the affliction all his life.
It has limited his job prospects, so he was quick to accept my offer. In fact, he has not kept a
job for very long since your parents' deaths, Harry, so Hogwarts and teaching will be good for
him. Add in the fact that he knew your parents as only a best friend could, and I think you may
have another wellspring of information about your family.”

“Still manipulating, Headmaster?” I asked. This was an obvious ploy to get back in Harry's
good graces.

“Well-deserved,” he admitted. “To be fair, though, my first priority with Remus was hiring a
competent Defense teacher. It is a boon that it also connects Harry to his parents. After my
actions toward Lord Potter in the past, it is just one step of many toward a complete
reconciliation I hope may occur down the road.”

Harry reached for the envelope. “Headmaster Dumbledore, I formally accept the reparations on
behalf of House Potter. Know that the Lord Potter is intrigued by what you have said so far about
Hogwarts. He only hopes that House Dumbledore can live up to all its promises.”

I approved of Harry's formality in this matter. Familiarity with the Headmaster was one
thing, but it wouldn't do to jump into the man's arms after he had all but just admitted to
manipulating Harry's life from the get-go.

“I and Hogwarts will do our best. Now, the other man listed in your parents' will was Sirius
Black. What do you know about him?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing. I'm assuming he was a close friend of my parents.”

“Indeed he was. However, based on all the evidence that was available at the time, it would seem
that he was also the one that betrayed your parents to Voldemort.”

Harry was stunned, and I was not far behind. “But how could he do that? If he was one of their
best friends?”

“That was the question on everyone's mind at the time, but with your vanquishing of
Voldemort, magical Britain soon forgot about that fact and celebrated the end of a war that had
brought us to the very edge of annihilation.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” I told him. “What happened to Sirius Black?”

“He was incarcerated without trial at the Wizarding prison of Azkaban, which is a forlorn bit of
rock in the North Sea. That is where he has been since November 1, 1981.”

“No trial?!” I almost yelled. “How could someone like that not receive a trial? If the evidence
made his guilt such a foregone conclusion, why were the laws ignored like that?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “I do not know. That was not my doing. However,” he kept going, seeing
Harry's look, “I also did nothing to insist upon a trial for the man. In my capacity as Chief
Warlock, I could have, had it been a priority. Unfortunately, it was not.”

“Now I'll never know why he betrayed my parents,” Harry said, quietly. He had looked away
from the table toward Loch Shin, which was sparkling like so many diamonds.

“That is not exactly true, Harry. Our current ministry inherited the problem of Sirius Black,
and I am no longer the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but I have made some progress anyway. It
will take some time to convince the right people of the necessity of the trial—everyone still wants
to forget about those dark days of Voldemort—but I think sometime this year we can bring the man
back from Azkaban for a trial. I myself have some lingering doubts about the whole thing and want
some closure. I suggested the Fidelius to your parents—the charm that hid them away—and the fact
that their Secret Keeper betrayed them has weighed heavily on my mind all these years. I should
probably have been their Keeper.”

“Why wouldn't they just hide at one of the Potter properties?” Harry asked.

“Too many people knew about most of them at that time so it would have taken a full reset of all
the wards to really lock them all down. And also, your parents did not want the possibility of an
attack by Death Eaters to sully the Ancient and Noble property of the Potters, so they went with
what should have been a foolproof alternative.”

“People are always the biggest security flaw,” I said, quietly. All this talk about Harry's
parents and their betrayer had affected Harry's spirits. I hoped that we could soon turn toward
happier things.

“There is one other thing I need to come clean on,” Dumbledore said. It looked like the bombs
would keep dropping. “You remember the prophecy, Harry?”

“Of course, how could I forget?” was the dark-haired young wizard's indignant response. I
squeezed Harry's hand, which was still in mine.

“I am well past the point where I believe it with every fiber of my being, but prophecies have
been right in the past. Regardless, your upcoming new and improved magical education will prepare
you beyond any personal training I could have given you for what is to come, if it is to come at
all. Add to that fact that your friends and professors would undoubtedly stand by you if there ever
came a time when Voldemort somehow reappeared, and you should rest a little easier knowing you will
not be alone.”

“How could he come back, Headmaster?” Harry asked, his eyes and his voice penetratingly direct.
I'd had similar questions at the back of my mind since the end of the school year.

“I am now prepared to answer that question, unlike the end of last year. It is yet another
formal step in a long line toward reconciliation between us: full disclosure.” He paused here,
considering something. “Shall we take a walk to the Loch? This information is …difficult.”

So we got up from the table and walked east toward the shores of Loch Shin. Harry had placed the
envelope from Dumbledore is his hip pocket.

There was a gentle downhill slope from the Manor to the water's edge, which we strolled
along slowly. Dumbledore removed his black jacket as the sun was a little stronger out from behind
the house.

“Voldemort immersed himself in the most arcane dark magics, the darkest of which we call
Necromancy. You would be hard-pressed to find books on this subject it is so dark; most of the
tomes that record anything about Necromancy are passed down through families.”

“That's magic that deals with the dead, correct?”

“Right you are, Harry. For obvious reasons, most think Necromancy to be so dark that it is pure
evil. Voldemort, on the other hand, delighted in his research, and stumbled across a few spells
that would allow his soul to remain on this plane of existence should his body be destroyed. He was
obsessed with immortality because he thought the ultimate showing of his ultimate power would be to
cheat death. I have my own opinion which is that nothing mortal could ever be truly immortal, but
Voldemort would not have agreed.

“Most were unsavory to him because they either relegated his spirit to the realm of the ghosts
and poltergeists or made it nigh impossible to ever actually regain a body. There was one spell,
however, that piqued his interest. This ritual, combined with an extremely dark act like a murder,
would allow the caster to anchor part of his or her soul in an object, thus preventing it from
passing on upon bodily death. The theory behind the spell is that souls can only pass on when
completely whole, so that would allow Voldemort to regain a body should the parts of his soul meet
someone he had already possessed.”

“That's awful, Headmaster,” I said, completely repulsed by what I was hearing. Voldemort was
dabbling in things no one ever should.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Truly awful. And although most of that is an educated guess, I would wager my
weight in galleons that I am correct. How else could Voldemort have come back and possessed
Quirrell so thoroughly if his soul was not anchored to this world? Why did he not pass on when you
defeated him, Harry? The answers to these questions can only lead me to believe that he created at
least one Horcrux, and possibly more.”

“He split his soul *more than once?*” Harry said, incredulously, as we reached the shores
of the Loch. The water was gently lapping against the small pebble beach in the wind. The other
side of the Loch had the nice sandy beach.

“I think so,” Dumbledore said. “Which is why I will be spending future summers looking into
this.”

“Why wouldn't you let the Ministry handle this, sir?” I asked.

