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Chapter Text

"But Mum—!"

"No!" Hermione's mother glared at her. "You are grounded."

"I swear, it's not as bad as the piece makes it out to be! I used a rooster to kill the basilisk, and then chopped the head off to look better—"

"But you went in the Chamber after it, didn't you?" her mother challenged. "You deliberately went after an enormous and deadly monster, despite us expressly forbidding you from doing so!"

"You didn't really forbid me," Hermione protested. "You just said that was what you wanted from me, and I agreed to only use the sword to protect me and my friends, but I did protect everyone when I—"

"Hermione Jean Granger!" her mother's voice was sharp, her eyes furious. "Do not play barrister with me! I am your parent, not a school rule you can wiggle your way around." Her hands went to her hips as she glared at Hermione. "You deliberately did something very dangerous and potentially deadly. You told us your school was safe, and then you went and risked your life! How are we supposed to feel about this, if not upset with you?!"

"Proud, maybe," her father said from his place on the couch, looking over the scrapbook Tracey had prepared. "Look, Jean – Hermione rescued her classmate from the basilisk. It carried him off into the Chamber. The boy gave a whole interview about it here."

Her mother glared down at her father, who grinned sheepishly and returned to looking at the scrapbook.

"Explain to me exactly what happened," her mother said, her voice curt. "Explain to me why we should not ground you for the entire summer and seriously reconsider sending you back to that school."

"The basilisk is dead now," Hermione said immediately. "With the basilisk dead, the school is safe, Mum. It's by far the safest wizarding school in Europe, and I have to go to a magic school, Mum."

"Do you?" her mother challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"She does, dear," her father said. "Remember when she fused her bullies into one mutant bully with one leg?"

Her mother gave a frustrated, exasperated sigh.

"Fine," she snapped. "You can go back to school. Explain to me why we shouldn't ground you for the entire summer."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'll admit to being more prepared than the story in the paper lets on," she confessed. "I had a potion to make the basilisk's eyes swell shut, so it couldn't look at me, and I had a bag of roosters as well – the crow of a rooster is fatal to a basilisk."

"Is it really?" her father said, intrigued. "How curious. Good thought with the potion, too – always good to have a store of potions with you."

Her mother shot her father a dark look, which he cheerfully ignored.

"Though I did risk myself… I did so to help save my friends and the school," Hermione said honestly. "Draco was in the Chamber, Mum – I couldn't just let the basilisk kill him and eat him. I had the ability to help, so it was my responsibility to do so, for the good of the school."

Her mother groaned and rubbed her temples, while her father grinned.

"That sounds familiar," her father mused aloud, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Where I have heard that before?"

"Oh, hush," her mother snapped. "You know damn well it's on the wall."

It was, in fact, on the wall in her parents' home office, the quote 'Those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action' emblazoned on a poster with two silhouetted figures, one helping the other to stand. The poster had once been on the wall in her playroom as a child, to encourage Hermione to be active and help others where she could, before it had been relocated to her parents' office.

Hermione suppressed a grin.

"It says here that she saved this kid's life, Jean," her father coaxed. "I'm not pleased with our daughter risking death either, dear, but would she really be our daughter if she just watched someone be dragged away to die?"

Her mother fixed Hermione with a sharp look, folding her arms.

"Two weeks," her mother snapped. "You are grounded for a fortnight, Hermione. You are to stay home and not go anywhere. And we will need to meet this Draco Malfoy," she added curtly. "I am well aware of how the media spins things. If this boy verifies your story, then we may consider not grounding you the entire summer."

Hermione groaned loudly.

"Mum! That's not fair," Hermione protested. "I have to testify at a trial next week! I might be held in contempt of court if I don't go!"

"Grounded from all activities other than legal responsibilities, then," her mother said, raising an eyebrow. "Better?"

"How am I supposed to have you meet Draco Malfoy?" Hermione protested. "He's – he comes from a family that doesn't interact with non-magical people. I can't imagine him ever coming over here!"

"Would you prefer we call on him at his home?" her mother asked pointedly, and Hermione winced. "You will figure out a way, Hermione. Because right now, I see an entire scrapbook indicating my daughter disobeyed my wishes, and I am going to need more convincing than your whinging and pleading to change my mind."

Hermione groaned. Her mother was being completely unreasonable.

"Wait, you won a medal?" her father said, surprised. He looked up at Hermione. "What is this, Hermione?"

"Wait, what?" Hermione said, surprised. "Did Tracey add something…?"

She sat down next to her father. He was on the last page of the scrapbook, and sure enough, there was one page that Hermione had not seen.

MINISTRY AWARDS ORDER OF MERLIN 1c TO THE HEROINE OF HOGWARTS
Hermione Granger becomes youngest person to ever receive an Order of Merlin

The article had a large photo of Cornelius Fudge draping the medal around her neck at the presentation ceremony, the crowd in the photo clapping enthusiastically. The little moving image of Hermione looked just as stunned as Hermione had felt in the moment, and the Fudge in the photo beamed up at her father and waved before the photo started over, looping the presentation again and again.

"Um," Hermione said. "Yes. I won an Order of Merlin, First Class. It's like… um…"

"Is this very important?" her father asked. "Or is this just a nice recognition and thank you?"

"The Order of Merlin, Second Class is roughly equivalent to a Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire," Hermione said, thinking. "I think First Class is closer to a George Cross?"

Her father's eyebrows rose very high, and her mother choked.

"Are you serious?" her mother demanded, coming over and sitting down on her father's other side, eyes scanning the article. "Does it come with a title?"

"As far as I can tell, the Wizarding World doesn't have titles?" Hermione guessed. "I mean, they might, but if they do, I have no idea how they work. They might have the equivalent somehow. But no, I didn't get a title with this. It just means I get to write my name as 'Hermione Granger, O.M.' now."

"You're thirteen," her mother objected. "How did you win an award the equivalent of which the Queen would have to give you here?"

"I saved the premier school of magic in Great Britain from a terrible, centuries-old monster," Hermione pointed out, snarky. "They didn't care that I risked my own life – they cared that I saved hundreds of others."

Her mother rolled her eyes and sighed, while her father grinned.

"Well, I am proud of you," he told her, ruffling her hair. "You went on a quest, you defeated the boss, and you got your treasure. It says here this is solid gold – is it really?"

"It is. It's very heavy," Hermione said. "I packed it in my trunk. Do you want to see?"

Her father's eyes lit up. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Her mother groaned as Hermione hurried from the room to go get her medal, and Hermione suppressed her giggles as she heard her mother begin bickering with her father over what values they really ought to be impressing upon their daughter.

Chapter Text

Banned from meeting her friends in Diagon Alley like she would have liked, Hermione was restricted to owling her friends over the weekend as they all gossiped about the trial. It was frustrating and difficult – there were certain things that could not be put in writing that she very much wanted to discuss – but she was reassured by her friends somewhat. Veritaserum was not required of witnesses when giving testimony at trials.

The entire trial gave Hermione mixed feelings, ones she didn't like. She felt tangled up inside, like she couldn't really figure out what she wanted or how to feel. Rhamnaceae Rookwood had organized a planned attack on her that could have left her dead. Dead. And Hermione had gotten her expelled in revenge.

But Rhamnaceae was facing Azkaban, now.

And Hermione well knew that she hadn't done anything of which she'd been accused.

Hermione gnawed her lip, thinking as she idly doodled on a paper. She'd gotten her enemy expelled, which had been her goal. Rhamnaceae didn't need to go to Azkaban – never having to see her again at Hogwarts was more than enough.

But that meant Hermione now found herself in the odd position of having to defend her enemy, to make sure she didn't get convicted for the crime she'd been framed for.

As much as Hermione wrestled with herself, arguing with herself that Rhamnaceae left her for dead, that she wouldn't hesitate to have Hermione locked up and thrown away the key, Hermione couldn't truly convince herself to just let Rhamnaceae be convicted. It was her fault that Rookwood was in this position, anyway – and so it fell to her to ensure her vengeance didn't exceed the degree of the original offense.

Hermione sighed.

At least she wouldn't be alone, she supposed. Millie had said she intended to tag along with her father to watch the trial. Tracey had written, saying that pretty much every classmate who could was going to try and attend the Wizengamot trial alongside whichever relative of theirs held their House Seat, as allowing heirs apparent to shadow Wizengamot sessions was a longstanding tradition. This was going to be the gossip of the summer, and every student who could witness it wanted to. Draco might be expected to testify, if they asked about the Chamber of Secrets, and Hermione imagined that he'd attend alongside his father regardless. Even Harry had made a bargain with his uncle to be allowed to attend, as he was expected to testify as well.

Harry was even more nervous than she was, apparently.

What if they ask what she said, Hermione? he had written, his handwriting spiky with anxiety. I can't speak Parseltongue anymore – if I just hiss randomness, what if someone else there secretly knows Parseltongue? I don't want to explain about the coven ritual burning the Parseltongue up!

Harry's worry was legitimate. Though arguably rare, Parseltongue wasn't difficult to learn if you knew the ritual, and who knew how many secret covens were littered throughout the wizarding world? If not for her being grounded, Hermione would have been able to visit Harry and just teach him to imitate the correct sounds. As it was, she was restricted to writing to him, doing her best to reassure him that it would all be okay.

But it wasn't okay.

You don't have much of a choice, Tom Riddle told her, when Hermione sought his advice. It is well-known that your friend could speak Parseltongue. It was revealed in front of the entire school. If that fact is brought into question, people will want to know why.

What do I care if the secret of Voldemort's Horcuxes comes out? Hermione had written back, frustrated. And wouldn't Dumbledore be more suspicious if Harry suddenly could understand Parseltongue again?

He already knows half your coven can, Tom pointed out. He will just suspect you repeated the ritual again. Which you should do – you don't want knowledge of your coven to become widely known, not yet. It is better to make sure the matter is avoided entirely by tying up this loose end.

Hermione found it kind of contradictory that they were all openly wearing their coven rings while they were still trying to keep the coven itself on the down low. So far, though, no one seemed to notice their rings unless they were looking for them, like being aware of their coven suddenly made the rings visible. She'd have to look more into what charms had been laid into the rings when she had the chance.

I'm grounded – I'm not allowed to go out or see my friends. And I can't exactly tell my parents that I need to see my friends so I can make sure our faked evidence holds up in court! What am I supposed to do?

Her own handwriting had become a bit of a scribble in her anxiousness.

Well, Tom wrote, after a long pause. There is another way. But you won't like it.

What? Hermione demanded. It's a bit of a desperate situation here, realize.

You could give your friend my diary.

Hermione froze.

Hear me out, Hermione, Tom Riddle continued, his handwriting continuing to flow out across the page. All your friend would need to do is let a drop of his blood fall upon the diary pages and keep the diary in his pocket. It would be just enough to let me help him respond or use Parseltongue if needed. Just enough to offer him the knowledge of Parseltongue in the back of his mind, if he had to use it. He's had a similar piece of soul in his head like this before. It would work.

Hermione stared at the diary.

The idea would work. It would work; it made sense, and it would probably work just as Tom had said.

But she did not like the idea of offering a Horcrux blood.

I don't want Harry to offer you blood, Hermione finally wrote back. I don't know what all the effects of giving your blood to a Horcrux are, and I don't want to risk Harry to you.

You would take the diary back afterward, Hermione, Tom cajoled. Even if there were other effects, which there aren't, Harry would be out of my reach as soon as you took the diary back.

Would he, though? Hermione challenged. We united as a coven. Part of that was sharing blood.

Was it really? Tom asked. I never got to make a coven. Did you really share blood with each other?

It was part of the ritual. 'I offer by blood with the cut of this knife. May my blood be yours for the rest of my life.'

How fascinating. Was it literal or symbolic, do you suppose? Tom wanted to know. Do you think you might now be able to pass through purebloods-only wards, with the blood of some of your coven mates? Or was it just symbolic, do you suppose?

By the time Hermione realized she'd been fully distracted for nearly an hour from talking with Tom, discussing and dissecting the use of blood in the coven ritual and in others, it was nearing dinner time.

I need a solution that doesn't rely on trusting you with my coven's safety, Hermione told him, eventually circling back around to the immediate issue at hand. How did you possess Ginny? Can't you do the same to Harry, only less so?

Ginny poured her heart out to me. It was easier to enter her mind when she offered part of herself to me like she did. Tom's response did not make Hermione feel better. You're a bit short on time, if you want Harry to write out his life's story to me.

Hermione groaned, tugging at her hair.

Can't you just choose to help him? she pleaded. If he has the diary in his pocket, and he touches you, mentally pleading for help and touching you with his magic, can't you just choose to help him then?

There was a pause.

And why, Hermione, Tom wrote, would I choose to do that?

Hermione bit her lip.

What do you want? Hermione asked. She was Slytherin; she knew how this game of exchanges and trades went.

A body, Tom responded immediately. I want a body again.

I can't just help you steal a body, Tom, Hermione argued. That's Dark magic, and I'm not doing it.

Then a construct of one. A temporary one, like before, Tom bargained. If I can't use magic in it like we suspect, what would be the possible risk? I get to stretch and feel alive for a little while, and you get what you need from me.

Hermione rubbed her eyes hard, pressing them back into her skull as she groaned.

She had the feeling that this was a very bad idea.

But what choice did she have?

A temporary body, she agreed, biting her lip. I'll drain my magic fully into you tonight and then mail Harry the diary with instructions. After the trial is over and I get you back, I'll do so for a full week, and you can keep the body for however long that lasts.

Her heart pounding with foreboding, she could almost see Tom Riddle's smirk as his words came across the page.

Agreed.

Chapter Text

Monday, June 21st dawned bright and warm, and Hermione took careful care getting ready that morning. Blaise had warned her that the Wizengamot would sometimes take steps to ensure witnesses weren't under any spells as they testified, which meant her hair jinxes might fail in front of everyone. Hermione did the best she could with her hair, using her mother's conditioner liberally and doing her best to make it set into some semblance of a style. She wasn't good at doing things with her hair, and she hated doing so, but the last thing she wanted was her hair to look like a long-haired hedgehog that had been electrocuted and set on fire.

Especially if the press would be there.

She chose a royal blue robe that morning, figuring it'd be better to not emphasize her Slytherin House now. Her green robe had seen enough use recently, anyway. She clipped the monarch butterfly into her hair, sparing a moment to wonder if that jinx would fail and it would flutter around her in the middle of court, and she made sure she had her wand.

She examined herself critically in the mirror. She looked grown-up and determined, though rather pale. She sighed.

"Might as well get this over with, Granger," she muttered.

The mirror said nothing back, giving no helpful advice. It was a muggle mirror after all, she supposed.

Hermione went down the stairs to the fireplace. She'd agreed to meet Harry in the Leaky Cauldron and go from there to the Ministry together, as Harry had never been. An Incendio had a small fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, and with a handful of Floo powder, the flames turned an emerald green. Hermione stepped in, making sure there was no actual wood in the fireplace as she did; the last thing she wanted was an abandoned fire to keep burning in an empty house in the middle of the summer.

"The Leaky Cauldon!"

Hermione kept her elbows tucked tightly to her sides as she whirled through the Floo network, images of fireplaces dizzying her as they flashed by. She finally stumbled out into the Leaky Cauldon, fighting for her footing as her head spun.

"Hermione! I've got you, I've got you—"

Hermione glanced up to see Harry at her side, steadying her. He gave her a sheepish smile.

"Thanks," Hermione said, grateful. "Floo's better than Portkeys, but only just."

Harry grinned.

"Most wizarding travel seems fairly horrible," he said. "I thought I was going to die the entire time I was on the Knight Bus here, with it banging and cracking and twisting all over."

Hermione laughed, and Harry grinned back at her.

"We're both here early. Excellent," Hermione said, looking at her watch. "I was worried. Come on – we need to make a stop."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked curiously, as Hermione led them out the back door, tapping her wand on the bricks behind the rubbish bins.

"Madame Malkin's," Hermione told him. She examined his robes. "You've grown a bit, and your school robe is too short. Plus, we're going to court – you need something nicer to wear."

Harry sighed.

"Might as well," he conceded. "We'll have to get something with bigger pockets, too. This journal you owled me is a tight fit in my own."

Hermione carefully said nothing about that.

Madame Malkin opened at 8am, giving them an hour before they were due in the Ministry courtrooms. She was delighted to help Harry find a more adult robe in a formal style.

"This here, I would suggest," she said, offering him one. "It comes with a belt to wear, and the neckline has a very masculine V cut. The sleeves are flared a bit, as is the bottom, but it's still distinctly a men's robe to wear."

Harry made a face. "If you're sure."

As he went off to go try it on, Madame Malkin exchanged a commiserating look with Hermione.

"If they're not born wearing robes growing up, they always think they all look like dresses unless they can leave them open," she sighed. "And an exposed underrobe or trousers is decidedly not appropriate for court."

When Harry emerged, he looked surprised. The robe was a rich navy blue.

"I like this one," he said. He held his arms up, looking at the sleeves. "This is actually comfortable. I don't feel like I'm going to trip."

Madame Malkin tutted. "You should never feel like you're going to trip in your robes. Those school uniform designs…"

Harry was happy to buy the robe and walk out of the store in it, his old robes stuffed into his left pocket and the diary tucked into the right. Harry had been smug to hear that men's robes typically came with expansion charms on the pockets, while Hermione had just been amused.

"The Ministry, next," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Back to the Leaky, I suppose…"

The Floo took them to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and Harry was gawking as soon as they stepped out. Wizards and witches bustled about, appearing from fireplaces all around them, and they had to hurry to step out of the way lest they get run over.

"This is mad," he breathed. "I didn't know there were this many people in the Ministry!"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I don't really know how many wizarding people there are, full stop."

While Harry was looking around, craning his head, Hermione was examining the large golden fountain before her in the center of the Atrium, which she'd never been up close to in person.

There was a very noble-looking wizard pointing his wand straight up in the air. Around him was a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf, the latter three of which were looking up at the witch and wizard adoringly.

Harry snorted. "Think the centaurs might have a problem with this?"

"I have a problem with this," Hermione sniffed. "Setting aside the grotesque racism for goblins, House Elves, and centaurs, it's sexist, too. The woman's not an equal focal point as the man. They've set her as higher than the other three, but still below the wizard."

Harry laughed.

"You'll have to make them get a new statue, then," he said, grinning. "C'mon. Let's go."

They made their way to the security booth, where a bored-looking wizard glanced at them.

"Wands, please," he asked.

Hermione and Harry handed over their wands, where the wizard weighed them on some sort of intricate scale.

"Name and purpose today?"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said. "Um. Witness in a trial?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said. "Err, same reason for me."

The wizard pushed a few buttons on another odd device, and there was a horrible rattling sound before two small pieces of metal were spat out. The wizard handed one to each of them.

"Please take your badge and attach it to the front of your robes," the man recited. Hermione took a moment to examine hers. It was a square silver badge, reading:

Hermione Granger
Trial Witness

She pinned the badge to the front of her robes.

"Enjoy your day at the Ministry of Magic," the wizard droned, handing them back their wands, "and have a pleasant day."

Hermione and Harry wound their way through the Ministry to the elevators.

"Do you know where we're going?" Harry asked.

"I got instructions from Millie," Hermione said. "We're to go down to Level 9 and wait for our attendant. We have to go past the Department of Mysteries to get to the Wizengamot Hearing rooms, and they won't want us just wandering around."

The lift was crowded and miserable, and it seemed to jump from floor to floor completely out of order. When they finally reached "Level 9 – Department of Mysteries" with a pleasant ding, both Hermione and Harry were relieved to escape the lift.

The Department of Mysteries bore a striking difference to the Atrium. The walls were black-tiled and bare, with no windows and no doors save a plain black one at the far end of the corridor. There were some torches littering the walls, but the entire area felt ominous and eerie. Hermione wondered just what the Department of Mysteries was responsible for.

"Oh, good, you're here!"

A frazzled-looking aide came hurrying up to them. He, too, wore a badge.

Killian Harper
Assistant to the Wand of the Realm

"Come now, come now," he said, looking incredibly stressed. "The Wand will want to talk to you about your testimony before the trial."

"It's just past 8:30am!" Harry objected. "If we were supposed to be here earlier, why weren't we told so?"

Killian shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Too late now. Come on, we have to hurry."

The aide led them down a flight of stairs from Level Nine to Level Ten. This level had rough stone walls, and the doors here were heavy and made of wood, with large iron bolts and keyholes.

"We're in Courtroom Four," he said. "You'll be on the Wand's side – here…"

He tapped a stone with his wand in a quick pattern, and a plain wooden door materialized on the wall. He pushed it open, ushering them inside.

"Come on, come on, I have to go and check something else—"

Hermione and Harry were let into what looked like a doctor's office waiting room. The walls were cream, it had bright lighting, and it had furniture scattered around. There was a painting on one of the walls of a mermaid singing to some birds. As she looked around, Hermione noticed one wall was completely empty save a heavy wooden door, and if she squinted, she could realize she could see through the wall.

"Clever, isn't it?"

Hermione whirled around to see smart-looking woman standing there, looking amused. She wore heavy rimmed glasses and had short blonde hair, and her robes were cut in such a way at the neck it almost looked like a muggle suit, albeit one made of black velvet with gold brocade.

"It's so witnesses can watch the trial," the woman said, nodding at the wall. "It'll be a clearer picture, once the trial starts. The Wizengamot is all still filing in right now."

"I'm sorry if I should know this already," Harry said, "but who are you?"

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"My name is Alexandra Jones," she said, giving them a short bow. "I serve as the Wand of the Realm."

"My name is Hermione Granger," Hermione said, giving her a short curtsy. "Please allow me introduce my companion, Harry Potter."

Hermione gestured to Harry, who looked confused. Alexandra looked amused.

"I'm Muggle-born, Hermione," she informed her. "You needn't stand on stuffy decorum with me."

That was a surprise to Hermione, though a pleasant one.

"Are you really?" she asked. "And you managed to become the Wand?"

"I went to muggle law school after Hogwarts," Alexandra said, raising an eyebrow. "It's helped me gain an edge over others, and when the last Wand retired, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement didn't hesitate to nominate me."

Hermione beamed.

"That's great!" she exclaimed. "Honestly, I'm really worried about my professional career opportunities – it seems like pureblood prejudice kind of infiltrates everything, doesn't it? It's great to see that you've made it so high."

Alexandra laughed.

"You will find, Hermione," she said, adjusting her glasses, "that even old-minded traditionalists find it difficult to stand in the way of a woman who really knows what she wants."

"So you're the 'wand'?" Harry asked. "What does that mean?"

"I'm essentially the Attorney General to the Crown, but the magical version," she explained. "The title is 'Wand of the Realm'. I'll serve as the prosecution in the trial today."

"Is there a barrister for the defendant?" Hermione inquired, and Alexandra looked to Hermione in brief surprise.

"There is," she said, her eyes darkening, "and he's a sneaky bastard if I've ever seen one. Ulfric Karlsson. He's good – but I'm better."

Abruptly, her eyes seemed to clear, and she refocused on them.

"For your testimony, you are going to be asked to recount the story of when you caught Rhamnaceae Rookwood as the Heir of Slytherin," she informed them. "You will be in a Truth Circle, so be prepared for that; you won't be compelled to spill out your guts – that'd be a major invasion of privacy – but you won't be able to lie." She adjusted her glasses. "The Defense will try to poke holes in your story, but so long as you're certain as to what you saw and did, you two should do fine."

There was movement on the other side of the faint wall; more and more people were filling up what looked like a small amphitheater.

"You'll be able to see and hear everything going on inside," Alexandra assured them. "Whenever you're called for, just come out. After you're done giving testimony, you'll be expected to stay in the courtroom, on the bench just behind me, in case you're recalled for later testimony. Got it?"

Hermione and Harry nodded, and Alexandra gave them a vicious grin.

"Trial of the year, this," she said. "Let's go get them."

She strode powerfully through the wooden door, Hermione watching her emerge on the other side through the hazy wall. More and more people were arriving, also in heavy velvet robes, and Hermione watched them climb up into their seats.

"Do you think they'll have you go first?" Harry asked. "Or me?"

Hermione considered.

"You, probably," she guessed. "They'll want you to establish that we heard her hissing at the wall, and then they'll want me to connect her to the Heir of Slytherin, I suspect."

Harry gave Hermione a worried look.

"Do you have a game plan here?" he said. "Are we doing the right thing?"

Hermione took Harry's hand, squeezing it. Harry looked down at it in surprise, before his eyes flew up to meet hers.

"I'll take care of that part, Harry," she assured him. She smiled. "You just share your part of the story, and leave the rest to me."

Harry gave her a soft smile. "If you say so, Hermione."

Soon, there was loud banging, and Hermione and Harry both sat down, watching through the blank wall, which grew much clearer. A familiar voice was booming for everyone to take their seats.

"Is that Dumbledore?" Harry said, surprised. "Is he here?"

"He's Chief Warlock for the Wizengamot," Hermione said. "I think that means he's like the judge?"

After everyone settled, the trial began.

Hermione was surprised by how much the format of the trial followed what she was accustomed to seeing of trials on the telly. The Wand of the Realm made a grand opening statement, denouncing Rhamnaceae Rookwood as the Heir of Slytherin, enemy to all and general all-around evil person who had risked the lives of all the students at Hogwarts. The Defense's opening statement denied the charges, insisting Rhamnaceae would never do such a thing, and that she had been under the influence of mental possession the entire time. It was an interesting defense, and purely a magical one, which Hermione found intriguing – was it similar to pleading insanity in a muggle court?

Harry was called as the first witness, and he shot Hermione an anxious look as he stood. Hermione gave him a reassuring smile, and Harry nodded, determined, before entering the courtroom through the door.

Someone helped Harry take his seat on a high stool in a heavy wooden sort of boxed-in podium, what Hermione figured must be the equivalent of a witness stand. She watched as Harry squirmed around, settling himself on the high seat.

"If you could say your name for the court?" Alexandra bid.

"My name is Harry James Potter," Harry said, glancing around. There was a murmur at his words.

"Mr. Potter, when did you first meet the accused, Rhamnaceae Rookwood?" she asked.

"Umm, I don't think I've ever met her properly?" Harry ventured. "But I first really encountered her on April 14th."

"Now, Mr. Potter, as best you remember it," Alexandra said, "can you tell us of the events of April 14th?"

"Err…" Harry said, glancing around. "Sure? Hermione met me outside class before lunch – Transfiguration, I think? – and we went down to lunch together. On the way, we passed her—" Here, Harry gestured to someone Hermione could not see "—near the bathroom that had the passage to the Chamber of Secrets. She was hissing at the wall, trying to call the basilisk."

"Objection!" the Defense called out, and there was a loud bang. "That's speculation!"

"Objection!" The Wand slammed her own hand on her desk. "Mr. Potter is a Parselmouth. He was able to understand what he heard being hissed."

"Objection overruled," came Dumbledore's voice. "Mr. Potter is, indeed, a Parselmouth. Please continue, Mr. Potter."

"Um, sure," said Harry. "So we heard her hissing in the hallway. Hermione accused her of hissing at the wall, and Rookwood denied it, so I spoke to her in Parseltongue, insisting she respond back in Parseltongue, which she did. We argued, and then she started cursing us."

"When you say you argued," Alexandra said, "what did you argue about?"

"Err, I think about speaking Parseltongue itself?" Harry said, scrunching his face up as he tried to remember. "But when she started blasting us with curses, that seemed pretty straight-forward, so Hermione and I tried to chase her down. We chased her into a room in the dungeons – there was a bunch of weird ritual stuff set up, and like a big thing of blood – and we were trying to pin her down and stop her when a bunch of teachers arrived."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Alexandra said. "Now, when you found her, you say she was trying to summon the basilisk. What makes you say this?"

"Well, I knew Hermione had slain the basilisk the previous night," Harry said, glancing at Hermione through the blank wall. "And I knew the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in the bathroom she was hissing around. And I could hear her and understand what she was saying."

"And based on this information, you concluded she was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I didn't really conclude anything," Harry said, "but I suspected. Why else would she be hissing around there?"

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." Alexandra took a seat, shooting a look at someone Hermione couldn't see. "Your witness."

"Thank you." A smooth, lightly accented voice took the stage. "Now, Mr. Potter, you say you were not well acquainted with Miss Rookwood?"

"That's right," Harry said. "She's a couple years older than me, and in a different house."

"So the first time you encountered her was that day?"

"Yes," Harry said defensively. "I already said that."

"So, Mr. Potter, given you do not know Miss Rookwood…" A blond man came into view, wearing his yellow blond hair in a smart ponytail over his black velvet robes. "…would you say you would be unable to determine if she was acting unlike herself?"

"Objection!" Alexandra slammed her hand down on her desk. "Calls for speculation!"

"Speculation on the part of his own mind?" Ulfric held his arms open, sardonically. "Is that really speculation, or just Mr. Potter's own thoughts?"

"The witness will answer the question," Dumbledore said from above.

Ulfric turned back to Harry triumphantly. Harry looked lost.

"Err, what am I answering?" he asked.

Ulfric sighed.

"Do you think you would be able to know if Miss Rookwood were acting unlike herself?"

"No," Harry said. "I do not."

Ulfric smirked.

"Now, you say you heard her speak Parseltongue, correct?" he continued.

"Yes," Harry said.

"And what did she say?"

"She said, 'Here, snakey snakey'," Harry hissed. Hermione noted he'd put his hand into his pocket, and his switch from English to Parseltongue was smooth. Hermione suppressed a smile – "here, snakey snakey" had been exactly what Blaise had been hissing in the hallway, making it hard for them not to laugh right from the start.

Ulfric looked thrown for a moment.

"Very good," he said. "And what would that be in English?"

"Um," Harry said. "There's not really a direct translation from Parseltongue, but she was calling for the basilisk. Or for a snake, at any rate."

Ulfric looked satisfied, but Hermione hadn't the slightest idea as to why.

"No further questions," the Defense said smugly, striding back to his seat.

"You may stand down, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said from above. "Please take your seat."

Hermione watched as Harry stood up, leaving the little box he'd been sitting in to go somewhere Hermione couldn't quite see. She stood up herself, nervously brushing off her robes, straightening the folds. She was going to be next, she knew. She was next.

"The Wand calls Hermione Granger to the stand," Alexandra said, her voice loud and clear.

Swallowing her nerves, Hermione stood, opened the door, and entered the courtroom.

Chapter Text

The first thing Hermione noticed was that the courtroom was more of an amphitheater than a traditional courtroom. Seats were ascending in a large U shape, with members of the Wizengamot seated behind small desks in the U. Dumbledore sat in the middle of the U shape, mid-distance from the floor and the top of the seats. On her left was Alexandra, sitting behind a fancy wooden desk, with Harry sitting behind her in a general seating area on a bench. On Hermione's right sat a yellow-blond man with his hair in a ponytail, who she now knew to be Ulfric Something-or-Other, the representative for the defense.

Near Ulfric, sitting in a box and wearing iron chains, was Rhamnaceae Rookwood.

Her eyes blazed at Hermione.

Hermione steadily took her seat on the high stool in the witness' box, fighting not to flinch.

"If you would introduce yourself to the court?" Alexandra bid her, standing at her desk in her dramatic velvet robes.

There was a tingle of magic around her, and Hermione realized this must be the Truth Circle activating. It wasn't compelling her to say anything, not really, but there was an odd feeling of waiting and tension around her, as if it was ready to leap on her if she started to make a false statement.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said carefully. The tense magic behind her stayed dormant, and Hermione relaxed slightly. She hadn't been compelled to give her full name, which meant the magic was just concerned with binary true/false statements, she guessed. That was a lot easier to work around than something that made sure everything she said was the full truth.

It also seemed to give a certain amount of reasonable leeway. Harry had been able to say 'she' and 'Rookwood' when he had been referring to someone else in Rhamnaceae's body. Hermione wondered just who had originally done the Truth Circle enchantment, and what sort of conditions had been set into it.

"Miss Granger, would you relate for us the dramatic events of April 13th and 14th?" Alexandra asked her.

Hermione bit her lip and took a deep breath.

"It started on Tuesday, when Draco Malfoy and Rhamnaceae Rookwood got into a fight…"

Hermione was very careful as she told her story, hoping any hesitation came off as nervousness of being on the stand. The objective truth here was very different from the apparent truth, and she had to be deliberate with her words and phrasing to convey what she wanted, here.

"I knew Draco had fought with Rookwood, and I hadn't seen him at dinner," Hermione said carefully. "And I knew Rookwood to have a bit of a temper…" She shrugged. "Harry went with me to search the corridors."

"And it was at this time you saw the basilisk capturing Draco Malfoy?" Alexandra prompted.

Hermione was relieved when she managed to nod. Apparently, the Truth Circle didn't judge body language.

"I started running after Draco," Hermione said, her mind racing as she chose her words. "I knew the monster was a basilisk already, but I couldn't just do nothing. When I got to the bathroom, I could see where the creature had gone, and I had Harry open up the sink with Parseltongue before telling him to go get Professor Snape, and I jumped down the pipe."

"And what happened next?"

"There was this sewer, and I lit up my wand to go through the tunnels," Hermione said, thinking back. "I followed tunnels to a giant stone chamber. There were huge pillars and a giant statue of Salazar Slytherin, so I figured it must be the Chamber of Secrets. Then—" she swallowed, "—there was a basilisk, and all of a sudden I was running around with my sword out, dodging it, screaming for Draco to close his eyes and hide behind a pillar."

She must have looked pale, because Alexandra gave her a sympathetic look.

"It must have been very scary," she said.

"Objection!" Ulfric snapped. "Speculation!"

Alexandra ignored him. "What happened then?"

"It was scary. It all happened so fast and it was so intense, but I managed to defeat the basilisk somehow," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I cut off its head, and I made sure Draco was alright. He was, but he was shaken. The professors came running into the chamber not long after, and that's when the reporter started talking to everyone and all the pictures were taken."

"And can you tell us of the events of April 14th?"

"I waited to meet Harry outside of Transfiguration before lunch," Hermione said promptly. "None of the other students knew I had defeated the monster. Professor McGonagall had decided it was too much of a risk until the Heir was caught; if the Heir knew their monster was gone, who knew what terrible thing the Heir would do next? So when I saw her—" Hermione gestured to the defendant's seat, "—hissing at the walls around the entrance to the Chamber, all the pieces fell into place."

"When you say 'the pieces fell into place', what do you mean?" the Wand prompted.

"I knew Draco had fought with Rookwood the previous day, before he'd— before he'd been taken to the Chamber," Hermione said, stumbling. She'd tried to say before he'd been abducted, but there had been a sharp pressing of magic and pressure on her lungs, and she hadn't been able to get the words out. Hermione cleared her throat, taking a deep breath, before she continued on. "When she—" Hermione gestured to the defendant's box again, "started throwing curses at us, Harry and I ran after her, fighting back."

"And what happened next?"

"We chased her into a room in the dungeons. There was a ritual set up there, maybe a last-resort protection thing? I dove to the side, dodging a curse and shooting one of my own, but the teachers arrived right after, and they cast something that bound her up."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Alexandra said. "Now: do you remember what was set up at the ritual?"

Hermione was careful with her words again.

"There was a circle of blood," she recalled, "and what looked like a fair amount of more blood in a container near her. There was a necklace, a pendant, that had a skull and snake on it, I think, and a tiny glass vial. I remember because when I tried to curse her, the vial spilled onto the skull, and suddenly it was melting."

"And because of all this, you believe Miss Rookwood to be the Heir of Slytherin and responsible for the attacks on your classmates?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I mean, who else would be able to speak Parseltongue?" she said. "I'd seen her fight with Draco, and then with the hissing at the wall… it didn't seem like a far-out conclusion to me."

Alexandra seemed satisfied with her equivocating answer.

"Your witness," she shot across the room as she took her seat, and Ulfric stood. He approached the witness box, giving Hermione a thin smile, and Hermione bit her lip and sat up straight.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Are you familiar with Rhamnaceae Rookwood?"

"That depends entirely on what you mean by 'familiar'." Hermione frowned. "It's certainly not as if we were friends, but I certainly knew who she was."

"Let me rephrase. When did you first meaningfully meet Miss Rookwood?"

From her seat, Hermione could see Rhamnaceae's eyes bulge in alarm. It was very clear her defender hadn't run this line of questioning past her. Hermione bit her lip, her breath stuck in her chest.

"That would be January 16th, 1992," she admitted.

Ulfric's eyes narrowed.

"That is a very specific date," he said.

Hermione shrugged. "It is."

"It is odd, Miss Granger, that you remember such a specific date," he said, circling her as he moved slowly across the room, "as to when you meaningfully met a random housemate."

"Objection!" Alexandra's hands slammed down onto her desk. "Speculation!"

"I'll withdraw," Ulfric said. "Miss Granger, why do you remember that date so specifically?"

Hermione closed her eyes.

What was she supposed to do here? She could filter the truth, say that she had been bullied and generalize, or she could give the whole truth, in front of the entire assembled Wizengamot. And she was in a Truth Circle – they would have to believe her, wouldn't they? They wouldn't be able to deny her claim now…

Nerves rattling in her chest, Hermione made her choice, and she reopened her eyes.

"On that Thursday night, Pansy Parkinson came to me, telling me that Professor Snape was looking for me and to follow her." Hermione's voice was steady, her eyes clear. "I was led to believe that he was going to give some sort of demonstration to a group of students, and I thought he was going to teach me something new for extra credit. Pansy led me into a room, where she locked the door behind her."

"Miss Granger, I'm sure your story is nice, but—"

"If you want to know why I remember this date, I'll tell you," Hermione cut the barrister off viciously, her eyes flashing. "Because waiting in that room was Rhamnaceae Rookwood, Alexia Rosier, Damon Rowle, Saunder Snyde, Peter Winickus, and Lilian Travers. They were mad about my perceived blood status and my parents, and they then proceeded attack me. They spit on me, kicked me, and cast so many cutting charms on me that I nearly died."

There was a gasp from the crowd, and Hermione watched as the barrister's face paled.

"I object to the witness' testimony," he said loudly. "This calls for speculation—"

"It doesn't," Hermione said viciously. The words were spilling out of her mouth now, all the pent-up anger and resentment she'd held for so long finally unleashed, and she couldn't stop herself if she tried. "Madame Pomfrey told me if I hadn't made it to get help, I could have died within half an hour from blood loss or my lacerated spleen. She had to heal my internal bleeding and broken ribs, and I had to take two Blood-Replenishing potions, I'd lost so much blood! And the group of them, the seven bullies, they had just left me on the dungeon floor to die, figuring Filch would find me sooner or later. The fact I nearly died was confirmed by the school Healer and Professor Snape – and with all due respect, sir, that means it's not speculation."

Hermione was breathing hard when she finished her tirade, her eyes burning as she glared at him, and there was murmuring in the crowd. Ulfric looked shaken – as he should be, Hermione figured. She imagined she'd hardly given him the response he'd anticipated to help establish she didn't know his client well.

"That is why I remember exactly what day it was," Hermione said flatly. Her eyes were sharp. "It was the day Rhamnaceae Rookwood organized a group attack on me, because she was upset I had been sorted into Slytherin, and it was the day I nearly died."

Ulfric clenched his jaw.

"Miss Granger, this is the first time this attack and accusation is on record – otherwise, my client would have been expelled or have such an attack reported on her school file," the defender pushed, trying to cast doubt on her statement. "If this is claim is true, why did you not file a report of the attack?"

"Because nothing would have happened," Hermione said, folding her arms and sitting back in her seat. "Nothing would have been done. I'm not stupid – I've seen how the wizarding world works. There were seven attackers, all with old, pureblood names, all of whom had undoubtedly ensured ahead of time that they would have solid alibis for the attacks. And then there was me – the first year Slytherin, a—"

Hermione coughed and choked for a moment, her eyes going wide, before she continued.

"—a New Blood, not someone with a name of any renown. And I felt that any report I made would have been questioned and ignored, and I would come off looking like the person who was lying or needy for attention."

"Objection!" Ulfric looked triumphant, now. "Chief Warlock, I object to her statement. The Truth Circle clearly activated during her statement!"

Dumbledore peered down at Hermione, looking at her over his glasses.

"Miss Granger," he said sternly. "What had you been about to say when the Truth Circle censured you?"

Hermione looked up at him, his gaze stern on her.

"I had been about to say 'Muggle-born'," she said truthfully. "I had been about to say 'Muggle-born', to describe their mindset, and found I could not."

There was a murmur in the crowd, whispers fluttering throughout the Wizengamot, and Hermione looked up at them all, her eyes hard.

"I fear we are getting off track here," Ulfric said, deflecting his failed objection. "Miss Granger, do you know Miss Rookwood well?"

"No," Hermione said. "All I know of her is her hatred for me, her ignorant blood supremacist attitude, and that she would take any chance to attack me that she had."

Ulfric ignored her bait that time, not asking about attacks. Pity. Hermione could have horrified the crowd with the story of her attack on her this past March, too.

"So would you say you would know if Miss Rookwood's behavior had changed and if she was acting abnormally or not?"

"That would depend very much on how she was acting," Hermione fired back. "If Rookwood were acting friendly and happy and trying to make friends with me, I would notice very much that she was acting abnormally. But if your differentiation is between her normal hatred of Muggleborns and desire to see me dead, and a behavior change to actively trying to attack the Muggleborns of the school, I daresay I wouldn't be able to see much of a difference." She sniffed. "If anyone even could."

Ulfric looked annoyed.

"So you are saying you would not know if she had been possessed by evil to open the Chamber," he said.

Hermione went to confirm, but the Truth Circle pressed in on her, and Hermione realized that she would know or not, because she did know how the Chamber was opened. She quickly changed tactics.

"I would not be surprised if Rookwood were possessed by evil," Hermione said, tossing her hair and holding her head high. "She certainly has the temperament for it. I will say this, though, sir – I do not think Rhamnaceae Rookwood was the one responsible for the attacks."

There was ripple of surprise and exclamations that went through the crowd at this, and Ulfric pounced on her remark.

"You are saying you believe she was mentally possessed?" he asked.

"I don't know much about mental possession or any of that, so I can't really comment on that," Hermione said defiantly, "but I think it's clear that something other than her was opening the Chamber and actually controlling the basilisk."

"And why is that?" Ulfric pushed.

Hermione's eyes met his, fire in her gaze.

"Because, sir, I am alive," she said, her eyes holding his. "And if the basilisk had truly been under Rhamnaceae's control, I would be dead."

There was a murmur in the crowd, and Ulfric hesitantly took a step back.

"No further questions," he said, uneasy. Hermione didn't blame him his disquiet; his client might have her defense work and get off of the charges, but it came at the expense of her reputation and her name.

"Miss Granger, you may step down," Dumbledore bid.

Hermione hopped down off the stool and went to sit next to Harry, who scooted over on the bench to allow her more room. As she took her seat, Harry reached over and took her hand, squeezing it tightly, and Hermione realized she was shaking.

The Trial continued on, Alexandra and Ulfric bickering over the validity of some evidence one of them wanted submitted, but Hermione felt numb to it. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for faces she could recognize as she tuned the legal argument out. To her surprise, there were more than just a few people she knew looking back at her.

Rhamnaceae was looking at her, which Hermione had expected – she'd just defended her on the stand, after all, which Hermione presumed she had not been expecting. Hannah Abbot and Neville Longbottom were there, for example, sitting next to their representative family members, as was Ernie Macmillan, and Hermione wondered if every classmate who could had wanted to attend alongside their parent today just to get the gossip. As she looked around, Hermione met Millie's horrified gaze from across the room, and she winced. She'd once told her Slytherin friends that she could have died from the bullying that night, but she'd never really gone into specifics.

Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott were there also, sitting alongside their fathers, as was Pansy Parkinson, who was looking pale as a ghost. The full implications of what she had said on the stand suddenly hit Hermione, and she quickly looked through the crowd, finding Damon Rowle and Alexia Rosier in the assembly as well. Lilian was not present, though her father was – presumably still recovering from her stint being Petrified, Hermione supposed. Damon was sitting very still next to his father, looking at the ground, and it looked like Alexia's father was quietly furious at her, hissing at her angrily while the girl flinched.

"The Wand calls Draco Malfoy to the stand."

Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy made his way down through the stands to the witness' chair. He too looked rather pale, glancing at Hermione as he made his way down, but then again, Draco always looked pale.

"Can you state your name for the court?"

Draco's testimony didn't add much, and Hermione suspected the Wand hadn't been anticipating on needing it. Alexandra just wanted another witness to emphasize that Rhamnaceae had quarreled with Draco to reestablish her motive more clearly, seeing as Hermione had clearly mucked that up with her own testimony.

He did a fair job communicating of what the Wand clearly wanted him to. He relayed his argument with Rookwood, what he remembered of being captured ("I banged my head," he'd said, "so I can't remember much of that part"), and how Hermione had come to save him. He also put forth the theory that Rhamnaceae had insisted the basilisk attack him because she was infuriated from their argument, but the basilisk had been unable to because he was a pureblood.

"Up until then, the attacks were all on—" he coughed here for a moment, his eyes going wide, before continuing, "were mostly on those of non-pure blood. Travers was the only exception. It would make sense that the basilisk wouldn't want to kill me."

The defense's cross-examination didn't accomplish much; Ulfric established that no, Draco didn't know Rookwood rather well, and that he'd only really fought with her the one time that day. He wouldn't have been able to tell if she was under the influence of something evil.

With that, the Prosecution rested, and it was the Defense's turn next.

"We will resume after lunch," Dumbledore declared, banging his gavel and standing up. "Please be back here promptly at one. All of you, please return – you might be called back to clarify your testimony."

Hermione stood with Harry, who was still holding her hand. She looked at him, and Harry flushed and quickly dropped it. Hermione gave him a smile.

"Thanks for that," she said quietly. "Maybe more 'traditional escort' now, though?"

Harry made a face. "I hate playing stuffy in front of stuffy people."

Hermione laughed. "I don't think I've ever seen you bother."

She wove her hand through Harry's arm, careful of her hand placement, and together they exited the courtroom, heading up in the crowd to the Atrium toward the Ministry's cafeteria.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Millie and Daphne dashing after her, shoving their way into the closing elevator, much to the grumbling of everyone else who was already packed inside.

"We're going to Diagon Alley for lunch," Daphne informed them. "The cafeteria here is awful."

"Is that alright by you?" Millie asked. "Did you have other plans?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not really. Diagon Alley's fine."

"Fine by me," Harry said. He paused. "…I'm coming too, right?"

Hermione squeezed his arm under her hand and gave him a smile. "Of course."

Millie pushed her way through the crowds to a Floo, and Hermione and Harry and Daphne followed her through to the Leaky Cauldron and through the crowds of Diagon Alley. Hermione quickly spotted Tracey and Blaise sitting at a large table, apparently waiting, and Tracey leapt to her feet upon seeing them, quickly going to Hermione, her eyes large.

"How did it go?" she demanded, taking her hands. "Is everything okay? Gossip on the street is that it was intense. What happened there?"

Hermione gave her a small smile.

"Can I at least sit down first?" she said. "And then we'll tell you all?"

There was a shuffle at the table as seats were claimed, and Hermione found Blaise somehow sitting on her left, Harry having taken a seat to her right. Blaise's gaze met hers as the others bickered over what to get for appetizers, concern shining in his bright eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly, and Hermione took a deep breath.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, "but I will be."

Blaise gave her a half hug, squeezing her to his side for a moment, looking down at her.

"If you need anything," he said, his eyes holding hers, "just tell me."

Hermione smiled. "I will."

After appetizers had been decided on (Daphne and Tracey had just ordered for them all), the gossip of the trial began. Hermione was relieved when Daphne took the reins, relating Harry's and Hermione's testimony to Tracey and Blaise.

It was interesting to watch her friends' reactions as an observer, Hermione thought. Blaise and Tracey had obviously been in on the framing of Rookwood, so their concerns and surprise lay in other areas than the average listener would have. Tracey was fairly good at reacting at the appropriately dramatic parts she was supposed to, but Hermione could see her relief when Daphne related what Harry had said that had covered their tracks. Blaise sat like a stone, his eyes flashing at certain points, but Hermione couldn't read much from his reactions at all.

At some point during Daphne's dramatic recounting, Theo and Draco joined their table silently, which warranted a quick glance, but Daphne then turned to relating to them Hermione's testimony.

This time, the reactions from Tracey and Blaise were real. Tracey's gasp of horror was genuine, and Blaise's shocked look as he turned to look at Hermione was filled with fear and worry and panic, his eyes pleading with her to deny that it hadn't happened.

Hermione had to wince and look away.

"It was surreal," Daphne breathed. "I know I was shocked. Everyone was. I don't think anyone would have believed her, if it hadn't come up in the Truth Circle. And Alexia and Rowle were right there…"

"It was very, very dramatic," Millie summed up. "And it was awful to hear. To know that Hermione…"

She trailed off, and Daphne cleared her throat and carried on. "Anyway…"

She explained how the rest of Hermione's testimony had more indicated Rhamnaceae's innocence fairly definitively by using her own cruelty, and Hermione saw several smirks at that, which pleased her. Tracey and Blaise were Slytherin; they could understand and appreciate the underhanded artistry of freeing an enemy by damning them with their own chains.

"The Defense is up next, after lunch," Daphne said. "I wonder what Rookwood's team has got up their sleeve."

"If I had to guess, they'll call the Aurors to testify," Draco said, his voice one of certainty. "My father heard that they found a really Dark artifact at the scene, and I bet that's what they'll argue possessed her."

"What kind of artifact?" Theo wanted to know.

"No idea." Draco shook his head. "Apparently, it's Top Secret. They might even kick everyone not strictly on the Wizengamot out to discuss it if necessary."

"Oh wow," Tracey said, her eyes going wide. "It really is Top Secret, then."

As appetizers arrived, they all discussed what might happen after lunch in the trial, passing various trays of snacks around. It wasn't exactly relaxed conversation, but it was nicer than Hermione had thought – she'd been afraid of being pumped for more details of her attack from last January.

Harry seemed cautiously okay with the situation. Hermione did her best to reassure him, smiling at him and inviting him to join the conversation from time to time. She realized that being seated at a table of entirely Slytherins was probably a little jarring, but over time, Harry seemed to become more and more relaxed. She was surprised into delighted laughter when Harry exchanged witty barbs with Theo, Harry turning to give her a sheepish grin while Theo and Blaise roared. Hermione beamed at him while the others laughed; Harry fit in with her classmates and friends rather better than she'd thought.

"How long will the trial go, do you think?" Tracey asked. "I want all the details, but I don't want to be just hanging around the Alley until late…"

"I imagine it'll wrap up around four or five," Draco said. "Wizengamot sessions typically don't go all day, but trials are an irregularity. They'll want to get out as soon as they can."

"We could just plan to meet back here at six, then," Millie suggested. "That way you can go home and then come back."

"Yes, but then I won't know what happens right after the trial," Tracey whined. "I want to know first."

"Then you'll just have to wait around in the Alley then, won't you?" Millie challenged, and Tracey huffed.

"We'll meet back here at six," Blaise confirmed. "You can start showing up earlier than that, if you want. But we'll all meet here at six, alright?"

Hermione bit her lip. Strictly speaking, she was grounded from seeing her friends. But if she was already out for the day for legal things, and they would be discussing legal things at dinner…

"Sure," she agreed. "I'll be here."

Chapter Text

Hermione noticed she was getting rather more stares than she had been expecting as they returned to the courtroom, she and Harry retaking their seats.

"Why are they staring now?" Hermione groused. "I already gave my testimony."

Harry looked at her with empathy in his eyes.

"No idea, but I'm sorry," he said, commiserating. "I know it's awful. Hopefully something else will come up that they'll want to stare at instead."

Luckily, it wasn't long in coming; as soon as the trial resumed, Ulfric stood, looking calm and prepared.

"The Defense calls Alastor Moody to the stand."

There was a loud murmur through the crowd as people sat up straighter, looking interested, and a grizzled old Auror came out from the door closer to the Defense's side, one eyeball whirling around in its socket.

"He was there, in the room," Harry whispered. "I remember his eye."

Hermione could remember him all too vividly too.

"State your name and who you are for the record, please," Ulfric prompted.

"I'm Alastor Moody, Auror for over fifteen years," he growled. "Can we get on with it? Everybody knows my name."

"My apologies," Ulfric said with a smooth smile. "Protocol, you know. Mister Moody, will you tell us what happened on afternoon of April 14th?"

"Some of it," Moody snapped. "Other parts you're not cleared to know."

Ulfric continued smiling. "What you can tell us, then."

Moody looked highly annoyed to be there at all.

"Fudge asked me to come out of retirement to help figure out the Chamber of Secrets mess after the Travers girl was attacked," he said curtly. "I'd been investigating into old Death Eater's heirs and bloodlines for potential culprits when we got word the monster had been defeated. I insisted on going along, and before we were to go down to the Chamber, suddenly these kids were sprinting and shooting spells in the hallway, hissing in Parseltongue as they dueled."

"I went after them, of course," Moody said, "and when I got there, Rookwood there was already bound up."

"And when you arrived," Ulfric prompted, "what did you find?"

Moody growled.

"A Dark ritual, set up to snap into place," he said darkly. "It's an old Dark protection ritual, one that's fatal to people who try to break through the shield it sets up. She didn't get to enact it, though – the other kids were still dueling her before she could, I heard."

"What else?"

Moody gave him a nasty look.

"I found a very Dark object," he spat.

"Which was?"

Moody looked furious, like he was very carefully choosing his words.

"It was that pendant," he finally. "The pewter one of the Dark Mark."

"A pendant?" Ulfric's voice had a false innocence to it. "How could a pendant possible be a very Dark object?"

"That's classified," Moody shot back, and Ulfric looked smug.

"If it is classified, then," he said, "perhaps you can give us the unclassified details. In your expert Auror opinion, with over 15 years of experience in the field, do you think such a Dark object would be capable of mentally possessing a fifteen-year-old girl?"

"Without a doubt," Moody growled. "100%."

There was a shocked murmur through the crowd.

"Just to clarify," Ulric said, "you are saying that if Rhamnaceae Rookwood had been wearing this pendant, it could have mentally possessed her somehow through its Dark magic?"

"That is exactly what I am saying and you know it," Moody snarled. "You just wanted me to repeat it, you scoundrel."

There was a tittering in the crowd, and Dumbledore hit his gavel.

"Alastor, please treat everyone with respect in this courtroom." There was a sigh in Dumbledore's voice, and Hermione wondered how much interaction he'd had with Moody before.

Moody just glared at Dumbledore, defiant. Ulfric seemed unfazed by the snide comments.

"No more questions," he said, shooting a challenging smirk at Alexandra, who immediately stood from her desk.

"Mister Moody, in your expert opinion as an acclaimed Auror of over fifteen years, do you think Rhamnaceae Rookwood is responsible for the attacks at Hogwarts with the basilisk?"

"Yes," Moody said emphatically, his eyes alight with hatred. "Dark object be damned, it's a necklace. She'd have to have put it on for it to have worked and possessed her, and if she was choosing to be possessed by a Dark object, that's on her, 'innit? Where'd she get it? The necklace couldn't have given it to her itself. And she had a flask of blood from You-Know-Who – the necklace certainly didn't get that for her!"

There was a loud clamor at that, people looking around with wide eyes and talking wildly. Dumbledore banged the gavel several times for silence, and eventually the crowd quieted.

Even Alexandra looked shaken by that pronouncement, but she determinedly carried on.

"Do you have any idea where she might have gotten such things?" Alexandra asked.

"I don't know where she got them," Moody growled, shooting a dark look at the defending barrister, "but if I had to venture a guess, her uncle Augustus who's a rotting Death Eater in Azkaban might have had something to do with it."

"Objection!" Ulfric banged his fists on the table. "Speculation!"

"Objection! The witness is offering his expert opinion as an Auror!"

"Objection! The witness is clearly biased – he was the one who arrested Augustus Rookwood!"

As the two lawyers approached Dumbledore's desk to argue, Harry turned to Hermione, his eyes wide.

"Voldemort's blood, Hermione?" he hissed. "How did you get that? I thought he was dead!"

Hermione bit her lip hard.

"I will tell you this summer," she promised, keeping her voice low. "It's a complicated story, but I will tell it to you, I promise. But not here."

Harry looked at her with open suspicion, which made Hermione's heart crack.

"Can you summarize?" he challenged.

Hermione thought.

"I got it from the real Heir," she said finally. "He's not a threat anymore; I took care of that. But I did get his blood."

Whatever Harry had been expecting her to say, it wasn't that. He looked very puzzled for a few moments, before his green eyes were sharp on hers.

"Does the Heir want to kill me?" Harry asked quietly.

"Not to my knowledge," Hermione responded honestly. "And at any rate, he's locked away, and he doesn't even have magic anymore."

Harry looked satisfied by that.

"You make it really hard to trust you sometimes, Hermione," he said, shaking his head. "If wasn't certain you'd defend me with your life…"

Hermione was surprised. "You think I'd defend you with my life?"

Harry's lips quirked. "Wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, but—"

Harry laughed and took her hand again, squeezing it.

"You rescued me from my relatives, and you bound yourself to me in the coven," Harry said. "I reckon you'd risk your life to save any of us in the coven bond, Hermione, without even pausing to think."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I probably would."

Harry grinned at her, squeezing her hand again.

"And that," he said, "is why I trust you. You might get up to some dodgy sneaky Slytherin stuff, Hermione, but your heart's in the right place."

The bickering over Moody's testimony went on a long time. After his suspicions were struck from the record, the defense challenged the validity of the blood found at the scene, and a representative from the Department of Mysteries had to be summoned to come up, testifying on how they had ascertained that the blood had indeed come from the Dark Lord.

Hermione was surprised when the Unspeakable testified that they had been able to tell the blood was from when he was sixteen years of age, which she found fascinating. How had they been able to ascertain his age? She'd have thought they traced magical signature or DNA or the depth of darkness somehow. Maybe his darkness wasn't as dark yet, so they had estimated sixteen?

This reveal helped Ulfric's case, as he now argued that because the blood was so old, it could clearly have been hidden somewhere in the castle to be used by the next person to come along and open the Chamber. Alexandra had objected, arguing that it could have just as easily been passed from Death Eater to Death Eater, waiting for the right time for it to be used, and the two bickered, calling frequent objections on the other as the evidence was discussed.

Hermione found it odd how they were all just now just assuming it had been the Dark Lord who opened the Chamber the first time. Or were they? Or was invoking You-Know-Who just sort of carte blanche to blame all things Dark magic things on?

The last witness was Rhamnaceae herself. Ulfric guided her through her testimony, having her recount her lack of memories around each of the attacks, from Halloween up through the one on Professor Burbage, before finally moving on to Malfoy.

"I don't know where I was," she admitted. "I remember the argument with Malfoy, but the next afternoon… I don't remember where I was after Potions," she said, shaking her head. "It's all empty, just kind of a blur. I only realized I was in the middle of a fight when all of a sudden Granger was cursing me, there was blood all around, and the necklace was hissing in front of me as it melted."

"And this is all you recall?"

"I don't remember any of the attacks," Rhamnaceae insisted. "And I couldn't have been controlling the monster – I would have never attacked Lilian! She's one of my best friends!"

Ulfric looked satisfied.

"Miss Rookwood, do you believe your actions were controlled by this Dark pendant?"

Rhamnaceae's eyes flew to Hermione's, and Hermione's eyes widened.

Oh no…

It was clear that Rhamnaceae didn't believe it, not one bit. She blamed Hermione for it, she knew it was her behind it somehow, maybe from Hermione's remarks to her as she was being carried away, maybe for her bet against Lilian before Christmas. But to say that now… to say that now, when blaming the pendant might be the only thing to get her off free…

"I don't remember anything to really say what I did or did not do at all around the attacks," Rhamnaceae said finally. "All I can really say is apparently I was speaking Parseltongue, and now I can't do that. And it was as if I was transported from right after Potions class into the middle of being cursed by Potter and Granger while the Dark object was destroyed in front of me."

Pleased, Ulfric nodded and turned to Alexandra. "Your witness."

Alexandra wasted no time, sweeping to her feet in her black velvet robes, standing with her arms folded.

"Miss Rookwood," she said. "If you could have used the basilisk to attack Hermione Granger, would you have done so?"

Rhamnaceae's eyes sharpened.

"I didn't have control of anything, didn't you hear?" she spat. "I don't remember any of it—"

"That is not what I said," Alexandra interrupted, her voice clear. "I am not saying that you could have. I am inquiring into the purely hypothetical. If you could have used the basilisk to attack Hermione Granger, Miss Rookwood, would you have done so?"

Rhamnaceae gnashed her teeth.

"Yes," she admitted finally. "Yes, okay?! I hate her! I would have, if I had actually been the Heir."

She glared defiantly at Hermione, who did not move.

"And if you were told that that power would be given to you, if all you needed to do was don and trust a strange necklace, would you have clasped it around your neck?" Alexandra continued. "How much would your hatred have motivated you?"

Rhamnaceae looked torn at that one, struggling as a battle of emotions fought across her face.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I don't know. But if that choice was ever offered to me, I certainly don't remember it."

"Then I have no further questions."

Alexandra returned to her seat, and Ulfric stood.

"The Defense rests," he said.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, banging his gavel loudly. "My fellow Wizengamot members, the time has come to render judgement. Madam Wand, Mister Karlsson, please proceed with your closing arguments."

Both of the barristers stood, and the Wizengamot all shifted, seeming to sit up straighter, their eyes alert, and they each picked up a paddle from their desk. Dumbledore looked out at the courtroom, evaluating, before his eyes returned to the floor, taking in the prosecution and defense standing at the ready. Hermione sat up straighter too, watching, her eyes wide.

"You may begin," Dumbledore bid.

It was nothing like she had expected.

Immediately, it became apparent that Wizarding Court did not have traditional closing arguments as Hermione was accustomed to. Instead, it was more a live debate, with the Wand and the Defense hurling insults and accusations and defenses back and forth. As they fought, members of the Wizengamot began raising their paddles. Some of them raised them showing a white side, others a black side, and Hermione realized they were voting on the verdict live, whilst the barristers were fighting.

The room seemed fairly split at the start. Some people immediately raised their paddles as white, Hadrian Rookwood, Rhamnaceae's father, being one of them, and Hermione was somewhat aghast he hadn't been forced to recuse himself. Travers and Yaxley also raised theirs as white, but Madam Longbottom and several other around her were quick to raise their own as black.

The barristers continued arguing furiously as more paddles went up.

"—clearly wanted to kill all the Muggleborns in the castle, she even organized an attack one as a first year—"

"—had no control over what was going on, blood prejudice or not—"

"—obviously cruel enough to knowingly don a Dark artifact—"

"—cannot hold her accountable for her actions under mental possession—"

"I didn't do it!" Rhamnaceae burst out from the Defense table, her own arguments joining the fray. "I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't do it!"

To Hermione's surprise, Dumbledore seemed unfazed by Rhamnaceae's outburst, nor was he phased by Moody's, which came from the bench behind the Defense, as their witness.

"Your uncle is a Death Eater, and your family is filth and stained," he snarled. "That Dark of an artifact – and you don't even know what you'd gotten your hands on, you evil little—"

"—without proof of where the artifact was found, you cannot assume—"

"—testified he heard her speaking Parseltongue and calling the basilisk, what more evidence do you need?!"

More and more paddles went up, and Hermione felt her chest clench as more and more of them rose black. There was panic in Rhamnaceae's eyes, real panic, and Hermione felt her heart pound.

"I didn't do it!" Rhamnaceae shrieked. "You can't send me to Azkaban, you can't, you can't!"

Before she'd fully realized what she was doing, Hermione had leapt up onto the wide wooden railing in front of her.

"Rookwood might be evil, but she did not do this," Hermione yelled. "If she had done it, she would, without a doubt, have come after me."

Rhamnaceae's gaze darted to her, mixed with shock and panicked relief, and she seized the lifeline Hermione was throwing her.

"That's right! If I had had control of it, I would have tried to kill Granger, ask anyone—"

"She'd already nearly killed me once – it's clear if she had any control of the basilisk, she would have come after me again—"

"—never have attacked Lilian, my best friend! I would have tried to get Granger—"

"—anyone could have tossed the necklace over her head, but if she had put it on, she'd have come after me—"

The arguing continued, now with two teenage girls shrieking over the fray. Even as she yelled, Hermione could see the surprise on the faces of those in the Wizengamot, the shock that she was arguing for the one who had nearly killed her before, and to Hermione's relief, more and more paddles began rising as white.

Abruptly, there was a loud DONGGG, and all noise ceased. The Wizengamot all looked around at each other, trying to count paddle colors, but it was close.

"Rhamnaceae Rookwood, by a vote of 29 to 20…" Dumbledore said, his voice booming. He paused, his eyes fixed on the shaking girl. "…the Wizengamot has found you innocent."

Rhamnaceae collapsed in on herself, shaking in relief. Dumbledore's face was inscrutable.

"Miss Rookwood, you are cleared of all charges and free to go. This Trial is adjourned," he said, banging his gavel loudly.

Immediately, Wizengamot members began rising, gossiping and arguing amongst themselves. Ulfric Karlsson looked like he's just run a marathon, his hair wild and his ponytail messy, while Alexandra looked exhilarated.

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" she said, turning to Hermione and Harry. Her eyes were bright, alive. "What a trial. I don't think I've had that exciting of a time in a while!"

"You – you're not upset you lost?" Harry ventured.

"No, why would I be?" Alexandra asked, cocking her head. "My job is to argue for the Ministry. In this case, the Wizengamot decided for the Defense, but that didn't mean I didn't do my absolute best." She shrugged. "She probably did get possessed by whatever secret Dark artifact it was. The point about her killing Hermione was a good one."

Harry gaped at her. "But if you thought she was innocent, why didn't you—"

"It's my job to make the argument for the Ministry, isn't it? Regardless of my personal opinion—"

Tuning out Harry and the Wand, Hermione left the seats and ventured over to the witness box, where Rhamnaceae Rookwood was sobbing quietly, curled up on herself in relief. Her eyes flew up to Hermione's, widening in alarm, but Hermione merely held out a hand.

"You're trembling," she said quietly. "Do you need help to stand?"

Rhamnaceae eyed her hand with open suspicion, but Hermione kept her face neutral, waiting with her hand outstretched.

After nearly a full minute, abruptly, Rhamnaceae took it, and Hermione helped haul her to her feet.

"They weren't keeping you in Azkaban, were they?" she asked, working to help detangle the other girl from her chains, which had unlocked when the verdict was pronounced.

"N-no, I was remanded to my parents' house with a magical monitor—" Rhamnaceae fussed with the chains, throwing them to the floor as soon as she got them off. Her eyes darted to Hermione's face once she was free, sharp with alarm and wary. "Why are you helping me? Why did you help me? You know I hate you…"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I also knew you were innocent," she said quietly. "And I would not wish Azkaban upon even my worst enemy."

Rhamnaceae stared at her.

"Then why did you do all this?" she demanded. "Why— all the attacks, the blood, the everything—"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said coolly, folding her arms. "Your mental possession is hardly my responsibility, Rhamnaceae, so you'll need to work through your guilt on your own. But now you'll have time to do that on your own – you certainly won't be let back into Hogwarts after this."

Rhamnaceae's eyes widened, and Hermione continued.

"While you were preoccupied with the possibility of going to Azkaban, you were formally expelled from Hogwarts," she informed the older girl. "And with the truth of your attack on me publicly coming to light in Truth Circle, I sincerely doubt Dumbledore would approve you as a student if you reapplied."

Rhamnaceae stared at Hermione for a long moment.

"I don't understand," she said finally.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You don't have to," she said.

"I would have killed you," Rhamnaceae went on. "I—I hated you. A Muggle-born in Slytherin – I couldn't stand it. But you—how did you—?"

She gestured vaguely, and Hermione just looked at her.

"I'm New Blood," she said finally. "I do things a bit differently."

Rhamnaceae just stared at her, while Hermione stared back.

"Ah, if you would pardon me?"

Hermione turned to see a tall man with dark hair and slightly pinched features. His eyes and nose were Rhamnaceae's, though, and Hermione stepped aside as Rhamnaceae threw herself upon her father, bursting into tears.

"Oh, Papa, I was so scared—!"

"I know, my flower," Hadrian Rookwood soothed, rubbing her back. "It's all over now, dove, it's okay now."

Rhamnaceae sniffled into her father's chest, and Hadrian turned to look at Hermione, who did not move.

"My daughter would have been lost had you not defended her," he said quietly. "I was counting the paddles. Your arguments saved her, and I will not forget."

That sounded more like an ominous threat than a promise of gratitude, but Hermione merely nodded and drifted away, saying nothing. She crossed the room again and leaned back against the railing she'd leapt onto before, feeling drained of her energy. Harry came up to her, touching her arm to get her attention, and Hermione immediately relaxed into him, slumping against his side.

"What a day, wasn't it?" she said, exhausted. "I don't know what I was expecting, really…"

"But it wasn't that?" Harry said, giving her a commiserating grin. "That was mad. Wizards all seem to do things a bit madly, really."

Hermione snorted, and Harry grinned.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes flew up to see Lucius Malfoy looking down at her, his eyes fixed upon her. Draco was hovering behind him nearby, looking tense and wary.

"What an interesting trial," Lucius said.

Hermione took a deep breath and tossed her hair, straightening up.

"Indeed it was," she coolly returned.

"And what shocking results have come out," Lucius continued. "The Rookwood girl being possessed, procuring the blood of the Dark Lord from nowhere, to say nothing of her attack on you…" His eyes fixed on her. "…and then you come to her defense at the eleventh hour, saving her from a guilty fate."

"Very dramatic," Hermione agreed, raising her eyebrows. "At least it's all over now."

"Is it?" Lucius inquired, his tone deceptively light. "After all, there's no knowledge of where the cursed pendant came from, nor where she managed to get an ampule of the Dark Lord's blood."

His eyes glinted at her, dark with malice.

"Maybe she asked him very nicely," Hermione said sweetly, "and the Dark Lord said 'yes'."

Draco snorted from behind his father. "Are you saying Rookwood actually just up and asked the Dark Lord for his blood—"

"Silence, Draco," Lucius snarled, and Draco abruptly fell silent, his eyes large.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Hermione told Draco, meeting his eyes, not looking at his father. "Oh, by the way, Harry – can I have my book back?"

"What? Oh, sure. Here—"

Harry passed the diary over to her under Lucius Malfoy's keen eye, and Hermione tucked it into her pocket with nary a care in the world, before giving him a sweet smile.

"Regardless of where she may have gotten it, I find I don't care where she got the Dark artifacts from," Hermione said lightly. "What matters is that she has them – sorry, had them – and they managed to control her instead of her managing to control them."

She gave Lucius Malfoy a cool look, and his face twisted with poorly concealed hatred.

"Who are you?" he hissed. "How can you dare—"

"Didn't you hear, Mister Malfoy?" Hermione said, her eyes glinting. Her smile was predatory, like that of a panther lurking to strike. "I'm New Blood. The rules are a bit different for me."

Lucius Malfoy looked like he wanted to hit her, but he finally twisted his body away abruptly, restrained rage in his jerky movements.

"Come, Draco," he bid, but Draco hesitated.

"Father, I was going to meet up with Theo afterwards in the alley—"

"Fine. Be home by nine," his father snarled. His eyes shot to Hermione. "And watch who you associate with, Draco."

Hermione smiled sweetly at Lucius and waved him a light good-bye as he stormed off. Draco looked like he could finally breathe again as his father left them, and Theo joined them shortly thereafter, followed by Millie and Daphne. They watched as Hadrian Rookwood escorted his shaking daughter from the courtroom in relief, everyone gradually filing out.

"Well, shall we?" Daphne prompted. "I'm sure the others are dying to know what happened."

"If Tracey hasn't somehow already found out," Millie grumbled, and the heavy anxiety around them all slowly dissolved into faint laughter as they made their way to the Floo.

Chapter Text

Dinner was much more lighthearted than lunch had been, with the tension of the trial finally over. Daphne led the way to a restaurant near the intersection of Horizont Alley and Carkitt Market that had outdoor seating, where she promptly claimed a large table. They each ordered an actual dish to eat this time, chatting and talking while they waited. Draco had been put out when Blaise claimed the seat to Hermione's left again, but he sulked and sat a few over, across the round table from her so he could meet her eyes when conversing. Harry stayed close to her side, sitting again to her right, as if she could protect him from all the surrounding Slytherins by keeping her close.

Hermione was mildly surprised to see that Crabbe and Goyle had somehow gotten word and come along, joining the table near Theo and Draco, though they didn't add much to the conversation, busy stuffing their faces with rolls. Daphne and Millie took over the dramatic retelling, relating Moody's testimony, what Rhamnaceae had said, and the dramatic result at the end.

"It was only 'cause Hermione started arguing for her that Rookwood went free," Millie finished. "It was a close vote, and it was leaning toward guilty before she spoke up."

"You spoke for her to go free?" Blaise looked down and held her eyes, and Hermione shrugged.

"She's already been expelled, hasn't she?" she said lightly. "She doesn't deserve Azkaban for something that's not her fault."

"I beg to differ," Blaise said vehemently, fire burning in his eyes. "She almost killed you."

"Her and six others," Hermione reminded him. "And that was over a year ago. Another time, another crime."

Blaise looked like he would have very much preferred Rhamnaceae be flayed alive rather than go free regardless of which crime, and his face darkened as he sulked. "Fine."

"Hermione is merciful and kind," Tracey teased her, making Hermione's face flush. "Making sure the punishment matches the crime."

"She didn't need to go to Azkaban," Hermione objected, and Tracey laughed.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," she said, her eyes mischievous. "I'm just pointing out your kindness and mercy."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Tracey and Millie laughed.

"You really shook a lot of people today," Daphne told Hermione. "After lunch, I heard them. The old families were all buzzing about you being New Blood and what it meant."

Hermione was surprised. "Were they really? I mean, I noticed all the staring."

"Hermione, you couldn't say you were a Muggle-born in the Truth Circle," Millie pointed out. "You could only call yourself 'New Blood'. That's a pretty big deal."

"But I've been saying I'm New Blood all along," Hermione argued. "It was in the paper. What makes this any different?"

"This time, the Sacred Twenty-Eight all witnessed your claim, which was verified by the magic in a Truth Circle established centuries ago," Daphne said, her eyes wide. "Hermione, to many people, this is their first proof of your claim."

Hermione wondered if that was a good thing or bad thing. She was only thirteen, really – was she really ready to have the Sacred Twenty-Eight fully aware of her claims of being a New Blood?

Well, either way, it was too late now.

"—going to get her elected as Youth Representative to the Wizengamot," Tracey was saying happily. "She's the Heroine of Hogwarts, after all, and the smartest in the class. And she's Slytherin – when's the last time a Slytherin student got chosen to represent us?"

"That's not a bad idea," Theo said, musing. "Generally, it's been whatever fool's made the most friends in the countryside, but Granger's gotten actual press. A lot of people know her, and if they don't know her, they at least know of her."

"We get to vote?" Harry asked, surprised. "Do we need to register or something?"

"No, you just come and vote," Daphne said. "There will be an Unspeakable there who will check your magic to verify your age, but that's all."

"Gross," Draco said, making a face. "That's invasive. Can't we just use our wands?"

"Not everyone has a wand," Theo chided, and Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"Wait, what?" she asked. "What do you mean, not everyone who can vote has a wand? I thought it's all youth between ages 11-17."

Theo looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "It is…?"

"Then how don't they all have wands?" Hermione said. "They're required for classes. Are you talking about the ones who are eleven but haven't started Hogwarts yet?"

Theo's eyes lit with understanding.

"Not all wizarding children go to Hogwarts," he clarified. "Many of them stay home and learn from their parents, especially the children of the hedgewitches. Some of them even go to muggle school, I think."

"Wait, what?" Hermione gaped at him, incredulous, but Theo only looked slightly puzzled. "You're telling me that there are children my age not getting an education?" Hermione demanded, clarifying. "Why aren't they going to school?"

"Most of them don't have the magical power necessary to learn the magic we do in class, Hermione," Daphne said. Her eyes shone with pity. "It's a sad reality. Some bloodlines are just weaker than others."

Hermione scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Magic and power is a product of practice, not of blood or birth—"

"Says the one who's the most magically privileged among us," Theo said testily. "Not everyone's got a direct line to Magic itself, Hermione."

"How dare you!" Hermione whirled around on Theo, livid. "I have had to work for everything I've accomplished! I go to classes and practice just the same as you—"

"Yeah, and it all comes easier to you, doesn't it? You barely need to practice, you get everything right on the first time—"

"Let's not bicker about how Hermione's so much smarter than the rest of us," Harry loudly interrupted, cutting them off. He gave the table a self-deprecating smile. "I get that quite enough when she helps me with my homework. I certainly don't need it over the summer."

There was a chuckle around the table, and Theo and Hermione settled down, both looking at each other with sharp eyes as they settled into a tentative peace.

"…putting her up for election is a good idea, though," Theo said finally. "Any ideas how to go about it?"

"I can help file the paperwork to nominate her, if it works like that?" Draco said. "I know my way around the Ministry fairly well, and people aren't likely to stop me or ask what I'm doing there or get in my way."

"Are you going to go alone, or will get your Daddy to go along with you?" Blaise smirked, and Draco scowled and sneered at him.

"I don't need my Father to help me file paperwork, you imbecile—"

"Can you still get your father to get me approved to sell Class-B Nontradeable Goods, Draco?" Hermione interrupted. "I still have all these basilisk parts I'd really like to get rid of."

"Oh!" Draco's face cleared, and he cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. I'll—I'll remind him about that. I think he wanted to wait until after the trial…"

"That could potentially help finance the campaign," Tracey mused. "Oh! Or we could get your photo taken whenever you get basilisk-skin robes! That would certainly be dramatic and make a statement."

"I don't know," Daphne mused. "It's such a bright green, isn't it? Not very sophisticated at all…"

Conversation suddenly quieted and drained away, and Hermione looked up to see everyone looking out to the street. Hermione turned and squinted, before her eyes widened in surprise.

Pansy Parkinson was approaching the table, slowly, hesitantly. Her eyes scanned the table, seeing all of her Slytherin classmates sitting there except for her, and Hermione could practically see Pansy's heart in her throat.

She reached the table and nervously cleared her throat.

"I, um," she said. "I wondered if I might join you to dine."

Pansy's normal snide confidence was gone, and Hermione was shocked to hear the docile tone of voice Pansy used. It was like the sharp girl she knew had been replaced with a waif of who she once was.

"Oh, now you want to be Hermione's friend?" Millie snorted. "After it's been outed that you helped try to kill the only New Blood in centuries?"

"I didn't know it could kill her!" Pansy protested. "I didn't—I didn't know! And I didn't believe—I mean, I thought you were—"

Pansy faltered, her eyes on Hermione, and Hermione watched her neutrally. Pansy took a deep breath and straightened herself up.

"I was wrong," she said flatly. "I should not have attacked Hermione Granger, and I am sorry."

Tracey gave Pansy a skeptical look. "You're 'sorry'? For nearly killing her? Is that really enough?"

"Well then what is enough?!" Pansy threw up her hands in frustration. "I'm trying to apologize and make up for my actions. You don't have to throw my apology back in my face!"

"I will if I don't believe it," Tracey snarled.

"Then how am I supposed to make sure you believe me when I say I'm sorry for all of it?" Pansy demanded. "Do we have to go back and have me stand in the Truth Circle? Do we need to steal Veritaserum? Because I am—"

"Make a vow," Goyle said suddenly.

The table stopped bickering and turned to Goyle, who was sucking the remaining meat off a chicken bone.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking at Goyle.

Goyle slurped the rest of the meat down and swallowed.

"Make a vow," he said simply. "Put your magic where your mouth is."

The others all exchanged slow glances around the table. Hermione was dismayed to see it seemed that the others actually seemed to be considering this as a viable option.

"Are you serious? Pansy doesn't need to swear an apology on her magic," Hermione said incredulously. "That's completely—"

"Yeah, that doesn't really mean anything," Tracey cut in. "She should really make a vow. Show us that she really means it."

Hermione choked. "Wait, what?"

"Exactly." Millie's eyes glittered. "An Oath of Fealty. An Oath of Loyalty at the least."

"No one is making oaths to me," Hermione protested. "We are not doing this."

"I'd say Loyalty," Blaise cut it. "Pansy has to earn the right to swear fealty and have Hermione protect her in exchange."

Pansy looked determined. "I'll do it."

This was insane. How had things devolved to this so fast?

"I am not currently accepting Oaths of Fealty," Hermione argued.

"It's an Oath of Loyalty," Tracey countered. "It's different."

"And when will you?" Blaise challenged. "I call first in line."

"Wait, what?" Draco sputtered. "No, I said long ago—"

"No one is swearing any oaths!" Hermione protested. "Pansy said she's sorry. We can just forgive her and have her join us."

The others looked at Hermione skeptically.

"Hermione, you just said in a Truth Circle how she ensnared you in a plot where you nearly died," Daphne told her, her eyes shining. "You cannot just forgive an enemy for something like that. They must prove they have changed."

Hermione drew breath to protest, but Pansy beat her to it.

"She's right, Granger." Pansy's eyes met hers. "I do. It's what's right."

"To swear loyalty to your enemy?" Hermione said, incredulous. "What kind of sense does that make?"

"The kind where it proves that I'm not your enemy anymore," Pansy pointed out. "Isn't that the point? You wouldn't dine with a known enemy, so making me prove it is what makes sense, Granger."

Hermione was perfectly content to dine with Pansy knowing she probably still hated her and was only here trying to play nice because she'd been punished by her father in court, but apparently now that they were 'known enemies', that wasn't possible anymore.

Hermione sighed.

"Are we really doing this?" she asked. "Are we really making her swear an Oath to join us at the table?"

Hermione looked around, but as she scanned the faces of her friends, no one save her seemed bothered by it at all. Most of the faces she saw seemed expectant, and only Harry seemed confused and hesitant. Hermione turned to look at Pansy, but she was met only with fierce determination in her eyes. Hermione held her eyes for a long moment before she stood.

"If we're going to do this, we might as well do it properly," she said, brushing out her robes. Pansy hurriedly brushed out her own and stepped in front of her, looking at her somewhat anxiously.

"Doesn't she need a sword?" Crabbe asked, and Goyle elbowed him.

"No, that's Fealty, Loyalty only needs just you…"

Hermione watched as Pansy knelt on one knee in front of her, taking Hermione's hands in her own.

"I, Pansy Parkinson, swear to you my loyalty," she told her, her voice steady. "I will not deceive you, nor shall I try to harm or hinder your aims. My arm is your wand, my eye your scout, and my body your soldier. I swear this on my life, my magic, and my honor."

Blue sparks spiraled around them, swirling around Pansy and Hermione both, and as Pansy pressed her lips to the back of Hermione's hand, they coalesced into a blue ribbon of bright magic, binding the two of them together before disappearing in a blaze of light.

Pansy gasped, as did Hermione, and their eyes met with shock and something akin to horror. There was something there, now – Hermione could feel it. She could feel the ribbon of magic binding Pansy to her. If she tugged on that ribbon of magic, Pansy would come to her, she thought – she'd practically be forced to, though the ribbon only seemed taut one way.

Swallowing hard, Hermione helped Pansy to her feet. The smaller girl stumbled into her as she stood on the cobblestones, and Hermione caught her, holding her gaze. Pansy's eyes shone with emotion and leftover anxiousness.

"Though I will not swear an oath back to you now," Hermione said quietly, "know that I will not abuse your loyalty, Pansy. You will be safe with me."

Impulsive, she pressed a kiss to Pansy's forehead before stepping back from her, returning to her seat.