“The current Ministry wants to forget that Voldemort ever existed. There are some forward
thinking members of our government—Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt, to name two—that I will
be informing before schools starts of all I suspect and know, but the bureaucracy that is the
Ministry of Magic is slower than I amm ever likely to be. However, as I have said, Hogwarts is my
first priority, and I do not think Voldemort will be powerful enough to even possess a rabbit for a
few years. We have time to accomplish what we need to, if we are even correct about this, so we
should move ahead with our lives. We can and should plan for the future, but we should not let this
consume us.

“Prophecies and divination in general are wooly things, so they are best trusted carefully. I
will not let down James and Lily Potter, who saw fit to trust me as your guardian. I know I can
never be that guardian now that you are Lord Potter and Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of
Potter, but you should know that House Dumbledore is behind you.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry said, turning to the old man and sticking out his hand.
Dumbledore shook it with a somber face.

“You are welcome, Harry. And please, outside of school, call me Albus. Your parents did and I
would be honored if you did the same.” He turned to me. “The same goes for you, Hermione.”

“Surely…Albus,” I said, also sticking out my hand. He shook it with a small smile now stretching
his features.

“I must be getting along,” he said, turning toward the Manor and taking in the vista of the
heath and the wide-open Highlands. “Thank you for your time and for telling me about Dobby. I will
pass the information on to Amelia Bones, who is the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. And we
will be, as I said, searching all belongings come September.”

“Albus, will you be dressing like this during school?” Harry questioned, motioning to the
suit.

“No Harry, but I will not be wearing my gaudy robes either. As Headmaster I am entitled to wear
outer robes with trim for all four houses. Otherwise, I will be dressing much the same as the male
students.”

“I see,” Harry said. It would be very different without the eccentric version of the Headmaster
at Hogwarts, I was sure about that! And I was already looking forward to all the new classes and
all the new knowledge.

“I hope you will allow me to visit now and again,” the Headmaster said.

“Send Fawkes with a note and I'm sure we can work something out,” Harry replied.

“Spot on, Harry. I must walk to the edge of the wards to Disapparate, so I will be seeing you.
Happy birthday,” he said, and turned away from us. We watched silently for several minutes as the
Headmaster walked south along the shores of Loch Shin. Harry had moved closer to me and put his arm
around my back, something which made me very happy.

When Dumbledore was but a dark speck against the glare of the water, he suddenly disappeared. He
must have reached the edge of the wards.

“Well, what do you think?” Harry asked me.

“I think we better get up to the loft as soon as possible. We're supposed to meet Ron and
Sally to plan for tomorrow's party in a few minutes.” The loft was where all the Portkeys Harry
had made entered the property.

We turned from the loch and walked hand in hand back up to the Manor. It still hadn't really
sunk in that this glorious property and this beautiful house were Harry's, or that he was
inconceivably rich and had other properties all over the world. He was still just Harry to me, as I
hope he always would be.

He pulled the envelope from his pocket and opened it. He shook his head slowly at the bank draft
inside and passed it to me. I nearly dropped it when I saw that it was for three million
galleons.

“Wow,” I said.

“The goblins seem to have taken a pretty harsh line with House Dumbledore,” Harry said.

“Will you just deposit it, Harry?” I wondered. What were three million galleons to a
billionaire?

“Probably, yes. But I have some ideas on how to invest it…”

“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll just have to wait and see!” he sing-songed.

I laughed and tickled him briefly as we approached the house. I thought of something else soon
thereafter, so the laughter died away. “Do we tell our friends everything Dumbledore told us?” I
wondered aloud.

“He didn't say we couldn't, and I think he would have if he wanted us to keep it all to
ourselves. I may leave out the details about Sirius Black for now, but the rest of it, including
Dobby, yes. No secrets from each other or our friends, right?” He looked at me as we crossed the
front door into the foyer.

“Definitely not, Harry,” I told him, stopping and turning to draw him into a hug. He had just
learned quite a bit about his parents' end and the man partially responsible for that, so he
had to be hurting inside. That he returned the hug quite strongly was a good indication that some
physical support from me was just what he needed was good to know.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, speaking into my hair because of the hug. “You're the best and
I don't know what I would do without you.”

“I feel the same about you, Harry,” I told him, nearly overcome with affection for him. Every
day he was more and more becoming someone I could not afford to ever lose. Our hug continued
silently for at least a minute.

“Oi, Harry!” a voice yelled. It had filtered down the stairs from the loft.

“That'll be Ron,” Harry said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

-->



25. Chapter Twenty Three
------------------------



A/N: Lupin's description is quoted from page 74 of POA.

Chapter Twenty Three

Summer 1992

The early-morning chill of the Highlands whispered across my cheeks and brushed the tip of my
nose, but the rest of me was warm due to the pair of jeans and the turtleneck I was wearing. I was
leaning against the railing of the second floor balcony on the east side of Potter Manor, watching
as the sun crept above the horizon. It was just after five in the morning and I had already been up
for about an hour, even though I hadn't gone to bed until almost twelve the night before.

I hoped Harry didn't mind this slight imposition on his home, since he was still sleeping in
the master suite on the first floor, but I needed some quality thinking time and this beautiful, if
chilly, location was the perfect spot. Besides, he *had* told everyone for whom he'd made
a Portkey that we could come and go as we pleased. This may have been a looser interpretation than
was strictly acceptable, but Harry was my best friend. I wasn't too concerned about what
he'd say.

We had finished planning the party with Ron and Sally around dinner the previous day. Harry had
invited them to stay as well, so they had briefly returned to their parents to ask permission. Mum
and dad Portkeyed up to the Manor around the same time as Ron and Sally returned from being granted
that permission, so it was the six of us who had a casual, light meal on the rear patio. We sat
around the same table as we had with Dumbledore earlier in the day.

We finally told my parents about the party the next day. Everyone we had wanted to invite had
already received invitations to the Manor for the next day—today—but they were not told for what
specifically. We assumed that most of those we had invited would be here even if they did not know
what it was all about, mostly because it was Potter Manor and the Lord Potter had invited them to
some kind of special occasion. The invitations Harry had sent out had been timed Portkeys, which
he'd learned he could create from his research into the Potters and Ancient Houses. If they
chose to come, they would all arrive by Portkey between 10:00 and 10:15 in the morning. The
invitations indicated that they should bring whatever they needed for a fun day outside—brooms,
balls, swimsuits, and things like that.

My parents thought it was a lovely idea and commended us for our thorough planning and for
thinking of Neville in such a way. It was going to be a double birthday party for Harry and
Neville, but also a surprise party for Neville. Obviously, since Harry was the host and his Manor
the location, he would not be too surprised.

Harry and I then told Ron, Sally, and my parents about what Dumbledore had told us earlier in
the day. They were all understandably appalled at what Dumbledore had called Horcruxes, but his
other revelations about the improvements to the school eased their minds somewhat. They were glad
that Harry now had someone to connect him to his family in Remus Lupin.

Ron and Sally left soon after we had finished the discussion, saying they would see us all the
next day and that they were very excited. I thought my parents and I would part ways for the night
as well, but Harry had a surprise request. He wondered if he might return with us and if at least
my dad would accompany him on a shopping trip. There were a few things he wanted to pick up for the
next day, not the least of which were four or five large grills for barbequing. There would
potentially be a large number of guests at the Manor the next day, and he wanted to be
prepared.