"Pansy, come dine with us," she bid, trying to act like a regal and gracious host. She offered her a smile. "You are welcome at any table of mine."

The gratitude with which Pansy scurried to the table, pulling up a chair next to Daphne, made Hermione's heart ache. She watched as conversation resumed, her friends returning to brainstorming campaign slogans and platforms, and the relief and happiness that began to sparkle in Pansy's eyes over time slowly helped Hermione relax as well.

Pansy had been rather isolated, hadn't she, Hermione mused. Ever since the 'scandal' of her troll blood, Daphne had grown more distant from Pansy, and Pansy had been made to hang around Draco and Theo more instead, as well as the older girls. But with her ire towards Hermione, the rest of her dormmates had been quietly isolating her and slowly shunning her. And with the revelation of what Pansy had done being out in the open, on a legal record, no less…

No wonder Pansy had been desperate to make amends.

Hermione toyed with her food as she ate it, musing, until Blaise caught her eye and smirked.

"You handled that well," he told her quietly, and Hermione flushed.

"I didn't have much of a choice," she said hotly. "Everyone was so insistent."

Blaise laughed, his voice quiet and low.

"Hermione, I'm not criticizing," he told her. "If anything, I'm jealous. I wanted to be the first to make an oath to you, after you stopped me all those months ago."

Hermione gave Blaise a puzzled look.

"Blaise, you don't need to swear an oath to me," she said.

"I know, but I want to, Hermione," Blaise said, his eyes dark and intense. "I know you don't understand it, but I would mean the words in an Oath of Fealty—"

"Blaise, listen to me." Hermione took his hand in hers, her eyes meeting his. "You don't need to make an oath to me because you already did, you realize?"

Blaise faltered. "…wait, what?"

Under the table where the others couldn't see, Hermione turned his hand over in her own, playing idly with his fingers and his hand.

"I share with you my magic," she murmured, her voice quiet, "I share with you my life. I offer myself in times of joy, I offer myself in times of strife."

Hermione continued tracing her fingers over his palm and fingers with her words. Blaise shuddered slightly underneath her, and Hermione wondered what was going through his mind.

"I trust you to call on my power, and my magic will respond…"

She twisted the coven ring on his finger sharply, making him gasp, and her eyes held his own.

"I give myself to the coven and to the strength of our bond."

Blaise shuddered and Hermione shivered suddenly too, a feeling of sparks flooding her body. Next to her, Harry startled in his seat as if he felt something too, before settling down. Hermione shook her head, clearing it, only to find Blaise watching her with dark eyes.

"I made a promise to the coven," Blaise said. His eyes were glittering at her, and there was something about his voice, something that made it darker, more intense, like velvet on silk. "Not a vow to you."

"I'm part of the coven, though," Hermione pointed out, "so it was a vow to me as well."

"Still…"

Draco and Tracey were bickering about campaign slogans. Tracey was advocating for 'Tired of danger? Vote for Granger!', while Draco was advocating for 'A vote for Hermione is a vote for sanity'. As they fought, Blaise reached over, taking Hermione's hand in his own under the table. He traced her fingers with his own, making her shiver.

"Stop that," she hissed, and Blaise smirked at her.

"You did it to me," he said. "It's only fair…"

Hermione hmphed at him, turning back to the conversation and her plate, but Blaise was playing with her left hand still, tracing his fingers over her own. It sent tingles through her palm and up her arm. How were there suddenly so many nerve endings in her hand?

"Our bond is sacred, formed in perfect love and perfect trust," Blaise murmured, running his fingertips over her fingers. "Let my intentions be pure, none of them unjust…"

Hermione swallowed hard. "That's not the right words…"

"As we join hands, we become pure magic unfurled…" Blaise's eyes were dark, his gaze holding hers as he clenched her hand in his own. "With our bond as your strength, you can change the world."

"It's supposed to be plural," Hermione protested, but her words were weak against the intensity in Blaise's eyes.

"I share with you my magic, I share with you my life," he promised, his voice low, his eyes on hers. "I offer myself in times of joy, I offer myself in times of strife."

This didn't feel like the coven bond. This felt like something else, something bigger, something heavier, and Hermione found her breath catching, making it harder to breathe.

"I trust you to call on my power, and my magic will respond…" Blaise's voice was low, his eyes holding hers as he spun the coven ring on her finger, and Hermione gasped at the sensation, an odd shudder running through her body. She tried to catch her breath, but his eyes were on hers as he bent to press his lips to her hand, kissing her and the ring both.

"…I give myself to you and to the strength of our bond."

Hermione gasped, her hand suddenly clamping down on Blaise's, hard.

Whatever he had done, whatever he had promised… Blaise's words had sent magic thrumming through her body, setting it alight, and Hermione gasped and shuddered as the magic danced inside of her, waves of sensation and magic crashing over her body, her eyelids fluttering.

It felt incredible.

As the magic settled, Hermione catching her breath, she felt cleansed somehow, a warm feeling curling in her chest. She looked up at Blaise, who was watching her with dark eyes.

"Are you happy now?" she asked. Her voice was rather breathier than she'd intended. "Are you satisfied now that you've made your vow?"

Blaise's eyes were dark and molten on hers. "I am."

There was something there that made her breath catch, something that made her heart thump in her chest. He looked almost like he wanted to kiss her, like he wanted to consume her and never let her go, and the intensity was captivating, making Hermione feel like she just wanted to let go and fall into him…

"Hermione, we need a tie breaker!" Tracey's whine broke through the intensity between them, and Hermione blinked several times, turning back to the center of the table.

"Err, a tie breaker for what?" she asked.

"Campaign slogans!" she chirped. "Here, this is mine—"

As Hermione rejoined the bickering around the table, she managed to relax and enjoy the time with her friends, but something warm and dark stayed curled and hot around her heart and center, something that seemed to flare back to life every time Blaise's gaze met hers, his gaze blowing on the embers and setting them aflame.

Chapter Text

Unlike the previous summer when Hermione had been busy with her internship, this summer, Hermione was free to spend it how she pleased. She was hopeful she'd get to meet up with her friends multiple times over the summer, and hopefully see her coven often – she had a lot planned for them all to do.

However, being grounded brought any such plans to a screeching halt.

It was with frustration and dismay that Hermione owled her friends back with news of her grounding, saying she probably wouldn't be able to meet up for at least a week, maybe more. Her friends, to her credit, did not ignore her. Hermione spent the next week trapped in her room, to be sure, but it was with the windows open, owls from her friends frequently fluttering in and out.

Tracey was owling her several times a day, now, running campaign plans and slogans by her. Hermione still hadn't fully researched the Wizengamot or wizarding elections (and couldn't, until she was allowed to go to Flourish and Blotts again), so she wasn't much help. She told Tracey she was sure she would have excellent ideas that she didn't need to run past her, really, but Tracey kept closely in touch with Hermione anyway. Hermione wondered if Tracey just wanted to make sure that Hermione felt sufficiently involved.

Her letters to Blaise were a joy and comfort, as they had been last year. This time, instead of telling her ridiculous made-up crazy stories, Blaise wrote ridiculous made-up ideas of crazy things they could do over the summer once she was freed. Ideas so far included doing a ritual to make their eyes glow red to freak out the Gryffindors, running away to Italy without telling any adults, challenging Draco Malfoy to an honor duel for the hell of it, and attempting to make a gigantic wand that the entire coven could use at once.

His ideas were funny, and Hermione found it fun to pretend to take them seriously, either giving counterarguments about why they could not or what it would require to pull off such a feat. Despite the ridiculousness of the content of the letters, there was real affection and friendship written between the words, and Hermione knew that Blaise in particular was eager for her punishment to end so the coven could reform in person again.

A more atypical correspondence that had been taken up was one with Draco Malfoy. After the trial was over, Draco had written to Hermione to invite her to a Quidditch game he had tickets for (why did he think she would have any interest in Quidditch?), and Hermione had written back, explaining that her parents had grounded her. She remarked that her parents were not inclined to end her punishment unless they, personally, could talk to Draco and verify her story.

To her immense surprise, Draco didn't dismiss it out of hand. His following letter seemed very skeptical, asking if her parents would try and hurt him (no) or burn him at the stake (also no). Hermione had responded that it was just dinner, and all he'd need to do was come to Sunday dinner and chat with her parents to get them to let her go. Hermione was somewhat dreading whatever response Draco would send next. There was no telling what he thought.

Hermione also wrote to Tom.

Though she was loathe to do so, Hermione kept her word to Tom, draining her magic into the diary over the next several days. She'd figured out a way to multitask, draining her magic into the diary with her left hand as she wrote in it with her right. Given her grounding, Hermione ended up talking to Tom a lot more than she'd anticipated over the next week, often whenever she wasn't writing a letter back to someone else.

Tom had been proud of the way Hermione had danced around the truth in the trial. He disapproved of her wanting to save Rhamnaceae from Azkaban, but he acknowledged that if that had been her goal, she'd achieved it brilliantly. He was also impressed with her receiving an Oath of Loyalty from someone already (as well as some... other?... kind of vow); he disclosed he hadn't started receiving oaths of loyalty until he demanded it. Hermione had flushed at the praise, before worrying at her lip over liking it. Was it bad to be happy the future Dark Lord thought you did a good job?

Hermione told Tom of her plans for her coven, too. The first issue encountered was how to get them all to one place to meet up, and by random chance, luck had struck: the Weasleys had won a 700 galleon drawing from the Prophet and decided to visit their oldest brother in Egypt, and Hermione, in a flash of brilliance, had written to Harry, suggesting that he ask to be the Weasley's house sitter.

Hermione and Harry had needed to send owls quickly, given Ron had written them of the news at the last moment, but it had worked. Hermione had pointed out to Ron that their chickens were likely to starve or peck each other to death, to say nothing of the gnomes running amok in their garden unchecked for such a long time, while Harry had written Mrs. Weasley directly and begged to be able to stay at a wizarding house where he could be safe and visit with his friends.

Hermione suspected Mrs. Weasley had been moved more by pity than anything, but it had worked – Harry was to stay at the Weasleys' house for the rest of the summer, starting Friday. Harry had been so glad, his letter was a mess, overflowing with gratitude.

You don't understand, Hermione, Harry had written. My relatives are awful, and my Aunt Marge is coming to visit. I swear, she's even meaner than Uncle Vernon, and I can't stand her. Her dogs chased me up a tree once, and she laughed and wouldn't call them off for hours. That I don't have to stay here and deal with her is so great, Hermione, you have no idea. I am so glad you came up with this idea when you did.

Though Hermione was glad to help save Harry from the tyranny of his aunt and uncle, she had mixed feelings about Harry's letter.

If his relatives are so abusive, why does Harry have to stay there? she wrote to Tom, furious. Blood wards be damned, it's not right that he has to stay there when they treat him the way they do!

Familial blood wards are incredibly strong, Hermione, Tom had said. Though it's unfortunate, Dumbledore's probably correct in saying that staying with his remaining family within those wards is what's safest for him.

I shared blood with Harry in the coven ritual. Does that mean Harry would be safe in wards that protected those of my blood? Hermione theorized.

I don't know, but that's an interesting idea, Tom mused. Are you thinking you could set your own blood protection wards somewhere new to protect him?

Hermione's imagination came alive at the idea – of course she could work with her coven to set blood protection wards somewhere new! It'd have to be a set structure, though, of course, to solidify the warding, and it would have to be somewhere secret…

Hermione was sketching out a secret base for her coven, complete with a magical minifridge and Floo, when her father knocked on her door one evening, interrupting.

"What's that?" he asked, looking at her sketchbook from the doorway. "Are you designing a fort?"

Her father grinned at her, and Hermione's face flushed.

"A clubhouse," she muttered, her face red. "It's nothing."

"On the contrary, it's nice to see you interested in something normal for your age for once," he teased her. His eyes sparkled. "If you ever decide you do actually want to build one, let me know. My mates and I built a treehouse of our own when we were in our teens."

"It's fine, Dad!" She shoved the sketchbook and diary hurriedly under her pillow, embarrassed. "Did you need something? Is dinner ready?"

"Actually, this came for you in the mail." Her father raised an eyebrow, handing her a large, heavy envelope. "It looks important."

Hermione took the envelope, looking it over curiously. It was a heavy envelope, with her name written in beautiful calligraphy on the front as Miss Hermione Granger with no address included. She glanced up at her dad.

"This came in the post?" she clarified. "Not by owl?"

"Not by owl," her father confirmed. He smirked. "Think one of your little friends magicked it into the mailbox?"

"I have no idea," Hermione said honestly, "but it seems that they must have. But why bother…?"

She turned the envelope over in her hands, pausing at the heavy wax seal stamped on the back. The seal was a large serif 'M' in the middle with two spears crossed behind it, overtop of an intricate fleur de lis. Hermione stared at it for a long moment before carefully easing the envelope open, keeping the seal intact for later examination.

To her surprise, there were a few sheets of paper inside, the first of which was a small card that fell out of the envelope. Beautiful calligraphy decorated the thick card, and the calligraphy was of such a script it was almost difficult for Hermione to read:

Dear Mme and Mssr Granger,

I am delighted to accept your invitation to dine with you this Sunday evening, June 27 th . I am looking forward to meeting you and calling upon your daughter. Is seven o'clock in the evening an acceptable time?

Humbly yours,

Draco Malfoy

Hermione snorted, passing the thick card to her father, whose eyes widened.

"What is this?" he asked, chuckling. "Is this the Regency Era, now?"

"Mum told me she wanted to meet the boy I saved before she'd unground me, so I asked if he'd come over on Sunday for dinner," Hermione said. "I honestly didn't think he would, but it was worth a try…"

Her father laughed.

"I'll go inform your mother we'll have company in three days," he said, his eyes sparkling. He started down the stairs. "She'll need to plan what to make early, or we'll need to change what time we're going to church."

"Wait, what?" Hermione called after him, astonished. "What do you mean, 'going to church'?"

Her father was gone, however, and it was with slight suspicion that Hermione settled down to read her next letter. It was written in beautiful calligraphy but printed this time, and it was clear the letter-writer had taken some time penning the missive.

Dear Hermione,

I am outraged that your parents have locked you up in your tower because you risked yourself to save my life. If it is within my power to help free you, I am only too happy to do so. The risk I face is far less than the one you faced when saving my life, and I will face it head on.

That being said, I have chosen not to tell my parents about where I plan to dine on Sunday evening. Blaise has agreed to the façade of me dining with his family that evening with the agreement that he comes along to dine as well. As this is the only way readily available to attend your family's dinner without drawing the ire of my father, I have made that concession. If you do not want Blaise present as well, please inform him as such, as I am sure your words will persuade him to allow me to come alone.

I am unfamiliar with muggle dining customs. Blaise has assured me casual robes will be fine to wear, but I do not want to fit in inappropriately. If he is deceiving me and I should obtain a leather tunic, let me know, and I shall endeavor to do so. Also, please let me know if I should bring a gift – Blaise says bringing a bottle of wine would be fine, but if your family is more accustomed to ale or mead, I do not want to embarrass them by bringing an overly-extravagant gift.

Thank you again for your invitation. I will do my best to help your parents understand the magnitude of the debt I owe you, convince them to set you free, and make a positive impression on your family for hopeful future positive interactions to come.

Yours truly,

Draco Malfoy

Hermione stared.

…what?

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Draco's letter could best be summed up as 'I'm coming to dinner but lying to my dad about it, so Blaise is covering for me; what should I wear/bring?', but of course Draco couldn't just write that. Draco was always very dramatic about anything he could be dramatic over.

Shaking her head, she withdrew the next letter. She broke the plain seal and smirked, recognizing the handwriting immediately as Blaise's.

Hermione,

Draco says that your parents won't let you out until he tells them you saved him from the basilisk, and he asked if I would cover for him to his parents. However, Draco is also a nitwit, so I agreed on the condition I could come as well. Hopefully then, when Draco makes a faux pas or is unintentionally rude, I can help cover it up so he doesn't look like a complete moron. I anticipate this undertaking to be nearly impossibly difficult, and though the task will be hard, I am up to it, as I'd prefer your parents not to be insulted and develop a distaste for the wizarding world.

Also: please tell Draco that robes are fine. I made the mistake of telling him I wore tight slacks and a short tunic-like top when I went to the muggle play with you. He's since been throwing a fit, tearing up his manor looking for old clothes of his ancestors to wear so he can fit in with your parents, and he's determined to embarrass himself turning up like the Weasley Twins with their swords if it will endear him to your parents. He didn't believe me when I showed him the denims I got – he thinks I'm out to sabotage him in front of your family. Please tell him to just wear normal clothes? Please?

If this plan works and you get ungrounded, the full moon is Saturday, the 3 rd . Do you think your parents would let you out late? Luna's said her father doesn't mind if we run around outside late at night, and I think the full moon would be the perfect time to do a ritual, given we couldn't on the solstice.

I'll leave the decision of what ritual we should next do up to you.

Yours,

Blaise

Hermione started snickering as she read Blaise's letter, Draco's confusing letter suddenly making much more sense.

Did purebloods really think muggles still lived in medieval times? Like peasants, tilling the land and subsisting on naught but bread and ale? Perhaps – Blaise's mother had warned him to beware of rats, as if the Black Plague were still a threat. If that was what he was expecting, Draco was in for quite the shock.

Though, it made some sense why purebloods were so opposed to muggles and Muggleborns, then, if that was what their mental image was. It made sense to fear an uneducated mob that you believed would burn you alive if they knew the truth of who you were.

It didn't really make sense to fear muggles now, though. People were far too preoccupied with their own lives, their occupations, and their own government to care what a bunch of people who didn't know what electricity was were up to. Most muggles would just scoff at the mention of magic without seeing proof, after all; there were plenty of muggles who called themselves witches and fortune tellers, after all. A real wizard would just be viewed as 'strange'.

Though, that made Hermione pause to wonder. What if muggle fortune tellers were actually witches - ones who had found a way to make a reliable living while skirting the edges of the Statue of Secrecy?

Hermione resolved to visit one and find out after she'd taken Divination.

Settling in, Hermione pulled out her own quill and parchment, wanting to respond to them both before dinner.

Dear Draco,

Thank you so much for arranging to come. I am incredibly grateful, and hopefully my parents will rescind my punishment once they hear from you.

Casual robes to are fine to wear to eat with my parents, and a bottle of wine would be an appropriate gift they would appreciate.

I look forward to seeing you on Sunday at 7pm. I will be waiting by the Floo.

Yours,

Hermione

The letter to Blaise was a little more detailed.

Blaise,

Harry's finally at the Weasley's for the summer starting tomorrow, so if my parents let me off house-arrest, a ritual at the full moon would be brilliant. I have a few in mind, so we'll have to see what everyone wants to do more. There's the Parseltongue ritual for Susan and Harry, of course, which I think we should prioritize, but there's also another one I've translated recently, and though it's kind of risky, I think it'd be brilliant to try. Just in case, is there any chance you can get a dozen or so moonstones and a bunch of crystal rocks? Preferably the ones that can glow in the dark, but if not, focus more on quantity – we'll need a lot of crystals.

I have not told my parents any of the details surrounding Rookwood whatsoever. They know I was called to court and had to testify; they know nothing of any of the finer details, other than I was there when she was caught. Please don't let Draco bring it up in conversation, and if he does, please help me gloss over it so my parents don't realize the impact of just what all I was involved in.

Do you think I should wear robes on Sunday as well to help Draco feel more relaxed? Or do you think he'll be fine and I can wear my normal clothing as I would any other day? My parents are likely to look at me oddly if I do, but I don't want Draco to be even more awkward than he's bound to be.

I am desperately looking forward to seeing you again. Hopefully all this nonsense will be over soon, and I can visit whomever I like.

Yours,

Hermione

After she was done writing, she frowned. The letters had come by post, somehow – and she didn't have an owl with which to send her notes.

Did every wizarding household really just own an owl…?

Hermione scanned over The Booke of the Beastes over dinner, hoping there was some note of how to communicate with owls, but there was nothing. She was scowling when her parents made her put the book away, insisting she be present at the table to spend time with them, but even as she discussed her friends coming to dinner on Sunday with her mother and father, her mind was pondering over the issue of a lack of an owl.

When she returned to her room, she felt a flare of hope over a possible solution.

You can summon an owl, Tom told her. The spell is 'venibis noctua'. The difficulty lies in communicating with the owl to go to the proper place after you summon one. Untrained, unmagical owls are much harder to use than a trained post owl.

How do you do it, then? Hermione wanted to know. How do you make the owl deliver the letter anyway?

I just implanted the knowledge of where to go in their heads. Even Tom's handwriting seemed smug. I was learning Legilimency as early as I could, and penetrating owls' minds was hardly a challenge.

Hermione groaned.

You've got to be kidding me, she complained. I'm not learning Legilimency so I can summon post owls.

Frustrated and defeated, Hermione finally went to her parents.

"I need to send instructions on coming over on Sunday back to my friends," she said, "and I don't have an owl to mail them back. Can I please go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to go to the post office? Please?"

Hermione's mother frowned.

"How have you been mailing them up until now?" she wanted to know.

"They all have post owls," Hermione said. "Their owls just stay until I write a reply. But this letter came by muggle post, so there's not a return owl for me to use."

"Why did it come by post, then?" her mother asked, and Hermione flushed.

"Umm. I think my friend wanted to impress you," she admitted, embarrassed. "I think he wanted you to think well of him because he replied the muggle way."

Her father smirked, and her mother's strict expression softened in amusement.

"Well, then," she said. She considered Hermione for a long moment. "You are still grounded, Hermione – I am not allowing you to go out to Diagon Alley where you might dilly-dally and meet up with your friends—"

"Mum!" Hermione protested. "I'll go and come right back! I promise!"

"—but I will go first thing in the morning and mail your letters myself," she conceded. Her smile was wry. "If I am the one insisting on meeting your friend, it's only fitting I help facilitate that meeting."

Hermione groaned. It was as good as she was going to get, she supposed, though she gave in with poor grace.

That didn't stop her from complaining about it to Tom that night, as she drained her magic into the diary once more.

If Draco doesn't manage to convince them to set me free, I swear, Hermione wrote furiously, I'll turn into an Animagus and escape from here myself.

I wouldn't advise it, Tom cautioned. You don't know what animal you might end up as, and part of the process is holding a Mandrake leaf in your mouth for an entire month.

That's disgusting, Hermione wrote, recoiling. People actually do that?

Some of them, Tom said. I imagine there's probably an easier way to do it, but if so, no one's discovered it or shared it yet.

Hermione sighed. So much for that, then. I guess I'll be trapped here alone forever if Draco fails.

There was a long pause.

I would suggest bewitching your parents to let you free— he began.

I am not bespelling my parents, Hermione wrote back indignantly, ink splattering her fingertips with her speed.

—but I know you would never. The only solace I can offer you is the knowledge that you are not alone, the only comfort I can give you my company at your side.

That's nice, but you're a book, Hermione complained. It's not exactly the same.

No, it's not, Tom agreed. But be patient, Hermione. In another three days' time, you will pull me from the diary, and I will be able to stand at your side for a time.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a genuinely comforting statement to her, or a subtle reminder that she had bigger problems to worry about than nagging parents once he had a body once more.

Chapter Text

A letter came for Hermione the next day, one by a tiny, speedy owl. Her parents were mildly surprised to get a tiny owl swooping in through an open window and dropping the post on the breakfast table, but they seemed to take it in stride.

"Is that from one of your friends?" her father asked.

"I don't think so," Hermione said cautiously, opening the letter.

Hermione Granger, the letter began.

Hermione Granger,

There has been some unexpected difficulty regarding one of the loans made. Though I would prefer to shield you from such difficulties, the borrower has demanded to face you directly, and I would have to admit that he has legal claim to do so.

There is to be a trial. I would have you visit Gringotts today to help determine a time to set the trial date for that would give you enough time to prepare. In exchange for this burden on your time, I would extend the offering of an accounting of your vault, as you indicated you would desire at our last meeting.

If you would come today, I would provide you with further details in person.

Bloodthorne

Hermione passed the note to her father, who read it over before handing it to her mother.

"A trial?" her father said, raising an eyebrow. "Another one?"

"I guess this one is a civil trial?" Hermione said, shrugging. "I think that's what contract law would fall into, right?"

Her mother set the letter on the table and sighed. She examined her daughter with a sharp eye, and Hermione did her best to appear innocent and guileless.

"You may go to Diagon Alley," her mother conceded, "but only to visit the post office and Gringotts. You must come straight home afterwards, do you understand?"

"Yes! Thank you, mum! Thank you! Thank you!"

Nothing could stop Hermione's relief and happiness at being permitted to handle her own post and affairs. She knew her mother was not foreign to visiting Gringotts for her and posing as a witch, but Hermione was pleased to be trusted to do this herself, even grounded as she was.

Hermione decided on a nice black robe to wear (with her green butterfly clip, damned as she was to wear one the entire summer). The goblins wore black, and maybe also wearing black would help them take her more seriously, she hoped.

Hermione had never been to the post office in Diagon Alley before, as most people seemed to avoid it and keep their own personal owls instead. After getting directions to go to the far end of the alley, she quickly realized why it was largely avoided.

The post office was a tall, ramshackle-looking building, consisting of a shop with a large service window and an enormous amount of large bird houses with perches all stacked one upon another on top another, reaching nearly four stories high. Dozens of owls flew about, hooting and threatening each other with their claws and beaks. There was bird poop absolutely covering the ground in front of the shop and front stand, and as she approached, Hermione saw one owl regurgitate an owl pellet, which fell to the ground in the front of the shop.

Though the awning in front of the open stand of the shop was absolutely covered in bird poop, Hermione found herself grateful for it as she quickly paid the weary postal worker to send two letters, getting out of range of the bird poop as soon as she could.

Gringotts was always an imposing building, and Hermione approached it with a small smile. When she'd first entered this building, she'd been so defiant with the goblins, insisting they were tricking her with the exchange rate. Now, though, she had a working relationship with one of the goblins. It made her feel very adult.

Inside the bank, Hermione waited in a short line to get to the front, greeting the goblin with a short bow.

"I would speak with Bloodthorne," Hermione said carefully, and the goblin's eyes narrowed.

"You are Hermione of the House of Granger?" it asked.

"I am," Hermione said, her voice steady.

"Where is your sword?" the goblin demanded. Its eyes flashed. "You are not wearing your sword."

Hermione reacted with surprise.

"I would—I would not have wanted—oh, bother," she broke off. She straightened up. "In the muggle world, entering a bank with a weapon is a sign of aggression, usually indicating a robbery. I would never have wanted to offer such disrespect to you."

The goblin scoffed.

"As if a wizard could rob Gringotts," it said dismissively. Its eyes were fixed on her. "In the future, you should wear your sword. It is what the goblins would know you by."

"Understood," Hermione said, nodding. "Thank you."

With that, the goblin hopped off its stool and disappeared down a long hallway, returning in a short while with Bloodthorne in tow, who smirked upon seeing her.

"Afraid we would think you would rob us?" he said slyly, and Hermione flushed. "I would laugh, if I did not know you were in earnest."

"How was I to know?" Hermione demanded, following him down a hallway. "In the muggle world, taking a weapon into a bank is a sign of robbery. It's simply not done."

"Were Gringotts to be threatened by every weapon wizards would carry into the bank, the bank would never be open," Bloodthorne said dismissively.

"Wait, really?" Hermione said, surprised. "Wizards carry weapons around that frequently?"

"Of course. Even you," Bloodthorne said, casting a look back at her. His beady eyes met hers. "Or do you not carry a wand…?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and Bloodthorne turned back around to lead her into a conference room, the matter already dropped from his mind though, it lingered in hers.

Inside the room were a few other goblins, already there. One goblin was wearing what looked to be a sort of wig made of gold beads, while two other goblins were bickering over some parchments on the table. Bloodthorne entered the room and indicated to Hermione where she should sit, before hopping into his own seat.

"I have brought Hermione Granger," he announced. He eyed one of the other goblins coolly. "Would you be satisfied now, Moldedge?"

The goblin called Moldedge looked severely annoyed.

"I would," he said grudging, shooting a nasty look at Hermione.

"Then," the goblin wearing the golden wig announced, "we would discuss the issue at hand."

The issue at hand was apparently when to hold a trial to prosecute someone who was violating the terms of their loan contract. The goblins broke out into quick bickering, all of them snapping nastily, and it took Hermione a while to realize that they were talking about holding a trial of another goblin who was violating the terms of his loans, not a wizard.

"Wait, I thought you wanted the goblins to borrow gold?" Hermione interrupted, shooting Bloodthorne a look. "I wouldn't think you'd enact strict repayment penalties on them if you wanted them to borrow."

"I would have the goblins borrow much against your vault," Bloodthorne admitted, giving Hermione a sideways look, "but the goblin in question, Braincleave, has been violating other terms of the loan."

"He has been risking everything for the Horde with his selfishness," another goblin spat.

"He has been participating in open commerce," the other goblin said sharply. "How is that a violation?"

"If you would save the arguing for court," the goblin in the gold wig said loudly, "we would be able to set a date and prepare adequately."

The goblins argued over this fiercely. The defending goblin fought to push the trial as far out into the summer as possibly, while the Gringotts goblin was fighting for a trial to occur immediately. It was only when Bloodthorne intervened that a compromise was able to be settled upon.

"Delaying until later in July would give Hermione Granger time to learn and prepare," Bloodthorne said, reluctant. He gave Hermione a sharp look. "And she would prepare."

Hermione was smart enough to keep her mouth shut and do nothing but nod.

After a date in late July was settled upon for the start, the golden-wigged goblin and defending goblin stood, exchanging sneers with each other before leaving. The Gringotts goblin looked at Bloodthorne, and to Hermione's astonishment, he looked tired.

"It is that attitude which would ruin us all," he said to Bloodthorne. "He must be made an example of, Bloodthorne."

"I would not disagree with you, Stoneshear," Bloodthorne said, "but I would delay just enough to ensure Hermione Granger would be fully prepared to play her part."

At this, the two goblins turned to Hermione, who had been sitting very still, just watching everything play out in front of her. Stoneshear sighed.

"Hermione Granger," he said, "you are in a unique situation."

He gave her a sharp look, and Hermione swallowed.

"It certainly seems that way," she said.

"As much as Bloodthorne would speak for you, I would stay cautious," he informed her. "This trial would have you descend into the subterranean goblin hold. Wizards have not seen the hold for centuries. I would prefer them to never see it, but needs must, with this trial."

"I'll get to see the goblin civilization?" Hermione's mouth went dry. "I'll get to see your cities and your people?"

The Gringotts goblin gave her an odd look.

"You would want such a thing?" he said.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable," Hermione said hurriedly, "but it'd just be so fascinating, you know? I have no idea what your society is like! And I could see and learn this way. Maybe I could help fix things – I wouldn't want to be presumptuous, but Bloodthorne said that it was hard to fix ruins without a wand, and—"

Stoneshear cut her off with a wave of his hand, looking at Bloodthorne incredulously.

"What you would have me believe is insanity, but I would believe it," he said. "She would help?"

"She would," Bloodthorne said smugly. "She dismisses her Ministry's cruelty. She is more witch than wizard, and she would help restore us to greatness."

Stoneshear turned back to Hermione.

"You would have me believe you would want to help the Horde?" His eyes were beady, skeptical. "Why would you want to help the Horde?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Because I could?" she admitted. "I mean, Bloodthorne said that your cities are still in ruins from the last rebellion, and that's awful. If I could help make up for it, I'd want to try."

"Wizards have systematically oppressed us," Stoneshear said, folding his arms. "You would have me believe you would help us act against such oppression, against your own people?"

Hermione winced.

"I'm not part of the Ministry," she said, "and I certainly can't make up for centuries of hardship and oppression, but… maybe I can help make a small difference?" She winced. "That sounds terrible, I know. But I—I don't like seeing people suffer when I could help make things better." She looked down at the table. "And as much as Bloodthorne thought he was tricking me with the loans to goblins things, I would do the exact same thing, in his place – I would want to help restore my people however I could. Sure, my gold is helping some, but if I could help more, to improve things for you…" She shrugged. "Why wouldn't I want to help?"

Stoneshear stared at her for a long moment, then looked to Bloodthorne.

"You would stand for her?" he said, after a long moment.

"I would," Bloodthorne said very seriously.

The goblins had a stare-off for a long moment, before Stoneshear abruptly stood.

"If you would have her ready by the trial, we would stop this madness of Braincleave," he said. "If you would make sure she is ready, I would ensure the way is smooth."

"We are agreed," Bloodthorne said smugly, folding his arms, and Stoneshear nodded once and stormed out of the room.

Hermione looked at Bloodthorne, who looked smug and satisfied.

"So… I have to go to the goblin stronghold to testify for court, and the goblins are naturally suspicious of letting me inside because I'm a wizard and generally seen as the enemy?" Hermione summarized. "Honestly, I'm surprised you don't just settle out of court instead of risk a stranger seeing your society."

"It is not like that," Bloodthorne said, standing. "Braincleave's actions, left unblocked, would destabilize the entire goblin society. It is a big enough issue that we would risk taking you down. Come."

Hermione followed Bloodthorne back through the hallway.

"There are restrictions and guidelines I would have you learn before you enter the goblin hold," Bloodthorne told her. "The first: you would wear your sword everywhere you went."

"Understood," Hermione said, swallowing. "I didn't realize it was disrespectful to not wear it."

"The second: I would have you bring an offering to goblin society," he continued. "An offering would show that you would not mean us harm."

"What kind of offering?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you're already loaning out my gold…"

"Generally, an offering of food or water would show good intent," Bloodthorne told her. "It would show that you would offer us strength, with no intent to steal our strength from us."

"Food and water. Got it," Hermione said, taking mental notes. "What else?"

"The third will take longer to teach you," Bloodthorne said. "I would call you back to the bank another time to teach you, if you would learn." He glanced at her. "You are lucky; the Horde is already in your debt for using your gold to rebuild us. And your trust in us to make more gold for you has shown your trust in us, which would make it easier to trust you."

"You mean with the loans?" Hermione said, following him down the hall.

"Partially," Bloodthorne agreed, "but I would think far more is from asking us to use the stone you sent to transmute base metals into gold that shows your trust in goblins."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks.

"I did what?" she whispered.

Bloodthorne gave her a look.

"You sent," Bloodthorne said, "through the mail, the Philosopher's Stone, with instructions. I have been following them." He sneered at her. "Are you surprised I knew what to do with it? Did you not think I was capable of buying lead and using the stone for you to increase your gold?"

"No, that's not it at all," Hermione automatically objected. "Of course you would know what to do with it. It's just… I didn't realize…"

It had just never occurred to her before. Each knowledge schema had been kept entirely separate her mind.

Schema A: Obstacle course, chess set, potions puzzle, dungeoneering pack, weird mirror, weird prize, replacement with fake prize, send treasure to bank for safe keeping. All tasks complete; close and save schema.

Schema B: Harry is going to get himself killed, Voldemort is coming, Voldemort wants to use the Philosopher's Stone to return to life, oh no, help keep her friends alive, use available tools, let Snape know, Quirrell is the suspect, ohmygod what happened, thank god that's over; close and save schema.

Hermione had used a cursory connection with her experience with the obstacles to help get her friends through. And she had vaguely known that Voldemort couldn't get the stone, because she had taken the prize.

She had never before made the full connection to actually process the fact that she actually owned the Philosopher's Stone.

And she'd sent it with an owl without a thought, with a vague line of "I trust you know what to do with this" to Bloodthorne.

Hermione started hyperventilating.

"I SENT THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE THROUGH THE MAIL?!"

Bloodthorne shot her a sharp look and ignored her as Hermione had a brief mental breakdown, clearly indicating his opinion on such dramatics and theatrical matters.

Hermione stared.

There were piles and piles of gold coins everywhere. Literal heaps of gold, like a forbidden treasure cave. Heaps of gold taller than she was, just kept in a cave underground.

It took her a long moment to realize her jaw was hanging. Closing her mouth, she turned to Bloodthorne, who was watching in smirking amusement.

"This is—" she said. "This is a lot."

"It is." Bloodthorne didn't react.

"How did you…?" she said. "This was… how did you do this?"

Bloodthorne smirked, showing off his pointy teeth.

"I used your Philosopher's Stone," he said. "It transmutes lead to gold." He smirked nastily. "The Goblin Nation does not concern itself with matters of wizard ownership; the stone was in your possession, so it would be yours to use."

Hermione wandered her vault some, finding a small wooden pedestal with the stone sitting in the middle of her vault, the blood red stone glowing and pulsing slightly, its odd opaque glassy finish making it distinct.

"Yes, but…" She boggled. "How much did you use it? How?"

"You had 450 galleons in your vault," he informed her. "A 10-pound bar of lead costs 5 galleons."

"So that… 900 pounds of lead you could buy, in 90 bars," Hermione said, somewhat dizzily, looking at all of the gold coins. She looked back to him. "Dare I ask what the magical exchange from lead to gold produces?"

It was here Bloodthorne grinned, very nastily.

"The same cubic area of gold as there was of lead," he said. "Each bar of gold made weighed 20.9 pounds."

Hermione felt faint.

"And how many galleons to a bar?" she asked. She picked up a handful of them. "These only feel like 2oz or so."

"If galleons were pure gold, it would be 4535 galleons per bar," Bloodthorne informed her. "Galleons are not pure gold, though. Accounting for the cost of minting the gold and the purchase of silver, the other metal, for the alloy, each gold bar made results in approximately 12,500 galleons."

Hermione felt faint.

"And you did this 90 times?" she asked. "You transmuted 90 bars?"

Bloodthorne grinned nastily. "To start."

The math made her head spin.

"That's… that's 1,125,000 galleons," she said. "That… in pounds sterling, that's… that's over 5 million pounds." She looked back at Bloodthorne. "How many times did you do this?"

"To source the lead, to use the stone, and to pay for silver and wait for the coinage, it has taken about four months each time," Bloodthorne said. "And it has been thirteen months since you sent the stone."

Hermione was incredulous. "You did this three times?"

"You see now why Braincleave is a threat?" Bloodthorne said pointedly. "With your gold sitting here untouched, there would be no cause for worry. But with this amount of gold suddenly entering the marketplace, there would be massive inflation if we did not keep careful checks in place."

"So you… how did you prevent that?" she asked. "How?"

"Within the Goblin Hold, there are set prices and purchase limits," Bloodthorne explained. "Goods have set prices, and if the vendor runs out, you would wait in line or on a list until more was procured."

Hermione nodded. She'd learned a little about communism and economics in muggle history classes. "That's… to prevent demand-pull inflation…?"

"Just so." Bloodthorne scowled. "Braincleave would go to a merchant and would offer more than the listed price in secret, to subvert the community for his own personal gain. It is an affront to goblin values and would destabilize our society for his own selfishness."

"I see," Hermione said, biting her lip. "That's why he's being taken to court? To force him to stop?"

"Indeed." Bloodthorne glanced around the vault. "I had sent the nifflers down here for your accounting a week ago, but I do not see them. It is possible they would still be counting."

"You use trained nifflers for this?" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, that's cute! Is that why there's a charge for this? So the nifflers can take some of the gold?"

"In part," Bloodthorne said. He looked at her sideways. "In part because it is a reason to take gold from wizards, too."

Hermione laughed.

"Price of commerce," she said, shaking her head. "I get it."

She wandered around the vault for a while, just looking at the heaps of gold and how far back they went. She thought she saw movement in one of the mounds, perhaps a niffler diving in and out, but she wasn't sure. She came back to Bloodthorne, shaking her head.

"Even with you making large loans to people, there's over two million galleons here," she said, shaking her head. "I have a rough idea of what I have, now – and it's way more than I was expecting – so I'm content to wait for a final total from you by mail later, if the nifflers are still counting. The rough figure I have now is good enough for me."

"I am pleased I would exceed your expectations," Bloodthorne said, his eyes glittering as he offered her a short bow. "I would want to continue to be your exclusive account manager. It has brought me great esteem, taking a chance on you."

"Yes, well, I'm glad," Hermione said. "You're excellent, Bloodthorne. I'm very glad I took a chance on you, too."

Bloodthorne's face was twisting up into an open-eyed expression, his cheekbones jutting out, a rare, genuine smile coming to his face, and Hermione smiled back at him, ignoring his many pointy teeth. Of course she was happy to have him as account manager; he'd done a spectacular job, hadn't he?

She'd come expecting to find a fortune of over or around 500 galleons, if she was lucky.

And she'd found over a thousand times that amount instead.

Chapter Text

Given the letters she'd received from her friends, Hermione had anticipated the difficulty of getting her pureblood friends to behave appropriately at dinner with her muggle parents. She hadn't anticipated the difficulty of getting her parents to behave appropriately in front of her friends.

"Dad!"

"What? We wore these in Diagon Alley," her father said, indignant. "They were perfectly acceptable then."

"That was when you were trying to fit in with everyone else so no one would know you were muggles," Hermione protested. "My friends know you're muggles. You wearing robes will seem like—like some sort of twisted dress-up game of playing pretend!"

Her father laughed. "Fine, fine. If you feel so strongly about it, I'll change."

"And no wearing your wizard costume either!" Hermione called after him as he went up the stairs. "These are my friends, not your adventuring mates!"

"Got it, Hermione," her father's amused voice carried down the hall.

Sighing in frustration, Hermione went to the kitchen to check on her mother, who was cooking. Her mother at least wasn't wearing robes, though she did look a little different than usual.

"When did you get that dress?" Hermione asked.

"Do you not like it?" her mother asked, glancing down at her. "I thought the buttons down the front might help your friends relax, but still normal enough to clearly be non-magical."

"Buttons that big aren't usually on robes," Hermione said absently, playing with the fabric of her mother's dress between her fingers. "But mum, when did you get it?"

"A while ago," her mother said, waving a hand dismissively. "I needed something daytime formal to fit in."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"You haven't been upstairs since you and Dad got home hours ago," she said suspiciously. "You got it to wear to church, didn't you?"

Her mother sighed.

"Yes, Hermione," she said, her voice exasperated. "I got it to wear to church."

"Why?" Hermione demanded. "You and Dad never showed any interest in anything like that when I was growing up! Why now?"

"You're still growing up, dear," her mother said. "And Hermione, now is really not the best time for this conversation."

"Why not?" Hermione wanted to know. "You just want me to forget about it so I forget to ask later."

Her mother sighed.

"Hermione, the answer is a complicated one, and probably not the one you expect," her mother said. "Unless you want your wizard friends involved in a complicated and theoretical discussion of non-magical religious and spiritual beliefs, I suggest you set the matter aside and go wait for them by the fireplace instead."

She gestured to the clock on the kitchen wall with a wooden spoon, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Right! Thanks!" she said, running from the room. "I almost forgot!"

"Anytime, love." Her mother's voice faded quickly as Hermione ran through the kitchen and dining room, nearly colliding with her father as he came back down the stairs.

"Whoa, hold on there!" he said, steadying her by the shoulders. "There's no fire. And you've still got ten minutes or so before they get here."

"But what if they're early?" Hermione protested. "I need to be ready!"

Her father chuckled.

"Hermione, when magical people have magical transportation, somehow I doubt arriving on time is any sort of difficulty," he said. "It's not as if they're going to encounter traffic on the way over, is it?"

Hermione's face flushed, and her father laughed.

"How do I look now?" her father said, taking a step back and holding out his arms. "Acceptable?"

Hermione looked her dad over with a scrutinizing eye. He was wearing navy trousers with a relaxed collared shirt, and she gave a sigh of relief.

"Perfect, Dad," she assured him, and he grinned at her.

"Wouldn't do to embarrass my daughter," he said, ruffling her hair. "I'm sure I'll end up doing that enough over dinner by accident already, yeah?"

"Dad!" she protested, and her father left her, laughing.

Hermione waited attentively by the fireplace, watching the clock slowly tick the seconds by. She'd made sure her friends could arrive without any difficulties, clearing a large area from in front of the fireplace and dragging the coffee table off to the side of the room. She absently realized she was practically bouncing on her feet, and she wasn't quite sure if she was anxious or excited.

The Floo suddenly lit up, green fire crackling to life, and a moment later Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini spilled forth, arguing.

"—told you it would be 'Hermione's House'!"

"Well, that's not a proper name, is it?" Draco shot back. "I was trying to be respectful! 'Granger House' is much more—"

"It's not the House of Granger yet, is it? That'll be whatever house Hermione buys someday—"

Hermione tried to hold back a giggle over the boys' senseless bickering, failing. Some things never changed.

"Hermione!" Draco leapt in surprise, turning quickly. "You startled me!"

"I don't see why," Hermione said, amused. "I said I'd be waiting by the Floo."

Draco was clearly flustered, and from behind him, Blaise Zabini shot her a wink, smirking.

"Welcome to my home," she said, dipping them a curtsy. "Thank you for accepting my invitation." She smirked at Draco. "Especially for risking your father's wrath."

Draco drew himself up importantly at that.

"Of course," he told her seriously. "Whatever I need to do to rescue you and restore your freedom from the muggles, I will do. It's barbaric that they would lock you up—"

"What he means is he is pleased to meet your parents and reassure them," Blaise said loudly, rolling his eyes.

Hermione tried not to laugh. "Of course."

"Am I dressed appropriately?" Draco asked, turning around. "It's just a casual robe, but—"

He broke off, staring at her.

"What are you wearing?" he demanded.

Hermione looked down at herself. She was wearing a nice summer dress; like her mother's choice, a sort of relaxed formal attire.

"Um," she said. "A dress?"

Draco goggled at her, and Blaise stepped around him, curious.

"What are you wearing? Is it—oh."

Blaise broke off too, but his eyes darkened with a smirk as he looked her over.

"You both look fine," she told Draco, glancing over them in their light summer robes before looking back at him. "Draco, I wear muggle clothes when I'm at home. My parents are muggles."

"No, no, I expected that," he said, his voice choked. "It's—it's just I wasn't expecting this."

"Expecting what?" Hermione wanted to know. "This is a nice dress. And I thought it was a nice compromise!"

"No, no, it is a nice dress," Blaise assured her. "There are buttons up the front and it's cut to be sort of flowy, like robes. I think perhaps we weren't expecting—"

"It's so short!" Draco blurted out, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"This is not short," she informed him. "It's just above the knee. This is a perfectly acceptable length."

Draco seemed astonished by that, while Blaise laughed.

"Are there unacceptable lengths?" he teased.

"Some skirts are called 'miniskirts'," Hermione told him, smirking. "One of those would come to about here."

She lifted the hem of her skirt from the waist until the hem hit about mid-thigh, and Draco looked faint.

"Oh," he said weakly.

"'Oh' indeed," Blaise said, his eyes sparkling as Hermione let her dress fall again.

Draco managed to drag his eyes from her legs and was scanning the living room with wide eyes. He looked surprised and confused, and with a quick glance at Hermione, he went to one of the walls, touching the picture frame of a family photo hanging there.

"This is… this is a photo," he said. "It doesn't move, but this is a photo, isn't it?"

Hermione gave him a quizzical look.

"Yes…?" she said. "Muggles were the ones who developed photography, Draco. Wizards only picked it up after them."

"Really?" Draco's shock was obvious. He kept looking around. "This is… this is not what I expected." He looked to Hermione, almost suspicious, then he smirked. "Oh, I see."

"See what, Draco?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Well, you have a Floo installed," Draco said, gesturing to the fireplace, "which means you've gotten the Ministry to designate this as a Magical Household, even though the only magical one here is you."

"Did you really?" Blaise broke in, snickering.

"Over two years ago, now," Hermione admitted, and Blaise laughed.

"You would," he teased.

"But if it's tracked as a Magical Household, the Trace won't matter here, so you were clearly able to…" Draco gestured widely. "…get things up to standard."

Hermione stared.

"Morgana alive, you really were expecting thatched-roof huts and dirt floors, weren't you?" she breathed. "Draco, I didn't do anything. This is just my parents' house. This is how they decorated."

Draco looked at her incredulously.

"You can't expect me to believe that," he said. "There's light globes, Hermione, instead of torches."

"They run on electricity," Hermione said patiently. "Not magic."

Draco looked suspicious.

"You have a wireless," he said, pointing. "That's wizarding."

"That's a radio," Hermione corrected. "It's Muggle. Doesn't get wizarding channels."

"You have colored walls!" Draco protested. "That requires serious construction charms and a color-changing charm!"

"It requires house paint," Hermione snapped back, "which muggles have had for over a century now, Draco." She looked at Blaise. "Good Lord, you really weren't kidding, were you?"

Blaise snickered, but he said nothing.

"Let me introduce you to my parents, Draco," Hermione said, looking at him, "and you'll see that they're perfectly normal, intelligent people."

Draco looked very suspicious at this, while Blaise smirked.

"By all means, Hermione," Blaise said graciously, "lead the way."

Hermione had warned her parents that Draco came from a very sheltered pureblood household, and that this might be his first real exposure to the non-magical world. She'd extracted promises to not embarrass him over anything he didn't know or any confusion he or Blaise had.

This was immediately tested upon entering the Dining Room, where Hermione's parents were waiting, and Draco reacting with shock, demanding to know what they were wearing. It wouldn't have been quite so bad except he'd addressed the question to Hermione, not her parents.

"No trousers in the magic world?" her father asked wryly.

Blaise smirked. "No, sir. I was shocked when I went and got some at Christmas."

Draco looked at her father, fighting for a neutral expression, but his eyes were wide.

"I'm Richard Granger," her father said, introducing himself and sticking out a hand. "You must be Draco Malfoy."

"That's correct," Draco said, offering her father a short bow. He stared at her father's hand, before sticking his out as well – his wrist passing her father's, resulting in two awkwardly-extended hands. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Her father chuckled and adjusted, taking Draco's hand in his and shaking it slowly. If possible, Draco's eyes went even wider.

"Good to meet you as well, Draco," he said.

Hermione watched when her father let go. Draco didn't wipe his hand on his robes, but from the struggle on his face, it seemed a near miss.

"Draco, may I present my mother, Jean Granger?" Hermione said, giving him an out. "Mum, this is Draco Malfoy."

Her mother gave Hermione an odd look, but Draco looked incredibly grateful and bowed very low.

"It is an honor, madam, to attend your evening meal. Thank you for the invitation." He stood, making sure his back was very straight, and he pulled a bottle of wine from his pocket, extending it to her mother. "As a token of my gratitude, please accept this wine."

Hermione's parents exchanged a look, her mother taking the wine from Draco and passing it to her father. His eyebrows rose high as he glanced at the label, but he didn't say a word.

"You're quite welcome," her mother said finally. "Dinner's just about done, if you want to take a seat? Hermione, would you set the table?"

"Yes, Mum."

Her parents returned to the kitchen, and Hermione hurried to grab the silverware and start laying out the plates as Blaise and Draco chose seats, Draco looking around with large eyes.

"They—they can speak. They're articulate. And they're nice." Hermione overheard Draco speaking in a low voice to Blaise. "I wasn't expecting them to be nice."

"Why wouldn't they be?" Blaise said, frowning.

"She said they forbid her from leaving the house!"

"It's not like they locked her in a cage, Draco." Blaise's voice was annoyed.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she set the table.

"It will be fine," she hissed at them. "Just act like they were your parents." She paused. "Wait, no. Not your parents. Act like they were Blaise's parents."

"Not the best example either, love," Blaise said with a smirk, and Hermione shot him a look as her parents brought in the food.

"We've got roasted lemon chicken," her mother said, setting the food down on a potholder while her father set out another large bowl and a basket of rolls. "There's a salad as well. Please, help yourself."

Her parents settled themselves into their seats, and Hermione sat down as well, finding herself between her mother and Blaise, with Blaise on her right. Draco was watching, his back rigid, as her parents used the tongs to each take a piece of chicken and some of the roasted vegetables, setting it on their plate. Her mother, glancing at Draco, had the sense to hand Hermione the tongs next, and Hermione claimed a leg and some potatoes and onions before passing the tongs to Blaise, who took them with a smirk.

When it came to be Draco's turn, he carefully took the tongs, clicking them together a few times, before hesitantly reaching out and claiming a thigh, successfully returning it to his plate. His eyes lit up, and he shot Hermione a triumphant look before returning to try and claim a small potato.

"Don't use tongs at your school?" her father said, amused as he served himself some salad. Draco had dropped the potato, but he was trying again.

"No, sir," Blaise said, smirking. "Generally just serving forks, if anything, or serving spoons."

"I see."

Draco continued very carefully serving himself individual vegetable by individual vegetable, painstakingly making sure not to drop any of them on the tablecloth, apparently oblivious to everyone watching his careful task. When he had finished and replaced the tongs, he looked proud of himself. Hermione shot her parents a warning look, and her father stifled his snicker.

"So, it's good to meet you, Draco," her mother began. "Especially after hearing so much about you."

Draco looked surprised. "You've heard about me?"

"Hermione writes home at least once a week," her father said. "Not to mention you were in the paper with her."

Draco looked pleased at the thought Hermione wrote home about him. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"So tell us some of what you all get up to in that school," her father said, his eyes twinkling. "Things that Hermione wouldn't have told her parents about."

Hermione groaned. "Dad!"

"I don't know what she would or wouldn't have told you about," Draco said seriously, "but I wouldn't want to break her confidence." He glanced at her. "I can answer some questions, perhaps?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's fine, Draco," she said. "You can talk to them about magic."

"Oh," Draco said, relaxing slightly. "In that case, she spends most of her time absolutely dominating our classwork. She was top in the class again this year." He paused, smug. "I was second, though."

"Oh!" her mother looked surprised. "Well done, Draco. That's quite the accomplishment." She turned to Blaise. "What rank did you get?"

"Sixth," Blaise said lazily. His eyes glinted at Hermione. "I was preoccupied with other priorities towards the end of the year."

Hermione wasn't sure how Blaise managed to get the sunlight to glint off of his coven ring directly into her eyes at that moment, but he did.

"Oh, yes." Draco turned serious. He turned to Hermione's mother. "You wanted my account of your daughter's actions at the end of the year, correct?"

Hermione had vivid flashbacks to Draco's overdramatic retelling repeatedly and quickly intervened.

"She wanted to ask you if I actually saved you from the basilisk," Hermione cut in. She glanced at her mother. "She wanted to verify for herself in case the papers were exaggerating. But all of the details aren't needed – they're not really appropriate for the dinner table, are they?"

Her mother gave her a sharp glance. "And why wouldn't they be, Hermione?"

"Well, they were wandering around in a sewer," her father said, amused. "I certainly don't want to hear visceral details about that."

Her mother rolled her eyes.

"Hermione was expressly forbidden from deliberately endangering herself over the Christmas holiday," her mother told Draco. "She was permitted to procure that sword for protection, not as a weapon to go around slaying legendary creatures with. I was not pleased to learn that that was exactly what she did with it nearly immediately after obtaining it."

Hermione winced. When her mother phrased it like that, it really did sound bad.

"I would have preferred Hermione had not needed to use her sword either," Draco said, glancing at her. "But the fact is, your daughter ran after me to save me from a dire fate. I'd much rather she hadn't had to put herself in danger and risk herself, but who knows what might have happened if she didn't? I might not be here alive today."

There was a silence, her parents exchanging a look. Blaise was giving Hermione a look himself, which she steadfastly ignored.

"I suppose my concern is the authenticity of this all," her mother said finally. She looked at Draco. "Did you go to the Chamber of Secrets on purpose?"

Draco reacted with shock. "What? No!"

Her mother narrowed her eyes at him, and Draco looked astonished.

"I won't deny wanting to know where it was – every Slytherin did – but I hardly wanted to find out by basilisk abduction," he said, his eyes wide. "I'd never risk myself like that!"

"Never?" her father said mildly.

Draco looked at him. "Do you doubt me?"

"Not quite," her father responded. "I doubt that there aren't edge cases you're not considering."

Draco looked puzzled, and her mother sighed.

"Hermione risked herself by going after the basilisk to save you," her father said patiently. He looked at Draco. "Would you have gone after Hermione?"

Draco's eyes went wide.

"I—I honestly don't know," he said. "I—while I'd like to think I would have, I didn't have the knowledge your daughter had, and I didn't have a sword."

"If you had," her father said, raising his eyebrows. "If you did know it was a basilisk, and you did have a sword, would you have gone charging after her?"

Draco swallowed hard.

"I don't know," he admitted. He couldn't meet Hermione's gaze. "I probably would have run for help."

"Would you have gone down the Chamber purposefully if my daughter asked you to?" her mother wanted to know, and Draco's eyes grew large.

"On purpose?" he asked, aghast. His eyes darted to Hermione. "Are you accusing your daughter of setting up a fake kidnapping to deliberately risk her life?"

"It wouldn't be the first time she's played tricks," her father said dryly.

"I am not accusing my daughter of anything," her mother said. "I am asking you if you would have done anything my daughter asked of you, even if it involved risking your life."

Draco looked torn and contemplative.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I'm a Slytherin, and Slytherins generally prioritize preserving themselves above all else. Perhaps, if she gave me a good enough reason to."

"Fair enough," her father said. He turned to Blaise. "Would you?"

"Yes," Blaise said immediately. "Absolutely."

"Blaise!" Hermione said, shocked.

"I would have," Blaise said, ignoring her. "I would have been at her side as she ran into the Chamber. But as this all happened so suddenly," he said, shooting Hermione a dark look, "I was prevented from assisting her. Potter was the other one who was there, and he ran for help when she sent him to."

"As he should have," Hermione hissed, but her father spoke over her.

"Would you not have run for help?" her father asked.

"No," Blaise admitted shamelessly. "With all due respect, sir, your daughter tends to charge ahead without looking sometimes once she's set her course of action, accepting risks to herself as a matter of course, like glumbumbles on a broom ride. I would have wanted to be there to protect her, while she tried to protect and save Draco."

"I can protect myself," Hermione protested. "Didn't it all turn out okay?"

Blaise shot her a look.

"You ran after Draco to save his life," he said dryly, his eyes holding hers, "but you'd rebuke me for running after you to save yours?"

Hermione fell quiet at that, pushing her vegetables around her plate.

"Well, I'm glad that wasn't necessary," her mother said, smoothing things over. "And Draco, though I'm sure you understand my primary concern is for my daughter, I'm certainly glad you're still alive."

Draco looked confused and uncertain how to handle that remark.

"Is this sort of thing normal at magical schools?" her father asked. "I was expecting some amount of adventuring when she went off to Hogwarts, but I had no idea what kind of adventuring to expect."

Draco and Blaise exchanged glances.

"Truthfully, yes," Blaise said honestly. "Magical schools are… well, magical. There's a lot of things going on at any point, and there's a lot of danger in that by its very nature. There's a reason some parents don't send their children to school."

"They don't send their children to school?" Her mother raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, 'cause they're guttersnipes," Draco muttered, and Blaise elbowed him sharply.

"Some parents choose to homeschool their children," Blaise clarified for her mother. "Most of them do so because their children didn't get accepted into Hogwarts, but some probably do out of safety concerns."

"Hogwarts isn't bad," Draco added. "Beauxbatons just got in trouble for having several students fall into their fountain on their last night of the term while under the influence of Aging Potions. They ended up de-aging into toddlers. And Durmstrang's constantly having issues with renegade cockatrices and vampires at least once every few years."

"Cockatrices?" Her father perked up. "What's a cockatrice?"

"A rooster with a lizard's tail," Blaise said. "It sounds silly, but when they get loose, it's a real problem. Their bite can turn you to stone."

"Ha!" Her father sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in satisfaction. "It's the same."

"The same?" Draco was incredulous, and he and Blaise exchanged a wide-eyed look. "There are cockatrices in the muggle world?"

"No," her mother sighed. "You'll have to ignore my husband. He gets overly-excited with some of the more adventure-esque elements of the magical world."

"Cockatrices aren't really an adventure," Draco said, puzzled. "More of a hassle and a pain than anything."

"I'm just excited that my daughter is having proper adventures," her father objected.

Her mother shot him a look. "I'd much prefer she have safer adventures, like her little adventure last year."

Her father laughed.

"You thought her dungeon crawl was unsafe too," he pointed out. "You were worried about the danger of the troll and that strangling plant."

Her mother gave him a dark look.

"It was unsafe," she said, glaring. "Hermione could have been seriously hurt."

"Are you talking about the forbidden 3rd floor corridor?" Blaise asked, chiming in. He glanced at Hermione. "I'm surprised Hermione would have told you about that."

"Oh, she told us all about it," her father said, proud. "We were very proud of her for beating the obstacle course first. When was it, right after your holiday break?" He grinned at Hermione. "She said the next person to go through didn't manage it until the last day of term."

Draco and Blaise choked on their food, and Hermione felt dread slowly build in her chest.

"I'm sorry, did you say she did it right after break?" Draco said, coughing.

"Oh, did they not say when she did it first?" her father asked. "She told us she got points for it at the Leaving Feast. Hermione managed it right after she went back to school, once she had a chessboard she could use to get help on that challenge with."

Draco's eyes went wide, while Blaise's narrowed at her.

"A carefully-curated obstacle course for extra credit is much safer than going after a dangerous murder-snake," Hermione's mother objected, giving her husband a look.

Her husband waved a hand. "That's why she got the sword. And it turned out fine, right?"

Her mother rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?" Blaise said pleasantly. "About how she beat the carefully-curated obstacle course?"

Her father looked surprised, shooting Hermione a look.

"I thought you said your friends were the other ones to beat it at the end of the year," he accused.

"They did," she said dully. "But not these friends. Harry, Neville, and Ron, remember?"

"Those are the Gryffindor ones, right?" her father said, frowning.

"Yes, Dad."

"Hermione went with them when they did it at the end of the year," Blaise said. "I didn't realize she did it before then, too."

"Well, that's why no one else got the treasure at the end," her father said reasonably. "Hermione got it first, back in January."

Draco dropped his fork, and Blaise fought to keep his face even. Hermione looked determinedly at the table, methodically eating her veggies.

"I—I was under the impression that the treasure was destroyed," Blaise said, shooting Hermione a look. "When there was a fight over who should have it at the end."

"Nah, that was just the fake," her father said, dismissive. "She got the real one and replaced it with a lookalike." He turned to Hermione again. "What was the treasure again?"

Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever actually told them.

"A sort of magical artifact," she said. "It glowed red."

Her father nodded, proud. "See?"

"Well, let's please hope Hermione's next year is safer," her mother sighed. She gave her daughter a long-suffering look. "At least don't go looking for trouble?"

"Does that mean you'll let her go back?" Draco asked, his eyes wide. "Does that mean you'll free her from her captivity?"

Her mother looked at Draco oddly.

"Of course she's going back," she said, puzzled. "We're certainly not equipped to homeschool a witch. And what do you mean, 'her captivity'?"

"Hermione said that I needed to come and tell you about how she saved me," Draco said, confused, "so you would free her again."

Her mother gave Hermione a sharp look.

"What did you tell your friends?" she demanded.

"That I was grounded!" Hermione spat back, annoyed. "Draco didn't know what that was, so I said that I was expected to stay up in my room and entertain myself and not leave the house until you permitted me to do so!"

Her mother looked back at Draco, open confusion now on her face. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Draco said. "That she was locked up in her tower because she risked herself to save my life."

Hermione groaned. "Draco, that is not what I said."

"Well, that's what it meant," Draco said indignantly. "I didn't know muggles didn't have towers, did I?"

"Magical parents don't have such a punishment for their children, generally," Blaise told her mother, offering her a charming smile. "We generally get assigned the more unfortunate chores as penance, or a spell punishment instead."

"A spell?" her father asked, frowning. "There are punishment spells?"

It was only because Hermione was watching that she could see Draco tense at the table, his shoulders going rigid.

"There are spells for all sorts of things," Blaise said, keeping his tone conversational. "After I played a prank as a child on one of my mother's guests by putting something in his teacup, my mother cast a Sympathetic Magic spell on me so I experienced the exact same symptoms he was experiencing. I ended up throwing up for half the day. It was very effective – I never tried it again, I'll tell you."

"Oh," Hermione's mother looked surprised. "That's quite fair, really. How old were you?"

"Old enough to know better," Blaise admitted, wincing.

To Hermione's relief, that led to a conversation about wizarding childhood experiences – a much lighter and less fraught topic than the others had been. Her parents were highly amused hearing Draco's and Blaise's stories of growing up playing on toy broomsticks, fighting gnomes, and being chased out of the gardens by white peacocks. Dinner settled down again into something Hermione could actually relax into, and she finished her food quietly.

After dinner, her father looked outside, musing.

"It's such a nice night out, isn't it?" he said. He looked to Hermione. "Shall we go for ice cream?"

"Ice cream?" Draco's eyes lit up. "You have that here?"

"Should we, Richard?" her mother asked, looking them over. "They're wearing robes."

"No one will care," he said, waving her concerns off. "They're kids playing in the summer. So long as Hermione puts one on to match, anyone looking will think it's all a game."

Hermione laughed. "Okay. I'll go change."

"We'll meet you on the porch, love," her father bid her.

Hermione ran up the stairs to change, tugging off her dress and hurriedly slipping on and buttoning up one of her robes. She paused, considering, before shoving one of the butterfly clips into her hair as she ran out of her room. If she was in robes and seen anywhere public, she really should adhere to proper customs, silly as it was.

Blaise was waiting for her by the base of the stairs.

"Draco is out there trying to make a positive impression on your father," he said conversationally, "while your mother is talking to your neighbor. I said I'd wait for you."

"Oh, you didn't have to," Hermione said. "I would have—"

"I wanted a minute alone with you," Blaise cut her off. His eyes held hers, and Hermione felt her breath catch.

"Oh?" she said faintly.

Blaise's eyes were dark.

"You need to extract an Unbreakable Vow from Draco Malfoy before you let him go home," he told her. His tone was utterly serious. "I would offer one too, if you felt you needed it, but I think the other vows I've made are enough to reassure you."

"What?" Hermione was shocked. "Blaise, I can't do that! We're underage – it could stunt our magic. And what about? Not to tell anyone where my parents live?"

"Not that." Blaise gave her a look, aggravated.

"Then what?" Hermione demanded, poking Blaise in the chest. "What is so important?"

Blaise caught her hand in his, holding it in his hand as his eyes held hers.

"You have the Philosopher's Stone," he said quietly.

There was a silence.

"And if I do?" Hermione said finally, holding his eyes.

Blaise's eyes were dark.

"The Dark Lord nearly killed Potter for that last year," he told her. "Do you think letting Lucius Malfoy's son spread around the knowledge of where that is would be a good idea?"

Hermione shuddered.

"No," she admitted. "That's… I didn't think of that."

Blaise's eyes seemed to almost glow.

"Conversation moved quickly, but if I caught it, Draco did too," Blaise told her. "Hermione, you have to make sure he can't ever tell."

"But how?" Hermione said, frustrated. "It's not his fault my parents mentioned it. And I don't want to stunt anyone's magic…"

"Then cast a Memory Charm on him." Blaise was deadly in earnest. "Hermione, Draco having this knowledge is dangerous."

Hermione worried at her lip. "I don't think he'd let me do that."

"Let you? Hermione…"

"Are you kids ready?" Hermione's father stuck his head in around the door. "We'd better get going, or it'll be dark soon."

"Right, we're coming!" Hermione said, breaking off from Blaise. She shot him a warning look. "We'll talk about this more later."

Blaise merely raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaving Hermione to obsess over this new difficulty the entire way to the ice cream stand.

Chapter Text

Caramel Cones, an independent ice cream shop, was approximately ten minutes away by foot near a local park. With the weather being so pleasant and the sun staying out late for so long, Hermione's parents were content to walk there. Draco, Blaise, and Hermione followed shortly behind them, with Draco trying not to boggle over all the new things he was seeing and utterly failing not to.

And he boggled over everything. Seeing neat houses with neatly-kept gardens in front of them seemed almost like it would break his mind, to say nothing of the street lamps and traffic they passed.

"What is that?" Draco demanded, pointing. "Is it dangerous?"

"It's a car."

"You said that was a car."

"There are different types of cars. Like different breeds of horses."

"Is that kind dangerous?"

"It's like a horseless carriage," Hermione said. "It's only dangerous if you get in its way, Draco. Then it might run you over."

"Are you sure?" Draco gave her a suspiciously look. "It was growling at us."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Draco, it's not an animal," Hermione said, exasperated. "It's a vehicle. My parents have one too."

Blaise stifled a snicker, and Hermione could see her parents exchange an amused look.

As they approached the park and ice cream stand, there were more people milling about, and Draco looked more and more uncomfortable as they did. He crowded in closer to Hermione, who gave him an annoyed look and pushed him off.

"They're just people, Draco," she said. "They're not going to bite."

"There's so many of them, though," he said, looking around with wide eyes. "There are so many children, too! How is that?"

"The muggle population greatly outnumbers the wizarding one," Hermione said, keeping her voice low. "That's all."

"But the children! How are there so many?"

Hermione shot Blaise a skeptical look, who shrugged, helpless.

"Just ignore them, Draco. They're not going to do anything to you."

At the ice cream stand, Draco seemed boggled again by just the normality of it all and its very existence.

"This is just like Florean's in the alley," he said, looking around. "This is just like it, practically! How is that?"

"Muggles can do a lot without magic," Hermione said patiently. "After the Statute of Secrecy came into effect, muggles started making major technological advancements, especially with machinery and electricity."

Draco still seemed dumbfounded as they waited in line at the stand.

"They're all so normal, though," he hissed to Blaise. "How is it that they're normal?"

"There's just people, mate," Blaise said. "They don't have magic, but so what? They're just like you when you were ten or so and not allowed your own wand."

Hermione was growing more and more annoyed with Draco as time went on. She knew that he'd been raised with blood prejudice and to view muggles as 'lesser', but he was being faced with clear counter-examples, now. Why was he still holding onto that belief when there was so much evidence to the contrary?

She hoped he managed to get the idea through his thick skull sooner rather than later.

"Love the costumes," the boy working the stand said to them, when it was their turn. He grinned. "What are you, the Council of Elrond?"

Hermione's father laughed.

"They haven't figured out how to make fake ears, yet," he told the worker, grinning. "Nor have they decided where around here is a good Mount Doom."

Hermione had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Draco's eyes went wide at the mention of 'Mount Doom'.

"Fun," the worker said, grinning. "What can I get for you all?"

They each got an ice cream cone: Hermione got strawberry, Blaise asked for cookies and cream, and Draco ended up with some over-stuffed chocolatey confection called 'Midnight Madness' that he seemed to enjoy immensely. The three of them claimed a bench near the playground to enjoy their cones while Hermione's parents stopped to chat with some of their neighbors who were around.

The ice cream was good, and it was helping Hermione relax. It helped too that Draco was too preoccupied with his own dessert to constantly overreact to every new thing muggle he found. Blaise, to her surprise, seemed perfectly at ease. He'd been caught off-guard when she'd taken him to see the play, but now, you'd never know he wasn't used to going out and about in the muggle world all the time.

The silence they sat in while eating their ice cream was comfortable, the sound of laughing children from the park filling the air. Hermione watched on with a faint smile. She'd never really had friends to play with at the park as a child, but she had enjoyed going on the swings and the slide.

"Before Hermione's parents come back here," Blaise said, looking at Draco sideways, "you need to make an Unbreakable Vow to Hermione."

Draco choked on his cone, coughing and sputtering for a moment before turning to stare at Blaise, his eyes wide.

"I need to what?" he said indignantly.

"Swear an Unbreakable Vow," Blaise repeated. "To not tell anyone Hermione's secrets."

"First off, we can't even make Unbreakable Vows yet. We're underage," Draco said, annoyed. "Secondly, what are you even talking about? I'm not going to tell anyone anything about—"

"About what?" Blaise challenged, his eyes flinty. "About what, Draco?"

Draco looked uneasy.

"I mean," he faltered. "So long as nothing's really been confirmed for me, and no one would have any reason to ask…"

Blaise scoffed.

"This is why he needs to make a vow to you," he told Hermione. "All it would take is the slightest suspicion from his father, and he'd spill your secrets like a tipped glass."

"That's not fair!" Draco objected. "Just because you don't have a proper father who cares about—"

"Don't you dare talk about my father," Blaise snapped, his eyes alight with anger. "And don't change the subject. This is about you."

"Is it, though? It seems an awful lot like this is about your paranoia with Hermione—"

"Well, if you were trustworthy, I wouldn't have to be paranoid, would I?"

"Come on, now," Hermione interrupted, giving them both a sharp look. "Blaise does have a point, Draco. Intended or not, you do know one of my secrets, now."

"I'm not going to share your secrets with anyone," Draco objected.

"All the same," Hermione said, "I'd feel better if we made sure of that before you left today."

Draco looked annoyed and uneasy, shooting Blaise dirty looks.

"Fine," he said finally. "But no Unbreakable Vows."

"That's fine," Hermione said amicably. "What about a Loyalty Oath with a Tongue-Tying Charm?"

Draco looked confused. "What?"

"A vow can be anything," Hermione told him. "If you vow loyalty to me and my secrets, and we put in a Tongue-Tying charm instead of death, it won't stunt your magic, but it would keep you from spilling any secrets."

"Either that, or we Memory Charm you," Blaise challenged, and Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Like you have the skill to do that," he sneered.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Want to try me?"

"We don't need to do any Memory Charms," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Draco, are you willing to swear an oath to not spill my secrets?"

"Yes," Draco said immediately. His eyes glanced at Blaise and then back to her. "I would swear you an Oath of Loyalty, or an Oath of Fealty. Just say the word."

"I am not accepting Oaths of Fealty," Hermione said, annoyed.

Blaise smirked. "Well, when will you, Hermione?"

"An Oath of Loyalty is fine," Hermione said, ignoring Blaise. "We can do it in the backyard before you go home, Draco, okay?"

"That's fine by me," Draco said. He sneered at Blaise. "I am happy to reassure you, Hermione, even if Zabini's paranoia is getting ridiculous."

Blaise sniffed. "Whatever."

After they had walked back to the house, the three teens went into the backyard for a few minutes, crafting Draco's vow. Draco seemed astonished by Hermione's spiral notebook and ballpoint pen that she drafted the vow in, to the point he really wasn't much help until Blaise elbowed him sharply and made a snide comment.

"I think this will cover everything?" Hermione said finally. She looked at the boys. "Do we all feel good about this?"

"I do," Draco said immediately.

Blaise looked reluctant. "I suppose it covers most everything," he said. "I'd still prefer if the consequences were more dire—"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We are not putting in body parts falling off, Blaise."

"If he didn't spill your secrets, that would never happen, though, would it?" Blaise challenged.

"We should probably do this soon," Draco interrupted, looking at the setting sun. "I don't want my father to go looking for me and not find me at the Zabini's."

Hermione nodded, decisive. "Right. Let's do this."

Draco knelt in front of Hermione. The notebook sat on the pavement next to him for him to read from, and he took Hermione's hands in his own.

"I, Draco Malfoy, swear to you my loyalty," he told her. "I will not deceive you, nor shall I try to harm or hinder your aims. I will keep your secrets as my own; may my tongue tie itself into knots if I try to speak them, and may my fingers break their bones if I try to write them down. My arm is your wand, my eye your scout, and my body your soldier. I swear this on my life, my magic, and my honor."

There was a sharp snapping feeling as something grabbed at Hermione's magical core abruptly, and both she and Draco gasped. Draco's eyes were wide, and Hermione could feel her heart pounding as she looked down at him.

"I daresay that worked," she said faintly.

Draco looked awed.

"I can feel you," he said, his eyes far off. "It's like a tether. I bet if I could Apparate, I could find you anywhere."

"Only if she called for you," Blaise snapped. "You swore loyalty, not fealty. She has no obligation to you."

"I know, I know." Draco shot him an annoyed look. "But still."

As they went back inside, the boys continued bickering. They seemed to be bickering over nothing, in Hermione's opinion – they just liked to bicker. They did stop to politely say good-bye to Hermione's parents before going to the fireplace to head back to Blaise's home.

Just before they left, Draco paused.

"I nearly forgot," he said, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a scroll. He handed it to her with a proud smirk. "I got this for you."

"Oh?" Hermione unrolled the scroll, her eyes catching on an official-looking golden seal at the bottom.

Class B Non-Tradeable Goods License

This license authorizes Hermione Granger to sell and trade
the following Class B Non-Tradeable Goods:

Basilisk parts

The aforementioned is authorized to sell and trade these goods for a period of five years, whereupon the license will expire.
This license extends to the greater area of the Ministry of Magic and does not extend to other countries.

Authorized by Tick Chaptin

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Hermione beamed.

"This is great!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, Draco!"

Excited, she threw her arms around Draco, hugging him tightly for a moment before pulling back. There was a slight flush to Draco's cheeked, and he looked slightly dazed.

"It was my pleasure, Hermione," he assured her, taking a confident pose. "If there is anything else I can help you with, just let me know."

"Right now, I think it might help the most if we got going," Blaise said, his voice neutral. "If your father tracks you here…"

"Right." Draco squared his shoulders, turning to the fireplace and withdrawing his wand. "Incendio." With some Floo powder, the flames turned emerald green, and Draco paused to smile at Hermione.

"This was kind of nice," he admitted. "I wouldn't mind doing it again."

Hermione laughed. "Good-bye, Draco."

Draco stepped into the fireplace, tucking his elbows in. "Zabini Villa!"

There was a whoosh, and abruptly Draco was gone. Blaise took his own handful of Floo powder from the jar on top of the mantel, looking at it before tossing it into the fireplace, the flames turning green once more. He looked at her, his eyes holding hers.

"I'll be seeing you soon?" he murmured. He took one of her hands in his, toying with it idly.

"I think so." Hermione was optimistic. "I think my mum will lift my punishment, so I should be able to convene our coven together soon."

Blaise relaxed, giving her a grin.

"Good," he said. He paused, before tugging on her hand, pulling her into a hug.

"Ah! Blaise!" Hermione laughed, her face flushing, but she hugged him back. His chest was warm and firm, and she couldn't help but smile.

"I wouldn't want to go the entire summer without seeing you." Blaise's voice was warm and low in her ear. "It's hard enough not seeing you every day."

"You say that now," Hermione teased, pulling back so she could look at him. "You'll be sick of me soon enough, calling our coven together all the time over the summer."

Blaise's eyes sparkled at her, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "Never."

With a cry of "Zabini Villa!" Blaise disappeared as well. Hermione put out the magical flames after a moment, wondering what would happen if someone tried to Floo in if there was a muggle fire burning.

She went back outside to find her parents, who were watching the last of the sunset from the porch. She sat down next to them quietly, no one saying anything for a while, just enjoying the peace.

"So…?" she finally prompted.

Her mother glanced over at her.

"Interesting friends you have, Hermione," she commented, and Hermione flushed.

"Draco's not really my friend," she muttered. "Blaise is, and he's more normal. Not shocked silly by electric lights."

"Still." Her mother sounded amused. She regarded her for a long moment, before sighing in resignation, though a smile still lingered on her lips. "Your punishment is lifted, Hermione. You can see your friends again and go out during the summer."

"Yes!" Hermione clenched a fist, excited.

"But, Hermione, no more dangerous adventures," her mother warned her. "I don't want to get word of you risking your life next year, do you hear me? Magical school or not, you need to be safe."

Her mind flying over all the craziness Hogwarts provided and all the potential dangers she might encounter, Hermione managed to give her mother a sheepish grin.

"I'll do my best."

Chapter Text

As soon as Hermione sent word that her punishment was lifted, she received a summons from Tracey to an Official Campaign Strategy Meeting, to be held at Millie's home Monday afternoon. It was with great amusement that Hermione showed up, curious what all it would entail.

Millie's house was large and stark, with not much decorating it. The furniture looked largely for show, and Millie rolled her eyes at it as she guided Hermione from the fireplace out into the yard.

"These big estate manors are all largely the same," she said. "There's a set of rooms for show, and then ones you actually use. My family never entertains, not really, so our 'show rooms' kind of go by the wayside."

"Does everyone have a big manor like this?" Hermione said, looking around as they walked quickly through dank hallways.

"Most of the Sacred 28, I think," Millie said. "Not all of them, though."

Outside, it was much brighter, and Hermione was delighted to see that there was a glade with some shade where a table and chairs had been set up. Tracey was already there, setting up an easel of some sort, as were Blaise and Daphne.

"Everyone's coming," Tracey told Hermione excitedly. "Our whole class!"

"Everyone?" Hermione was startled. "Really?"

"Well, everyone in our class in Slytherin," Tracey corrected. "Even Theo and Pansy are going to come."

Hermione chatted with Daphne as the others gradually arrived, making polite conversation and inquiring after her parents.

"They're still trying for an heir," Daphne said, with a sad smile. "My father's stuck with two daughters. And he loves us both, don't get me wrong, but it's obvious he really wants a son."

"Your parents aren't too old to have more children?" Hermione asked, astonished.

Daphne laughed. "Not at all. Witches can have children well into their seventies."

Pansy and Theo came soon after, and when Draco finally showed up, it was with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. When everyone had arrived, Tracey cleared her throat importantly. She twirled a long wooden pointer in her fingers, looking authoritative.

"Alright," she said. "This meeting is to strategize how to get Hermione elected to the Wizengamot as Youth Representative. Everyone here is united on this point, right?"

"I have a question." Goyle raised a meaty hand.

Tracey gave him a look. "Yes?"

"I thought it was only grown-ups on the Wizengamot," he said. "And elections aren't for another two years, I thought."

Tracey gave him annoyed look.

"So to start," she said loudly, "I will give everyone the basics of the Wizengamot, as I have discovered." She shot Goyle a sharp look. "Then we can begin strategizing, once everyone understands everything."

"Fair enough." Blaise leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Have to admit, I'm not positive I know all the details of this, either."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't. You don't have a family seat on it."

Blaise stuck out his tongue, and Hermione stifled a giggle.

"The Wizengamot consists of fifty seats," Tracey announced, thwacking her pointer on the easel. "Twenty-eight of those seats are hereditary, taken by the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Another eight of those are taken by the Ministry's Department Heads – each head of a department holds a seat for as long as they hold their position."

"Does the Minister of Magic count as a Department head?" Blaise asked.

"Yes, of course," Tracey said. She paused. "…though, I'm not really sure what Department he's the head of."

"I think it's just the Office of the Minister of Magic," Draco said. "Not really a proper department, but it still is."

"Another thirteen seats are elected representatives, with elections occurring in each region of the land every five years," Tracey announced. She thwacked a different area of her chart with her pointer. "The regions are: South East, London, North West, East of England, West Midlands, South West, Yorkshire and the Humber, East Midlands, North East, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Ireland." She looked at them all importantly. "And, if you are counting, we are only up to forty-nine. There is one remaining – the British Youth Representative."

"Wait a second," Pansy interjected. "I thought there were only forty-nine members. All the votes always total forty-nine."

"That's because one seat is vacant, Pansy," Tracey said, shooting her a dark look for getting her off track. "There are fifty seats, but only forty-nine are filled right now."

"The Gaunt family seat is still empty," Theo told her. "It's still standing, so there's a member of the family out there somewhere, but no one's claimed it in ages."

Pansy sniffed. "If you say so."

"The British Youth Representative is what we're going to be targeting," Tracey told them. "It is the only seat that can be held by someone underage, and it must be held by someone underage. Gabriel Truman currently holds it, but his birthday is this summer, and he will turn seventeen. There will be an election soon, and it is this seat we want Hermione to win."

"I have a question," Crabbe said.

Tracey groaned. "What, Vince?"

"Why?" he asked.

Tracey looked puzzled. "Why what?"

"Why do we want Granger to be in the Wizengamot?" he asked. "It sounds boring."

Tracey pulled at her hair.

"The goal is to get Hermione into a place where she can influence the government from as early as possible," she told him. "Obviously."

"Why?" Crabbe asked.

"Why what?" Tracey snapped. "Why do we want her to influence the government?"

"Yeah," Crabbe said. "That."

Tracey paused.

"…because we can?" she said finally. "I mean, Hermione's destined to change the world, you realize? If we can get her into the government from a young age, that seems like a good way to set her up to do that, really."

"Wait, we're doing this because of the prophecy?" Hermione sat up straighter. "I thought we were doing this because it's ambitious and to see if we could."

"It's both," Tracey said impatiently, waving a hand irritably. "The important part is that this spot in the Wizengamot is open, so—"

"I think our motives for doing this are rather important," Hermione said, rather indignantly. "If you all are doing this because of some silly prophecy about me changing the world—"

"Don't," Theo groaned, rubbing his temples. "Hermione, don't. Can we just get on with the plan?"

"I want to know," Hermione snapped. "It's important. If we all have different goals going into this—"

Tracey gave the table a lost look, and Theo groaned.

"I'll do it," he said, standing. "Hermione, come with me for a minute, okay?"

"Well, fine," Hermione said, huffy as she rose from her chair. "I don't see why we need to discuss this privately…"

Tracey went on, her tone one of relief, as she began outlining the necessary timeline the Youth Representative election would have. Her voice faded as Hermione followed Theo deeper into the glade, until they came upon a couple large rocks by a pond. Theo sat down on one and rubbed his temples, looking aggrieved. Hermione sat down primly, expectantly, watching as Theo groaned.

"This is one of those things that is just understood in Slytherin, you realize," he said finally. "It's almost taboo to spell it out aloud."

"Vince wasn't understanding either," Hermione pointed out.

"Crabbe is a moron, and you know it," Theo said, rolling his eyes. "He'll get it, though. Listen, Hermione. It's…"

He broke off, looking frustrated.

"Slytherin is the house of the ambitious," he said finally. "A lot of the people who make big names for themselves in history, they started out in Slytherin."

"That makes sense," Hermione said, wondering where this was going. "Ambitious people are the ones that go far."

"Yes, but…" Theo broke off, searching for words, before making a face. "Let me start over. Let me tell you a story, and we'll see if you get it that way."

"Fine," Hermione said, skeptical. "Go ahead."

Theo took a deep breath.

"Once upon a time, there was an ambitious boy," he said. "He was very skilled with magic from a young age, and very powerful. He wanted to become the most powerful wizard ever and help write the course of history."

"Okay…" Hermione said. "I'm following so far."

"Now," Theo said, "where this boy might have once intended to go into the Ministry and make great changes for society, something happened. Someone high up made mention of him to someone in the Ministry, a whisper about something being wrong with him, and suddenly the boy found his way was blocked. Unable to go into government to work for change, the boy was stuck on the outside, working scut jobs for scant galleons instead of achieving his true potential."

"That's awful!" Hermione exclaimed. She found herself surprisingly upset at the thought. "Who blocked him?"

"The boy was determined, ambitious, and cunning," Theo went on, ignoring her. "Feeling he was destined to change the world, he decided he would do it however necessary, and he vanished from society from many years, abandoning the Ministry and the society that had cut him out. It was nearly two decades later that he came back, having learned more about ancient, dangerous magics than anyone else had seen in centuries." Theo's eyes held hers. "And he did come back, wanting revenge."

Hermione held very still.

"I will not lie to you," Theo said quietly. "Many people followed him. He was a charismatic leader, and he promised his followers power. He taught them new magics the likes of which they had never seen. Dark magic is intoxicating and addictive, and soon he had an army. And it was an army all too happy to use their new powers against those who had locked their leader out in the cold."

"Voldemort," Hermione whispered. "It was Voldemort, wasn't it?"

Theo just looked at her.

"Regardless of what side you took in the war, the war was violent and devastating for everyone," Theo said quietly. "Many, many wizards died. It was a time of terror. And all during it, there was an undercurrent of wonder, of 'what if?'" Theo's voice was bleak. "What if Dumbledore hadn't judged him unfairly as a child? What if he had been able to work for great change from within the system, instead of needing to try to tear it down? How many lives could have been saved?"

Hermione shuddered.

"That is why Tracey wants to get you onto the Wizengamot," Theo told her. "Your friends like you, but they are Slytherin, Hermione, and they are not blind – they see a very powerful, very ambitious girl who is literally destined to change the world." His eyes held hers. "And if she, too, is locked on the outside, unable to make change from within…?"

Hermione swallowed hard. Theo's eyes held hers.

"…then who knows what fire her fury would reign down upon the world."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm not, though," she said quietly, insistent. "I'm not a Dark witch. I'm not."

"Do you think the Dark Lord just started out casting Dark magic in his third year?" Theo said. "Or is it more likely he was driven to it when he was forced to and had no other options?"

Hermione scowled.

"I think that's a bit of a misrepresentation," she said, annoyed. "I think it was probably a combination of factors – he was intelligent, and some of his research on immortality went along Darker pathways, so it would have been only natural to be curious—"

"Do you even realize how terrifying it is that you casually drop information about the young Dark Lord like you know him? With utter certainty?" Theo asked. "I don't know how you know these things or think you know them – I don't want to know – but it's terrifying, Hermione."

He looked at her, and Hermione gnawed on her lip and fell silent. She wasn't about to tell him about the diary.

"Your friends see you, Hermione," Theo said. "We all see you, dominating in every class. And we see your ambition. We hear your destiny." Theo's eyes were steady on hers. "And we all were raised in the wake of the devastation left from the wizarding war."

"I wouldn't," Hermione insisted. "I wouldn't become that!"

"Can you say that for certain?" Theo challenged. "If you couldn't change things from within the Ministry, and you were stuck on the outside looking in, and you thought the Ministry was doing something wrong… would you really be able to just be quiet and endure it with the rest of us?"

"I…"

Hermione wanted to protest. She really did – she could be an obedient citizen just like anyone, couldn't she? But even as she had the thought, another part of her mind was laughing at her, knowing she would always rail against mindless obedience to anyone. Her mind went to her secret research project under her bed in a box, the one the Ministry would be in an uproar over if they ever found out. And though Theo was speaking hypothetically about her acting against the Ministry…

Here, in the now, she realized, she already was.

"…no," Hermione admitted quietly. She glanced at Theo. "No. I wouldn't be able too. It's… it's just not who I am, Theo."

"And that," Theo pronounced, "is why Tracey is determined to get you into government as soon as possible. If you can claim the Youth seat, when you reach majority, you can petition for your own seat as a New Blood House – maybe usurp the Gaunt one, or something – and stay in the Wizengamot even longer. The sooner you feel like you're making needed changes in the world from the inside, the safer the rest of the world will be."

Hermione's mouth was dry.

"So you're saying," she said, "that my friends and housemates are afraid I could become the next Dark Lord if I'm not somehow appeased."

Theo considered.

"I wouldn't say that they're afraid," he said carefully. "Some of them are fairly excited about the prospect, I think – Merlin knows Malfoy's already hoping to be your right hand if you do go Dark – but I think everyone's aware of the potential you hold." He looked at her sideways. "Both sides took losses during the war, you realize. Even the Dark Lord's. And I think everyone in Slytherin would rather not have to worry about another war."

Chapter Text

When Hermione and Theo returned to the table, the team had been busy sketching out ideas for campaign platforms and filling out paperwork Draco had procured. Daphne and Pansy were working on some sort of press strategy, and Crabbe and Goyle were arm-wrestling on a tree stump off to the side. Theo immediately rejoined the discussion, talking to Blaise and Draco about how best to ensure the hedgewitch community could be courted, while Hermione just took her seat silently.

She felt numb.

Words went in one ear and out the other the rest of the afternoon. She vaguely remembered answering questions about what animals she liked, what symbols she would want in a house crest, and her opinions on other issues, but she didn't remember what her answers were. She felt disconnected, there but not there, some part of her watching her friends work together while some other part of her was wrapped in a blanket of cold.

Her friends were afraid of her becoming a Dark Lord.

Or a Dark Lady. Was it a gendered term?

Didn't matter.

Her friends were scared of her.

The thing that bothered Hermione the most was that Theo had a point. Hermione had embraced Luna's prophecy as a way to break into pureblood-only spaces. She'd focused nearly exclusively on the New Blood portion of Luna's words, not the rest of it.

But there it was. She was predicted to change the world.

Hermione wondered if she hadn't heard the prophecy, if her friends hadn't learned what Luna said, if they'd still think that way. Was she bound to change the world because she'd learned she was destined for it? Or would she still have managed it somehow on her own, even if the prophecy had never been spoken?

Hermione's thoughts lingered on the sword she'd commissioned from the goblins, the secret box under her bed, her plans with her coven, and though she wanted to, she couldn't lie to herself.

Even without the prophecy, Hermione knew she was one to make waves.

It was the assumption she would be Dark that bothered Hermione so much. Sure, she could be mean sometimes, but so could everyone! No one was nice all the time. And the people she was cruel to, they had deserved it – they had acted against her first, and she had only been giving them their just rewards.

Was it so hard for her friends to think that she might become a powerful Light wizard? Dumbledore had managed it, hadn't he? Sure, she was in Slytherin, where magic ran a little Darker by nature, but still…

Hermione broke away from that train of thought. Even in her head, it sounded deluded, comparing her magic to Dumbledore's.

She wouldn't be a Light wizard. She already knew that. But she wouldn't be Dark, either. Her strength lay in the Grey magic in between, in the powerful forgotten magics of times gone by. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either. It just… was.

So that was evidence she wasn't going to grow up into a Dark witch, right? She knew where the lines were, and she was careful not to cross them, wasn't she?

…the fact she had Tom Riddle's diary fully charged under her pillow made it hard to believe that, though.

Hermione gnawed at her lip. She'd given her word to pull him from the diary with a body today; even if it had been a bargain made for a good cause, temporarily manifesting a young Voldemort didn't seem like a terribly good idea from any angle she tried.

When she eventually went home around dinner time, vacantly bidding her friends good-bye, Hermione was fully in her head, lost and disassociated from reality. Her parents seemed slightly worried, but they relaxed when she assured them she was just working on a problem she had. They were used to her withdrawing when faced with a situation she didn't know how to respond to, and they resumed their conversation about a convention coming up.

After dinner, Hermione went up to her room, flopping down on her bed. She pulled out the diary from under her pillow and looked at it for a long moment, before dipping a quill into ink.

Are you ready? she wrote.

Yes. Tom's response was immediate. Is it time?

Almost. After my parents go to bed. Hermione gnawed her quill. Do you promise not to hurt me or them?

I promise, Hermione. Tom's handwriting seemed earnest. You are helping me, Hermione. I'm not going to betray your trust or act against you.

His wording niggled Hermione's mind, and she toyed with the absurdity of asking the bound soul of young Voldemort to somehow swear her an Oath of Loyalty.

We'll do it after dark, once my parents are in bed. And we'll do it outside, Hermione wrote to him. You can't get me in trouble, though, okay? No one can find out.

I will hide from your parents, Tom told her. We're in this together.

Hermione swallowed, uneasy.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered.

The stars were out, the moon waxing and nearing full. There was enough light for Hermione to see in her backyard, diary laid out on the ground in front of her. She stood over it, looking down at the innocuous-looking book, and her hand clenched around the handle of her goblin-forged sword.

She wasn't about to take any chances.

Not with this.

Taking a deep breath to steady her magic, using the quiet bonds with her coven to settle her, Hermione closed her eyes. She sank down into her core of magic, air and earth elementals brushing up against her awareness in greeting, before she reached out with her magic, into the diary once more.

She'd been draining her magic into the diary every night for a week, as she'd promised. This time, instead of letting her magic drain freely into the diary, she held it together, casting it about like a fishing line, like a rope waiting for someone to catch it and hang on.

There was a sudden feeling of tension, a tugging on her power, and Hermione held her breath.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled her power out.

Though she'd done it once before, it was still an insane sight to see – a head, then face, then body of a teenage boy being literally pulled out of a book by magic. Hermione watched as Tom Riddle slowly emerged from the pages of the diary, her mind holding all the information she knew about the human body at the forefront of her mind as her magic tugged him out.

Once it was done, her magic abruptly snapped back to her, and the diary slammed itself shut. Tom was looking up and down at himself, running his hands over his body as if in disbelief, before looking at Hermione.

"We meet again," he murmured. His dark eyes were bright.

Hermione's mouth felt dry. "We do indeed."

Tom seemed oddly fascinated by his arms, examining them over and over.

"You did more, this time," he said. "I feel… more."

"More what?" Hermione asked.

"Last time, you held the mental image of me in your mind, and that I could bleed," he said. His eyes glittered. "This time, this feels less like a construct, and more like a body."

"Surely that's a good thing?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. She tried for a sardonic tone, but it came out wavering, unsure.

Tom turned to her. Slowly, a grin spread across his face – but it was all wrong, his eyes looked warm and happy, his smile charming and her breath was catching in her throat, he didn't look evil at all –

"It's very good," he assured her, sharing a smirk with her, and to Hermione's horror, she felt her face flush and smirk back without her meaning to respond.

Tom seemed content to just look around for a while, walking, running his hands over the wood of a nearby tree, spinning in the open air under the stars. He didn't say much, just seemed to be taking in every sensory experience he could with his new form. Hermione watched quietly, her hand still on her sword as her heart thudded in her chest. Even as alert and wary as she felt, she could feel the heat of her face as she watched him.

It was hard to watch a boy – just a good-looking, teenage boy – revel in the sight of the stars and the simple joy of feeling the wind in the sky, and to then feel afraid of him.

Tom seemed so human. And he was human, really, Hermione supposed.

Even with only half a soul.

Tom turned to Hermione after a while, giving her a slow smile. His jet-black hair gleamed in the moonlight, somehow perfectly groomed, and Hermione bit her lip hard, determinedly reminding herself that this was the young Dark Lord, and that he would do anything to manipulate her to get what he wanted from her.

"You have no idea how good this feels," he told her. His eyes were honest and open, his tone almost reverent, and Hermione hated how genuine he could make it seem. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Don't get used to it," she warned him. "I'm not doing it again."

Tom didn't respond to that. Instead, he'd turned to look at his hands, before holding one out toward the tree. He stood very still, waiting.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked finally. "You've got a limited amount of time with this body, and you're just going to—"

A leaf zoomed into his hand a moment later, and Hermione's words broke off, her mouth agape.

Tom turned slowly to look at her, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"You are very powerful, aren't you, Hermione?" he murmured. "Powerful enough to give me a semblance of magic back."

"I didn't," Hermione shot back. "I did it exactly the same as last time, really – I don't know why you can do magic—"

"Relax. I won't do it again," Tom assured her. "I can feel what it uses; it spends up rather a lot of your magic that's holding me here. Believe me, I'd much rather enjoy the freedom of a body for as long as I can than spend it up on cheap tricks of wandless magic."

Hermione bit her lip, uneasy.

"Can you tell how much is in it?" she asked finally. "I don't know how long we're going to be out here for, and I kind of want to go to bed."

"Please, feel free." Tom's eyes glittered at her. "I can entertain myself, I assure you."

"No," Hermione said, annoyed. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. I brought you here, and I'm responsible for you while you're here. I'm not about to let you gad about freely."

Tom laughed, a low, smooth chuckle. Hermione hated how nice it sounded. How long must he have practiced that laugh in front of the mirror?

"You do realize, Hermione, that you've been pouring your power into the diary for a week, don't you?" he said. He grinned. "I daresay I'm going to be here a while."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, sitting down on the ground in a slump next to the diary. "Then I just won't get any sleep tonight. I can live with that for a night."

Even in the dark, Tom's eyes glittered with amusement at her.

"We're not talking hours, Hermione," he told her. "We're talking days."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"No," she said, astonished. "No way."

"You should be proud of yourself," Tom told her. "This is quite the feat of magic."

"You are not hanging around for days," Hermione said, tugging her hair hard. "I have things to do! I'm going to see my coven tomorrow, I need to meet up with Tracey and them about the campaign, I have to talk to Neville about Herbology…"

"Then, Hermione…"

Tom's eyes glittered.

"…I daresay you'll be taking along a friend."

Chapter Text

It took a hushed argument and fierce words, but Hermione eventually bargained with Tom for him to go back in the diary during the nights, and to pull him back out during the day until his 'magic battery' was used up.

"It's no use for you to be doing anything while I'm sleeping anyway, is it?" she'd argued. "Wouldn't you rather actually getting to use your time out of the diary?"

Tom had acquiesced easily enough, and it was with relief that Hermione finally went to bed that night, diary with Tom firmly back in it tucked safely under her pillow.

When Hermione woke up, she had slept in to almost nine, and her parents were already gone. She showered and dressed quickly before reluctantly reaching into the diary with her magic, pulling Tom back out.

Tom seemed just as pleased as he'd been the previous night, his eyes bright and grin charming. Hermione fought to not look at him for long; it was harder to ignore his good looks when it was broad daylight and she could see the lines of his body and jaw.

"So what are we doing today?" Tom asked cheerily. "Meeting your coven, aren't we?"

Hermione groaned, burying her head in her hands.

"I guess," she said, despairing. "What am I supposed to tell them, though? I don't want to lie to them!"

"Are they likely to take it well that you manifested the soul of Voldemort?" Tom inquired in innocent tones.

Hermione shot him a dark look. "No."

"Then," Tom said, "I suggest you lie."

In the end, Hermione took the diary, her sword, and Tom with her to the designated meeting site. She'd forced Tom to Floo to the Lovegood's household with her, the two of them pressed tightly together in the fireplace at once, but she wasn't taking any chances, and Tom just seemed amused by the whole thing. They spilled out of her fireplace onto the floor together, Hermione coughing in the ash.

"Oh, Hermione." Luna's voice was lilting. "And Hermione's companion. Are you coming too?"

Hermione pushed herself off of Tom, who was laughing underneath her.

"I'm sort of baby-sitting him today," Hermione told Luna, dusting off her robes.

Luna blinked at her. "Baby-sitting?"

Hermione winced. "Watching him. Making sure he doesn't get into trouble."

Luna looked puzzled.

"Hermione, if your goal is to keep him out of trouble," she said, "surely bringing him to a coven meet-up is more likely to start trouble than not?"

Tom chuckled behind her, and Hermione groaned.

"Please, let's not," she begged. "Let's just go."

The Lovegood house was on a large plot of land, most of it covered in wild grasses and wheat. In the distance, Hermione could see the oddly-shaped house that was the Burrow, and another more normal-looking house sat on the other side of the field. Near the back of the property were some trees, forming a bit of a glade, and as they neared the shade, Hermione saw her friends lounging around in the grasses.

Harry saw her first, sitting up. "Hermione!"

He got up and bounded over to her, engulfing her in a giant hug, and Hermione laughed.

"Harry, it's good to see you too!" she laughed. "Enjoying your freedom?"

"You have no idea," Harry told her emphatically. "Dumbledore got wind of the plan at the last second somehow. Tried to block me from getting to the Weasleys', saying I wouldn't be safe there. I wrote back, saying I wouldn't be safe at the Dursleys' with Aunt Marge there, and I took the Knight Bus here anyway." He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. "I'm pretty sure Mrs. Weasley had thought the whole plan was called off, when I showed up. She seemed very surprised, but she was kind enough to let me stay anyway."

Hermione felt her heart go out to Harry.

"I'm so glad you're safe this summer," she told him honestly. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," Harry said. He looked over at Tom, who was standing silently behind her. "Who's your friend?"

Hermione bit her lip and groaned.

"That's… something we're going to have to deal with," she said. "I'll tell you along with the others."

Harry shrugged. "Alright."

Hermione and Harry went over to the trees, where Susan, Blaise, and Luna were waiting. Susan greeted Hermione brightly with a hug as well, and Blaise stood to hug her as well, though his embrace lingered.

"As happy as I am to see you, Hermione, I'm confused by this one being here," Blaise remarked. "Who's our unexpected guest?"

Tom's eyes glittered with challenge at Hermione, and she stepped out of Blaise's embrace with a sigh.

"I'm not going to lie to you all," Hermione told them. "That being said, the answer isn't a good one. It's one you probably won't like. "

Blaise raised an eyebrow, and Harry looked mildly alarmed.

"Are you in trouble?" Harry asked, withdrawing his wand. "Are we going to need to fight?"

"No need, Potter," Tom said. He gestured to himself. "I'm wandless. Can barely cast any magic, in fact."

Harry and Blaise looked at Tom suspiciously, and Hermione sighed.

"Tom, may I present my coven-mates, Miss Luna Lovegood, Miss Susan Bones, Mister Blaise Zabini, and Mister Harry Potter?" she said. She turned to her friends. "Friends, meet Tom Riddle. He's half a soul."

There was a silence.

"I'm sorry," Blaise said conversationally. "Did you just say 'half a soul?'"

"She did indeed." Tom's eyes glittered with amusement.

"How is that possible?" Susan asked. Her eyes were wide behind her colored glasses. "Hermione, souls are like ghosts. They don't really have bodies, you know."

"This one does." Hermione sighed. "Tom is half of the Dark Lord's soul – Voldemort's. He split his soul with very Dark magic a long time ago to help him become immortal. Tom is the half that Voldemort split away."

Susan and Blaise gaped at her, their eyes wide and jaws open, while Harry's eyes brightened.

"That's how you got Voldemort's blood!" he said with satisfaction. "You took it from him!"

Hermione was surprised Harry had remembered that.

"Err – yes, I did," she said. "Though, that time his body didn't last quite so long."

"I'm sorry, I'm still too stuck on the 'half of Voldemort's soul' part to begin discussing how long his body apparently lasts," Susan said finally. "Can you explain in more detail, Hermione? Please?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Yes… but it's a long story."

Carefully, Hermione began to tell her coven-mates of how she'd figured out what a horcrux was and how the horcrux had been ensuring people were getting attacked. She carefully tiptoed around the blood implications, but Susan saw right through her.

"So you're saying you framed Rhamnaceae Rookwood as the Heir of Slytherin," Susan said flatly. "You made it seem like she was being possessed by a horcrux, but in reality, you had it the whole time."

"Not the whole time..." Hermione resisted the urge to go for her wand. "But the rest of that's correct."

Susan looked around at the others, her eyes sharp.

"And you all just went along with this?" she asked, her voice curt. "Just went along with her framing an innocent person in all this?"

"Rhamnaceae Rookwood arranged an attack on Hermione that would have left her dead," Blaise said immediately, rising to her defense. "Hermione had every right to take her vengeance out on her, up to endangering her life, if Hermione had wished it." Blaise looked to Hermione. "As it was, Hermione is too kind, and she made sure Rookwood only got expelled, not died or entombed in Azkaban. She was much more merciful than I would have been."

"And you?" Susan looked at Harry. "You helped too?"

"I knew some of it," Harry admitted. "I tried to know as little as possible, so I wouldn't let anything slip or mess it up. But I knew that we were framing her."

"And you were okay with this?" Susan asked, astonished. "You, Harry Potter, were okay with framing her?"

Harry shrugged.

"I trust Hermione," he said simply. "If she was going so far out of her way to do a thing, I knew she had a good reason for it." His eyes darkened. "And getting someone expelled who tried to kill you seems like a pretty good reason to me."

Susan turned to Luna.

"And what did you know of this?" she asked.

"Nothing, really." Luna's voice was lilting. "I knew there was something confusing about a diary, and that there were two Rhamnaceaes running around at one point, but I didn't really know the rest." She paused. "Well, except for the balance being restored."

Susan paused. "…balance?"

"It's hard to explain," Luna said apologetically. "There are certain scales that some people have? They're there but not really there, and they kind of float around unseen. And if the scales are unbalanced for too long, the scale becomes so unbalanced it ends up like more of a catapult than just a scale."

Hermione found herself fascinated.

"And I had one of these invisible scales?" she asked.

"You have many of them," Luna told her. "Some of yours have balanced out and gone away over time, but you still have quite a few."

"Do I?" Harry asked, curious. "Do I have any of them too?"

Luna turned to regard Harry, tilting her head.

"Yes," she said finally, "but they're not quite the same. I think yours aren't magical, somehow. Yours are more resentment against someone than revenge against another wizard."

Harry flinched, but he shrugged a moment later.

"Fair enough," he said, his tone resigned. "If there's anyone I hate the most, it's the Dursleys."

Hermione was watching Susan from the corner of her eye. Though she'd seemed upset, she had calmed down remarkably fast. She seemed remarkably okay, listening as Luna told Blaise about the couple scales he had, one of which was light, two of which were dark.

"And me?" Susan asked. "Do me next, Luna."

"You have one very large scale," Luna told her, frowning. "It's… stable? But it's still there. It's not likely to become a catapult like Hermione's, but it's not likely to stop bothering you until you balance it out and make it go away."

Susan considered this. "That's fair enough, I suppose."

"Are you okay with this, Susan?" Hermione finally asked.

Susan turned to look at her. "Okay with what?"

"With framing Rookwood," Hermione said. "You were upset a minute ago."

Susan winced.

"Well, that's before I knew the whole story, wasn't it?" she said, defensive. "I'm not a fan of framing people. But if you did it to seek justice… that's a different story, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Blaise asked mildly.

"Yes," Susan insisted. "I'm not an idiot – I know that the system fails people. I was there when Hermione accused Rookwood from the Truth Circle. And Hermione didn't seek Rookwood's death or blood in response, not really, so that's more than fair."

Hermione was astonished. "Are you serious?"

"Justice and balance are important," Susan said strongly. "Balancing debts between people, good or bad, is important. When our magic isn't at equilibrium, bad things can happen, and spells go awry. Just because I wouldn't have handled Rhamnaceae the way you would have… that doesn't mean your way was invalid."

"If Susan's okay with that, can we go back to the part where you have half the Dark Lord's soul?" Blaise wanted to know. "I care a lot more about that than pretending to care about what happened to Rookwood."

Hermione explained in vague terms how she'd come by the horcrux, spoken to it, and the various bargains she'd made with it. Harry winced when she explained how the current body Tom had was a result of the bargain to help him speak Parseltongue for the trial, but he looked resigned – he knew it had been necessary, too. Hermione emphasized that though he was definitely a piece of Voldemort at age 16, he didn't really have any magic, and she could eliminate him at a moment's notice if he threatened any of them, which seemed to mildly reassure Blaise.

"So… what do we call you, then?" Luna said, turning to Tom. "You're You-Know-Who, but not really, are you?"

"Tom," Hermione said.

"Tom is fine," Tom acknowledged. His eyes glinted. "Better that than 'Voldemort'. We wouldn't want to alarm anyone passing by, would we?"

"About that." Harry shifted, sitting up. "So… you're Voldemort as a teenager, right?"

"Something like that," Tom said vaguely.

"Do you know why you wanted to kill me?" Harry asked. "Or why older-you wanted to kill me? Do you want to kill me?"

"I do not want to kill you," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Nor do I know why my older counterpart wanted to either. He made that decision nearly 30 years after me."

"You're just going to keep him?" Blaise asked Hermione, astonished. "You've just told us a horcrux is practically the Darkest magic possible, and you're just going to keep one?"

"He's half of a soul. I can't just kill him," Hermione protested. "If he's half of a soul, he's alive, isn't he?"

"That diary doesn't breathe," Blaise said flatly. "If it doesn't eat, breathe, or die, it's not alive."

"No, no, this is rather fascinating," Susan said. "Think: we now have access to young Voldemort's mindset. How big of a boon will that be when the war starts up again?"

"War?" Harry looked alarmed. "What war?"

Susan shot him a puzzled look. "Harry, you fought a shade of Voldemort's soul a year ago. You don't think he's going to just stop trying to come back and murder you, do you?"

"Probably not," Tom said conversationally, folding his arms. "I certainly wouldn't. Where's the fun of managing to stay alive if you can't have a body to do anything with that life?"

"Well, fine, maybe he'll come after me," Harry acknowledged. "But a war?"

"Did you think the Dark Lord is the peaceful type?" Blaise said sarcastically. "That he'd come back, kill you, and then be satisfied, leaving everyone else to peacefully go about their merry little lives?"

"Alright, alright!" Harry snapped, annoyed. "I get it, alright?"

"It's okay, Harry," Susan told him. "You didn't grow up hearing all these stories; it's natural that you wouldn't know there would be another war if Voldemort survived."

Hermione kept quiet. She hadn't grown up hearing the stories of the war, but she'd been able to piece together the threat of another coming war herself. Granted, she'd thought it'd be far off, but that'd been mostly born of hope, not evidence.

"So what do we do with the horcrux?" Harry said, looking at Tom. "I mean, if it's willing to help us understand Voldemort's mindset…"

"He is sitting right here," Tom said, annoyed.

"…then we shouldn't get rid of it, but if its existence is what's keeping Voldemort tethered to life…"

"Voldemort has more than one horcrux," Hermione said with a sigh. "Tom was only the first one. We suspect there are at least four others."

"Five horcruxes?" Blaise whistled. "That's mad."

"The goal was a seven-part soul," Tom said. He sounded tired. "So six horcruxes, and the seventh part still in the body."

"Then why four others?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip.

"There's not really a good way to say this," she admitted. She turned to look Harry in the eye. "I think that Voldemort wanted to use your death to make his sixth horcrux, and I think when his killing curse bounced back onto him, it ripped his soul and that little piece of it attached itself to you."

"Me?!" Harry was horrified. "You think I'm a horcrux?"

"I think you were," Hermione said. She gnawed on her lip. "But not anymore."

"The ritual," Susan said, comprehension dawning. She turned to Harry. "Harry, remember? You said you felt something burning up inside of you?"

"Yeah…" Harry scrunched his face up, remembering. "And then after, I couldn't speak Parseltongue anymore…"

"Exactly." Hermione gave him a grim smile. "So… you might have been an accidental horcrux of Voldemort's, but at least you're not anymore."

"That's disgusting." Harry looked disturbed. "I had part of Voldemort living inside of me?"

"It's not quite like that," Tom said. "You would have been the last, so you'd have only held one sixty-fourth of the soul. Barely enough to even exist, let alone have a will or thoughts."

"Are you sure?" Harry looked at Tom. "Why should we even trust you?"

"I have literally no reason to lie," Tom said flatly. "Believe me, when I made my first horcrux, I had no idea it would result in my soul being carved in half and leave that half of me conscious. Being trapped in a diary for half a century is a unique kind of hell."

"If the sixty-fourth in Harry was too small to do anything," Luna said, "then why was the sixty-fourth You-Know-Who had able to do things?"

"First of all, that piece was still tethered to its original magical body," Tom pointed out. "Secondly, I believe the remaining part of the soul was able to pull on the rest of the soul for strength, but that the horcrux parts cannot pull on the original. The horcruxes are objects, after all, and though I have some consciousness and will of my own, I certainly don't have my own body or magic to try and use."

"Four fractions of Voldemort's soul, bound to objects," Susan said. Her eyes were hard behind her glasses. "And you're saying that unless those horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort will be able to keep coming back?"

"Well," Tom said, equivocating. "That's one way to do it…"

"Oh?" Susan said. "What's the other?"

"You could reconnect the soul," Tom said. "Patch the pieces back together, and then kill the remains."

Susan looked puzzled, as did Harry and Luna, but Blaise and Hermione both went wide-eyed in comprehension.

"No," Blaise said flatly. "No, no, no. I don't care how helpful you are. It's not happening."

"Never say never," Tom said, holding his hands out in innocence.

"You wouldn't be able to reunite your soul anyway," Hermione accused. "You don't have a body to reunite the pieces into. You're a book. And even if you did have a body, there's no way to magically stitch up a bunch of torn pieces into one. You'd end up a crazy person with multiple Voldemort personalities."

"There is, actually, though it's very painful," Tom said, wincing. "If I recall correctly, it involves immense regret and remorse for the Dark things done."

Blaise scoffed. "Like you could manage that."

"Fair point," Tom said mildly. "However – if you can obtain all the other horcruxes, and we cannot figure out how to reunite them with me, there is still another way."

"What?" Susan asked.

"Destroy those four, and then give me a body," Tom said. "If I have a body of my own, and I am not a horcrux anymore, Voldemort will be mortal once more."

There was a silence.

"Is young Voldemort seriously planning the death of older Voldemort?" Harry asked. He started laughing. "This is absurd. This is the weirdest conversation ever."

"Do you think I want to stay trapped in a book for all of eternity?" Tom snapped. "I didn't know I'd be trapped in a book when I did the ritual. Voldemort's out there living life, while I'm trapped in a bloody diary. What do I owe him?"

"Just the fact that you are so self-serving and selfish as to screw over yourself," Blaise said, snickering, "is kind of incredible to see."

"Go die in a fire," Tom snapped. "You wouldn't want to be trapped in a book for forever, either."

"Regardless of anyone wanting to be trapped in a book or not," Hermione said, raising her voice, "the fact of the matter is that a war is likely to come once Voldemort manages to get another body. What we need to decide is what we're going to do about it, if anything, now that we know about these horcruxes."

There was some grumbling, but they settled down, considering.

"Should we tell Dumbledore about Tom?" Harry ventured. "I mean, he's the only one Voldemort was ever afraid of."

"No," Blaise said emphatically. "The last thing we need is Dumbledore knowing some of the Slytherins have a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, let alone that we know about the Darkest magic in existence."

"I'd really rather not," Hermione admitted. "Dumbledore is a bit biased against Slytherins. If it helps, I think he already knows about the horcruxes? I think he figured it out with Mad-Eye Moody, back before the trial."

"He does," Luna said simply, "though he doesn't know how many."

Hermione turned to shoot Luna a look, but Luna didn't elaborate.

"Well, during the last war, there were really only two sides," Susan said, folding her arms. "There were the Death Eaters who followed Voldemort, and there was the Order of the Phoenix who followed Dumbledore."

"Order of the Phoenix?" Harry said.

"Yeah." Susan gave him a small, commiserating smile. "Our parents were in it together, once upon a time."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"The Ministry didn't really pick a side, from what I've heard," Blaise said. "Pretty sure the Wizengamot was divided between people who supported the Dark Lord and people who supported Dumbledore. So it's not like we'll be able to count on them for any help."

"Well, we're certainly not going to be on Voldemort's side," Susan said, shooting them all a look.

"Of course not!" Harry was horrified.

"Of course not," Blaise scoffed. "Don't look at me like that."

"So if we're not going to follow Voldemort, but we're not going to follow Dumbledore either," Susan said, "than whose side are we on?"

There was a silence.

"Do we have to pick a side?" Harry's voice was quiet.

"Yes," Luna said. "We have to decide where we stand."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I don't want to follow Voldemort," she said, "but I really don't want to be in a position where I have to follow Dumbledore's orders either."

"We have to make a stand, though." Susan's voice was firm, though quiet.

Blaise cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But are you all forgetting that we already have?"

They all turned to look at him. Blaise looked back at them, expectant.

"We have?" Harry said finally, and Blaise threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Of course we have," he said. "We chose her."

He pointed at Hermione, who was taken aback.

"Me?" she said, astonished. "What do you mean, me?"

"You're the third side, Hermione," Blaise said. His eyes held hers, glinting. "You're not about to follow anyone. You're a leader on your own."

"I am thirteen," Hermione argued. "I am not about to lead a faction of war—"

"Maybe not now," Blaise said. "But you're destined to, aren't you?"

There was a silence.

"'The viper born to muggles shall be the New Blood to change the world'," Susan said quietly. She looked up at Hermione. "'The she-serpent born of teeth shall rise and triumph over them all'. It fits."

"What is this?" Tom cut in, interested. "Is this a prophecy?"

"It's Hermione's prophecy," Harry said, "though I think Susan skipped some bits."

Susan was still looking at Hermione, as was Blaise. Hermione squirmed.

"I don't…" she said, faltering. "You can't really expect me to…"

"Hermione," Blaise said. "Hermione, listen: if there was a war, would you follow Voldemort?"

"No!" Hermione reacted with horror. "Of course not!"

"Would you follow Dumbledore?"

"Probably not," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't trust him."

"Then what would you do?"

Uncertainty and unease warred within Hermione. Her emotions and mind felt conflicted, threads of thought tangled up into twisted balls of yarn, resisting the urge to come to a conclusion. The idea of a war... she knew she wasn't good at taking orders from authority, especially people she didn't trust, so she wasn't likely to submit to Voldemort or Dumbledore. But it also wasn't like she was a passive, neutral person - she'd be bound to form her own opinions, her own plans about what should be done...

Her friends were looking at her expectantly, patient. Knowing they were waiting for her to arrive at the truth they'd long since known somehow made it worse.

"I would form my own side," Hermione said finally. She looked over them all. "I would do as I pleased and follow no one."

"If you're making a third side in this war, I'm on your side," Harry said immediately. "I call dibs."

"I had dibs on it first, Potter," Blaise said, "but we can all be on Hermione's side."

"Wait, what?" Hermione said. She turned to look at Harry. "Harry… really? You'd pick me over Dumbledore?"

Harry looked at her incredulously.

"Of course," he said emphatically. "Hermione, you're one of the only people in the world who actually give a damn about me. Dumbledore sent me back to the Dursleys, even knowing what they did to me last summer, whereas you rescued me from them." His eyes softened. "You kept me alive when I went to face off against Quirrell, too. You care about me, Hermione. I'm not just a tool to you."

Hermione felt her eyes grow misty.

"Of course I care about you, Harry." Her voice sounded thick, and she sniffed, forcing tears back.

"And that's why I'd pick your side," Harry said. He offered her a smile. "I trust you."

Hermione sniffed, wiping at her nose. Her friends watched her, wisely not saying anything.

"If Hermione's truly going to make a third side in the war—" Susan began.

"She is," Blaise said. "She's already started it, whether she knows it or not."

"—then I'm on Hermione's side." Susan's voice was decisive. "Dumbledore's poor planning and strategy last time around got my entire family killed."

"I support Hermione." Luna gave Hermione a smile. "Even if we're not at war."

Hermione glanced at Blaise, who rolled his eyes.

"Do you even need to ask?" he scoffed, but he smirked at her a moment later. "You know I'd be at your side. Come on. Come here."

He moved over to sit behind Hermione, enfolding her in her arms and hugging her from behind as Hermione sniffed, the warmth from his chest seeping into her back and helping her relax.

"You all—" Hermione broke off, sniffing again. She looked up at them all. "You'd all really follow me like that? Because you think I'd be a good leader?"

"Um, yes." Harry gave her an odd look. "Why else would we?"

"Because you're afraid I'm going to become a Dark Lady and don't want to incur my wrath, maybe," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry stared laughing. "You, turn evil?"

"I could be evil if I wanted to!" Hermione said indignantly.

"Yeah, but you don't," Harry said, laughing. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Susan looked confused.

"I certainly don't doubt your ability to become a Dark Lady if you wanted to, Hermione," she said slowly, "but you seem to have a fairly defined moral code that prevents you from doing that? Am I wrong?"

"No," Hermione said. "It's just that – the other Slytherins, they all—"

"Merlin's left teat, is that what Theo told you the other day?" Blaise's voice was incredulous. "Hermione, look at me."

His hands guiding her, Hermione rotated her shoulders around enough to look at Blaise. His eyes were sharp, angry.

"I will admit that the Slytherins want you to go into government because they don't want to see what happens if you take on the world from the outside," Blaise said. "But they're supporting you because they believe in you."

"Believe I could be a Dark Lord," Hermione said, and Blaise scoffed.

"Hermione, you'd be more likely to lead the House Elves into striking to disrupt the government than you would be to use Dark magic to do so," he said. "Hermione, c'mon. You might be one to make waves, but you're not evil."

"They think I could be," she muttered.

"Well, that's because a lot of them might be if they were in your position, isn't it?" Blaise pointed out. "Just look at Tracey."

"Tracey?" Hermione was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Tracey didn't hesitate to learn the Memory Charm, even after you told her it was Dark magic," Blaise said. "For her, Dark magic is okay, so long as it's not too Dark and it accomplishes the goal. Whereas you don't want to cast Dark magic of any sort."

Hermione bit her lip. It was true; Tracey had decided on her own to cast the Memory Charms to frame Rhamnaceae on her own, and entirely too quickly.

"Tracey was the one who wanted to just make sweets for meetings," Hermione grumbled, and Blaise laughed, hugging her a little tighter.

"See, though?" he said. "Slytherins are going to project onto you what they would do. That doesn't mean they're right."

Hermione sighed. "Fair enough."

When she turned back around to look at the others, they all seemed like they were trying very hard not to laugh. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fine. We'll have our own side in the war to come then," she said. "Hopefully that won't be for many years, but when it does come, we'll be ready."

"Excellent." Luna beamed. "That just leaves one question."

"It does?" Hermione asked. "What?"

"What side," Luna said, pointing to Tom, "is he going to choose?"

They all turned to look at Tom, who had been combing his fingers through the long grasses, lost in thought. He startled at their sudden attention, looking surprised.

"Me?" he said. "I'm a book."

"A book with conscious thought and memories of Voldemort's childhood," Susan pointed out. "Whatever side you choose, you'd be an asset to."

Tom looked conflicted.

"It's not as if I'd join Dumbledore," he said. "He's the one who inadvertently started me down this path, I daresay, and he'd destroy the horcrux. But I can't exactly join my older self – he'd just want to lock me up in the diary again and keep me hidden from sight for all of time."

Hermione watched as his expression changed from conflicted to thoughtful, and he looked at her through dark eyes.

"Hermione's side, at the least, would offer me the chance to get out of the diary and live a little bit." His lips twisted into a sardonic smile, and he raised his eyebrow at her. "I'm sure if I was helpful enough, I might someday be able to bargain for a body."

"Fat chance of that," Hermione huffed, but Tom's smirk only widened.

"You say that now," he said lightly. "But we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Sweet," Harry said, pleased. "We're all on Hermione's side, then. If there's a war, of course."

"That leaves an important question, though," said Susan. "What do we call ourselves?"

Harry looked at her. "What?"

"Voldemort has the Death Eaters," Susan said patiently. "Dumbledore has the Order of the Phoenix. What do we call ourselves, if we follow Hermione?"

"We can't use 'New Bloods'," Luna said. "That's an actual thing."

"I don't want to use serpents or vipers, either," Harry complained. "That's too connected to Slytherin, for me."

"It should be symbolic," Blaise said. "We're not Light, but we're not Dark, either. We exist in the in between, in Grey magic." He paused. "Is a 'Grey Lord' a thing?"

"The Ravenclaw ghost is called the Grey Lady," Luna remarked, "so maybe?"

"What's between light and dark, then that's not 'grey'?" Harry asked. "Calling ourselves 'the greys' is kind of stupid."

Tom was looking at Hermione, his eyes alight, but he remained silent. Hermione wondered if he was remembering back to his own time, when he'd first named his own followers. He'd named his followers the 'Knights of Walpurgis' first, which she'd never entirely understood, but she imagined when he'd finally come upon the name 'Death Eaters' he'd felt as if he'd had some sort of brilliant epiphany. She could practically see the smug satisfaction she imagined he might have felt.

With a huff, she lay back on the tall grasses, looking up at the sky. Harry was arguing with Blaise in the background.

"—call ourselves 'the storm', we're going to end up with a lightning bolt as a symbol, and then everyone will think that I'm the leader, and I don't want—"

"Wouldn't it be better to have a decoy leader, though, to protect the real one? And storm clouds are gray, aren't they?"

Hermione smirked despite herself.

Between the light and dark, she mused. A storm cloud was a bit of an obvious metaphor, though, wasn't it? Beware our power, we come bringing a storm. Even if it was true, it was a bit too on the nose. Hermione was Slytherin; whatever group identity they came up with, she wanted to be more subtle and classy.

The clouds in the sky moved, revealing the sun, which was too bright in her eyes, making her squint. With a huff, Hermione dragged herself further into the shade of the glade. As soon as she did, she froze, before carefully looking around at her friends.

Her friends were still arguing. Susan was arguing against picking any sort of animal, saying it was too closely associated to Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix to feel separate and unique. Hermione watched the ground as they bickered; Susan's gestures and gesticulations were echoed behind her on the grass, her shadow arms dancing in and out of the tree's shade.

"Hey," Hermione said, cutting in. The others looked at her. "What about 'The Shadows'?"

Harry gave her a quizzical look.

"Shadows?" he repeated.

"You can't have a shadow without light," Hermione said, the idea evolving in her mind as she spoke, "but they're literally the result of something blocking the light. And you can't have shadows in the dark at all, when everything is dark. They're a kind of an in between."

Blaise looked pensive.

"It kind of brings to mind lurking in the shadows, being mysterious," he said. He started to grin. "Very dodgy sounding, really, but I presume we will be doing secretive things behind people's backs?"

"Shadows are good," Susan said. "No connection to either party."

"We could probably come up with a good logo," Luna remarked. "A silhouette, a shadow, an eclipse…"

"You'd get decent terminology out of it as well," Tom added, joining in.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "We'd just be 'The Shadows' or 'Shadows', wouldn't we?"

"Voldemort had his 'Inner Circle', I believe," Tom said. "I daresay if there was an 'inner circle', there was probably an 'outer circle' and other levels of membership for the Death Eaters as well."

"Dumbledore had an Advance Guard, I believe," Susan said, scrunching her face up. "Though I don't know about any others."

"'Shadows' gives you a natural source for similar terms," Tom said, nodding. "Shadows have an umbra, for example. Extended shadows have an umbra, penumbra, and antumbra as well."

"Umbra?" Harry said. "That's kind of cool. So Hermione would be the Umbra, and we'd be the Shadows?"

"The umbra is the shadow itself," Tom explained. "Not the cause of the shadow. That's any opaque object or body, really."

"There's not a specific term used for what casts a shadow?" Hermione asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," Tom admitted.

"What if it's not just any shadow?" Blaise asked suddenly. "What if it's a specific shadow?"

Hermione turned to look at him.

"I'm not following," she said.

"Well, maybe shadows in general are caused by anything," Blaise said. "But think of a sundial. There's the dial, that has the hour markings. There's the shadow, which points to what time it is. And there's the gnomon, which is what casts the shadow onto the dial."

There was a pause.

"Noh-min?" Harry asked, testing it out. "Noh-mən?"

"Noh-mon," Tom corrected. "Short 'o' sound."

"I like that," Hermione said, starting to smile. "Gnomon. Though it's kind of masculine sounding, isn't it? Almost like a boy's name."

"What kind of nonsense is that, saying a word sounds masculine or feminine?" Luna snapped. Hermione turned to Luna in surprise, who looked annoyed. "Words don't have gender, Hermione. Don't assign one to them."

"Err – alright," Hermione said hesitantly, but Luna was already onto the next thing.

"So Hermione as the leader would be the gnomon. But would it be 'The Shadows' or just 'Shadows'?" Luna asked. "You-Know-Who just had 'Death Eaters', but I think Dumbledore had 'The' included with his group?"

"I think sometimes 'the' just gets naturally tacked on all the time," Susan volunteered. "Like the Daily Prophet. For the longest time I thought the name of the paper was 'The Daily Prophet' just because people always said 'the' with its name."

"Some papers do have 'the' as part of their name, though," Hermione pointed out. "The Guardian, for example. The Times. The Daily Telegraph."

"It's Daily Mail, though, not The Daily Mail," Tom pointed out. "Daily Mirror, not The Daily Mirror. You could go either way."

Hermione looked at him sideways. "They had Daily Mail in the 40s?"

"Yes…" Tom said. His eyes glinted. "A daily broadsheet. It was a big problem, actually. The editor supported fascism, and it caused a lot of friction and drama during the build up to the war." He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't expect it would survive, actually. You're saying it's still around now?"

Hermione couldn't suppress a grin. "In a fashion."

"It's up to us, then," Blaise said. "Do we want to be 'The Shadows', or just 'Shadows'?"

"Shadows," Harry said firmly. "Each one of us would be 'a shadow', right? So if we did something, people would say 'oh, it must have been a shadow' instead of 'it was The Shadows'."

"But what if everyone did something?" Susan asked. "Would we want them to say 'oh, Shadows did it' or 'oh, The Shadows did it'?"

Hermione was amused that her friends were debating so much on the use of an article.

"Let's go with 'The Shadows'," Hermione said. "People will probably end up calling us that, anyway, so we might as well own it. And it sounds more dramatic and specific that way."

"Agreed," Blaise said firmly. "'The Shadows did it' sounds way more ominous than 'Shadows did it' – that sounds like something a nanny would say when putting a child to bed."

Harry gave Blaise an incredulous look. "What kind of messed up nanny did you have?"

"Shall we vote?" Susan cut in. "Everyone for 'The Shadows'?"

Everyone raised their hands, even Harry. Hermione looked at him in surprise, but he just shrugged.

"I mean, it does sound cooler, doesn't it?" he defended. "I still think we should each be 'a shadow', though."

"Of course," Luna agreed. "We're all shadows, part of The Shadows. And us five, we're the Umbra, because we're the core shadows. The other tiers can be the penumbra and antumbra. But everyone who joins is still 'a shadow'."

"This is neat," Susan said, getting excited. "Are we going to have secret passwords? And a logo? And a membership ritual?"

"Will we need a secret headquarters?" Harry asked. "If we get more people involved, we can't just have twenty people meet in Luna's back yard all the time."

"We definitely need a wicked symbol," Blaise said. "We're up against a skull and snake and a phoenix – we need something just as intimidating to stand out."

It was at this point Hermione realized they had definitely devolved from asserting their independence in the upcoming war as a third faction to making a super-cool secret club. It was odd how similar the two were, actually; were war factions just the adult version of a secret club?

"We can work on that later," Hermione cut in with a smile. "Right now, we have coven rituals to consider for this Friday."

Chapter Text

Tom Riddle's body only lasted another day, to Hermione's relief. Apparently, just 'existing' in a body was very exhausting when said body was a magical construct composed entirely of one person's magic. Tom was annoyed by this realization, but he was resigned; he'd known it wouldn't last forever.

Hermione spent most of his last day with him in the back yard, practicing wandless magic while her parents were away at work.

"There's a reason wandless magic isn't formally taught or done widely," Tom warned her ahead of time. "It's the same reason wizards turned to wands."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked.

Tom smirked.

"Well," he said. "In the event a spell goes wrong… would you rather your hand blow up, or your wand?"

It was a very good reason to turn to wands, in Hermione's opinion. Nevertheless, she still wanted to learn.

"The key is controlling the amount of your power you use in each spell," Tom said. "It's very difficult for most wizards to feel and manipulate their magic with great skill, and it's earned over time. A wand naturally channels only as much as a particular spell needs, whereas with wandless magic, you have to do it yourself."

They started with levitation, a lesson which lasted maybe two minutes after Hermione sent leaves and sticks dancing through the air in a choreographed number with a gesture, rocks joining in like backup dancers.

"You can do this wordlessly as well as wandlessly?" Tom said, astounded.

"I've been doing it for years, now," Hermione admitted, wincing. "Every night, to drain my magic. At some point, it just became second nature, and I can levitate things without really thinking about it."

Tom was mildly impressed. "We'll move on to summoning, then."

Summoning wandlessly was crucial, he emphasized. If she were to learn any spell to pull off wandlessly, it should be this one – it was the one spell that could get her wand back to her if she were ever disarmed. Hermione eventually conceded to using her actual wand to practice, though it made her nervous to hand it over to Tom. He didn't use it, though, of course - he held her wand out on his open hand while Hermione tried to summon it from several feet away.

It was hard. Hermione was used to mastering a spell quickly within minutes of learning it. Being unable to master wandless magic as quickly as she'd hoped was demoralizing and incredibly frustrating for Hermione. Even knowing it was supposed to be very difficult, somehow she'd hoped she'd be special, somehow. She had imagined that she alone would suddenly have a natural talent for wandless magic, effortlessly mastering the rare skill, and even Tom would be impressed.

That was not what was happening, though.

She just couldn't get it to work. Each time she tried, her magic failed. And each time it failed, she grew more and more frustrated. Failure wasn't something Hermione was used to.

"Accio," she said, her hand outreached towards her wand. Her face screwed up in concentration. "Accio!"

"Your magic is dissipating into the air without a true purpose," Tom said. He was patient. "You need to give your power firm purpose when you cast."

"How can you say it has no purpose when I'm saying the blasted incantation?" Hermione wanted to know, frustrated. "And how can you feel what my magic is doing, anyway?"

Tom gave her a small, secretive smile, and his eyes glittered.

"I'm made of your magic, Hermione," he murmured. "Or have you forgotten?"

His smile was dangerous, and Hermione cursed the way her breath caught in her chest as he looked at her with dark eyes.

"The incantation isn't enough," Tom continued. "Right now, you're just flinging magic out of your body, hoping it works. You're giving your magic a goal, but not a true sense of purpose."

"Well, I don't know how to do that, then," Hermione said, annoyed.

"That's why we're practicing." Tom was ever patient. "Try again."

Hermione reached out, focusing. "Accio."

She was focusing on her magic this time; she, too, felt it dissipate into the air nearly as soon as it left her hand. Frustrated, she reached out with her air magic instead, the air elemental whooping in delight and rushing out, blowing the wand from Tom's hand and sweeping it towards her. She snatched it from the air with a defiant look, and Tom laughed.

"Well, you certainly accomplished your goal," he conceded. He grinned. "You didn't exactly summon it though, did you?"

"I can't." Hermione felt like stomping her foot. "It just doesn't work, Tom. I don't get why I can't get it."

Tom considered her thoughtfully.

"When you reached out with the air elemental," he said, "your magic didn't dissipate into nothingness. Why is that?"

"Probably because the air elemental has a fairly defined sense of identity," Hermione shot back. "It has a sense of purpose that ties the magic together – unlike my magic, apparently."

Tom looked amused. "Hermione, you do realize that the air magic is your magic, don't you?"

"Well, yes," Hermione argued, "but it's my magic filtered through the air elemental, so–"

"You subdued the air elemental," Tom pointed out. "It's part of you, now. Not a separate thing."

"I know that," she snapped. "But you don't get it – it's like…"

She broke off, lost for words. She knew that the elemental inside of her was part of her, but it still was separate, clearly defined even as it meshed with the rest of her.

"If it's the sense of identity that is keeping the air magic together, maybe a sense of identity for your core magic would help that stay together," Tom suggested.

Hermione scoffed. "It has an identity already, doesn't it? 'Hermione's magic'."

"Ah," Tom said, eyes alight, "but what does it mean to be Hermione's magic?"

Hermione groaned.

"Do I really have to do this?" she demanded. "I thought you were going to teach me wandless magic, not a bunch of magical philosophy."

"Sit down," Tom told her, sitting down and folding his legs. "Do you want to learn this or not?"

Hermione acquiesced with poor grace, sitting down on the grass with a glare.

"We're going to do a meditation exercise," Tom said, ignoring her groan. "Take a deep breath in with me, Hermione… and breathe out. Deep breath in… and breathe out."

Attempting to set aside her aggravation, Hermione gave in and closed her eyes, listening to Tom and following his instructions, allowing her breathing to center her and calm her down. Though she'd never admit it, it did help her smooth out her emotions and calm down. It was something she'd gotten accustomed to doing before the coven bond, when her magic would spin off-balance and send her into anxiety spirals.

The soothing rhythm of her breath helped, slowly dissipating the tension Hermione was feeling, letting her frustration and anger and self-doubt seep away. Tom kept her focused on her breathing quietly for several minutes, almost as if he could sense when she'd finally returned to an emotionally neutral state.

"Now: reach for your magic, Hermione, but don't pull on it. Instead, immerse yourself in it. Swim in it. Revel in it. What do you feel?"

Hesitant, Hermione reached out.

Following the pathways through her arms down inside of her, she found her magic pool in that deep wordless place inside of her, with the air elemental dancing around inside and the earth elemental a steady presence at the base. The rest of the magic just felt like wordless potential, really, with no clear identity. Aware of her own awareness, Hermione pushed herself closer to the magic pool, before finally extending herself into her magic, letting it roll over her awareness in waves.

It felt like her brain was put into an electrically-charged vat, with tingles running along the actual neurons her brain. Her magic was nothing but energy, it seemed, with wisps of thought and emotion floating in it from time to time. Quiet whispers of concepts brushed against her mind, and Hermione tried to immerse herself even further.

"Let go of yourself, Hermione." Tom's voice sounded distant, distorted. "You're feeling your magic, but let your magic feel you."

Not sure how she managed it, Hermione took herself, her core sense of self, and let it go.

Immediately it became different. Left with only a dim awareness that she was a person, Hermione was now far more aware of the emotions and feelings that permeated her magic, each idea and concept overwhelming her entirely as it drifted by, engulfing her in the entirety of its being and passion until drifting on, leaving her reeling for a moment until another came along and engulfed her. Hermione kept her breathing even and her mind free and open, letting each feeling consume her one by one.

There was a strong feeling of Autonomy, a desire to be self-determined and independent. There was a strength and surge of Passion, the want to have deep feelings about anything and everything: ideas, activities, people. There was a desire for Self-knowledge, to have a deep and honest understanding of herself, but even as her awareness felt that concept, there was simultaneously a struggle inherent with it; even though she desired self-knowledge, it seemed, it was hard to grasp.

There was a strong desire for Justice inside of her magic, as well as a desire for Challenge and a want of Mastery. She could feel a determination for realism, to see and act realistically and practically, as well as a longing for Creativity, though that one seemed to slip through her fingers even as she reached for it. There were strong feelings of Knowledge, Purpose, Growth, Friendship that echoed around her, and as Hermione let herself drift in her magic, all these concepts and ideals teased at her awareness in an all-engulfing way without words.

This was her, she realized distantly. These ideas, these values… they were her.

These values were what composed the core of the person who was Hermione Granger, which was how she hadn't felt them in her magic before – she'd needed to forget who she was to realize they were there. Her very identity permeated her magic, the parts that made her her, what drove her own direction in life, and it was with this realization that Hermione slowly came back to herself, feeling as if waking up from a long dream, slowly emerging from a pool as if reborn.

Her eyes slowly opened, and Tom was watching her, his eyes on hers.

"Did you feel it?" he asked.

Hermione's mouth was dry. "Accio."

With the strong feeling of identity still flowing through her, the core knowledge of who she was saturating her mind and her magic, Hermione could feel the magic in her reach out and across the yard to a stick under the tree, charging it and swapping the magical polarity effortlessly. Her magic flowed back into her naturally, its goal complete, but its purpose and sense of Hermione-ness never dissipating into nothing as it had before.

The stick was sent flying across the yard back to her on the back of her magic in the air, and Hermione caught it. She met Tom's gaze, head held high, and he slowly gave her a pleased smirk, his pride in her shining through his eyes and smile.

"Well done, Hermione," he murmured, his eyes dark. "Well done indeed."

Chapter Text

"Done playing outside?"

Hermione glanced up at her father, who was looking down at her from over the chair back.

"For now," she admitted. Tom's body had finally run out of power, and he'd been drawn back into the diary once more. She hated how she felt a twinge of regret and pity as he was pulled back in, ruthlessly stomping down on the idea that she would miss him, and she'd immediately decided to preoccupy herself with her sketch book. "It's muggy out."

"It is," her father agreed with a chuckle. "Summer storms, I'd imagine." He paused. "Are you busy, Hermione? Or do you have some time?"

Something odd in his voice or the way her father phrased his query made Hermione stop and look up at him, paying more attention to him.

"I'm not that busy," she said slowly. "Why?"

"Your mother and I wanted to talk to you," he told her. "Or, well, I wanted to talk to you. Your mother thinks we should wait."

Hermione sat up straight, her eyes wide.

"I can talk now," she said. "Why? What's going on?"

Her father sighed and took a seat on the sofa across from her, and Hermione felt her chest tighten. What would her parents possibly need to talk to her about, she wondered. They both seemed so happy with each other, still – surely they weren't getting a divorce? Were they?

Maybe there was a problem with the dental clinic. That was possible – they were always frustrated about the NHS for one reason or another. If her parents were afraid about her affording her schoolbooks and tuition for the next year, Hermione could—

"Do you remember this past Christmas?" her father said finally. "Where we took you and your friend to the playhouse?"

Hermione startled in surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, this wasn't it.

"Of course," she said. "We all went with Blaise to see A Christmas Carol."

"Right." Her father blew out his breath, seemingly searching for words. "That night…"

"What about that night?" Hermione pressed, alarmed. "Did Blaise offend you?"

"No, no. No, nothing like that." Her father paused, then groaned. "I'm no good at this. Hang on."

To her astonishment, her father got up and went into the kitchen. After a vague conversation Hermione couldn't make out, he returned a couple minutes later with her mother in tow, her mother looking exasperated but fond.

"Your father tells me he wanted to talk to you about what he and I have been exploring recently," her mother said, taking a seat on the couch.

"Exploring?" Hermione was confused. "He said nothing of the sort."

"I started with the play," her father said.

"Ah," her mother said. "Right. That's where it all started, after all."

She straightened up, looking directly and Hermione, and Hermione found herself mimicking her mother's posture, straightening up and looking at her while she bit her lip.

"After the play that night," her mother said. "You and Blaise were laughing about the ghosts. Do you remember?"

"I remember," Hermione said, thinking back on it. "You talked about how it was a literary device in the play…"

"I did," her mother agreed. "But then Blaise said something very interesting. He mentioned ghosts were the same in the wizarding world."

"How they didn't move on?" Hermione asked. "Yeah. They are, pretty much. They—"

"Not that, Hermione," her father interrupted. "He mentioned ghosts."

Hermione frowned. "Yes…?"

Her mother sighed.

"As easy as you please, this boy mentioned that ghosts were real, Hermione," her mother said. Her eyes held hers, intent. "And not only were they real, but you could talk to them, and that the ghosts had some memory of a choice. That they chose to be ghosts."

Understanding was slowly starting to percolate, and her mother looked at her softly.

"Hermione, for two agnostics who had never truly believed in the possibility of an afterlife," her mother said gently, "do you see why that sudden revelation might have shaken us?"

"I…" Hermione faltered. "I…"

She hadn't.

It had never occurred to her. Even when she had been sorted and seen ghosts for the first time, they had blended into the overall backdrop of the magical world as just a thing that was. She'd neatly slotted their existence into her world view as easily as everything else; her world view had been expanding so much already as it was, incorporating the magical world and all of the wonders it held within…

But for her parents, who were on the outside of the magical world, it had been very different, she realized. Ghosts weren't just a magical thing – muggles had concepts of ghosts, too, that had endured through the ages. And while wizards might be the only ones who could see ghosts, anyone could ostensibly be a ghost, muggle or magical alike. Right?

"So… that's why you've been going to church?" Hermione ventured, gnawing on her lip. "Because you think there's an afterlife now?"

Her parents exchanged a glance.

"Not quite," her father said. "It's more that now that we know that there's something more, we want to know what that something is, so we can prepare to face it one way or another."

His tone sounded almost fatalistic, and Hermione began to feel alarmed.

"I—I don't think there's a Hell," she said, speaking very rapidly. "I helped a couple ghosts move on, and they—there was a feeling of wonder and bliss, not of fear or fire—"

"We don't know what we face when we die, Hermione," her mother said gently. "No one does. But the fact that we know that we'll face something has your father and I curious. We've been exploring different traditions and faiths to learn what different people think, comparing the similarities and analyzing the differences."

Hermione blinked.

"Wait," she said. "What?"

"We've been going to different churches," her father told her. "Different faiths and traditions, trying to figure out what each one believes. Some of them publish what the sermons will be on in advance, so we've been going to the ones when the minister talks about the afterlife."

"Are you serious?" Hermione said, astonished. "You two have been doing this since Christmas?"

"More or less," her mother said, shrugging. "We've covered most of the Abrahamic religions and sects, at this point. We're having some difficulty finding places to learn about the Eastern beliefs – I'm particularly curious about the different ideas of reincarnation – but we've been learning all we can about all the possibilities."

Hermione bit her lip.

"So… you haven't joined a cult?" she asked.

Her father laughed. "Is that what you feared?"

"It was very strange, you going to church all of the sudden!" she defended. "I didn't know what to think!"

Her mother was trying not to laugh as well, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"No cults," she reassured her. "Just curiosity and some particularly poignant theological reflection."

Hermione's smile was relieved, and her mother smiled back.

"But," her father said, "while we've been learning all about the non-magical beliefs and theories, we don't really know anything about yours."

"What magical people think?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening. "About ghosts?"

"Not just ghosts, but about life, death, and what comes after death," her mother clarified. "If magical people can see ghosts, can talk to them, we thought they might have some better insight on what we face when we pass away."

"Oh," Hermione said. "They—umm—"

She faltered.

"I don't know what all they believe," she admitted, her eyes going wide as she searched through her memories. "I know that there are ghosts, and that there's fairly definitive proof of the soul, but other than that…"

Hermione scrambled through her thoughts, realizing that despite the vague impressions of rituals to honor magic and the idea that ghosts faced some sort of afterlife, she knew nothing, knew nothing of the greater concept of what magicals believed—

"That's okay." Her mother's voice was reassuring, and Hermione's eyes instinctively leapt to her mother's for comfort. "It's the summer. Perhaps you could look into it, next time you go to Diagon Alley to get some books?"

"Yes!" Hermione was so grateful to her mother. Trust her to have a calm, smart suggestion to channel her energy into. "I can stop at Flourish and Blotts. I'm sure they'll have something. And I can ask around with my friends this summer, too, if I can't find anything in books. I'm sure they'll know something…"

Her father grinned.

"That's all we're hoping for," he told her. "Any more information we can get will help."

"In the meantime, don't be alarmed if we mention going to a temple or various services, okay?" Her mother smiled. "We're approaching this scientifically: we're learning each tradition, taking notes, and looking for common elements and threads in between."

"We're going to start exploring the ghost element a little more, too." Her father looked proud. "I've applied to the University of Edinburgh for correspondence courses – they've started a parapsychology track, did you know? – and we're going to go to a séance in a few days to see what that's like."

"A séance?" Hermione said, astonished. "You're going to ask a muggle to summon a ghost?"

"Channel a ghost, but something like that," her mother clarified. She paused. "…would you like to come along? If she actually manages it, you might be able to see a ghost in the room and verify her claims."

"It's going to be a pain sorting out the genuine people from the quacks and scam artists," her father snorted. "We'd appreciate your help, if you're willing."

Hermione blinked. This was getting more and more surreal.

"Um, sure," Hermione said. "What day?"

"Saturday evening," her mother said promptly.

The day after the full moon rituals she was going to do with her coven. She'd be tired from staying out all night, but if she slept in until past noon…

"That works," Hermione said. She ventured a smile at her parents, unsure. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Her father was startled. "For what?"

"For trusting me with this," Hermione said. "This is… it's all very complicated, and I'm sure very confusing and emotional and weird, but thank you for talking to me about it and trusting me to understand."

"Oh, Hermione." Her mother took her hand, pulling Hermione up from her chair onto the sofa in between them, where she wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. "Of course. You know we try and treat you like an adult."

"I know," Hermione said. She burrowed her head into her mother's side, hugging her back hard. "But this sort of thing is really confusing and kind of hard and scary to think about. I don't think I would have wanted to bring it up with my daughter, if I had one."

"Well, it helps that you're already comforted by the knowledge that there's something waiting for you that's not bad," her mother admitted, "so contemplating what lies after death is probably less scary for you than it is for us. But you're right – it is a very adult topic. But it's one you're mature enough to contemplate and understand."

"Besides," her father remarked, rustling her hair, "we know how you like to know the answers to everything just like us. Figured you'd want to know what will happen to us when we go long before it actually happens, too."

Hermione burrowed further between her parents, hugging them fiercely. Her parents seemed to understand her anxiety and worry without her saying a word, and they hugged her back, sweet murmurings and reassurances slowly comforting her. She was dismayed to realize somehow tears had started dripping from her eyes – she hadn't realized she'd been crying, and certainly not consciously with sobs.

She was touched that her parents trusted her with something so acutely personal to them, but even as Hermione was touched by it, she was scared. Thinking about her parents dying was upsetting, even if it wouldn't happen for many years. She didn't want to think about them ever dying, didn't want to acknowledge that would ever happen, but at the same time, she didn't want them to have to face a scary unknown if she could help them figure it out.

"Am I going to need a special dress or something?" Hermione's voice wavered, and she dashed the tears from her eyes as she sniffed. "If I need a funeral outfit or something gothic for this séance, I'm not going to have anything but my school robes…"

"Oh, Hermione…" Her mother laughed, giving her a hug. "I'm sure we'll find you something appropriate to wear."

Chapter Text

The setup the coven had created was quite good, Hermione mused, examining it as she went around. Blaise had come through with the ritual components necessary, bringing an entire sack of small crystals for them to use to trace the ritual circle on the grass, with a small pile of moonstones going in the center. Around the ritual space were stained-glass cups with small holes cut into the glass, set upon sticks about five feet tall, that held flicking fire inside of them. Susan's mother used to use them, according to her aunt, and Hermione was happy to put them to good use once more.

The moon above them was full. Hermione and the others stood around the ritual circle, all of them in their special ritual robes; Blaise was eager, Harry nervous, Luna serene, Susan excited.

"We'll have to do it this way," Hermione told them. "I didn't want to alter a ritual I knew worked too much to account for casting it with a coven."

"How do you already know this works, Hermione?" Luna asked, but Hermione ignored her.

"Each of you will take a turn," Hermione continued. "Once I bind the elemental to you, it will enter you, you will have to subdue it in a fierce battle of will."

"A battle?" Harry looked alarmed. "Hermione, what do you mean?"

"Even a spirit has a will," Hermione told him, a fond smile coming to her face with a memory. "It is not strong, compared to a person, but exists, though without aim, without consciousness." She paused, facing Harry directly. "You will feel as if the air elemental is trying to take over your body. I won't lie to you – it will hurt, and you will feel the compulsion to do odd things that make no sense. Until you subdue the air elemental's will with your own, assimilating it into your magic, it will essentially be possessing your body, trying to take control."

Oddly enough, that seemed to calm Harry, who looked reassured. Hermione wondered if Harry had expected to have to duel a tornado.

"What if we fail?" Susan asked, her eyes widened. "Then what?"

"I've added a second circle around the ritual circle for additional protection," Hermione said, pointing to the line of crystals on the ground. "The other three of us will hold that circle while I work the ritual. If you fail, that circle will keep you trapped inside, so at least you can't go jump off a cliff or something."

"Jump off a cliff?" Susan looked worried. "Hermione, is this really safe?"

"Umm," Hermione said. She paused. "…probably not."

Blaise rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Right," he said. He clapped his hands. "Hermione, what's the worst that could happen?"

"You fail to subdue the elemental and it takes over your body," she said immediately.

"And if that happens, what happens next?" Blaise asked. "We just wait for the person to run out of energy, trapped in the circle?"

Hermione was indignant.

"I rather thought we'd cast a Sleep Charm and then move to an exorcism ritual," she said, annoyed. "I'm not about to let any of you suffer for hours."

"What's an exorcism ritual consist of?" Luna asked. "I've never seen one of those before."

"Me neither," Hermione admitted. "I brought the book with the ritual, though. I've never cast it before. But I'm certain we can do it if we have to."

Susan did not look reassured.

"So!" Hermione clapped her hands. "Who wants to go first?"

The others all exchanged wide-eyed looks, before Harry stepped forward.

"Me," he said, determined. "I'll go first."

"Go Harry!" Susan cheered. "You can do it!"

Harry looked embarrassed. Hermione grinned.

"Trust the Gryffindor to volunteer," she said, smiling. "Come on."

Following her, Harry carefully stepped over the crystals to stand at one of the points of the triangle in a circle. Hermione straddled the other two points, making sure she had a solid sense of balance despite her stance. She could see the others spread out as she did so, spacing themselves equidistant around the outer circle.

"Blaise, Susan, and Luna," Hermione said. "All you need do for your part is tap into your magic and connect to the circle. You can all hum if you like, to help reach a harmonious level. Being coven-bonded, though, I don't think that will be necessary."

The three each closed their eyes for a few moments, and the outer circle started to glow. Hermione grinned, turning to Harry.

"I'm going to summon the elemental," she told him seriously. "Once I bind it to you, it will try to take over your body. You need to be ready to fight."

Harry was determined. "I'm ready."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Then we will begin."

Snape's original ritual had been in Latin, and though Hermione had considered just using that ritual verbatim, it hadn't seemed safe. If something went wrong, she'd have no idea what part to change or what she messed up, and she'd be likely to mispronounce one of the words. Instead, she'd gone over the ritual in her mind, writing down what she remembered of his chants, and translating the Latin into English.

The resulting sentences had been tangled and messy, but their meaning and intent clear, and Hermione had created an alternative chant to use instead that kept that intent – but in English, instead.

"We summon and call upon the element of air," Hermione chanted, pulling on her magic and pushing it into the circle. "There is a body to battle for, if you so dare."

The circle around them and the moonstones began to glow, the moonstones giving off a bright, unearthly light. Hermione traced the sigil for will o' the wisp in the air with her hands.

"Wind in the trees, we call and challenge you," she called. "Come fight for Harry's body for you to imbue!"

She repeated the incantation again, and then again. On the third iteration, she saw a glow begin to manifest inside of the circle, directly above the moonstones. Harry's eyes went wide as she continued to chant.

"—fight for Harry's body for you to imbue!"

As Hermione finished the incantation the third time, there was a crack of lightning across the sky, and the will o' the wisp vanished – and a moment later, Harry screamed.

It was a terrible scream, echoing over the plains and sending chills down Hermione's spine. Harry was clawing at his face, nails scraping over his cheeks, and to her horror, Harry's eyes were glowing a pale whitish-blue, neither pupils nor irises in sight. A tangled, gurgling noise came from his throat as Harry stumbled around, gasping, and he bumped up against an invisible wall as he staggered toward the outside circle, the wall of power holding strong.

Hermione held her place, watching wide-eyed in terror. Though she had a backup plan in case any of them failed, she really didn't want to have to attempt it. She didn't even know if it would work.

Harry set his jaw and grit his teeth, struggling as he staggered, and Hermione felt a flush of pleasure as he fought it back, his eyes slowly returning to green, before they snapped open wide and Harry took a huge breath of air, falling forward to the ground. Hermione rushed forward to catch him, but instead she was knocked down too, at least managing to cushion Harry as he fell. She'd rather not have him break his glasses or his nose.

"That was terrible," Harry groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"You did it, though!" Hermione was glowing with pride. "You did it!"

"Did I?" Harry wondered. "It stopped fighting, but it's not like I—"

"Reach down into your power," Hermione instructed. "You should be able to feel it."

Harry concentrated, his eyes rolling back slightly, before his eyes snapped back to Hermione, wide.

"I—I can feel it," he said, awed. "Hermione, I can feel it!"

Hermione beamed. "Exactly."

She got to her feet and helped Harry to his. Harry moved a little more steadily now, but he was clearly exhausted. The other three who had watched as she led him outside of the circle and over to a tree. They looked impressed and proud.

"Who's next?" Hermione asked.

"I'll go," Susan volunteered. She glanced at Harry. "If you're ready to cast again already, Hermione."

"I'm ready," Hermione assured her. "It doesn't drain much power from me."

This time, with Harry exhausted and collapsed against tree, Blaise and Luna spread out across the circle from each other. They hummed to gather their power, and Hermione straddled the triangle once more, meeting Susan's wide eyes, and began her chant, tracing the sigil through the air.

"We summon and call upon the element of air.
There is a body to battle for, if you so dare
Wind in the trees, we call and challenge you
Come fight for Susan's body for you to imbue!"

On the third iteration, the will o' the wisp manifested, and when lightning flashed and the elemental vanished, Susan gasped and fell to her knees, her eyes going wide, utterly unable to scream.

It was very different watching Susan than it was Harry. Whereas Harry had staggered around, fighting with the elemental for control of his body, Susan's battle seemed entirely internal as she fought with the elemental, her eyes closed tightly. Hermione wasn't sure she was breathing, which was mildly alarming, and she started counting the seconds off in her mind, just in case…

A few long moments later, Susan's eyes snapped open and she sucked in a huge breath of air, nearly toppling over.

"That was…" She shook her head in disbelief. "Merlin, Hermione. I know you warned me, but I don't think I was prepared for that."

"You did it, though," Hermione said, proud. She offered her a hand to pull her to her feet. "And how else would you have warned yourself? It's hard to describe, if you've never felt it before."

Susan grudgingly acknowledged the truth of that with an exasperated sigh and grumble. "Fair enough."

Hermione helped Susan over to a tree near Harry's. Harry turned to look over as Susan, who he gave an exhausted, proud grin, and Susan shared a fatigued but triumphant smile back. Hermione smiled at the both of them before going back to the circle, incredibly pleased with how well her coven was doing.

"They both seem exhausted," Blaise said, looking over at them. He glanced at Hermione. "Did you know it would be so tiring?"

"No," Hermione admitted. She bit her lip. "I wasn't exhausted afterward, myself. I'm not sure why – my ritual might not be as good as the one used originally, perhaps."

"It's still working, though," Luna reassured her. "And it's after midnight. Exhaustion during the night is not exactly an odd thing, Hermione."

Hermione laughed. "Fair enough."

Blaise wanted to go next, which left Luna to hold the protection circle herself. She seemed unbothered by this, though Hermione was somewhat concerned. Blaise set his jaw, his eyes fierce and determined, and Hermione began the chant.

On the third go 'round, his will o' the wisp appeared, there was a crack of lightning, and it vanished. Instead of screaming or gasping, Blaise groaned, falling to his knees and clutching his throat like he was choking. Heavy groans and low notes escaped Blaise's mouth, and his eyes were still open, showing only a ghostly pale blueish-white fog that creeped Hermione out.

It seemed to take too long, in Hermione's mind, for Blaise to finally groan and fall forward, breathing heavily, but it finally happened. He glanced up at her with a tired smile, and Hermione smiled back.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I'm still me, if that's the worry," Blaise assured her. His voice was fond, though exhausted. "Merlin. They weren't kidding, were they? That was hard."

She helped him over to join the other two outside of the circle to recover, before coming back to the circle. Luna looked up at her, and Hermione bit her lip, worrying.

"I'll have to hold both the outer circle and the inner," she said finally, "but we can still do this. It'll just take more detail, though. Hang on."

It was lucky Blaise had gotten so many crystals. Hermione put another triangle inside the outer circle, connecting the lines to the circumference of the inner circle. The new channels would help connect her power to the outer circle, Hermione figured. She'd need to use more magic to fuel both the ritual and the protection circle, but this was exactly what Hermione had trained her magic for – to have enough power to pull off such feats.

When she was done, she set the crystals aside, dusting off her hands and knees. "Luna, are you ready?"

"If you are," Luna said, her blue eyes alight. "Shall we?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "We shall."

Luna stood at her point, and Hermione straddled her own. Closing her eyes, she called on her magic, channeling as much of it as she could out into the protection circle to help it hold strong. Only once she could feel the lines of the ritual practically humming with magic, and she was reassured Luna would be safe and the protection circle wouldn't break, did Hermione begin her chant.

"We summon and call upon the element of air…"

Something felt different this time, though. The call of the magic upon the air still made Hermione shiver, and she could feel the magic of the ritual building. Maybe it was because she was holding two circles simultaneously, bracing herself on her knees to stay upright as she did.

"Wind in the trees, we call and challenge you…"

Hermione went through the incantation once. As she began to chant the second time, something began to manifest above the moonstones, and her eyes went wide as she continued the chant.

The air spirit was big – much bigger than the others. As she finished the second iteration, the spirit had begun to take on an almost human form, a faceless form with wings that stared at Luna, its featureless expression terrifying. Luna's eyes had gone very wide.

This was not a will o' the wisp, a light air spirit, Hermione realized dimly. She'd been bracing herself while channeling magic – she hadn't made the sigil in the air for a will o' the wisp. Instead, she'd just called upon the air. And she'd been channeling her full magic, ostensibly to fuel the protection circle, but the circles were connected – she'd ended up pouring all that power into the ritual as well.

It wasn't safe to stop, though, Hermione knew, continuing the last incantation with wide eyes. Stopping a ritual in the middle was dangerous – far more dangerous than Luna facing (and likely being possessed) by this spooky thing.

"—fight for Luna's body for you to imbue!"

The crack of lightning above was deafening, and Hermione could see the creepy air figure zoom into Luna, forcing her to inhale itself through her nose and throat, and Luna's eyes fogged over as she gagged.

Hermione watched on in worry, determinedly holding the protection circle strong. If this was going to be as bad as she expected it would, she would need to make sure Luna stayed safe.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Hermione glanced up to see her friends running over. Susan looked horrified.

"Was that a sylph?" she asked, anxious. "Hermione, how did you summon a sylph for Luna to face? And why?"

"It was an accident!" Hermione defended, watching with growing anxiety as Luna thrashed around on the ground gasping, as if having a seizure. "I was holding both circles, and I didn't trace the sigil in the air…"

Blaise was shaking his head, his eyes wide.

"A will o' the wisp was bad enough," he said. "I don't envy her, facing off against a sylph."

"Luna's strong," Harry said, stubborn. "She'll be okay."

Blaise glanced over at him.

"Do you even realize the different in caliber between a will o' the wisp and a sylph, Potter?" he asked dryly. "It's like dueling a second year versus dueling a N.E.W.T. student."

Harry made a face.

"Still," he said stubbornly. "She's naturally attuned to air, isn't she? As a Ravenclaw? She can beat this."

A piercing scream rang through the air as Luna rolled around the ground, her eyes glowing as she screamed. Hermione watched on in worry.

"How is she still fighting it?" Susan breathed. "My fight was intense. I wouldn't have lasted as long as she is."

"Luna's strong," Hermione said, echoing Harry's words. She gnawed on her lip. "If she falters, we might all have to cast Somnium together – I don't know how strong a sylph will be in her body."

Luna continued to roll around, approaching the second entire minute of fighting the spirit. To Hermione's astonishment, instead of screaming again, when her mouth opened this time, it was to sing – an eerie, creepy, wordless song echoing into the nothingness of the wide-open sky.

"What is this?" Blaise wanted to know, unnerved. "I've got shivers down my spine."

"I don't like it," Harry said, eyes darting around. "This sounds unnatural. What is she doing?"

"She's fighting," said Susan, kneeling at the edge of the protection circle. She looked into Luna's empty eyes, only a few inches away, but separated by an invisible wall of power. "She's singing to help herself remember who she is, I think."

"Did she have to choose this tune?" Blaise wanted to know, but Luna's eyes were changing, fading, and her irises and pupil faintly came into view.

"She's doing it!" Hermione exclaimed, relief nearly overwhelming her. "Come on, Luna! You can do it!"

"You can do it, Luna!" Susan encouraged. "You've got this!"

Slowly, agonizingly, Luna's eyes came back into focus, and abruptly she sucked in a huge breath of air, collapsing onto her back in the center of the circle, the moonstones pressing into her back. She panted heavily for breath, before moaning and turning her head to look at Hermione.

"I think," she said, still short of breath, "that you might have messed up that time."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I know," she admitted. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Luna said, closing her eyes. "We had to come to a bit of an agreement, but it's all okay now."

"You had to bargain with your elemental?" Susan asked, eyes wide. "What was that like?"

"Well, it was not good," Luna said. "Very painful, actually. A lot of it was it demanding to take over my body. It was only when I managed to start fighting it back were we able to compromise."

"You compromised with a sylph?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It agreed to assimilate to my magic if I let it keep its identity," Luna said. She shrugged, exhausted. "So it's still there, but I guess if I died, it'd be free again? Instead of dissipating?" She sighed, very obviously tired. "I'll figure it out in the morning," she mumbled. "I don't really want to do anything else tonight."

Hermione, who hadn't realized that subduing elementals would exhaust her coven members so completely, nodded in agreement, not mentioning she'd brought everything needed to repeat the snake speaking ritual in her bag.

"Let's help everyone get home safely," Hermione said. She glanced at Blaise and Susan. "I'm not sure you're fit to Floo."