When I'd asked how he planned to get the barbies back to the Manor, he tested a theory
he'd had that he could transport objects as Portkeys by themselves. He made an empty dish one,
activated it with his wand, and we watched as it disappeared. We had all then Portkeyed to my house
and found the dish sitting in the middle of our dining table. With the theory proven correct, we
had all gone shopping together.

Several rather boisterous hours (and numerous unattended Portkeys back to the Manor) later, we
had all returned to my house. Mum and dad had both hugged Harry affectionately before heading to
bed and leaving the two of us alone, which I could tell affected him deeply. We chatted on the sofa
in the living room for a little while, our dialogue amounting to very little, but the presence of
the other comfortable in many ways. I had sensed that it was with some reluctance he said he needed
to see to his purchases and get some sleep, so I'd drawn him into an embrace and we'd
stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes. I had been practically dozing when he reiterated his
need to go and, with the faintest touch of his lips to my cheek, had Portkeyed home.

It was that soft, almost friendly kiss and our extended hug that had me awake until midnight and
up again at four, and now standing here as the rising sun's first warm rays caressed my face.
My life had changed so completely in a year's time that I could not even rely on my books to
provide me with some classic examples of what to do or think in similar scenarios because, really,
fiction paled in comparison to my real life.

I had found out I was a witch and could harness some mysterious primal force called magic, and
that there existed an entire world of magic separate from the one into which I'd been born and
raised. I knew as I stood there on the balcony that I'd accepted it so easily at the time
because, even though I had loving parents and a good lifestyle, I was a friendless bookworm. I did
well in school, but from my perspective on 31 July 1992, the Muggle version of myself—as I'd
started to think of the days before Hogwarts—had a lot to learn about life; namely, the crushing
weight of solitude and its highly adverse effects on my psychology.

Not that my thoughts on that balcony were quite so explicit or well-worded, though. It was more
of a deep-seated anxiety about the ephemeral nature of the things we want and enjoy in life, and a
slightly unconscious resistance to dependence upon them should the worst happen, whatever that may
mean.

Harry was my first true friend and had proven his great, immutable worth several times over in
the year that I'd known him. His bravery and his selflessness were unreal, made all the more so
by the fact that he had no idea just how courageous he was. It wasn't an act with him—it was
the real thing. He would always put himself between his friends and danger, and he would always
face oncoming threats with his head held high and with any fear or doubts left far behind. That is
not to say that Harry didn't second guess himself or analyze things both before and after,
because he most certainly did, but when the chips were down, he used his fearless instincts to
prevail. This had been true during our first year at Hogwarts, and I was sure that it would
continue to be true.

The prophecy and the Horcrux magic Dumbledore had revealed to us hinted at a possible future
confrontation with a powerful, corporeal Voldemort, one that only Harry or Voldemort could
decisively end, but Harry would never be alone in that type of situation. Dumbledore had said as
much, and I knew in my heart that I would be there next to Harry should something like that come to
pass. At that time—on that balcony in the glimmering early morning during that summer between first
and second year—I had basically no concept of what mortal combat was, other than the few times
I'd found myself in real danger during our first year, but I was aware that even being
Harry's friend put me in a perpetual state of jeopardy until Voldemort and any followers were
put down for good.

Funnily enough, that didn't bother me at all. It was something with which I could cope,
especially if it meant that I'd be there to protect Harry and he'd be there to protect me.
Our seemingly new and improved Hogwarts education would go a long way toward making magic an
intrinsic, unconscious extension of our bodies, and we had some time, so I was not too worried
about my own safety. But, perhaps hypocritically, I was wondering what I would do if something
happened to Harry? Even considering something like that made my heart ache like it had never before
in my life, and I was beginning to really wonder that meant.

His kiss and our long hug the night before was the most recent in a long line of such
affections, but it had put me to thinking about what Harry meant to me. True, I was only twelve,
but I was and had always been an avid reader, so I was no stranger to romance or relationships—at
least of the fictive variety. This was real life, as it were, which explained my inability to sleep
through the night.

As I stood there for awhile longer, basking in the rising warmth of daylight, I resolved to try
to explore these feelings a little more, hopefully without scaring my best friend away. Harry had
not shied away from affection in quite some time now, at least overtly, so I didn't think he
would run screaming if I did anything. But I also did not want to make things awkward between us
when we were so comfortable with each other. Our friendship was nearly perfect as it was; would a
stolen kiss or a verbal hint of the direction of my feelings toward him ruin it all? Or would he
feel the same way and reciprocate? I just had to find the right time to make my move—and I knew I
would, because I wasn't put in Gryffindor for nothing. I may have done fine in all the houses,
but Gryffindors charge ahead, and that's exactly what I was going to do.

My musings were eventually interrupted around seven o'clock by the door behind me sliding
open. I turned, knowing who it would be, with a smile on my face and a greeting on my lips. What
surprised me, though, was the fact that Harry was carrying two cups of steaming coffee in his
hands. He had known I was here.

“Morning, Hermione,” he said, yawning briefly, as he handed me one of the cups. The liquid was a
light tan color; he knew I took my coffee with some cream and sugar. He always took his black, no
sugar.

“Hi, Harry. Thanks for the coffee!” I replied, sipping the delicious beverage. He walked up to
the railing and stared out across his property, across the Loch, and toward the wild Highlands
beyond.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked, after sipping a few more times. He turned to me with a
twinkle in his eyes, which I saw over his cup as he raised it to his lips.

“The same way you always know I'm at your house before you see me,” he responded.

“You feel it too?”

He nodded. “A warm tingle,” he said. “Something in my magic, I think.”

“How long have you known I was here?”

“Just since I woke up,” he said. His gaze then turned penetrating. “How long have you been
here?”

“Hm, two hours or so,” I told him. A black eyebrow quirked upward at that answer.

“Why were you up so bloody early? And why come here, other than the wonderful scenery?” He made
a motion toward the scene that was now at his back as he faced me.

“Just thinking.”

“Well, that is what you do best,” he smirked.

“Gee, thanks Harry.”

“Anytime!” he said, laughing. “I sent Hedwig last night with a letter that's also a timed
Portkey to, er, Albus,” he continued. “It should be waiting for him this morning. I invited him and
any teachers that want to come to the party.”

“Oh? How come?”

He took another sip of the coffee, appearing to think about his answer. “He told us a lot of
things yesterday… I think he's trying to show us that we can trust him. I figure we might as
well get more involved, especially if we're going to be seeing a lot more of him this
year.”

I nodded. It was reasonable. “What about the other teachers?”

“Why not? We live there almost ten months of the year. And as Albus said, I'm going to need
all the help I can get if it really does come down to me and Voldemort.”

I was amazed that Harry was able to talk about this so casually. It could have been that it was
still more of a concept than a real thing, something so distant as to be purely intellectual, but
it was still a rather big deal.