In the end, it was decided that Blaise would spend the night in the Burrow with Harry, and Susan with Luna in her house. Hermione watched as the boys staggered across the field to the Burrow, wands dimly lighting their way, while Hermione helped Luna and Susan into Luna's house. They both collapsed onto Luna's bed as soon as they reached it, still in their ritual robes, and Hermione looked down on them as they slept heavily, fond.

As hard as it had been, they'd all managed it, Hermione thought with a certain pride. It wasn't like everyone could set their will against an air elemental and win. Ron Weasley would have certainly lost, she thought, as would Draco Malfoy, probably. As would most of her classmates, she suspected. She wondered if having a coven bond had helped each of them strengthen their resolve as they battled for their bodies.

Somehow as she managed to Floo home, thinking proudly over her friends, and her thoughts avoided the obvious question that had come up during the ritual – How it was that her friends had been so exhausted afterward, while she had felt as strong as ever after she'd beaten her own air elemental? When she'd been over a year younger than them at the time? Instead, her mind focused on her coven's triumph and success, not dwelling on any inconsistencies in the results of the ritual.

Such things were worrying to consider, and Hermione's mind instinctively shied away from such thoughts as she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Hermione slept until eleven the next morning, and when she Floo'd to Luna's after lunch, she was happy to find her friends there, everyone looking okay. The afternoon was spent with great amusement on Hermione's part as she attempted to teach them free flight, enjoying watching them struggle and laughing as they toppled all over the place in the air.

"Merlin, Hermione, are you sure this is really possible?" Harry complained, rubbing his head from where he'd conked it on a tree. "I feel like I'm a rocket, blasting off in any which direction."

"It takes a lot of practice," Hermione admitted. She called on her own air magic, which leapt at the chance to show off, and she lifted into the air, flying around about four feet up with great control.

Blaise watched her enviously. "Are you sure we'll be able to do that?"

"With practice," Hermione said. "But imagine! How cool will it be to fly without a broom? To be able to catch yourself if you ever fall from a great height?"

"Also, it's fun," Luna's voice chimed in. Hermione turned to see Luna hovering next to her in the air, as casual about it as you please. Hermione blinked at her, stunned, and Luna just looked back at her. There was the faintest shimmer in the air behind her, as if Luna had grown wings of a slightly heavier air, and Hermione's suspicion grew.

"Luna," she said slowly, "have you managed to master flying already?"

"Of a sort," Luna said easily. "The sylph seems to have strong opinions about flying, and I'm just following its guidance, really."

She flitted around the trees like a fairy, and Hermione was envious of her easy, precise movements. She still struggled with sharp turns and changes like that herself.

"How come we all didn't face a sylph?" Blaise grumbled. "I want control like that."

Susan bopped him over the head.

"Did you forget how badly Luna struggled?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "She was nearly consumed. She was very lucky. It's far better for us to just practice and earn this skill, you know."

Harry was carefully practicing, jumping from place to place, each jump going a little higher, but often his jumps would encounter a slight breeze, which would end up blowing him way off course.

"This is kind of fun," he said, grinning at them. "Hermione, how long have you been able to do this for?"

"A while," Hermione admitted. "It took several months to be able to fly reliably. It was about a year to get really good at it, though."

Harry hummed.

"I can manage a year," he mused. His eyes sparkled. "Wonder if this'll give me an advantage in Quidditch, yeah?"

Much of the afternoon was spent with Hermione encouraging her friends, holding their hands as they tried to leap into the air together, and patching up bruises and cuts from her friends falling from great heights or blasting off into the nearby trees. She was glad she'd learned Episkey – Susan's aunt would have been horrified if Susan had gone home covered in gashes and cuts from landing in some unfortunately-placed bramble bushes.

When it was around supper time, they all parted and went home. Hermione's parents were waiting for her, setting dinner out just as she arrived, and they gave her a smile.

"Welcome back, witch," her mother teased her. "Much bubbling, boiling, toiling and troubling today?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We practiced flying," she informed her. "No bubbling and boiling today."

Her mother laughed. "Of course you did."

"Let's eat," her father said, setting out the silverware. "Hermione will want to change before we go to the Carvers'."

Dinner wasn't rushed, but Hermione ate quickly and efficiently, conversation minimized. When they were done, Hermione's mother went upstairs with her, pulling out what she'd bought for Hermione to wear. It was a black dress, but a simple fit and flare, nothing overly ornate – something Hermione might wear to a nice restaurant, and she was surprised at the choice.

"Is this all?" she questioned her mother. "If that's all, I have dresses like this already, Mum."

"Not that fit anymore, dear," her mother advised. "You've grown quite a bit since you've worn something like this. They'd be too tight and short on you now."

Hermione pulled the dress over her head, examining her reflection. Her mother had done well picking out her size, though the dress had a bit of a stretch to it.

"Tights or hose," her mother advised. "It's a formal sort of occasion."

Her mother left to go get dressed herself, and Hermione found herself rummaging in her drawers for some tights. With a pause, she took her wand and transfigured them, giving them roses curling up the backs of her legs on vines. She conjured a red rose and affixed it to a hairband she put into her hair (she'd watched Cedric conjure them often enough, now; it wasn't hard to mimic his spell), and she took a costume jewelry choker she'd had as a child and lengthened the chain, charming the pale blue stone in the middle to a blood red as well.

When she was done, she looked very serious and solemn, she thought, a mix between an Edwardian-dressed young child and a gothic Victorian woman who owned a haunted manor. She liked the look, though; she looked formal and slightly spooky – exactly as one should look when going to a séance, she imagined.

Her father looked mildly impressed and amused when she came downstairs to wait for her mother. He was in a crisp black suit with a white shirt, though his shirt was unbuttoned a couple buttons and he wore no tie.

"Too hot to be too formal," he told her, grinning. "Hopefully the ghosts won't take offense."

Hermione obliged her father with a cooling charm, which he was grateful for. As she stashed her wand away, it occurred to Hermione that she was going to a muggle house – she wouldn't be permitted to just cast magic there willy-nilly. She frowned, wondering what to do if things went very badly, when her mother came down the stairs.

Hermione had to admit her mother looked very pretty. She wore a long dress that reached the ground, and it was fitted the whole way through with a row of buttons at the top. It looked to be made of silk or satin, and she really did look like she was a Victorian woman who owned a haunted mansion, especially with her hair all curled and pinned up under a fascinator like that.

"Jean!" Her father stepped forward, offering his hand gallantly, which her mother took as she climbed down the rest of the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, he immediately tugged her into an embrace and deep kiss, which made her mother laugh and Hermione turn away.

"I'm the luckiest man alive," he declared. "Look at my beautiful wife and my beautiful daughter. You both look so fancy."

Her mother laughed.

"You're not the only one who enjoys dressing up," her mother said, teasing him. "Women just like to do it in a way different from men."

Her father just grinned. "Whatever you say, love. Whatever you say."

As all the guests set up for the séance, Hermione was glad she'd dressed as she had. The entire thing seemed like it'd been taken straight from the 1920s, including the awful decorating in the sitting room they were in. The wallpaper had to be from decades ago, the furniture was tacky and horrid, and the entire room had a musty, old-person type of smell permeating the space.

The other adults hadn't been bothered in the slightest with Hermione accompanying her parents, one of them even commenting, "It's good to start them young. That way if they have a gift, they can hone it, and even if they don't, it's good to instill the proper respect in them for the metaphysical ways." She'd gestured to her own child, a boy who looked to be a couple years younger than Hermione. He looked thoroughly miserable and like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere but where he was, and Hermione just nodded politely and quickly moved away.

Everyone sat around a large oval table. In the middle of the table was a board with letters and numbers on it and what looked like a magnifying glass in the shape of a guitar pick sitting overtop of it. There were candles set out as well as incense sticks, and Hermione found herself incredibly curious.

Before they got started, introductions quickly went around the table, the names of everyone quickly slipping through Hermione's mind. The only one she managed to catch and remember was the boy's – Gerald – and that was only because his mother made him "speak up, no one can hear you, dear" twice until he'd nearly screamed it the third time.

"Is Madame Tulily unable to make it today?" one of the adults asked. She looked perturbed. "I thought she was coming."

"She's just running a little late," a man answered, apologetic. "I thought we could get started without her, but we can wait if you'd prefer."

"We can at least figure out a way to decide an order?" a woman suggested. "Will that work?"

The adults agreed this seemed to be a good idea. Slips of paper and pens went around the table, and Hermione found herself looking at a blank piece of paper, having absolutely no idea what to do with it.

"Write a name down on it, dear," the older woman to her right advised her. "Whomever you're hoping to speak to from the other side."

This entire thing was creepy, Hermione thought, biting her lip as she looked around the table at everyone writing names down. Her father had written down Alan Turing, while her mother had written down Margaret Adley. Hermione gave her mother a sharp look, who winked at her and held a finger to her lips silently.

Right. Her parents were doing this as much to test this medium as much as to see what happened. Writing down the name of her alive sister was a fair way for her mother to do that, Hermione figured, though it seemed dark and unfair. Turning back to her own paper, Hermione finally wrote down Anthea Nott, before folding it and tossing it into a hat with all the others. If this muggle ritual worked, she'd get to see Theo's mum and maybe find out some of the dark secrets Theo held close to his chest. If not, no harm, no foul, she reasoned.

Still, Hermione tried to shake the feeling like she was somehow committing a grave violation of Theo's privacy, by writing his mother's name down on a slip of paper.

When Madame Tulily arrived, it was in a cloud of an exotic scent and to the tinkling of chains, and Hermione looked up to see a dark-haired woman take a seat. She had very dark eye makeup on, a dark scarlet lipstick, and a stylish gold turban, like one might see in old Hollywood films. She was wearing a very long, very dramatic black dress, with drooping, gauzy sleeves. If there had been buttons up the front, it was the sort of thing Hermione might see being worn in Diagon Alley, she mused. Atop of the dress lay what must have been at least a dozen necklaces, all clinking together as they moved.

"Are we ready?" Madame Tulily asked. She had an accent, Hermione noted – something Eastern European? Russian? She wasn't sure.

"We're ready," the man who seemed to be the host said hurriedly, eager. He held up the hat. "We all wrote names down. We figured whichever called to you the most would be who we were meant to try and speak to."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

The medium reached into the hat and withdrew a slip of paper. "Albert Pierrepoint," she read aloud. She looked around the table. "Who wishes to speak to Albert Pierrepoint?"

"I do." A prim but younger woman said, raising her hand.

Hermione's father shifted next to her mother, two seats to Hermione's left, looking disgruntled while the host lit the candles.

"What kind of people want to summon an executioner?" he said quietly to her mother. "That's rather disturbing."

"I suppose we'll find out why," her mother whispered back, just as softly, Hermione leaning closer to her parents to eavesdrop.

The medium proceeded to lead them all through a breathing exercise, one meant to 'settle their souls into the silence of the beyond'. Hermione followed along, though she peeked instead of closing her eyes entirely, watching the medium with suspicion. The breathing exercise wasn't dissimilar to something Hermione might lead her coven through before a ritual to help settle and center their magic, but her accent seemed inconsistent and variable.

After that was enough, the medium bid them all open their eyes and to join hands.

"Together, we will call upon Albert Pierrepoint," she said, her accent heavy. She straightened up, close her eyes, and intoned. "Albert Pierrepoint, we invite you to our circle, to feel the light of life despite your death. Commune with us, Albert Pierrepoint, and move among us."

"Commune with us, Albert Pierrepoint, and move among us," the circle chanted. "Commune with us, Albert Pierrepoint, and move among us."

Hermione kept her lips sealed. This was creepy enough already; the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally take part in a Dark necromancy ritual.

After the group had chanted several times, their chanting growing louder at the medium's guidance, there was a sudden violent rapping at the table, and everyone fell into a hushed silence.

"Albert Pierrepoint is among us," the medium intoned. Her voice sounded different, and her eyes had rolled into the back of her head. "Ask your questions."

From what Hermione could gather, Albert Pierrepoint was a famous executioner from decades and decades ago. The prim woman who'd submitted his name seemed to only want to ask him questions about if a man called John Haigh had told him where he'd hidden his treasure trove of victims' possessions, and Hermione felt a little ill, though the medium said, in a gravelly voice, that the killer had told him no such thing.

After Albert Pierrepoint came an attempt to reach Elizabeth Tudor, who did not answer their call, despite their chanting, which Hermione smirked at. Any facts about Queen Elizabeth I the medium made up could be easily verified or refuted, and she was unsurprised the medium didn't want to go there.

A man's dead mother, Dorothy Decampo, answered the summons, however, and told her son through the medium that she was at peace, and that he needed to move on with his life. The man broke down sobbing, apologizing for not being there with her at the end, and Hermione looked away, uncomfortable.

To her parents' disappointment, the medium was unable to contact the spirit of Margaret Adley, nor could they seem to reach Alan Turing. Each time a name was attempted, they all had to go through the whole breathing exercise and chanting thing again, and Hermione was getting rather bored.

The next name to come up was Norbert Leachley, something that struck Hermione as vaguely familiar. An old political figure, maybe? Or just a name she'd read on a name tag somewhere?

"He was my uncle, and he just vanished after a time," the woman who'd submitted the claim said, anxious. "I just want to know what happened to him, really. Maybe if we can't contact him, it means he's still alive somewhere."

"We will find out for you," Madame Tulily reassured the woman, and they all joined hands again, breathing deeply. "Take deep breaths and settle yourselves into the liminal space inside your soul, and we will ready our call."

As they all took each other's hands again, something felt different to Hermione. Was the hand in her own particularly warm, or were her own hands clammy?

"Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us," the medium led, the circle chanting after her. "Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us."

Hermione jerked in her chair, feeling what felt like a pinprick on her palm. She shot a sharp look at the woman to her right, but the woman's eyes were closed, chanting.

"Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us. Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us."

Something was wrong, Hermione realized, her eyes going wide. That sharp pain on her palm, the feeling of something bad happening – something different was happening, and she didn't like it one bit. Her eyes darted around in alarm, looking for anyone else sensing the same thing, but everyone else was just chanting, the chanting growing louder and louder.

"Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us."

Hermione stifled a gasp as something was wrenched from her palm. It felt like a bloom of blood into a glass of water, and she belatedly realized that pain, the feeling of losing something, that was her magic – they had somehow ripped some of her magic from her, and it hurt.

Hermione tried to let go of the woman's hand, but the other woman was chanting louder, her eyes tightly shut and her hand tight on her own.

"Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us. Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us."

The feeling of being drained sent burning pain through Hermione's right arm, and she began to panic.

"Stop it!" she said, yanking at her hand. "Cut it out!"

The woman shot her a dark look and held her hand even tighter, still chanting.

"Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us."

"It's wrong!" Hermione said, tugging at her hand, the woman holding on even harder. Other people were beginning to look at as she made a commotion, though they still chanted. Hermione looked around at them all desperately. "Can't you feel it's going wrong?"

As the last chant of "Commune with us, Norbert Leachley, and move among us", a sudden chill wind blew through the room as if from nowhere, and the candles went out. People gasped as the electric lights flickered, and the table began to rattle.

"He is coming," Madame Tulily said gravely. "Norbert Leachley, come, and manifest among us!"

With a wrenching pop, abruptly there was a ghost floating above the table, looking highly annoyed. He massaged his neck as if it were sore, and to Hermione's astonishment, he was wearing robes.

"It's Nobby," he told Madame Tulily told her crossly. "Nobby Leach. Haven't been called Norbert for years. If you're going to hassle me, at least get it right."

Madame Tulily didn't respond or react, and Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Norbert is among us," Madame Tulily intoned. "I can feel him among us. However, he has chosen to speak on his own, not through me. Ask your questions."

"What, am I supposed to possess you?" Nobby asked the medium, highly offended. "I would never. That's rude."

It was somewhat surreal to see a ghost around muggles, the ghost admonishing them and talking at them, and the muggles entirely unaware of it at all. Hermione certainly hadn't expected this sort of result at the séance. She wondered what her parents would make of it, when she told them what she had seen later.

Meanwhile, the muggles at the table had shifted, congregating around the board with letters and numbers.

"Put your hands on the planchette," the medium instructed. "Norbert will guide it around the Oujia board, answering your questions."

"It's Nobby, you charlatan, and I will do what now?" The ghost looked severely annoyed, bending over to examine the board in the middle more closely. "Oh, bother. This is going to take forever, isn't it?"

The woman who'd submitted his name first asked, "Are you with us, Norbert?" which Hermione thought a stupid question – hadn't the candles going out and cold wind from nowhere been enough?

"Yes, you blasted girl," Nobby said, annoyed. Hermione watched as the ghost reached for the planchette. "How am I supposed to move this damned thing? Oh, wait – okay, this glass is helping…"

Hermione and her parents got up and moved around the table for a closer look at the Ouija board. From Hermione's quick glances around, she was the only one looking at the ghost, the only one able to see Nobby wrestling with the planchette.

"This would be much easier if you'd take your own hands off of it," Nobby said in irritation. "Why are you even – aha!"

The planchette finally was dragged over to Yes, and the room gasped.

"He's here," one man said in awe, and Hermione had the freak urge to smack him upside the head.

"Norbert, you vanished from the family many years ago," the woman said. "We looked for you, but we could never find you. Where did you go?"

"Away from you lot, that's for damn sure," Nobby muttered as he manipulated the planchette. "Never were supportive of me – had to send the Obliviators for your own damn safety, didn't I?"

The planchette slowly moved over the letters, pausing periodically to spell out London, which one person wrote down one painstaking letter at a time.

"Why did you leave us?" the woman pleaded.

"Oh, Merlin's pants, really?" Nobby huffed. "How to translate this to muggles…"

Hermione watched as Nobby very slowly spelled out 'Worked for secret government. Wasn't safe for you," sending gasps around the table.

"My uncle was a secret spy for the government!" the woman breathed. Her eyes were awed. "He was protecting us!"

Everyone looked impressed, and even Madame Tulily looked surprised with how things had gone.

"How did you die?" Hermione said aloud.

Everyone turned to look at her, and Hermione startled slightly; she hadn't realized she was going to say anything until she had. The ghost was looking at her too, but Hermione was trying not to make eye contact – she didn't want the muggles thinking she was mad, actually able to see the ghost when none of them could.

"That's a good question," the woman said. "Uncle, how and why did you die?"

"Poisoned," Nobby said irritably, manipulating the planchette to spell out 'assassination'. "Bloody Malfoy took offense to me being the first Muggle-born Minister of Magic, that's why."

Hermione sucked in her breath sharply, her eyes widening. Her mind whirred over what she knew of the Malfoy family while the muggles murmured and gasped over the letters they were slowly writing down. The woman was about her mother's age, which would mean a generation or two back…

"Abraxas?" Hermione said aloud, scrunching up her face.

The ghost turned to look at her in astonishment. One of the muggles turned to look at her.

"No, it says 'assassination'," the muggle told her patiently. "We're waiting to see more."

Hermione ignored him, looking directly at Nobby Leach now, who was looking at her.

"You're a witch," he said, shocked. He glanced down at the table, then back at her. "What are you doing here, then, playing with all this muggle rubbish?"

Hermione bit her lip. She was now in the odd spot of needing to communicate to the ghost indirectly, similarly to the ghost's own plight a moment ago.

"Mum, Dad, do you have a good view?" she said, touching her mother on the sleeve. "I can move if you want a closer look?"

Her mother looked at her oddly. "Thank you, dear."

She swapped places with her mother, and Nobby looked like he understood.

"Muggle-born," he said with satisfaction. "Parents probably dragged you along to this thing, yeah?"

Hermione nodded surreptitiously. The muggles around the board were asking now, "Who killed you, uncle?" and the ghost was slowly forcing the planchette around the board, spelling out 'political rival'.

"It was Abraxas Malfoy, that's who did it," Nobby told her directly. His eyes darkened. "Is he still around?"

Hermione shook her head, drawing a line across her throat, and Nobby looked pleased.

"Good," he said. "How?"

Hermione mouthed 'Dragon Pox', and Nobby snorted.

"Dragon Pox," he said dismissively. "Shame. Would have preferred it if someone else offed him like he did me."

The muggles were exclaiming over the board's latest revelation, wondering what to ask next.

"Ask him if there's any proof of who did it to him," Hermione suggested. Her eyes flicked up to Nobby's. "If there's hidden evidence somewhere, maybe you can get justice for him, even though he died."

Nobby's eyes widened, and he looked pensive.

"Any trace of the poison is long gone," he said. "I think they used Baneberry Potion – I saw too many toads around my place the night I died for it to have been anything else. But if I know Abraxas – and I did – he wouldn't have just been satisfied with my death." His face darkened. "He'd have wanted a memento to remember his triumph over me."

"What?" Hermione mouthed. The muggles had moved on, not liking her suggested question, and were discussing what else to ask amongst themselves.

"If I had to guess, probably my signet ring," he said finally. He nodded to himself. "I was Minister, you see, so I had to develop one for myself, even though I didn't have a wizarding family. It was expected, for the Minister to sign and stamp certain documents with his personal signet. I was probably one of the first Muggleborns to develop a crest and signet design for myself." He smiled nastily. "Abraxas probably didn't like that at all."

Her friends had been talking about her needing to come up with a House Crest of her own, Hermione remembered, as part of her political run. Nobby must have done the same thing.

Suddenly frustrated with the slow, secretive method of speaking with him, she turned to her mother.

"May I be excused for a moment?" she asked. "I need the loo."

Her mother looked surprised, then thoughtful.

"Madame Tulily," she asked. "If my daughter needs to use the restroom, will that disturb or break the energies?"

The medium looked baffled for a brief moment, before quickly assuming her mysterious expression once more.

"It is a risk," she said in her haunting voice, "but perhaps we have kept Norbert too long as it is."

Hermione took that as permission and left the room, heading for the stairs.

"Hang on, now!" Nobby protested. "I'm coming with you!"

The muggles all exclaimed as the planchette abruptly flipped itself over, and Nobby was zooming along next to her a moment later.

"I can't believe neither of us thought of that for that long," he said. "Good thinking."

Hermione smirked. Her voice was a whisper.

"Thanks."

Chapter Text

Though Hermione knew she'd have to plead stomach troubles later when she finally returned from the restroom, she spent the rest of the séance in the bathroom talking quietly with Nobby, while the others continued to try to talk to spirits through the medium.

Hermione had been worried that she'd accidentally done a Dark Necromancy ritual without meaning to, but Nobby had laughed at her.

"It was probably your magic that made me able to feel the call," Nobby told her. "But it wasn't your fault. Muggles do this all the time, not realizing it's essentially necromancy."

"Is it Dark?" Hermione worried.

"It's more Grey," Nobby mused. "We can feel the calls, but we don't have to answer them. Your magic just made this one a little louder and stronger, I think. I thought it was because my blood was summoning me – my niece – but your magic makes more sense."

To her disappointment, Nobby had already been a ghost, he told her. Hermione had been hoping to talk to someone who had seen the other side.

"Nope, couldn't," Nobby said. He gave her a twisted smile. "I was determined to bring ruin to Abraxas Malfoy as surely as he had ruined me. Didn't realize I wouldn't be able to leave my house, though, unless someone called me somewhere else."

"How does that work?" Hermione asked. "You're trapped where you died? Or you're trapped to whatever brought you back?"

"Both, I think," Nobby said thoughtfully. "I could never find Abraxas, though. He had some Dark protections on him at all times. I think he knew he'd have a fair few ghosts coming after him if he didn't ward them off with amulets and the like."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"If, theoretically, there was a Malfoy heir," she said slowly, "do you think you'd be able to find him?"

Nobby looked at her curiously.

"Possibly…" he said slowly. "Where are you going with this?"

Hermione explained about the Beltane ritual she'd done with her coven, explaining how if he could get to Hogwarts next May, he might have the chance to remake his choice and move on to the next life. Nobby was surprised and shocked by this, but what caught Hermione most off-guard was his sudden anger and vehemence.

"A coven! In this day and age!" He stamped his foot, though it made no noise. "I thought we had rooted all of you out!"

Hermione tried to protest, but Nobby was having none of it.

"Coven magic and rituals are dangerous and Dark, little girl," he told her, eyes glowing. "I did my best to outlaw and restrict the most common components of rituals, and there was a huge campaign against the Old Ways, to try and restrict them and stomp them out. Do you not even realize what you've done?"

"I rather thought I offered tortured spirits a way to move on and finally find peace," Hermione said coolly, folding her arms. Her opinion of Nobby Leach was rapidly worsening. "What have I done, then, Minister?"

"You've reopened pathways that ought not exist," he spat. "Ritual magic is old and dangerous. It isn't safe for people to be able to use such magics. It needs restricted for people's own safety. And at Hogwarts! On top of a nexus of ley lines!" He shook his head, disgusted. "I can't believe you would bring back such evil arts to modern society. You are a shame to Muggleborns."

"Good thing I'm not a Muggleborn, then," Hermione said shortly. She had lost all patience with the self-righteous ghost. "I'm a New Blood. And I'm not scared of the old magics. I welcome it."

"New Blood?" Nobby scoffed. "There's no such thing. You're just a self-righteous little girl who thinks she knows best—"

Hermione flushed the toilet and washed her hands, storming down the stairs, not listening to Nobby's accusations flying behind her.

"—going to cause your own ruin, girl. Have you never heard of Icarus? Flew too close to the sun and got burned and drowned, didn't he? You tap into powers too powerful, and you'll get burned too, girl, just you see—"

Hermione glanced down at her hands, ghostly pain of the electricity burning through her when she'd touched Hogwarts' magic echoing through her. She already knew what it was like to mess up and get burned.

Her parents were talking quietly with some of the other adults, waiting for her. To her relief, the séance was over.

"Feeling alright, love?" her father asked her, concerned.

"Yes," Hermione ducked her head, trying hard to ignore Nobby's insults, which were growing nastier and nastier. "Can we please just go home now?"

Her parents exchanged a look, but they made their goodbyes quickly and efficiently, and soon the Grangers were going down the porch steps to the car. The barrage of insults stopped once they were outside, and Hermione nearly sagged in relief to realize that Nobby was bound to the house where he had been summoned and couldn't follow her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees once she was buckled into the back seat, and her parents gave her a worried look.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" her mother asked. She sounded concerned.

Hermione's heart went out to her mother.

"No." Her voice came out all wrong, choked up. "But can we just go home now? Please?"

Without another word, her father started the car, and Hermione hugged her knees tightly and watched the streetlights go by out the window as the Grangers headed home.

"—accused me of being Dark! For doing a Light ritual!" Hermione threw her hands up in emphasis, before storming around the living room further. "He wouldn't listen to anything I was saying, accusing me of betraying all Muggleborns for wanting to do old magic. How am I betraying anyone by exploring something that Magic's put right there?"

"You're not betraying anyone, love," her father told her. "It sounds like this ghost was just jealous of you and wanted to hurt you." He paused. "How could you be betraying Muggleborns, anyway?"

To her frustration, Hermione burst into tears, and her father looked alarmed.

"Hey! Hey, I didn't mean—"

"Oh, Hermione," her mother sighed. She opened her arms. "Come here."

Hermione sat half in her mother's lap, her bottom between her mother's legs on the couch and Hermione's legs off to the side, and her mother held her close. Hermione sniffed, trying to dash away the tears, but they just kept coming, and Hermione couldn't seem to stop crying.

"It's okay, Hermione. Just let it all out," her mother urged, rubbing her back. "It'll be okay."

Hermione cried, even as she was embarrassed to be sitting on her mother's lap being held like a toddler. She was just so mad – it was so unfair to accuse her of being a Dark witch for doing a Light ritual, one that had left permanent scars on her arms, for that matter –

"I didn't like him," Hermione said, sniffing into her mother's shoulder. "At first I thought he was good and okay, but I don't like him at all."

"It sounds like he was a bad ghost," her mother murmured, squeezing her tighter. "It's okay, Hermione. He's gone now."

When Hermione finished crying, she went and rinsed her face off in the bathroom hurriedly, embarrassed by her outburst. Her eyes were red and squinty from her crying, and her face was blotchy, and Hermione felt more ashamed. The cold water helped reduce the splotchy skin across her cheeks at least, and Hermione determinedly went back to the living room and sat on the chair by herself, ignoring the burning of her still red eyes.

"So," she said, taking a deep breath. "Shall we debrief about the séance?"

Her mother and father exchanged a look, but they followed her lead, not bringing up her outburst or breakdown of minutes before.

Her father explained his own experience, of how the man to his left had kept tracing circles on his palm, making him gradually more and more uncomfortable, and he confessed he thought the medium was faking the whole thing.

"Her accent wasn't consistent," he said wryly. "I think she fakes it to be exotic, but she seemed to be more of a conman than anything."

Her mother related her own experience.

"It felt different, somehow, at parts," she said thoughtfully, "but I think it was just the anticipation of everyone. Then, of course, there was the candles going out with the wind – that really threw me for a loop!"

Both her parents had dismissed the Ouija board usage as the other adults manipulating the planchette, and they were both surprised to hear that the ghost was actually doing that.

"He muttered something about the glass, at once point," Hermione said, thinking back. "I think the glass in the middle let him reach through and touch it? I'm not sure."

"Maybe it represents a portal to the beyond?" her father suggested. "A transitory ghost able to reach into a transitory symbol?"

"Or maybe it's entirely coincidence the Ouija board worked at all," her mother said mildly. "Hermione, can ghosts touch things normally in Hogwarts?"

Hermione considered.

"Very rarely," she said. "There's a poltergeist, Peeves, and he can touch physical things all the time, but I don't know what the difference between a ghost and a poltergeist is." She paused. "I should look that up, really."

Her parents made notes of their séance experience in a notebook they had gotten for all their explorations into the odder side of the world. Neither of her parents was particularly impressed by the séance, and they both expressed the opinion the only reason that they'd gotten to talk to a real ghost was because Hermione had been with them.

"As a control, we'd have to try and call the same ghost but without Hermione in the circle," her father concluded. He glanced up at Hermione. "I don't think that's necessary, though. We'll just make sure to include a magic ghost Hermione already knows of in the next séance without her there, and we'll see if anything happens, then."

Hermione was glad she wouldn't be expected to attend another muggle séance. The entire thing had creeped her out and reeked of necromancy magic, even if no real magic had occurred. She wrote down 'Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington' as a suggested ghost for them to summon without her the next time they went somewhere, as well as a couple of test questions they could ask him if a medium claimed he had shown up.

"Don't tell us the answers," her father told her seriously. "That way, we can verify the truth with you later to see if the experience was real."

"Got it." Hermione managed a faint smile.

As odd as it was for her parents to suddenly be investigating the paranormal and the afterlife, her father's words were reassuring. No matter how unscientific their subject matter, at least they were going about exploring things in a logical, sensible way - one that reassured her they were still the parents she knew and loved.

Hermione went to bed that night feeling melancholy with a heavy, upset feeling in her stomach. She left the window open that night, watching the stars as she drained her magic by levitating her bed for a while, wondering if wishes on stars were magic too, somehow, and might come true.

"It's not fair," Hermione mumbled to herself. "I'm not Dark. I'm not."

In truth, she knew she wasn't Dark. She had been so careful not to cross that line, to never cross that line, and she was more upset by the accusations that she was betraying Muggleborns by immersing herself in pureblood culture than she wanted to admit.

"What's it matter?" she muttered crossly. "I'm magical, too. I have as much right to the culture as anyone."

She felt torn inside, conflicted. With the quiet of the night and the expanse of space staring back at her, Hermione felt very alone.

On an impulse, Hermione stopped levitating her bed and reached for her magic, feeling its identity as Tom had taught her, and threw it out the window towards the sky in a wave of raw power and magic, something that left her gasping.

"Find my Fate," she whispered, feeling a tremor in her heart. "If I'm on the wrong path or there's something I should be doing that I'm not, find and bring me a sign or something. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

Hermione finally laid back on her bed, exhausted. She'd fully drained her magic (rather violently, at that), and it had been a very late night the night before as well. She was relieved to feel herself finally drifting off despite her mental turmoil – she desperately needed the sleep.

She dreamed that she was on trial – the ghost of Nobby Leach accused her of collaborating with Abraxas Malfoy to have him assassinated, and each time she tried to protest that she hadn't even been alive when Nobby Leach had been killed, boos from the Wizengamot gallery drowned out her cries. Different character witnesses were trotted out – Theo Nott saying how he'd always thought she could be Dark, Harry firmly arguing that she was Light, and Blaise testifying that she was neither, firmly in the Grey.

The dream got weirder – Luna came and testified that she still had too many nargles to lead an army, but that they were slowly vanishing one by one, and Cedric Diggory came and testified that her magic wasn't Dark or Light or Grey but purple, and he'd conjured a purple rose and sent it to her from the witness stand with a wink and a smile. Draco Malfoy then took the stand, and, in a vacant voice, began to testify that she had collaborated with his dead grandfather to murder the former minister. Hermione turned and could see a string of light connected from Draco's back to Lucius Malfoy's wand, his father hiding around the corner smirking, and Hermione went to scream, to accuse him of using the Imperius curse, but the Wizengamot was already making their decision, black paddles rising and the Chief Warlock bang, bang, banging his gavel…

When Hermione awoke, it was to the impatient banging of an owl against her window, frustrated and confused by the screen. The sun was out and the sky was bright, birds chirping in the trees, and Hermione hurried to the window to let the owl in.

Ruffling its feathers and highly affronted by the indignity of having to fight a window to deliver a letter, the owl prowled over Hermione's floor as she broke open her letter, ignoring her with an attitude Hermione didn't know birds could possess.

To her surprise, the letter was from Cedric, and her eyes lingered as she read over his words.

Dear Hermione,

I hope you are doing well. You certainly had a busy start to the summer with the trial, so I hope things have calmed down for you now. My own summer has been fairly sedate - mostly reading ahead for next year and working on summer homework. I imagine you must be busy with the same, or I would have heard from you by now. Surely you haven't forgotten me in a few short weeks?

If you have, I must be neglecting my rose-giving duties, and I shall have to give you extra ones to account for my absence when I see you next.

You are undoubtedly smiling at the thought, shaking your head in amusement, thinking me joking. You are probably hoping I am joking, that I will not shower you with roses of many colors just to make a point, but the point still stands - you deserve flowers and beautiful things in life, things that make you smile and bring you the same joy you bring to others, and I hope to give these things to you.

You linger in my mind, Hermione. I think of you often, and I miss your company.

Maybe I shan't shower you in flowers. But I would like to give you at least one, to have you think of me too.

There is a book release party in Diagon Alley in a week on Tuesday. The book is about the secret history of Hogsmeade, the wizarding village nearby Hogwarts. If you are free, would you like to accompany me to Diagon Alley that day and to the release party? We can walk the alley and talk, and we can get our copies of the books signed by the author. And if you're amenable, you could allow me to treat you to dinner afterwards...?

I can imagine the flush of your face now, Hermione. Know that I am grinning thinking about it as I write.

It is the summer, and you've had your debut - the photos of you attending the trial were striking, as was the ornament in your hair. Your butterfly fluttering in your hair set hope fluttering in my heart, for hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all. And while hope lies in dreams, in imagination, it is also in the courage of those who dare to make dreams into reality - and Gryffindors do not have a monopoly on bravery.

So, Hermione. I have screwed my courage to the sticking place and asked again - now the choice is yours.

Will you accompany me to Diagon Alley?

Know that I look forward to your response, regardless of your answer.

Yours,

Cedric

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes rereading the letter over again, her face flushed. Idly, some part of her knew that Cedric was familiar with muggle literature, but she hadn't expected a quote from poetry. She recognized the bit about hope being a thing with wings, though she hadn't the slightest notion which poet had first penned the line. Had she read it before in a literature class...?

He'd closed the letter with Yours, Cedric. Hermione was rummaging around for a quill when the letter unrolled the rest of the way, a quote from Shakespeare penned at the bottom with a sketch of a rose.

All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, her cheeks flushing.

Glancing out the window at the bright day shining, her mind lingered on her own dreams. She'd thrown her magic out the window last night, asking for help or a sign or something – was this letter what Fate had meant to send her, or was it just a coincidence?

Did she want it to be a coincidence? Or was she looking for a reason to accept his invitation and blame it on Fate later if it didn't go well?

Her eyes lingered on the sketch of a rose on his letter, and finally, Hermione put her quill to parchment and penned her response back.

Chapter Text

Hermione had arranged to meet Neville early the next week, and Neville was delightedly surprised when she clambered through the Floo with a friend behind her.

"Harry!"

Hermione smiled as Neville and Harry grinned at each other and hugged, doing the odd sort of boy-hug that involved hitting each other on the back to make sure it was a masculine enough hug.

"What am I, chopped flobberworm?" Hermione teased, and Neville laughed as he came over to hug Hermione as well – decidedly sans back-pounding ritual.

"It's good to see you," Neville said earnestly, his smile genuine. "I never realize how much I'll miss you all until summer hits and I can't see you anymore. Thanks for coming."

"Thank Hermione," Harry laughed. "She's the one who schemed to get me out of my aunt and uncle's house and decided to bring me along today."

"That sounds like a story," Neville grinned. "Let's go down to the greenhouses, and you can tell me all about it."

Neville led Hermione and Harry outside to a large shed. The shed had rows of boots and gloves on the shelves, as well as an odd variety of gardening tools. Harry whistled lowly at it all.

"This is a bit mad," he said, looking around. "I thought it was just you and your grandmother, Nev?"

"It is, but these are mostly used by the tenants or workers," Neville said absently, scanning the shoes as he eyed their feet. "Here, Hermione – try these."

Hermione took the boots from Neville. "Tenants?"

"The Longbottom Estate holds a fair bit of land that we 'rent' to other witches and wizards," Longbottom said, holding a pair of boots up to Harry's feet before putting them back. "We don't really ask much in rent, but in exchange for the protection we offer and the like, we ask the tenants to come and help throughout the year with different harvests of plants."

"What, like wheat?" Harry said, taking his trainers off.

Neville chuckled. "No, Harry. Like Moon Lilies."

"Your knack for Herbology isn't some innate gift, then," Hermione said, realizing. "You've grown up around magical plants and potions ingredients all your life. No wonder you're so good at it!"

"I wouldn't say I'm that good at it," Neville protested, his face reddened. "I just really like Herbology. And I have a way with plants."

"Better you than me, mate," Harry said, finally standing with the boots tied on. "That venomous tentacula of Sprout's is always out to get me."

Neville laughed. "Come on, let's go."

Now clad in sturdy, protective boots with thick dragonhide gloves tucked into their pockets, the three of them left the shed. Neville led them up and over a hill and then down into a valley, which had rows and rows of various plants growing in perfect rows. Hermione was in awe at the sheer size of the valley, filled entirely with magical plants. At the other side of the valley were several greenhouses, the glass panes glinting in the sun.

"Most witches and wizards keep their own garden growing with the things they need the most," Neville explained as they walked. "Knotgrass, asphodel, belladonna, dittany, that sort of thing. But you don't want just anyone to be growing Death-Caps or Chinese Chomping Cabbages, especially if you have children running around. That's where we come in – we grow some of the rarer, more dangerous plants needed, and we sell to a lot of apothecaries in the area. That way, when people need a rarer bit of something to make a potion, they can just go buy it instead of trying to grow something risky themselves."

"All of these are dangerous?" Harry said, eyeing the plants around him carefully as they walked.

"We're walking through dittany now," Hermione said, pointing at the plants around them. She glanced around. "A fair lot of it, actually. Given the amount… do you contract directly with Saint Mungo's, Neville?"

"Do you just know everything, Hermione?" Neville teased, and Harry laughed.

"It was just a guess!" Hermione protested, but Neville waved her off.

"Yes, we do. They go through a lot of dittany at the hospital," Neville said. "We have agreements with a few other brewing companies in the area, too."

"So this is your family business?" Harry said, looking more impressed now.

"The Longbottom Legacy," Neville said lightly, but he didn't sound as cheerful about it as he had a moment before. "There are a bunch of families who specialize in a particular thing." He glanced at Hermione. "The Greengrass family is one of our competitors – they grow magical flora, too. The Bullstrode family raises magical fauna, for pets or potions."

"For potions?" Harry seemed horrified.

"Oh, honestly, Harry. You're not going to want a flobberworm as a pet," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure they probably raise crups and kneazles, but flobberworms and newts and chizpurfles as well to use for their bits."

"Oh." Harry seemed somewhat reassured, but still uneasy. "But they raise them just to kill them, though?"

Neville looked confused at Harry's hesitance. Hermione wondered how much Harry really thought about the wizarding world and all its implications.

"It's not unlike a cattle ranch, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Or a chicken farm. You eat meat, don't you?"

Something warred on Harry's face for a moment, before he grimaced.

"I do, but I generally don't like to think about where the food comes from," he admitted. "I guess I've just been using bits and pieces in potions without thinking about where they come from either."

They reached the row of greenhouses, and Neville led them to the fifth one, unlocking the door with a large key.

"This one contains some of our more dangerous plants, so be careful," Neville advised them. "Don't just go wandering around."

Hermione looked affronted while Harry looked guilty, and Neville laughed.

"Just warning you," he said. "Come on."

The greenhouse was large, much larger than the greenhouses for Herbology at Hogwarts. Hermione eyed a Devil's Snare with apprehension as she went by – she knew the dangers of some of these plants all too well.

"What all did you need, Hermione?" Neville asked. "You had a list, I think?"

"A list?" Harry blinked.

"I'm doing a bit of an independent study project," Hermione told Harry, fishing in her pockets for her list. "Neville offered to help me out."

"A project?" Harry said, curious. "On what?"

"It deals with plants that are animate, ones that seem to have a consciousness but are still definitively plants," she said. "Here, Neville."

Neville took her list, scanning it.

"Bouncing Bulbs, Leaping Toadstools, and Schreechsnap are easy," he said. "They're not even in this greenhouse. Chinese Chomping Cabbage, Devil's Snare, and Venomous Tentacula we've got in here. We have Fanged Geraniums and Mandrakes in Greenhouse Six, so we can go there next."

He led them over to the chomping cabbages. They hadn't encountered these in Herbology yet, so Neville was careful to instruct them on how to harvest them properly.

"Only pick the ones with the dark green leafy bits at the top," he said, pointing one out. "Those ones are finished growing. They might try to chomp on your hand, so just be quick and careful where you grab from. If one is being nasty, you can try feeding it a bit of a carrot, so it's busy chomping on that instead of on you."

Harvesting the cabbages felt a bit like a game, Hermione discovered with amusement. With protective gloves on, she didn't face much of a danger, and it was kind of fun to test her reflexes and speed against those of the cabbage.

As they worked, Harry told Neville about his summer so far.

"You've got to understand, the Dursleys hate magic," Harry said, grabbing a cabbage with finesse. "They tried to stomp it out of me as a child. Didn't even know I had magic until I was eleven because of it, did I?"

"You can't stomp out magic, though," Neville said, baffled.

"Tell that to the Dursleys," Harry said darkly. "They certainly tried. Anyway, Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, was coming to visit, and she's even worse. Most of the time my relatives want me out of the way unseen, but when Marge comes, they trot me out so she can say nasty things about me and my parents."

"They don't!" Neville was horrified.

"They do," Harry said grimly. "They told her I go to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

Hermione snorted. "Is that even a real place?"

Harry's face flickered with amusement.

"No idea," he admitted. "You'd think she'd be more wary of me, if I was incurably criminal, yeah?"

"So what happened, Harry?" Neville prodded.

"We had a row." Harry viciously grabbed two cabbages at once, their mouths chomping futilely as they dangled in the air. "Uncle Vernon said that I was being ungrateful, that the least I could do for them feeding and sheltering me for years was appear to be a normal member of the family for a week before running off to be a freak again. I said that it wasn't normal to trot someone out just to be tortured for fun, and Uncle Vernon started turning purple and started yelling at me again."

Hermione turned away, trying not to react visibly, but hearing Harry's story of how cruel his relatives were was slowly making her angrier and angrier. Harry had grown up with this sort of cruelty for years?

"I ended up running away in the middle of the night," Harry said. "Took my trunk and Hedwig and summoned the Knight Bus. Mrs. Weasley had agreed I could watch their house for them while they all went to Egypt, so now I'm shacked up there for the rest of the hols."

"You ran away?" Neville looked impressed. "All by yourself?"

"I was going to get help from the Weasleys originally," Harry said, annoyed, "but Dumbledore sent a letter, telling them not to get me, saying it was important that I stayed at the Dursleys." He glared at a cabbage. "Mrs. Weasley was surprised when I showed up out of nowhere, without them coming to get me in the car. I think she thought I wouldn't come if they didn't pick me up." He shrugged. "She let me stay, though, so that's all that matters in the end."

"All this because of some alleged protection?" Hermione said, annoyed. "Dumbledore's full of it. You can be safe somewhere that doesn't have abusive guardians, Harry."

"Right?" Harry said, glancing at Hermione. "He insists that they're my legal guardians, though, and that I should stay with them." His eyes flared with defiance. "Summer break isn't school, though, so I just ignored him – he hasn't got power over me over the holidays."

"Good for you, Harry!" Hermione praised him, and Harry grinned, then deflated.

"I'm glad, don't get me wrong, but I couldn't get Uncle Vernon to sign my permission slip before I left," he admitted. "He said he'd only do it after Marge had stayed for a week, and only if I behaved myself."

"Oh no, for Hogsmeade?" Neville looked distressed as he gathered up the cabbages. "You can't miss out on Hogsmeade, Harry!"

"I know, right?" Harry said, distressed. "I'm going to ask Professor McGonagall to sign it for me, when we get back for the new term."

Neville handed out clippers to each of them as they moved over to prune the Venomous Tentaculas, something they'd had to do in Herbology before.

"Careful with these," Neville advised. "And that might work, Harry." He paused. "Do you think she'll sign it, though?"

"What choice do I have?" Harry despaired.

"Forgive me if there's an obvious reason this won't work," Hermione said, carefully taking clippings from her plant, "but Harry – why don't you just forge your uncle's signature?"

Harry turned to look at Hermione, his eyes widening. "Forge it?"

"Write your uncle's name on the slip," Hermione said patiently. "Pretend that he signed it for you. If you make your handwriting different from your own, how would Professor McGonagall ever know?"

"Can't, Hermione," Neville said. "There are charms you can do to see if something was penned in someone's own hand."

"Ah, but those only work on things you pen directly, yes?" Hermione said slyly.

Neville gave her a puzzled look. "How else do you write things?"

"Muggles don't use quills and ink," Hermione said with satisfaction. "They use ballpoint pens. And with a pen, the ink isn't used directly – it's a ball that guides where the ink goes in the end."

"Wait, what?" Harry stared at Hermione. "Is this why we can't use biros at school?"

Hermione blinked. "You never looked into why not?"

Harry looked embarrassed.

"How was I supposed to know why not?" he said. "There's no electricity anywhere and they use owls for mail. Using parchment and quills just seemed to be part of how everything worked."

Hermione started to grin.

"Yes, Harry. Witches and wizards used quills and ink pots still just for the aesthetic," she teased, and Harry flushed.

"I'm just saying…" he protested.

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said, smiling. "I looked into it – quills and ink seemed so unnecessarily messy, you know? But Neville's right – there are spells to verify who wrote something, but they require it to have been written directly. With a pen, your writing can't be magically verified as authentic."

"That's necessary?" Harry said, surprised. "How often do people try to forge things, that that was necessary?"

"They can't forge things, which is why it's necessary," Neville pointed out. "Harry, imagine – if edicts from the Minister couldn't be verified as authentic, someone could slip in whatever they wanted and just claim the Minister signed it."

"Couldn't he just say 'I didn't write that'?" Harry protested.

"What if he was memory charmed?" Neville asked. "What if he just changed his mind?"

"Regardless of why," Hermione cut in, looking at Harry, "your cruel uncle, who hates all things magic, would never use a quill and ink to sign your form. He wouldn't even know how. So it'd be perfectly expected for him to sign it using a pen."

Harry considered the thought in his mind, before beginning to grin.

"He would, wouldn't he?" he said. "And they'd have no way of knowing he didn't sign it, unless they actually went to go ask him if he did or not."

"Exactly." Hermione nodded with satisfaction.

Neville was looking at the both of them, ignoring the Venomous Tentacula trying to grab his clippers.

"You know, I used to think you were missorted, Hermione," Neville said. "I thought you were too nice and too smart for Slytherin." He grinned. "But then, from time to time, you come up with something sneaky and brilliant like this."

"Sneaky Slytherin, at your service." Hermione took a mock bow, and Harry and Neville both laughed.

"It's good she's in Slytherin," Harry said firmly. "She thinks of things in a different way than the rest of us, like her brain just works in a different way." He grinned at her. "I can't imagine her fitting in anywhere else as well."

Hermione felt unexpectedly touched. "Thanks, Harry."

"Better to have her on our side than not," Neville agreed, laughing. "I think even Ron's come to realize that."

"Excuse me," Hermione said huffily. "But you all are on my side, not vice-versa."

Neville and Harry laughed, and they all passed the rest of the afternoon happily bickering about who was sided with who, other cliques within their class whom they would deem 'enemies' or 'allies', and what they were most looking forward to when school returned, all the while picking and pruning dangerous plants under Neville's careful instruction.

It was a wonderfully normal sort of afternoon, and Hermione found herself longing for more easy afternoons like this.

Chapter Text

Goblin culture lessons with Bloodthorne were a bit surreal, to Hermione.

"If you would be respected, there are three things you would need to learn and do. The first: you would need to wear your sword everywhere. The second: you would need to bring an offering to the Horde," Bloodthrone reminded her. His eyes glinted. "The third: you would need to learn to argue and fight."

"Fight?" Hermione repeated, concerned. "Why do you pair that with arguing?"

"Arguments sometimes break down into fights," Bloodthorne said carelessly. "It is best you would know how to do both."

Lessons in argument were fairly straight-forward, luckily. Hermione was already well-versed in how to argue. It seemed the goblins valued directly logical arguments over appeals to justice or morals, which Hermione tucked away in her mind.

"Goblins would not respond well to appeals to emotions," Bloodthorne emphasized. His eyes glinted. "We are not a soft, forgiving, emotional race."

"Do appeals to bloodthirstiness work?" Hermione asked dryly, and Bloodthorne cackled.

"Perhaps coming from a goblin," he admitted, pointy teeth glinting. "But not from a wizard."

Bloodthorne explained that given the situation – a formal trial at court – it was unlikely Hermione would be attacked, but it was possible.

"You may be challenged outside of the court, and I would have you know how to respond," Bloodthorne said. "You would be at a disadvantage, without venom or claws."

When goblins fought each other, Hermione learned, it was done by trying to subdue the other without any weapons. Goblins were stripped of their armor and weapons before fighting. This, Bloodthorne emphasized, was because the truth behind the correct argument would bear out.

"So whoever's the better fighter is right?" Hermione was incredulous. "A goblin could have a completely stupid argument, but if he's bigger and the better fighter, he would be considered the winner of the debate?"

"He would," Bloodthorne agreed. "It is rare, though; the truth of an argument generally is reflected in the winner of such bouts. You, though, are not a goblin." His eyes gleamed. "A fight with you would not be on fair ground. I imagine someone would try to challenge you on that basis, presuming they could best you in a fight."

Hermione sighed. "So… I should prepare how, then?"

Bloodthorne's plan to have Hermione prepare to fight was to teach her how to throw a punch and what areas of a goblin were the most vulnerable – behind the ears, the temples, and the kidneys.

"You would not be able to use your wand or sword," he reminded her. "Only your body is your weapon."

"Would I be expected to strip naked?" Hermione demanded. "To prove I didn't have protective enchantments on my robes?"

Bloodthorne's answering grin was nasty.

"Maybe."

When she left the bank that day, it was only after Bloodthorne was satisfied with her ability to throw a punch, yell loudly enough to cause confusion, and kick while on the ground.

"I would see you the last week of July," he bid her. "I would not forget how to fight in that time, if I were you. It might be sorely needed."

Hermione was in a huff as she stalked from the bank, making her way through Diagon Alley.

"Learn how to fight, he says," she muttered. "Learn how to fight naked, at that."

Hermione began making a mental list of everything she would need to do to prepare for such a potentiality – including making sure she was wearing an obviously muggle sports bra and shorts under her robes any time she was underground with the Goblin Horde.

"Gabriel Truman's birthday is a month from Wednesday," Tracey told them, "which means election season will begin on Wednesday, when he announces he will be stepping down. That is when Hermione will need to be nominated publicly."

"Nominated?" Hermione asked. "I don't just announce my candidacy?"

"You have to be nominated by someone else," Tracey confirmed. "There will probably be a few other nominations, too. The decision, then, is if we should try to nominate Hermione first, or last."

"Last," Daphne said immediately. "The more important always goes last."

Tracey had arranged a meeting with the girls from their Slytherin class, plus Blaise. Blaise seemed entirely unconcerned he was surrounded by five girls in Tracey's backyard.

"Do we know who else might be wanting to run?" Pansy wanted to know. "It's better to know our enemies ahead of time."

"Cassius Warrington," Daphne admitted. "I don't think he'll win, but I'm certain he'll have someone nominate him, if only to make a statement."

"Do people ever get nominated unexpectedly?" Hermione asked. "What happens then?"

"Excellent question!" Tracey said. "Let's go back to the board."

Tracey smacked the board she'd set up with a pointer stick. She seemed very proud of herself.

"Public announcements and events like this take place here, in Carkitt Market Square," she said, pointing to her map. "The podium will be here. People will take turns nominating people, which will appear on the official nomination board."

"How it works is someone will step forward to nominate a person. There will be a call for the nomination to be seconded, and if it is, the person who put forth the nomination can give a short speech on why their pick would be good." Tracey gestured with her stick. "More than one person can give nomination speeches, I think. After they're done, there is a call for the person nominated to come up, and then that person either makes a small speech accepting the nomination or declining it."

"Declining it?" Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Why would anyone ever decline it?"

"Ravenclaws who don't want their marks to go down?" Hermione guessed. "Tracey said that they meet every second Tuesday during the day. That's bound to interfere with classes."

Blaise looked at her sideways. "And you're okay with that?"

"That's the thing," Hermione said, tapping the side of her nose. "I looked into it; Gabriel Truman never missed any of his classes unless he was ill. Whatever it is, the Ministry has some way of making sure a student can attend the Wizengamot sessions without missing classes."

"We'll have to decide who should nominate Hermione and who should speak in what order," Daphne was saying. "And compose major points to hit in each small speech."

Tracey frowned. "How many people?"

"Well, you don't want people to get too restless, right?" Daphne said reasonably. "No one wants to stand there through three or four speeches for the same person. It would lose the actual candidate goodwill fast."

"So we've got to limit it to two people, really, then," Millie said. "So: do we pick the most eloquent speakers, or the most well-known people we can?"

Pansy made a face. "Can't they be both?"

"The most well-known names we've got are probably mine and Draco's," Daphne said. "I can speak publicly, but I'm certainly not a great orator. And Draco…" She winced. "Well. Draco's good when he's worked up about something, but I have my doubts on his ability to stick to a script."

"Both Slytherins," Hermione noted.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

"Should we try to get a second person from another house to balance it out?" Hermione asked. "I could ask Harry or Susan Bones. They're both fairly well-known names."

Daphne looked surprised, then considered the idea thoughtfully. Pansy scowled at her.

"I forget," she sneered. "You have friends just all over, don't you?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I do."

Pansy didn't seem to have a comeback to that, and she sulked quietly while Daphne and Tracey discussed who should be ready to give nomination speeches.

"The issue is how it would look," Daphne said apologetically. "If Susan Bones gives a speech supporting a Slytherin, some people are likely to twist it that you're blackmailing her for support, even though it'd likely be genuine."

"That's rubbish!" Hermione said, shocked. "I wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't you?" Blaise mused, and Hermione shot him a dark look.

"The challenge with Harry Potter is, well, he's Harry Potter," Tracey said apologetically. "If he's around at all, there's a high chance someone will nominate him. And Hermione – your name is well known, don't get me wrong – but you wouldn't stand a chance against Harry Potter."

Hermione made a face. "If you say so."

It was decided Draco should make one of the speeches, probably the second. The Malfoy family, though not looked on kindly by everyone, was undoubtedly very influential in the Ministry and government.

"It'd be better if we could get someone not from Slytherin to nominate you," Daphne admitted. "You could reach out to Anthony Goldstein?"

Hermione winced. "I'd really rather not."

Tracey and Millie looked intrigued by this, sharing a smirk.

"I'll do it, then," Daphne said. "My family's name is well known, and the Greengrasses aren't directly connected to anything Dark. I'm the better choice to suggest Hermione as a candidate, and then Draco can go and try to get the crowd excited about Hermione."

"We're relying on Draco Malfoy's ability to persuade a crowd?" Blaise commented. "Really?"

"Draco is very good at persuading people when he wants to," Pansy defended, his voice sharp. "And it's clear he feels passionately about this, for whatever reason." She sneered at Hermione. "But we've all heard his story of Hermione saving him over and over again. He'd be able to ensnare a crowd."

"How long will all this take?" Hermione wondered. "How many people will be running?"

"At least three, possibly as many as ten." Tracey shrugged. "Depends on who's present and who wants it, really."

"Speaking of that…" Daphne turned to Hermione. "Hermione, during this, you must be circulating and networking with the hedgewitches."

Hermione blinked. "Hedge witches?"

"Hedgewitches is the general term for magical people who don't have the magic necessary to become great wizards or witches," Daphne explained. "They have the magic necessary to grow magical plants, to make potions, and to use magical tools, that sort of thing. But a lot of them lack the magic necessary to use a wand to its fullest potential. Many of them only ever manage household charms."

Hermione was shocked.

"What do you mean, they don't have the magic necessary?" she wanted to know. "Surely if they practiced at it, they'd get better?"

"They're born weak," Pansy said bluntly. She gave Hermione a cutting look. "There's a reason blood purists hold tightly to their values."

"That doesn't make any logical sense," Hermione said, annoyed. "Your magical potential grows with your use of it. If the children of hedgewitches can't use much magic, that's more likely to be a product of circumstance, not of genetics—"

"Anyway," Tracey said loudly, cutting her off. "Hermione, you will need to circulate among the hedgewitch teens and chat them up. Your general curiosity about their way of life will be enough as a sufficient topic of conversation." She gave her a pointed look.

"Always flattering to be asked about yourself," Blaise said mildly. "Probably the simplest and best way to go."

"I don't envy you," Pansy snickered. "Hedgewitches are so… unrefined."

"Just one more thing, then," Millie commented. She raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, do you happen to have an older brother?"

"No…" Hermione stared, not following. "I'm an only child. I thought I'd mentioned that?"

But already Daphne was wincing, and Pansy looked uneasy.

"What does that matter?" Hermione wanted to know. "Even if I did, he'd be a muggle."

"You've chyrsalized," Daphne said, matter-of-fact. "If you're circulating in society wearing a butterfly openly, in this sort of situation, you should have a companion with you."

"Why?"

"To accept or reject courting proposals, for one," Daphne said. "To guard your safety from the hedgewitches, as another."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snorted.

"It's how things are done," Pansy sneered. "You don't just get to discount things are 'ridiculous'."

"Well, I'm not doing that," Hermione declared, folding her arms. "I can wear my sword, and I'll have my wand on me. I can defend myself. And if anyone wants to offer for me, they can go through me. I'm the first of my House, so I'd be the one who has a say in the matter, anyway."

"Hear, hear!" Tracey cheered, grinning.

"That's not likely to go over well," Daphne said slowly, uneasy. "The old Pureblood families will view it as a deliberate eschewing of tradition…"

"The hedgewitches are bound to like it though, right?" Blaise pointed out. "They're all about independence and self-sufficiency. I'd think they'd be inspired by seeing a young witch fully capable of protecting herself."

Pansy was smirking, somehow amused by Hermione circulating among the hedgewitches without protection. Daphne considered, looking torn.

"But the trade-off," she said. "Is it worth it, really?"

"Run the numbers," Tracey said. "Which population is higher? Uptight purebloods or literally everyone else?"

Daphne shot Tracey a dark look. "You don't have to be rude."

Tracey was unapologetic. "I'm right though, aren't I?"

"If necessary, I can stay by Hermione's side," Blaise offered. "I can help her navigate and recognize prominent people who might be around."

"Her right or left side?" Pansy asked, her tone pointed, and Blaise smiled blandly at her, not answering.

"We'll wait to see if that's necessary," Hermione decided. "It's probably better that we're all spread out across the square, but we'll need to adjust the plan as we go." She paused. "…do the Muggleborns even know about this?"

Daphne shrugged, uncaring. "Maybe."

"You all only know from being raised knowing about the inner workings of the Ministry," Hermione pointed out. "And there hasn't been anything in the Daily Prophet about it yet."

"The paper won't cover it until Gabriel formally steps down and nominations are complete," Daphne said carelessly, waving her hand. "And then the election results, of course."

Hermione felt a flare or indignation. "So they'd just be left out of a large part of magical culture?"

"It'd be their fault for not paying attention," Pansy sneered.

Hermione folded her arms very tightly and bit her lip very hard, barely managing to hold back her angry words.

The rest of the planning meeting continued largely without her input, Hermione's mind flying over her own plots and plans while the others continued with their schemes. From what Hermione could tell, all she was needed for was to show up at Carkitt Market Wednesday, look good, talk to people, and humbly accept her nomination, which she could do easily enough.

What was going to be more challenging was making sure that the Muggleborns of Hogwarts did know about the upcoming nomination day, regardless of what her Slytherin classmates thought. She could write a generic announcement, she was sure, and Gemino copies of it to send to everyone, but how many Muggleborns were there? Who all were they? Would she be able to get an announcement to all of them quickly enough for them to make plans to come, if they wanted?

If she was going to be any sort of leader, Hermione was determined it wouldn't begin with her leaving anyone out in the cold.

Chapter Text

"Hermione, right?"

Hermione looked up at Milan Bexley, who was standing on her parents' front porch, looking highly amused. Milan was taller by Hermione by a couple inches, and Hermione felt very small looking up at the older girl.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course. It's not every day you get an owl from the Heroine of Hogwarts," Milan teased, and Hermione groaned, hiding her face as Milan laughed.

"Please, come in," Hermione bid. "I'll get the tea tray."

A few minutes later found them both sitting in the living room, sipping tea, while Hermione explained what she was looking for.

"I don't have much time," Hermione admitted. "Certainly not enough to 'shop around', so to speak, and find a place to teach me. Can you?"

"I don't know how much aikido I could really teach you in two weeks," Milan said, looking thoughtful. "I could probably teach you how to fall safely in that amount of time, but not much more."

"Even that would be helpful," Hermione said. "Learning other moves probably wouldn't help much – I wouldn't be fighting against normal-sized people, really."

"Really?" Milan looked amused. "And just what would you be fighting, Hermione?"

Hermione flushed.

"No one," she muttered. "Just… imagine fighting an eight-year-old with the mind of an adult. But one with sharp teeth and really long claws."

Milan started laughing.

"This is something you are determined to do?" Milan clarified, smiling. "It is going to hurt, you realize."

"It will hurt even worse if I get into a fight and lose," Hermione pointed out, and Milan set her tea aside and stood, smiling.

"Change into something easier to move in," she instructed. "I can conjure mats for us to practice on."

Hermione hurried to change, throwing on a pair of loose shorts, a sports bra, and a loose tank top. When she came back down, Milan was in a white martial arts sort of outfit with dark, wide-legged pants. Milan smiled.

"Perfect," she said. "Let's go."

Hermione led the way into the back yard. Milan looked around at the high walls surrounding the yard, nodding approvingly, before conjuring mats in the shade of the large tree.

"The most important thing you will need to learn is how to fall," Milan told her seriously, her smile wiped away. "If you fall incorrectly in a fight, the fight could end right there. You could break something or seriously hurt yourself. You must learn to fail before you learn to fly."

Hermione winced. "Alright…"

Learning to fall was painful and rigorous. First, Milan demonstrated the technique, falling to the ground and rolling and lifting herself up again immediately in one smooth, elegant movement that Hermione envied. Next, she broke down the parts of the fall, having Hermione try them alongside her very slowly, before she deemed Hermione ready to try.

Over and over again, Milan threw Hermione to the ground, Hermione trying to learn how to hit the ground and roll properly. She felt like a fool, legs pinwheeling in the air as she rolled on her shoulder only to miss and fall over again, but Milan was patient, guiding her through it over and over again.

By the time Hermione finally got it, she was sweaty and sore, but Milan beamed at her.

"Well done!" she said. "Now: we'll practice this fall…"

The next fall was more unpleasant – it wasn't about hitting the ground and getting back up again so much as how best to fall to minimize damage and pain. Over and over again, Hermione was told to tighten her core and make sure her hand hit the ground first, the rest of her body following in a soft curving motion.

After Milan pronounced her "adequate" for that one, Hermione called a pause and went inside to get them cold drinks, which they enjoyed in the shade of the tree.

"You seem to be having a busy summer," Milan commented to Hermione, smiling. "Testifying at the trial, now sending out fliers about the upcoming elections…"

Hermione jerked.

"How did you know I did that?" she demanded, and Milan laughed.

"Theo verified his list with Jade before giving it to you," she told Hermione. "He wanted to be positive it was complete and accurate before providing you with it." Her eyes danced. "Apparently, whatever favor you promised him was worth the extra effort."

Hermione squirmed. She'd let Theo have an open-ended favor, so long as it didn't endanger her or anyone she cared about. Now, she felt apprehensive about just what he would want.

"It's a good thing you're doing," Milan told her. "One of the things that has frustrated me the most is just how opaque wizarding society can be from the outside." Her smile was brittle. "How are we supposed to learn a new culture and set of customs if they won't teach it to us?"

"If they have Muggle Studies for the pureblood students, why don't they have Wizarding Studies for the Muggleborn students?" Hermione asked, and Milan shrugged.

"The purebloods like keeping it away from others, I think," she said. "As it is now, they can easily judge people from how they interact within society. If everybody knew how to fit in, they wouldn't be able to discriminate as easily."

Hermione sighed.

"Hopefully the fliers will help with this, at least," she said. "I wouldn't have even known about this youth election if my friends hadn't told me."

Milan smiled. "It's good of you to take initiative. Every little change helps push us towards bigger ones."

Hermione wiped her forehead off with her tank top. Though the shade was nice, she was still sweatier than she would have liked.

"How's your summer been?" she asked. "You've only got one more year left, right?"

"Oh, nothing special," Milan said dismissively. Her eyes sparkled. "Certainly not getting into potential fights with gnarled eight-year-olds."

Hermione flushed, and Milan laughed.

"Most of this summer has been studying for my NEWTs," she said, shrugging. "Jade and I study together sometimes, when she's free. We're both waiting for our school letters – we're eager to see who made Head Girl."

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Are you in the running for that too?"

"Probably," Milan said modestly. "My marks are high, and I've been a prefect for two years. I hope Jade gets it, though. She wants it more than anything."

"And you don't?" Hermione asked, blinking.

"While it'd be nice, I guess, I'd rather see Jade happy than have it myself," Milan said. She was looking away at the horizon, a soft smile on her face. "She's wanted it since we were kids."

Hermione felt like she was intruding, seeing the older girl slip into this almost-trance. But it was kind of nice, too, to see how much Milan clearly cared for Jade.

"I know this is probably a hard topic," Hermione said slowly. "But… what are you going to do after Hogwarts?"

Milan looked up at her, surprised.

"Oh, I was going to go to be a Healer," she said. "I've got the marks for it, and I'd like to—"

"No, not like that," Hermione said. "With Jade."

Milan paused.

"Has Jade said something about this?" she asked.

Hermione winced. "Of a sort. It was more 'I'll deal with that when I come to it'."

Milan smirked slightly, but her eyes didn't smile.

"That sounds like her," she said. "Focusing on the current goals, putting off the more unpleasant things to deal with until they're absolutely necessary to handle."

She looked reflective for a moment, before turning to Hermione.

"You realize that the wizarding world is not exactly widely accepting of us, right?" she asked. "That while we might be tolerated, we are looked down upon by most?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Why is that, though?"

"Because the wizarding world is antiquated and disgusting," Milan said dryly. "Strictly speaking: it is because two women cannot have an heir, were they to wed. Without an heir to carry on a family line, what is the point?" Her smile was brittle. "The purebloods often think little of love when it comes to such things."

Hermione bit her lip. "Then… why…?"

"While Jade and I haven't flaunted our relationship, Jade has made a point not to hide it from her housemates or our classmates," Milan said. "I think she hopes that if she makes it plain that she doesn't want a husband, no one will offer for her, and she'll be free to do as she pleases."

"That's so barbaric," Hermione said, aghast. "She's a legal adult, now. Can't she do as she pleases anyway?"

"She could," Milan agreed, "but at the sacrifice of her name. A pureblood casting off their family like that is significant in the wizarding world. It would strip her of any inheritance she might get and would make it challenging for her to get a job."

Hermione looked at her. "Then… what are you…?"

"I'm trying to look on the bright side," Milan admitted. "I don't want to leave Jade. And we have a year to figure out a way to make it work somehow, after school." She scowled. "I'm really hoping we find something better than me being her mistress on the side."

"Mistress?" Hermione repeated. "You think Jade would get married so fast?"

"It's not uncommon," Milan said, shrugging. "Witches and wizards marry much younger than muggles do."

"Why?" Hermione said, confused. "With longer life spans, I would have thought they'd wait until even later."

Milan hummed, considering.

"It's odd," she said, "but there's kind of a feeling we have that muggles don't. Muggles have a concept of 'chemistry' with each other, when they date. Magical people have something similar that helps you know how compatible you are with someone, a sort of magical resonance, and similar tones are drawn together naturally." She gave Hermione a smile. "I'm sure you'll feel that someday, perhaps not all that far off. It's a wonderful, wordless sort of feeling, when your magic slots nicely into place next to theirs."

Hermione blushed.

"I'm only thirteen," she protested, and Milan laughed.

"Hogsmeade this year, right?" she teased. "Who are you going to go with first, Hermione?"

"Go with?" Hermione was confused. "Um. My friends, I guess? Who else would I go with?"

"Hogsmeade is generally the first public dates people have at Hogwarts," Milan told her with a smile. "You'll probably go with your friends the first time, but after that, I wouldn't be surprised to see some of your classmates pairing off and going together."

"I don't want to think about that," Hermione said, blushing brighter. "I want to know about you and Jade."

"So nosy," Milan teased. "Why so nosy, Hermione?"

"Because I like Jade?" Hermione poked at the ground with a stick. "I know it's not really any of my business, but I like you and Jade. I'm invested in your happiness, and right now with your Hogwarts years' end looming, it just seems so unnecessarily tragic."

Milan's face was empty, her eyes bleak.

"It is, isn't it?" she said quietly. Her voice was stark, her eyes looking out at nothing. "I try not to think about it, but it feels like a time bomb ticking down."

The older girl's voice was filled with pain and anguish, and Hermione felt her heart clench for her. She wasn't even involved, and she felt like crying for Milan and Jade.

"I would do anything," Milan said quietly. "Anything, if it meant I could stay by her side."

Hermione's eyes widened. She didn't know what to say.

After a long, heavy moment, Milan seemed to shake herself out of it with a sigh, and she stood up.

"Let's practice those falls again," she said. "After that, I can show you how to alter the hand grips I taught you a few months ago. If you're going to be fighting people with claws, you're going to need to go about things a little differently."

Hermione groaned.

"I'm really glad you're teaching me, don't get me wrong," she said. "But do falls have to hurt so much?"

Milan laughed.

"Pain is the body's feedback machine," she told her. "If you fall properly, it won't hurt much at all."

When Milan left that day, Apparating away, it was after Hermione had accumulated several new bruises, her body very sore. Milan had advised her to practice falling daily, her eyes sparkling at Hermione's groan. Though Hermione knew she was right, she was sore, and it was hard to think about doing this every single day for two weeks.

After all this, I almost want to fight a goblin, just so it all goes to good use, Hermione wrote to Tom that night.

Tom's handwriting seemed amused in his response, a quirked slant to his words.

Hermione, knowing you, he replied, confrontation is an inevitability.

Chapter Text

Hermione spent the weekend practicing falling over and over and over. Her parents were baffled by her new hobby of hurling herself at the ground and trying to roll or get up smoothly, but they were amicable once she explained.

"I'm glad to hear you asked someone with actual martial arts experience for help," her father commented. "You could seriously hurt yourself if you try this sort of thing wrong, you know."

"Dad!" Hermione protested. "I know that. I'm not an idiot!"

Her father just grinned. "Of course, of course. I didn't raise an idiot daughter."

When she was taking a break from falling practice, Hermione was practicing her wandless magic, doing her best to use small charms on leaves and rocks in the yard.

Though she was more successful than she had been, wandless magic was incredibly difficult. Simple things like summoning, banishing, and levitating were manageable, but Hermione couldn't get a blasting curse or any jinxes whatsoever to work. She severely doubted being able to summon things in an unarmed fight would be of any use, but she kept trying anyway.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Hermione was thoroughly ready for a break from her self-imposed training, and it was with determination to relax and have a good time that Hermione went to Diagon Alley to meet Cedric.

Even as she exited the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron, though, Hermione could feel her shoulders relaxing as she opened the back wall and strode down Diagon Alley. There was something wonderful, something magical about being able to openly be a witch in a place of commerce. There was a freedom in the air, to her, a feeling of not needing to hide, and Hermione found herself smiling as she walked along, watching witches and wizards argue and bargain as she went down the street.

Cedric was waiting for her at the outside tables at Florean Fortesque's, and he stood and smiled when he saw her coming. She smiled back at him, though her stomach flipped at his smile. She'd forgotten just how attractive he was.

"Hermione Granger, right on time," he said, grinning. "Punctual to a fault."

"If I'm on time, it's hardly a fault, is it?" Hermione shot back, and Cedric laughed.

"Of course not," he said. He grinned at her. "Are you ready for today?"

Hermione blinked.

"Ready?" she asked. "Is there something I'm supposed to be ready for?"

"Well, the book release, but that's not for a few hours," Cedric said. His eyes danced. "I mostly meant for tolerating me for a day."

Hermione flushed under his teasing, and he grinned.

"Come on."

Despite her initial bout of nerves, conversation with Cedric was easy, and Hermione found herself relaxing as they chatted as they walked down the alley.

"My dad's really intense about it, you know," Cedric told her. He rolled his eyes. "Keeps harping on about how it's my O.W.L. year, how I have to do well or I'll stunt my career choices, on and on and on."

"Umm…" Hermione blinked. "Have you ever not done well on a test?"

Cedric shot her a commiserating look. "Exactly."

When Hermione realized where they were going, she had to lay a hand on Cedric's arm, tugging him to a halt before they reached Gringotts.

"I'll wait here," she told him. "I can't go in right now."

Cedric looked surprised. "Really? Why not?"

His tone was mildly curious, not critical or judging, and Hermione found herself telling him the truth.

"I don't have my sword on me," she confessed. "It's insulting to the goblins, for me to not wear the sword they made for me in goblin territory. And I didn't… I didn't want to just wear it around today…"

A slow smile spread across Cedric's face.

"Of course," he said, nodding graciously. "If you'll pardon me, I'll be right back, then."

When Cedric reappeared half an hour later, hair disheveled and looking slightly queasy, Hermione gave him a moment to collect himself.

"You had the right idea, not going in," he told her. "I swear, the goblins try to make that cart as rickety as possible."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I don't think they're all that bad."

"You wouldn't," Cedric teased her. "After all, they made you a sword."

It was her chance; Hermione looked to Cedric and took a deep breath.

"Cedric," she began. "Why has no one asked me about my sword?"

Cedric looked startled. "Asked you about it?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Back when I slew the basilisk, I was asked a ton of questions, but no one asked me any about my sword. And it's a gorgeous sword, with the emeralds and the snake hilt and the patterned steel. And it's new; the goblins made it for me. I expected people to be surprised that I pulled it out of nowhere, given my name. But… no one even asked, and I didn't want to bring it up – it'd seem like bragging."

Cedric looked thoughtful.

"It's somewhat of a social faux pas, really," he said slowly. "People don't ask about others' weapons. It's just not done."

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "We know all about Gryffindor's sword from legend."

"I'm not saying people don't notice weapons," Cedric corrected. "I'm saying they don't ask. A fair few families have weapons that they didn't get through conventional means, so to speak. It's just presumed that if someone has a goblin-made weapon that it's theirs, it's a family heirloom, and not to bring it up lest the goblins notice and put up a fuss."

Hermione made a face. "You're saying most are stolen?"

"Some are," Cedric admitted. "You'll learn of some famous thefts in History – actually, maybe you won't, now that Lockhart's teaching it – but the goblins also view ownership differently. Even if you pay for an item, they expect it to be returned after you die, and your heir is expected to buy it again. Most wizards find that ridiculous and just keep their things, which the goblins don't like."

"Their culture is so different than ours," Hermione mused, and Cedric looked surprised, before he changed the topic to her upcoming elective classes.

Hermione happily chatted about the electives she'd signed up for, and Cedric was happy to give her tips and pointers on what to expect in each class. The weather was pleasant as they strolled along, and Hermione found herself enjoying the relaxed walk through the shops.

They took a turn, and they walked down Horizont Alley, Hermione taking in the shops and establishments here. They were ones she hadn't seen as much, given most of her business only required her to go to Diagon Alley.

"This is so fancy," Hermione said, looking around at the shops. "We're not going somewhere here, are we?"

"What if we are?" Cedric challenged, and Hermione flushed and bit her lip.

"I don't think I'm dressed nicely enough for that," she admitted, looking down at her robes. "I wasn't expecting something fancy."

Cedric laughed, then gave her a dashing smile.

"You look lovely, Hermione," he told her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "The blue of your robes brings out the gold in your eyes, and I must admit to having to watch myself. It would be all too easy to walk into stands and poles with you at my side to distract my eyes."

Hermione blushed a brilliant red, and Cedric grinned.

Their destination turned out to be a flower stand on Horizont Alley. It was set out under a pavilion in front of a formal florist, and Hermione found herself somewhat awed.

"I didn't know there was a wizarding florist!" she exclaimed, looking around the shop, which was bursting with bright flowers. "This is wonderful!"

"Wizards still send flowers with meanings behind them," Cedric said from behind her, as he looked through the flowers. "Centerpieces at public events have meanings in flower language, as do bouquets sent to people directly."

"Do they really?" Hermione asked.

"You'd be surprised how subtle some of the slights upon each other can be," Cedric said, smirking. "Especially the Slytherin pureblood families. I think it's a hobby, figuring out how best to insult each other with flowers."

As it was, all Cedric wanted to do was buy a single lavender rose.

"Can't have you thinking I'm cheap, always conjuring magical ones or stealing them from the bushes," he told her, eyes dancing as he charmed the thorns off. "Figured I'd get you a nice one."

"I think the combs you've made me are nice," Hermione protested as he shortened the rose's stem. "I've put preservation enchantments over them and kept every one, and they're still as brilliant and beautiful as ever."

Cedric looked up at her slowly.

"You've kept every one?"

His eyes had darkened, and Hermione felt her breath catch.

"What of it?" she said breathlessly. Cedric's eyes were on hers, and she felt a bit of a thrill as he leaned in closer, tucking the lavender rose into her hair next to her butterfly pin.

"Merlin, Hermione," he murmured. "You can't just spring that on a guy." His hand traced her cheek softly before he slowly pulled his hand away, reluctant, his eyes locked with hers. "He might start to think you care."

Hermione's face was flushed as he took a step back, Cedric holding her gaze for a long moment before breaking it, looking around, and his expression lightened.

"Butterbeer?" he suggested. "The Hopping Pot's just around the corner."

In line for butterbeer, they chatted about Hogsmeade and the shops that were there. Cedric explained that The Three Broomsticks was the most popular destination, for good reason.

"It's a great place to relax and chat with your friends," he explained. "Just chat over butterbeer and whatnot. The professors go there too fairly often, to my understanding."

"Are there other restaurants?" she asked.

He considered, thinking hard.

"Well, there's the Hog's Head, but it's a rather dodgy joint," Cedric said. "There's Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, but that's… it's not a good place for friends to relax."

"It's not?"

"It's more a place to take someone for tea that you're seeing," he said, pausing. "As in dating or courting, really. It has a certain sort of vibe, and they can provide chaperones as necessary."

"Chaperones?" Hermione repeated. "For tea?"

Cedric grinned. "You'd be surprised at how uptight some of the pureblood families can be."

They were next in line. Cedric got a cold butterbeer while Hermione asked for both a hot and a cold, to the surprise of the proprietor. When Hermione went to pay, Cedric waved her off, covering both her drinks without a thought.

"I asked you out, remember?" he said, a teasing smile on his face. "It's only proper I cover the date."

Hermione could feel her cheeks heat up. Even though she'd known it, it was the first time either of them had referred to it as a date.

They took their butterbeers over to a table to sip. A three-person band was on the small stage in the Carkitt Market square, playing some sort of old troubadour ballad on wooden instruments.

"The youth rep nominations will happen there tomorrow," Hermione mused, taking comfort from the hot drink in her hands. "I wonder what it will look like."

Cedric looked surprised.

"I didn't think you'd know about that," he said. "Gabriel's in my House, so I knew his birthday is coming up, but I didn't think it was quite that widespread."

"It's probably not, but my classmates want me to run," Hermione admitted. "They've got a big plan and everything on my nomination."

Cedric started to grin. "Do they, now?"

Hermione flushed.

"Look," she said hotly. "Slytherins are ambitious, and when we all get together, some sort of scheme generally comes out of it. My classmates intend for me to be the first Slytherin youth representative in decades."

"Do they now...?" Cedric mused, a smile playing around his lips. "And do you want to be the British Youth Representative, Hermione?"

Hermione paused to consider.

"You know, no one's asked me that until now?" she said. "Everyone's just presumed that of course I'd want it. Even I sort of did, I think. The position was there, so why wouldn't I try to take it?"

Cedric's eyes sparkled. "Do you want it?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think I do," she confessed. "I'm so curious about the wizarding government, and I'd love to be able to effect change from inside of it from such a young age. If I got it, I'd be able to do it for three years before I'd age out, which is a good length, I think. It's long enough to really get a feel for politics and decide if I like it or not, but not so long that I'd get frustrated and bored of the whole thing."

Cedric laughed.

"It's admirable that you'd want it to effect change," he told her, smiling. "You realize that's not why most people will run?"

Hermione blinked.

"Really?" she asked. "Why run, then?"

"The position comes with a certain prestige," Cedric explained. "You put on your CV that you were British Youth Representative, and it looks good to employers. It's impressive; not many people can make that claim."

"So people do it for the clout?" Hermione was indignant. "That's ridiculous!"

"Not everyone is as selfless as you, Hermione." His smile was soft, warm. "You're constantly thinking of other people and how to help improve the world. Most people are only looking out for themselves."

Hermione felt embarrassed. She distracted herself looking down at the table, sipping from her warm butterbeer as she tried to sort out her thoughts.

"I don't think I'm selfless," she admitted, quiet. "I mean, I care about some things and people, but mostly I just watch out for me and my friends, I think."

Cedric gave her a strange look. "Are you serious?"

Hermione glanced up at him. "What?"

"You are serious, aren't you?" Cedric was incredulous. "Hermione. Look at me."

Uncomfortable, Hermione shifted on the bench to look straight at him, and Cedric took one of her hands.

"Why did you kill the basilisk, Hermione?" he asked her. "Why did you go after it?"

"It had Draco," Hermione said immediately. "I had to—"

"No," Cedric said. "You had a sword on, and you knew there was a basilisk around. You would have gone after it even if it hadn't grabbed Malfoy." His voice booked no objection, and his eyes held hers. "Why?"

Hermione shifted uneasily.