“True,” I said. “But you'll also have all your friends, you know. And really, it doesn't
seem like something we're going to need to worry about for a while yet. I think for today we
should concentrate on the birthdays,” I told him, smiling. “You know…swimming, enjoying the nice
weather, gorging on some delicious food!”

“Yup! Speaking of food, I still need to set everything up out back. Want to help me?” he asked,
showing me some puppy dog eyes. I cracked up laughing, but honestly, how could anyone resist that
look coming from Harry? Or maybe it was a personal weakness… especially considering the direction
of my thoughts before Harry had shown up.

As we turned to leave the balcony, mugs still in our hands, I suddenly stopped and sucked in my
breath. I had realized something Harry might not have thought about. He turned to me with curious
eyes.

“Harry! What if Snape comes?”

He looked like a fish out of water for a moment, obviously having not thought about the
implications of inviting the staff of Hogwarts to the party—there was Filch too—but eventually he
shrugged.

“Do you think he would actually come? If Albus passed the invitation along to him, he'd
probably say something about me being a spoiled brat and an impudent whelp,” he said, doing a
passable imitation of our inimitable Potions professor at the end.

“Too right,” I agreed, laughing again. We continued on our way back into the Manor.

---

Harry and I spent the next two hours putting out the tables, chairs, and grills we'd picked
up the previous day. The grills were already assembled and functional, so we just wheeled them off
the patio a bit; the tables took some effort, but we managed.

After that, I returned home to put my swimsuit on under what I would wear that day. Mum had
insisted that she buy me some new bathing suits, since she thought I'd completely outgrown last
summer's, so I had relented. She had picked out two one-pieces and two bikinis. My first
inclination was to throw on a one-piece, but I paused as I reached for the sleek suit in my
dresser.

Why not a bikini? I wasn't afraid to show a little skin around my friends. I knew I
wasn't much to look at, but undoubtedly the other girls there would be wearing something
similar. And, as my thoughts from the early morning came back to me, if I wanted to catch the
attention of a certain black-haired wizard—more than his “friendly” attention at least… Suffice it
to say that it wasn't much of a decision. I put on a new pink bikini and slipped short khaki
shorts and a tank top over it. Flip flops completed the ensemble, though I did bring a light
sweater just in case it grew chilly later in the day.

My parents had taken the day off from their practice, since it was a Friday, so I rounded them
up around 9:45 and we all Portkeyed back over the Manor. Harry was waiting for us we appeared in
the loft. He was wearing brightly colored board shorts, flip flops, and white tee with a palm tree
on the front.

He smiled. “First here,” he said. “I guess we'll wait for everyone else to start showing
up?”

I nodded. My parents greeted Harry affectionately, as they were wont to do, and wandered off
toward one of the balconies. They were walking close together, hand in hand, keeping to the patches
of sunlight as much as they could. I hadn't seen them quite so relaxed in some time. Yet
another thing for which I had Harry to thank, I supposed. We both watched them go with smiles on
our faces.

“You look right spiffing,” he said, turning to me. There was a devilish glint in his eyes and a
light smirk at the corners of his lips.

“Thanks,” I told him, dryly, rolling my eyes. “Not too bad yourself, you know? Once you rid
yourself of your cousin's old things…”

Harry nodded emphatically. “I *really* don't miss all that.”

“I don't either,” I said, waggling my eyebrows a little. He laughed

“It's too bad we can't dress like this at Hogwarts,” he commented. “Would certainly be
lighter…”

“I don't know about you, but I don't have plans to go swimming at Hogwarts in February,”
I responded.

“I can't argue there,” he said.

We continued to chat lightly as we waited for more to arrive. Just before ten, the entire
Weasley clan showed up. Ron was first, followed by Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and
Percy. I had only met Ginny and their parents once before, at an earlier gathering of Harry's
friends and their families. Ginny was a slip of a girl, all flaming red hair and freckles, and she
was a bit shy around me and Harry at first. Mr. Weasley was thin and balding, though what hair he
did still have was also red. Mrs. Weasley was short, plump, and had light red hair, perhaps even
with the barest hints of gray showing at some of the roots. Harry greeted them and directed them to
explore the loft if they wanted; he was going to wait for all the arrivals. After many happy
birthdays were passed around, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and Percy wandered off. Ron, Ginny, Fred,
and George stuck around.

Then everyone started to cascade into the Manor. The Perks, the Thomases, the Finnegans, the
Moons, the Browns, and finally the Patils Portkeyed in, one after another. It was quite an eclectic
bunch.

Sally and her parents had been to the Manor before, so they were acclimated the most quickly to
their surroundings. Her parents had been much more pleasant people since learning of Harry's
wealth and lordship, which irked me to no end, but Harry had shrugged his shoulders about it and
commented that it kept Sally where she should be—at Hogwarts with us. Hard to argue with that
sentiment.

Dean was a Muggleborn, so his parents were understandably a little bewildered at the Portkey
travel. There were three much younger children with them, too, but they stayed near Mr. and Mrs.
Thomas most of the day, so I never really got a chance to speak with any of them. An interesting
fact about Dean that didn't reveal itself until our seventh year (when I will say more about
this) is that he is not actually a Muggleborn. He's a half-blood. His wizard father walked out
on his Muggle mother just after his birth; she did not know he was a wizard. The man we were
introduced to as Mr. Thomas was actually his stepfather, and his younger brothers and sister were
his stepsiblings.

Seamus was an only child and a half-blood. His dad was a Muggle and his mother a witch, which he
had told us the first night we were all together at Hogwarts the year before. Mrs. Finnegan wore
casual, summer witch's robes, whereas Mr. Finnegan and Seamus were dressed in standard Muggle
clothing.

Lily was a half-blood like Seamus. As she told us when we had all played football in the spring,
her dad was a Muggle and her mum was a witch. She had a toddler-age younger brother who had just
begun to show signs of accidental magic. Lily arrived with a football in hand, winking and nodding
at Harry when he asked if we were all going to play again this afternoon. I was actually looking
forward to that because I remembered having a great time during the first game.

The Browns and the Patils seemed to have Portkeyed together. Lavender, Parvati, and Padma were
purebloods, so their parents were all dressed in light, airy robes. They greeted Harry rather
formally, with “My Lord” and all that nonsense, but he tolerated it and they were soon mingling
with the other parents.

We ten first years, plus Ginny, Fred, and George, were now more or less in a group by ourselves.
We were all standing near the middle of the loft, where the Portkeys arrived.

“If the Headmaster or any Professors decide to come, they'll arrive in about two minutes,”
Harry said.

“You invited the *Professors*? And *Dumbledore*?” Seamus asked, incredulously. “Why
would you ruddy do that?” The looks on most of the other faces around us seemed to be asking the
same question.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “My home, my party… not like they can start taking points from
anyone.”

“But…but…what about *Snape*?” Dean asked, looking around with a horrified face.

I laughed at that, focusing everyone on me. “Sorry,” I said, through my guffaws. “I actually
asked Harry the same thing.”

Harry was smiling at my amusement. “I don't think he'll come,” he said, shrugging.

A sudden tingle of magic signaled the impending Portkey arrival. I looked at Harry and he nodded
at me. It seemed as if at least one of the professors was coming.

They all appeared before us. Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick,
Professor Sprout, Professor Sinistra, Hagrid, and two women I knew to be Professors Babbling and
Vector, who taught Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, respectively. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

There was a ninth person with them I did not recognize. He was wearing an extremely shabby set
of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though
appearing quite young, his thick light brown hair was flecked with gray.

“It is good to see everyone once again!” Dumbledore greeted us, gregariously. “I do not think
too many introductions need go around, but since you are all just starting your second year, these
two fine women are Professor Babbling and Professor Vector, who teach Ancient Runes and
Arithmancy.”

Bathsheba Babbling, as she introduced herself, had curly red hair that reached nearly to her
waist. Her complexion was light and freckled, like much of the Weasley clan, and she appeared to be
slightly younger than Professor McGonagall. Septima Vector had inky black hair, kept very short,
and was approximately the same age as Babbling. Both women appeared to be in good shape, though it
was a bit hard to tell with the robes.

Dumbledore continued. “Hagrid, of course,” he said, glancing at the Keeper of the Keys. Hagrid
was at least twelve feet tall, but even he did not come close to the high ceiling of the loft. “And
this is Professor Remus Lupin, who will be taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position
this year. Happy birthday, Mr. Potter!”

Everyone greeted everyone else. My attention was focused on Remus Lupin, though, whom we had
discussed just the day previous. The man in question was staring at Harry as if he'd seen a
ghost. Harry noticed this too because he was looking at Lupin; they stared at each momentarily and
Harry nodded at him. He mouthed “later” to our newest professor. Introductions were dwindling at
that point.

“Ok everyone,” Harry said, raising his voice, so even those who had wandered off could hear him,
“Neville should be arriving with his grandmother in just a few minutes. It's his and my twelfth
birthdays. I think we should all do the *Surprise!* thing when he arrives, since he has no
clue what's going on. He just thinks this is some kind of gathering.”

Everyone present, after trickling back toward the center of the loft, agreed with Harry's
suggestion, and we all moved into a semicircle. The adults were lined up behind all of us, some
parents resting their hands on the shoulders of their children. Harry was on my right and Sally was
on my left. Ron was on Sally's other side.

“Any second now…” Harry muttered.

Neville and his grandmother materialized.

“SURPRISE!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEVILLE!!” everyone shouted, along with some happy birthdays to
Harry, too.

To say that Neville was flabbergasted would be a monumental understatement. His severe
grandmother (looking rather odd with a stuffed bird perched on her hat) raised her eyebrows at the
greeting.

“Uh…th-thanks?” he said.

There were chuckles all around at his shock. The laughter seemed to loosen him up, because he
relaxed and rubbed the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

“Thanks, everyone. Really,” he told us. His eyes zeroed in on Harry. “You did all this,
didn't you, Harry?”

Harry merely grinned a Cheshire smile at our friend.

“Happy birthday, Nev,” he said.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Neville returned. Harry walked forward and pulled him into a brief,
one-armed man hug. And with that, the party really started.

The first order of business was a brief tour of the Manor, which Harry gave easily. It amazed me
how collected and confident he was with all of these people, some who were complete strangers, but
I guess I shouldn't really have been surprised. If anyone exuded the Gryffindor quality of
courage, it was Harry.

Eventually, after countless exclamations over the Manor's beauty, the entire party made it
to the backyard, where everyone saw our hard work from earlier that morning. The tour had taken a
bit, with everyone trailing along, so it was nearly time for lunch. Harry had planned on kabobs for
lunch and steak or chicken later for dinner. There were various assorted sides too that did not
require much preparation.

“Alright you lot, I'm going to start on lunch, feel free to do whatever you want until
it's ready!” he said, making his way toward the five gigantic barbies lined up just off the
edge of the patio. The partygoers gradually split into smaller groups and mingled from there.

It was with a smile that I noticed the Muggle fathers gravitating toward Harry and the grills.
My father, Mr. Moon, Mr. Finnegan, Mr. Thomas, and Mr. Perks all sidled up to Harry and asked if
they could help. How stereotypically masculine.

“Sure, sure, just doing kabobs for lunch. All the veggies and meats are already cut up. I just
need to bring the dishes out here,” he said. “You all want to start these things up?”

All the fathers nodded, a little eagerly I might add. I followed Harry back into the
kitchen.

“Going well so far, right?” he questioned, as he stopped in front of the refrigerator. Though it
was from the early 1980s, it was still functional. One of these days we would have to figure out
how all the appliances were powered, but for now we didn't question it.

As I helped him unload the trays with the food for the kabobs from the fridge, I replied:

“Smashing, Harry. You're a star.” He smiled and blushed, ducking his head a bit, which he
turned into a motion to get at the lower shelves of the fridge.

“This is all for Neville, you know. *They* know that.”

“It's your birthday too!” I exclaimed. He retrieved the sixth and final tray from the
fridge; it was a good thing he'd purchased so much food, because there were definitely many
mouths to feed.

“But we planned all of this,” he argued, motioning around ambiguously with his hand. “I'm
not surprised by it all.”

“You don't have to be,” I replied, taking three trays in both of my arms while he took the
other three. “It's still your birthday. You're both twelve now. We're celebrating for
both of you.”

“You're right,” he conceded. He looked at me. “Thanks, Hermione. I guess I wasn't
thinking about it like that.”

“Don't worry,” I smirked, as we crossed the threshold onto the back patio. “Although
you're now a year older than when we met, I'm still here to put you to rights.”

He chuckled. “Of that I have no doubt.”

We arrived at the grills and placed all the trays on a nearby table. It was amusing watching
Harry scold the dads, especially *my* dad, for attempting to begin the grilling without
washing their hands. So he directed all of us back into the kitchen where that was accomplished.
Dad rested his hand briefly on my shoulder as he passed back out of the Manor, discussing
Manchester United with Mr. Finnegan.

Harry and I did a bit of the grilling, but the Muggle fathers pretty much took over after a
while.

“I think we have it from here, Harry,” my father said, shooing us away lightly. “It's your
birthday, after all. You shouldn't have to be doing this.” Harry shrugged and did as he was
told.

We turned away from the grills and saw that several distinct groups had formed. There were two
groups of adults, more or less split along gender lines—though not perfectly—and two groups of
kids. Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, Lavender, and Lily were about one hundred feet away at the edge
of the wilder portion of the heath, talking animatedly with each other. Ron, Neville, Ginny, Fred,
George, and Sally had meandered the other way, toward Loch Shin. Dean's siblings were still
hanging around their parents.

“There's Lord Potter!” Fred exclaimed, as Harry and I approached that group. They all turned
to us. “And I see that the fine Lady Granger accompanies him.”

“Oh *please*, Fred. I'm not a Lady,” I said.

“For now,” he sing-songed, smiling hugely at me. I tweaked an eyebrow toward him and tapped the
wand in my pocket. His smile slowly vanished.