"Because I knew of the fame that would come with it," she told him. "I knew it would help establish my name as a powerful New Blood House."

Cedric raised an eyebrow, doubt sketched across his face.

"And if it hadn't?" he asked. "If you knew that Hogwarts would hush the entire thing up, deny there was ever a basilisk, and that no one would ever know. Would you still have done it?"

His question caught her off guard, and Hermione had to pause a moment to consider it. Would she have risked her life to go after the basilisk, if that had been the case? She'd had the diary, so she wouldn't have needed to, but Ginny had showed that that wasn't a failsafe, that someone could always steal it…

The idea of not taking care of the basilisk brought a sick feeling of dread to Hermione's stomach, and she swallowed hard, realizing that even if no one would have ever known, she would have done what had to be done.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I think I would have."

Cedric ran his thumb over the back of her hand, rubbing it lightly. It felt sort of off to Hermione, her nerves in her hands deadened as they were, but it was soothing, kind of nice.

"And the previous year?" he said. "When Potter went after the Philosopher's Stone to stop You-Know-Who?"

"Harry's my friend!" Hermione objected. "Anyone would want to help their friend stay alive!"

"I daresay they would," Cedric agreed amicably. "But I daresay most people would tell their friend what dangers they would face ahead, not go along and face those dangers themselves."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think you're overestimating my selflessness."

"And I think you're underestimating yourself," Cedric said mildly. He squeezed her hand. "Hermione, as sharp as your tongue might be, I've watched you research an obscure medical topic for hours to help someone you barely knew so she could read again, I've watched you risk your life to save the school, and I've watched you rescue Harry from his relatives twice, now."

Hermione jerked in her seat. "How do you know about that?"

"I live close to the Weasleys," Cedric said easily. "I stopped by to see Fred and George one day, and Harry was there, degnoming their garden, watching the house while they're in all in Egypt. We had a chat."

Hermione flushed. It was odd to think of Harry telling other people she had helped him 'escape' when really she had just helped send some letters this year.

"Hermione," Cedric said. "Hermione, look at me."

Hermione looked back up at him, pushing her thoughts to the side. Cedric's eyes were kind and understanding, a soft smile on his face.

"You define yourself by your house so much, you realize," he told her, a sparkle in his eye. "You lean hard into being this ambitious, driven person, and it's inspiring to see, to be honest. But Hermione… it's okay to be in Slytherin and still be kind, too."

Hermione bit her lip hard. Her eyes suddenly felt like they were tearing up, which was ridiculous, and she blinked rapidly.

"I know that," she protested weakly.

"Do you, though?" Cedric's tone was mild. "It's not like there are many examples of it for you to look to."

Hermione felt flustered. This entire discussion was ridiculous, and it was making her feel all tangled up inside. She knew she wasn't entirely selfish, but she knew just as well that she wasn't selfless, and Cedric telling her that it was okay to be kind like this was making her self-conscious and she didn't know how to react.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she told him. She tried for an authoritative tone, but somehow it came out more anguished, pleading. "Can we go to the bookstore now?"

Cedric's eyes softened as he looked at her, wordlessly understanding her struggle.

"Of course," he said. He stood, offering her his hand to help her stand. "I didn't mean to cause you pain, Hermione. I just wanted you to know I think the world of you."

"I think the incessant gifts of roses quite got that impression across," Hermione muttered, taking his hand and standing, and Cedric laughed.

"Oh, good," he said lightly. "I was worried I might have to start resorting to full bouquets in your bedroom."

Hermione shot him a scandalized look, and Cedric laughed.

"Come on," he said. "To the book debut!"

Still holding her hand, Cedric lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand before tucked it into his arm. His hand lingered over it for a long moment as his eyes met hers, and wordlessly Hermione nodded, giving him permission.

Cedric's smile widened as his hand fell to his side, and together they set off for Flourish and Blotts, him escorting her down the alley. With her hand on his arm like this in public so formally, Hermione felt extremely self-conscious and self-aware of the looks people gave them as they passed by. A couple looks were fairly judging, and they made Hermione flush; she knew what they must look like, to have her on the arm of such a handsome boy.

As they continued walking, though, Hermione began to relax and enjoy it more. It was kind of fun, being escorted like this. If she walked very deliberately, one foot crossing in front of the other with each step, she found she could make her robes shift and sway more, and it felt very dramatic, as if she were a society woman of the 18th century entering a ball or descending a staircase. She experimented with picking up one part of her robes and holding it to the side, as if it were a gown, to see if that made it easier or harder to walk in a stately matter.

Cedric glanced over at her with a small smile. "Having fun?"

Immediately Hermione dropped her robes, her face flaming red. "Um…"

Cedric laughed.

"I didn't mean to make you self-conscious," he told her, his smile gentle. "Your eyes were just so alight, and you looked lost in your own little world."

Cedric's gaze was non-judgmental, his eyes kind, and somehow, again, Hermione found herself telling him the truth.

"Being escorted like this in full robes feels like something out a novel," she admitted. "I feel like I'm Lady Catherine de Bourgh, walking around escorted like this."

Cedric laughed.

"I daresay your robes aren't as dramatic as all that," he said. His eyes lightened. "Besides. If you were anyone, Hermione, I daresay you'd be Elizabeth Bennet; beauty and brilliance wrapped up in one clever-tongued package."

Hermione found herself speechless at the depth of the compliment. Though Cedric took her silence in stride, offering her his small, soft smile, she found herself flustered the rest of the way to the bookstore, glancing up at him through her lashes and wondering just how many of the pretty words he said he really meant.

The date with Cedric was cut short by an anxious Amos Diggory, who found them in the Alleyway shortly after the book release party (The Secret History of Hogsmeade; Hermione couldn't wait to read it). Something urgent demanded Cedric's attention at home, and Cedric looked annoyed at his father's demands – an unusual expression on his face, to be sure. Only when it was apparent that his father absolutely would not budge on this did Cedric reluctantly turn to Hermione, bowing over her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it as he bid her adieu, apologizing for cutting their date short.

Hermione had breathlessly forgiven him and thanked him for the lovely day, and she watched as Cedric rolled his eyes and followed after his father, who was speaking rapidly to him as they vanished from sight.

Perversely, Hermione almost felt glad that the date had been cut short. She'd been so flustered with him just doing nothing, walking up and down the alley; how would she have managed to get through an entire dinner without embarrassing herself?

Though Hermione wanted to Floo Tracey and spill all the details of her date to her immediately, she paused. The next day was Nomination Day, and Hermione suspected Tracey would not want to be disturbed on the eve of something so momentous. Tracey was practically more excited than Hermione was about the whole thing, really, and Hermione didn't want to break her focus.

Instead, she sent an owl to her covenmates, and a few hours later, they were meeting after dinner, an hour or so before dusk.

"I thought we could repeat the Parseltongue ritual, for Harry and Susan," Hermione explained. She held up a couple dead mice. "I got these at Diagon Alley today."

Susan sat up, intrigue flashing in her eyes behind turquoise glass. "Do you think it will work?"

"It worked last time," Hermione said, shrugging. "It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Harry's excitement at the idea had him practically vibrating in his seat.

"I kind of miss having it, to be honest," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we've gotten rid of the Voldy bit in my brain, but it really was cool to use as a secret language, you know."

"I'm up for it," Luna said, smiling. She looked to Susan. "There are snakes in the forest here. I bet at least some will come."

Blaise was looking at Hermione very carefully as she took her ritual things out of her bag, Harry and Susan and Luna all chatting about the ritual.

"Hermione?" he said finally. "Are you okay?"

There was a careful concern in his voice, and Hermione paused.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I feel very off-kilter, and being with you all helps center me."

Blaise looked at her sideways. "Is it anything I can help with?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I don't think so?" she said finally. "I just… I felt very out of my depth today, earlier, and it left me feeling a bit weird."

Blaise nodded slowly.

"Do you want help setting up the circle?" he offered. He flashed her a mischievous smile. "I daresay I won't mess it up too much. It's bound to be easier here than in the snow, right?"

His teasing words were just what Hermione needed to smirk and laugh.

"Is it, though?" she challenged. "We'll have to pull up the grass in a very precise circle and manner. No powdered moonstone this time."

Blaise gasped, overdramatic.

"Oh no, pull up grass?" he said, mocking. "However will I manage to do that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was laughing.

"Come on," she told him, grinning at his playacting despite herself. "Let's get started."

With her geometry set, they were able to pull up grass in a solid circle in the field, each line of the circle about two inches wide, ensuring the circle and veins looked very deliberate. After they had, Harry found a large stick, and they traced the lines into the dirt as well, solidifying it.

"Careful with the amount of magic you use this time, Hermione," Luna advised. "We don't need all the snakes in the forest to come out."

"I know, I know," Hermione said, but she was smiling at the memory nonetheless.

The ritual worked a bit differently this time, Hermione on the outside of the circle, guiding Harry and Susan in the chant while she, Blaise, and Luna held the protective ring. The feeling of power within the ritual circle was the same, though, and as the final couplet unleashed the power to race into the forest, Hermione could see the breathless excitement on Susan's face and Harry's eager awe, and she felt her heart warm.

This was her coven, these her people, and this was where she felt most at home.

The ritual was a resounding success, a couple dozen snakes answering the call. When the incantation was repeated, two snakes leapt upon the mice, and though Hermione winced as Harry screamed and Susan clutched at her head, remembering the agony of the language transfer, she was proud and satisfied to see them both sit back up a few long moments later, wonder in their eyes.

"Did it work?" Harry hissed. His eyes lit up. "It worked! It worked! I can speak Parseltongue again!"

"This is so weird." Susan was testing out words experimentally, aware of how her tongue was hissing and flicking about. "It really does feel like how a snake would speak."

"We all have it, now," Hermione said, smiling. "Our secret coven language."

"It works well for that," Blaise said. His voice was very low. "Parseltongue can be so quiet, hissed and whispered in near silence around the corners and in the shadows."

"Can it be loud?" Luna wondered aloud. She cleared her throat. "My name is Luna Lovegood."

The resulting speech came out sounding like sputtering static from the telly, and Hermione and Harry dissolved into laughter.

"I guess it can't really be yelled," Hermione concluded, amused.

"Makes sense," Harry said. "I've never heard a snake make a sound louder than a hiss."

The coven spent the rest of the evening practicing flying while speaking Parseltongue. Almost everyone was still spectacularly bad at flying, with Hermione and Luna as the exceptions. They did their best to help their friends, guiding them in flight, but as Hermione knew all too well, the air elementals were overly delighted to fly, and she frequently found her friends' hands ripped from hers as they shot into the air, arcing over to land in a bush or fly up and get trapped in a tree.

When Hermione went home that night, she felt reassured and relaxed, much more so than she'd been after returning home from Diagon Alley. She'd had a wonderful evening flying around with her friends. The date had been lovely, but she had been feeling off-kilter and out of her depth, and being with her coven always helped stabilize her, making her feel comfortable and safe and at home.

Hermione fell asleep after levitating her bedroom's entire furniture set for a few minutes, dreaming of snakes and roses and speeches.

Chapter Text

Hermione had been to Diagon Alley when it was busy before; school supply shopping in August with Harry the previous year, for example, or last-minute Christmas shopping over break. Despite seeing Diagon Alley bustling with business, Hermione was utterly unprepared for the mass of people assembled in Carkitt Market square on a random Wednesday afternoon.

Hermione had arrived in the alley bright and early herself at 8am, not wanting to miss anything. Blaise had shown up half an hour later, but other people didn't start to trickle in until nine.

With Gabriel roughly 'scheduled' to give his speech at noon, that left plenty of time for Hermione to circulate and talk to people. And she was very curious to talk to people. Hermione had heard vague statements and rumors about the hedgewitch community over the summer, but she'd never really interacted with them knowingly before, and she was insatiably curious to learn more about this entire sect of the magical world she'd never considered before.

As more people started arriving, all of them between age eleven and seventeen, she began to pick out differences between her classmates and the others, the ones she knew must be the homeschooled ones.

Hermione had often thought that wizarding clothing and fashion seemed stuck in the Victorian Era. If that was the case, it seemed hedgewitch fashion was still in medieval times, with how the hedgewitches dressed.

The girls blended in the best. They were all wearing what Hermione would say at a glance were long robes, but upon closer examination, they lacked the buttons up the front that identified robes from dresses. The girls wore dresses that seemed to be made of cotton, some of them brightly dyed, and many of them wore belts around their waist to cinch in the dress and give it more of a shape as well as to hang things off of. Several of the girls had bags and pouches tied around their waist.

Hermione saw precious few with wand holsters.

The boys from the hedgewitches (Hedgewizards? What was the proper term?) stuck out more. A few of them had on obviously-worn robes, looking extremely uncomfortable and stiff in them, but more of them were either wearing open robes or no robes at all. They wore what looked like tunics and breeches that ended just below the knee, mostly in shades of brown or gray. Some of the boys wore vests over their tunics, and nearly all of them wore belts that cinched in their tunics, again with pouches hanging from them.

Again, there were few wand holsters, and Hermione wondered how they even did magic at all.

As the square filled up, Hermione noticed a distinct divide occurring. The more formally-clad wizards were staying on one side of the square, nearer the shops and entrance to Horizont Alley, while the hedgewitches took over the other side of the square, all talking loudly and drinking at and around the Hopping Pot. They seemed like a rowdy bunch.

Taking a deep breath and gathering her bravery, Hermione went over to make friends.

Despite her (nice) robes, Hermione immediately felt like part of the group when she went to buy a Butterbeer, only to have a hedgewizard boy laugh at her and pay for her drink, insisting that 'a pretty lass like she shouldn't pay for her own drink'. Hermione blushed brilliantly and the boy grinned at her, revealing a missing tooth, but he walked her over towards a table with his friends, and just like that, Hermione had an in.

"I'm Derek," the boy said, grinning. "I'm ten an' four this year."

"I'm Hermione," Hermione said, introducing herself back. She started to curtsy, only to stop, confused, and Derek laughed and waved her off.

"We don' stand on any o' that fancy stuff," he dismissed. He grinned again. "You worried 'bout your folks catchin' you slummin' it with the hedges?"

"My parents aren't here, so I'll do as I please," Hermione said with a smile. "Is that what you call yourselves? 'The hedges'?"

Derek shrugged.

"The fancy ones call us all 'hedgewitches', but that's a bit sexist, innit?" he said with a smirk. "Just 'hedges' at least includes the lads."

As they reached the table, Derek gestured widely, getting the attention of his friends.

"Look, I got us a witch!" he crowed. He looked to her. "Go on, introduce yourself again."

Sensing this was a bit of a show, Hermione gave them all her best curtsy.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said with a smile. "I'm pleased to meet you all."

"And how old are you?" Derek prompted.

"Oh, I'm thirteen, nearly fourteen," Hermione said. "Err – almost ten and four?"

The hedgewitches all nodded. Many of them looked amused.

"So I'm Derek, I told you that," Derek said. He began pointing to his friends in sequence. "That's Jerran, that's Clover, that's Argin, and that's Worm."

"Worm?" Hermione repeated, blinking at the last boy indicated. The boy in question laughed.

"My real name's Caelum," he told her. "My mum had grand aspirations for me, she did. But with a name like that, you end up with a nickname real fast."

"And you got 'Worm'?" Hermione questioned.

"Well," he said, grinning, "I do like digging in the dirt."

Hermione was fascinated. It was like an entirely different sect of wizarding culture she'd never known about. The hedgewitches seemed to find her curiosity incredibly amusing, answering her questions about employment and magic without flinching.

"Most o' us work the land we live on," Derek said. "Either that or potions at a potions brewery."

"Work the land?" Hermione asked.

"I work on the Greengrass land," Worm said, chiming in. "I help till the soil and keep the plants. That sort of thing."

"I work at a potions brewery," Clover said, tilting her chin up proudly. "I help prepare ingredients and sometimes get to help brew."

"Clover's always been the smart one," Jerran complained. "I jus' watch Crups."

"Wait," Hermione said. "Aren't you all around my age? Over eleven, but under seventeen?"

The hedges looked at her.

"Yeah," Jerran said. "What about it?"

"But… you're all working already?" she asked. "How do you balance that with school?"

At this, they all burst into uproarious laughter.

"School!" Argin hooted. "She thinks we go to school!"

"We couldn't go to school if we wanted to," Derek told her, laughing. "Too expensive. Don't qualify, anyway."

"You don't qualify?" Hermione repeated.

"Don't have enough magic," Derek said simply. "Gotta have enough magic to work a wand, to go to school."

"Some of our folks teach us at home," Clover said. "My mum had me helping with her potions and garden since I was a young girl. But that's the most, really."

Hermione felt very thrown off.

"So…" she said slowly. "Have you learned to read?"

At this, they exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"Most of us," Jerran admitted. "But not very well."

"And you've never gone to school?" she repeated. "Not even Muggle primary school?"

"Why would we?" Argin asked. "We're not muggles. Can't go to Muggle school – our magic could give us away, couldn't it?"

"So you just… start working? At eleven?" Hermione could barely comprehend it. "What about a career? What about your hopes and dreams?"

They looked at her with bafflement.

"Careers are for people with O.W.L.s," Worm said finally. "We don't have any of that fancy stuff. We do simple work, and we have simple pleasures in life – food, friends, fun."

The others nodded, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Have any of you ever tried to use a wand?" she asked.

The hedges gave each other sideways glances, suspicious of each other, before Worm spoke up.

"I have," he confessed, raising his hand. "My mum has one. I never got so much as a spark out of it, though."

"How old were you?" Hermione asked.

"Err…" Worm considered, wrenching his face up. "Maybe eight?"

"So none of you have ever tried to wield a wand since coming of age," she summarized, looking them over.

"Wands are expensive," Clover said flatly. "What's the point in buying one if you won't be able to use it, anyway?"

"How would you know you can't use a wand unless you tried?" Hermione asked, frustrated.

"'Cause we're hedgewitches," Jerran said simply. "Our magic's not strong enough."

Jerran's words were assured and confident, but what he spoke like a fact made no sense with Hermione's image of the world. She let the conversation continue around her as her mind stalled, stuck on his odd statement.

Hermione had gotten her wand when she was eleven, and she'd worked with it for a year before being able to do basic Transfigurations. Her power had started growing, which had helped, but it was only through patience and practice had she gotten any good at using her wand. Which was largely what Hogwarts was for, Hermione figured – teaching students how to use their wand and making them practice over and over again, expanding their magic slowly over time.

The idea that there was an entire group of wizards – a large group of wizards, from the looks of it – who were simply denied the opportunity to have a wand and learn to use it baffled Hermione. It baffled her.

And they had magic. They worked with magical plants, they brewed potions, and it sounded like a few of them could manage a couple wandless spells. So they had magic. But they never trained in it, never used a wand…?

As conversation continued, Hermione taking a backseat and just listening, she began to get a clearer picture of things. Many of the hedgewitches mentioned names Hermione recognized, though never in a flattering manner – Greengrass, Malfoy, Abbott, Longbottom. As she looked over the crowd, getting an idea of how many of the people here were hedgewitches and how many were not, her mind began to turn a thought over and over in her head.

"Clover," Hermione asked, cutting in when the girl was relating a story of a hopping toadstool almost getting away. "How much do they pay you, at the potion's place?"

"Pay me?" Clover blinked. "Err—I get a galleon and two sickles a day, I think. They pay me all at once at the end of the week, though."

"You only get that 'cause you can brew," Jerran complained. "I get four sickles a day for watchin' crups."

"I get seven a day for workin' the plants," Worm said, shrugging. "Not bad, considerin' I'm just hanging outside all day and getting paid for it."

Hermione had earned four and a half galleons a day at her internship as a twelve-year-old, at a rate significantly under what she presumed to be the standard pay, given her age and the nature of the internship.

"How do you afford anything?" she asked, trying not to sound judgmental. "That's not very much."

Derek shrugged.

"What do we need to afford?" he asked. "We get our houses for workin' the land, and we get protection, too. We grow most o' our food and hunt or trade for the rest. An' clothin' lasts a while if you treat it well and don't wash it too often."

The others nodded, and Hermione fought not to boggle.

"If," she began slowly. "If you were able to go to school, would you want to?"

"We can't go to school," Clover said, now sounding annoyed. "We told you this."

"I know I know, but imagine," Hermione urged. "If you could go to school, would you want to?"

The hedges looked uneasy, but they gamely played along.

"This is hard," Argin muttered. "Don't even know what school is like, to imagine it."

"Imagine a place where you could learn to expand your magic," Hermione described. "It's a building indoors, with chairs and small desks. There are books that you can read that teach you about magic, and a teacher who shows you how to cast different spells."

There was a silence as they imagined the scenario.

"I think I'd like it," Derek said, breaking the silence. He looked at Hermione, slightly uncomfortable. "It'd be nice to be able to use a wand."

"Clara down the hill is good at curses," Clover said, her voice vicious. "I'd love to go to school and learn real ones and curse her back."

"I don't think I'd be good at school," Worm admitted. "I'm not real good at reading, and I'm not real good at sitting still indoors. I think I'm happier outside, digging in the mud all day."

The imaginary school experience thus concluded, apparently, conversation moved on to the reason they were all there today.

"I'm miffed Gabriel grew up so quickly," Jerran said crossly, folding his arms. "He was a good sort. Mitch knew him from ages back, and he wasn't a snobby one."

"Who will be up for it this time?" Clover asked. "D'you know anyone?"

"Warrington will go for it, but he's a dick," Argin said. "I wouldn't vote for him if he were the last man on earth."

"One of the Greengrass girls is of age," Clover said. "They're not that bad."

"They're not that good, either," Worm sniffed. "Sacred 28 and all that nonsense. I wouldn't trust them farther than I could throw them."

"Then who?" Derek prompted. "Do we need to nominate someone? We could put Vidal up – he's a smart sort, and he'd be okay with doin' it, I think."

"The wizard kids would never vote for him," Jerran dismissed. "They never do."

"Do you outnumber them, though?" Hermione asked, curious. "There are a lot of you, it seems. If all of you vote for the same person, would it outweigh the votes of the wizard kids?"

"Nah," Derek said. "We may seem like a lot, but that's 'cause we all come out to see the speeches n' at. Most o' the wizard kids just read them in the paper later and don't show up here. There's more of them than this."

Hermione didn't ask why they came to listen to the speeches if none of them were going to run. She was afraid the answer would be that they couldn't read them in the paper themselves.

"Do you feel like the Youth Representative ever truly represents you?" Hermione asked. "If it's always a wizard kid they pick, do you feel like your voice is heard?"

"Ehhh," Worm said. "The Youth Rep doesn't have much of a voice, I think. Local reps have to listen to us a lot more, though, but even then there's only so many of them. The snobby ones have more seats on the Wizengamot than the local reps do."

"Doesn't matter much, does it?" Argin said. "So long as they leave us alone, we're good. The less the government is interfering in my life, the better."

"Why do you ask?" Derek said to Hermione. He grinned. "Are you going to run?"

"What if I am?" Hermione said, tossing her head back, and to her surprise, Derek crowed with delight.

"That'll be interestin', if nothing else," he cackled. His eyes glinted. "If you want us to vote for you, what'll you do for us?"

"What do you want me to do?" Hermione asked reasonably, withdrawing her wand, and she saw the envious looks the others gave her.

Apparently, what the hedges wanted the most were basic charms and transfigurations. Derek asked her to fix the slipping sole of his shoe, which only took a Reparo. Argin wanted help with a rip in his tunic, which was just another Mending charm, and Worm wanted to know if she could conjure him a waterproof hat. Hermione admitted that while she couldn't conjure a hat from nothing, she could make an existing hat waterproof, and Worm had run off to go home and fetch his hat, and she happily cast an Impervious Charm on it once he returned, to his everlasting delight.

Clover, she conjured a rose for, and she put it in her hair with pleasure. Jerran just wanted a keepsake, and Hermione transfigured him a small stone squirrel from a loose rock on the alley.

Word got around that she was doing 'tricks', apparently, and Hermione found herself surrounded by hedgewitches, making small requests of her over and over again. Lots of people asked for help with fixing their clothes and repairing their shoes, and a few asked for waterproofing hats and gloves, once it got out that she could do that, too. Hermione helped as much as she could, trying to stomp down on her instinctive feeling of pity for these people. To be magical and unable to fix your own clothing… even Mrs. Weasley, one of the poorest witches she knew, didn't have to worry or fret over rips and tears in her robes.

Several of the hedgewitches wanted small stone animals like Jerran had asked for, and Hermione found herself transfiguring small stone chipmunks, squirrels, and frogs, to the delight of her hedgewitch peers.

"Why do you like these so much?" Hermione asked, handing one back to a young girl who looked barely eleven.

"You put them in your garden," Derek explained. "Next to an offering dish of honey. Helps keep the Fae happy and your garden healthy and green."

Hermione paused. "…the Fae?"

There was a loud dong as the large clock in the town center began to ring out noon. The clock donged again, and Hermione stood hurriedly, brushing her hands off and sheathing her wand.

"I'm so sorry, I've got to get back to my friends to watch the speeches," she apologized to Derek. "I've got to go."

"S'not a problem," Derek said, grinning. "I daresay you wasted most o' your day hangin' with the hedges. Go back to your own people, witch girl."

Hermione nodded and smiled before hurrying across the square, weaving in and out of people to make her way over to the table where she had left Blaise. She could glimpse Gabriel mounting the steps to a podium that had been put up, and to her relief, her friends were all assembled at the table when she made it back. While she had been gone, the rest of Slytherin had shown up, Draco, Theo, Crabbe and Goyle all standing around the table.

"Where have you been?" Pansy demanded. "We have been campaigning for you all day, and you only show up now?"

"I was networking with the hedgewitches!" Hermione protested hotly. "That's what I was told to do, wasn't it?"

"How was that?" Draco looked concerned. "They didn't attack you and try to steal your magic, did they?"

Hermione held back her horror. "Err—no. They just wanted me to do tricks with my wand."

"There are a lot of Muggleborns here today," Tracey said, surveying the crowd. "Far more than I expected. I think it'll help your chances, though – they might look to you as one of them."

As Gabriel cleared his throat, tapping the podium to activate an embedded Sonorus charm, the crowd fell silent.

"Hello, everyone," he said with a smile. His smile was easy-going, and he looked comfortable and confident. "It's good to see so many people gathered here today, though today will be particularly nostalgic for me."

The crowd gave a soft murmur, and Hermione could see a bit of a conference going on over on the other side of the square. She wondered if someone in the hedgewitches needed to know what 'nostalgic' meant.

"About three years ago, I was chosen as the British Youth Representative for the Wizengamot," he said. "I have enjoyed my time serving on the Wizengamot, and I have done my best to accurately represent the youth of Britain." He gave a sad, small smile. "Regretfully, though, my time is at an end. My birthday is one month from today, and I will come of age, and I will no longer be able to represent the wizarding youth."

There was a loud cry of sadness at Gabriel's pronouncement, especially from the group over by the Hopping Pot, and Gabriel gave them a chuckle and a half-smile.

"I'm proud to be growing up into a full wizard, but it does mean I need to leave this behind," he said. He straightened up. "With that, I announce I will officially be stepping down as British Youth Representative in one month's time. Thank you for electing me, and I hope I have served you well."

A loud round of applause and cheers met Gabriel as he gave the crowd a respectful bow, and he stepped down from the platform, immediately greeted by pats and thumps of affection from his school mates. Hermione watched the platform while the others were busy applauding, where a short figure clad in dark black robes had taken stage. Once the applause had died down, the figure stepped forward and spoke.

"Gabriel Truman stepping down opens the election season for a new British Youth Representative." The figure's voice was almost mechanical, and Hermione couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman under the cloak. "Nominations will occur today, followed by one month of election season, where nominees may campaign to their peers."

"That's an Unspeakable," Millie whispered to Hermione. "They work in the Department of Mysteries. They wear robes that mask their faces and voices, so no one knows who they are or what they do."

"The Department of Mysteries?" Hermione was intrigued. "What do they do there?"

"Work on magical mysteries?" Millie's voice was uncertain. "Your guess is as good as mine."

The Unspeakable flicked their wand, and a large chalkboard appeared from nowhere. It read NOMINEES at the top left, and had AGE at the top right, starting a new column.

"Who shall next lead the British Youth?" The Unspeakable's voice was unreadable. "Who should be elected to represent you?"

The crowd began to murmur and rumble, conversing and gossiping, before a name was called out loudly.

"Malcolm Smith!" someone yelled out. "Descendant of Hufflepuff herself!"

"Malcolm Smith has been nominated," the Unspeakable intoned. Hermione watched as the Unspeakable wrote on the chalkboard in runes with gleaming silver chalk, before stepping back. The runes on the board glimmered and shifted, before changing to the text Malcolm Smith, 12 in a gleaming gold.

"Malcolm Smith is eligible," the Unspeakable said. "Do we have a second?"

"Seconded!" several people cried out.

"No!" other people cried out. "Boo!"

But the nomination was seconded, apparently, and someone was striding up to the podium. Hermione was surprised to see it was someone who looked much older than twelve.

"That's Smith's cousin, Arion," Daphne said. "He's almost of age himself."

"Must be pushing his cousin to run for the family honor," Draco mused. "Bad idea, really. He's only a second-year. Who's going to vote for that?"

"My dear friends and peers," Arion began. "Malcolm Smith is the best person to represent the youth of Britain. Not only does he come from a well-established line…"

Arion's speech was dull and empty, Hermione thought. He kept referencing his prestigious lineage and magical potential, without actually saying anything about Malcolm as a person at all. The crowd seemed to shift and grow restless quickly during his speech, and when he stepped down, it was to scattered applause.

"Malcolm Smith has been nominated," the Unspeakable said, stepping forward. "Would anyone else like to speak in support?"

No one else did, and the Unspeakable's eyes fell upon a person in the crowd.

"Then, Malcolm Smith, step forward," the Unspeakable bid, "and tell us if you will accept."

A small blond boy clambered upon to the platform. He looked very short and very young.

"Here we go," Theo groaned. "D'you think he has a speech his father wrote for him?"

"He looks like he's about to wet himself," Blaise snickered. "Even if he does, he won't be able to get it out."

As Malcolm began speaking, he stuttered very badly, his eyes wide and alarmed. He managed to get out that he accepted the nomination and somewhat of a thank you before the Unspeakable lost their patience and brushed him aside, sending him back to the crowd.

"Malcolm Smith has been nominated as British Youth Representative," they said. "Who else would you have represent you in the Wizengamot?"

Now that someone had gone first, there were more names called out now, more legitimate proposals, several at once.

"Cassius Warrington!"

"Cho Chang!"

"Percy Weasley!"

Percy Weasley wasn't even there, Hermine snorted to herself. He was off in Egypt still.

The Unspeakable was writing very quickly on the chalkboard in runes, silver runes shimmering before turning to gold as Cassius Warrington, 15 and Cho Chang, 14 appeared on the board. Hermione watched in fascination as the last set of runes shimmered and turned black, as Percy Weasley, 17 appeared on the board.

"Percy Weasley is ineligible to run, as he is already of age," the Unspeakable said. Their tone was entirely neutral. "Do we have a second for Cho Chang or Cassius Warrington?"

The crowd cried out with seconds for both of them, but it was the group of loud, shouting girls that the Unspeakable acknowledged first, and three girls went up to the platform.

"Circe's wand, save me from Ravenclaws who think they know how to play politics," Pansy groaned. "They will make this take forever."

It wasn't forever, but it did take a while. Each of the three girls was eager to talk about how good of a classmate and friend Cho Chang was, how she was an intelligent, kind person, and how she would do a good job of representing the British Youth to the Wizengamot.

"Do we know who she is?" Hermione asked. "I don't think I know a Cho Chang."

"Year over us. Plays as the Ravenclaw seeker," Draco told her. "She's not from an established family, though, so she won't have much name recognition."

"I don't think she'd be brave enough to try and work the hedgewitches," Theo commented, folding his arms. "She looks like a strong breeze could break her."

An Asian girl had gotten up onto the platform to accept her nomination. Her voice was light but strong, and she gave a decent speech about wanting to represent the youth and help make sure their voices were heard. She had dark hair and was rather lithe, but Hermione thought Theo was exaggerating a bit, saying a breeze could blow her over.

"She's very pretty," Daphne observed. "That could win her votes."

Hermione bit her lip. She could compete on merit, sure, but if her peers were going to take looks into account, Hermione was in trouble.

After Cho was confirmed as a candidate, Cassius Warrington's friends got up to speak on his behalf. They were large, burly boys, and each one gave a speech that emphasized Cassius' will, his strength, his bloodline, and his power as a natural leader.

As the second friend gave a supporting speech, however, the far side of the crowd began to jeer and boo, shouts of "We don't want a Warrington!" and "Family can't buy you this!" coming from the hedgewitch side. The boy giving his speech faltered but finished, before Cassius was called to the stage.

Cassius looked strong and proud on the stage, accepting his nomination and determinedly ignoring the chants of, "Go home, golem!" coming from the hedgewitches. Nevertheless, when his speech was finished, he was confirmed as a candidate in the running as well, before the Unspeakable called for more nominations.

To her surprise, Hermione heard someone call out "Harry Potter!", and she watched as the Unspeakable wrote more silver runes on the board, before they shifted into white text of Harry Potter, 12.

"Harry Potter is not present," the Unspeakable said, waving their arm, and the Harry Potter, 12 vanished from the board. "Do we have other nominations?"

"Cedric Diggory!" someone called out. "I nominate Cedric Diggory!"

"Cedric?" Tracey's tone was aghast. "He's going to run?"

"Oh," Daphne said. She gave Hermione a sideways look, her eyes wide. "Oh, dear."

Hermione's throat was dry as the girls' eyes all looked at her.

"I didn't know he was going to run," she said helplessly. "Don't look at me."

Tracey winced and Millie gave her a grimace of sympathy.

"How would Hermione know he was going to run?" Blaise asked. "'Cause she's friends with the Hufflepuffs?"

"He's just a pretty boy Seeker," Draco dismissed. "He doesn't stand a chance."

The boy who had gotten up to speak for Cedric, though, made a compelling speaker. He had a jawline that looked too big for his face and shaggy, dark hair, but he knew how to speak, and he could speak well. His story of practicing dueling with Cedric was exciting to hear, and when it ended with him accidentally breaking Cedric's arm and Cedric just making a joke about it and forgiving him immediately, it ended with chuckles and smiles from the crowd.

Cedric was a good friend and an excellent student, it was established. When the boy stood down and another stood up to speak. He began his speech by thanking Diego for starting things off, before launching into a detailed list of why Cedric would be the best representative for the British Youth the land had ever seen.

Hermione felt an uneasy, icky feeling growing in her stomach as Tracey gnawed on her nails. If Cedric had wanted to run too, why hadn't he said so the day before? Sure he knew it wasn't like she would hold it against him.

…right?

"Hufflepuffs have a strong history of winning the election, when they run," Daphne said, her voice soft. "They poll well with the hedgewitches, for some reason. We should have anticipated this might happen."

"How could we?" Millie wanted to know. "It's not like we know Hufflepuff's inner workings well."

After the second boy stood down, the Unspeakable moved forward, their eyes fixing on a figure in the crowd and calling Cedric Diggory forward to speak and accept his nomination, and Hermione watched as Cedric made his way through the crowd, his robes trimmed in yellow and gold.

"Is he a good speaker?" Pansy wanted to know. "If he's not, we won't have to worry."

"He's been wooing Hermione with roses and words for months, now," Tracey snapped. "I think it's fair to say at this point that he can manage to be charming."

Pansy snapped something back at Tracey, but Hermione didn't hear it, because Draco had rounded on her with wide eyes.

"Diggory?" he said incredulously. "Cedric Diggory has been the one giving you roses?"

Hermione could see Blaise and Theo watching from the corner of her eye as she tossed her head, defiant.

"Yes," she said, her tone unbothered. "What of it?"

Draco looked like he wanted to strangle someone.

"You're being wooed by Cedric Diggory?" he demanded again. "And you—you just accept his roses? His gifts?"

"Roses are not a gift of courtship intent," Hermione said sharply. "I have every right to accept tokens of affection from whomever I want."

"Yeah, but—" Draco looked even more frustrated by this, fighting to find the right words. "If he's been giving you roses for so long, now, why hasn't he given you anything else?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Would you have him offer to court me?"

Draco gnashed his teeth.

"No," he said, "but he should have by now. You're worth being courted properly, Hermione, not strung along by pretty roses and pretty words!"

Her eyes narrowed.

"And I'm just being strung along by a pretty boy with pretty words, am I?" she said, her voice chillingly cold. "Unable to think or look for myself, just a naïve innocent girl caught up in the pretty boy's web?"

Draco flinched. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Hermione said sharply. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you're doubting my judgement of who or not to trust and associate with."

"Shut up," Tracey snapped at them both. "Fight it out later. He's going to speak now."

Hermione turned back to the podium. Cedric had made his way to the platform and was now standing in front of the podium with a faint smile on his face, and some of the hedgewitches were cheering. He raised a hand good-naturedly, and the cheering fell silent.

"Well," he said, with good humor in his tone, "I can tell you to start that I didn't expect to be up here today. I'll have to watch for Diego and Ben springing surprises like this on me more in the future."

He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him, before falling silent again.

"Seriously, though," he said. "I would be a good British Youth Representative, as my friends have said. I get good grades, I'm a good friend, and I do the best I can. I'm no one too special, but I like to think I'm a good person who does the best he can to do what's right, and what more can we ask for than that? I would do my best to represent you all, as honestly and loyally as I could."

He gave the crowd a charming smile, and it was as if the goodwill from the crowd could be felt, like a physical thing. Some of the hedgewitches gave brief cheers.

"All that being said," Cedric said with a wry smile, "you should not vote for me for British Youth Representative."

A shocked murmur went through the crowd, eyes darting to widened eyes in surprise.

"I would be a good representative, it's true," Cedric continued. "But there is someone who would be a better representative who you should vote for. You may already know her name—" He grinned. "—or know her as the Heroine of Hogwarts."

Hermione felt her heart catch in her throat. Even from this distance, Hermione knew Cedric's eyes must be dancing with mischief.

"While I get good grades, she gets great grades, making top of her class for two years, and managing to break Dumbledore's Transfiguration record on her first day of school," Cedric said. "While I'm a good friend, she is a great friend, literally risking her life to save her friends and classmates. And while I'm a person who does the best I can to do what's right, she has an unerring moral sense of what is right, and when she knows, she goes after it with all she has."

Hermione's mouth was dry. She couldn't move her eyes from Cedric as he spoke, though she could sense the other Slytherin girls staring at her now.

"I want the best for us all, which means I want the best British Youth Representative," Cedric said with a smile. "And so, I must decline my nomination, as I'm not the best we could do. But in doing so, I would like to take the chance to nominate Hermione Granger to represent us to the Wizengamot – Hermione Granger, the Heroine of Hogwarts, and youngest person ever to receive an Order of Merlin, First Class."

He stepped back from the podium with a respectful bow as the crowd erupted into loud cheers and whistles. Shouts "Seconded!" came from throughout the crowd and chants of "Give us Granger!" started up near the hedgewitches as the Unspeakable wrote more runes on the board, the silver chalk shimmering into gold text Hermione Granger, 13 on the nomination board.

"Hermione Granger has been nominated," the Unspeakable said, unbothered by the ruckus the crowd was making. "Does anyone else want to speak in favor of her?"

Cedric was still on the platform, and somehow, Hermione could feel his eyes meet her from across the crowd. They were like magnets, and she became aware that somehow, she her feet had taken a few steps toward the stage without her realizing it.

"Go," Tracey hissed, pushing her. "You're not going to get a better speech than that."

Hermione made her way through the crowd, many of them still cheering. A subtle press of air magic on the people in front of her helped clear her way, and she could hear the hedgewitches arguing which of them would get to speak for her, though it sounded like a physical fight had broken out.

As she reached the front, Cedric leaned down to offer her his hand with a grin and glint in his eye, and she grasped it, accepting his help as he pulled her onto the platform. As she straightened, shifting to smooth out her robes, he bowed low over her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes sparkling, before he made his way to the side of the platform, standing there like he had every right to do so.

There were shrill shrieks from the crowd and more cheers. Hermione wondered if it was some sort of romantic wish fulfillment for other girls to see. The Unspeakable gestured her forward, and Hermione stepped up to the podium, her eyes surveying the crowd before her.

From the podium, it seemed like a lot more people than it had from the crowd. Most of Hogwarts had turned out, it looked like, and there were a lot more hedgewitches than she thought.

When her speech had been originally planned, she had planned to go after Daphne and Draco. Her speech was going to echo their main points, about how she was highly powerful, highly capable, and would be the best leader to the British Youth. But after a speech like Cedric Diggory's, one that had exalted her character… she couldn't just give a speech that spoke to her naked ambition.

Hermione raised one hand slightly, an indication, and gradually the crowd fell silent.

"Thanks, Cedric," she started, unable to stop herself from grinning. "For someone who talked about being surprised by his own friends, you sure do know how to surprise a girl."

The crowd laughed with her, and Hermione smiled as she looked out over them.

She felt confident. She felt strong.

"While I would insist that Cedric flatters me, I can't bring myself to say that he's wrong," Hermione said. "My parents instilled in me a sense of modesty, but the fact is I am the top of my class, I did break Dumbledore's Transfiguration record, and I am the youngest person to ever receive an Order of Merlin. It's a matter of record."

She shrugged helplessly, before continuing.

"But Cedric brought up something very specific that I do agree with," she said, "and that is that I go after what I believe is right, no matter what stands in my way."

"There was a basilisk terrorizing Hogwarts," she said, "endangering us all. I went after it and killed it – not because I'm some brave person or glory seeker, but because it was the right thing to do. I had the ability and skill to kill it and save the school, so I did – even though I was scared shitless the entire time."

There was a murmur of laughter as she smiled self-depricatingly, before she went on.

"As British Youth Representative, I'm sure I would have a lot to learn," she admitted. "I only entered the magical world a few years ago, and I've been learning more and more ever since. But I can tell you – as British Youth Representative, I would fight for what's right and what's fair for the British Youth. I wouldn't let us be ignored, and I wouldn't let us be overlooked." Her eyes lingered on Derek and his friends, and she smiled softly. "I would fight for everyone."

"My friends will tell you that I am bossy, and they're not wrong," she chuckled slightly. "But sometimes, being loud and making sure you're being heard is the most important thing. And if you're not being heard, finding another way to get done what needs to get done. And as British Youth Representative, I am confident I would do both – make sure our concerns are heard and listened to, and make sure that action is taken to make our future a better one."

"So I will gladly accept Cedric's nomination," Hermione said, nodding her head to him. "Though he flatters me with pretty words and pictures, he is right: I would do my best as British Youth Representative that I could—" she smiled, her back straight, her head held high and confident "—and my best is the very best we could possibly get."

Her speech ended to much cheers and fanfare and applause, and Hermione stepped down, grateful Cedric had lingered as he helped her step down off of the platform.

"You were brilliant," he told her with a smile, hopping down from the platform after her, the crowd still cheering. "Did you manage that whole speech extemp?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" she said, amused. "I could hardly give a speech full of naked ambition and power after such a noble Hufflepuff introduction, could I?

Cedric laughed and grinned at her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Was that okay?" he asked her honestly. "I wasn't sure, but you said yesterday how you intended on running anyway, and when the opportunity came up, I just thought—"

Hermione stepped forward into his space, laying a finger over his lips to silence him.

"Cedric," she told him, her eyes meeting his. "That was probably the most thoughtful, romantic gesture you could ever give a Slytherin."

Cedric's eyes danced and he smirked widely, amused. Around them, the Unspeakable was asking for other nominations, but none of the names called out were ones she recognized.

"If you're already nominated, do you want to get out of here with me?" Cedric asked. "If I recall correctly, I still owe you dinner."

He offered her his hand, and Hermione paused.

Cedric's smile was charming, and his eyes were sparkling, open, and honest. And somehow, where she had before felt flustered, Hermione felt self-assured and confident, now. She felt as if she'd overcome some mental hurdle, that she was his equal, now, in some ineffable way, and when she smiled back at him, it was without nervousness or guile.

"I think I'd really like that," she said honestly, and Cedric's smile widened as she took his hand.

This time, though, when Cedric tried to put her hand in his arm, Hermione resisted, and he looked back at her in puzzlement.

"It's too crowded," she said. "Let's just… like this, for now."

She squeezed his hand, and to her surprise, Cedric's cheeks grew red.

"If you like," he said, squeezing her hand back, and, holding her hand, he led her through the crowd and out of Carkitt Market, holding her hand all the way down the Alley, giving Hermione a warm and soft feeling inside.

Chapter Text

"So: We've got Malcolm Smith, Cho Chang, Cassius Warrington, Lee Jordan, Éadaoin Lobosca, and you," Tracey said. She drummed her fingertips over her lips. "You can probably beat Malcolm and Cho hands-down, but Warrington and Jordan might put up a bit of a fight. I don't know enough about Éadaoin to say one way or another."

"Éadaoin might be running, but she's Hufflepuff, and it's more likely that the Hufflepuffs will vote for who Cedric told them to," Pansy said, smirking. She glanced at Hermione, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. "That is, so long as Cedric is still endorsing you, Hermione…?"

She shot her a catty look, and Hermione's face flushed as she folded her arms. She was glad Tracey hadn't invited the boys to this meeting, the day after the nominations. She suspected all she'd end up doing would be arguing over Cedric Diggory with Draco Malfoy.

"Seeing as he took her to dinner after their speeches, I think that's fairly safe to say," Daphne said, idly looking at her nails, cultivating an air of utter disregard for Pansy's cattiness. "We'll need to focus on the groups Cassius and Lee poll well with, and figure out where to go from there."

"Lee Jordan hangs out with the Weasley Twins all the time," Millie observed. "He'll get the mischievous boy vote, from the boys who don't really care much about the government at all."

"Cassius will get all the votes from the Slytherins who don't like Granger," Pansy said. She glanced at Hermione. "A lot of them still don't think you belong in Slytherin, I'd wager."

"You'd think that would have changed after she couldn't call herself a Muggleborn in the Wizengamot's Truth Circle," Millie grumbled.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "Things change slowly in the magical world, I guess. Even opinions in the face of facts."

Daphne regarded the list carefully.

"Draco and I would be best suited to convincing the other Slytherins to vote for you, possibly Theo as well," she said. She looked at Hermione apologetically. "We'd be more likely to persuade them to vote for you than you would be able to directly, I'm afraid."

Hermione waved off her concerns. She didn't want to have to deal with outright blood-prejudice if she didn't have to.

"I can try to take on the mischief-minded boy crowd?" Tracey volunteered. She tossed her head. "I enjoy a bit of mischief here and there, and if nothing else, I can flirt with them to try and win them over to our side."

Millie snorted. "You can't just snog all of them to get their votes, Tracey."

"I never said I would!" Tracey shot Millie a dark look. "But flirting and flashing a bit of cleavage is fine. That's like, Basic Boy Manipulationn for first years."

"If you say so," Millie said innocently, smirking at Tracey with droll amusement.

"One of us will need to figure out what's up with Éadaoin," Daphne said. "Though she might not gather many votes, her speech was particularly impassioned. We need to figure out what's making her tick."

"I can do that," Pansy volunteered. Her eyes gleamed. "I love ferreting out secrets."

"What's that leave for me?" Hermione asked.

"The hedgewitches," Tracey said immediately. She snickered. "You seemed to hit it off well enough with them, Hermione. And no one else wants to deal with them."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Daphne was nodding, looking serious.

"There are a lot more hedgewitches than we like to think about, really," she said. "If you can win them over, that's a lot of votes most people don't think of. And I don't think any of your competition would go after their vote except maybe Éadaoin – Hufflepuffs tend not to share the aversion for the hedgewitches quite as much."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked, and Daphne shrugged.

"Hufflepuffs aren't as worried of them stealing their magic," she said. "I think because they like to trust and see the best in everybody? But the rest of us like to leave them alone."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "Steal your magic?"

Daphne looked at her funny.

"Of course," she said. "They envy us the magic our blood gave us, and they would take our power as their own if they could. There are old stories of magic being stolen by hedgewitches, a healthy person turned into a Squib overnight."

Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to contradict Daphne, to say that such a thing was ridiculous, but she hesitated. She'd seen Dark rituals in books that indicated such a thing might be possible, though her claim was still likely to be untrue.

"So you sent me over there, even thinking they might steal my magic?" she asked dryly. "How kind of you."

"You were the only reasonable choice," Daphne pointed out. "Your magic comes to you from Magic itself, and Magic protects you directly. Even if they tried to steal your magic, you would be likely gifted with more."

That was a twisted sort of logic, but it made a weird sort of sense, Hermione supposed. If you believed she got her magic gifted to her by a higher power or source, it made sense that she'd have more protection than another might. Though she wanted to object and argue, she just sighed. Sometimes, working within the restraints of the legacy the prophecy had given her (and her own self-imposed restraints, though she hadn't meant them to restrain her at the time) was exhausting.

"I'll woo the hedgewitches," Hermione conceded. She glanced up. "Are there specific places to find them?"

"Theo will know," Daphne said. "He has a map. I don't remember why."

"I think his father used it," Pansy volunteered unexpectedly. "You know. Before."

They all fell silent at the ominous reminder that Theo's father had been a Death Eater, and Hermione shivered.

"I'll talk to Theo and see what I can get from him," she said. She made a face. "I already owe him a favor as it is, so we'll see how well this goes."

Theo agreed to meet with Hermione at The Leaky Cauldron, and he listened to what Hermione needed with mild curiosity.

"I do have such a map, that I could provide if I wanted to," he said. He smirked. "You're just racking up the favors you owe me, aren't you?"

"I'm well aware." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'd honestly rather you start cashing them in sooner rather than later. I don't want them to accumulate too much."

"I'm still figuring out how best to get what I want from you," Theo admitted, looking at her skeptically. "I haven't figured out a way to do it that wouldn't require you to be memory charmed afterward."

Hermione jerked in shock.

"Memory charmed?" she hissed, eyes narrowing. "What exactly would you have me do?"

"It's not like that," Theo protested. "I just need a way to ensure you don't spill my secrets to anyone."

Hermione shuddered to think just what secrets Theo was so desperate to keep.

"When you figure out a way to go about whatever you need, you let me know," she said dryly.

Theo smirked.

"I can let you copy the map," he said. "You'll have to come with me, though." He looked at her sideways. "It's in my father's study."

Hermione swallowed hard. "Alright."

Theo's voice was calm and self-assured as he called out "Nott Manor" into the Floo, and Hermione went first, stepping into the fire and tucking her elbows tightly in. She kept her eyes tightly closed as she spun and whooshed through the Floo Network, only opening them to stumble out of a fireplace and catch her balance in what looked to be a very dimly lit foyer. She was Vanishing the soot from her robes when Theo stepped out a moment later, his eyebrows rising high.

"We're not allowed to do magic over the summer, you know," he said conversationally.

Hermione shot him a dark look. "Going to tattle on me to the Ministry?"

Theo laughed and shook his head. "Never mind. Come on."

The entire house had high ceilings but seemed dusty and dimly lit. Rays of light that filtered in through dirty windows captured floating dust motes in the air, drifting aimlessly through large, empty halls. There was a slight echo to the Manor, as if there wasn't enough carpeting or furniture to absorb any sounds made.

"Big house," Hermione commented.

"It's supposed to house the entire Nott family," Theo said. His voice was strained. "That used to include siblings, branch families, parents, the whole brigade. Now, it's just me and my father left."

Hermione wondered what had happened to the rest of the Nott family. She knew Thoros Nott was one of the original Death Eaters. Had the rest of his family fought for Voldemort in the war and not been as lucky as him to survive?

She followed Theo up a long, curving staircase to the second floor of the manor. This floor seemed much more lived in, with framed pictures and portraits up in the hall and carpeting on the floor.

"This is the wing I use," Theo said, gesturing to doors as they passed. "That's my bedroom, that's my potions room, that's my personal library, and that's my reading room."

Hermione wondered why he didn't just read in his personal library. It seemed silly to need to need to go to a room away from all the books to read.

At the end of the corridor, there was another staircase, and this one curved up to a much darker floor. There were few windows, if any, and though the wooden floorboards gleamed, they were dark and stained.

"My father doesn't need to come up here much anymore," Theo admitted. "All the same, try to leave everything how you found it."

"Where is your father right now?" Hermione asked.

"Out," Theo said dully. "Who knows what he's up to?"

At the end of the hall behind a large, imposing wooden door was a study, and when Theo lit the torches around the room, Hermione gasped.

The study was a study taken from classical times, with huge, high-reaching bookshelves around the room and giant maps pinned around the room. There was an old drafter's desk set up against one wall, as well as a large table in the center of the room with large drawers underneath it, long enough to hold other rolled-up maps. There was another smaller, more conservative desk made of a rich gleaming wood as well, and the globe on the corner of it looked like it was made of semi-precious gemstones.

"Hedgewitches, right?" Theo asked over his shoulder. He was already rummaging through rolled up papers in the drawers of the large table.

"Yes," Hermione said, drifting closer. "Anything you can find to do with that."

Theo hummed as he went through maps quickly, checking titles written on the back before shifting them aside. Hermione was surprised to see many of the maps were titled with names of countries from the continent. She didn't expect Thoros Nott to have maps of magical France or Spain.

"This might work?" Theo said, pausing to look at one. "Well, maybe."

He untied and unrolled the map over the huge table, and Hermione lit her wand and looked closer, curious.

The map was a huge drawing of the British Isles and Ireland. Key landmarks were labeled, such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Gringotts, St. Mungo's, and the Ministry of Magic, but there were other landmarks drawn on and labeled too, with the map divided up into rough sections. There, in Wiltshire, there was a structure labeled Malfoy Manor, and there, in Devon, near a small familiar village was a building simply labeled Lovegoods.

"How come Malfoy gets 'Malfoy Manor', but Luna only gets 'Lovegoods'?" Hermione asked Theo, scrunching her nose. "I've been to her house. It might not be a manor, but it's certainly something."

"Luna doesn't live in her ancestral home," Theo said, pointing over to Ireland at a larger structure labeled Lovegood Teach. "Will this work?"

"Where are the hedgewitches located?" Hermione asked, and Theo winced.

"They're kind of around each of the manors and estates?" he said. "This one doesn't show their villages."

"I am not going to traipse all over the Malfoy lands just looking for hedgewitches around," Hermione said, her hands on her hips, and Theo sighed and began rifling through more of the maps.

When he was distracted with the others, Hermione quietly cast Gemino and made a copy of the current map, though, just in case, which she hurriedly rolled up, shrunk, and stuffed into her robes.

"Aha!" Theo pulled out another map, unrolling it. "I think this one is it."

This map was also a large map of the British Isles and Ireland, but this time, it had clear sections marked on it and little areas and villages marked down.

"These are the hedgewitch community hubs," Theo said with satisfaction. "It's hard to mark them, because they all tend to live far apart and move around, but these are the places where it was observed they congregated the most."

"Perfect," Hermione breathed, looking over the map with fascinated eyes. It seemed that each area had at least one community hub, possibly two, and there were a few larger places that seemed to be on the borders of several areas, possibly for larger hubs of multiple communities there. She beamed up at Theo. "Thank you, Theo! This is exactly what I need."

Theo looked thrown for a moment. "Ah… sure thing, Hermione."

Hermione happily cast Gemino and rolled up her own copy of the map, shrinking it and tucking it into her pocket. She turned to regard Theo when she was done, who had finished reorganizing the maps and carefully putting them away.

"Do you know what favor you'd like yet?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

Theo winced.

"I mean, I know what the favor I want is," he said. "I just don't know how to ask you for it yet."

"You could try with words?" Hermione suggested, and Theo laughed.

"I'll get around to it, don't worry," he told her, his eyes glinting. "You go worry about wooing the hedgewitches to vote for you." He paused. "Though I don't think they can hurt you, since you're New Blood and all, you should still be careful. There are some that might try to take your magic anyway."

Hermione bit her lip hard and merely thanked him for his advice.

Chapter Text

There was only a little over a week until she would need to go to the Goblin Underground, something Hermione still needed to bring up with her parents – how does one ask their parents for permission to go to an inaccessible, legendary, and highly restricted (possibly dangerous) location for an unspecified amount of time? – so she focused on campaigning for British Youth Representative as fully and as best she could.

First, she and Tracey scoped out the competition. From what Hermione could tell, 'campaigning' generally involved hanging around Diagon Alley a lot, talking to people, and buying them ice cream, if Cho Chang's model was anything to go off of. Lee Jordan seemed to hang out around Zonko's more and not buy people ice cream, but Hermione suspected he was giving them tricks and pranks either he had made or that he'd gotten from Zonko's – probably in some sort of group discount.

When she drifted near enough to eavesdrop, nothing they were doing actually sounded like campaigning, though – it sounded like people just hanging out with their friends.

"People want to vote for someone they feel thinks like them," Tracey said, shrugging. "Best way to do that is to make friends, right?"

While Hermione may have seen the merit in her point, she was trying to woo the hedgewitch community – which was a whole group of people who very much did not think like her. She expected it would be somewhat of a challenge.

It was with great hesitation that Hermione sent an owl to Derek, the hedgewitch boy she'd met at Carkitt Market, thanking him for his kindness that day and asking if he was willing to spend more time with her to help her learn more about the hedgewitch community. She'd gotten a response (of sorts) the next day:

Dear Witch-girl,

I would love to chat with you! Clover and Worm are keen for a chat too if you're willing?

We can meet at The Yard on Sunday after sunset, or at Arden on Monday round midday?

Can't wait!

-Derek

Both places were on the map she'd obtained from Theo. The Yard seemed to be a pub or restaurant of sorts, while Arden seemed to literally just be a place marked in the forest of Arden with no indication of what was there. Either was fine with Hermione, and she gratefully replied to Derek that she'd be happy to meet him at either one (or both).

The difficulty came in getting to the The Yard. It seemed it wasn't hooked up to the Floo Network, for all her efforts, and Hermione hadn't the slightest notion how to get there otherwise. She was far too young to Apparate, and Portkeys were heavily regulated and pricey. She wondered how the hedgewitches got there, given she doubted they could Apparate, especially without wands.

As it was, Daphne had to call in a favor with Marcus Flint, allowing Hermione to Floo to his manor a couple hours before sundown, the closest Floo point she could find. Hermione walked the rest of the way on foot, and it took her over an hour to get there. She was incredibly glad she had mastered her air elemental; she hadn't thought to put on a cooling charm before leaving the house, and keeping a magically-driven breeze around her helped ensure she wasn't too sweaty looking or disheveled when she finally arrived.

From the outside, The Yard looked like a large, converted barn, surrounded by stomped-down grass or dirt and a few scattered picnic tables. The outside of the building had been either painted or stained a darker color than the wood used for construction; Hermione could tell because it was patchy and wearing off in some places, leaving spots a distinctly lighter color than the rest. A large sign over the big double doors proclaimed "The Yard" in a fancy, vaguely medieval looking font.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed open the doors and went in.

Hermione suddenly felt very silly for her assumption about what the inside of the building would look like. The outside looked like a barn; she'd presumed the inside would be like a barn as well, with scattered hay and picnic tables.

Instead, the inside resembled more of a grand Viking mead hall, with long tables that stretched the entire length of the room. Giant wooden candle chandeliers hung from the ceiling on rope and pulleys, unlit, and the walls were decorated with drinking horns, animal pelts, and old shields and weapons. A long, gleaming bar was off to the right side of the building, where a couple people were drying glasses, and there were stools set up all the length of the bar as well.

Eventually, Hermione was sure, she would stop forgetting what all magic could do.

It was still well before sundown, and the place was still mostly empty. There were a couple people at the far end of the building, drinking together from old beer steins at the farthest table, but besides herself and the bar tenders, they were the only people in the room. Shrugging to herself, Hermione took a seat at the bar, watching as the bar tenders dried glasses and hung them up.

One of the bar tenders shot her a smile and a wink, which made Hermione grin and smile back. He had shaggy brown hair and warm brown eyes, with a rather nasty-looking scar on his neck that looked like he'd been torn open with a fishing hook. He looked like he wasn't too much older than her, probably over seventeen but under twenty-two, she estimated. After he finished, he came over to her with a grin.

"Not often we get a pretty little lady in here like yourself," he said slyly, wagging his eyebrows. "What can I get for you?"

"Do you have butterbeer?" Hermione asked, and the man laughed.

"'Fraid not," he said, chuckling. "We have simpler things here, love."

"Oh," she said. "Err – what do you have?"

"We've got ale, and we've got wizard's ale," the man said, listing off on his fingers. "We have whiskey, we have mead, we have witch's mead, and if you're willing to spend a pretty penny, we've got some elven wine in the back."

The barn appeared to have only one room, as far as Hermione could tell, so she didn't know how there could be anything 'in the back' if it didn't exist.

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, then," Hermione admitted, wincing. "I'm not of age to have alcohol yet."

The man raised an eyebrow.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Thirteen," Hermione sighed. "Fourteen in two months."

The man laughed.

"That's plenty old enough to have alcohol!" he said. "Once your magic starts growing, there's no reason not to!"

"You start giving people alcohol at age eleven?" Hermione asked incredulously, and the man shrugged.

"I'm not proposin' you start getting drunk when you're still a wee little thing, but a bit of ale or mead never hurt anybody," he said.

Hermione bit her tongue, unwilling to discuss the dangers of alcohol with minors with a stranger she was trying to befriend.

"What's the most mild, then?" she asked. She gave him a tentative smile. "I'm meeting a friend, and I don't want to be too tipsy when he gets here."

The man looked her up and down, evaluating.

"I can cut some mead for you," he suggested. "Mix it with a bit of cider and apple and honey and spices for you so it's not as strong."

"That would be wonderful," she told the man, offering a grateful smile. "I'll have that, then. Thank you."

The man grinned. "Not a problem."

He set about making her the drink, beginning with a large bottle of mead from behind the bar and pouring it into a large opaque cup that looked more like a drinking horn than a glass, only with the bottom cut off and flattened so it could stand. Hermione could smell the alcohol from the mead as he poured, and she winced, glad he was diluting it with something else for her as well.

"So what brings you to The Yard?" the man asked, making conversation as he set aside the jug. "We don't often see your kind around here."

"'My kind'?" Hermione repeated, and the man smirked.

"Witches," he said. "Wizards. Ones with wands."

"Some hedgewitches have wands," Hermione protested. "I saw them, in Carkitt Market less than a week ago."

The man laughed.

"Just 'cause you have a bit of wood strapped into a bit of leather at your belt doesn't make it a wand," he told her, eyes sparkling. "But it does make it more likely wizards will leave you alone."

"Oh," Hermione faltered. "I didn't realize…"

The man shrugged. "Just a fact of life."

Hermione wondered how these people could be so resigned to their fate.

"I'm waiting for someone I met at the square, actually," she said. "Derek. He said he'd come around sundown?"

The man laughed.

"They all come around sundown," he said, his grin teasing. "Here."

He set the large cup in front of her. Hermione leaned down to smell it, and it smelled almost sickly sweet with the scent of honey and herbs. Steeling herself, Hermione lifted it to her lips, only to be surprised by the lightly sweet and slightly tart taste of the warm drink, only the slightest bite of alcohol coming with it.

"That's delicious!" she exclaimed, looking up to him. "Did you just make that up?"

"A bit," he said, grinning. "I usually only cut mead with honey water, but you looked like you needed a little more of something to you, so I added the apple in."

"This is brilliant," she told him. "Thank you! What do I owe you?"

The man hesitated.

"Mead is a bit more expensive than ale," he told her slowly, "and honey is as well."

Hermione bit her lip. She'd brought money with her, but the way the man was talking, she was afraid he was going to ask for ten galleons for the drink.

"How much is it?" she asked again, bracing herself.

The man winced. "17 knuts."

Hermione blinked.

"I'm sorry," she said conversationally. "I thought I just heard you say seventeen knuts."

"Mead's a lot more than ale," the man defended. "A glass of ale is only two knuts, but mead and honey are—"

"You misunderstand me," Hermione cut him off. "I would expect to pay five sickles for that in Diagon Alley, you realize?"

The man relaxed, then gave her a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," he said, running his hand through his hair. "We get some drunkards drinking the fancy things here and then not wanting to pay for them, especially after they've had a pint or two."

"How much are the fancy things?" Hermione asked curiously, setting a sickle onto the bar.

"Mead itself is seven knuts," the man said, "but witch's mead is eleven. When they're drunk and can't do math easily, things can get out of hand."

Hermione bit her lip. She felt very out of her element and shaken, being in a world where someone would throw a fit over what amounted to less than thirty pence.

"What else is there?" she asked. "How much do you ask for whiskey or wine?"

"Whiskey is ten," the man said, his eyes glittering, "but wine is more."

"How much more?" Hermione inquired, and he smirked.

"You have to realize," he told her, "that elf-made wine is very rare, and very hard to get."

"Is it?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I wouldn't have thought that. Surely it's just made from grapes?"

"Aye, it is," he said slyly. "But 'tis more than that. It's easy enough to make wine – it's much harder to get the Fair Folk to dance 'round your barrels while they're fermenting. Takes guts, for one, to try and get anything from the Good Neighbors, as well as careful timing and plentiful offerings. And then even if you do leave honey milk out for them on the nights they ride, there's never a certainty."

Hermione sat very still.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I think I've misunderstood something along the way." She swallowed. "When you said 'elf-made wine', I thought you meant wine made by House Elves."

The man laughed uproariously at that.

"Brownies can't be making wine," he laughed. "I would flinch to see them attempt."

"So when you said 'elf'," she said. "You meant—"

"The aos sí," he said. His words sounded like ees shee. He grinned a crooked grin at her. "The Sidhe don't often knowingly interact with our kind, but if they are going to, getting elf-made wine is far from the worst outcome possible."

"You're talking about the Fae," Hermione breathed. Her eyes were wide. "Like, old school faeries, not the little ones with insect wings."

The man gave her an odd look.

"Of course. Are you saying you didn't know this?" he asked. "Why did you think they were called 'House Elves' if there weren't other kinds of elves?"

Hermione felt a bit weak.

"I am beginning to think that wizard culture is dramatically different than this culture… hedgewitch culture? Whatever you call yourselves," she said. "I don't think wizards believe in the Fae at all."

The man rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"It would figure," he said dryly. "Living in manors and stone houses as they do, they're farther from the earth and her mysteries. They place wards of iron and protection on their dwellings and so never have to worry. The more common folk, we remember, we know, and we pass down the stories."

"What stories?" Hermione asked. She glanced at a clock hanging up on the wall. "I've got more time before sundown than I expected, and I must admit, I'm terribly curious."

The man grinned, his eyes glinting.

"Dangerous thing, curiosity," he teased, "but so long as you don't mind if I wipe while I talk, I think it'll be alright."

Hermione beamed.

Aurican (the bartender's name, after they had finally made introductions) was an excellent resource on local stories and legends.

According to hedgewitch culture, magical beings and creatures were the result of failed Fae breeding attempts with other beings on Earth millennia ago. While the resulting children were not Fae themselves, and thus considered a failure in the eyes of the Fae, they did possess magic of their own, and were new beings unto their own. Hermione had read tales of Fae and their breeding difficulties a long, long time ago as a girl, and it was fascinating to hear similar legends now on the origin of magic.

While she accepted the idea of the Fae trying to have Fae children with humans and it resulting in magical children as plausible, it was harder for her to accept that it meant the Fae would have also laid with horses, creating the unicorns and centaurs, or with fish, creating mermaids.

"You need to understand," Aurican told her, wiping a glass. "The Fae are not human. Their moral system is entirely different than ours. Never trust a Faerie, and don't presume to have any sort of reference point as to what they will or will not do."

The magic gifted to the children of the Fae was then passed down from parent to child, generation to generation, forming magical bloodlines. The higher up the attempting Fae had been in the Faerie Courts, Aurican told her, the more powerful the resulting magical bloodline. The weaker the Fae, the weaker the resulting children.

"That's why there are the Sacred 28 and the other powerful houses," Aurican told her. "They got a stronger strain of magic from the start."

"But the Sacred 28 don't even believe in the Fae," Hermione argued. "They believe that Magic itself reached out directly to bless certain families."

He shrugged.

"Who's to say it didn't?" he said, equivocating. "Doesn't mean Magic didn't reach out and bless them 'cause they weren't part Fae."

As Hermione pressed him, though, it became more apparent that despite the relative certainty with which he spoke, his tales were still just legends.

"Of course no one's seen them in ages," he said, snorting. "Why would you want to? They'll carry you off under their hill, or make you dance 'til you're dead."

"If no one's seen them, how do you know it's elf-made wine you get?" she argued.

Aurican grinned and shrugged.

"If it makes you giddy with stronger magic when you drink it," he said. "The Fair Folk leave flowers floating in the barrels after they pass by."

"What's preventing people from throwing flowers in themselves and claiming it's elf-made wine?" Hermione wanted to know. "How could a person tell the difference?"

The bartender shuddered.

"I wouldn't dare claim something was elf-made when it wasn't," he said. "It might offend them, which could quickly get very, very bad."

"But what if someone did?" Hermione pressed. "If it was the flowers that gave the wine the extra kick, not the magic of the Fae themselves, could it be imitated?"

"I guess," he said reluctantly. He shrugged. "So long as it works and it sells, though, I suppose it doesn't much make a difference to me."

Aurican's stories began to rapidly make some things very clear, though. The hedgewitches were resigned to their lot in life because they genuinely believed they lacked the magic to power a wand. They seemed just grateful to have any kind of magic, and they left offerings of honey and flowers for the Fae in their gardens to keep their favor and avoid their wrath. Hermione remembered all the requests for small animal statues she'd gotten in the market square – one girl had mentioned it was for the Fae.

"The purebloods are afraid that the hedgewitches steal magic," Hermione told her new teacher. "Do you know what all that's about?"

Aurican's face darkened.

"We can't steal their magic, not really, but the rumor that we can certainly gives them reason to hate and avoid us, doesn't it?" His tone was dry, resentful. "There are old, old rituals that might let a person do such a thing, but they are old, and they require a lot of power. More power than anyone has, I think."

"Do you know of these rituals?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "Do you have them in books? Have they been passed down?"

"I know of rumor and legend," he admitted. "Anyone who had such knowledge would not share it easily, I'd wager." He sniffed. "More likely, some stupid pureblood offended the Fae and received a bloodline curse and was stripped of his magic, and he blamed the hedgewitches instead."

"The Fae can steal magic?" Hermione was fascinated.

"I wouldn't say steal it, not if it was theirs in the first place," Aurican said. "More like return it from whence it came – either back into themselves, or into the earth with all other magic."

Hermione made a mental note to look for wizarding books on the Fae as soon as she could get back to Diagon Alley for a shopping trip.

Over time, more and more people filtered in. Hermione stood out from the color and quality of her robes (and the fact that she wore robes at all, really), and she soon found herself surrounded by a cluster of people, all seemingly interested and amused by her curiosity with their culture, many of them willing to answer her questions in exchange for a drink that cost only a few knuts.

Magic, to them, was more about using plants and other magical bits to make things happen. Some of it Hermione recognized, like using Murtlap Essence to heal wounds, but some Hermione had never heard of, like tossing Feverfew into the air and reciting a little ditty to protect against fire and burns.

"Does it work?" Hermione asked. "Does it actually stop you from getting burned?"

One of the new hedgewitches grinned at her. They were very lithe, and Hermione couldn't quite tell if they were a boy or a girl.

"I mean, as far as spells go, it only lasts for an hour or so," they said. "But it's more for protection – I don't know anyone who's tried to get burned to see if it works, just people who want a bit of luck when using the oven to make dinner or jumping the bonfire."

By the time Derek arrived, The Yard had filled up considerably. It seemed to be the place to go to relax and hang out after a long day's work, and Hermione was alarmed to see most of the people around looked under 25. She supposed it made sense that more mature adults would want to relax away from a bunch of teenagers, but it felt very incongruous to see a bunch of teenagers drinking and carrying on as if they were full adults in their own right. Some of them looked like they were twelve.

"Hermione!" Derek cried, giving her a grin. He turned to Aurican. "Buy the lady an ale, on my tab!"

"I daresay I've got enough drinks at this point," Hermione laughed. She smiled up at Derek. "Good to see you."

Derek grinned at her.

"It's excellent to see you again," he said. "I'm surprised you came! I thought you'd give up on us hedges, eh?"

"Why would you think that?" Hermione was almost offended.

"'Cause everyone else does," a disillusioned girl who looked to be about Hermione's age said, her voice cynical. "They might pretend to like us, but you all go back to your manors at the end of the day while we go to our huts."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well, I certainly don't have a manor, but I grasp your point," she said slowly. She met the girl's eyes. "I do want to learn more about you and your culture, though. How could I adequately represent you if I don't know what you want or need?"

That caused some confusion until Derek and some of the others explained that she was running for British Youth Representative. Several of the people present didn't seem to know what that was, but they didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"I want some fuckin' gloves," one boy said, scowling at his cut-up hands. "Pickin' through nettles without proper gloves hurts like the dickens."

"I think we should go back to bread allotments," another groused. "I hate baking bread."

This complaint brought a cry of protest from the others.

"Las' time we got bread allotments, we all fell ill," one girl spat. "Cannae trust the purebloods to keep us hearty and hale and alive."

"Easier to take care of it ourselves," a boy said with a sigh. "Even though it's rotten. I hate baking, too."

"They're supposed to keep us safe, though," one girl grumbled. She looked to be about sixteen. "Word is Greyback was prowling around Cumbria last month. I can bake my own bread; give me silver wards to keep me and mine safe."

There was a grumble of agreement at this, resentment and fear flashing across many faces, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Err..." she ventured. "What's Greyback?"

There was a visible stir of surprise at this.

"Fenrir Greyback is a well-known werewolf," Aurican told her, a dark look on his face. "He takes a fancy to turning children, raising them feral in the woods. He's been trying to build an army to take on the Ministry for years."

"A werewolf?" Hermione was somewhat horrified. "And he just savages children?"

"He bites them, and then he either carries them off in the night, or leaves them to terrorize their kinsmen," the original speaker said, her eyes hard. "He comes after our people more than yours – our villages and homes don't have silver wards like the manors do. But they should - there used to be silver wards around the lands, too."

"That's awful." Hermione felt sick inside. "I don't know much about werewolves, but I promise you, I'll look into it. And if I'm Youth Representative, I'll see just what I can do to help. It's not right, that you should be in such danger each month."

The girl looked satisfied by this answer, taking her ale and going off to drink with some friends in another area of the long hall.

Other concerns expressed by the hedgewitches were along the same lines – protection from wildlife and the elements, more food, and freedom to go where they pleased.

"To go where you please?" Hermione asked, blinking.

"The Ministry won't link you up on the Floo Network unless you've got a 'proper' house," Derek explained, scowling. "Just a hearth and a chimney isn't enough. No, you have to have a proper fireplace…"

"How do you get anywhere, then?" She had been wondering, ever since she'd taken the long trip from the Flint's down to the Yard.

"Brooms." Derek's answer was simple. "We take brooms. But even flyin', it can take a minute to get from one place to another."

"Brooms? You all just fly?" Hermione asked, shocked. "What if the muggles see you?"

"That's why we have brooms with anti-Muggle Disillusionment charms, innit?" he said, giving her a crooked smile. "Don't worry, Hermione – one thing we don't do is give away magic to the muggles. We're the ones they'll come after and burn first if they ever find out."

Hermione listened actively, taking mental notes of their concerns, but she had a hard time hiding her surprise as she listened. She'd expected they'd want education of their own, the chance to learn and master magic, maybe a secondhand wand program to help get everyone a wand. Instead, they wanted wards to protect their houses, bigger grain allotments, and for the purebloods who owned their land and homes to help out more.

"They're supposed ta help us with things needin' spellwork once a month," Derek grumbled. "Fixin' shoes and the like, things with a wand. But those days always end up 'cancelled', and by the time one finally sticks, your tunic's worn out into just threads."

As the night wore on, much of the crowd migrated outside, and Hermione went with them, curious. The night was warm and balmy, and she'd gotten another honeyed mead to nurse. Around the side of the building, several bonfires were burning, each of a different color, and people were leaping over them and laughing.

"What are they doing?" Hermione wanted to know, shocked and a little afraid.

"Practicin' leapin'," Derek told her. "Bonfire leapin' is part o' many of the festivals. Not so much for Lugnasa or the autumn equinox, but for Samhain for sure, an' it always is for Midsummer, which was a few weeks ago."

Hermione felt a thrill in her chest.

"The old festivals?" she asked conversationally. "You still celebrate them here?"

Derek gave her an odd look.

"What else would we be celebrating?" he asked.

"At Hogwarts," Hermione said, her mouth dry, "they celebrate Christmas and Easter and Valentine's Day."

Derek guffawed loudly at this, and a couple others nearby broke into uproarious laughter.

"Why?" he wanted to know. "Those aren't magic festivals – those are muggle holidays. Muggle ones! Of all places, I would expect Hogwarts to recognize magic!"

"The power of the old festivals frightens the Ministry, I think," Hermione said, gnawing at her lip. "Powerful rituals can be done on such days, and rituals are much harder to control than the use of a wand."

Derek sobered a bit.

"That's fair," he said slowly. "Ministry's stamped down on those, I know." He looked around at his peers, who were drinking, singing, and leaping over fires to mixed results. "None o' us do rituals like the witches of old, really. Just the typical holiday ones." He sighed. "Wish I could, though. It'd be nice."

"Why don't you?" Hermione asked.

"Too weak," Derek dismissed. "Don't have the magic."

"If you think you're too weak as one person—" which Hermione was convinced was a self-convinced delusion, not a truth "—why don't you join with some others and form a coven?"

Derek snorted.

"Coven rings were banned over a hundred years ago," he said.

"You can still form a coven without coven rings," Hermione argued, aware of how hypocritical it felt while she wore her own on her finger.

"Yeah, but you can only share magic during rituals, then," Derek dismissed. "If you're going to go to the trouble of forming a coven, you'd want it to be for always, not just when you're doing Ritual Magic."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Technically, the Ministry only banned the sale of such things," she said. "If you could get someone who knew how to make them, someone who would give them to people, not sell them, and then you could thank that person with other things, not money…"

Derek caught her meaning, and he looked thoughtful.

"I know there's a silversmith up by Worm's domain," he said. "I dunno if he has the magic to enchant coven rings, though. Just the skill to make them, maybe."

"It's a first step?" Hermione offered, and Derek laughed.

"Why are you so insistent on this, little witch?" he teased her. "So worried about us poor hedges doing magic, wanting to give us wands or make covens."

"It's just…" Hermione bit her lip, struggled to find the right words. "When I found out I was magic, it was incredible, but when I really could use magic, that's when I really felt like I'd come into myself." It was hard to articulate what she meant, but her voice held her passion and sincerity. "I want all magical people to be able to feel like that – to feel like magic is a part of them, not just something they use from time to time."

"And is it?" Derek challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Part of you?"

Hermione's eyes were on the teens leaping over the fire. They took running jumps and tumbled on the other side to put out any flames that had caught their clothes alight, regardless of if they had caught fire or not. It was a far cry from the elegant, acrobatic flips and spins the House Elves had done on Wassail Eve, sparks of magic trailing in their wake.

Reaching for the earth elemental inside of her, Hermione filtered her magic through it and down into the earth. She could feel the earth elemental react to her intentions with almost amusement, but it reached out anyway, reaching to find silica and quartz in the earth around them all, thousands of thin, tiny tendrils of magic bringing particles to the surface of the ground.

Hermione approached the largest fire, watching, and Derek hurried to her side, putting a hand on her arm, alarmed.

"You shouldn't jump wearing that," he said seriously. "It flaps too much. Too much fabric. You could catch fire."

"The other girls are jumping," Hermione said mildly.

"They're wearing kirtles, not robes," he said. "Doesn't have the flouncy sleeves yours does."

"My sleeves won't catch fire if I jump over high enough over the fire," Hermione pointed out, and Derek scoffed.

"That's a dangerous risk to take, witch-girl," he said. "And not to be rude, but you're not the fastest or strongest here, and those that are still catch aflame from time to time."

Hermione smiled.

"Do you want to see Magic?" she asked. "Or not?"

His eyes grew wide, and Derek fell back, and the crowd around the fires slowly seemed to realize something was happening when they saw her near the largest fire, the teens falling into a hush as they watched.

Hermione approached, looking it over analytically. The bonfire was high, maybe between four and five feet tall. Her mind ran over jumps she'd seen in the past, from the simple flips of the House Elves to high jumps she'd seen in the Olympics to complicated gymnastic floor routines. The air elemental inside of her was quivering, alight and excited, as if anticipating her intentions before she had really decided what she was going to do. Eyes still on the fire, she took several long steps backwards to give herself space.

With a deep breath, focusing and centering her magic, Hermione reopened her eyes, ready.

Her air elemental was already in action as she ran towards the fire, working with the earth elemental to blow up small pieces of silica and quartz into her trail as she ran, leaving the illusion of sparkles in the air in her wake. As she approached the fire, she planted her feet into the ground firmly, blocking her body in at a 45 degree angle before leaping over the fire, the air elemental guiding her much, much higher than she'd ever have been able to jump on her own. She tucked her head into her chest and somersaulted in the air, once, twice, three times as she went over the fire, before landing some safe distance on the other side, her body bouncing slightly as she landed, impact reverberating through her legs.

As she landed, she could see the last sparkles in the air settle behind her, and she smiled, laughing in relief. That had been almost fun, once she'd gotten over her fear. There was a silence for a moment before the crowd broke out into whooping and cheering, laughing.

"Merlin's tits!" One of the teens came over to her, astonished. "How in the bloody fuck did you do that?"

Hermione laughed. "Magic?"

To her amusement, the teens demanded she do it again and again, moving to a smaller fire where they tried too. Though she stopped with the sparkles in the air, Hermione obliged them, running and flipping in the air over and over again, her air elemental giving her speed and height where her physical skill could not.

By the time she finally left that night (it was nearly eleven, far later than she'd anticipated she'd be out), Hermione had flipped over the fire, backflipped over it, and done an artistic sort of twisting thing as well as she jumped. A few of the teens had gotten the hang of flipping (once) over the fire as they ran and jumped, but she was the only one to flip three time through the air over the fire as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It had been exhilarating, more exciting and more fun than she'd thought, and her eyes were bright.

Flipping over fires certainly wasn't what she had expected she'd be doing that evening, but if magic acrobatics tricks were what it took to get the hedgewitches' votes, Hermione would learn to do magical gymnastics feats as best she could.

She'd never felt so alive.

Chapter Text

Hermione met Derek at Arden the next day as well. 'Arden' just seemed to be a clearing in the Forest of Arden where people hung out, as well as a sort of free market with a couple carts that had sprung up. Derek waved to her from across the clearing from next to a large rock. Clover and Worm were both with him this time, both looking pleased to see her again.

"Took the liberty of spreadin' the word that you would fix things for people," he told her cheerily. "Didn't think you'd mind."

"And I desperately need my skirt fixed," Clover said, holding up the cloth in her arms. "I don't want to take needle and thread to a tear like this."

With a smile, Hermione withdrew her wand.

"Reparo."

The skirt sealed itself seamlessly, and Clover beamed.

"Brilliant!" she said. She looked at Hermione, hesitating. "Can we bring more than one thing? Or do we each only get one?"

"I'll fix things as long as I'm able to," Hermione said, shrugging. "If we end up with a line, you might need to come through multiple times, but I don't think it would be a problem?"

Clover scurried off, undoubtedly to grab something else she wanted fixed. Hermione climbed up onto the large rock, fancying it a sort of seat where she could survey the clearing, and Derek and Worm laughed.