“So how's everyone doing?” Harry asked, as we moved to sit by the shore. The smooth pebbles
were warm from the bright sun.

Harry was asked about his summer so far, so he told the tale of Dobby the house-elf. As
expected, most present looked mystified, though oddly enough Fred and George had the strongest
reaction.

“Very fishy,” Fred said.

“Definitely dodgy,” George added. “So Dobby wouldn't tell you who's supposed to be
plotting all this stuff?”

“I don't think he could if he'd wanted to,” Harry replied. “As I said, every time he
almost let something slip, he started punishing himself.”

“Hmmm…” Fred intoned.

“Hmm indeed…” George said.

“What?” I asked, looking at them. “Do you think he was lying?”

“Look at it like this,” Fred explained. “House-elves have very powerful magic all their own, but
they can't typically use it without their master's or their family's permission.”

“So…” Ron pushed.

“So you think it was some kind of prank?” I questioned, looking at the twins.

George spoke next: “I reckon Dobby was sent to stop you from returning to Hogwarts. Wouldn't
that be a huge prank?”

“But…that doesn't make any sense,” Harry said, slowly. I was nodding along with him.

“It seemed like he was really trying to warn us off, like he was actually interested in our
well-being. If Dobby wasn't being sincere, then he's a marvelously good actor,” I
explained.

“Can you think of anyone with a grudge against you?” Fred asked.

Ron, Sally, Neville, Harry and I all looked at each other.

“Malfoy,” we said, as one.

“Ah, the slimy Slytherin spawn of one Lucius Malfoy,” George said.

“We've heard dad mention him a few times,” Fred continued. “He was a big supporter of
You-Know-Who.”

“Voldemort,” Harry said. “Call him Voldemort.” Fred, George, and Ginny all flinched, looked
around as if expecting the named would suddenly show up, and eventually nodded.

“Ok…Voldemort,” George tested it. “When Voldemort disappeared, Lucius Malfoy came back saying
he'd never meant any of it, that he'd been cursed…”

“Load of dung,” Fred said. “Dad thinks he was right in Voldemort's inner circle.”

Harry and I glanced at each other, a hundred words passing between us in the space of two
seconds.

“Well, that makes a kind of sense,” Harry said. “We told Dumbledore about it and he mentioned
that Dobby is a Malfoy house-elf.”

“There you have it,” Ron said. “A bloody prank, from ruddy *Malfoy*.”

“But Dobby was so sincere…” I said, trailing off. Fred and George shrugged.

“Dumbledore said they'd be taking precautions anyway,” Harry told everyone. “So best to
forget it for now.”

Conversation passed idly after that. Fred and George teased Harry about the size of his house,
the size of his property, the size of his wealth, and the assumed size of his… well, let's not
go there. There were many embarrassed laughs all around at *that* little bit of humor,
especially when the quiet-so-far Ginny threatened to Bat Bogey hex her older brothers for their
rudeness. Sally and I were impressed when Fred and George actually looked cowed.

“Don't let those nutters fool you,” Ginny told us, conspiratorially. “Strong-arm them and
they quit bugging you. I don't think Ron has figured that one out yet,” she continued. She then
regaled us with a few hilarious tales of pranks gone awry, most of which Ron took the brunt of
before he went to Hogwarts.

“So you'll be joining us this year, right?” Sally eventually asked. The boys were all
involved in a conversation about Quidditch this year. I could tell that Harry was valiantly
withholding the information Dumbledore had told us the previous day, about the House Quidditch
teams going away. The Headmaster hadn't implied Quidditch was stopping altogether, though, so I
was curious how it would work.

Ginny nodded. “Yes, *finally*,” she answered, tossing her mid-length fiery red hair over a
shoulder. “If I had to spend another year at home with mum alone, I'd go spare.”

Sally and I nodded, commiserating. Ron had told us a few stories about how overbearing their
mother could be from time to time. But I shouldn't have been so quick to judge; I barely knew
Mrs. Weasley at the time. Looking back, I do feel badly about disrespecting her like that, even
tacitly.

“Lunch is ready!” a voice called, one I recognized to be my father's. All eight of us looked
at each other for a split second, grinned, and jumped to our feet. Before I knew it, we were all
racing back toward the Manor.

Fred and George tied for the win, due to their longer legs, but the rest of us weren't too
far behind. The other group of kids had started their own impromptu race after seeing ours, and we
all converged on the back patio huffing slightly, with rosy cheeks and energized smiles on our
faces.

Lunch was delicious. The kabobs were grilled to perfection. There was an assortment of magical
and Muggle drinks and sides to augment the main course, and no one went away hungry. I ended up at
a table with Harry, Sally, Neville, Ron, my mum, and Remus Lupin.

“Mr. Potter,” Remus said, after we'd settled in. His voice was soft, mellifluous, and
articulate. “Thank you for inviting me to the Manor.”

Harry finished chewing his food. “Please, Professor, I think you of all people can call me
Harry. It's what my parents would want…”

Lupin's eyes widened slightly before understanding dawned in them. The rest of us at the
table couldn't help but watch this exchange.

“Yes, I'm sure you're right. When not at school, feel free to call me Remus then.”

“I think I will,” Harry nodded. “You were one of their friends, right?”

Remus smiled, and it made the exhaustion and the false age melt away from his face. “I do
believe I was one of their best friends,” he said. “At least I was your *father's* for
many years. After he finally won Lily's heart, we were great friends as well.”

Harry was looking down at his food. I could sense that his mood had shifted somewhat, so I
reached over and laid my hand on top of his. He looked over at me and there was a thank you in his
eyes. Remus watched this little exchange closely.

Harry raised his eyes. “Finally?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, well, hmm, how to say this… James was a bit of a hellion for his first four or five years
at Hogwarts. Lily thought he was an immature ponce for a few of those years,” Remus said, smiling,
because it had all worked out in the end. Harry was hanging on this information about his parents
like a man in the desert would an oasis.

“What changed?” I asked, quietly. Harry didn't seem to be bothered by my intrusion.

“Miss…?”

“Granger,” I said. “Hermione Granger.”

“I thought so,” Remus affirmed. “The Headmaster told me about you. Smartest witch since Lily
Potter, were his words.”

My eyebrows were nearly touching my hair at his statement and Harry was looking at me, a little
smile crinkling the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“But to answer your question…the war, unfortunately. Hogwarts was pretty nearly split down the
middle by the time we were all in fifth year, so we all had to do a bit of maturing. Granted, it
wasn't an overnight process, but it happened. James was made Head Boy in his seventh year after
not being a Prefect, so you can imagine the changes in him.

“And I think Lily was waiting for it, really. As soon as James was someone worthy of her fierce
loyalty and affection, she finally acquiesced to a date with him. It didn't take them long to
become the golden couple after that.”

Harry was staring at me now. He glanced down at my hand on top of his and turned his own so that
we were gripping each other. My stomach fluttered, though I was unsure why at the time.