"Oh, hush," Hermione said, flushing. "I'm not as tall as you. I can't see over everything."

"No matter," Worm said easily with a grin. "Here – can you enchant my shears so they won't rust?"

Hermione didn't know a spell to prevent rust. She considered a long moment, thoughtful.

"Impervius."

The Impervius Charm might not prevent rust, but it would repel water and mist, and that would prevent rust, she figured. She grinned at Worm, who grinned back.

"It's just so easy for you," he said, shaking his head, admiring. "Wish I could do it too."

"You could try," Hermione said, offering, and Worm laughed.

"I know our way of life might seem mad to you," he told her, a sparkle in his eye, "but we're largely content with our lot. We work magic in the land, we cast our spells with cauldrons and pots, and we dance under the stars."

"Greater magic means greater responsibility," Derek said, nodding. "And who'd want to be locked up in a big stone room all day working on government-type things?"

Hermione said nothing, as she wanted to do just such a thing.

Word gradually spread, and people skeptically began approaching Hermione, asking for help with various issues. Adults approached her as well as teens, now, a few women asking for their aprons to be cleaned or mended, one woman for her glasses to be fixed. Hermione was happy to offer her help, and the women seemed pleased for her aid when they left to return to their stalls.

While she cast and others lined up, Derek and Worm took up a game of proclaiming Hermione as a candidate for the Youth Representative to the crowd, trying to outdo the other. Look, here was a person who actually wanted to help! And she was kind, not a stuck-up Sacred 28 scion! She killed some giant snake that was very dangerous! She could fix your clothes; give her a chance at fixing the government!

Hermione was hard pressed not to laugh as their loud attempts at persuading the crowd grew sillier and sillier. But she appreciated them nonetheless.

As she continued to help the hedgewitches, Hermione watched over the clearing, feeling very aware of who and what she was. It was such a culture shock, this community, and she felt very much out of place. She was determined to not look down on these people, but it was difficult for her to not try and help them. Surely if they were given the opportunity to get wands, to go to school, they could make a better life for themselves? She had just healed a boy who stood in line for a broken nose, for goodness' sake. Surely they'd prefer to be able to heal such things themselves?

But they had said themselves that they hardly wanted that. They didn't even believe they had enough magic to use wands, let alone go to school to learn wizardry. They wanted to stay safe, they wanted food, and they wanted freedom. Mandatory schooling would hardly help with that, Hermione knew. And she was determined to only help them in the ways they wanted, for now.

That was made somewhat more difficult by the way people kept coming up, asking for things mended or enchanted. It was part of their way of life, it seemed, to ask the local wizard who owned the land for help with magic. All the hedgewitches seemed unphased by it, but it still felt very odd to Hermione, like she had assumed some position of authority by being able to cast second-year spells.

She watched as more and more people came to the market as the day wore on. More carts and stalls got set up, with people trading mostly food - bread, roots, salted meats, ale. Hermione wondered if they sold what they could in their own villages, with this market a sort of inter-community trading hub to try and get some variety of foods in their lives. For a moment, she considered telling them about muggle grocery stores, before she paused - people here fought over 30 pence, she recalled. There was no way they were likely to afford muggle store prices.

Hermione kept her thoughts and did her best to just keep helping people, mending their clothes, enchanting their boots, and helping with whatever she could. Derek stood guard with her, helping to keep people in a line when there were a few of them at a time, and explaining about her running for Youth Representative. Though he didn't quite get the particulars of the Wizengamot out, he did get the gist of it across - if you're a 'youth', please come and vote, which more of the teens seemed happy to agree to.

People began asking for more complicated things over time, which was a fun challenge for Hermione to try. Someone wanted their shears fixed, and then for them to stop breaking, which had Hermione layering an Impervius Charm along with an Unbreakable Charm, though it was difficult. A young girl no more than eight asked for her kirtle to be purple, and it was with a laugh Hermione used a Color-Changing Charm to turn her skirts into a lovely violet shade. A few people wanted things made bigger or smaller, which she was able to do relatively easily, but one request stumped her.

"I'm sorry," she told the woman, "but I have no idea how to make the inside of the bag bigger than the outside."

"But they can do it!" the woman insisted. "I'd seen it! I'd seen it in the Alley! They got bags bigger inside than on the out!"

"I know they have them, but I don't know how to make them yet," Hermione said apologetically. "It's more advanced magic than I know. I can shrink things to fit into your bag, though, if you like?"

The woman moved off, grumbling, and Hermione winced. She was glad the woman was too old to vote for Youth Representative; she would have likely actively voted against Hermione, she seemed so perturbed.

Once Clover had returned and gotten another three skirts mended, she taught Hermione a bit more about how hedgewitch magic worked when the line lulled.

"It's a lot of runes and symbols and crystals," she explained. "Like when I leave in the morning, if the glass in the door is foggy, I trace a sigil on it before I go – usually a pentacle or Fehu."

"Or what?" Hermione tried to follow along.

"It's a rune," Clover explained. "It brings wealth and luck. And drawing the sigil helps my magic manifest what I drew into being." She shrugged. "See? Simple spells."

Others involved crystals, which was something new to Hermione.

"I keep a citrine crystal over my purse when I go to bed," Clover said. "It helps bring wealth. I keep a coin of rose quartz in my pocket when I go on a date. Sometimes at a festival, I'll wear an amethyst on a necklace – it helps you perceive magic more clearly and gives you more control."

"This is fascinating," Hermione said, her eyes wide. "Are all crystals magic?"

Clover shrugged. "Probably? They soak up the magic from the earth, don't they? If they get tainted, you have to cleanse them, but that's about it I think?"

Cleansing crystals involved washing them under running water and leaving them out in the moonlight overnight. Hermione listened attentively, but she couldn't help but feel somewhat boggled.

"Crystals just... soak up magic?" Hermione repeated. "How does that work?"

Clover frowned. "The same way any jewel can hold an enchantment well, I guess. I don't know how it works - it just does."

"I think maybe crystals grow close to the earth's veins of magic," Derek said, nodding wisely. "The places where magic is stronger in the air."

Hermione remembered the sense of magic vibrating heavily in the air with the House Elves on Wassail Eve.

"Tell me more," she pleaded. "What else is your magic like?"

As Clover continued explaining magic things she might do, Hermione found herself more and more lost. To her frustration, the hedgewitch form of magic didn't really seem to follow any sort of rules she could divine. There was no cast-effect spell path to follow, no certain outcomes for things. A lot of it seemed very wishy-washy to Hermione. And the hedgewitches seemed entirely fine with it. This was magic, to them.

"I pick a card from the tarot deck before I go about my day," Worm told her. "Tells me what to expect, what I might need to bring along."

"Divination," Hermione said, understanding. "I start that class this year."

"Helps a lot," Worm said, nodding. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"What'd you get today?" Clover asked Worm. "I got Queen of Pentacles."

"I got five of Pentacles reversed," Worm admitted with a grin. He looked sideways at Hermione. "Not much of a surprise, there."

Clover and Worm both laughed. Hermione felt a bit put-out, not understanding the joke, but she tried to keep her jealousy from showing on her face.

As she spent the day at Arden, though, Hermione began to see how the hedgewitches might be happy with their way of life. It was an easy flow of life, it seemed. They had more free time, certainly – they didn't toil in the fields of their landlords all day, just for a few hours – and they took delight in running about, playing games like they were still children. No one had jobs that took all day, and life seemed slower, but full of family and friends.

Hermione wondered if she could ever be happy in such a place. Maybe if she had been raised to it, she reasoned, but now that she knew what was possible, she doubted she'd ever be content with such a life. There was too much else to discover, too many other things to see.

Still, though – she was glad that the hedgewitches, even as loathed by the wizards as they were, seemed mostly content with their lot in life.

Chapter Text

"You got letters," Hermione's father greeted her when she got home. His eyes were dancing. "One of them came by raven."

"By raven?" Hermione said, frowning. "Usually they use owls."

"That's what I thought," her father said with a grin. "Still – we had a raven in the house going mad, trying to figure out where the window was again to escape."

"We'll need you to fix the lamp in the sitting room, dear!" her mother called. "The bird ran into it on its way out."

After Hermione changed out of her robes into something more casual and had repaired the lamp, she sat down at the table to read her letters while her father read the paper. The first she tore into bore a fancy seal with a large 'M' and fleur-de-lis, which left Hermione with little doubt as to who it was from.

Dear Hermione,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard from Daphne that you ventured into dangerous areas in search of votes for your campaign, and though one vote is as good as another, such votes are very risky to get. I trust that your magic has protected you, but I would advise you to avoid such risks in the future. You are too precious and too special to Magic to risk in such a way…

Hermione frowned as she read on. The rest of Draco's letter went on, explaining why hedgewitches were dangerous, how they could steal your magic, and how they proved the need for blood purity. Hedgewitches' magic had weakened, Draco asserted, by mating with Muggles back in the medieval eras. If they had married other wizards, he was sure their magic would still be strong, and they wouldn't need to try and steal it from others who had not laid in the mud.

The entire letter, though the tone was one of worry and concern, reeked of blood superiority and felt incredibly condescending to Hermione. From an analytical point of view, it was interesting to incorporate this new knowledge of 'weaker wizards' into her mental picture of the blood purists. If the old families had hedgewitches working for them and had grown up seeing the weak magic of others, it almost gave more credence to their prejudice. 'Surely the reason for one being stronger than the other would be the quality of their blood?' they must think.

Hermione was far from convinced of that. She was fairly certain that if given a wand, the hedgewitch kids could learn magic just as well as anyone at Hogwarts could.

She wondered just how blood purism actually addressed Muggleborns. She'd made up the bit about them being from Squib lines, but what if that was what people actually thought? Would Muggleborns rank above or below hedgewitches, in this hierarchy? She suspected above, given Muggleborns got to go to Hogwarts, but she was only guessing.

Sniffing, Hermione set the letter aside, deciding to deal with that later.

The second letter was much more pleasant.

Hermione,

It was a delight taking you to dinner on Wednesday. My mother teases me for the smile that lingers on my lips for thoughts of you, and she insist that I get out of the house instead of mooning all over the place like a lovesick cow. As such, would you like visit the park with me this week? There is a beautiful park near my house that's lovely to take a ramble in. There are rose bushes there, and it has been far too many days since I last gave you a rose.

I know you and your Slytherin friends are undoubtedly busy with your nomination and campaigning and other such scheming things, but should you have a spot of free time, I would implore you to spend it with me, and I will make sure that for at least a little while, you're able to relax and smile.

Yours,

Cedric

Hermione smiled, a light flush to her face. Mooning about like a lovesick cow? Cedric seemed unable to ever not exaggerate.

Still. The idea of seeing him again before her adventure with the goblins, even just for a couple hours to walk about a park… it was a nice one, one that made a smile linger on her lips, and she set his letter aside to respond to later before moving on to the last.

This letter was something different, Hermione could tell immediately. The parchment it was written on was filthy, ink splatter and water stains decorating the back. Even more curious was the smell of it, which smelled faintly of salt and sea water. Curiously, Hermione eased open the blank seal.

To Hermione Granger:

I didn't know you existed, so I didn't write before. Sorry for that. I would have, really. I would have written. But I only learned of you when my sister came to visit. She told me about you, then, so I knew. I would have written sooner if I had seen the papers. She showed me the papers about your adventure in Hogwarts last year. I was ecstatic to learn about you. You show that Magic is favoring us again. I am so glad to know that Magic is among us once more.

I am so honored. I get to live in the time of the first New Blood of an era. That is history-making, you know? You, being the first New Blood of an age. It has been centuries since the last. To know Magic is amongst us and has blessed us – it is inspiring , and it harkens a great change, and great things to come. I hear that you have already accomplished so much, even though you are so young. Your power is spoken of with reverence and respect, and you're only thirteen! That's incredible, and I cannot wait to see what else you accomplish as you grow older and gain more power.

I am sure Magic will guide you on your path. You will change the world with your Magic. I'm sure of it. I can't help you now, though – I'm in a situation where I'm unable to assist you or help you with your foretold quest. But! Know that I support you from afar. And as soon as I am able, I will help you and support you as best as I can. You are destined to bring about great Magic and magical restoration among us! I will aid you in your destiny however I can.

Yours truly,

The signature was smeared and unintelligible. Hermione did her best to make it out, but it was truly a smear of ink. She could barely make out any of it – all she could really tell was there were no descenders or tails in any of the letters of the name.

She stared at that letter for a long time.

Was this fan mail, of a sort?

Hermione had no idea, and she flinched at the notion. The writer seemed oddly obsessed already with her being a New Blood and her being sent by Magic for some great quest. Hermione had no intentions of going on any 'great quest' – she was quite content with her own action plan, thank you very much.

Still. The letter shook her, somewhat. It was hard to set it aside.

"Anything interesting?" her father asked mildly.

"Some," Hermione said slowly, frowning. "One proselytizing me, one that's like fan mail, and one asking me out."

Her father laughed.

"Asking you out?" he said. "Are you going to say yes?"

"I think I will," Hermione said, her eyes softening as she smiled. "Cedric's perfectly lovely to spend time with."

"Perfectly lovely," her father teased, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Her father raised an eyebrow. "I thought I would have to approve all dates for you first," he said, and Hermione frowned.

"Why?" she asked. "As patriarchal as magical society is, you're not magical. That wouldn't make any sense, for people to write to you first."

"Ah, but I have received such letters," her father said slyly.

"You have?" Hermione was shocked. "What kind? Ones asking permission to court me?"

"A couple," he said, nodding with a grin. "And one from someone's father asking if we might arrange a betrothal contract between our two children."

"What?!"

Hermione was on her feet before she realized it, and her father was laughing. Her mother came into the room with a sigh.

"Don't tease her, dear," she admonished. "She's bound to be sensitive about this sort of thing."

"What, about being ignored archaically and instead people asking me to sell her off?" her father said. His eyes gleamed. "It's just part of her new culture, dear."

"Who?" Hermione demanded. "Who sent you such a letter?"

Her father shrugged. "The father of one of your classmates, apparently. He had a funny name…"

Hermione groaned. "They all have funny names."

"Well, this one was funnier than most," her father insisted. "Ouros or something. Phobos? I don't recall. His son had a perfectly normal name, though – he said you two got along well and were partners in Potions, and that a match between you would be a good fit."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Thoros?" she said, aghast. "Thoros Nott wrote to you, a muggle, to ask about a betrothal contract?"

Her father shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal.

"I ignored it, of course," he said. "New culture or not, arranging that sort of thing behind your back seems dehumanizing and barbaric. He'll probably come to the conclusion that muggles can't receive owls or don't know how to return them." He looked at Hermione. "Are you quite alright?"

Hermione's mouth was dry.

"No," she said faintly. "No, not really."

"Not someone you fancy?" her father said knowingly.

"It's not even that!" Hermione protested. "You don't realize – the idea of Thoros Nott contacting a muggle for anything…"

Thoros Nott was one of the original Death Eaters, Hermione knew. She'd quizzed Theo about his father, as well as Tom Riddle about his old school mates. The idea that a Death Eater had written a muggle about arranging a marriage contract…

The idea blew her mind.

What was going on here? Was it a scam to lure out her father to be murdered? Or did Thoros legitimately want her and Theo to be affianced?

"I think I'm going mad," Hermione moaned, clutching her eyes with her hands as she sank back into her chair. "No, not me, the world. That's it. The world's going mad."

"Best go mad as well, then, dear," her mother teased, coming back into the room with dinner. "Otherwise you won't fit in."

After her discussion with Clover about hedgewitch magic, Hermione took to tracing sigils on her mirror and windows as well. If all magic needed was focusing your intent and power on an idea you wanted to manifest, it could work, couldn't it? She mainly traced Fehu – a stick with two side arms out the right side at an angle – which was the one Clover had taught her and was supposed to bring good luck. She had yet to speak to her parents about the goblins, and she suspected she would need all the help she could get.

She confided in Cedric about the matter when she saw him on Thursday, as he took her for a walk around a park. His eyes went wide as he explained, but he listened thoughtfully as she spilled the story out.

"You've been invited to the goblin stronghold?" Cedric repeated. He whistled. "That's impressive. The goblins haven't trusted witches and wizards for hundreds of years."

"For good reason," Hermione pointed out. "We don't exactly treat them in a way that inspires trust, do we?"

"Fair enough," Cedric conceded. He considered the matter as they walked. "Well, you could always play up the political angle. Mention that if you don't go, the goblins are likely to revolt and destabilize all of magical society."

"They are not," Hermione snapped, turning to glare, only to see a teasing glint in Cedric's eyes. She huffed as her face flushed, and Cedric laughed.

"I don't know, Hermione," he admitted. "My parents would be horrified and never let me go, no doubt. But your parents don't really know much about goblins, do they? Just that they run the bank and such. Maybe just act like you're going to stay with a friend. It's the truth, isn't it?"

It wasn't a bad idea, Hermione mused. It was with that thought that she finally approached her parents that evening, tentative.

"I've been invited by a friend to spend a week with them," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. "It's a very special invitation. I'd like to ask for permission to go."

"A friend?" her mother asked, curious. "Which friend?"

"Bloodthorne," Hermione admitted.

"They really do have odd names," her father said, snorting, but her mother's eyebrows rose up.

"That sounds like a goblin name," she remarked casually.

"It is," Hermione said. She tinged her voice with pride, not with worry. "I've been invited to visit their village. I'm the first witch trusted to see how they live in hundreds of years."

"Why?" her father asked, surprised. "Not that I don't think you're special, Hermione, but that's quite the change in policy, isn't it?"

"I've been helping them a lot financially by helping them set up loans," Hermione explained. "It's garnered me respect and trust, enough to let me see how they live." She looked at her parents imploringly. "Please let me go! I may not get another opportunity, and this is the chance of a lifetime!"

Hermione's mother was frowning.

"I didn't know you were friends with any goblins," she said.

Hermione shrugged.

"The Charms teacher is half-goblin," she said, deliberately misleading. "Most people aren't willing to be friends with goblins, I'd say, but I try to treat everyone equally and with respect."

Her mother looked struck at that, her eyes saddened by the idea of goblin children with no friends.

"What do you think, Richard?" she said, turning to her husband. Hermione's father looked thoughtful.

"Goblins," he said. "They're not enemies?"

"They're not my enemy," Hermione said firmly. "They'll fight back if they're attacked, but they're perfectly civilized."

"And they're smart?" he asked. "Literate? Not slow and angry and aggressive?"

"They run the banking system," Hermione said incredulously. "I daresay they're not stupid, Dad."

Her father shrugged.

"I don't have a problem with it then," he said. "We're going to be busy most of the week, anyway – we signed up for an evening class on Shintoism. I'd be more comfortable if you took your sword, just in case, but it sounds like an exciting adventure you shouldn't miss up."

"It sounds like an educational experience," her mother corrected, rolling her eyes. She smiled at Hermione. "It's just for a week?"

"Yes," Hermione assured. "I'll be back in plenty of time for our trip to France."

"That sounds lovely, then," her mother said. "How do we contact you if we need you? Just an owl? I doubt goblins have a telephone."

"Just owl Gringotts, care of Bloodthorne for Hermione Granger," Hermione said, beaming, "and I'm sure I'll get it in no time."

Chapter Text

On Monday, July 26th, Hermione reported to the Gringotts bank promptly at 8am. She had with her a bag with five sets of robes and underthings, as well as a couple sets of muggle clothes as well. She wore a green cotton robe, a lighter sort of robe appropriate for summer or moving around a lot in, and she had her hair back in a braid. Another bag she had slung over her shoulder held a neat wooden box spelled shut, containing her most recent research project, as well as a few books and several paper-wrapped packages, and her last bag, with the inside now undoubtedly now coated in dirt, was heavy enough she'd had to cast a Feather-Light charm on it to carry it. She wore her sword belt around her waist, her sword in its sheath at her left hip, the hilt gleaming in the early morning sun.

Diagon Alley was slow and sleepy, the cobblestone street nearly deserted of people. A few tired shopkeeps were making their way to their stores to start the process of opening up, but there were no customers about shopping yet, no wizards wandering the road. There was just a slight mist hanging in the quiet of the alley in the early morning, not yet chased away by the sun.

Gringotts didn't open until 9am to the general public. At 8am, however, a goblin came out of the big glass doors to look Hermione up and down. The goblins sneered at her.

"Are you Hermione Granger, from the House of Granger?" it asked.

Hermione drew herself up. "I am."

The goblin looked unimpressed.

"If you would follow me," the goblin said, "I would take you to Bloodthorne for you to begin your descent." The goblin looked her up and down again, before giving her a nasty smirk. "I would wonder if my robes would survive, if I were you."

The goblin turned and went back into the bank, Hermione moving quickly to catch the great glass door before it closed on her. Pulling it open wider, Hermione followed the goblin inside.

Gringotts was large and impressive in its own right during the day, filled with people and goblins bustling about, coins clinking all around. Now, though, with the lobby dormant, Hermione was able to take in the great ceilings, the marble patterns on the floor, and the great columns holding everything up. The bank looked more like a grand historical temple than it did a bank, really, and Hermione wondered if goblins had constructed it, or if they had relied on human help to do so.

As they reached the edge of the lobby, the goblin set off at a quick pace, and Hermione followed closely behind. The stone passageways in the back of Gringotts, full of twisting turns, unexpected ramps, and identical hallways made it feel like a maze, and Hermione was determined not to get lost, focusing on keeping close to her guide.

Gradually as they went, Hermione became aware that they were descending, going down ramp after ramp, passing stone rooms and wooden doors. Finally, the hallways opened up into a large stone room with benches around the sides. There were large, imposing double doors at the far end of the room that looked to be made from obsidian, with two goblins standing in front of them. Hermione recognized one as Bloodthorne, but the other was unfamiliar.

"I would bring you Hermione Granger, of the House of Granger," the guide goblin announced. He gave a short bow, sneering, before promptly heading back the way he came, not giving Hermione time to so much as thank him.

"Hermione Granger," Bloodthorne said. He drew closer to her and bowed, his expression unexpectedly serious. "I am glad that you would be here."

"I wouldn't miss it, Bloodthorne," Hermione told him, bowing back. Bloodthorne nodded, looking her over.

"I see you would bring your sword," he said.

"Yes. And I have an offering to give to the Horde as well," Hermione said, patting her bag.

Bloodthorne remained still for a long moment.

"I would suppose you would not be willing to give up your wand," he said finally.

Hermione shuddered. She was uncomfortable enough descending into who-knows-what with no foreknowledge of what to expect for an unspecified amount of time. The last thing she wanted to be lost in some maze of burrows and dirt tunnels without her wand for light or help.

"I would not," Hermione said finally. "But I would give my word that I would not use it against a goblin unless I was attacked first, if it would help."

Bloodthorne looked mildly impressed at the concession.

"It would," he said, pointy teeth gleaming as he spoke. He looked her up and down one more time before nodding to himself, satisfied. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said, her lips quirked into a smile. "I don't think I could get more ready than this."

Bloodthorne smirked, beady eyes glittering.

"Then," he said, "we would proceed."

At Bloodthorne's gesture, Hermione and Bloodthorne stepped up to the great obsidian doors where a tallish goblin stood.

"Stop!" the goblin cried, though they had already stopped moving. "Who would descend into the Hold?"

"I am called Bloodthorne," Bloodthorne announced, "named for the subtle violence of the stems of vines, an unspoken threat to my foes. I come to descend into the Hold unto my countrymen, and to continue to serve the Horde as best I can."

The tall goblin nodded, before he turned to face Hermione, his eyes fixing themselves on her.

"And you?" he asked. "Who are you, that you would descend into the Hold?"

He seemed to be expecting an answer, as was Bloodthorne, who was smirking at her. Of course Bloodthorne wouldn't have warned her she needed to prepare a formal introduction for herself, she huffed.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I am called Hermione, from the House of Granger," she said, trying her best to mimic the formal tones of Bloodthorne and the guard. "Named for a tragic queen with a gift for speech, my name speaks of my inherent regality and defiance against those who would judge me, as Hermione was judged in her tale." She paused. "I would descend into the Hold as a friend, to help and serve the Horde as best I can."

The tall goblin looked mildly bored throughout her introduction. Once she had finished, the tall goblin's eyes lit, and they fixed on Bloodthorne.

"Your companion is a wizard," he said, his eyes alight and vicious. "You would bring our enemy unto our Hold?"

"Hermione Granger is no enemy of the Horde," Bloodthorne said, sneering and baring his teeth at the other goblin. "I would bring her at my side."

"Would you vouch for this wizard's integrity with your life?" the guard demanded. "If your companion should break our laws or spill goblin blood, would you knowingly spill your blood in kind?"

"I would," Bloodthorne said.

The tall man handed him a twisted, nasty looking black stone dagger, the sharp edge glinting.

"Would you bleed now in covenant, to seal the promise you have made?" he said.

"I would." Bloodthorne didn't hesitate as he drew the dagger down his forearm, and Hermione did a double-take. The blood that oozed from his wound was a deep green.

Bloodthorne let the blood drip off his forearm onto the ground, and the guard extended his own silver blade, letting some of the blood collect into his own sword.

"Your covenant is recorded," he announced. He gave Hermione a sharp look. "If it is broken, you would pay with your life."

Bloodthorne merely nodded, unconcerned. Finally, the guard stepped aside, unblocking the giant obsidian doors which swung open.

"Then," he said finally, "descend into the Hold as friends, not foes, and may good fortune find you on your way."

Hermione followed Bloodthorne into what looked like a giant glass box with a shining black floor, so shiny it was almost reflective. There was a flattened disc of light on the top of the box, illuminating the area so Hermione could see what looked to be dirt outside of the glass. The giant obsidian doors swung shut after they entered, leaving them alone in the large box.

"We will begin our descension soon," Bloodthorne informed her, "if you would brace yourself."

Hermione scarcely had time to prepare herself before the glass box lurched frighteningly, before beginning to move smoothly downward. She could see the ground outside of the box moving up, glittering bits of dirt passing as they moved downward.

"It's like an elevator!" Hermione exclaimed, pleased. She turned to Bloodthorne. "Does this work on magic? Or machinery?"

Bloodthorne gave her a look. "I would not know. I am not a descension expert."

The box continued to descend at a steady pace. Hermione watched outside in silence, before glancing over to Bloodthorne. The goblin stood perfectly still, unbothered, though his arm was dripping green blood onto the floor in a small puddle.

"Do you want me to heal that for you?" Hermione asked. Bloodthorne raised an eyebrow at her, and she gestured to his arm. "Your wound. It's still bleeding."

Bloodthorne's eyes narrowed. "You would heal me?"

"Does this really come as a surprise?" Hermione asked, astonished. She was almost offended. "You just vouched for me with your life. Do you really think I wouldn't help you as best I could at this point?"

Bloodthorne smirked.

"You misunderstand," he said, eyes glinting. "I would presume healing is difficult, even for wizards. I would not think it something someone of your years would know."

"Oh," Hermione said. She paused. "…okay, that makes more sense. And you're right – I think it's typically taught in 4th year? But I learned it early because some of my friends kept getting injured."

"You would be confident in your ability with your healing casting?" Bloodthorne asked.

"I've done it dozens of times at this point," Hermione assured him. She paused. "Though, I've never cast it on a goblin before, I can't imagine it would be different."

Her mind ran through the composition of the spell – the wand movements representing wholeness, a spiral of safe power direction, the indication of a person, and a flick of release. The root word simply meant 'repair' in Greek, which was safe too. She explained all this to Bloodthorne to help reassure him. His expression was inscrutable.

"Then try," he said finally, extending his arm.

Hermione withdrew her wand.

"Episkey," she said, gesturing at his arm.

She was pleased to see it worked exactly as intended, his skin sealing up flawlessly and smoothly just as intended. She shot him a grin, but Bloodthorne merely seemed intrigued.

"You are full of surprises, Hermione Granger," he said.

Hermione smiled. "I like to keep things interesting," she said cheerily, and Bloodthorne snorted.

The trip down in the glass elevator took a while, it seemed. Time seemed to stretch out as the same outside was passed continuously, the dirt, never-changing, and Hermione wondered how fast the elevator was able to descend.

Abruptly, the dirt outside the elevator began to change – suddenly they were passing what looked like a thick band of steel in the ground, then a thick band of glittering salt. Then there were sudden thinner layers of multiple colors, a thick layer of mossy green, and suddenly there was open air, and Hermione gasped.

In front of her lay an enormous cavern with what looked like a city laid out on the ground. The cavern itself looked at least a few miles wide with the cavern roof at least a mile off the ground. Green moss coated the top of the cavern, and as they descended further, there were large, glowing orbs floating around the air as well, illuminating the cave with a diffused light. It was incredible to look at, all the dozens and dozens of floating light globes, but then they were past them, the globes rising high above them as the glass box continued to descend.

As they got closer to the surface of the city, Hermione could see all the buildings much more clearly, and she could even see goblins moving around in the streets. She laughed and clapped her hands, excited, as she watched what looked like children goblins playing together. The entire thing was incredible, and Hermione felt a sense of awe and wonder, that she should get to see such a marvel of a city.

There was a lurch and grinding noise as the glass elevator ground to a halt, before a set of glass doors in the elevator opened up to reveal several goblins waiting for them. Hermione hadn't even realized there were doors on the elevator, the seams in the glass were so smooth. The air outside the elevator was warm and balmy, with a faint smell of geosmin in the area.

"Bloodthorne," one of the goblins said, nodding. He looked at Hermione, eyes beady. "Hermione Granger."

"Stoneshear," Bloodthorne said, his tone bored. "Moldedge."

"You would vouch for this wizard?" one goblins said sharply. "You would bring a wizard among the Horde?"

"You would act surprised now, Moldedge, that I have done exactly what I said I would do?" Bloodthorne's tone was dry. "If you would spare me your performative histrionics, I would get the wizard settled so she might prepare for the trial." He sneered. "You might do the same."

The goblin called Moldedge scoffed and slinked off. The other goblin smirked, showing sharp teeth.

"She is ready?" Stoneshear asked.

"I would not have brought her if she were not," Bloodthorne said, eyes glinting. "Do you doubt me?"

"I do not," Stoneshear said, stepping back. "If you would come, then." His eyes met Hermione's. "There are many who would see Hermione Granger, first of her House."

Hermione's mouth formed a soft 'o' as she followed the two goblins out of the elevator, down a dirt ramp. In her anxiety of preparing for the goblin hold, she'd forgotten that the goblins knew her – or at least, knew of her. They'd lined up to donate blood and venom for her sword, hadn't they?

As they reached the bottom of the ramp, Hermione looked around at the city, her eyes drinking it in. The houses were small, but Hermione imagined goblins, being shorter, wouldn't need as much space as humans. But they looked nothing like the houses she was accustomed to seeing above ground.

The shapes of the houses were entirely different. Instead of square, rectangular-based walls and corners, these houses seemed to be made entirely of curves and waves. The houses she was walking past had front walls that waved and bent smoothly, with thick roofs sitting flat on top of houses Hermione was convinced didn't have any corners. Some of the roofs seemed fuzzy, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that they had moss growing on top of them.

The houses looked to be made of mud, or dirt and straw with some stone, and there were designs baked onto the outside of the houses, pretty images of growing plants embossed onto the walls of their homes. There were some windows with glass, but others were made in a teardrop shape that had many tiny holes in them, barely even counting as a window, and Hermione wondered if they were just for airflow.

As they moved deeper into the city, there were more and more goblins about. Hermione looked around curiously, fascinated. The head size of the goblins varied wildly, with some goblins having human-sized proportions, while others had massive heads for their frames. And while many goblins had the pale, muddy peach tones Hermione had become accustomed to with the Gringotts goblins, many other goblins had dark muddy skin, and still others seemed to be muted earthen greens or oranges.

Other goblins had what seemed to be beautiful tattoos going down their arms, swirls and dots of bright almost metallic-looking colors that shined in the dim light. Some of the smaller children had these markings as well, and there didn't seem to be any correlation between skin color and arm markings that Hermione could see. One very small goblin ran into the street in nothing but a loincloth, laughing, its parent running after it, and Hermione was surprised to see the bright markings all over the child's body and limbs.

The buildings around them gradually began to shift in structure and style. These new buildings seemed to be made of concrete, and they were shaped into giant domes with attached rectangular rooms with curved corners. The walls had windows cut into them deeply, though nearly all windows were shuttered, and Hermione was fascinated by the abrupt change in style.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked Bloodthorne, who looked back at her curiously.

"The Hold's center," he told her. "You would make your offering to the Horde, first. They are expecting you."

"Ah," Hermione said. "Of course."

The homes and buildings gave way to a large circular area with a slightly raised area in the middle. The ground here had a thick, bright green moss growing on it, compared to the dull packed dirt of the streets, and there were dozens and dozens of goblins milling about on the moss. As they approached, heads turned toward their little procession, and Hermione fought not to shrink under their many beady eyes. She supposed it was a historic event, the first wizard visiting in ages, but she also suspected that they might be there defensively as well - if things went badly wrong, she could maybe hold her own against a few goblins, but not dozens of them.

When they were at the center, the goblins climbed up, Hermione following. She stood behind them, shaking slightly in her boots.

"This is Hermione Granger," Stoneshear announced to the crowd, throwing his hand out at her. There were no preliminary remarks, no warm-up or introduction. "She is the wizard who has been loaning the Horde gold to strengthen our Hold."

There was a raucous cheer from the crowd, and Hermione winced, fighting the urge to plug her ears.

"Hermione Granger is the first wizard to be trusted within the Hold for centuries," Bloodthorne announced. "As such, she has brought an offering to the Horde to show her good intent." He gestured for her to come forward, which Hermione did on shaky legs.

Hundreds of beady eyes watched her as she stood forward on the small platform. Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself. She reminded herself that she wasn't a goblin, and that they wouldn't expect her to be one, so nothing she did or said would be perfect within this culture, no matter how she tried.

With that in mind, she offered the audience an apologetic smile.

"I'd like to start by apologizing in advance," she said as she reached inside her bag. "I've done my best to study your culture, but wizard literature on the matter is sorely lacking. If I do or say anything offensive, please give me the benefit of the doubt and explain to me why what I did was wrong, and I will endeavor to correct myself immediately."

The audience laughed and cackled, many of the goblins clacking their claws.

"We would be accepting that wizards are often stupid," Stoneshear said, amused. "We would not forget that you are counted among them, Hermione Granger."

Hermione didn't like being called 'stupid', but she held her tongue. She was going to do her best to be polite in a society where her people were largely distrusted.

"I was told to bring an offering to you that would show you I do not mean you harm," she said. "As such, I have brought you food, to help nourish and build your strength."

She glanced at Bloodthorne, who nodded at her as she continued removing brown paper-wrapped packages from her bag.

"I was told your diet consists largely of meat, roots, and fungi, so I have brought you meat," she said, setting out the packages. She unwrapped one, revealing large slabs of pale, light pink meat. "I hope it is acceptable to you."

The goblins murmured as they came forward, quizzical and examining.

"This is not red," Stoneshear said, looking confused. "I would think wizard meat would be red."

"Ah, I didn't get this from cattle or anything," Hermione explained. "This is the meat from the basilisk I killed, kept fresh with preservation charms."

There was a visual reaction of shock going through the crowd, beady eyes going wide, and Hermione hurried to explain.

"I looked it up – it's perfectly safe to eat, there's no venom in it or anything – and I kept it fresh! And I knew that you lived underground, so I figured most proteins you would get would be from underground creatures like insects and snakes, so I was relatively sure it wouldn't disagree with your digestive systems. And it's supposed to be much richer than other meats, though it is chewier, apparently, but with all your sharp teeth—"

"Hermione."

Bloodthorne cut off her nervous babbling curtly, and Hermione looked at him, shaking. Bloodthorne looked exasperated, then amused.

"You would gift the Horde with the spoils of your most famous victory, done with the goblin sword you commissioned from the Horde," he informed her. "We would not be offended by this. Instead, we are surprised and honored by your gesture of respect and trust."

"Oh," Hermione said, flushing. "Well, that's good, then." She smiled, tentative. "I hope you like it? Thank you for welcoming me into your Hold."

She gave the crowd a bow before moving back further on the platform. A few special-looking goblins began coming up, examining her offerings and the amount of meat she had brought and murmuring to each other. They wore odd headdresses, made of silver beads on wire that hung down off their heads in sort of beaded, bobbed wigs.

"There shall be a great feast this night," one of the goblins announced loudly. "We shall celebrate the Horde's unexpected wizard ally's offering, and community pots shall be open and plentiful!"

There was another raucous cheer at this, and Hermione winced. Goblin cheering sounded more threatening than excited, but she supposed she'd have to get used to it.

Goblins began to disperse from the clearing, moving around and mingling, and Bloodthorne looked to Hermione.

"I would show you where you are staying," he told her. "I would come and get you tomorrow morning for the beginning of the trial, but the rest of the day would be your own."

Hermione blinked. "Wait, I'm on my own? For the whole afternoon?"

"I thought it best if you would be able to explore and acclimate prior to the trial," Bloodthorne said dryly. He sneered, showing many pointy teeth. "Besides, there are many who would meet you and talk to you in the streets."

"Oh," Hermione said. She hefted her remaining bags up on her shoulder again, adjusting their straps. "In that case, lead the way."

Chapter Text

Hermione was given a room in one of the concrete, dome-shaped buildings. The entire building housed only a bed, a wooden chair, and a toilet, all in the same oval room. It was the only building and bed large enough to fit a wizard, she was informed, and Hermione wondered if the goblins had made a special place for her to stay just because she wouldn't fit in their homes.

After setting her things down and resting for a bit, Hermione set out to explore, her sword and wand strapped around her waist as she wandered. She set a Point Me location on her temporary home, ensuring she would be able to find her way back to it, before setting off in a direction at random, curious to see the goblin way of life.

She didn't get far before goblins noticed her, and it wasn't long after that for multiple goblins to come up to her, asking her questions or offering her their thanks.

"You may be wizard, but you have saved my children," one brightly-tattooed goblin told Hermione earnestly. "When we would have perished from the elements, your loan saved our lives."

"I'm really glad to hear that," Hermione said honestly. "I'd hate for anyone to perish, err—"

"Jadeblade," the goblin said, nodding to her, and Hermione bowed slightly.

"Pleased to meet you, Jadeblade," she said. "Has your family recovered now?"

"We would not be alive were it not for you," Jadeblade told her. "Would you see my children? I would have them thank you personally." The goblin offered Hermione what seemed like a smile, though it seemed vaguely menacing, showing many sharp, pointy teeth. "I would have them learn their manners while they are still young."

"Ah, of course," Hermione said. Jadeblade grinned at her, and Hermione offered a tentative smile back, following the goblin back to its home.

The goblin's home was a few blocks away, off of what seemed to be the main street or thoroughfare by a ways, and Hermione felt her breath catch and her heart sink as the houses grew poorer in quality and construction, many of them looking abandoned or broken down, large chunks of them missing.

"What happened here?" Hermione asked quietly.

Jadeblade looked at her, beady eyes roaming over her face.

"Wizards cast a spell," Jadeblade said finally. "It was percussive and shook the earth violently within our Hold. Many structures fell; many goblins were crushed and died."

Hermione felt sickened.

"I'm so sorry," she said. She bit her lip. "I know that doesn't really help anything, but please know that I'm appalled that wizards did that to you."

Jadeblade shrugged, dismissive.

"You would help us, where other wizards would harm us," Jadeblade told her. A smirk stretched on thin lips. "You are different, Hermione Granger."

They stopped in front of a curvy house with a flat roof. Hermione was aghast to see that half of the house crushed and missing.

"This is your house?" she said, horrified. "It's still broken!"

"The loan is helping with that," Jadeblade assured her. "See? We have a temporary door while the constructors continue with their daub. We all fit in one room for now, and we would be patient while we would wait for the rest."

Jadeblade made a loud cawing noise, and abruptly the temporary door burst open, many tiny goblin children springing forth. They screamed and ran around Jadeblade, who smirked.

"Hermione Granger, I would introduce you to my goblings," Jadeblade told her. "Children, say 'hello' to Hermione Granger."

Most of the goblin children stared at Jadeblade with confusion, before one of the taller children finally spoke up.

"In English, mother?" the child groaned, and Hermione blinked. She hadn't realized Jadeblade was female.

"Yes, in English," she told her children. She said something else in Gobbledegook, which Hermione figured was probably the same instruction in the goblin children's first language.

"Hello Hermione Granger," the eldest gobling told her, smiling at her with many pointy teeth. "Thank you for the gold to fix our house."

"You're quite welcome," Hermione assured the child, who grinned and sneered at its mother, who sneered right back.

The other goblings did their level best to greet her and thank her, and Hermione was amused to hear just how they butchered the pronunciation of her name. She was used to people not getting her name right, but the "hear-my-aahn" and "her-moe-no-neek" were new ones.

Jadeblade looked over at Hermione.

"I would apologize for my children's English," she said. "They would learn English sooner, if not for the house."

"It's not a problem at all," Hermione assured her. "I wouldn't expect them to learn English at their age; I probably should have thought to try and learn the goblin language before coming here."

Hermione's eyes were drawn back to Jadeblade's house, which looked partially collapsed. There were still large chunks of rock and wall lying around the structure, fallen. She examined the fallen chunks, her eye scanning over the parts before she looked to Jadeblade, hesitant.

"Jadeblade," Hermione said finally. "I would like to try something to help you."

Jadeblade blinked, beady eyes fixed on Hermione. "You would help us?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She took a deep breath. "But it would use my wand," she admitted.

Jadeblade looked taken aback at this, then resolved and determined.

"Bloodthorne has spoken for you, and you have already saved us before," she said. "Use your wand, then, Hermione Granger."

Nodding with gratitude, Hermione slowly withdrew her wand. She saw Jadeblade take several large steps back from the corner of her eye, but Hermione stayed focused on the house's remains before her instead. She would probably be skittish seeing a weapon that had destroyed her people, too.

Hermione took a deep breath, clearly visualizing what she wanted to happen.

"Reparo."

The remains of the house began to move, floating up and beginning to reassemble themselves into walls. Hermione held her wand steady, watching as they did so. It was as she feared – there were large cracks present, undoubtedly where some pieces of the wall had turned to dust and been carried away. She bit her lip, considering.

Pulling on her air elemental, Hermione pushed on the air to hold the blocks in place, levitating them steadily. Once she was sure she could do this in the back of her mind, Hermione gestured toward the ground.

"Aguamenti."

Water flowed from her wand, making mud on the ground, which Hermione levitated to fill in the large cracks. She wasn't sure what composed the daub goblins used to make their homes, so she layered in Sticking Charms as best she could, before drying the wet mud with Incendio.

When she was done, the house stood before her, whole. There were still definite cracks in it, but smaller ones, and the wall was warped slightly in places, and it definitely needed a roof put back on, but it was at least structurally whole. Satisfied, Hermione wiped the sweat from her forehead and turned to Jadeblade, who was stunned.

"There, that should help," she told her. "You'll need to have the constructors still fix the cracks and do the roof, and I'm not sure about—"

But Jadeblade started shrieking, her eyes wide, pointing at Hermione. She was yelling something in Gobbledegook, something Hermione couldn't understand at all, and other goblins were running out onto the street to hear Jade's screams. Her children started shrieking as well, a cacophony of alarm going up, goblins running out into the street to stare at her.

Petrified, Hermione ran.

There was a loud yell, and Hermione saw a crowd of goblins chasing after her. Panicking, Hermione sprinted through the streets as fast as she could, never so glad of her height as she was now. Her long legs allowed her to quickly outpace the goblins, and she ran back to the mossy clearing as fast as she could where she had last seen Bloodthorne.

Bloodthorne was there, along with Stoneshear and many other goblins, setting up small fires and cooking pots. Hermione skidded to a halt in front of Bloodthorne.

"We have a problem," she said, panting. "I did something. I tried to help fix someone's house, but she started shrieking, and then there was an angry mob, so I ran—"

"If you would stop your panicking—" Bloodthorne gave her a sharp look "—I would be able to understand the issue at hand."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"A goblin called Jadeblade wanted to show me how her loan had helped her family and her house," she told Bloodthorne. "But half of the house was still in shambles. I offered to help her – I asked her before using my wand – and then reassembled most of the house. It still needs some work, but probably a lot less than it did. But she started shrieking – I didn't know goblin homes were sacred or special, I don't know what I did—"

Bloodthorne started cackling, and Hermione glared, very put out.

"This isn't funny!" she snapped. "It's my first day here, and I already got an angry mob after me!"

Bloodthorne cackled.

"Shrieking?" he said. Hermione nodded. "Like this?"

Bloodthorne let out an ear-piercing shrieking scream, one that sent chills down Hermione's spine.

"Yes," she said, pressing a hand to her heart. "Just like that. Only over and over again, screaming."

Bloodthorne laughed.

"How would wizards express awe and excitement?" Bloodthorne asked her, pointy teeth glinting. "Would you be quiet and reserved?"

"No, generally we cheer and clap…" Hermione trailed off. "Hang on, that was excitement?"

"I would daresay it was," Bloodthorne said, smirking at her.

"How am I supposed to know that?" Hermione asked, astonished. "It sounded like a threat!"

"Goblins express good things in higher tones," he informed her. "War cries and negative things are lower in tone."

He growled something rumbling and horrible at her, and Hermione flinched.

"That is what you would not want to hear," he informed her. "If a goblin would make such sounds at you, you would run if you want to survive."

"Got it," Hermione said faintly. "So… the high-pitched shrieking was good?"

Bloodthorne cackled.

"Hermione Granger," he said, beady eyes glinting, "if you truly fixed her house, something she has been struggling to make happen for years, I daresay she would dance for joy in the street."

As it turned out, Bloodthorne was right. Jadeblade had been so excited that she had called for her neighbors to see the magic that had happened, and her neighbors had celebrated with her with their own piercing shrieks.

Hermione bowed low, apologizing to Jadeblade profusely, explaining that she hadn't understood, but Jadeblade dismissed her apologies with a wave.

"I would not have you apologize for running when you were fearful," she said. "I would apologize for giving you such a fear, after you would restore my home." She winced. "I had forgotten you would not know Goblidon in my excitement, and that it might sound alarming to someone who did not know."

Hermione frowned. "Gobblelidon?"

"Gŏb-lĭ-dŏn," Jadeblade repeated, with all short vowels. "The goblin language."

It had never occurred to Hermione that the goblins would have their own word for their own language that wasn't Gobbledegook. Gobbledegook was a rather offensive term for it, actually, now that she thought about it – muggles used the term to describe meaningless unintelligible babble made up of too many jargon terms. Who had named the goblin language that, anyway?

"Goblin magic cannot restore houses," Jadeblade told Hermione. "This is why it would take many years to rebuild." She looked at Hermione sideways, beady eyes thoughtful. "Would you be able to restore another?"

"I could try," Hermione said, hesitantly. "No guarantees."

The neighboring house to Jadeblade's was entirely in shambles and abandoned. Without children around to worry about, Reparo and some well-placed sticking charms held most of that one together, to Hermione's satisfaction.

"That one worked out pretty well," she said, pleased. "It might need some structural daub for the cracks, again, but the big heavy part is done."

A small crowd had gathered a distance away to watch her use her wand. One of the goblins came forward, hesitant.

"Hermione Granger?" it asked.

Hermione blinked. "Yes?"

"I am Pyrite," it told her. The goblin paused. "I would… have you destroy my home backwards too?"

The goblin's words were hesitant, faltering, and Hermione smiled.

"Like that one?" she asked, gesturing. "Fix it?"

The goblin's eyes flew to Jadeblade's, who nodded. The goblin nodded decisively.

"Yes," it said firmly. "I would have you fix it."

This goblin's house was dome-shaped and made of concrete, and the yard looked like a construction zone with pails and bags of gray powder sitting around. The base had already been poured, it looked like, and there was a frame for the rest, but Hermione winced.

"I can fix things if the original pieces are still there, but I can't magically make concrete," she admitted. "I'm sorry. All I could help you with would be with water to mix and maybe levitating it into place or drying it?"

Jadeblade relayed this to the goblin, whose eyes narrowed.

"Water?" it said skeptically. "Where?"

Hermione blinked.

"Um, wherever you wanted it?" she said. "Do you want it in a bucket? Do you have a concrete mixed?"

Jade relayed this to the goblin, who scoffed.

"No," it said. "From where?"

"Oh," Hermione said, relaxing. "From my wand."

The goblin looked highly doubtful, and Hermione withdrew her wand. The goblin took several rapid steps back, its beady eyes alert, but Hermione kept a comforting smile on her face.

"Aguamenti."

One of the steel buckets filled with water, and the goblin's eyes bulged. He pointed at the bucket, babbling excitedly, before looking at Hermione.

"You," he said. "Wands… make water?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

Apparently, this was great cause for excitement.

Goblins, as it happened, did not have readily accessible points of water. There were a few groundwater streams that ran around the outside of the cave, near the edges and walls and mines, and getting water required a hike to the outer rim and lugging a bucket back. The goblin was excited to have Hermione fill all its buckets with water.

"Much easier to make solid stone, now," it told her with satisfaction.

Hermione spent the afternoon trying her best to help the goblins repair broken structures. Most of them she could at least partially patch back together, but she was happy to fill everyone's buckets with water as she went around. There were a lot of goblins around, but judging from the number of houses, Hermione guessed there were even more goblins not around right now. She wondered at their population while she worked - were most of them up above, working in Gringotts? Were some of them farming at the far reaches of the Hold? Did they have more than one Hold?

Hermione was careful not to ask, though. Asking how big a species' population was the sort of question an enemy would want to know, and not information that a friend would necessarily need.

She contented herself with filling buckets with water instead. The goblins were eager for her to help them, and Hermione found herself curious with her mind wandering as she did. Did they think of her as a friend, now, helping them? Was this the goblins just greedily taking from her what they could to help themselves? She found herself hoping for the former, but she almost didn't mind if it was the latter - she didn't know if goblins were actually greedy, or if that was wizarding propaganda about their race as well. Either way, she was still able to help them - the goblins were definitely happy for the help and grateful - and that was enough for her.

A few hours later, the goblins were discussing something in a language she didn't understand when a voice hissed at her.

"How are you doing that?"

Hermione turned to see, to her surprise, what looked to be another human, shrouded in shredded, dark robes with a deep hood.

"I—it's just the Water-Making Spell," she said. Her eyes drank in the site of a deeply hunched over woman, like a crone from legend. "I thought I was the only wizard allowed in the Goblin Hold for centuries?"

That came out more arrogant sounding than she intended, but the woman snorted.

"'m not," she snorted. She lifted her skirts, revealing four warty toes on each foot. "'M a hag, girl, not a witch."

Hermione stared.

"Then… why are you down here?" she asked.

The hag snorted.

"Why not?" she said. "'m kept safe from the wizards, there's plenty roots for potions, an' the goblins trade me for potions they need." She smiled, revealing nasty, gnarled-looking teeth. "But I know enough, girl. Water-Making s'not easy."

"My friend taught it to me," Hermione defended automatically. "He's two years above me, so maybe that's why? But it's not hard, really."

The hag snorted.

"Your friend is advanced, then," she informed Hermione. "They don' teach Water-Making 'til after O.W.L.s."

"How would you know that?" Hermione challenged. "Hags aren't allowed to go to Hogwarts!"

The hag cackled delightedly.

"Oh, if only we were," she cackled. She grinned her gnarled smile at Hermione. "No. I used to be one of the enemies for the Defense Against Dark Arts practical. I'd get ter hang around an' watch the other exams."

"…you have to battle Dark creatures for the DADA practical?" Hermione said faintly.

The hag scowled.

"Not anymore," she sulked. "Ministry didn't think it was a good idea, in the 70s… too many people dyin' as it was, didn't want any accidents during exams…"

She muttered to herself for a moment, before her eyes snapped back up to Hermione's.

"If yer talented enough ter make water when yer thirteen," she said, "yer talented enough for near anything, really."

"Um," Hermione said. "Maybe someday."

The witch grinned widely. Her breath was dreadful.

"Helpin' the goblins ter start," she said. Her eyes glinted. "Remember the hags, yeah? Help us next, witchy girl."

Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the hag slunk away. A moment later, the goblins approached her with their idea, knocking the matter from her mind. They wanted her to make one of their silver bowls bigger, and then fill the enlarged bowl with water. Willing to try, Hermione stood up and withdrew her wand. An Engorgio and Aguamenti shouldn't be too hard.

It was later during the celebrations that Hermione thought to ask Bloodthorne about it. Goblins were dancing and screeching around fires, feasting on the basilisk flesh, when Hermione was reminded of the ominous being she'd seen lurking about earlier.

"There was a hag," she told him. "What's a hag doing down here with the goblins?"

Bloodthorne scowled.

"An unfortunate symbiosis."

"…I'm sorry?"

"If a goblin would fall ill, she would make a deal with the ill one," he informed her, eyes glinted with loathing. "She would heal them now, in exchange for eating their body upon eventual death."

Hermione gagged, sure her face reflected her revulsion. Bloodthorne's expression was still dark.

"Goblins would be able to use more magic to help ourselves if we would have wands," he said. "But the wizard Ministry would not allow it."

He spat bitterly upon the ground, and Hermione wisely didn't bring the matter up again.

Chapter Text

The next day was the first day of the trial. Hermione was taken to a large concrete building, but it was no taller than any of the others.

"We're all going to fit in here?" Hermione said, blinking. "I guess I expected some sort of auditorium."

Bloodthorne smirked.

"You would not be wrong," he said. "But you imagine it wrong."

As they entered and went through the halls, they emerged onto a balcony, and Hermione realized what he meant. Instead of building up, the goblins had built down.

The balcony overlooked what looked like a gallery, two tables, a circle, and a large podium. The gallery was slightly tiered, allowing better views of the actual trial, and everything looked like it had been made out of either stone or concrete. It reminded Hermione remarkably of what the setup in the Wizengamot had been.

"We would be on the left," Bloodthorne said, directing her to a set of concrete stairs. "Stoneshear would be waiting for us."

Sure enough, Stoneshear was already at the table. He sneered at them when they arrived.

"I thought you would be on time," he said nastily.

"I thought you would be able to tell time," Bloodthorne shot back. "We would have been able to tarry ten minutes and would still arrive on time."

Stoneshear snorted and rustled some papers in front of him, and Hermione hesitantly took the seat behind him that Bloodthorne directed her to.

"Err," she said. "What am I supposed to do?"

Stoneshear gave her a dismissive look.

"You would stand as the holder of the lien," he informed her. "Your presence is more a legal necessity than a functional requirement. Braincleave might call upon you, but otherwise, your job is to sit and nod when necessary."

Well. That sounded straight-forward enough, Hermione figured. If she didn't have to do much, she stood much less of a chance of messing anything up or disrespecting the goblins. It would be kind of fun to watch and just learn what their legal system was like.

She shifted and quietly cast a Cushioning Charm on her own seat when no one was looking. Concrete might be easy for the goblins to make seats from, but it wasn't very comfortable.

As Hermione looked around, she found herself growing more curious. The room was rather... plain.

For a courtroom, which she would expect to be somewhat of a big and dramatic thing, it was all dull gray stone, without a sense of majesty or importance or grandeur. It seemed more functional than anything, similar to the plain and functional natures of the goblin homes. Was Gringotts grand and elaborate, then, because it was an interface with wizards and needed to intimidate them, while goblins natively preferred more simple things? Or had someone else built the building for Gringotts, and the goblins were just the ones that owned it now?

More goblins filtered in over the next few minutes, including one who wore an odd wig made of golden wire and beads who sat at the high podium. A few goblins who seated themselves at the right table shot dirty looks and sneers at Hermione's table, which Stoneshear and Bloodthorne returned.

When everyone who was needed had assembled, including a large crowd to watch, the goblin wearing the golden wig drew a giant golden sword, nearly as long as the goblin was tall.

"We are assembled as the Horde, and for the Horde, we seek justice," he said. His beady black eyes dared anyone to object. He moved to press the giant sword into his podium through a slit in the stone. "Together."

"Together," the goblins all declared.

The golden sword slid into place, gleaming brightly on the front of the stone podium, the hilt holding it there, staying above the slot.

"Tell us, Stoneshear," the judge bid. "What would you accuse Braincleave of?"

"I accuse Braincleave of bribery," Stoneshear said, standing up and sneering. "I have reports of him offering more than the listed price of goods in order to get them faster."

"Braincleave would deny such a charge," Moldedge said, standing and sneering back. "What Stoneshear calls 'bribery', I would call 'commerce'. Braincleave offered gold for goods. Where is the bribery in that?"

"Braincleave offering more than the set price of a good to skip the line would destabilize our entire society," Stoneshear shot back. "All of the Horde are equal. Braincleave sought to use his gold to rise above and move before others."

"Destabilize our society by offering more than usual for some roots and cloth?" Moldedge spread his arms wide, sneering. "Would our society really collapse from such a small thing? You exaggerate."

There was a loud metallic dong as the judge rang a gong to his side.

"I would hear the accounts of the offense," he said. "Stoneshear, bring your witnesses."

Hermione watched as several different merchants, one at a time, were put on what she'd roughly refer to as 'the stand', each made to recount their interactions with Braincleave. Each witness account took a long time, as every miniscule piece of testimony was examined by both Stoneshear and Moldedge.

Hermione grew bored, shifting restlessly in her seat. Though the details differed a little, it was clear that Braincleave had offered each of them more than the set price for a good in an attempt to get it sooner or get more than the amount allotted to each goblin. She wished the judge would just agree with Stoneshear and put an end to the parade of merchants' testimony.

Alas, it was not to be - Stoneshear waited until he had run out of merchants to examine to summarize his argument.

"Imagine if every goblin did this!" Stoneshear exclaimed, glaring at the crowd. "Our society would crumble, overrun with greed. Braincleave would put the good of himself over the good of the Horde, and he would bring ruin to us all!"

Moldedge seemed to take a very different approach.

"There are no laws against what Braincleave has done," he said, sneering at everyone. "He offered gold for goods – that is commerce, not corruption. There is no law against what he has done, so he cannot be held in the wrong."

"There has never needed to be such a law before," the judge said. He scowled at Hermione. "There was never a genuine possibility of a goblin having enough gold to bribe someone before."

That sounded like he was blaming her for loaning gold to the goblins, which was really all Bloodthorne's fault. Hermione wisely held her tongue.

"Would you fault what has allowed the Horde to rebuild faster than ever before?" Bloodthorne said, standing and holding his arms open. He sneered. "All others who took loans used them for good, to fix their homes and feed their families. Only Braincleave used his to try and cheat the system and society."

There were hisses from the audience, and Bloodthorne's sneer widened. Moldedge looked annoyed, but the judge nodded, thoughtful.

"This is a new thing to contemplate, for the Horde," the judge reflected. He stood, taking the handle of the golden sword in his hands. "We shall contemplate this, and we shall seek justice in the morning together."

"Together," the goblins echoed as the judge pulled the giant sword from the podium. He sheathed it in a special sheath behind him and carried it with him, the sword too long to wear on his belt, and descended from the podium.

The other goblins rose and began talking to each other, mingling and sneering. Hermione looked to Bloodthorne and Moldedge.

"…That's it?" she said. "All that happened today were witness statements and some arguments."

"You say that as if it is nothing," Stoneshear sneered. "Today proved the validity and truth of our case."

"All that remains is the outcome, now," Bloodthorne said, nodding to Hermione. "Braincleave did what he was accused of. What the Horde will do about it now remains to be decided."

"Err…" Hermione said, faltering. "Then… why am I here?"

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed.

"Because you are the guarantor of his loan," he said slyly. "In his loan, Braincleave attested that as part of the terms of the loan, he would not use the gold he was loaned to in any way act against the Horde or our society."

"If necessary, you are here to call in his loan," Stoneshear informed her. "If he will not change his ways, it may be the only way to prevent his selfish actions. Without gold, he cannot bribe others."

That made a sort of twisted sense to Hermione, she supposed. She was just glad court was done for the day, really – the miniscule examination of the details of each witness had seemed to stretch on forever, even though she'd only been there a few hours, and her body was sore from sitting on stone for so long.

"Do you need me the rest of the day?" Hermione asked Bloodthorne. "I want to go try something out."

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed at her.

"I would not," he told her. "Though I would bid you be careful, Hermione Granger. Braincleave may have friends who would object to your presence in the streets."

"Thanks," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I'll keep an eye out for that."

Hermione sought to find a group of goblins in the mossy center of the city to help her out, greeting goblins who didn't seem to be in the middle of anything to ask if they might spare a few minutes. More than a few were surprised but seemed almost excited to be asked by her for help, abandoning their previous entertainments to follow her instead.

As she went around, she learned that the female goblins were the ones with bright iridescent markings on their skin, while male goblins had none. Male goblin head sizes seemed to vary, however, while all the female goblins' heads seemed proportional to their frames. Hermione wondered what caused the differences, but she opted not to ask more detailed questions. She didn't want to offend them by asking about sensitive topics.

Soon, she had gathered a small group of eight goblins and had them line up: three women, and five men.

"I have a box here," she said. "In this box are rods."

She emphasized the word very carefully.

"They are made of metal," she told them. "They are made of gold, silver, copper, nickel, aluminum, pewter, and bronze. The smithing on them is probably very bad – I am not a smith with anything near the skills of a goblin of the Horde."

The goblins looked at her, puzzled.

"I would have you come and take a rod," she emphasized. "I would have you pick one up and test it and see if holding one over another brings you a sense of euphoria or joy."

The goblins seemed to shrug.

"We will do as you would have us," one of them said. "Where would you put your box?"

Hermione set the wooden box out carefully on the ledge of the small raised area in the middle of the moss, and the goblins surrounded it. They quickly decided it was more efficient to spread out the rods so more goblins could access them at one time, and soon there were dozens of thin, spindly-looking pieces of metal balancing on the ledge, glinting different colors in the light.

The goblins wandered around, picking up rods and holding them, before putting them down again. Hermione watched patiently, biting her tongue. There was a large chance this might not work, but she was hopeful nonetheless.

For several minutes, there was nothing; just goblins picking up and putting down sticks. Suddenly there was a commotion, and the goblins all crowded around one of the others. Hermione hurried to join them.

One goblin in the center was holding what looked to be a bronze chopstick in his hand. He looked awed.

"It spat," he said. "But it was from me."

"Would you do it again?" another goblin bid. "Please. I would see?"

Obliging, the goblin waved the metal stick, and golden sparks spat out of the end. The goblins gasped, their eyes wide.

"It is from me," the one holding the rod emphasized, his own eyes wide. He clutched the fist of his empty hand to his chest. "I can feel it. The sparks are from me."

"May I see it?" Hermione asked politely.

Wordless, the goblin handed over the rod, and Hermione examined it, squinting at the markings on the end.

"Bronze with mandrake," she said, nodding. She handed it back to the goblin and withdrew her notebook, writing it down. "Good."

Some of the goblins returned to picking up rods, but a few goblins lingered around her, shooting her looks. After a time, Hermione finally looked up to meet their suspicious glares.

"You," one of the goblins said, eyes beady and suspicious. "What are these, that you would have us hold?"

"These are rods," Hermione said patiently.

"But what is a rod?" another goblin demanded, her markings flashing.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well," she said, hesitant. "Really, all it is… it's a bit of metal with a bit of a plant inside of it."

The goblins continued to look suspicious. Hermione sighed.

"They are made of metal, at least, of the metals I could get and transfigure or melt with spells," Hermione said. "I tried to keep them thin to be proportional to your hands, but I think maybe I went a bit too thin. And they have bits of magical plants inside of them – I tried to get plants that had a sort of consciousness to them, despite being plants."

"And why," the goblin said, her eyes flashing, "have you brought us these?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"The Ministry of Magic defines 'wands' as an instrument, made of a specific type of wood that surrounds a core of a magical substance from a creature, that is used to cast magic," she said finally. "Legally speaking, wands are made of wood and magical animal parts."

The goblins' eyes widened, and Hermione continued.

"I have brought you rods," she emphasized. "They are made of metal and magical plant parts. They are not, under any definition, classified as a wand."

"But Bonemace was able to make sparks," a goblin murmured. His teeth flashed as he grinned, eyes narrowing. "Not unlike what would happen if a wizard waved a wand."

"Well," Hermione said lightly. "You're a culture that smiths metal and lives in the earth. Is it any wonder that metals and plants might channel your natural magic well?"

The goblins exchanged a devious, beady-eyed look, and they scurried back over to the ledge, exploring the many rods that had been set out.

Hermione watched and took notes. Some of the rods were able to spit sparks for some of the goblins but not others. The ones not made of alloys, like the golden and silver ones, seemed to spit brighter sparks, but they worked much more rarely, it seemed. None of the rods with Leaping Toadstools or Bouncing Bulbs seemed to provoke any reaction, while Venomous Tentacula and Devil's Snare cores seemed to be more responsive to the goblins holding them.

Over time, their little experiment grew, nearby goblins coming over to investigate and joining the crowd, eager to take a rod and wave it. Whenever a goblin managed to produce sparks, there was a collective terrifying exclamation of joy, and the lucky goblin in question would hurry over to Hermione, who would note the rod and mark it down.

Later in the afternoon, after Hermione had made many pages of notes, a goblin approached her directly, wearing an odd sort of smock.

"Hermione Granger," he said, bowing low in front of her. "You may not remember me. We have met before. I am called—"

"Silversmite," Hermione said, recognizing his voice. She smiled. "You made my sword."

Silversmite straightened, grinning with many teeth.

"Tell me, Hermione Granger," he said, moving to sit near her. "What have you done with these 'rods'?"

While other goblins continued to sort through the metal chopsticks, Hermione explained to Silversmite what she had done. He seemed initially appalled that she would destroy currency to extract the metal from it, before frowning.

"If you can coin base metals, I do not see why one could not un-coin them," he said. He shook his head, hissing. "Still. Pure base metals would be better."

"They probably would be, but I didn't have access to those," Hermione pointed out reasonably. "I had to work with what I had."

She explained she'd chosen plants that seemed to be more 'alive' than others, ones that had some sort of magical consciousness. Silversmite seemed skeptical of her claims, but he brightened when she mentioned she'd brought some with her.

"Raw ones?" he clarified. "Ones that would live if transplanted?"

"Hopefully," Hermione said, shrugging. "I don't know how well they would do with the climate down here, but we could try?"

Silversmite called something out in Goblidon, and two goblins came running over, one with bright jeweled markings, the other with a very large head.

"Hermione Granger, I would introduce you to my apprentices," Silversmite said proudly. "Rustedge and Kunaite."

The two goblins bowed low, and Hermione bowed back as best she could from a sitting position.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Hermione told them. She offered a smile. "You are doing well?"

The goblins glanced at Silversmite, who nodded, before responding.

"The smithy is doing well, now that it has been rebuilt," Kunaite said slowly, her eyes darting around. "Silversmite is teaching us so we might make our own forges someday."

"Apprentices," Silversmite said seriously. "I would tell you of a great opportunity Hermione Granger has offered us."

He began to converse rapidly with them in Goblidon. Each syllable was short and rapid, one right after another, and Hermione wondered how they could make sense of it, how they could tell where one word ended and another began. At one point, Hermione saw their eyes go wide, and they glanced at her and then over at the crowd surrounding the rods.

After he was done explaining to them, Silversmite looked satisfied. The two apprentices were looking at Hermione with a new respect.

"Now," he said. "I would have your thoughts."

"If the plants are potentially dangerous, I would plant them away from others, where injuries would not occur," Rustedge said. "It would be far from the smithy, but the precaution would be necessary."

"I would keep them close, as they would require special care," Kunaite said, considering. She stroked her pointy chin thoughtfully. "The smithy has no room. But there is a wreck two land lots down. If the wreck would be removed, and the land repurposed…"

Silversmite's eyes lit.

"That would have potential," he said.

"We would need to talk to the council," Rustedge said, scowling. His whole face scrunched up as he made a disgusted face, and it was fascinating to watch. "They would demand to know why the smithy would deserve more land than the rest of us."

"I suspect," Kunaite said slyly, "that they would consider it a worthwhile investment, for the potential that would result."

"I think you'll get your chance soon," Hermione said, watching as a group of several goblins wearing beaded silver wigs approached the dais, attracted by the commotion and unexpected crowd of goblins. "If I'm not mistaken, they're coming this way."

The wigged goblins pushed their way through the crowd to the rods with authority. Hermione watched as their eyes went wide, and accusations and loud protests in Goblidon broke out. The council goblins seemed to be furious, only for their anger and dismay to turn to astonishment as the other goblins argued and countered them. Several of the wigged goblins glanced over at Hermione with sharp, suspicious eyes, and Hermione grinned slightly and waved.

The goblin council finally marched over. Silversmite stepped forward to address them, and a rapid conversation that Hermione couldn't make sense of in the slightest followed. After a long argument and bickering session, one of them turned to her.

"You have these magic plants?" he asked.

"I have some of them," Hermione admitted. "I'm not sure if they've all survived and are still alive, but hopefully?"

"And why have you brought them?" he demanded.

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Well, I mean, if you liked the rods and make your own, and you wanted it to be sustainable…" She shrugged. "You'd need to get new samples of them from somewhere, wouldn't you?"

The goblin gave her a flat look.

"You would arm the goblins," he said, his voice like steel. "You would give us wands."

"Rods, not wands," Hermione corrected, her eyes narrowing. "Not illegal under the Ministry. Something the Ministry knows nothing of."

The goblin glared at her for a long moment, before breaking into a wide smirk, eyes glinting and showing many teeth.

"You would arm the goblin Horde," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You. A child wizard. You would arm us all."

"This is part of a research project and an experiment," Hermione said in exasperation. "I didn't even know if it would work."

"But if it would?" the goblin challenged. "Already, you would be prepared with plants to transplant into our Hold?"

Hermione her lip.

"Look," she said finally. "Your homes are in ruins. You can't use magic directly or easily, only through tools, and because of it, your Hold is a shade of what it once was. Are you really going to refuse the first thing that could help you fix your city and help the Horde that's come along in years?"

The goblin looked over the crowd, more of whom had found rods that produced sparks for them, each time provoking a cheer.

"All within the Horde are equal," the goblin informed her. "All goblins would need a rod."

Hermione shrugged amicably.

"Well," she said easily. "Then I guess Silversmite should get started making new ones soon."

Chapter Text

The next morning, Bloodthorne seemed impossibly amused.

"You would give us wands that are not wands," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your Ministry would see you executed for such treason, you realize?"

"I was conducting an experiment," Hermione defended. She sniffed. "And nothing I gave anyone was illegal or a wand under any currently-existing legal definition."

"As you say." Bloodthorne grinned maliciously. "The Horde will be careful and give them no reason to suspect they would need change their definition, Hermione Granger."

As they entered the courtroom, there was a different air about the building this time. There was much gossip Hermione didn't understand, but a lot of goblins were looking at her.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked Bloodthorne, who smirked.

"Hermione Granger was known as the wizard who would trust the Horde with her gold," he told her. "Your loans would help us gradually claw our way back to prosperity. You were known among us already." His eyes gleamed. "But now, Hermione Granger, you would arm us. You would trust the Horde with magic, with weapons, and such a thing has not been seen in hundreds of years."

Hermione bit her lip, shrugging. "Good thing I'm considered a goblin ally, then?"

Bloodthorne let out a cackling laugh that chilled her blood, and Hermione decided she didn't really want to talk about it anymore.

Really, when Hermione first thought of creating the 'rods', she's been thinking of what Bloodthorne had said about their cities being in ruins. And then when she'd seen the lingering devastation, left over from Merlin knows which Ministry attack, her heart had wrenched and gone out to the goblins.

With rods, with a tool that could channel their magic, she hoped the goblins could learn spells like wizards did.

Levitation spells to help fix the pieces of their homes. Mending charms for their cracks and clothes. Water-making spells to help when they needed more concrete. There were so many basic things that could help the goblins so much, and if they had the proper tools and could learn…

That was her hope, anyway.

She'd brought several magical primer books to give the goblins, too, seemingly written for wizards struggling with basic spells. Hermione had wondered if they were intended for hedgewitches trying to learn, the way they were written – the reading level and word choice in the books was very simplistic, with lots of pictures and clear diagrams instead of wordy explanations.

Maybe wizard spells wouldn't work for the goblins. Hermione had no way of knowing, really, other than letting them try it. Maybe goblins would need to make up all their own spells, using some other root language to direct their intent – some ancient dialect of Goblidon, perhaps. It might take them years and years to come up with a system of magic all their own, to even be able to levitate things with their rods.

But she was determined to give them the chance to try.

The goblin with the golden wig emerged, holding the large sheath, climbing the stone podium before removing the giant gold sword.

"We reassemble as the Horde, and for the Horde, we seek justice," he said. "Together."

"Together." The collective response filled the room.

The judge slid the golden sword into place once more, letting it shine on the front of the judge's podium. Hermione wondered who had made the sword, and how long ago it had been made.

"Yesterday, it was established that Braincleave did knowingly and purposefully offer merchants more gold than the price of their goods in order to skip the line for such a good or to get more than the set allotment of such a good," the judge said. His beady eyes fixed on Moldedge. "It was also established that currently, this is not illegal. It has simply not been done."

Moldedge sneered at the judge. The judge sneered back.

"We would discuss the best resolutions for this issue," the judge announced. "Come! What would you have happen to Braincleave?"

To Hermione's astonishment, goblins from the gallery began to line up in the aisle, approaching the judge one by one to offer suggestions.

"Braincleave saw himself as better than the rest of the Horde, trying to skip the line," one goblin said, sneering at the defense table. "If he would be so much better than us, banish him. Leave him free to be better than the Horde elsewhere."

"Braincleave sought to destabilize the community," one goblin said, her brilliant jeweled markings winking in the light. "To balance his crime, he must instead work to stabilize the community. I would have him serve the collective community for a period to atone for his misdeeds."

One goblin seemed like a plant to Hermione, as he spoke in defense of Braincleave.

"Braincleave broke no law," he said flatly. "I would let him go free, and have the council do what they must so such a thing would not happen again."

The other goblins in the gallery disliked this, booing and hissing with narrowed eyes.

"Braincleave has transgressed against us, true, but he is not beyond redemption," one goblin said. "Let us send him into exile, so he might return someday after he has learned and dwelt on his crime."

One goblin was eyeing Hermione and she waited her turn, and soon enough, Hermione learned why.

"Braincleave was only able to do this through the gold of his loan," the goblin said clearly. She sneered, showing many pointy teeth. "I would have Hermione Granger revoke his loan and not give him another. Let us see how Braincleave attempts to bribe, then."

There was a murmur in the gallery at this suggestion.

What struck Hermione was none of the suggestions involved incarceration. All of the suggestions either sought to block him from committing the crime again, a way for him to make restoration to the community to make amends for his misdeed, a way for him to be rehabilitated (generally elsewhere), or some sort of general deterrence to persuade him and others not to do such a thing again.

None of the suggestions involved retribution of any sort, which Hermione found fascinating. She knew the goblins did have a sense of retribution – if she committed any sort of crime, the goblins would take it out on Bloodthorne in flesh and blood – but none of them seemed to think any of that would be helpful here.

It made Hermione think about the goblins and their legal system more than she thought she would. Braincleave had committed a crime of opportunity. Closing the opportunity would be most effective to stop him from doing it again, but the crime itself had already been done. Instead of taking revenge through retribution, making Braincleave perform an act of restoration or leave for solitary rehabilitation would make him make up for what he had done, not just be punished for his crime.

Though, Hermione was assuming exile and banishment were types of rehabilitation, forcing him to dwell on his crime and become a better person – a better goblin. For all she knew, maybe banishment was a death sentence to goblins.

Eventually the judge seemed to be satisfied with the list of suggestions that had been proposed, and he moved on to asking questions about aspects of each of them.

"If we would banish Braincleave," the judge said, "where would we have him go?"

Suggestions of 'elsewhere', 'the continent', and 'with the dwarfs' were called out, the last provoking deep sniggering from the crowd and a dark look to spread on Braincleave's face.

"With the dwarfs?" Hermione hissed to Bloodthorne. "Why's everyone find that funny? What's that mean?"

Bloodthorne's thin lips were twisted into a smirk.

"The Horde trades with the dwarfs. They mine metal, we smith it; they sell us raw materials, and we sell them finished goods. But it would be a great affront to the dignity of a goblin to mine his own ore," Bloodthrone said, his eyes glinting with mirth. "The strength of a goblin would pale in comparison to that of a dwarf, and the goblin would be shamed through his ineptitude."

"How would we have Braincleave work to serve the community?" the judge asked. "How would Braincleave make up for his act against us?"

Suggestions for this one were more varied and interesting to hear. One goblin suggested Braincleave work on collapsed collective buildings to restore them. Another suggested Braincleave be made a water goblin, tasked with collecting water for those too weak to seek it for themselves every day. Several suggested Braincleave work on the root farms, while several others thought to make Braincleave an insect-digger.

None of the suggestions seemed particular fitting to Hermione, but what did she know about it, she mused. Maybe working on the root farms was the perfect way for him to make up for his crime.

"If we were to send him into exile," the judge said, "what quest would we have him complete?"

Apparently exile, to the goblins, meant you were banished until you completed a task sent before you. Suggestions of the task to be set for him included 'retrieve a flask of water from the Pool of Healing', 'bring us a new river', and 'find a way so we might too have the sun'.

"'Have the sun'?" Hermione whispered to Bloodthorne. "What's that mean?"

Bloodthrone raised an eyebrow at her.

"You have noticed our light globes, now," he said quietly. "They are made with bioluminescent plants, insects, and magic. But they are not bright enough to allow any true plants to grow, only moss and roots."

"Not enough photons for much photosynthesis," Hermione said, nodding. "I see."

Bloodthorne gave her a strange look but continued on.

"The moss must be prioritized. It is what allows us to live and breathe," he told her. "Without it, we would suffocate and perish."

That explained all the moss coating the giant enclosure. It also explained why moss grew on some of the roofs of the small homes she had seen.

Hermione wondered if there would be any way for the goblins to make light with electricity. They didn't seem to use much magic, if any, so theoretically it wouldn't go haywire around them, right? But there was no evident way for them to generate it that she could think of – they had only slow-running streams at the edges of their Hold for water, there was no wind in the stillness of the underground, and burning anything for fuel would create dangerous amounts of carbon dioxide that might suffocate their entire cave.

Hermione sat back with a sigh. Logically, she knew she not every problem had an easily-apparent solution, and she shouldn't expect herself to solve every dilemma she encountered. That didn't stop her from feeling disappointed when she couldn't, though.

"We have heard many suggestions," the judge said after a time. He had a long scroll of paper with notes on it, so long that he had to stand to roll up. "We would take these suggestions and reflect on them. Tomorrow, we shall say what Braincleave's sentence would be." He set the scroll down, taking the hilt of the giant golden sword in his hands. "We shall contemplate this, and we shall seek justice in the morning together."

"Together," the goblins echoed, and the judge withdrew the giant sword and put it in the sheath.

Bloodthorne turned to Hermione, smirking widely.

"What havoc would you cause this afternoon?" he asked her. "Would you give out more not-wands in the streets? Would you give out blueprints to the Ministry headquarters?"

Hermione laughed, but she gave him a sheepish grin.

"I'm not planning on anything. I figured I'd just try and help with fixing some more houses," she told Bloodthorne. "Hopefully a relatively uneventful day?"

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed.

"We shall see, Hermione Granger," he said, "if such a thing is even possible for you."

There was a crowd of young goblins waiting for Hermione at the mossy center of the city, for some reason – ranging from one to three feet in height. Their English was terrible and hard to understand, but Hermione laughed.

"You want me to what?" she asked again, and the answering babble she got back made little to no sense whatsoever.

"They want water."

Hermione glanced up to see a female goblin passing by, giving the children an indulgent smirk.

"Water?" Hermione repeated, blinking.

"They have seen the giant bowl you made and filled with water ereyesterday," she said. "They would have you make water for them, so they might play in it and bathe."

"Oh!" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Um. If I do that, is there a danger they might drown?"

The goblin woman snorted.

"Goblings are not so stupid as to breathe water," she dismissed. "They would be fine."

Hermione turned to the goblin children.

"Is that right?" she asked. "You want to swim?"

Eager heads nodded all around her. Apparently, the goblings had a much easier time of understanding English than speaking it.

With that, Hermione set the children on a quest – to find flat, round objects with a bit of a rim that she could enlarge and fill for them. She doubted goblins had rubber or plastic down here, so she was hoping the goblings themselves could find something appropriate to substitute for a kiddie pool.

The goblin children brought back several containers for her, some of them repeating what the others had brought. Many of the children brought her a container that seemed like an odd sort of cup with an odd rubber-like cover on top of them attached with what seemed like a rubber band.

"What is this?" she asked, holding one up.

The children conferred, babbling, before a couple of the elder children did their best to explain.

"It collects," one gobling said. "Before and after sleep. For safety."

Hermione gave them a quizzical look. "Collects? Collects what?"

The goblin children opened their mouths at her, exposing many pointy teeth. Some of the smaller goblins didn't have as many pointy teeth, which made Hermione absently wonder what the goblins did for dentistry.

"I'm not following," she admitted.

One of the goblin children came forward and took back her container.

"Collects," she said. "See."

She looked at the container intently, eyes narrowing, a low growl forming in her throat. A few moments later, she moved quickly, biting the container's lid, and Hermione was astonished to see liquid drip down inside.

"Your venom," Hermione breathed. "I forgot you had that."

Two of the teeth the goblin had seemed to have grown larger than the others, now embedded into the lid and leaking into it. A few moments later, she lifted her mouth from the jar, spitting onto the ground before holding it up.

"See?" she said. "Collects. For safety."

The goblin children were all nodding. Hermione looked around at them all, wondering if the goblin parents collected the venom from their children so they wouldn't accidentally bite or lash out at each other during play. She had never seen an aggressive goblin, but that didn't mean such a thing didn't exist.

"I think this container's walls are a bit too high," she said, showing the goblin what she meant. "What else do we have?"

The winning container was a small tin. The lid screwed onto the bottom of the tin, and both the lid and tin themselves were wide and short enough to give Hermione the shape she needed.

"What is this for?" she asked.

The goblin children all said a word, repeating it at her confusion, before trying to figure out how to translate it. The only vaguely understood response she got back was 'spice', which was close enough. As Hermione unscrewed several of the containers, she wondered what the goblins did use for spices. Did they have salt somehow?

Over the next hour or so, Hermione enlarged several of the containers to the point where several goblin children could fit in each one, before filling them with water. She started with the smaller containers first, for the younger goblings, before filling the even larger ones for the older goblin children, who waited patiently for their turn, before finally jumping in with glee.

Hermione was bit woozy on her feet afterward – producing that much water had taken more out of her than she thought – but her core was equipped to regenerate her magic quickly while she took a break. She smiled, watching the young goblings play in the makeshift pools, splashing each other, their robes hastily thrown on the ground, leaving them wearing only some sort of orange covering on their bottoms.

…did goblins have diapers for their children?

Hermione smirked to herself. Of all the questions she'd never thought she'd want to ask…

The older goblin children too had shed their robes, but they wore bright red underclothes of some sort. Both sexes wore bottoms, either in a brief cut or small shorts. The male goblings wore a band of the same cloth higher up on their chests, while the girl goblings had two bands come up from the waist of their bottoms, crossing over their chest in an X and looping over their shoulders. The fabric looked almost like latex or vinyl, to Hermione's astonishment, and she wondered what it could possibly be made of.

An adult came over, looking at the pools of water with large eyes, before approaching Hermione.

"When they are done," he asked, "would you leave the water? We would use it for concrete or cleaning."

"Of course," Hermione said, smiling. That was easy enough and meant less clean up for her. "Might I ask you a question?"

The goblin inclined his head, and Hermione gestured at the children.

"What are they wearing?" she asked. "Are those underclothes?"

The goblin bit his lip, looking for words.

"Of a sort," he explained. "They would protect their modesty. The lower piece, it covers their…" He broke off, lost as he looked for the word, before dismissing it. "Like yours. The upper, their…" He broke off again, clearly frustrated with his lack of skill with English.

"Their nipples?" Hermione suggested.

"Yes." The goblin nodded with relief. "Nipples. These are covered until needed, when a child is born."

"But why do they have different cuts?" Hermione asked. "Is it a style thing?"

The goblin looked at her funny.

"It covers the nipples," he said again slowly, like she was stupid. "Here, for the boys—" He touched his own chest, twice, in the area covered by the male goblings' band "—and here for the girls."

He touched his chest again twice, in places that would be covered by the X of clothing the girls wore, before also touching his lower ribs twice as well, in the area covered by the lower part of the X, and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Ah, I see," she said, nodding. "Thank you for explaining."

The goblin smirked. "It is nothing. I would thank you for the water, instead."

Hermione frowned.

"Why is water so rare, here?" she asked. "I've seen the tunnels of Gringotts for the vaults. I wouldn't think constructing a water way would be a challenge for the goblins...?"

A dark shadow passed over the goblin's face, and he looked at Hermione with sharp eyes. It took him a long moment to decide whether or not to respond.

"The vaults and tunnels were made in a different time," he said slowly, "and this is not the original Goblin Hold." His tone was heavy, intimidating, and he gave her a sharp look. "I would advise you, wizard, not to bring up such things again."

Hermione swallowed hard. "Right. Sorry. Thanks."

The goblin seemed to dismiss her and went on his way. Somewhat shaken, Hermione turned back to the goblin children, who were shrieking in happiness. They had apparently learned how to cause very big splashes, which was much cause for excitement, and Hermione found herself smiling again easily.

They were kind of cute, really. Even with their sharp teeth and pointy ears and odd markings, the goblings still had an innocence about them that made her smile.

Hermione watched the gobling children play a while longer, quietly enjoying their happiness and joy, though she couldn't understand anything she overheard. Despite what the goblin woman had told her, she didn't want to leave them unattended. She would feel incredibly guilty if one of them drowned, and she wanted to make sure such a thing wasn't going to happen.

She was just wondering if it really was safe to leave them and go help someone elsewhere when she heard an angry shout behind her.

"Hermione Granger!"

Hermione turned.

There was a small group of adult goblins marching towards her on the road. They looked aggressive, and Hermione moved to intercept them in the road, away from the children.

"I am Hermione," she said, nodding to the goblins. "How can I help you?"

One goblin stepped forward, sneering at her. Other goblins nearby drifted nearer, hearing the shouts.

"You are trying to destabilize goblin society," he accused her. "You would have us think you a friend, when you are a foe in disguise."

"I am not!" Hermione was insulted. "I'm trying to help you, not harm you!"

"You lie," the goblin informed her. He turned to the collecting crowd. "I would prove," he announced grandly, "that Hermione Granger is no true friend of the Horde."

"And I would prove you wrong," Hermione snapped back, and the goblin grinned viciously at her.

"Then we have an argument," he said, and there was a murmur from the crowd as they stepped back, forming a ring.

Belatedly, Hermione realized this was exactly what Bloodthorne had warned her of.

She bit her lip, watching as the goblin across from her took off his robes, leaving him in dark shorts and a cloth band across his chest. Other goblins had assembled behind her, and it was with great reluctance that Hermione unbuttoned her own robes and took them off, carefully setting her sword and wand on top of them in a neat pile. She was left in a sports bra and muggle spandex shorts, both modest enough to cover her but clothing that left her naked enough to show she wore no enchantments. She left her shoes on, and for a moment as she looked down at herself, she thought she looked rather like a volleyball player.

"Begin your argument, then," Hermione snapped as she tied her hair up on the back of her head, wanting to keep it out of the way. The goblin grinned fiercely at her, before turning to the assembled crowd with open arms, gesturing.

"Hermione Granger would have us think she is a friend of the Horde, but Hermione Granger is a wizard." His eyes gleamed. "Wizards have forcibly repressed goblins over and over. Wizards have attempted genocide of the goblins. And wizards resent the goblins controlling their gold. Through this, we know that the wizards want to suppress and control the goblins through whatever means necessary."

His manner of speaking was different, Hermione noted. There were fewer polite 'woulds' and more authoritative statements, and Hermione could almost hear him listing the premises of his argument as he spoke.

"If suppression and control of the goblins are what wizards want, and Hermione Granger is a wizard, this is what Hermione Granger truly wants!" The goblin's voice was fierce, and there was a murmur in the crowd. "Her gestures of friendship are false, and they will give the Ministry the excuse they need to retaliate or strike preemptively. She would bring our ruin to our door with a smile, a false friend to us all."

There was a murmur in the crowd and many pairs of beady eyes looking at her. The goblin across from her sneered, and Hermione stepped forward, taking a deep breath.

"I refute your fourth claim," she declared. "Wizards do not resent the goblins controlling their gold."

The goblin sneered. "Prove it."

Hermione held up a hand.

"One: Wizards are lazy," she began, ticking things off on her fingers. "If they do not need to do a task themselves, they will make someone else do it. Do you deny this fact?"

The goblin sneered at her. "I do not."

"Two: Wizards in general see goblins as less than human and not as people," Hermione said, grimacing. "I will say nothing on the morality or correctness of such a belief, but do you deny that wizards look down on goblins?"

The goblin scowled. "I do not."

"Third: Keeping track of gold, counting, and digging underground tunnels with protections is a lot of work," she said, holding up a third finger. "It requires hard work. Do you deny this?"

The goblin glared. "I do not deny it."

"Then," Hermione said, folding her arms, "if we have established wizards are lazy, want to avoid hard work, and see the goblins as lesser beings they can make do tasks they do not want to do… why would you think the wizards would resent the goblins doing the thing they do not want to do?"

There was a murmur in the crowd, more pairs of eyes looking to her with less hostility now. Hermione looked out over the crowd.

"It is not right, and it is not true, but the wizards see the goblins running Gringotts as a service to them," she asserted. "The wizards do not think of goblins as a people of their own anymore, but as money servants to them. The last rebellion was centuries ago, and stories of such rebellions have largely faded to dull stories or legend among wizardkind." She shrugged her shoulders. "Wizards in general do not think of the goblins often unless the goblins make noise or try to rebel. They see them as subservient lesser beings."

"That is false!" the goblin spat at her. "We are no less than wizards!"

"I agree with you," Hermione said mildly. "But that does not mean the wizards do not believe goblins are less, even if you are not."

The goblin scowled at her, and Hermione raised her chin, glaring right back.

"My turn," she said. "I assert I am not foe to the goblin Horde. Here is my argument."

She shifted slightly, keeping alert and her eyes on her opponent as she began.

"If I were foe to the goblins, I would either work to weaken them, want to leave them weak, or betray their secrets to the Ministry," she said, holding up three fingers. "I am not working to weaken you; I have loaned the Horde gold to help repair your homes and businesses to strengthen you." She put one finger down.

"I do not want to leave you weak," Hermione said, putting a second finger down. "I have brought you basilisk meat to nourish your bodies, and I have brought rods and technology to help you strengthen yourselves. Neither of these indicates any desire to leave you weak, but, in fact, supports the exact opposite."

"And I will not betray your secrets to the Ministry," she said, putting the third finger down. "The Ministry has no idea I am here, no idea I have given you anything, and they will continue to have no idea about any of my involvement with anything. I would face condemnation by them if they knew, and I have no reason to risk any such condemnation when my friendship with the goblins is mutually beneficial like it is."

"So," she continued, "if I am not working to weaken you, I do not want to leave you weak, and I will not betray your secrets to the Ministry…" She made an obvious show of looking at her hand, which had no fingers on it up remaining. "…then where is your evidence that I am your foe?"

The crowd surrounding them let out a supportive murmur at this, a louder one than her opponent had drawn, and a glance around saw that the crowd had nearly doubled in size, making her more nervous than before. The goblin across from her glared.

"I refute your fourth premise, that you will not betray us to the Ministry," the goblin snapped. "All wizards are betrayers and cannot keep their faith."

"I refute your refutation," Hermione shot back. "You have not seen or met all wizards. Sure, some wizards are betrayers and cannot keep their word, but it does not follow that all wizards do so, so you cannot claim to know I would do such a thing."

"I refute your third premise," the goblin spat, glaring at her fiercely. "You allege these 'rods' would give us power and strength. These rods, in truth, will give the Ministry an excuse accuse us of improper wand use and oppress us once more!"

"I refute your refutation!" Hermione retorted. She was kind of getting into the rhythm of it now, a thrill of exhilaration going through her. "The definition of a wand is a magical animal core surrounded by a wood, used to cast magic. The rods have neither a magical animal core, nor are they made of wood. With neither criterion for a wand being met by a rod, they cannot be considered wands, and would not fall under the Ministry's wand ban!"

"Just because they would not legally fall under such a ban does not mean the Ministry would not use it as an excuse to attack us!" the goblin snapped back.

"Just because something could happen does not mean it will," Hermione shot back. "The Ministry could decide that goblins are a scourge on society and try to eliminate you all just because they feel like it. You cannot argue in unsupported hypotheticals and expect it to hold up!"

The goblin across from her scowled at her, eyes narrowed, showing many teeth.

"Wizards have forcefully oppressed us, time and time again!" he accused.

"And here I stand, helping you against them, giving you the power to protect yourselves and fight back!" Hermione cried. "How can you stand there and claim I am your foe when I would give you the means to seize your strength yourselves?

The goblin across from her snarled.

"I deny your arguments," he declared, eyes flashing.

"Well, I deny yours, too," Hermione said shortly, folding her arms. "You're wrong. I am not your foe."

"Then we are at an impasse…" the goblin said, crouching low to the ground and backing up, "…and we will see whose argument has the greater strength in the end!"

Hermione had only a moment to react as the goblin sprung at her, crashing into her and knocking her to the ground. It took a split-second to remember how best to fall, to let her hand take the impact first on the hard ground and roll her body into it, spreading out the damage, as the goblin attacked her with his claws.

His claws were sharp, cutting into the skin at her collarbones, and it was with a struggle that Hermione fought to grab his hands to stop the attack.

"Cut it out!" she snapped. "That hurts! You're only fighting 'cause you lost!"

"We will see whose argument has the greater strength in the end!" the goblin shrieked at her. "And so far, you are weak!"

Hermione saw his eyes narrow and his jaw swell, and in a panic, she recognized it from when the gobling earlier had shown her how their venom was extracted.

"No!"

There was a powerful burst of magic from her chest that flung the goblin off of her, sending him careening high into the air and landing hard on the ground several yards away. Hermione gingerly got to her feet, wiping her face free from the goblin's spittle, blood dripping down her chest.

"You claim your argument is the strongest because you have claws and fangs," Hermione snarled, approaching the goblin, who lay stunned on the ground. "Well, I claim that your 'argument' can't come close to beating me!"

With a furious gesture, the goblin was levitated into the air and held there, Hermione glaring at him, one hand in the air, holding him steady. The air elemental inside of her whirled, whispering to her that they could suck the air from his lungs, that they could make a tornado to send him spinning away, that they could do anything. The goblin glared at her, spitting once again, but a gust of wind splashed his spittle and venom back onto his own face.

It was with a great struggle that Hermione managed some semblance of restraint. Now that the goblin wasn't an immediate threat, her adrenaline was starting to wane, leaving her shaking slightly. With a pull on the earth elemental inside of her, there was a rumble as a column of dirt rose into the air, leaving circular indent in the ground around it.

"With a stagnant argument like that," she said, her eyes flashing, "I'll leave you to stagnate as well."

The column of dirt closed around the still-levitating goblin, encasing him in ground. Eyes wide and alarmed, the goblin started shouting, shrieking things in Goblidon, which Hermione ignored with a smirk. The pillar was nearly eight feet tall, she estimated, and only his head was sticking out. The goblins would have a challenge on their hands to climb high enough to safely dig him out. And she hadn't even drawn the goblin's blood in the process, she thought smugly - Bloodthorne should still be safe in his covenant.

When she turned away from her opponent, she saw the goblin crowd around her was watching with excited, bloodthirsty eyes, and Hermione stopped short. She had no idea what came next. Was there some ceremonial statement to declare to bring the fight to an end?

"I refute your claims in full," she said finally, looking back at her enemy, her voice loud. "I am no foe to the Horde, and my arguments have proven stronger and true."

She spat upon the ground, and there was a terrifying cheer from around her, goblins clacking their claws and shrieking. Hermione turned away from her opponent, leaving him there encased in dirt, and strode away determinedly, picking up her robes and shaking them off. Ignoring the noise around her, she slipped them on and buttoned them back up, re-sheathing her sword and wand at her waist.

"There are several hours until evening," she said loudly. "If you trust I am a friend of the Horde, and you would have me help you, step forward, and I will try."

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon going around with a crowd of the goblins, helping them repair their houses, rebuild their fences, mend their clothing, and fill their buckets with water. Once it was discovered she could transfigure rock into differently-shaped rock, there were requests for small statues of armadillos and lizards, set to guard their homes. Each time she succeeded in helping a goblin, the others in the crowd let out a cheer, and she was pushed off to the next house, to help with the next challenge someone faced.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw several of the goblins that had approached her in the street with her opponent now examining the pillar of dirt carefully, talking together. An hour later they had brought what looked like a rickety ladder made from reeds to climb the pillar, with shovels leaning against the pillar to be passed to the top once someone could reach it.

At one point, shortly before dinner time, Bloodthorne stopped by, watching as Hermione helped fix a shattered window and enlarge a dented bin. She turned to look at him, expecting comment, but Bloodthorne shook his head in amusement.

"A relatively uneventful day," he said, smirking.

"Is this not peaceful and uneventful?" Hermione said innocently, gesturing to the home she was helping repair.

His eyes gleamed. "Skinbite would disagree."

"Skinbite can suck on a rock," Hermione said, tossing her hair. "I won the argument, and the argument-fight. As far as I'm concerned, he can wallow in his wrongness for the rest of his life."

Bloodthorne snorted.

"If he would ask for help and mercy," he said, "would you help him down?"

Hermione glanced back at the goblins attempting to help. Their rickety ladder had broken, and they were arguing and discussing what else do to.

"If he asked," she said finally. "Which I doubt his pride will let him do."

By the time it was full evening, Skinbite had finally been broken free. The ending solution had involved collapsing the pillar in such a way so the top of it would fall into one of the kiddie pools, lessening the damage from the fall Skinbite would take, and Hermione was darkly amused to see him come back up flailing coughing, soaked and still largely caked in mud.

That night, Hermione amused herself by replaying the incident in her mind, the image of his dirt tower toppling over into the pool, Skinbite emerging coughing and covered in mud, still glaring at the world. There was a faint smile on her lips as she levitated her bed until her magic ran out, replaying the argument and fight over and over in her head, pleased it had gone the way it did.

Goblin culture might be strange and foreign to her, but she thought she'd acquitted herself rather well.

Chapter Text

"We reassemble as the Horde, and for the Horde, we seek justice," the judge said. He looked out over the crowd, his golden beads swinging. "Together."

"Together."

The giant golden sword went into the podium once more, and Hermione sat up in her uncomfortable stone seat, curious as to what the verdict would be.

"Braincleave, though he broke no laws, acted in a way that would harm the collective goblin community," the judge said solemnly. "Through his greed and abuse of gold, he risked us all."

Stoneshear and Bloodthorne exchanged satisfied smirks, trusting that their case had proven out.

"As such," the judge continued, "Braincleave's loan will be revoked. Hermione Granger will call in her lien, and Braincleave must pay her back in full the amount borrowed along with any other gold promised in the contract, and Gringotts will not allow Braincleave to take out another loan for a century."

There was a pleased murmur from the crowd, while Hermione was surprised. Goblins could live to be over a hundred?

"Furthermore," the judge said, his eyes gleaming, "Braincleave's restitution will be made in such a way that suits his nature. Braincleave's greed and gold got him here, and so it will get him out; Braincleave will be exiled to the dwarf community of the east, made to mine gold until such a time as the dwarfs declare he has paid his debt and worked his selfishness away."

At this pronouncement, the gallery erupted into loud noise, feet stamping and goblins whistling and shrieking, vicious pleased grins on their faces. Braincleave slammed his head into the stone table, groaning loudly and covering his face with his claws, and Moldedge looked like he had sucked on a lemon.

"Now," the judge said. "Hermione Granger, come forward. You will be the first to assert your justice."

With Bloodthorne's hissed guidance, Hermione stepped to the front. With shaking hands, she withdrew the giant golden sword from the podium. It was massively heavy, and she staggered under the weight of it. A hissed Feather-Light Charm and a lot of help from her air elemental had her finally able to hold it unsteadily in front of her and point it at Braincleave, who had been pushed to step forward as well.

"Braincleave of the Horde," she said, repeating what Bloodthorne was hissing to her from the side. "I assert my justice and reclaim what is mine. You shall repay me every coin you have taken, and you shall covet my gold no more."

"I submit to this justice," Braincleave said. His tone was subdued, and he glowered at her and at the ground. "I will return to you what is yours."

Next, Hermione passed the giant (and very heavy) sword to a goblin wearing a silver beaded wig, a representative of the goblin council, and she retook her seat.

"Braincleave of the Horde, I assert our justice and take back what you have abused," the goblin said, his eyes sharp as he stared down Braincleave. The giant gold sword was larger than the goblin was, but somehow it didn't waver once in the goblin's hand. "You are Braincleave of the Horde no longer, and you will leave our Horde until a time as you are deemed appropriate to return to us."

Braincleave scowled at the ground. "I submit to this justice."

The last to come forward was what was undoubtedly a dwarf. Hermione recognized the anatomy and body shape from Lockhart's cupids, but this dwarf seemed cheerful and pleased, clad in earthen toned clothes and wearing a long beard. He took the golden sword with an excited sparkle in his eyes, and he examined it with relish until the judge finally cleared his throat, reminding the dwarf what he was there to do.

"Braincleave," the dwarf said, holding the golden sword out at him, "I assert justice and will oversee you as you atone. You will serve with the dwarfs until you have atoned for your offense, at which time you will be returned to the Horde."

Braincleave said nothing, glaring at the dwarf for a long moment. The crowd murmured, tension building, and Hermione nudged Bloodthorne.

"What happens if he doesn't submit?" she whispered. "What happens then?"

Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed.

"Then the dwarf will use the sword," he said, "and Braincleave will be no more."

Hermione found herself straightening up, wide-eyed. She hadn't expected she might see an execution live on the courtroom floor.

Luckily, it seemed Braincleave's pause was his last act of defiance.

"I submit to this justice," he said. He spat bitterly upon the ground, and the gallery broke out into whooping and chilling cheers that sent shivers up Hermione spine. Happy goblins still sounded more like a threat than a cheering crowd.

"Then," the judge said, taking back the golden sword, "justice has been declared, and Braincleave will submit to the justice of the Horde."

He held up the sword up high in the air, where it flashed, before putting it back in the sheath and bowing deeply over the podium.

"Thank you for your input," he said to everyone. "Justice was found together."

"Together," the crowd echoed, and the judge looked pleased as he made his way off the podium and down to the ground.

Conversation broke out in small groups, many of the crowd looking very pleased by the outcome, a few who had sat neat Braincleave looking angry or upset. Hermione watched as the judge walked away, carrying the enormous sword.

"How is it he's able to lift that thing?" she asked. "That sword was so heavy it almost toppled me over."

Bloodthorne smirked.

"Goblins do not have difficulty with metals we have smithed," he said. "We have a natural affinity with pure metals from the ground. Their weight does not inhibit us as they would you."

If that meant goblins could easily pick up massive piles of gold, Hermione was jealous. Magic helped make up for her lack of strength a lot, but that was just cool.

Hermione repacked her bags, much lighter now that she had given away the basilisk meat, the box of rods, and the sack of plants. All she had left were her clothes and a stash of apples and dried field rations she had brought, not knowing what goblins would eat. As she left the little concrete hut she'd called home for three days, Braincleave was standing there with Moldedge, Bloodthorne, Stoneshear, and several silver-wigged members of the goblin council.

"I have not the gold to repay the loan right now," Braincleave told her. He sighed. "I would pay you back from my minings first, to fulfill your justice."

Hermione glanced at Bloodthorne, who nodded.

"That would fulfill my justice," she agreed. She paused. "I wish you luck in the mines."

Braincleave snorted and spat on the ground, but he looked amused.

"For what it is worth," he said, "you were not what I would have expected, Hermione Granger."

She didn't know what to make of that, so she folded her arms and watched as the goblins carted Braincleave away. Bloodthorne lingered behind as they watched him go, before he looked to Hermione.

"You would be ready to make your departure?" he asked. "Would you need to say goodbye?"

Hermione smiled wryly.

"I don't remember everyone I've met, so I can hardly say good-bye to them all," she admitted. "Maybe I'll just say goodbye to whomever we run into in the streets?"

As Bloodthorne walked her down the streets toward the edge of the city, word seemed to get around that Hermione was leaving, and the goblins came out to say goodbye. Many of them cried out cheers and words she didn't understand as she passed, and Hermione waved back at them with a nostalgic smile. As terrifying as the goblins were, she liked to think she'd made friends of a sort with them. She felt like she helped them some, as best she could, and hopefully the rods and knowledge she left behind would help them further help themselves.

Goblings swarmed her legs as she walked, buzzing and babbling things in Goblidon at her. Hermione looked to Bloodthorne, who smirked.

"They are asking when you would come and visit again," he told her, and Hermione laughed.

"I don't know," she told them. "Maybe you should come visit me next time, alright?"

The goblings' eyes went wide at this, and they went running back to their parents babbling, while Bloodthorne cackled in laughter.

"Be careful what you would tell impressionable children," he advised her, eyes gleaming. "They just might listen to you."

The view from the great glass elevator was just as majestic going up as it was when they descended, and Hermione could see the goblins waving up at her from the streets as she ascended. She waved back at them for as long as she could, till the elevator rose above the light globes and past the mossy shell of the city, going back up the long tunnel of the earth back up to the surface.

As she and Bloodthorne rose back up, Hermione's eyes grew distant as she replayed some of the high points of her experience over the last four days. The entire thing had been nothing like she had expected (though she wasn't quite sure what she had expected), but she'd rather enjoyed her time with the goblins. Miscommunications aside, they had been open with her and almost kind, and she felt like she'd made some connections and actual friends, to say nothing of the knowledge she had gained.

All in all, she thought, a small smile playing on her lips as she mused over it, she wouldn't mind ever going back.

Chapter Text

Pleased with her success with the goblins, Hermione withdrew some of her gold from her account before she left Gringotts Thursday afternoon, only to return to Diagon Alley the next morning, eagerly and with a plan – decidedly sans sword.

The Alley in the morning was a cheerful, easy-going place. The sun hadn't risen enough for the weather to become oppressive yet, and the slanted shade of the buildings kept everything cool. Shopkeepers were cheerful, not yet worn down by aggravating customers, and Hermione hummed to herself as she went along the alley, going around the corner and down Horizont Alley.

Twilfitt and Tattings was a shop Hermione had never been inside before. To her understanding, it was a more upscale clothier, similar to Madame Malkins but more expensive. Hermione had worn one of her nicer robes, and as soon as she pushed in the door and entered, she was glad of it.

The biggest thing she noticed to start was the light, present in bright glowing orbs placed around the ceiling, glowing and filling the shop with an ambient light. Madame Malkin's, as most shops on Diagon Alley, relied heavily on sunlight from large windows. Twilfitt and Tattings, it seemed, had spared no expense in making sure their fine things could be seen, and see she did.

The store had high, arching ceilings and warm neutral colors on the walls instead of stone. Hermione drifted towards the nearest rack of robes – Women's Day Robes, according to the display – and was impressed at the detail in each of them. Whereas Madame Malkin's robes were nice, they were all made from similar patterns and cuts without much detail – something that might be mass-produced in the muggle world. These robes, however, were cut differently, some made from as many as 14 panels, all of which could be adjusted for tailoring. There were delicate thread details, contrasting silver or gold thread stitched along the hems, small embroideries around the collars, and some had buttons made of jet, jade, or pearls.

The fabrics, too, varied wildly. There was silk, sure, but there was also Acromantula silk and Mulberry silk, as well as suede and velvet and satin. Hermione fingered one robe idly, curious as to the cost but not really wanting to look. She could afford one, sure, but she didn't really want to go about blowing her fortune so suddenly – people would start to wonder where the gold came from.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione turned to see a woman about her height looking at her patiently, wearing a lovely set of blush pink suede robes. Her hair was dark and tied up, where it fell from a clip in pretty curls. Her eyes were sharp on Hermione, but she was doing a masterful job of keeping any irritation from her face.

Hermione smiled.

"I've never been here before," she admitted, "and my friends all tell me this is the best place to shop in the alley. I wanted to see what all you carried."

The shopkeeper relaxed a little.

"Well, in that case, let me give you the tour," she said. "Twilfitt and Tattings takes pride in providing everything you might need in terms of attire."

Hermione's eyes were wide as the shop girl (Caterina Twilfitt, she introduced herself as) guided her around the store, telling her about their clothing process all the while. Robes were typically made to standard measurements and then fitted by a tailoring witch, though they did work with several designers who did made-to-measure and bespoke robes as well. Hermione's eyes drank in a majestic set of evening robes that looked more like a red-carpet gown than it did a set of robes; Twilfitt and Tattings, she decided, had clearly claimed the higher tier clientele of the robe market.

Not only were there robes of all sorts and styles, but there were also cloaks and coats of many different fabrics. Hermione choked to see the amount of fur on some of them, but many were made from wool and less offensive materials as well. There were even boots and stockings and stays, Hermione saw – genuine stays, meant to be worn as undergarments. She'd never been so grateful for a bra before.

She was pleased to see that the store catered to other needs as well. There was a wide range of pricey accessories available – watches, necklaces, bracelets, bags, etc. – in a different area of the store, and as Hermione looked around, craning her neck, she was able to see a display of perfumes, and another one that held Sleakeasy's Hair Potion.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Caterina prompted, once the tour was over.

Hermione glanced around. There were a few other shoppers drifting around, and at least one other shop girl, who was hanging up robes on a new display.

"Are you the owner of the shop?" she asked.

Caterina raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm the granddaughter of Giulia Twilfitt, current co-owner of the store with Aurora Tatting."

"Are they around?" Hermione inquired politely. "I have a business venture I'd like to propose."

Caterina was visibly taken aback.

"You?" she said, skeptical. She peered at her. "You're much younger than the usual aspiring designers we get in here."

"I'm not a designer," Hermione said patiently. "Think of me more like… a procurer. I can procure goods for you that I believe your shop could sell to your clientele for a high price."

"Like what?" Caterina challenged.

"Like a curling wand, for one," Hermione said. She gestured to the girl's hair. "How long did it take you to make those curls with rags and a setting potion?"

The girl's face reddened. "Oh, and you can do better?"

"I can give you a tool that can help you make smoother curls that will hold for longer in ten minutes," Hermione said mildly. "The Greengrass family in particular raves about it. Daphne's mother uses hers now all the time."

Caterina's gaze turned from irritated to curious.

"I've seen Evelyn's curls lately," she said. "The last time she was in here, I think Ilona asked how she got them, and she merely laughed it off, saying it was a family secret…" Her eyes refocused on Hermione, calculating.

"Well, no one else is here for appointments yet," she conceded. "You might as well make your pitch."

Hermione's eyes lit with triumph. "Lead the way."

Giulia Twilfitt and Aurora Tatting were both women of great standing in the wizarding world, Hermione was sure, owning the boutique they did, and they both looked it. Though each woman was easily over seventy or eighty, there was a poise and unassailable sense of regality about each of them, keen wisdom and insight etched into the wrinkles around their eyes, and Hermione found herself instinctively curtsying deeply as Caterina made the introductions.

The women's eyes were sharp on her as Caterina briefed them on what Hermione had said, and one of them waved Caterina away, keeping her eyes on Hermione.

"Thank you, Caterina," Giulia Twilfitt said. "That will be all."

Caterina left, leaving Hermione in the middle of a room with a large round table in it, on the other side of which both women sat. The rest of the room was littered with sketches, mirrors, scraps of fabric, designer storyboards, and piles of parchment on a desk in the back in whirlwind of organized chaos.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me today," Hermione said, her mouth dry. She smiled at them. "I appreciate you taking a chance on an unknown, but—"

The other woman interrupted with a scoff, waving off her introduction.

"If you are the one with a source to curling wands, you are not as 'unknown' as you might think you are," Aurora Tatting said, her eyes sharp on Hermione. "You, I suspect, are the cause of my niece's sudden improvement in her looks."

Hermione paused. "Perhaps? Who is your niece?"

"Corinda Tatting," Aurora said. "She'll be a seventh-year Slytherin this year."

One of Jade Rince's dormmates, then, Hermione realized. She'd traded access to cosmetics and the like to Jade her first year, and it was easy enough to owl in the periodic orders Jade slipped her from time to time throughout the year.

"I suspect I am, then," Hermione agreed, nodding. "I've sold to her dormitory of girls."

Giulia's eyes gleamed.

"Then come closer, girl, and show us what you've got."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione began spreading out fliers and catalogs, explaining how she'd started her plot. She began with telling them outright that she was selling her classmates muggle products, masquerading them as potion-made creams and powders. She showed the two women the comparisons of the original catalog with the one she'd modified, and she demonstrated how she jinxed the labels off of everything so as not to cause questions.

Her scheme had worked, Hermione told them frankly. The demand was definitely there, and it had outgrown her little circle. If their store would stock such products, she was certain many women would want such things, eager to improve their appearance however possible. And with Twilfitt and Tattings boasting such unique products, witches would be all too eager to believe they were wizard-made.

The two witches' eyes examined every document Hermione put in front of them, including her price lists and previous orders she'd placed. Hermione was counting on them to be savvy businesswomen who could see an opportunity, regardless of where it came from. She felt fairly confident; Mulberry silk, for example, Hermione doubted wizards made. That was a muggle endeavor if she'd ever seen one – and yet, their store carried robes made from the rare fabric.

"Your idea has merit," Giulia said slowly, turning a flier over in her fingers slowly. "Women would be eager for these enhancements."

"You are proposing… what?" Aurora asked, her eyes sharp. "If the muggle world stocks these products, there is no reason we cannot go and procure them ourselves to resell."

"You could," Hermione shrugged. "But it would get expensive. The muggle company I go through offers things at a much lower rate, which would help you maximize your profit potential."

"We could go through your muggle company," Giulia pointed out.

"You could," Hermione agreed. "Though… do you have a muggle birth certificate or National Insurance number?"

The women exchanged a glance. Hermione felt a flare of triumph.

"What I am proposing is simple," Hermione said. "I will give you order forms and all the catalogs I have. When you place orders, use the form I give you. They have my sales representative number on them, and as such, I'll automatically get a portion of the sales. Then, when you get the product, you can mark it up however much you like to make up the cost."

Giulia's eyes narrowed.

"You've been making 80% profit on each item sold, and you would hand that over to us entirely?" she said.

"I'm trading it for scale," Hermione said. "I can sell things to the girls in my dorm. You can sell to the entire wizarding world."

Aurora was looking over a mascara ad.

"These would not work for marketing," she said. "Witches would expect to see witches wearing their products."

"Then make your own marketing campaign," Hermione suggested. "Once you get the products in, you can have whatever models you want wear them and your robes for photoshoots."

"Lena would look divine with these eyes," Giulia said, pointing to a photo, and Aurora murmured in agreement before looking back up at Hermione.

"This would be a significant risk for us to take," Aurora said, her eyes sharp. "We have only your word that demand is as high as you say it will be."

A thought occurred to Hermione.

"Then let me assume that risk," Hermione said, an idea unfurling. "I'll purchase the first order for your store, with my gold. As such, all profit from any sales will go to me, and any loss is something I will accept, too. After you see how well they sell, any further orders you make that are funded by you, the profit will go solely to you."

Aurora looked thoughtful, while Giulia smirked.

"You'll be keeping your 80% profit after all," she said, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"If I'm taking the risk, I'm taking the reward," she responded, and Giulia cackled.

"I am in agreement," she said to Aurora. "What thinks you?"

"I think this has merit," the other old woman said, lifting another catalog from the table. "Witches will spill their gold for these curling wands if nothing else, I am sure." She looked up at Hermione, eyes narrowed. "Regardless of the risk, this is our store. We will handle all displays and marketing."

"Of course," Hermione hastened to assure her. "I would never presume."

"Then," Giulia said, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, "let us make a contract."

Writing and arguing over the contract took a while, often with Giulia and Aurora bickering with each other. They bickered with the good nature of women who had been friends for decades, and Hermione had to suppress her smiles and giggles at some of the fighting and the insults the women shot at each other as they modified tiny details in the document.

When the contract was completed, Hermione was pleased with the terms. She would finance the first order, assuming all the risk. All the product she received would be marked, and the profit of any sales would go to a separate account, kept for her. Any product procured afterward would go through her Sales Representative number, but Twilfitt and Tattings would take all the profit from the markup they made.

The details had been in what the first order would be. Hermione was willing to assume some risk, but she was hardly willing to spend thousands on things she did not think witches would want. The first order she would place was put into the contract as part of what they were signing off on – an assortment of hair curlers, mascaras, eyeliners, powders, foundations, and other cosmetics Hermione had sold to her classmates. She shied away from the more complicated ones, avoiding bronzers and highlighters, where the learning curve was steeper, as well as the more colorful eyeshadows. In the end, Hermione's order totaled over £2600, which made her wince – but it was supposed to be a risk, and she was sure it would pay off.

"You will pay for this in muggle money?" Giulia asked her.

"I have a muggle bank account," Hermione assured her. "You might need to go through the goblins to get checks for your future orders, though."

Giulia grumbled at the necessity of another expense, but Hermione didn't care. They'd be marking everything up astronomically as it was – she was sure they could afford it.

"We will sign," Aurora declared. She went to the desk and withdrew a brilliant red quill, putting it to the parchment before pausing, looking at Hermione with evaluating eyes.

"You are in Slytherin?" she inquired neutrally.

"I am," Hermione said. She withdrew her own quill from her robes, one she'd Gemino'd into existence from one on Bloodthorne's desk, and signed her own name on the contract, unflinching, leaving her blood as shining ink on the page. Aurora looked at her in surprise and suspicion, while Giulia cackled.

"The girl has claws," she smirked. "I am glad to see it."

Aurora and Giulia both signed too, their red quill also drawing blood (forbidden, Hermione's mind whispered to her, illegal). Once the contract was complete, the women paused.

"You'll allow us to keep the contract, correct?" Aurora said, fanning it to dry the blood. "After all, we're the ones who will be needing it most."

"We can both have a copy," Hermione said easily, withdrawing her wand. "Gemino."

There was a surge of her magic, and a second copy wafted down to the table, blood ink still shining on the new one as well, wet.

"I have never seen the Gemino Curse used in such a way," Giulia said, her eyes widening. She looked at Hermione sharply. "Where did you learn that?"

Hermione was taken back by her alarm.

"Umm," she said. "Lleuwlynn and Selwyn."

"The publisher?" Giulia's eyes were narrowed. "What for?"

"Err, when we made the books," Hermione said. "We took the copyright charms off the master copies and Gemino'd it a hundred times, before reapplying copyright charms to them all."

Giulia still had a sharp look to her eyes. Aurora was looking at her partner with some puzzlement.

"What has you in a tizzy over a copying spell?" she asked. "If anything, learning it would help us duplicate our own parchments."

"But it's not just parchments, is it?" Giulia said. Her eyes were fixed on Hermione. "I know the Gemino Curse. Come with me, girl."

Hermione obediently followed Giulia out of the back room and through the hallways into the larger storefront, rolling up her own copy of the contract and tucking it away, along with the order form.

"Pick a set of robes," Giulia said, gesturing widely to all of the stock. "Any set."

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Err…"

Not sure what Giulia's goal was here, Hermione erred on the side of caution, picking one of the Mulberry silk sets in a beautiful cut. She held up the robes on the hanger, and Giulia nodded.

"Now," she said, folding her arms. "Duplicate it."

Hermione froze. "…I'm sorry?"

"Duplicate it," Giulia repeated, her eyes narrowed on her. "If you succeed, you can keep it."

Hermione bit her lip. Glancing at Giulia apprehensively, she hung the robes up sideways on a display and slowly withdrew her wand. With a glance around the store to make sure no one else was around, Hermione took a deep breath and gathered her power.

"Gemino."

There was a rush and Hermione gasped, one hand going to her heart. She could feel her magic level drop dramatically, and a second set of robes fluttered to the floor as Hermione staggered, nearly losing her balance.

"That," Hermione gasped, fighting for breath, "was hard."

And it was hard. She remembered the initial difficulty of duplicating the books, and the challenge she'd had duplicating Snape's chair. This, though – this felt like it had nearly drained her. Hermione felt for her power, finding she had scarcely a third left. It was rapidly regenerating, of course, so she wasn't sure how much it had taken, but it had been a lot.

Giulia was examining the second set of robes with a careful eye.

"These are identical," she murmured, a pointed nail tracing thread detailing along the neckline. "Even down to the dirt-repelling and stain-repelling spells on them."

That surprised Hermione. She didn't know Gemino could duplicate magic. Maybe that's why she was so out of breath – not only did she duplicate a thing, she'd somehow cast other charms on the copy in the process.

Giulia's eyes were sharp on Hermione.

"You will tell no one of this," she informed Hermione. "No one."

A thread of annoyance wove its way through Hermione before she responded with her instinctual no, of course not. She'd given this woman no reason to suspect her in such a way, and now she was demanding loyalty from her? For nothing?

"I wouldn't worry about it much if I were you," Hermione said airily, buffing her nails on her own robes. "Very few people know that spell, and fewer still have the power to cast it. Besides, your robes are tailored for each client – duplicating them won't automatically tailor them to a person."

Giulia's eyes were sharp as Hermione continued.

"Still," she said. "We should probably check to see what else could possibly be duplicated and stolen from your store before I go, shouldn't we?" Her eyes glinted with a challenge. "And then I would leave, my lips sealed."

Giulia's eyes glowed, and Hermione watched as the old woman looked down on her, evaluating.

"Savvy little brat, aren't you," she said finally, but it sounded almost like an endearment. She sighed in a huff. "Come, then. Let's find you some boots to attempt, and then perhaps a cloak." She led the way, glancing back at Hermione with a mix of annoyance and respect. "You're certainly a Slytherin in the making, aren't you?"

"I certainly hope so," Hermione said with a grin. "I do try so very hard."

Chapter Text

Hermione left Twilfitt and Tatting's not only with a sales contract, but with a new set of robes, a luxurious cloak with silver fastenings and details, new dragonhide boots, and a crystal hairpiece. She hadn't been able to duplicate any of the finer jewelry, to her surprise and Giulia's satisfaction. Hermione suspected that some precious metals and jewels were too complicated to duplicate magically, at least at her level of strength. She was also unable to duplicate any of the finer coats, laden heavy with charms as they were. Giulia Twilfitt asked her a couple questions about copyright charms, but Hermione knew nothing of them, referring her to inquire at Lleuwlynn and Selwyn instead.

Still. She left the shop highly pleased, her bag bulging with her new acquisitions.

Hermione mentally checked her list of errands she needed to complete. Harry's birthday was next – the coven was throwing him a mini surprise party the next day, and she hadn't yet gotten him a gift. As she strolled down the street toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, Hermione let her eyes wander over the storefronts, drinking in the sights, until she stopped short at a newsstand, crowded with panicked wizards.

"Escaped?" one wizard was asking, paled. "How?"

"Dark magic, I reckon," another wizard said darkly. "No idea what all You-Know-Who taught him, do we?"

Hermione pushed her way through the crowd, where the newsstand employee was looking very harried, trying to encourage the people suffocating the stand to move along. He was young, and his alarmed eyes met Hermione, who winced in sympathy. With a subtle gesture with her wand and whispered word, a horrible smell began to permeate the area, smelling very much like a sick dog had farted.

There were exclamations of disgust and gagging noises, but Hermione watched in satisfaction as the crowd began to disperse, clumping into small groups elsewhere in the alleyway to discuss the news. A breeze from her air elemental cleared the air, and she offered the newsstand boy a smile, which he returned gratefully.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Just one paper," she said, holding out a sickle. "I have to learn what all this fuss is about."

"It's not good, I'll tell you that," he told her seriously, handing her back her change and a paper. "This does not bode well, I'm telling you. I don't much envy the Ministry."

Hermione thanked him and made her way over to The Hopping Pot, where she took a seat on one of the benches to read. The front page of the paper was the mugshot of a convict. He had dark, messy hair and piercing dark eyes. As the mugshot was animated, he thrashed around in the picture, alternating between laughing maniacally and glaring around while yelling unheard things.

He looked thoroughly mad.

"Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban?" Hermione read aloud. "This is new…"

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN!
Infamous Dark wizard breaks free of previously impregnable prison!

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner to ever be held in Azkaban fortress, has escaped his cell and broken out of Azkaban. Though Azkaban refuses to confirm exactly when Black escaped, Ministry investigation and dementor assistance has determined he is nowhere on the isle and has escaped to the mainland.

"We are doing all we can to investigate how this happened, and how we can recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "We beg the magical community to remain calm as the Aurors track down Black."

Despite the Minister's assurance, the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse in his rage after You-Know-Who vanished.

"Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle," the Minister said. "We advise everyone to be cautious, and to report any suspicious sightings to the Ministry at once."

For more information on Sirius Black's history, turn to BLACK-4
For details on his breakout from Azkaban, turn to BLACK-5

Hermione gnawed on her lip as she finished the article. A criminal had escaped from Azkaban?

She didn't really know much about Azkaban, she realized. She knew it was an old fortress turned into a wizard prison on an unplottable island. She knew it was far to the north. She knew several of Voldemort's followers were locked up in there. And… that was it.

She scanned the article again. The only other hint was about 'dementors', which Hermione had heard of, but didn't really know the details about. From what she did know and the context of the article, it seemed like 'dementor' was a specific type of guard position within the prison, which didn't make sense – her brain seemed to have picked up somewhere along the way that dementors were creatures.

Funny name, though. Though, the wizarding world was full of funny names.

She folded up the paper and stashed it in her bag to finish reading later. There was no immediate threat, she figured. If the convict had escaped last night, it would take him ages to make it as far south as London without a wand. Though, if he had stolen one and could Apparate…

Hermione reassured herself that if nothing else, she was a child, and she was unlikely to be the target of a mass murderer bent on revenge.

The Quidditch store was teeming with teenage boys, and Hermione thought she recognized a few of her classmates in the crowd. She scanned the shelves, looking for something Harry would like, when her eyes snagged on a sleek black leather case with silver words stamped across it.

Broomstick Servicing Kit

The nearby display proudly proclaimed that the kit was the best on the market, used by professional Quidditch teams across Europe. It included the best cutting-edge Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass for long-distance flying, a large jar of Fleetwood's High Finish Handle Polish, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

Hermione smiled. It was perfect.

Harry loved to fly, and he'd said how flying was his favorite part of Hogwarts. Hermione had been jealous, almost, hearing how free and alive he felt on the broom. She knew she'd never have the same innate knack for flying on broomstick, though, and she contented herself with the knowledge she was one of the few people alive who could fly unaided through the air.

Harry didn't have many nice things (courtesy of his horrible relatives), and his Nimbus Two Thousand was one of his most prized possessions. A kit to keep it in the best shape possible would be a thoughtful gift that he'd actually enjoy, she thought – and, she mused with a smile, it even contained a book he might actually read for fun.

It was a bit pricey, but Hermione paid it. She could afford it, and what was the point of having gold if you couldn't splurge a bit to make your friends happy?

Flourish and Blotts was a delight, and Hermione took her time perusing. She purchased several books, including A Guide to Ghosts, Beginner Tailoring Charms for the Burgeoning Designer, and The History of the Wizengamot. To her disappointment, there were no displays with schoolbooks – the booklists must not have been released yet.

The last stop was Slug and Jiggers, the largest apothecary in the alley. A musty smell greeted her as she pushed the door open, and the shop was dim inside, relying heavily on the windows for light that wasn't coming through at the needed angle at this hour of the day.

Hermione waited patiently as the shopkeep checked out a few people before it was her turn. He turned to her with a grin, twirling a bushy mustache.

"A young potion maker!" he said. His laughter was deep and booming. "What can I help you with today, little lady?"

"Actually, I'm selling today," Hermione said. She set her Class B Non-Tradeable Goods License on the counter with a smile, and the shopkeep's eyebrows rose very high up as he read it.

"Basilisk parts?" he said, his eyes meeting hers. Hermione nodded, and he straightened back up, examining her. "You must be the little witch that saved Hogwarts."

"That would be me," Hermione agreed.

The shopkeep fiddled with his mustache as he looked her over, seeming to come to a conclusion.

"I'm not licensed to buy or sell Class B goods," he told her. "This is much more an apothecary to amateur brewers than licensed potioneers. You might have better luck putting an ad in the Prophet or trying to contract with the Guild of Potion Masters directly."

Hermione sighed. "Thank you."

She left the store disappointed. She didn't want to have to sell everything individually herself – she'd much rather just dump the load on someone else to sell off. She had no intentions of being a merchant herself.

As she made her way up the alley toward The Leaky Cauldron to Floo home, her eyes paused on an archway between buildings near Slug and Jiggers. It was shrouded, like most alleyways in Diagon Alley, but there was an archway. Hermione stared at it, thinking, before she went back down the Alley, toward Gringotts, this time with the sole intention of finding a matching archway.

It took a while, examining the areas around some of the lesser-known shops, but she found another arch, this one with faded letters chipped into the archway.

Knockturn Alley

Hermione bit her lip. From what she knew of the place, she could probably sell her basilisk parts in there, regardless of if anyone had a license or not. The questions was: did she really want to sell restricted ingredients to stores known for their Dark nature? To apothecaries who would readily sell basilisk parts to anyone?

She remembered how deadly the basilisk's venom was, and she shivered.

It wasn't a decision to be made lightly, if nothing else, Hermione decided as she went back up the alleyway once more. All the basilisk parts she had were enchanted to keep nearly indefinitely, so she had time to figure out what to do with them. And it would probably be more responsible of her to sell the parts legally and above-board, to researchers who might do some good with them, instead of to Merlin-knows-who that wanted to mess around with a potion with basilisk bits in it.

Professor Snape was a Potion Master, wasn't he? Was that a degree earned, or just a polite title used, Hermione wondered. If it was the former, perhaps he would be able to get her in touch with the right people?

Deciding on a strong course of action bolstered Hermione, cheering her, and she went home from her shopping trip with the satisfying feeling of a job well done.

Chapter Text

Hermione managed to lure Harry out of the Burrow the next day, saying the coven was meeting in the field behind Luna's again. She didn't say they were going to do a ritual, but she suspected Harry had probably (incorrectly) inferred it.

Everyone except Harry arrived at 10am. Luna and Susan took to decorating the overhanging tree branches with streamers, Luna floating above the ground serenely while Susan bobbed and wove around erratically in the air. Blaise worked on enlarging a wooden picnic table he'd shrunk and taken from somewhere. He smirked at Hermione, eyes glinting, and Hermione decided she didn't want to ask where he'd gotten it from.

Once the table was ready, Hermione put out a tablecloth and set out the cake. The cake was from a ready-made mix that her mother had helped her with, as Hermione wasn't one much for baking, but she'd managed to decorate it with Happy Birthday Harry and a mushed golden ball that could vaguely be identified as a Golden Snitch. It would taste good, if nothing else, Hermione decided, and that was what mattered the most.

When 11am came and Harry could be seen trekking across the field toward Luna's, they all crouched down around the table. They were still able to be seen, really, but that was part of the fun, and Hermione, Luna, and Susan had to suppress the giggles as Harry came nearer, obviously confused.

"What's going on?" Harry's voice called out. "Are you trying to talk to spiders? What—"

"Surprise!"

They all leapt up, and Harry was visibly taken aback.

"Surprise?" he asked. "For what?"

"For your birthday, silly!" Susan said, laughing. She pushed Harry closer to the table. "Come on!"

Hermione watched as Harry's eyes grew wide, taking in the streamers and cake before him. He kept looking around like he was expecting someone else to come out and yell "Surprise! Just kidding!" and whisk it all away, and Hermione's heart went out to him.

"This is for me?" Harry asked, looking up, and Hermione offered him a smile.

"We thought you might want to celebrate your birthday with your friends," she said. "Come on. Come sit down."

Harry still looked shocked as they sat him down in front of the cake. Blaise lit the candles as Luna led them in a spirited rendition of 'Happy Birthday' followed by a bit of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', which had Harry laughing by the end.

"That was great," he said, grinning. "Thanks."

"Blow out the candles, Harry," Hermione urged, "and make a wish."

Harry's eyes lifted to hers, always such a piercing green, and he held her eyes for a long moment. Hermione wondered if this was his first birthday wish ever, or at least the first one he had a memory of. She offered him am encouraging smile, and Harry gave her a soft smile in return as well.

When he finally blew out the candles, managing to get all thirteen of them in one go, they clapped and cheered while Blaise got out little plates and utensils.

"Generally, it'd be up to you to cut and serve the cake," Blaise told Harry, smirking. "Given your inexperience, I'll do it for you, though you can have the Snitch."

Harry stared at the cake. "…that's supposed to be a Golden Snitch?"

Susan and Blaise started laughing, and Hermione's face flamed.

"I'm not an expert chef," she said hotly. "I did the best I could. And I thought it came out rather well!"

Harry's eyes lifted to Hermione's. "You made this?"

His voice was soft, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Well, me and my mum," Hermione admitted. "I needed help. I'm not very good in the kitchen."

Harry didn't say anything else, merely accepting his cake from Blaise with a shy smile. After everyone was eating (it did turn out rather well, Hermione thought to herself), conversation turned toward the recent news of the Azkaban breakout.

"My aunt is furious over it all," Susan told them. "The entire department's working overtime to figure out how Black did it and where he is now."

"Sorry, who?" Harry asked. "What happened?"

"Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban," Susan said darkly. "One of You-Know-Who's most loyal and Darkest followers. He's best known for murdering twelve muggles with a single curse."

Harry's eyes went wide. "And he's escaped?"

"Somehow," Blaise said, nodding grimly. "No one knows how he managed it, either."

"The Minister even told the Prime Minister," Hermione shared. "It was on the muggle news last night – just that he's a dangerous criminal and to call the authorities at any sighting of him, but it's bad enough that they thought they needed to warn the muggles too."

"It just doesn't make sense," Susan said, stabbing her cake. "No one can get past the dementors. No one."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "What's a dementor?"

Susan shivered.

"They're like… they're these horrible things, with ragged gray cloaks and hoods covering them all the time, so you can only see their thin fingers from time to time. But it's always so cold around them." She shuddered. "They suck up your happiness and magic. That's why they guard Azkaban."

"They suck up your magic?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "That's barbaric!"

"Well," Susan amended, "they feed off of it. They keep the prisoners' magic levels low so they can't escape or cause any trouble. It's not like they render them muggles or anything."

Hermione wondered what would happen if she came into contact with a dementor. With her power able to regenerate so quickly, would she still feel the full effects of a dementor? Or would her core eventually explode?

"Dementors are evil," Luna said quietly.

They all turned to look at Luna, who was fiddling with her cake, not really looking at it.

"Are they creatures?" Harry asked finally. "Are they human?"

"Not anymore." Luna's eyes were lost, clouded over. "A dementor will suck every good feeling, every happy memory out of you. If it can, it will feed on you long enough until you're something like itself – this soulless, evil husk, trapped in the worst miseries of your life."

Hermione shivered.

"How do you know so much about them?" Blaise asked, and Luna blinked a few times, lifting her head, coming out of her reflection.

"My Dad wrote a series on them," Luna said, finally taking a bite of her cake. "He was convinced they were Lethifolds the Ministry had managed to manifest into humans inside of enchanted cloaks."

Hermione really needed to look into just what sort of writer Luna's father was.

"The Ministry's talking about stationing dementors around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade until he's caught," Susan said. "Maybe even Hogwarts, too. After the last couple years… well, no one wants to take any chances with their children's safety."

Blaise scoffed.

"If Black's already gotten past the dementors once, what's to say he can't do it again?" he said.

Susan's returning smile was grim. "Exactly."

Conversation turned to cheerier topics, like what they were most looking forward to in school or the rest of the summer. Susan was excited to start Ancient Runes, and Luna bemoaned being behind them a year – she wanted to start Divination. Harry was eager for Quidditch season to begin – he'd missed it the previous year, when matches had been cancelled because of the attacks.

Hermione was excited for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but she was more excited about her upcoming holiday to France with her parents – they had pushed it back a week so she could help the goblins, but she couldn't wait to learn more about French wizarding history. Blaise teased her that she should have picked Italy for a holiday instead of France if she wanted to learn more wizarding history – apparently, Italy had experienced a lot over the years.

When the time came for Harry to open his presents, the ominous mood had lifted, and Harry was delighted by the gifts he'd received, opening each one with bright, excited eyes that made Hermione smile fondly. Harry didn't have many happy memories of his birthday, she imagined – it was good that he would have some now.

Susan had gotten him a magical eyeglass kit and a gift certificate for an exam. "So you can update your prescription and see again," she teased him, and Harry colored but grinned in response.

Luna had gotten him an iron fang on a leather thong to wear around his neck. Hermione didn't understand her full explanation of what creatures it would keep away, but Harry put it on regardless, grinning. Blaise had gotten Harry new Quidditch gloves, and Harry had been delighted over the Broom Servicing Kit. Ron and Hagrid had even sent gifts that had somehow ended up in the pile – Ron, a pocket Sneakoscope, and Hagrid, something weird that moved and thrashed in its wrapping.

"Um," Harry said with wide eyes, looking at the wriggling package. "Do we think Hagrid might have sent me a creature?"

"One way to tell," Hermione said, eyeing it carefully. "Here, put it down on the field, and then split the wrapping from a distance with Diffindo."

Harry tossed the package onto the field, and the parcel thrashed around, almost making a noise in anger at its harsh treatment. Harry's eyes were wide as he pulled out his wand.

"You sure?" he asked Hermione. "We're not supposed to use magic over the summer."

Hermione snorted. "They only track that in muggle-marked areas. You'll be fine."

Harry shrugged. "Diffindo."

The brown wrapping around the package split, falling open to reveal a book with a green leather cover emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters. Hermione only had a second to read the cover before the book flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways, snapping its covers like a crab.

"That's a book?" Susan was astonished. "How are you supposed to read it?"

"No idea," Harry said, looking around for something to catch the book with, which was now snapping at their toes. "Maybe feed it first to keep it happy?"

While Blaise and Harry tried to corner the book against the picnic table before tying it shut with some vines from the nearby trees, Luna picked up the note that had come with the package.

"'Dear Harry, happy birthday'," she read aloud. "'Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you. Hope the Muggles are treating you right. All the best, Hagrid.'"

"Useful?" Blaise said incredulously. "That?"

"Only Hagrid," Harry agreed, but it was with a fond grin.

As they chatted around the table, proposing progressively more and more ridiculous theories as to why Harry would need such a book, Hermione became aware of some tall figures crossing the field. They were coming from the direction of the road, closer to Cedric's house, and they wore tall hats. She gestured, getting the others' attention, and nodded towards the people.

"I think we have company," she murmured.

"Who are they?" Harry asked.

Blaise withdrew his wand, palming it as he stood, moving back closer to the forest. "No one good."

When the group got closer, Hermione realized she recognized one of them: the person in the front was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. The other two behind him were others from the Ministry, she suspected.

"That's the Minister of Magic," Hermione hissed. "Be polite, but stay alert."

The others nodded imperceptibly, eyes fixed on the approaching adults.

"There you are, Harry," Fudge said as he neared the table. His eyes were bright, but he looked exhausted.

Hermione stood.

"Harry, may I present Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic?" she introduced. "Minister Fudge, may I present my friends Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones, and Blaise Zabini?"

The Minister blinked, flustered for a moment.

"Ah, of course," he said, bobbing his head in a quick bow. "Good to meet you."

"We're celebrating Harry's birthday, Minister," Luna said, her voice serene. "Have you come to celebrate with us?"

Hermione held back a snort at Luna's remark and the Minister's obvious bafflement.

"Err, I'm afraid I don't have the time," Fudge dismissed. His eyes refixed themselves on Harry. "Harry, I'm going to need you to come with me."

Harry made to stand, but Hermione held him back.

"But why, Minister?" Hermione asked, her tone innocent. "Is Harry under arrest?"

Fudge turned to her with surprise.

"Ah, nothing like that, Miss Granger," he said, nodding. "The Ministry just needs to speak to Harry here."

"You're welcome to do so right here," Hermione said, nodding at the empty places at the table. "There's no need to interrupt the party."

Bolstered by Hermione's defense, Harry looked back up at Fudge.

"Anything you need to talk to me about, we can discuss in front of my friends," he said.

Fudge looked uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid I really do need to take you away," Fudge said. "There was a report of you having gone missing, and we'll need to take you in to resolve it."

"What? Missing?" Harry asked. "Filed by who?"

"Your guardians," Fudge said impatiently. "You really must come with me, Harry."

"With all due respect, Minister, that's ridiculous," Hermione said flatly. "Harry's guardians are muggles. They wouldn't have the slightest idea how to reach the Ministry to file such a report. And furthermore, Harry's been staying here for nearly a month. If they were going to file such a report, it would have been long before now."

Fudge shifted uneasily.

"Now see here, Miss Granger, extenuating circumstances require—"

"What extenuating circumstances, Minister?" Hermione said sharply.

"That's hardly your concern. We're only here for Harry here—"

"I'm not going with you without knowing what's going on," Harry said stubbornly, folding his arms. "Why do you need me to go with you?"

"Really, Harry, all this fuss is unnecessary—"

"I agree entirely," Susan said, joining in. "All this fuss is entirely unnecessary. All you need to do is tell Harry why you want him to go with you and what is going on. Unless you're arresting him, he does not need to go with you."

"Now see here, Miss Bones!" Fudge objected, looking flustered. "Friends as you may be, you do not speak for Harry—"

"No, but Harry doesn't have anyone to have at his side to go with you," Susan pointed out. "And underage wizards are to have a guardian at their side whenever they're interrogated by the Ministry."

"He's not needed for interrogation!" Fudge said, throwing his arms up. "We just want to talk to him!"

Hermione had been watching Blaise, who had stood up and gone into the forest a ways once it became clear the Minister was approaching. He returned now, sitting back down at the table, but there was a glint in his eye. Hermione wondered what his plan was when she heard soft hissing, and she looked down to see dozens of snakes sliding through the tall grass, whispers of "bite the big ones" and "protect the nest" as they wound their way around the Minister's ankles, with him none the wiser.

She glanced up and met Blaise's eyes with a smirk. He smirked back, his eyes glinting with malice as he looked back at the Minister.

"Harry doesn't need to go somewhere else to talk," Luna was saying, her voice airy and unconcerned. "His voice works right here. It might work worse in the Ministry, actually, with all the dry air and flizbees about."

"And Harry is not going to go with you unless you have a valid legal need for it, Minister," Hermione said politely, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder protectively. "So please: either you tell us exactly what is going on, or you're going to have to explain to the press why you came to blows with a group of children as you tried to kidnap a minor on his birthday."

"You can't seriously think you could best us," one of the Aurors said incredulously.

"Probably not," Hermione agreed. "But we could try. And it would look very bad in the press if the Ministry tried to kidnap the Boy Who Lived."

There was a loud chorus of hissing, and the Aurors looked down to see snakes swarming at their feet. With a yell and a shout, the Aurors leapt back, eyes wide. Fudge looked at his own boots and froze, his eyes very wide, and he did not move.

"Why don't you sit down, Minister?" Harry offered. He was grinning. "And we can peacefully talk things out here."

Fudge blanched. Looking down at the snakes around him, he very slowly sat down across from Harry, trying not to alarm the snakes.

"I knew you were a Parseltongue, but I didn't realize that meant you had snakes as your protectors," Fudge said, eyes still on the serpents.

"I'm sure you don't know a lot of things about Harry," Hermione said, her tone sweet. "Now, Minister: what's all this about?"

Fudge looked back up from the snakes to Hermione and Harry, and he sighed.

"You may have seen in the news," Fudge began, fidgeting with his robes, "that Sirius Black recently escaped Azkaban. As such, the Ministry has been very busy trying to locate him and make sure everyone is safe. When we went to check on you, you were missing, Harry."

"Missing?" Harry said incredulously. He exchanged a look with Hermione. "Says who?"

"Your recorded address is with your muggle aunt," Fudge said. "As such, when you were not there—"

"Did you talk to the Dursleys?" Harry demanded. "They could have told you I was staying at the Weasley's."

"The Weasleys?" Fudge's eyebrows rose. "You're staying with them?"

"I'm staying at the Burrow," Harry said firmly, dodging the question, and Hermione felt a fierce pride for his Slytherin-esque stepping around the truth. "Is that not allowed, now? To stay at a friend's house?"

Fudge looked highly uncomfortable.

"We just didn't know where you were, Harry," he said, trying for a caring tone. "We wanted to make sure you were safe. And when we couldn't find you—"

He continued fidgeting, and Hermione realized what was going on.

"Dumbledore told you Harry was at his aunt's," she said, her eyes wide with comprehension. "When Harry wasn't there, he filed a Missing Person's report, didn't he?"

"Dumbledore is Harry's Headmaster at Hogwarts," Fudge said, avoiding the question. "His concerns of Harry's vanishment were entirely reasonable—"

"Dumbledore is not my legal guardian," Harry said stubbornly. "It's summertime. I'm not in school. Why should Dumbledore have a say over where I stay and where I go?"

Fudge looked uncomfortable.

"Now, Harry! Dumbledore just has your best interests at heart, my boy! He—"

"He's scared you're going to get offed by Sirius Black," Blaise drawled, cutting in. His eyes glinted. "The Ministry thinks Black is going to come after you, Harry."

Harry and Fudge both blanched.

"What?" Harry asked. He looked at Fudge. "Really?"

Fudge looked distressed. "Now! I wouldn't say—"

"Black was one of You-Know-Who's biggest supporters," Blaise continued, his eyes fixed on the Minister. "The Ministry thinks he might come after you, as revenge for you offing You-Know-Who as a baby."

Harry was incredulous. "But I didn't even do anything!"

Blaise snorted. "And you think Dark wizards are rational?"

Apparently fed up with this, one of the Aurors stepped forward, bravely venturing back into the snakes.

"Look, we wanted to make sure you were okay, and then have you stay at the Leaky Cauldron the rest of the summer," he snapped. "There are Ministry patrols on Diagon Alley that would keep you safe, and you'd be safer around so many adult witches and wizards."

Harry blinked. "You really think I might be in danger?"

"Harry, we just want to be careful," Fudge sighed. "It's a precautionary measure, but if it keeps you safe…"

Hermione bit her lip, exchanging a glance with Blaise. Blaise looked grim, nodding to her slightly. The Ministry wasn't likely to let up about this – especially once they learned Harry was staying at the Weasleys' alone. And they had a point. It wasn't likely Sirius Black would track Harry here, but if he did...

"Is the Ministry going to pay for his stay?" Susan asked, eyes sharp through her turquoise lenses. "If they're the ones insisting on this security measure, will the Ministry pay for him to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the next month?"

Fudge looked somewhat reassured.

"The Ministry is happy to cover your expenses, Harry," he told him. "You would be much safer there, with regular Auror patrols and adults around. We don't mean to frighten you, but we do want to keep you safe."

Harry looked at Hermione, and Hermione bit her lip.

"They're not going to let up about this," she said quietly. "It might be best we just go along with them now. We can help you with your things to move you into a room."

Harry clearly didn't want to go.

"I like staying here, though," he said, his voice pained. "It's been great to see you all so regularly."

"We can always meet up in Diagon Alley," Hermione reassured him. "And at least they're taking you somewhere magical, not back to the Dursley's."

Harry flinched.

"That's true," he said darkly. "Could be much worse, if Dumbledore had his way."

Hermione made a mental note of his tone. They really needed to get a place to secure with blood wards where Harry could be safe that wasn't with his cruel aunt and uncle.

Harry considered for a long minute, thinking hard, before sighing.

"Might as well," he said finally, with a strained smile. "I've been needing to get my school things and finish up my summer homework as well."

Fudge and the Aurors all relaxed as Harry stood up.

"Are you going to Apparate us?" Harry asked. "My friends can help get my things, if you can wait while I pack up."

"That's entirely fine, Harry," Fudge said, looking massively reassured now that Harry had agreed to go along. "Take all the time you need. We'll wait for you in the yard."

The five of them trekked along through the tall grass back to the Burrow. Blaise lagged behind, hissing quietly, and Hermione was pleased to see the Aurors yelping in alarm as the throng of snakes came with them.

"Better to go now, I guess, before the Weasleys get back," Harry said with a sigh. "I know Mrs. Weasley said it was okay, but I get the feeling that if Dumbledore was mad about me staying here, it'll be easier for them if I'm not here when they return."

"We need to build a safehouse," Susan declared. "One where we can put up our own blood wards for all of us to stay and be safe, if we need."

"I've already drawn up plans for one," Hermione admitted. She shared a smile with Susan. "Great minds think alike."

Harry looked bolstered. "That'd be wicked. A house we could all stay in by ourselves, alone."

Hermione and Luna, more familiar with the Burrow, helped Harry pack up his trunk and Hedwig, lugging it down the stairs of the Burrow to the yard. Hermione gave Harry a tight hug.

"I might not see you again until I get back from holiday," she told him, "but that doesn't mean you shouldn't write me at the slightest need, alright?"

"I'm sure Hedwig can make it to France," he said with a laugh. He hugged her tightly, lowering his voice. "Thanks for this, Hermione."

Hermione pulled back a little, startled, but Harry's green eyes were intent on hers.

"I know this was all your idea," Harry said. His voice was quiet. "I've never had a birthday party before, you know."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione fought back the mist in her eyes. "Of course. You mean the world to us, you know!"

She hugged him tightly again, trying to convey in her hug all the strength of the coven bond and friendship to him, trying to get him to believe that he was with people who cared about him. Harry held her back tightly, as if he didn't want to let go.

"You mean the world to me, too," he murmured.

When Hermione stepped back, she dashed the water from the corners of her eyes while Susan and Luna each gave Harry a hug as well, Blaise merely clapping him on the back and whispering something in his ear, which had Harry laughing.

"Are you ready, Harry?"

Fudge looked rather harried and impatient, Hermione noted. She wondered just how long they'd kept him away from the Ministry where he was undoubtedly supposed to be doing other things.

"Yes, Minister," Harry said. "Blaise is going to come with me, to help me get my room set up, if you can Side-Along Apparate him as well."

"Me too," Susan chimed in, stepping up. She looked at Harry. "Someone has to make sure Harry's legal rights aren't stepped on."

One of the Aurors groaned, and Harry grinned.

"If you must," Fudge conceded with poor grace. "Ready, then? Have a tight hold on your trunk? In three—two—one—"

They all vanished with a sharp CRACK, leaving Luna and Hermione alone in the garden of the Burrow. There was a silence except for the wind for a moment, and Hermione sighed, looking to Luna.

"That was the best solution, wasn't it?" she asked. "A good compromise, so Harry at least didn't have to go into the Ministry?"

"Who's to say?" Luna said, shrugging. "It could have been harmless, but it could have also been very bad, if Dumbledore was at the Ministry too."

Hermione shuddered. "Agreed."

They made their way back through the field toward Luna's house. Conversation turned to Hermione's upcoming holiday, which Luna found highly amusing for some reason.

"Such a romantic city, Paris," she teased, a sparkle in her eye. "Who knows who will sweep you off your feet there?"

Hermione laughed.

"I've already gone out with Cedric a couple times this summer," she said. "I don't think I really need another wizard flirting with me, let alone a French one!"

"Oh, I entirely agree," Luna said, smiling. Her eyes glinted, knowing. "You have far too many wizards lining up for you already."

"I don't have that many," Hermione defended, flushing. "We're all still young. I'm sure they'll lose interest as we all grow up more and they realize how bossy I am."

Luna laughed. "Maybe they like you being bossy."

They both dissolved into giggles. As they calmed down, Luna looked up at the sky.

"Is it nice, though?" she asked. Her voice was a sigh. "Romance? Falling in love?"

Hermione blinked in surprise.

"It's… it's nice enough," she said slowly. "A lot of it is very intense. There's a lot of feelings happening all at once, and it really does feel like 'falling' somehow, like you're tipping over and can't stop yourself. Kind of terrifying at times, actually." She looked over at Luna. "Are you afraid you won't fall in love someday?"

Luna considered.

"I'm not sure," she said finally. "It's… I never really know important things with what's going to happen with me, just with others. I hope so. But I think it might be difficult." She looked over to Hermione. "That's why I can't wait for Divination, you know. With normal methods, you can learn things about yourself or your own future."

Hermione felt her heart go out to Luna.

"Well, I can see your future," Hermione declared. "You will grow up to be a very powerful and stunning witch. You'll make great friends who will love you and embrace you, and you'll learn to love yourself and be confident enough that countless people will fall in love with you."

"Oh, Hermione…" Luna looked at her sideways, but she was smiling. "You think too highly of me. I'm very odd, I know. I would be a lot for anyone to handle romantically."

"You don't need handled," Hermione argued. "You need held and loved and accepted. You're not a burden for someone to bear or endure, Luna – you'll be the one who brings joy and happiness into someone's life."

She pulled Luna into a hug, and Luna laughed and hugged her back.

"I hope so," Luna said. She hummed. "Not yet, I don't think. But maybe… I think it might be nice to fall in love someday."

"I'm sure it will be lovely when it happens to you," Hermione reassured her. "And I'll be here to support you and gossip with you about it every step of the way."

Luna smiled at Hermione, her eyes sparkling. There was something in her eyes that made Hermione think Luna knew more than she was saying, but she let it go.

"I will miss you very much when you go to France," Luna said abruptly, hugging Hermione tighter. "Let's make sure we sit together on the train back to school?"

"Of course," Hermione said, hugging Luna fiercely. "You're my first friend, Luna. I'll miss you very much too."

Chapter Text

Tracey had been dismayed to learn that Hermione was going on holiday with her parents.

"You'll miss the election!" she bemoaned. "You can't miss that, Hermione, you just can't!"

Daphne and Draco had come to the rescue, though, to Tracey's relief and Hermione's amusement. With the both of them working on it, they'd managed to get an International Portkey authorized in record time.

"It will transport you to Diagon Alley at 9am, UK time," Draco told her seriously, giving her a blue sock. "It'll send you back at 7pm, back to your parents in France from the exact spot you left from."

"Right. 9am on the 14th, back in France at 7pm," Hermione said. She straightened. "What do you think I should wear?"

Draco paused to think, his eyes going soft.

"Whatever you think is best," he murmured. He looked at her, his silver eyes taking their time drinking her in. "You always know how to make an impression, Hermione. I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine."

Hermione felt flattered despite herself.

In the meantime, Hermione's parents were very excited for their holiday to France.

They'd arranged for the dental practice to be closed for a full three weeks, insisting all of their staff take a holiday as well. Her mother had planned out the family's itinerary, where they would go on which days, what they would do, and what restaurants they needed reservations for. Her father, on the other hand, busied himself by practicing his rusty French.

"Où est la toilette?" he practiced, reading carefully from a book. "Je dois aller."

Hermione giggled at his attempts, and he shot a look at her but grinned.

"It's the most important question I'll need to ask!" he protested. "I need to get make sure I have it mastered."

"It's 'où sont les toilettes'," Hermione corrected. "'Toilettes' is plural. And I'm sure you'll be able to find the loo, Dad," Hermione assured him, smiling. "They have symbols on the doors, too."

Hermione's mother had kept up her French moderately well, and Hermione had taken French in muggle school for her Modern Foreign Language simply because she'd thought it was prettier than German. She didn't know much French, really, but she was confident she could at least get around if she had a pocket dictionary on her. She remembered most of the grammar – she just didn't have too large of a vocabulary of French words under her belt.

The holiday had Hermione curious, though, and she looked into what wizards did for other languages and translations, which lead to a fascinating exploration into attempts at translation spells over the years. Wizards had tried to get around the obstacle of learning a new language magically for centuries, it seemed, with little to no luck. The best they'd managed was a sort of modernizing spell encased in an amulet, so if someone spoke Middle English, it would update their speech and understanding to modern English. But any attempts at English to French or French to English or any other combination had failed – there was no innate way to encase entire languages into an artifact.

There were a few theories on other ways to learn a language, most of which involved the transfer of a language innately, which made Hermione shudder. Though the book she'd found was all theoretical, she knew from the language ritual with animals that whatever sacrifice was required would probably make any working language transfer ritual extremely unethical and Dark.

Hermione also got a book on Wizarding France that she devoured on the plane ride over. France had its very own equivalent of Diagon Alley – the Place Cachée, she learned, which meant 'hidden place'. And there were little hidden bits of wizarding history all over, she learned, hidden from sight of muggles. Hermione's parents were willing to go with her to the Place Cachée after a few days, and Hermione was extremely excited to see the magical cultural differences in France.

She hadn't gone on a proper holiday with her parents in years, and Hermione found she simply couldn't wait.

After they arrived and got situated at their hotel, Hermione's parents sat her down for a very grown-up conversation.

"France is a relatively safe place, but we need to be careful," her mother told her seriously. "There was a terrorist attack last week inside of a church, and the people who did it are organized."

"What? Here?" Hermione said, panicked. "In France?"

"It was in Cape Town," her father reassured her, "but eleven people died, and fifty more were shot and injured, Hermione. And there was an attack in Turkey earlier in July, too." His eyes were unusually serious. "But people are on guard everywhere these days. France has a lot of high-profile potential targets, so they're on alert. There will be armed soldiers at some places, watching. Just make sure you behave yourself, and we should be fine."

Hermione shuddered. "I'll behave."

It was obligatory, Hermione figured, that her parents sit her down and make sure she knew to behave when in a foreign country, but it still shook Hermione to a degree. She'd so firmly enmeshed herself in wizarding culture that sometimes she got a bit of shock when she had to suddenly consider the muggle world again.

It was an odd feeling, feeling like an interloper in your own native land. She'd grown up hearing about the woes of the world from her parents, who had always been very honest with her and treated her like an adult. They'd explained what the fall of the Berlin Wall meant, for example, and Hermione had grown up vaguely aware of international tensions and the problems they presented - it was why she had wanted to be Prime Minister someday when she was younger, though she had very different career goals now.

But now... it was easier to just ignore it, to pretend it didn't exist. Like when Hermione had overheard her parents talking about North Korea withdrawing from the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty over breakfast, it was easier to just ignore it, to pretend that type of thing didn't affect her anymore, even if it very much did.

She just… didn't want to think about that type of thing.

Changing the wizarding world was in her realm of possibilities, something within her grasp.

World peace was very much not.

Her parents went over safety precautions with her, and they made sure she had a map back to the hotel in case she got separated or lost. They went over what the emergency numbers in France were, as well as how to shout for help if she was being kidnapped. Hermione endured it, knowing it would help alleviate her parents' worries – even though, more realistically, if someone tried to kidnap her, she was zapping them with every spell she could when she had the chance.

Finally, after her parents were reassured she was ready, they set out to tour France.

Hermione's mother directed their exploration the first few days as they did the typical touristy things. They went and saw the Eiffel Tower, they visited the Notre Dame cathedral, and they went to see Napoleon's tomb. Hermione's father whispered to her at each place to let him know if she saw any ghosts, but each place, Hermione assured him, didn't seem to have any ghosts about that she could see.

Hermione loved it. It was fun. The Eiffel Tower was amazing, Notre Dame was gorgeous, and Napoleon's Tomb was huge on an insane scale. It was exciting, exploring a foreign land and learning new things, and France felt more and more like an adventure every new place they went.

On the fourth day of their trip, they took a train and went to visit the Palace of Versailles, an obscenely gilded palace Hermione had learned about in passing in muggle history class. Once they got there, Versailles was astonishing, the entire place ornately decorated and gilded and massive, and even more overwhelming than Hermione had imagined, shining brightly in the French sun.

"Makes you wonder why the peasants didn't chop their heads off sooner," Hermione's father commented with a snort, looking up at the magnificent structure. Hermione giggled, and her mother pushed at her father playfully, admonishing.

They bought their tickets and went inside, Hermione happily reading about all the rooms, how the palace was constructed, and all the history it contained. The Hall of Mirrors was particularly impressive, though Hermione despaired over all the fingerprints smudging everything – it would have been truly magnificent to see if all the mirrors were clean.

As they walked along, Hermione paused at an intersection for the Queen's Rooms. She stepped towards it, only to have her mother pull her back.

"Don't ignore the signs, dear," she chided. "We're not allowed in there."

Hermione looked up at her mother quizzically. "Why not?"

"It's under construction for restoration," she said, pointing at the sign. "We're not allowed in for safety."

"That's not what I see on that sign at all!" Hermione exclaimed, excitement thrumming through her. "I see a sign for the Queen's Rooms and an exhibit on Poisoning in the Palace!"

Hermione's father came over to examine the placard too.

"Are you sure?" he said. "This definitely says we're not allowed in."

"I think it's a wizarding exhibit," Hermione said, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Can I please go in and see it? Please? I can hold your hands and get you in to see it too, I bet! Please?"

Her parents exchanged a look. Her mother looked skeptical, but her father shrugged.

"Why not?" he said with a grin. "I'd like to learn the secret history of Versailles, too."

Her mother sighed.

"Fine," she said. "But if we get separated, meet at the courtyard at 2pm, okay? Our tour of the gardens is at three."

Vibrating with poorly suppressed excitement, Hermione took her parents' hands, her mother on her left, her father on her right, and waited until the guards weren't looking before tugging them past the placard, a curtain of magic rippling in the air as she pulled them past the ward.

On the other side of the placard was a hallway that lead to a full exhibit, placards and signs on the area as well. Some of the visitors in this area wore stranger clothes, a mix between muggle skirts and robes, and the guard near one of the fancier exhibits wore a wand.

"See!" Hermione exclaimed. "I did it! See?"

Her parents were surprised and looked around with wide eyes, before settling down and becoming amused.

"Don't leave this area without telling us, Hermione," her mother warned as Hermione skipped off towards the exhibits. "We might not be able to get back out without you."

Hermione waved at them in acknowledgement, her eyes already devouring the first piece.

The exhibit was fascinating to Hermione. Apparently in the late 1660s, many influential members of the French nobility began to die unexpectedly and quickly, one after another after another. When the king called for autopsies, their insides were blackened and corroded, and a fever for poisoning and witchcraft infected the court.

The "Affair of the Poisons", as it came to be known, ended up being one of the largest witch trials in modern history and was a major contributing factor to the International Statue of Secrecy. 319 subpoenas were issued, 194 people arrested, and 36 were executed, though some scholars suspected dozens more had died from suicide, prison, or being exiled. The entire affair claimed between two and three times as many lives as the Salem witch trials across the Atlantic, and the placard seemed almost smug stating that – the French had had the worst witch trial in the world, not the Americans – and Hermione suppressed a smile as she moved on.

The next placard was about Marie de Brinvilliers, a witch with a talent for potions. As Hermione began reading how the muggle investigation of her had made things spiral out of control, a ruckus across the room caught her attention.

"Non. Non!"

Hermione turned to look.

There was a witch about her age, maybe a little older, being harassed by a boy. From his tone of voice, the boy seemed to be insistently pleading with her, reaching for her to pull her along with him, making her dodge him each time he tried. The girl was clearly turning him down over and over, uncomfortable, but the boy continued harassing her, not accepting 'no' for an answer.

Hermione frowned, glancing around. The girl's parents didn't seem to be around to help, and the guard was ignoring the scene.

The boy reached for the girl again, and the girl flinched away. Mind made up, Hermione strode across the hall with determination, moving to the girl's side.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" she asked the wizard, glaring at him.

The wizard was taken aback. "Of course," he answered, his English heavily accented.

"Then bugger off," Hermione snapped at him. The wizard reared back in surprise. "She already said 'no', you cad. She doesn't want to go with you."

Hermione could see the witch reacting with surprise out of the corner of her eye, but Hermione's eyes were fixed firmly on the wizard across from her, whose eyes were narrowing. The guard a few yards away was also watching them with a careful eye, and Hermione was careful not to go for her wand.

"Who are you to demand thees?" he asked, his English very accented. "You do not know 'er. I know 'er from school, and she is—"

"She is not interested in you," Hermione interrupted, folding her arms. "If you continue to harass her to go with you, it would be attempted kidnapping, and she would have every right to defend herself against you with her wand."

The wizard clearly didn't understand all the terms Hermione used, frowning at her instead. Hermione glowered back - the sheer presumption of this boy, treating his classmate like she owed him her attention, made her eyes practically glow in anger.

"I am committing no crime," he objected. "I just want 'er to—"

Hermione lost her patience.

"Go away," she said, gesturing at him sharply, and her air elemental blew through the room, forcibly shoving the wizard backwards across the hallways, his boots skidding over the stone. The wizard's eyes went wide.

"Wandless magic?" he said. He looked incredulous. "But 'ow old are you? You cannot be more than fourteen…"

"Go away," Hermione snapped, and the air pushed him back further again, making him trip backwards and hit the far wall.

"Yes," the witch next to her insisted. Hermione could see her fold her arms as the witch glared at the boy. "No one wants you here, Albert. Leave us alone."

The witch's voice was fierce, suddenly, and the boy glared at them both before straightening up, shooting them both dirty looks.

"D'accord, d'accord," he muttered, skulking from the hall.

Hermione watched him go. He glanced back several times, his pride clearly injured, but Hermione glared at him the entire way down the hall until he eventually left and turned the corner. Pleased, Hermione turned to the witch she'd helped, only to stop short, barely managing not to gasp.

The witch was beautiful.

From a distance, Hermione had been able to tell that the witch was pretty, but up close, it was clear she was incredibly beautiful. She looked like a model, her lithe figure fitted and flattered perfectly by her skirt and blouse, and her pale skin was smooth and flawless. Her face had perfectly symmetrical features with high cheekbones and deep, enchanting blue eyes that Hermione could scarcely look away from. Her hair was the only thing about her Hermione could find fault with – her dark brown hair looked dyed, the color clashing with her skin tones, and the cut of it wasn't particularly flattering to her face.

That being said, she was clearly stunning, and Hermione wondered if she faced harassment from boys like that a lot.

The witch was looking down at Hermione in puzzlement, and Hermione realized that the other witch was slightly taller than her.

"Thank you," she said finally, her English accented, and Hermione beamed.

"You're welcome," she said. She glanced at where the wizard had gone with a dark look. "I'm so sorry you were harassed like that. No one needs that."

"'e wanted me to walk the gardens with him," the girl dismissed. "It was nothing threatening, but 'e would not listen when I said I did not want to go."

"Boys don't like taking 'no' for an answer," Hermione commiserated.

The girl looked at Hermione thoughtfully.

"No," she agreed finally. "They do not."

"I'm Hermione," Hermione said, finally remembering her manners. She offered her hand to the girl, only to abruptly realize she was meeting a witch, quickly stepping back to offer a curtsy instead, the best she could do in her muggle clothes. "Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

The girl laughed, and it was like the musical tinkling of bells.

"Enchantée. I am Fleur Delacour," the girl said, sweeping Hermione her own curtsy, and Hermione envied her grace. "You are here on holiday?"