Harry nodded at Remus, and silence spread across the table as we returned to our food for a few
minutes. Reluctantly, I had to let go of Harry's hand to properly eat.

“Did you know that my parents named you as a possible guardian for me in their will?” Harry
suddenly asked.

Remus nodded, but looked pained. “I thought they might,” he told us, “though I was never sure
because the will wasn't read.

“How come…” Harry trailed off, struggling with what he wanted to say. “How come you didn't,
well, didn't try to find me?” My hand automatically went back to his at this loaded question. I
looked at mum on my other side and she was frowning with compassion toward Harry.

“You two know of my condition?” he asked, delicately. Harry and I nodded; Neville was the only
one confused, because we had told Ron, Sally, and mum the night before. “The Ministry of Magic has
certain regulations regarding conditions of that nature, one of which precludes me from becoming a
guardian.”

“So it was moot for Harry's parents to name you anyway?” Sally asked. Her lips were pursed
in consternation, most likely at the injustice.

“Yes, unfortunately. I would have been honored, but even they knew it was more of a gesture than
anything else.”

Everyone digested this for a few moments, along with more food. Conversation moved on to less
emotional subjects; we talked about what the new Hogwarts would be like this year, and Neville was
quite frankly astonished at all the changes, since he had not been present when we explained it all
to Ron and Sally the night before. Harry was a little reticent through the rest of the meal, no
doubt absorbing the information about his parents. As the Mirror of Erised had suggested, family
was his greatest and deepest desire, and this was a taste of that.

---

After lunch, as the afternoon wore on and warmed up, we first years decided to play some
football. The teams were the same as they were when we had played at Easter, and, once again, Dean,
Seamus, and Lily ran circles around the rest of us, but it was loads of fun nonetheless.

Lily's mum transfigured two goals for us, since she knew what they looked like and
approximately how big they should be. Some of the adults spectated, cheering us on here and there,
but many were content to mingle and chat on the back patio or down by the loch. Dumbledore actually
watched the game attentively, delighting in the Muggle sport apparently. It was probably because it
was something fairly new and different to him, though how he could be ignorant of football after
living in Britain for so long was a mystery to me.

We were all hot and sweaty after the game, so we decided to go swimming in the dark blue waters
of Loch Shin. Lavender suggested it first, and we all agreed quickly, so we headed for the pebbled
shore.

Once there, an awkward moment passed as we all considered the reality of stripping to our
swimsuits; but, ever the Gryffindor, Harry shrugged eventually and pulled off his shirt. He kicked
off his sandals and put his glasses with his things. The rest of us took that at as our cue to stop
being such ninnies about it and soon enough we were all standing there in our suits.

The boys all had variations of board shorts and all of the girls were in bikinis. I liked to
think I wasn't a particularly vain or shallow person, but I couldn't help the brief
inspection of my year mates that passed through my head.

All five boys were healthy, though they fell on a spectrum from very athletic with Dean to just
slightly pudgy with Neville. I blushed as I caught myself staring at Harry's bare chest, which
was caught between the softer lines of childhood and the harder edges of adolescence.

I was more critical of the girls, including myself, and I suppose that was natural. As far as
athleticism was concerned, Lily was obviously tops there—I thought I could even see some of her
taut abdominals—but I didn't think I was too far behind her. Lavender was the softest of all of
us, but by no means was she more than barely pudgy. With all of us in bikinis, it was easy to see
that we were developing into young women, and my mind automatically compared assets.

Lavender had the biggest bust, so far at least; whereas the Patil twins had barely begun to
develop in that regard. I was firmly in the middle of that category. I had undergone some visible
changes of late, but nothing too astounding yet.

I couldn't help the smirk that spread across my face as I considered our bums, however. From
my cursory inspection, I appeared to be winning in that category. The other girls were still mostly
bony and flat in that regard, except Sally, whereas I definitely had some developing firmness and
roundness. It was a real boost to my self-esteem, however silly it might have been.

After staring uncomfortably at each other for about ten seconds, someone laughed and then we
were all laughing.

“Think we should all run in together?” Ron suggested, looking at the loch.

“Absolutely!” I said.

“On the count of three…” Harry added.

“One,” Lily said.

“Two,” Seamus continued.

“…THREE!” we all shouted, and tore off across the smooth pebble beach toward the water. Fifteen
feet…ten feet…five feet…I could smell the clean water now…one foot…

“AHHH!” everyone screamed, as our feet hit the water. As one, we all about-faced and hightailed
it back to the beach.

It was so cold!

Apparently, even in high summer, this area's far northern location prevented the water from
warming up very much. We were lucky if it was even 15 degrees Celsius.

The problem was solved soon enough, however. The adults, witnessing our distress, cast a warming
charm on each of us. They explained the water would still be cool, but we would be able to tolerate
the cold liquid.

Much more tentatively we all returned to the water. After dipping our toes in and finding that
it was indeed much better with the charm, most of us ran all the way into the loch.

The bottom was sandy and pebbly, so it wasn't too gross to stand in the water. I was glad it
wasn't muddy or weedy because I always hated the feeling of things brushing against my
legs.

We passed the time leisurely enough. The water was very clear, very cold, and very refreshing. I
paddled over to Harry at one point, who was floating on his back and looking up at the clear blue
sky. The sounds of splashing and laughing faded into the background.

“You look quite dunkable right now, Lord Potter,” I said.

He raised his head, directing a challenge at me with the upward twitch of his eyebrow.

“I'd like to see you try, *Lady* Granger,” he said, repeating the twins' earlier
name for me.

A shit-eating grin slowly spread across my face. Suddenly, I pounced on him, pushing him briefly
under the water. His body was hard and warm and slippery in the water, and my stomach fluttered
again. I had never been quite so familiar with him.

He came up spluttering, brushing water out of his face; he was looking at me like I was a new
person. I only had time to think that far though, because his hands were on my shoulders and he was
pushing me under, retaliating. Lithely, I partially slipped from his grasp, but he adjusted his
grip so he was now touching my back, and pushed me under. His hands moved to my waist as he held me
under for just a moment. Then he gripped my hips and hauled me to the surface.

I was laughing as I cleared my face of my hair. He was slow to let go of me…

“I suppose I deserved that,” I said, finally able to look at him with water no longer in my
eyes.

“Yes, I believe you did,” he retorted, laughing as well.

“DUNK WAR!” Seamus screamed from behind me, and we were all immediately involved in the dunk
contest to end all dunk contests. Harry and I mostly found ourselves trying to dunk each other. I
wasn't complaining, really.

Tired and happy, we all stumbled out of the loch as the time for dinner approached. Dumbledore
cast a powerful drying charm, canceling the warming charm as well. We dressed rapidly as the
chilling Highland early evening suddenly blossomed on our skin. I even put on the light sweater I
had thought to bring.

As I shimmied into my clothes, the ghost of Harry's hands still trailed over my body. My
goose bumps were not only the result of the air temperature.

---

Around ten o'clock, about twenty minutes after sunset as twilight still filled the majority
of the sky, Harry's Portkeys returned almost everyone to their departure points. There were
many happy birthdays all around for both Harry and Neville as everyone left.

The Hogwarts group was the first to go. Remus promised Harry they would chat more about his
parents. McGonagall congratulated Harry on an excellent party, thanking him for his
hospitality.

“Your parents would be proud of you, Mr. Potter,” she said, causing Harry to swallow thickly and
nod his head once. The Professors were all swept away by the Portkey magic shortly thereafter.

The Thomases, the Finnegans, the Moons, the Browns, and the Patils were all soon to follow. The
rest of us all had personal Portkeys Harry had provided earlier in the summer, so we were not on a
timer.

After much wrangling with the adults, Neville, Sally, Ron, and I were allowed to stay with Harry
for just a little while longer. My parents told me in no uncertain terms they expected me home by
midnight; similar sentiments were expressed by the others, though Mrs. Weasley and the formidable
Lady Longbottom wanted Neville and Ron home by eleven. They surrendered, knowing even that much
leeway was a boon.

Finally, it was just the five of us. We were on the back patio again, everyone in much warmer
clothing now. The area was softly lit from within the Manor, casting long shadows into the heath,
which disappeared into the twilight Highlands beyond.

“That was pretty brilliant,” Ron commented, sighing, and sagging against his chair.

“I had loads of fun,” Neville said. “Thanks for putting this all together.”

“Not a problem, Nev,” Sally said, reaching over and patting his hand. “Happy birthday to you and
Harry.”

“What do you all think about the changes coming to Hogwarts this year?” I asked.

“More bloody work!” Ron said. I half-heartedly reprimanded him for his language, because I could
tell his wasn't completely serious.

“Yes, there is that,” Harry agreed. “But…I don't know, I guess I'm excited?”

“I am too,” Sally said.

“I think it's going to a lot harder,” Neville added. “But that doesn't mean I'm not
excited.”

“I'm really looking forward to it too,” I told them. “We all learned so much last year, but
sometimes magic feels like a tool.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

How could I articulate this exactly? It was something that had been at the back of my mind for a
while.

“Well…like when we graduate from Hogwarts, I've wondered how many Muggleborns just go back
into the Muggle world? We'll always have our magic and it's dead useful, but there's
not a lot magical people can do that Muggles can't.”

“But what about Quidditch?” Ron asked.

“Of course there are *some* things that are entirely of the magical world. That's not
what I meant…” I trailed off, frustrated momentarily.

“You want it to mean more than an easy way to wash the dishes, or repairing a torn shirt,” Harry
said, quietly. Yes! That was it! I could see by Sally's smile that she now understood.

“Right,” I said. “Thanks Harry. I mean that I want it to feel like a natural extension of
*me*, rather than just something I use from time to time.”

“And you think the changes this year will help it to feel like that?” Neville wondered.

I shrugged. “Maybe. It seems like we'll be doing and learning so much more than before, at
least.”

We all passed into idle speculation about what the Dueling class with Flitwick and the Advanced
Spellcasting class with Dumbledore would be like. Even Ron got excited about the practical
possibilities inherent in those two classes, especially when Neville wondered if there would be
some kind of dueling competition this year.

Soon enough, Ron and Neville had to leave, as it was eleven o'clock. With their final
goodbyes still hanging in the air, they Portkeyed away.

It was down to Sally, me, and Harry now. We continued to chat about the upcoming year and what
we thought we would be doing for the rest of the summer. All of us still had some summer work to
complete, so we made plans to meet up the following week to finish it.

Sally yawned hugely around 11:20. She then gave me a rather pointed look and grinned saucily at
my raised eyebrows.

“I think I'm going to head back and get some sleep,” she said, standing and moving toward
Harry. She leaned down and lightly embraced him, looking at me the whole time.

“Thanks, Harry. It really was a lovely day.”

“Of course, Sally,” he said, looking at her with slight twinkle.

She came over and hugged me as well. “Now don't stay *too* late,” she whispered in my
ear, giggling.

“Night, Sally,” I said, loudly, smiling at her.

“Night,” she replied, smirking. She activated her Portkey and was gone.

The night had fully closed in around us. There might have still been the barest whisper of
twilight on the western horizon, but otherwise darkness had descended. I was growing chilled, so I
moved my chair closer to Harry, hoping to steal some of his body heat.

He reached out for my hand as I settled in next to him. Our fingers twined together.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “I don't know how many times I've heard that today.”

I said nothing, content to merely enjoy his company.

“You know, this is the first birthday I've actually celebrated.”

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. Based on everything he'd either said or hinted about his
life with the Dursleys, it wasn't too shocking. I couldn't help the growl that escaped my
lips, though.

“Those…*people*,” I said.

He squeezed my hand. “I don't ever have to see them again. No worries.”

I wasn't convinced, but I let it go for now. Harry was the sweetest, bravest, sometimes the
most stubborn boy I knew. How could his relatives have treated him so awfully? I swore then and
there that I would have my revenge on them, when I could.

We sat in companionable silence for some time, only occasionally and briefly talking about the
day that was now almost over. The wind over the land was the only other noise.

Eventually, I stood and pulled Harry to his feet. My heart was suddenly pounding with what I
knew I wanted to do. How would Harry react? Would I bollocks everything up?

“I should be going,” I said, pulling him into a hug. He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms
around my back tightly. I buried my face into his shoulder for a moment.

We pulled apart slightly, looking at each other. My breath almost caught in my throat at the
look in his eyes. They were smoldering.

It was now or never. Heart pounding, palms sweating, doubts swirling through my head, I leaned
forward slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away.

He didn't move.

I closed my eyes at the last millisecond and lightly pressed my lips to his. He smelled spicy
and woody and wonderful. His lips were warm and soft.

He froze completely for a fraction of a second. Then he responded gently to the kiss, pressing
back ever so slightly.

Merlin, I thought I might die! My heart zinged off ahead of itself and my face flushed so much I
was sure Harry could feel the heat from it.

It lasted all of ten seconds. I pulled back and opened my eyes. We stared at each other,
blushing profusely and breathing in short, loud gasps.

But we didn't look away. Our eyes stayed lock on each other. Countless emotions were
swirling in his eyes, and I'm sure mine matched. Wonder, joy, elation, comfort, acceptance,
friendship, love—all those and more I was feeling, and they were all wrapped into a wonderful ache
somewhere in the middle of my heart.

“Good night, Harry,” I finally said. My voice was throaty and breathy, in a way I'd never
heard before. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Hermione,” he breathed. Oh, Merlin! His voice was the same way! And it did things to
me I didn't even know how to properly describe.

With the intense flush fading from both of our faces, I Portkeyed away.

The house was dark and silent when I arrived in the living room. I rushed up the stairs to my
bedroom, closed the door behind me, and fell on my back with a gasping sigh onto my bed.

I'd just kissed Harry Potter! Of all the brazen things I'd ever done, surely this topped
the list. And he kissed me back! I thought my heart might jump right out of my chest. My lips still
buzzed and I touched them with the tips of my fingers.

It had been a day for the ages.

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