"With my parents," Hermione admitted. "You're from France?"

"I am," Fleur said. She looked at Hermione for a long moment, almost quizzical, and Hermione found herself somewhat floundering for how to proceed.

"You go to Beauxbatons, then?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going a bit longer. "What's that like? I've read that it's much larger than Hogwarts is, much larger, and I'm so curious about the differences in the curriculum between the two schools."

Fleur looked down at Hermione, puzzled.

"You do not hate me?" she said abruptly, and Hermione blinked.

"Um," she said. "No?"

Fleur's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you talking to me?" she demanded. "Why are you still here?"

Hermione reared back, hurt.

"I—I wanted to make a friend," she said, shocked. "I thought—you're my age, almost, and I thought—"

Her hand had somehow made its way to her heart, pressing against her chest, and Hermione bit her lip hard. There was an empty, pained feeling in her chest and throat, and her eyes burned.

"I'm sorry?" she said finally. "I don't know French wizarding etiquette very well. I was trying to help rescue you from that boy. I'm sorry if that was presumptuous? Or if it was rude to be so familiar with you so quickly."

Hermione bit her lip, looking at the Fleur for a long moment, who looked openly suspicious, before sighing.

"Sorry," she said quietly, and she turned and walked away.

Hermione went back to the placard she had been reading, though her mood had soured. She had just been trying to help, and she'd thought she stood a chance of making a new friend, but apparently not…

Marie de Brinvilliers, Hermione read, had a passion for poisons, and she took delight in lacing cakes and other sweets with her latest discovery, which historians now suspected to be arsenic. She was suspected to have poisoned her father and her two brothers, putting her in line to inherit a fortune, until the muggles became suspicious and went to arrest her.

"She was very fierce. Very Dark, and she had no 'eart to speak of."

Hermione looked up.

Fleur stood next to her, hesitant. Even though her stance was graceful, she seemed anxious as she looked at Hermione, a nervousness in her eyes.

"We learned in school," Fleur said, nodding at the placard. Her brown hair fell forward, and Fleur impatiently pushed it behind an ear. "She and her muggle lover – Gaudin de Sainte-Croix – poisoned dozens simply because they were bored."

Hermione looked at Fleur, who was looking at her tentatively.

"Was she really related to Catherine de Medici?" Hermione asked finally.

A slow, beautiful smile blossomed over Fleur's face, and her eyes shone with relief.

"I do not know," Fleur said. "But here, on this side – after the furor started, Catherine Monvoisin, the famous alchemist, she was apprehended, and ze muggles found 'er entire laboratory."

"Really?" Hermione gasped. "What did the wizards do?"

"They had to disavow her," Fleur said darkly. "Make her look like a muggle fortune-teller, to protect everyone else. She sold her potions to muggles to finance herself – giving them love potions, poisoned posies, powders to flush the womb…"

Hermione followed the girl to the next placard, reading the signs and asking Fleur questions, who was happy to flesh out the details of what had happened that the displays didn't cover. Fleur was very smart, and she knew a lot of fascinating details about what had happened. Hermione wondered how detailed Magical History lessons were at Beauxbatons, and what all Fleur learned in school.

Regardless, it seemed Fleur wasn't so opposed to having a new friend, now, and Hermione found herself smiling as they went around.

Fleur took her around the entire exhibit, talking to her about everything, and Hermione felt very much like she had her own private tour guide. Though Fleur struggled for the correct word in English sometimes, she seemed to delight in answering Hermione's questions, and Hermione was having fun learning about everything about the poisoning scandal from someone who knew all the details.

Near the end of the hall, Hermione watched Fleur as she explained about the suspicions that Louis XIV's mistress had cast a love spell on him. Her blue eyes were bright, excited, and Hermione felt her throat dry.

"Would you like to see the gardens with me and my parents?" she blurted suddenly. She felt her face flush. "We have tickets for 3pm."

Fleur look startled for a moment, before slowly giving Hermione a brilliant smile.

"Yes," she said, looking down at her. "Yes, I think I would."

Hermione's parents greeted Fleur politely, and Fleur was gracious enough to shake their hands, though she shot Hermione a surprised look.

"Your parents are muggles?" she asked quietly, as she tagged along with them to the next exhibit.

"Is that a problem?" Hermione asked mildly, and Fleur quickly shook her head.

"Non! Non, not at all. They are just so accepting…" she said, trailing off. She paused. "It is nice. Most muggle parents, they seem wary of our world."

"I'm very lucky," Hermione agreed, smiling at her parents who were ahead of them, looking at a display about the expense of drapes.

As they explored the palace, the girls chatted between exhibits, Hermione telling Fleur a little bit about Hogwarts (and its horrible lack of detailed history) while Fleur shared bits from her life as well.

"I do not have many female friends," she admitted to Hermione. "I do not have many friends at all."

Hermione blinked.

"Why not?" she asked. "You're so smart, and you're so nice!"

Fleur looked surprised as this declaration, before she smiled bitterly.

"Boys, they want one thing from me," she said, her eyes scathing. "They do not want to get to know me, they do not want to talk with me. And girls, they see how the boys come to me, and they are jealous and isolate me from their groups."

"That's awful!" Hermione said, horrified.

"It is what it is," Fleur shrugged, but Hermione was indignant.

"That's ridiculous," she said fiercely. "I mean, it's true, of course, you're very beautiful—"

She flushed fiercely, not meeting Fleur's eyes.

"—but that's no reason to not to get to know you! It's not like you can help your looks, and you're more than your appearance, anyway, just like everyone else is!"

Fleur looked startled by Hermione's impassioned defense, then touched.

"I am sorry I was so rude, before," Fleur told her. "I… I do not have much experience making friends, and I was suspicious."

Fleur was a couple years older than Hermione, but she didn't treat Hermione like she was younger, which Hermione appreciated immensely. Instead, she helped point out the different flowers in the gardens and what magical properties they had (if any) as they wound their way through the palace's gardens. Hermione was fascinated – Fleur seemed to know so many things about everything – and Hermione found herself abruptly glad she'd run into the girl by chance.

Eventually, the day was at an end. Hermione's parents were ready to go, and they waited patiently while Hermione said goodbye to her new friend.

"It was wonderful to meet you," Hermione said, honesty shining in her eyes. "Today wouldn't have been nearly as special without you there."

Fleur looked like she wanted to say something, but she was hesitant.

"La Place Cachée," she said suddenly. "I can show you. I can show you around there, too." She flushed. "Ah, if you want, that is. You mentioned you had not yet gone, and—"

"Yes!" Hermione said eagerly. She smiled at Fleur. "I'd love that. Is Friday okay?"

A slow smile spread across Fleur's face.

"Perfect," she said. "I shall meet you at the entrance? At 10, perhaps?"

"Works for me," Hermione said cheerily. She smiled at Fleur. "See you Friday, then!"

"À vendredi," Fleur bid her, smiling. "À bientôt."

Chapter Text

Hermione's parents were amused with her excitement at having made a French friend, but luckily, they were indulgent.

"She seems nice enough," her mother said. She paused. "Though, that hair…"

"She was so smart!" Hermione said. "She knew everything about the Poisoning of Paris, it seemed. I don't know half that amount of history of Wizarding Britain!"

With some persuasion, her parents agreed to let Hermione meet Fleur on Friday to explore the wizarding quarter while they explored the surrounding muggle area, agreeing to meet back up later that afternoon.

"It's probably better than us going with you," her father admitted with a sigh. "We already don't fit in as French. Trying to fit in as a French wizard? I'd probably give the game away and get us all tossed out."

Hermione spent the next day practicing her French with everyone she could. Her parents had taken her to the Louvre, and while her parents had opted for the English audio guide, Hermione kept switching her tracks back and forth from English to French on the little audio player as she fiddled with the cheap headphones it came with.

"C'est bon de te voir," she practiced under her breath. "No… je suis heureuse de te revoir? Ugh! Do the French even say 'I'm happy to see you' to each other?"

Fleur's English was much better than Hermione's French, and they'd undoubtedly speak English anyway, but Hermione wanted to make an effort. She wanted to show that she didn't expect Fleur to cater to her all the time.

The Louvre itself was crowded and hot. A quiet cooling charm on herself in the bathroom helped ensure she stayed cool the rest of the afternoon, and Hermione had a good enough time seeing all the art, though she was surprised by how small the Mona Lisa was in person – she'd always imagined it much bigger. The way her eyes seemed to follow you, though… Hermione wondered if Da Vinci had been a wizard, and if his painting had been the start of the magic behind wizarding portraits, somehow.

After the museum, Hermione's mother had made reservations at a nearby restaurant, and Hermione found herself reluctantly trying escargot, only to discover she loved it.

"This isn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be," she admitted, fishing another snail from its shell. "They're actually kind of good."

Her mother laughed, and her father grinned at her.

"It's just another vehicle for butter and garlic," her father teased, eating another one of his own. "Why wouldn't it be good?"

Hermione grinned back sheepishly. "Fair enough."

The rest of the meal was enjoyable as well, wrapping up what had been a lovely day. Her parents discussed something they had seen in the Louvre as they retired, and though Hermione was exhausted herself, she found herself already thinking of the next day, a quiver of excitement to her thoughts.

Though it was only a few scant hours now, Friday somehow still seemed too far away.

When Friday finally dawned, Hermione was up bright and early, despairing over what to wear.

"Do I wear robes?" she asked her parents, worrying. "We have to go through a muggle area to get to the entrance, so I feel like that's not a great idea. But I don't want to wear muggle clothes and then stick out once I get to the wizarding quarter!"

"Hermione, we are on holiday," her father grumbled, turning over in the bed her parents had claimed and putting his pillow over his head. "It is too early to worry about clothes."

Her mother, who had risen early to take a shower, was more helpful.

"You could wear a nice dress with buttons down the front?" she suggested. "Like the kind you wore when your friends came over for dinner."

"Isn't that a little short for France?" Hermione said, biting her lip.

Her mother sighed. "Then wear one of mine. They're longer."

Glad she'd packed her new books on a whim, Hermione took out Beginner Tailoring Charms for the Burgeoning Designer and flipped through, looking for what she needed. Her mother was her height, but she was distinctly curvier than Hermione was, and a couple careful charms helped take in the dress at the bust, hips, and waist.

"Oh, sure, show off," her mother teased her. "We'll see how big your hips are after you've given birth to a child."

Color-Changing Charms weren't hard, either, especially on muggle fabric. Remembering Fleur's powder blue skirt from the other day, Hermione charmed the dress periwinkle, before stepping back, satisfied. It wasn't a copy, but it was the same type of soft, pretty color, and Hermione hoped it would work.

Accessories gave her pause, though. She had one monarch butterfly clip, and one malachite butterfly clip, and that was it. Neither one of them would match or compliment her dress color, and neither one would submit to a Color-Changing Charm if she tried. With a sigh, she asked her mother if they could take a detour by a shop so she could pick up some small muggle butterfly clips. Her mother had been amused but agreed, and Hermione had darkly thought that at least one of the dozen or so she would get in a pack would match her dress.

The entrance to Place Cachée was up on Montmartre, near Sacré-Cœur. Her parents had been wanting to tour the Basilica as it was, and Hermione was delighted that her parents would be able to entertain themselves while she entertained herself in wizarding Paris nearby, which would be much better than touring another old stuffy church, in her modest opinion.

The metro route they took put them out at the base of the hill, across from the Saint Vincent Cemetery. The Basilica was stunning to behold as they looked up at it, glinting in the light.

"We have to climb up all the way up there?" Hermione's father groaned, looking at the steep streets and staircases. "Jean, Hermione: if I die on the way up, know that I loved you."

Hermione giggled while her mother laughed at her father, rolling her eyes and smiling.

"Exercise is good for you, Richard," she admonished, taking his arm. "Come on. Let's go."

Hermione led the way with her map out, having very carefully plotted the exact way to get to where she needed to go. She was lucky; long before the streets got really steep, she saw the statue of Pythia she had read about come into view, and a familiar girl was near the bottom. Excited, Hermione ran ahead.

"Fleur!"

Fleur turned to see Hermione hurrying up to her. Hermione beamed at her, excited to see her new friend once again, and she skidded to a stop while Fleur looked amused.

"Ah—c'est bon de te revoir," Hermione said, careful of her accent. "Comment ça va?"

The amused smile on Fleur's face widened, her eyes alight. "Ça va bien, et toi aussi, à ce que je vois. Ta robe est magnifique."

Hermione froze.

"Err—okay, just a second," she said. "'Ça va bien' is 'going well', I think, and 'vois' is 'see'—"

Fleur laughed.

"Ça va bien," she simplified. Her eyes sparkled. "You tried to speak French for me?"

"I did speak French!" Hermione said, somewhat indignant. "I just… didn't quite understand your response, entirely."

Fleur laughed again.

"It is fine," she declared. "I need to practice my English, anyway. You are helping me by being my conversation partner."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised. "Your English is already so good!"

"You flatter me," Fleur dismissed. "No, I know my accent needs much work."

Hermione's parents caught up to them, having decided not to run up the stairs and slanted streets.

"Good to see you again, Fleur," Hermione's mother said with a smile. "Thank you for agreeing to show Hermione around."

Hermione's face flamed at the implication that Fleur was babysitting her, but Fleur either didn't pick up on it or ignored it.

"It is my pleasure," Fleur told them, curtsying slightly. "You need Hermione back at a set time?"

Her mother looked at her father, who shrugged.

"We don't know how long it will take to tour the Basilica," her mother admitted. "Let's see. A couple hours for a tour, another hour for lunch in there, another couple hours exploring…"

"If you would like, I can simply return Hermione to her 'otel?" Fleur suggested.

Hermione's mother was surprised.

"You can do that?" she asked. "It's not a magical hotel."

"I'm sure we can make our way there without problem," Fleur said, a smile playing around her lips. "I will return her in time for dinner. Is that good for you?"

"Good by me," her father said with satisfaction. "Come on, Jean – it's going to take me another hour just to walk those stairs…"

Her mother laughed.

"Well, you two have fun," she bid. She fixed Hermione with a look. "Don't have any dangerous adventures, you hear me?"

Hermione's face flamed. "Mum!"

Her mother laughed as she joined her father, and the two continued on their hike up the mountain toward Sacré-Cœur.

Hermione looked sideways at Fleur, embarrassed, but Fleur was smiling.

"Your parents, they are very accepting, for muggles," she said. "They are lovely people."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but it didn't matter; a moment later, Fleur had stepped forward toward the statue, gesturing for Hermione to join her. Hermione's eyes widened as the statue came alive for a moment, looking around, before pulling her skirts to the side. Fleur grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her through the stone the statue sat on, only to emerge on the other side on a busy street, full of Parisian witches and wizards shopping. Fleur guided Hermione away from the entrance off to the side, and Hermione's eyes drank in the sights.

The first thing she noticed was that there were just so many people. The entire street was bustling, filled with witches and wizards, and it was a sharp contrast to the frequent openness of Diagon Alley. How did France have so many witches and wizards? Or was this a special day of some sort, when everyone decided to do their shopping?

The next thing Hermione noticed was their attire. Very few of them wore robes. The women were wearing collared blouses and skirts or dresses, often with a soft hat, while the men seemed to be wearing collared shirts with trousers. Many of them wore vests or a blazer as well, sometimes with a tie. Color choices all seemed to be pastels and neutral shades, very unlike the rich jewel tones she often saw in Diagon Alley, and Hermione wondered at the difference.

With a glance sideways at Fleur, Hermione was reassured of her own choice of clothing. Fleur was wearing a light pink dress that came down past her knees, with rose embroideries around the collar. The color suited her dark hair much better than the light blue had, but it clashed with her skin, now, which was almost reassuring – Fleur wasn't too perfect, then. And the cut of her dress was similar to her own; Hermione might not be wearing French fashion, but she'd at least somewhat fit in.

Fleur noticed Hermione's careful examination of both her and herself, and she laughed.

"You are worried you stick out?" she teased. "Come. Let us explore."

The witches and wizards here were dressed very smartly, everything very tailored, and Hermione felt jealous for a moment.

"There are so many skirts here," she said enviously. "And the men! They're wearing trousers!"

Fleur laughed.

"From my understanding, magical France is much more, how you say… 'progressive', than wizarding Britain?" she said. "In France, we do not keep tradition for tradition's sake. Magic moves on, fashion moves on, and we move with it."

"I wish we did that," Hermione said. "Everyone wears robes. All the time. All the time, even the men. There are different cuts and the like, but in the end, they get a bit repetitive and dull." She paused. "Though, it makes it much easier to avoid committing some fashion faux-pas, when everything is the same."

Fleur sighed.

"I do like robes," she admitted. "But not cut quite so long, I think? I like the shorter ones, that do not reach your ankle. Ones of a length like yours," she said, gesturing to Hermione's calves. "They flatter my figure more, and I think they look more feminine."

Hermione looked at Fleur's own dress, which fell just below the knee, and for the first time, noticed her tights and matching shoes.

"Oh no, should I have tights?" she asked, her eyes flying to Fleur's.

Fleur shook her head, amused.

"You are fine," she assured her. "A bare leg is not as scandalous here as it would be in Britain or muggle France."

Fleur guided Hermione down the street, where Hermione took in the sights, her eyes eyes darting about in excitement. It was remarkably similar to Diagon Alley, really. There was a cauldron shop, there was an apothecary, there was a clothier, there was a Quidditch shop – just all with French names. The main difference seemed to be the amount of people – there were just so many! But when Hermione commented on it, Fleur blinked in surprise.

"Our wizarding population is not much higher than yours," she said.

"Really?" Hermione said. "We have maybe half as many people in Diagon Alley on any given day. Even on sunny days."

Fleur gave her a quizzical look.

"Well, maybe we will look into that later," she said.

The shops of wizarding Paris were fun to explore, Fleur telling her about each one before they stepped inside. Maison Capenoir was the clothier of choice, and Fleur helped Hermione pick out a set of French-cut robes to buy as a souvenir of her trip. They were a warm amber color, and on the brighter side for French robes, but Fleur dismissed it, waving her hand away airily.

"They are a neutral, no matter how rich," she said. "And just look how they make your eyes and hair come alive!" she encouraged.

Her cheeks flushed with Fleur's flattery, and Hermione bought the robes, quietly pleased and happy with the purchase of such a souvenir.

The store next door, Gaston McAaron, was a Quidditch shop. A cluster of teenage boys were around the window, all talking rapidly in French, and Fleur rolled her eyes.

"There is a new broom," she said. "The 'Firebolt'."

"And… this is a big deal?" Hermione asked. "Is it different than other brooms? Better?"

"It is a broom," Fleur dismissed, waving a hand. "It goes fast, it has new charms on it, and it is new. That is all the boys need to get excited."

Hermione snickered. "Of course."

One shop Place Cachée had that Diagon Alley lacked was a sweet shop, and Hermione was delighted to explore K. Rammelle's Enchantée. Fleur stayed at her side, translating the sweets for her as best she could, though some of them she struggled with.

"This is… they are…" she hesitated. "The word is souris. I do not know how you say…"

"Souris?" Hermione said, puzzled. "Like in jeune souris?"

"No, jeune souris is a young woman," Fleur said. "Souris is… it is a tiny creature, the ones that run around, that cats like to catch—"

"A mouse?" Hermione asked, astonished. She looked at the wrapped sweet with hesitation. "I've had Chocolate Frogs and been startled when they hopped away. Is this mouse going to try and flee from me as well?"

Fleur's laughed. "Non, Hermione. It will just make you squeak."

Both of the girls bought a variety of sweets, to the pleasure of the friendly shopkeeper. The next stop was Cosme Acajor, which Hermione thought to be an Astronomy store, only to discover it was a wand shop, with wand boxed stacked in displays in the window.

"How interesting!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked at Fleur. "Did you get your wand here?"

"Not exactly," Fleur said, shrugging. "The wandmaker, he helped make my wand custom – I needed a special core to capture my magic."

"A custom wand?" Hermione said enviously. "I can't imagine what it must be like to cast magic with a wand custom made for you."

Fleur laughed.

"Probably much the same as yours now, I imagine," she dismissed. "It is nothing terribly special."

They passed Dr. Aziz Branchiflore, an apothecary boasting to carry only the highest-quality ingredients, and Monsieur Sandin Chaudrons, a cauldron shop with a display of bright bronze cauldrons in the window. When they got to Animalerie, however, Hermione gave Fleur a longing look.

"Can we go in and look?" she asked. "Please?"

Fleur hesitated.

"Animals often do not like me," she said slowly. "But... perhaps if we are careful…"

The pet store was full of magical animals all around, barking happily or purring. Hermione wound her way through the store just looking. There were crups, which, though cute, she mostly passed by; she'd never been a dog person, and they weren't allowed at Hogwarts anyway. The toads were unappealing, and though she liked the practicality of an owl, she paused over the kneazles, purring and rubbing up against each other in their pens.

"You like these?" Fleur asked, coming up next to her.

"I've always wanted a cat," Hermione confessed. "Kneazles are just like magical cats, aren't they?"

"There are some differences," Fleur warned her. "Most witches, they buy a part-kneazle cat, not a full kneazle. They are much easier to care for."

Hermione sighed, petting the cats as they came up to the edge of the pen they were in, begging for attention and rubbing their heads on her hand.

"It's not like I could get an animal back through customs, anyway," she said. "Still. They're so beautiful…"

"Are French cats better than British cats?" Fleur teased, her eyes sparkling. "Why can you not just get a cat when you are home?"

"I could," Hermione admitted, blushing. "I'll probably do just that."

As they left, Fleur directed them back up the alleyway, guiding Hermione to a café with seating and umbrellas out front.

"I want to sit," she declared. "We have been walking a lot. And you must try the croissants au chocolat!"

There were cafes that littered the street, many French witches and wizards lounging outside of them in seats at tables, just chatting without a care in the world. It looked delightful, and very similar to the muggle cafes she'd noticed in Paris so far, and Hermione felt envious. There were only a couple places in Diagon Alley with outside seating. Though, to be fair, the French weather seemed much nicer than the generally cloudy and foggy days they had in London most of the time.

Fleur bought her a chocolate croissant and a hot chocolate, ordering the same for herself, and they sat down outside, just enjoying people watching. The croissant was very good, as was the hot chocolate, and Fleur grinned when Hermione told her so.

"We may be magical, but we are still French," she told her. "Chocolate is a matter of national pride."

Conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Hermione enjoyed asking Fleur many questions, unable to taper down on her insatiably curiosity, and Fleur seemed happy to answer. Hermione asked all about Beauxbatons and what French magic school was like, and Fleur was amenable to answering, despite the vague secrecy Hermione presumed surrounded the school.

"We have a beautiful chateau, up in the mountains," she told her, smiling. "It is mostly French students, but we have a lot of Spanish and Dutch and Belgians as well. The school's creation and scholarship endowment were originally funded by the alchemists Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, who were insistent that Beauxbatons be made to be beautiful, so the chateau and grounds, they are all stunning. There is a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, named for the Flamels, and it is said to have healing and beautifying properties. If only you could see it, Hermione - it is sublime."

When asked Hermione asked if she liked it, Fleur seemed flattered that Hermione would think to ask for her opinion, but she became pensive and reflective.

"My classes, I like," she said finally. "I love studying magic, and I love practicing and mastering new charms. My teachers are kind enough and very clever."

Hermione could read between the lines. "But not your classmates?"

Fleur closed her eyes and sighed. It was a soft, delicate sigh.

"I… had friends at one point, it seemed," she mused. "My first few years. But recently, not so much, these past fewyears, after I came of an age. Instead, I have been greeted openly with suspicion and doubt, and there are very few who would stand by my side."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Is that… is that because the other girls are jealous you're so beautiful?"

Fleur looked up at Hermione, raising a delicately arched eyebrow.

"You think I am beautiful?" she teased, and Hermione flushed.

"I mean, clearly," she said, defensive. "Anyone with eyes can see that, really."

Fleur tilted her head, examining Hermione, before resuming her train of thought.

"Part of it, perhaps," she said slowly. "The other part is… they are not wrong, to suspect me of seizing the attention of the boys. I cannot help it – it is part of who I am, that they would be drawn to me."

There was something she wasn't saying, Hermione gathered, her brow furrowed. Fleur seemed to be stepping around the topic, though.

"They don't seem drawn to you right now…" Hermione ventured, glancing around the alleyway, and Fleur smirked.

"Ah, but they would not be," she said, mischievous. "I am in disguise."

Hermione laughed. "You're in disguise?"

"I am," Fleur said, her eyes sparkling. "And I am also wearing a magical dampener amulet, one of my mother's. It helps stop what the disguise cannot."

Fleur seemed very curious about Hermione and her life at Hogwarts. Not much information about British wizarding society was known outside the UK itself, apparently, which was an assessment Hermione wasn't entirely surprised by – she'd had a nightmare of a time figuring it all out for herself when she learned she was a witch, and she was still learning new things, which she ranted about all too easily to Fleur as she vented her frustration with it all.

"—And the 'of an age' thing and chrysalization still drives me batty," Hermione groaned, confiding in Fleur. "I have to wear a stupid butterfly all summer, just so everyone can see that I've started my cycle."

Fleur laughed. "The English, they have no sense of grace about such things." Her eyes twinkled. "This is why you are wearing a child's hair clip, yes?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened. "I only have two proper ones! A Monarch and a Malachite. And neither would have matched my robes—"

Fleur was smiling at her as Hermione defended herself, withdrawing an elegant wand with graceful woodwork at the end. She gestured and murmured something softly, and Hermione's words broke off as she watched as a dozen blue butterflies emerged in a cloud of subtle sparkles, flapping gently as they flew away. Fleur tapped one with her wand before it could escape, murmuring something, and it froze on the tip of her wand. She reached towards Hermione with her empty hand, smile playing on her lips.

"Your clip?"

Wordless, Hermione handed it over to Fleur. A bit of transfiguration had it transformed into an adult's silver clip, and another charm had the butterfly affixed to it, flapping softly from time to time before it finally stilled.

"Is it still alive?" Hermione asked as Fleur handed it back, her eyes wide.

"It was never alive to begin with," Fleur told her with a smile. "Most animal conjurations are made manifest by magic. They do not last long. Animal summoning, that is different. This, though – this is made from my magic, frozen to last."

"It's beautiful," Hermione admitted, turning it over and over in her hands. She looked up, her eyes meeting Fleur's. "Thank you."

"It is nothing," Fleur dismissed, but she smiled. "You need to wear it, yes? To show everyone you are a woman now?" She hesitated. "Do you mind?

Hermione shook her head, and Fleur adjusted her seat to be next to Hermione's, directing her to face the other way. Hermione's face flamed as Fleur ran her fingers through her hair, gathering up pieces from the front and twisting them somehow toward the back. After a couple minutes, Fleur seemed satisfied.

"C'est magnifique," she said. She conjured a couple mirrors so Hermione could see, reflecting the back of her head for her. "The Morpho joins your Monarch and Malachite, now. It is… c'est très beau, comme toi."

Fleur had taken the bits of hair from the front of Hermione's head above her ears and twisted her hair back and against itself, forming an elegant sort of rope braid on each side, which she clipped in place with the butterfly clip in the back. The butterfly was large, much larger than the crystal ones Hermione had, but it looked like it fit against the back of her head in a natural way, and the blue color shone against the brown shades of her hair.

"It's beautiful," Hermione murmured. Her eyes met Fleur's. "Thank you."

Her eyes sparkled. "It was nothing."

Fleur gracefully ignored the flush to Hermione's cheeks and asked her about her classes, which Hermione was happy to chatter on about. She told her all about Transfiguration and Charms, two classes Fleur enjoyed very much herself. Fleur seemed puzzled, though, when Hermione mentioned her class size, looking delicately confused.

"There are how many students?" she said. "There should be twice that number!"

"Well… there aren't?" Hermione said, unsure how to respond.

"Then it is wrong!" Fleur objected. She looked at Hermione quizzically. "Has something happened? Where have the other children gone?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Well," she began. "There was a war about fifteen or so years ago, that a lot of people died in? A Dark wizard was wiping out entire families for a while. I think that reduced the population somewhat."

"By half?" Fleur said incredulously, and Hermione winced.

"I think maybe most of the others are homeschooled," she admitted. "I recently met them, the others. They're called hedgewitches."

Fleur looked lost. "Hedge-witch?"

Hermione tried to explained as best she could, how the hedgewitches were the magical people with less power than those who went to Hogwarts, how they rented from the Sacred 28 families and tended to their lands and businesses, how most of their magic seemed to be folk magic with little rhyme or reason to what worked. As she spoke, Fleur grew angrier and angrier, and Hermione worried as she watched her.

"That is—" Fleur started furiously, when Hermione was done. She stopped, shaking her head. "That is—I cannot—"

Anger was tight in her voice, and sparks of magic and fire were beginning to dance along her slender fingers, which somehow seemed longer and more like claws. Her eyes were clenched closed tight, fighting something. Hermione's eyes went wide, and she bit her lip.

"Err—maybe we should go somewhere else for a moment?" Hermione suggested, standing up quickly and pulling Fleur's arm. "Is there a park nearby? Anything with fewer people?"

When Fleur's eyes opened to meet hers, they had changed from a brilliant blue to a dark, glowing amber, alight with fire inside.

"Oui," she ground out. "Allons-y."

She nearly dragged Hermione down the street, walking quickly and taking several turns until they emerged in a park. There were few people here, a beautiful magical fountain with a leaping unicorn and mermaid standing at the center, and Fleur quickly took them behind a hedge before her control shattered.

"That is—that is horrible!" she burst out, and Hermione dodged as tiny balls of fire seemed to fly out of Fleur's hands as she gesticulated wildly. "To deny them their magic – no one is born weaker than another! You either have magic, or you do not!"

"That's what I thought," Hermione said, with dark satisfaction. "I thought surely, if they were given a wand at eleven like other children, and they were educated and practiced, they could be as strong as anyone else."

Fleur growled, her eyes still alight, and Hermione watched her hands curiously, seeing her nails lengthen even further.

"In France, we do not have this nonsense, these hedgewitches," she spat. "Any magical child is welcome at Beauxbatons. The endowment pays their fees if their parents cannot. We do not discriminate and force others down." She looked furious and disgusted. "Has Britain not moved past a feudal society? Truly? If it will not, it will be overcome. Progress will not stop or wait."

Hermione watched as Fleur fumed, storming around the area as she raged. Hermione kept her distance slightly, watching the sparks of fire dancing around Fleur's fingers.

"How can I fix it, then?" she asked, and Fleur looked up at her.

"What?"

"How can I fix it?" Hermione repeated. "I thought of starting a sponsorship fund to help children get their wands if their family can't afford one, but that doesn't really help any of the people who are already past eleven and haven't had one, or help them all afford to go to Hogwarts. Is there a way for them to learn magic? Or is it truly too late?"

Fleur was staring at her, her amber eyes gradually fading back to the bright blue Hermione had become accustomed to.

"You are—" she said, breaking off. "You intend to fix it?"

"Well, someone has to," Hermione pointed out. "Clearly no one has up until now, so I'll have to do it myself."

Fleur looked at her astonished, before plopping down onto the grass with little grace. Hermione sat down as well quickly, not wanting Fleur to feel self-conscious, but Fleur was staring off into space.

"C'est très difficile…" she murmured. "Mais ça pourrait être possible…"

She looked up at Hermione abruptly, tapping her chin thoughtfully, and Hermione noticed her fingers and nails had returned to normal.

"You are being true?" she asked. "You want to help them, these hedgewitches?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"Yes. I don't really have a way to prove I mean it to you," she told her. "But believe me – I kind of have a thing about this. I love magic, and I want to help anyone who can use it use it to the fullest of their ability."

Fleur looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Like, hypothetically, giving a species who had been forbidden to have wands Not-Wands," she said slowly. "Rods they could use to cast magic, that don't fall under our Ministry's legal definition of wands."

Fleur's eyes grew wider.

"'Species'?" she asked. "Creatures?"

"Well, goblins," Hermione said. "Hypothetically."

Fleur looked at Hermione with keen eyes, examining, something slowly growing in them that looked close to awe.

"You would not discriminate against creatures?" she asked. "Even though they are not like you?"

"Why would I?" Hermione asked, boggled. "Just because they're not the same as me doesn't mean they're any less."

Fleur looked like she wanted to say something, but she cut herself off.

"There is a way," she said slowly. "There is a way, that these 'hedgewitches' might be able to use magic, though they would never truly regain what they have lost."

"There is?" Hermione was excited, turning to face Fleur head-on. She rummaged in her purse for a small notebook and pen, taking them out eagerly. "What is it? Can you tell me?"

Fleur looked down at Hermione's notebook and pen. She looked like she wanted to laugh for a moment, but she settled on an amused, indulgent look before looking back up to Hermione, her eyes bright.

"Hermione," she said slyly. "Tell me: what do you know of the magic of ley lines?"

Chapter Text

Fleur Delacour, Hermione quickly decided, was the best part of visiting France.

Fleur was older than her, and her education had exposed her to parts of magic Hermione had never even heard of, whereas Fleur seemed happy to suddenly have a female friend to spend time with, which she hadn't had in a long time. Hermione was happy to have Fleur's company along anytime she could; France just seemed brighter and more fun with her around. Fleur had taken to accompanying Hermione and her parents as they explored Paris, chatting with Hermione and giving her small lessons on the wizarding history of places she'd never dreamed would have a magical connection, such as when they went to the Opéra Garnier.

"Le Palais Garnier?" Fleur said, nudging Hermione. She winked. "You have heard of the Phantom of the Opera?"

"No," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. "You're not saying it's true?"

"Oh," Fleur said, her eyes opened in mock surprise. "I suppose I am saying nothing, then."

"Tell me!" Hermione said, tugging on Fleur's arm, and, laughing, Fleur did.

"Parts of it are true," she told Hermione slyly, "but other parts made up. There was a phantom, c'est vrai, but he was a man, a wizard – and part siren as well."

Hermione listened in fascination and Fleur described the wizarding history of the well-known tale, how this half-breed siren man, Erik, had been disfigured but born with an innate and deep understanding of music and singing. Shunned by the wizarding world for his unfortunate birth, he turned to music, traveling from conservatory to conservatory to learn and master music and the sciences. When he returned to France and took up residence in the opera house, it was Christine who first became enchanted with him and his singing voice when she overheard him, not he with her.

"A siren's song, it is very bewitching," Fleur said, her eyes playful, mischievous. "Christine, she could not resist his call."

It was fascinating to hear the story framed as attempts to help a woman escape from the thrall and draw of a siren, once she was already enchanted and convinced she loved the phantom. The phantom, Erik, did his best by Christine, spending time with her and teaching her to sing, even though he knew she had been drawn to him by having heard his magical voice. Over time, he fell in love with her, even giving her a ring and promising to be faithful to her.

Her wizard fiancé Raoul, though, whom she had been betrothed to since childhood, realized something was amiss when Christine told him of her love for another. Her obsessive, sudden love for the phantom made Raoul suspect an enchantment, but his suspicions made Christine run away to marry Erik, decrying that Raoul would never stop their love.

The ending was tragic: Christine's desperate promises to be Erik's bride, to love him forever, against Erik's anguish as he realized that though his own love for Christine was genuine, her love for him was but a façade, caused by the curse of his siren legacy. Raoul's quiet insistence that it was unfair to Christine to force her to give up a happy life and live one of obsession and desperation helped the Phantom make his choice, and, after giving Christine a tearful kiss, he sent her away in hysterics with Raoul, letting her keep his ring, before setting the opera house ablaze and perishing himself in the flames.

Hermione was crying quietly by the end of it, her mother casting worried looks back at her as she sobbed in Fleur's arms.

"That's so sad!" she said, heartbroken. "It wasn't his fault she overheard him! And he loved her so much he died so she could love again!"

"C'est tragique," Fleur agreed solemnly. "And that, that is not the worst. Many years later, Christine returned to find his gravestone. He had bid her to return his ring after his death, and though Christine went to see him, she would not return his ring, merely laid flowers upon his grave."

"That… what does that mean?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes. "She… she kept his ring?"

"Though she eloped with Raoul, she kept Erik's gift of bright jewelry," Fleur said. "This… I think this is the same in England?"

"So she really did love him? Even without the influence of his song?" Hermione started crying harder. "So he might have died for no reason at all?"

They were attracting stares from muggles in the street, but Hermione couldn't care, too torn up over the sadness of the story. Fleur ushered her to the side, sitting her on a nearby bench still within her parents' sights.

"He did need to," she said quietly. "Otherwise, he would have anguished his whole life on if his love truly loved him back, or if he was forcing her to love him when she would not have on her own."

Fleur held her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with her thumb, quietly soothing, and Hermione's tears eventually dried.

"I'm never going to be able to see that musical without crying again," she declared, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "Never. It's too tragic for me."

"Musical?" Fleur tilted her head. "There is an opera of it, here, in France. A wizarding opera, one that tells the truth."

"Is there really?" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Is it playing now? Is it possible to get tickets?"

"You just said you could not bear to see the story again without weeping," Fleur teased, and Hermione flushed.

"Well, I've seen the muggle musical, but I've never seen the wizarding opera," she said defensively. "How will I know if it will make me cry if I've never seen it before?"

Fleur could only laugh.

Fleur also suggested other sights and places to go that Hermione's parents hadn't considered, going with them to the Jardin des Tuileries and Luxembourg Gardens. Her parents were taken with the beauty of the gardens and grateful for Fleur's suggestions, and Hermione was happy to let her parents enjoy lovely, romantic picnics in the flowers while Fleur and Hermione splintered off to explore the garden paths and talk some more.

Over time, Fleur was becoming more relaxed with Hermione, Hermione noted, and more touchy-feely as well. Though Hermione hugged her Slytherin friends from time to time, as well as her coven, most witches and wizards in Britain were not physically affectionate with each other beyond a kiss on the back of the hand. Fleur, however, no longer hesitated to grab Hermione's hand and tug her along to explore some new area, or to take her arm and laugh when something amused her.

The physical affection seemed very French, to Hermione – after all, the French greeted each other with kisses on the cheeks – but she wasn't sure if it was something that all the French magicals did, or if it was just Fleur. It seemed to be part of Fleur's personality, an insuppressible affection that bubbled out of her in joy, almost like Fleur couldn't stop touching and hugging Hermione if she tried.

And Hermione didn't mind - even though her face continued to flame from time to time.

It wasn't that Fleur made her flustered, really, Hermione reflected, holding hands to her burning cheeks. It was just Fleur was so very beautiful and so enchanting, and she was so knowledgeable about everything, and she was just so smart…

The warmth growing in Hermione's chest at her delight in Fleur's company was not a new feeling, even as Hermione tried to deny it, refusing to acknowledge that she might be enjoying her time with her new friend a little too much. As much as the idea thrilled her, the fantasy of a holiday romance captivating her mind in the quiet moments before she fell asleep, Hermione at her core was a rational and pragmatic person, no matter how much her heart objected. Jade had warned her about this sort of thing, after all, and Hermione knew she'd have to go back to Britain eventually anyway, ending her acquaintance with Fleur all too soon.

And so Hermione resolved to just be, and to enjoy her time with Fleur to the fullest extent that she could, even if it meant getting flustered from time to time.

The day before Hermione was due back in Diagon Alley for the day of the election, Fleur went with Hermione and her family for a walk down the Champs-Élysées and then to the Arc de Triomphe. Her parents were awed and delighted, taking many photographs and watching a ceremony at the base of the grand arch, but they paid for them all to travel up the arc to the top, and Fleur tugged Hermione on ahead to the stairs, eyes alight with anticipation.

The view from the top of the structure was incredible. Hermione could see for miles in any direction, all of the roads of Paris seeming to sprawl out before her eyes. The roundabout of traffic around the arc seemed nothing short of insanity, several lanes wide as it was, but the entire thing was breathtaking to see.

Fleur looked sideways at Hermione once she had looked her fill, before taking her over to one of the less crowded ledges to look from.

"Here is a good place," Fleur told Hermione. She looked at her seriously. "You remember how I taught you?"

Hermione was nearly vibrating with excitement. "Yes. To reach out with my magic and feel the flow of the world."

"Exactement," Fleur said. "Now: close your eyes, and feel."

Fleur had told Hermione about something called ley lines. They were the natural paths of magic that flowed throughout the earth like veins, and magic was more plentiful near these places. Famous wizarding places were often located at junctions of two or more large ley lines, she had taught her: Stonehenge, for example, as were both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts.

Fleur's idea was for the hedgewitches to learn to use the innate ley line magic of the earth to use magic. While the hedgewitches might have their own magic stunted from not using it as they grew, they should still be able to reach out and draw up the earth's magic into themselves, and if they could, it was possible they could learn to cast with it.

In order for that to happen, though, someone needed to teach them how.

And in order to teach them how, Hermione had to learn herself first.

Fleur said it would be easiest the first time to feel the ley lines at a nexus, where more than one ley line met another, and the Arc de Triomphe was one of the largest such nodes in Paris. Taking slow, deep breaths to settle into herself and her magic, Hermione waited until she felt calm and steady before reaching out with her magic into the world, and she gasped.

"Fleur," she breathed. "Fleur... it's..."

Hermione's eyes were closed, but it was as if Hermione could see with just her magic, sensing the world around her, so great was the magic in the earth here. Before her lay a spidery network of lines of power, crisscrossing in some places and meeting up and joining in others, and several very large lines seemed to converge underneath her, right below the Arc.

"Tu vas bien, ma chérie," Fleur reassured her, touching her on the shoulders. "You are fine. Just feel."

"These are the ley lines?" Hermione asked faintly, her eyes still closed.

"Oui," Fleur murmured. "These are the magical veins of the earth."

Carefully, Hermione reached her magic out and down, down towards the nexus, touching her magic to the magic flowing in the ley line node, only to gasp as magic came racing up into her, flooding her body with itself. The magic from the ley line was nearly overwhelming, making Hermione's legs and knees feel weak, and she struggled for breath and collapsed back against Fleur, who was there to hold her up.

"Sshh, shh, chérie," Fleur urged her. "You are okay. Let the magic flow through you. Just feel it. It will not harm you."

The ley line magic was intoxicating in its power. It felt powerful, it felt eternal, it felt limitless. It felt like water made of pure magic itself was flowing through her in waves, carrying her along in its current, and Hermione felt like she could cast anything with this much power available to her in her body. She felt like she could get drunk off just feeling it, somehow.

"Now, let go slowly, Hermione," Fleur urged. "Slowly, let the ley line go back into the earth."

Reluctantly, Hermione concentrated, focusing on separating her own magic from that of the ley line nexus, letting the magic go back into the ground. It took a while to find all the bits of herself and pull them slowly back together inside her core, and then a while to let the ley line magic she'd taken drain back harmlessly into the earth. Once she had done it, she took several shaky breaths, still weak on her feet, before finally opening her eyes, Fleur's bright blue meeting hers.

"That was insane," Hermione breathed. "That was mad. All that magic…"

"Ley lines are not easy to learn to use," Fleur warned her. "But they may give your hedgewitches a chance to cast the magic that has been denied to them for so long."

Hermione nodded, the memory of the overwhelming power within her still strong.

"Nothing worth having is ever easy," she said. She looked at Fleur, determined. "I might not be the best teacher for them, but I will do my best."

Fleur's eyes sparkled at her, making Hermione blush again, and Fleur laughed as she helped her down the stairs of the Arc.

"Next time, I will teach you how to pull on a line and use it, yes?" she said. "Now that you know what to look for and feel, there is a small one in my backyard we can learn with. Not too big, a good size to begin with so you are not overwhelmed or lost."

Hermione looked at Fleur sideways. "You would invite me to your house?"

Fleur paused, quizzical. "Is that not okay?"

"No! That's very okay," Hermione said quickly. "It's just… I didn't expect that, I guess."

Fleur laughed, her eyes bright.

"I have met your parents over and over again, Hermione," she told her, amused. She patted Hermione's arm, even as she held it while helping her walk. "I daresay I am comfortable now with you finally meeting my own."

Chapter Text

The day of the election, Hermione awoke with excited nerves fluttering in her chest. Even though she knew Youth Representative wasn't generally considered to be huge deal, Hermione couldn't help but be excited. She had a chance to join the government – when she was thirteen.

She thought any Slytherin would probably be excited at such a chance.

…well. Maybe not Goyle.

Hermione dressed carefully, thoughtfully. She opted to wear the French-cut robes she'd bought with Fleur, the lovely amber ones, and she pinned her hair back with the blue Morpho butterfly clip Fleur had transfigured for her, managing something similar to the style Fleur had helped her with. When she looked in the mirror, she looked mature and confident, her wild hair contained in a sort of restrained beauty, and Hermione was careful to make sure she looked regal yet relatable – someone to look up to, but also someone you'd want to just sit with and have a chat.

Hermione's parents teased her as they got up and got ready for the day themselves.

"You look so serious, dear," her mother said, smiling slightly. "Isn't this supposed to be an exciting day?"

"It is exciting," Hermione protested. "I'm just nervous about the portkey – I've never used an international one before."

"That sock?" her father said, raising an eyebrow, before shaking his head and laughing. "Magic. I'll never understand it."

"Good luck!" her mother wished her with a smile. Her eyes danced. "Not that you'll need it, love."

"Thanks, Mum, Dad," Hermione said. She gave her parents a nervous smile. "See you tonight."

Hermione's portkey went off at exactly the appointed time, and a sharp yank behind Hermione's navel had her spinning through screeching nothingness before she landed hard on the ground of Diagon Alley on her bottom, gasping for breath and fighting back nausea.

"Hermione!"

Her vision spinning, Hermione felt helping hands on her arms and back, guiding her to her feet. When her stomach settled, she could see it was Daphne and Draco who had helped her, their eyes shining with concern.

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked, worried. "Draco said international portkeys can be difficult."

"They are," Draco insisted. "I've taken them from France before. They're never fun."

"I'm alright, I think," Hermione said, breathing deeply. "I just need a moment."

Careful, Daphne and Draco stepped away from her, letting her regain her footing. Hermione was surprised to see they were in a tight alleyway, stone buildings enclosing them and trash bins a few yards away. She gave Draco a quizzical look, glancing around, and he smirked.

"Didn't want you to throw up in front of all the voters," he told her, smirking. "It was a possibility, with an international portkey. Not the best impression to make, you know?"

Hermione laughed. "I suppose not."

As they made their way out of the alley, Hermione was delighted to see colorful banners all around the square. Draco grinned at her surprise.

"The alley wasn't really happy with us all putting up campaign posters or banners this month," he said, "but they agreed we could for the last week before the election. I think they've pretty much surrendered the square to us for today."

The banners around the square had all different slogans and images on them. Malcolm Smith's was bright with bold yellow and black stripes, declaring "Malcolm Smith – A Heritage You Can Trust" overtop a Hufflepuff crest. Another large banner was decorated mostly with green and black, declaring "Vote Cassius Warrington – the Strength of the Youth". Cho Chang's looked to be blue and silver, though Hermione couldn't make the slogan out, and she would bet the red and gold one across the square would belong to Lee Jordan.

"So many house colors," she commented. She looked to at the others. "What did you pick for ours?"

Draco grinned. "C'mon. You'll be pleased."

They guided her across the square, where a large purple and silver banner was posted. It was billowing slightly in an unseen wind, and it had a large moving portrait of Hermione on it, posing with her sword. The portrait looked determined and confident, a small smirk on her lips as she looked out over the crowd. Silver words edged in gold shone overtop the regal purple, reading "Vote for Hermione – The One Who Gets Things Done". Her other Slytherin classmates were clustered around and beneath the banner, and Hermione grinned when Tracey came running up toward her.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "I got the photo off of MacMillain. We couldn't go with Slytherin colors – Warrington claimed those pretty quick – so we thought—"

"I love it," Hermione assured her, smiling widely. "It looks great."

Tracey beamed.

Daphne had already moved to talk to Pansy and Millicent, who were eyeing Éadaoin Lobosca's banner from across the way. Hers was white and gold, and it bore a defiant image of Éadaoin herself with her arms crossed, looking determined. Her banner read "A Vote for Éadaoin is a Vote for Equality for All", which made Hermione curious.

"Did you ever figure out what she's running on?" Hermione asked Pansy. "That's an unusual slogan."

Pansy's eyes gleamed.

"I did," she said with satisfaction. "As it so happens, her sister is a werewolf. She wants to get onto the Wizengamot to try and push for werewolf rights."

Hermione reared back in surprise. "A werewolf?"

"It's a secret," Pansy told her, eyes gleaming, "but yes. Fenrir Greyback bit her sister when she was seven."

Hermione was horrified, and she swallowed hard. She knew werewolves were a thing, yes - but it was quite another to imagine someone viciously attacking a child or a beloved sister.

"The hedgewitches won't be keen on that," Hermione said, her voice steady. "One of the things they said they wanted was more protection from werewolves."

"That doesn't surprise me," Daphne said, tossing her hair, which she had taken the time to curl into perfect ringlets. "Their homes aren't exactly the most protected."

"That's hardly their fault," Hermione snapped. "They rent from the purebloods. It's the purebloods' responsibility to protect their lands and maintain silver wards."

Daphne looked surprised, then shrugged.

"I don't know the finer details of it," she said. "Regardless, Éadaoin's not likely to get many votes with a platform like that."

Tracey had a table set up in front of the banner, also draped with a purple cloth to match, and Hermione was amused to find Blaise sitting at the table, concentrating on the banner very hard.

"Are you the one making it billow in the wind?" she asked, laughing. Blaise looked up at her in surprise, before a slow smile spread across his lips.

"It's good practice," he said, smirking. "And I'm less likely to get hurt this way than trying to fly."

He pulled out a chair next to him, which Hermione happily took.

"So what's the plan for today?" she asked. "When does voting actually start? How does it work?"

"Excellent question!" Tracey appeared next to them from nowhere, as if summoned by her query. "And I have just the answer!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed. "Then how does it work?"

"At 10am, the Unspeakables will arrive and begin the voting process over there," Tracey said, nodding towards the stage, where some tables and curtains had been set up. "You go up to the table, and you press your palm to one of their rocks. The rock will check your age and magic, and once you're approved, you go behind the curtain to vote." She hesitated. "I'm not entirely sure how you vote, but I imagine it's very straightforward."

"A rock?" Hermione was intrigued. "And this allows them to know our age?"

"The Department of Mysteries can do Merlin knows what," Millie said, stepping up next to Tracey. "Who knows what insanity they get up to in there with no oversight?"

"Imagine what you could discover about magic with no oversight and actual funding!" Hermione defended. "I think it sounds interesting."

Tracey laughed. "You would."

Hermione looked out over the square. Some of the other tables were moving things around, people shifting and such. Lee Jordan had moved to stand in front of his table and was doing tricks with a muggle yo-yo, to Hermione's surprise. Malcolm Smith just stood to the side of his nervously, his cousin shooting him dark looks from time to time.

"In case people want to meet the candidates," Tracey said, following Hermione's gaze. "You can stand in the front if you want to? No one's here yet, though, so it's not really necessary."

"And… just stand there all day?" Hermione asked, frowning. "For hours?"

Tracey shrugged helplessly. "Voting runs from 10 to 5."

Hermione groaned. That sounded miserable.

Across the square at the platform, a few Unspeakables had appeared, clad in deeply hooded robes. There was something glowing behind the dark curtains they had set up, and Hermione wondered just what was going on. It was fascinating how their robes and hoods obscured them so entirely – Hermione couldn't even tell if a man or a woman was beneath the heavy robes.

"Are those French?"

Hermione looked up at Draco, who was gesturing to her robes.

"Your robes," he said. "They don't look like the usual ones. Did you get them in France?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "I did, actually. Look."

She stood and gave a small twirl, Daphne and Pansy murmuring appreciatively.

"The French palette is usually so washed out," Daphne said. "But that color is exquisite on you, Hermione."

"Nice cut, too," Pansy admitted. "Is that embroidery around the neckline or lace?"

Hermione felt flattered by their interest. "It's embroidery, in tiny leaves all around."

Draco looked satisfied and proud, like he knew she'd show up looking good and could somehow take credit for it, while Blaise's keen eyes were scanning her, perceptive.

"You got a new butterfly," Blaise commented. He raised an eyebrow. "A gift?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, patting her hair embarrassedly. "I forgot. But yes – I thought the blue went with the robes and my hair better."

But no one was listening to her about the colors – at her words, Daphne and Pansy gasped, and Draco froze where he stood.

"A gift?" he breathed, his eyes bright. "And you accepted it?"

"I—what?" Hermione was thrown. "It's just a hair clip—"

"It's silver, Hermione," Daphne said, her eyes wide. "And you're wearing it."

"It counts as jewelry," Pansy snapped, directly. She looked at Hermione, impatient. "Did you accept it without realizing what it was?"

"I… oh…"

Hermione swallowed. The fact was, she had accepted it from Fleur without a thought. Tracey had helped her with her other hair clips before, and she'd never considered anything of it—

"I made a friend in France, a French witch," Hermione said hastily. She touched her hair self-consciously. "She helped me make a clip that matched my robes. It wasn't—it's not like that—"

Draco relaxed visibly in front of her, practically wilting in relief. Daphne looked like she was stifling laughter, while Pansy looked highly annoyed.

"Don't call it a gift, then, Granger," Pansy said curtly. "Circe, it's like you have no idea what anything even means."

Draco seemed happy to drop the issue entirely, but Blaise's eyes were still keen on Hermione, watching. When Hermione leaned back against the table, he eyed her sideways. He was looking at her almost suspiciously, but without the element of paranoia suspicion usually had. Almost like he was suspecting something, but with nothing nefarious in mind.

Finally, he spoke.

"A French witch?" he asked. "A new friend?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "We met by chance at Versailles. She's been lovely in showing me around."

Blaise's eyes had a gleam to them Hermione couldn't decipher. "And you enjoy her company?"

"Of course...?" Hermione said, her tone questioning. "I wouldn't spend time with her if I didn't."

Blaise hummed to himself, considering, before his eyes slid sideways to her.

"And when she gave you the hair clip," he said. "Did she just give it to you?"

To Hermione's mortification, she flushed.

"She made it with a charm and some transfiguration," Hermione equivocated. "I doubt it's real silver."

Blaise was not to be denied.

"And did she give it to you?" he murmured, his eyes locked on hers. "Or did she put it in your hair?"

Hermione hesitated. Did that make a difference…? She remembered rules about accepting jewelry from others, but not about them putting jewelry on her…

"She… she offered it to me, first," she said, remembering. "And I thanked her. She then offered to put it in my hair for me, if I didn't mind… she did a pretty braiding thing and clipped it in the back for me, for me to wear."

"And she did this in public?" Blaise asked. "Or in private?"

Hermione gnawed her lip. "Public. At Place Cachée."

Blaise's eyebrows rose very high, and he whistled lowly.

"I don't quite know how the French do things, Hermione," he told her. His eyes glinted. "But maybe don't mention that bit to Malfoy."

Hermione blushed a bright red in mortification.

"You can't mean—" she stammered. "You don't—"

"I know what that would mean if someone did it in Diagon Alley," Blaise said, shrugging. His eyes glinted. "And if they put it in your hair… wizard or witch."

"It wasn't like that!" Hermione's cheeks were hot. "She didn't say anything like that afterward, nothing to indicate it was like that, just that it was beautiful."

Blaise's eyes were sharp, and he tilted his head.

"That it was beautiful?" he asked, emphasizing the word. "Or that you were beautiful?"

Hermione faltered, flustered.

"It was in French," she said, hesitant. "I think she said that it was beautiful in my hair. Or something similar."

Blaise was smirking, mischief in his eyes.

"So you have a new French witch friend giving you jewelry in public with unclear intentions," he summarized. He tutted. "Is she pretty, Hermione? Did you like it when she touched your hair?"

Hermione was mortified.

"It's not like that!" she protested. "She's just showing me around Paris!"

"Ah," Blaise said, his eyes holding hers. "But do you want it to be like that?"

"I—"

Hermione faltered, her cheeks flaming, and she couldn't meet his eyes.

Why was Blaise even asking her this? How could he tell? Hermione had done a relatively good job of denying her growing infatuation with the older girl to herself. How had Blaise sussed it out within minutes?

How did he even know she fancied witches on occasion, for that matter? She was mortified. She'd never mentioned it to anyone, not really – had he caught her looking at someone once and never mentioned it…?

She heard Blaise chuckle lowly next to her.

"A summer romance with a beautiful witch," he said quietly, his voice teasing. "Such is the stuff of dreams..."

Hermione could feel her face was still hot.

"Even if it was," she said finally, "she's done nothing to indicate anything like that."

"Except give you jewelry," Blaise countered, smirking.

"She transfigured it from a hair clip I already had and a conjuring charm," Hermione protested. "I really don't think…"

"Maybe." Blaise hummed, thoughtful, before giving Hermione a sly sideways look. "Doesn't mean it won't become that when you go back."

Hermione could feel herself flushing as Blaise's eyes wandered over her. He seemed more amused than jealous (a welcome change from people's reaction to learning that Cedric had taken her out), and his gaze was fairly curious, evaluating.

"If you want to practice kissing more before you go back to her," he teased her, his eyes gleaming with a shared secret as they met hers, "just let me know."

Hermione gasped as her face flamed, and she stood up rapidly, fanning herself, hearing Blaise's laugh from behind her. She marched right up to Tracey (and away from Blaise) to interrupt her conversation with Millie.

"When's voting begin?" she asked, ignoring the flush heating her face. "I want to be one of the first ones to vote, so I can help explain the process to anyone else who might get confused."

Tracey raised an eyebrow at Hermione's tone, but she shrugged.

"Shortly," she said. "The Unspeakables will ring a bell."

"Good," Hermione said determinedly. "I'm going to go wait in line."

She strode away across the square to form a queue of one in front of the Unspeakables, leaving Blaise and the others behind her, desperately trying to forget Blaise's words and push the entire matter from her mind. This was the Election Day, and this was an important day. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

The quiet, husky implication in Blaise's tone when he offered though, and the ghost Fleur's soft touch on her face as she pulled back after clipping the butterfly in her hair lingered in her mind, though, and it took a long time for Hermione's flush to finally fade.

The square grew much busier around noon, and Hermione was glad she had voted first. She wouldn't have wanted to wait in the long queue now.

Voting had been odd. First, an Unspeakable had instructed her to lay her hand down upon a literal rock. Once the rock glowed blue, the Unspeakable allowed her to go behind the black curtains, where she was greeted by a sudden, large expanse of tall, flat rock, about nine feet high and probably twelve feet across.

The giant, magical rock the Unspeakables had brought with them had been set up behind the curtains to protect voting anonymity. On the stone, the name of each candidate was written in silver with a picture of each candidate stuck to the stone below the name, and a impression of a handprint was inlaid into the rock underneath each one. Hermione found the photo of herself (not a bad one, she thought with satisfaction) and pressed her hand to the handprint under her name, and she watched it glow the lilac color of her magic before it faded, and a soft chime was heard.

Hermione briefly wondered how someone would vote if they'd lost both their hands. Maybe with their head or foot? Did the Unspeakables have a secondary way of recording votes somehow?

All of the Slytherins in her class voted quickly as well, eager to beat the rush, as did the other candidates and their tables. Cho Chang's table in particular had amassed quite a crush of Ravenclaws, and over a dozen of them clustered together to wait to be approved by the Unspeakables to go and vote.

"She has a lot of people," Hermione said, worrying at her lip.

Tracey scoffed. "All Ravenclaws. And not that many. Don't worry – more people will show up throughout the day."

The election tables proved helpful once the square grew busier. Many people Hermione didn't know were winding their way around the square before getting in line to vote, quizzing the candidates, and Hermione did her best to answer their questions.

"Why should I vote for you?" was the question asked most commonly. Hermione had a good answer for that one: she would hold up a back issue of the Daily Prophet with her defeat of the basilisk emblazoned on the front page, and comment that she was motivated, and that she got things done.

"What are you running for?" was a harder question to answer. Hermione eventually settled on explaining she didn't really have a platform yet, because she didn't know what was most important to the British Youth. But whatever was most concerning to them, she would do her best to represent within the Wizengamot.

That response got mixed responses, and Hermione gnawed at her lip as those people walked away.

"They want to hear that you support traditional ways and practices," Daphne admonished quietly. "They're expecting you to support the pureblood way of life."

"The pureblood way of life doesn't accurately represent all of the British Youth, though," Hermione objected. "Just look at all the hedgewitches – they're hardly participating in such culture, aren't they?"

Pansy scoffed and sighed, folding her arms.

"You were supposed to convince them to vote for you, Granger," she said, her tone snide. "Not let them Obliviate you into believing their whining."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

The Hedgewitches, though, didn't seem to have come, and Hermione grew more and more anxious as the day wore on. She did see many of her classmates over the course of the afternoon, many of whom waved. Neville waved from across the square as he waited in line, and Harry showed up with Susan and Luna, stopping by her table to say hi.

"I didn't even know this was a thing," Harry said ruefully, running a hand through his hair. His green eyes were bright and friendly. "I didn't even realize there was more than just Diagon Alley. But of course I'll vote for you, Hermione."

Hermione beamed back at him. "Thanks, Harry."

As the afternoon wore on and the square emptied, Hermione grew more and more nervous, watching the large clock over the square. It now read 4 o'clock, and voting was set to close at 5.

"Did the hedgewitches not like you?" Draco asked her seriously. "I would understand if they didn't. They must be terribly envious of your magical power, of course, and it would make sense if they resent you for it."

"It wasn't like that," Hermione protested. "I thought – I'd thought I'd sort of made friends. Really."

Draco looked at her quizzically, before sighing.

"Well, maybe they got the date wrong," he said cynically. "They're exactly not the fastest bunch of brooms, are they?"

"Or," Tracey said slyly, "maybe they wanted to make an entrance."

Hermione turned around. "Oh?"

Tracey was laughing. "Can't you hear?"

Hermione strained her ears, as did Draco. She could vaguely hear stomping in the distance and the sound of singing, gradually growing louder. As the song grew louder, she saw a large group of people enter the Carkitt Market square from the far end, wearing kirtles and vests and tunics – a very familiar sight to her eyes. One of the ones in the front grinned at her and waved, and Hermione felt her heart lighten immensely as she practically flew over to them.

"You came!" she exclaimed, hugging Derek and Clover. She stepped back to look at them, relieved. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it!"

"Nah," Derek dismissed. "Just had to get off work, didn't we? An' we figured we'd wait 'til the end." He grinned. "That way, we'll be here for the victory party."

Hermione laughed, relieved.

"I don't know about that," she said. "But we can certainly hope!"

"Then we'd just have a mournin' party, wouldn't we?" he teased. "No better 'xcuse to get proper drunk than mournin' a loss, I'd tell you!"

The hedgewitches' queue to vote was more a vaguely linear cluster of people than a proper line, definitely not arranged one by one, but they were all chatting animatedly and waiting their turn, many of them waving at her cheerily, and Hermione waved back. The other candidates were watching her with wide eyes and open suspicion, but Hermione found she didn't care. What did she care if they were suspicious of her befriending the hedgewitches? She hadn't gotten her magic stolen (the very thought was ridiculous), and they were young witches and wizards too, just the same as everyone else, with just the same right to vote.

Éadaoin was the only other one to approach the hedgewitches, gathering her bravery and determination before doing so. Hermione watched as she talked to a few of them as they waited in line, but a few minutes later there was an audible hissing, and she saw Éadaoin falter backwards with her eyes wide, visibly recoiling from the line.

"Do you think they hurt her?" Draco asked, his eyes wide. "I wouldn't think they'd be so thickheaded as to attack someone openly in the Alley, but—"

"I think she probably mentioned werewolf rights to them," Hermione cut him off. "And they probably thought rather negatively of her after that."

After voting, the hedgewitches didn't dissipate or go home – instead, they all headed to the Hopping Pot, ordering butterbeers and snacks and occupying the tables, talking and chatting loudly as they were wont to do. Hermione was grinning at the sight, now somewhat familiar with their ways, but Cho's table and Éadaoin's both looked almost frightened at the sight.

Around 4:50pm, Hermione saw a familiar figure stride into the square, along with Harry Potter at his side.

"That's the Minister!" Hermione said, grabbing Tracey's arm. "What's he here for?"

Tracey gave her an odd look.

"To announce the winner," she said. "Who else did you think would do it?"

"Err—"

Honestly, Hermione had figured one of the Unspeakables would. She hadn't anticipated much ceremony about it. Despite the voting and the pageantry around it all, it was mostly only children who seemed to care; adults had walked by all day thoroughly ignoring the spectacle, seeming almost exasperated with the fuss. Hermione had been mentally treating it more like a more dramatic Student Council election than a proper government election.

Harry came over to the Hermione's Slytherin table with a little hesitation.

"Good turn out?" he asked, keeping a distance from Malfoy. "Looks like a lot of people showed up right at the end."

"They did," Hermione said, laughing. She grinned at Harry, who was startled into grinning as well. "That they did."

"What are you going to do if you win, Hermione?" Harry asked her. "Are you going to get to oversee trials and the like? Even with classes and everything?"

"I think so," Hermione said, musing. "Grand Trials with the entire Wizengamot are rather rare, though – mostly it's local courts and representatives that handle low-level cases. But I'd be essentially part of the magical Parliament, getting to help decide and vote on laws."

"Blimey." Harry whistled. "Well, you'd be good at it. Will you have to do the standing up and sitting thing all the time when people talk?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't think they do that here."

Harry grinned. "Lucky."

The line of voters finally petered out just before five, and Hermione watched the clock tick down the last seconds before one of the Unspeakables rang a large gong.

"The Election is over. Voting is concluded," the Unspeakable said, their voice carrying over the square. "We will total the votes."

The Unspeakables and the Minister went behind the curtain, and Hermione wondered how the tallying worked. Did the wall just make the number of votes appear next to each candidate's photo? She imagined magic helped the wall keep track of how many hands had been pressed to each place.

The other candidates and their teams filtered out from behind their tables now, mingling in the center of the square. Hermione followed Tracey's lead in this, following her out to the center, where Cassius Warrington was speaking loudly.

"—supported by the Selwyns, Fawleys, Burkes, and Carrows," he was saying. "And, of course, they have a rather large domain, so I expect their tenants would follow their wishes—"

"They can't do that," Hermione hissed to Tracey. "They can't make their hedgewitches vote a certain way. Can they?"

"That's very illegal," Tracey assured her. "That's why there are the curtains – so your vote is anonymous. It's also illegal to make someone swear a vow about which way they will vote or how they voted."

"Not to mention that any family so gauche as to require their tenants to vote a specific way in a children's election would be a laughingstock," Pansy added dryly. She glanced at Daphne. "With all due respect, Daphne, Cassius is talking out of his arse."

Daphne sighed, but it was more of a dreamy, moonstruck sort of sigh.

"He's very confident and commanding though, isn't he?" she said. Her eyes followed him across the square. "He might not win, but he'll be a good leader someday, don't you think?"

Hermione found herself exchanging an exasperated eye roll with Pansy, of all people, to their mutual amusement.

"All of Ravenclaw voted for you, Cho," one girl was saying to Cho, holding her hands. "That's a lot. And if the other houses were divided up amongst the others, you'll get the largest contingent of votes."

"Not every Ravenclaw," Blaise commented. He smirked at Hermione. "If Luna didn't vote for you, I'd eat my hat."

His comment lightened the tension a bit, and Hermione managed a laugh.

They all watched nervously as the Unspeakables and the Minister reemerged from behind the curtain, the Minister clearing his throat and touching his wand to his throat. The conversation died immediately, and Cassius and Lee Jorden both froze in place, while Cho looked like she was going to be ill. Hermione clutched Tracey's hands anxiously, who was clutching hers back, eyes wide.

"The next British Youth Representative, to replace Gabriel Truman—"

Fudge's voice echoed around the square, and Hermione held her breath, watching on tenterhooks. She saw Fudge pause and smile.

"—is Hermione Granger."

There was an immediate reaction. Hermione and all of the Slytherin girls with her began shrieking, jumping up and down in excitement, and the boys all cheered loudly, Harry joining in. The hedgewitches over at the Hopping Pot were banging their mugs on the wooden tables and cheering as well, stomping their feet, and Hermione shot a pleased grin over at Derek, who returned it with a wink.

"Congratulations to Hermione Granger," Fudge said. "If you would approach the stage?"

Hermione strode up to the platform proudly, her back straight, and Fudge looked down at her with an amused fondness as he pulled his wand from his throat.

"Of course you'd win this," he said, his voice a normal tone again. "Who else would be more appropriate to represent the youth?"

He pinned a badge on her, a gold circle with a dark M in the middle of it, the M being weighed on a scale. There was Latin around the edges of it, words Hermione would have to look up later.

"Turn around for a moment and let them cheer," Fudge instructed her, amused. "Then we'll discuss the details of your appointment."

Obedient, Hermione turned around with her new Wizengamot badge on her robes, and cheering broke out again. Several people shot off sparks despite the underage restriction of magic, but Fudge seemed inclined to ignore it as an impromptu celebration and party broke out.

"There are some things you will need to know about your new position," Fudge told her seriously. "It's best to discuss them now, so you don't fret over the rest of the summer."

He guided her behind the curtain, and then again behind the large stone. There were scattered chairs there, and Hermione wondered if this was a sort of break room for the Unspeakables. Fudge took a seat, shifting, and Hermione sat down as well.

"First of all, congratulations," he told her. He smiled. "I'm genuinely pleased that you won it. You're a sharp young woman with a practical head on your shoulders. You're a much better choice than most of those who ran."

Hermione couldn't help but beam. "Thank you, sir."

"Second of all," he said, "the expectations. Are you aware of what the Wizengamot is and what it does?"

"Mostly," Hermione said. "They meet to propose and discuss legislation and sign it into new laws, as well as oversee very high-profile trials."

"That is about the sum of it," Fudge said, nodding. "There are some finer details, but you will pick them up as you go along. The important thing to know is legislative sessions are every two weeks on Tuesday, while judicial sessions are scheduled as needed."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "I see."

"As such, as you are still in school," Fudge said, reaching into his pocket, "the Ministry has developed a way for you to be able to attend your studies as well as sessions with the Wizengamot." He withdrew what looked like an hourglass suspended in the center of a gyroscope. "This is called a Time-Turner, Miss Granger. This will allow you to be in two places at one time."

Hermione's eyes grew huge, and she felt faint. "A… Time-Turner, sir?"

"These are very rare devices, and they are highly monitored," Fudge told her. "I have a Ministry pamphlet on Time-Turner Safety you will need to read and sign off on before you use this. It includes some information on confidentiality you will have to agree to as well. But this will allow you to travel to the past and relive a period of hours, which will allow you to both attend all your classes and not miss sessions with the Wizengamot."

"I… thank you, sir." Hermione was speechless. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Fudge shrugged, handing her the thick Ministry pamphlet.

"Your peers decided you are the best of them," he said, hanging the chain around her neck, gesturing for her to hide it underneath her robes. "They're the ones who are trusting you."

"Are there any restrictions?" she asked, her mouth dry. "Does it only work on Tuesdays?"

Fudge looked surprised.

"No, that'd be silly," he said, shaking his head dismissively. "Then what would you do if there was a judicial session on a Thursday night? No, no, it works whenever. Just follow the safety guidelines, and you should be well-informed on how to properly use it to make sure you don't miss the Wizengamot sessions."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione could scarcely believe this was happening. "Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure," he assured her, standing up. He suddenly looked very tired. "This is one of the nicer responsibilities my position comes with."

Hermione was abruptly reminded that the violent criminal Sirius Black was still on the loose. No wonder the Minister looked so tired.

"Have a good day, Miss Granger," he bid her, tipping his hat. "The Wizengamot resumes September 7th. I will see you then."

"Take care, sir," Hermione called after him, clutching the Time-Turner to her chest. "Thanks again!"

She heard the sharp crack of Disapparition as the Minister left, and she hurried out from behind the giant rock as well, ignoring the looks from the Unspeakables, who she suspected were eager to take the voting booth down and go home. The square was full of hedgewitches who were drinking butterbeer and celebrating, along with a group of Slytherins on the other side of the square who were also celebrating, but in a much more restrained and very separate way. Hermione went to her friends first, and Tracey seized Hermione in a tight hug.

"This is brilliant!" she said, grinning. "Just think – you'll know all the hot gossip first!"

Hermione laughed. "If you say so."

Everyone was pleased for her, even Pansy, though she rolled her eyes. Theo was very serious when congratulating her, but Blaise was ebullient.

"You'll be great," he assured her, grinning. "Can't think of a better person to win."

Harry was pleased for her, and even more pleased when she hugged him without reservation, laughing.

"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "I mean, I hoped, but for it to actually happen-!"

Harry laughed, grinning at her as she pulled away.

"I can't imagine Hermione Granger wanting something and not managing a way to make it come true," he teased. His eyes sparkled. "So. You spoke to the Minister? He has a way for you to go to sessions without missing classes?"

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione's eyes sparkled. "Just wait until you see."

Chapter Text

Hermione's parents were thrilled for her success.

"Being elected to the government at thirteen…" Her mother shook her head, but she was smiling. "That's quite an accomplishment, Hermione. Not many people will be able to claim that. You'll stick out on any job application, now."

Her father was less excited about the government position than he was about the logistics of her attending Wizengamot sessions as well as her classes, the answer to which simultaneously excited and horrified him.

"They just gave this to you?" he demanded. "They just gave you, a thirteen-year-old, a time-traveling device to bend time to your will?"

Hermione shrugged. "They made me read and sign a safety pamphlet first?"

Her father was incredulous, and Hermione caught him later making a list of books, with titles like Time Travel and An Introduction to General Relativity and The Grandfather Paradox.

"I am going to get these books for you, books about time travel and various theories on it. And you will read them before you go back to school, do you understand?" he told her seriously. "If you are going to be time-traveling, you must understand the possible implications of you doing so."

"I think general relativity and quantum mechanics are a little advanced for a teenager, dear," her mother said, raising an eyebrow.

"I think giving a teenager a time machine is a little advanced!" her father shot back.

Her mother sighed.

"Hermione's going to use it to go to classes and go to the Wizengamot," she said. "It only turns back six hours. It's not as if she's going to go try to kill Hitler, dear."

"Simplicity be damned," her father warned. "If Hermione is going to do this, she needs to do it right, Jean."

Her mother rolled her eyes but gave in.

Hermione hid her smile. It was odd having her father be the overly cautious one for once.

The next day, Hermione abandoned her parents. They were planning to watch a show at the Moulin Rouge and then take a romantic cruise down the Seine, and Hermione could tell they were secretly rather pleased she wouldn't be coming along with them and would be visiting Fleur's family instead.

"If you're sure you don't want to come along, dear," her mother said, but Hermione could see the doe-eyed looks her parents were already exchanging, and she hastily turned away, reassuring them she was fine not going along, thank you very much. She did not want to be the third wheel on her parents' date.

Fleur wasn't old enough to Apparate, but she'd grown up in Paris, and she was well versed in navigating the muggle Metro system. She met Hermione at a park near the hotel at 10am, her blue eyes bright, her light blue dress bringing out their color beautifully.

"Did you win?" she asked, eyes sparkling. "You did win your election, yes?"

"I did," Hermione confirmed, grinning, and Fleur let out a delighted laugh, sweeping Hermione up in a hug and spinning her around, ignoring Hermione's startled yelp and bright red cheeks.

"This is incredible," she informed her, as Hermione refound her footing. "Working in the government, at such an age! En France, we do not have this, this 'youth representative'. But what a wonder if we did—!"

Hermione and Fleur chatted on the metro as they went to her neighborhood, Hermione detailing what the entire election had been like, describing the different tables and candidates. Fleur frowned when Hermione explained Éadaoin's platform.

"Werewolves are… they are very tragique," Fleur said. She couldn't seem to get the English pronunciation of the word down. "They are humans as we all are, true, but for part of the month, they become ravaging, senseless monsters, who truly do risk all of our society." She sighed. "There is a potion, it is said, that can tame them on this night, but it is very expensive and very hard to make."

"Are werewolves much of a problem in France?" Hermione asked, and Fleur looked startled.

"Non," she said. "It is more a British issue, I think. But we have problems with hags and vampires quite often, especially in the north."

The Delacour family lived in the Belleville district of Paris, an extremely beautiful part of the city. There were incredible panoramic views of downtown Paris from the rolling hills, and there were public gardens with bright, vibrant flowers everywhere. The streets had a laid-back, cosmopolitan vibe about them, with trendy international restaurants boasting cuisine from Sicily to Brazil to Rwanda. Hermione envied Fleur immensely. To grow up in such an area must have been incredible – it was no wonder Fleur was so cultured.

As they continued walking, however, Fleur slowly grew more and more tense, stiffening next to Hermione and becoming more and more withdrawn, shooting darting looks at Hermione from the side of her eyes. Finally, Fleur seemed she could take it no more, and she stopped short.

"We will take a break," she announced. "Here, in the garden."

She led Hermione to a shaded area of the Parc de Belleville near large topiary bushes. Here, she sat, and Hermione sat with her. Fleur looked terribly anxious, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Is everything okay?" Hermione asked. "If you're not comfortable with me coming to your home, I can—"

"Non, it is not that," Fleur dismissed. "It is… I need…" She sighed, resigned. "I have something I need to tell you before you come."

Hermione blinked. "Okay…"

Slowly, Fleur reached to her neck, tugging at a necklace she'd been wearing under her robes. It looked like a rounded triangle made of polished hematite with a rune carved into it, and Fleur reached behind her neck, unclasping it and setting it aside on the grass.

Nothing visible happened, but somehow Fleur suddenly seemed more. Hermione suddenly felt somewhat more tongue-tied around her, like she had been the first time she had met her, at the Palace of Versailles. Not that that was unusual – Fleur was so very beautiful, it'd be impossible not to be tongue-tied around her – but Hermione knew she'd managed normal speech with Fleur for over a week now.

"Is that…" Hermione's mind wrestled with itself, trying to remember. "You said you borrowed a magical dampener amulet from your mother, once. Is that it?" she asked, gesturing to the necklace. Fleur tilted her head, looking at her sideways.

"You remembered that?" she asked, and Hermione flushed.

"I don't forget things often," she defended. "Did you think I wasn't listening to you?"

Fleur laughed, but there was little mirth in it.

"Non, it is not that," she said. "I am used to people listening to me, but not remembering things about me." Her eyes met Hermione's, and Hermione's breath caught. "But you truly listen and care about me, Hermione. It is not something I take for granted."

Hermione was fighting to act normal. Her mouth was still dry, her heart beating too fast, and she had to fight with herself to not just stare at Fleur and drink in her beauty. Fleur seemed hesitant, debating with herself.

"There is something else," she said finally. She looked at Hermione. "I am not sure if it will affect you or not, but it might. And it is better we learn now than at my home."

Hermione nodded. She took a deep breath, centering herself, not knowing quite what to expect. "Alright."

Slowly, Fleur reached up to her head, her hand sliding up into her dark hair before abruptly grabbing it at the crown and yanking harshly.

Hermione was surprised to see the dark hair actually come off, thrown to the grass in a tangled heap at Fleur's feet, while gorgeous, white-gold hair unfolded from on top of her head fell down Fleur's back in long waves. Her hair shone, seeming to fan out behind her with the slightest hint of a breeze, and immediately it hit Hermione why Fleur's coloring had seemed off – she'd been wearing a wig all this time.

Her natural hair was beautiful – stunning, going with her moon-bright skin and sky-blue eyes perfectly. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she looked at Fleur.

"Was that part of your disguise, too?" she asked. "To keep boys from bothering you?"

Fleur looked at Hermione with surprise. She didn't say anything for a long moment, before a wide smile slowly spread across her face.

"Oui," she said. "My hair, it tends to enchant men. It has since I came of an age."

"Really?" Hermione was fascinated. "Whether or not you want it to or not? How does that work?"

Fleur seemed to be relaxing more, though she hesitated.

"I am not entirely what I seem," she said. "My grandmother, she was a Veela."

"A Veela?" Hermione repeated. "What's that?"

"Veela are beings," Fleur said first, flatly, "but they are women, all very beautiful. They have the ability to hypnotize men and mesmerize them with their dance, seducing them. But when angered, a Veela turns more into a creature like a bird – long, scaly wings from the shoulders, launching fireballs from their hands."

"That's fascinating," Hermione said, her eyes wide. "Are Veela related to Sirens, then? Or Harpies?"

Fleur tilted her head.

"I do not know," she admitted. "Very possibly. But what is important is we are considered beings, not people, and many decry us as creatures."

"Can you turn into a bird?" Hermione asked. "I think I saw the fireballs once in the park, when you were angry over the hedgewitches. But you didn't get wings or anything…"

Fleur laughed.

"I cannot," she said, her eyes sparkling as she leaned back on her hands, more at ease. "I have inherited the Veela hair and charm, and a little bit of their temper, but not the transformation or the flight." She paused. "I am lucky, in this. I would not want to become a bird every time I was upset."

"Can you throw fireballs on purpose, though?" Hermione asked curiously. "That seems like it might come in handy."

Fleur was laughing, now, shaking her head but laughing freely. Her laughter was musical, beautiful, and Hermione flushed, self-conscious as Fleur shook out her hair, smiling.

"I was worried, you realize," she told Hermione. "I did not know if you would be okay or not, once seeing my hair."

Hermione blinked.

"Err…" she said. "I thought you said it affected men?"

"That is what the legends say," Fleur said agreeably, standing up. "But I thought it might affect you, and I wanted to make sure it would not before you met my mother – she is half-Veela, and she has even more allure than me." She offered Hermione her hand. "Now that we know we are safe, you will come and meet my family?"

"Ah—okay—"

Hermione took Fleur's hand for help standing back up, her cheeks flushing when Fleur didn't let go of it, leading her out of the gardens.

Fleur started talking about the neighborhood, identifying different areas and explaining how magical families had managed to gradually claim a couple blocks in the middle to make a small magical community, but Hermione was finding it hard to listen and think.

Fleur had thought her hair might affect Hermione, even though Hermione clearly wasn't a man – and she thought it enough of a possibility that she felt the need to test it.

Fleur didn't seem bothered by this, either, but Hermione couldn't take her mind off of the matter.

She finally managed to push it from her head as Fleur led her up a sidewalk to a smart white house with a blue door, knocking firmly. Hermione stood up straight, her shoulders back, and Fleur laughed and smiled from her place next to her, her eyes sparkling.

"I want to make a good impression," Hermione protested, and Fleur laughed.

"Hermione," she said, her eyes sparkling and alight. "I doubt you could not if you tried."

Apolline Delacour, Fleur's mother, was an incredibly beautiful woman who was very tall, and very, very blonde. She was somewhat more solid-looking and curvier than Fleur was, who was all slight curves and lithe-figured, whereas Apolline reminded Hermione more of her own mother – a woman whose hips had clearly birthed a child. Still, she was very stunning, and Hermione could tell Fleur had definitely inherited her looks from her mother.

"I am so delighted my Fleur has made a friend!" she exclaimed again, as Hermione waited for her to set out a plate of sweets she had prepared. "It has been so very long, and even though you are not French, I am happy to see—"

"Maman," Fleur groaned, and Hermione was amused to see pink flush Fleur's cheeks with embarrassment. "You make it sound as if I have never had a friend."

"But it has been some time, yes?" Apolline said, bringing over a tray of chocolates and small pastries. She looked at her daughter knowingly. "I have not seen you happy in some time, Fleur. Is a mother not allowed to share in her daughter's joy?"

Hermione laughed as Fleur flushed again, and she nudged her when her mother went back into the kitchen.

"Parents," she said, giving Fleur a conspiratorial smile and rolling her eyes. "They're all the same, aren't they?"

Fleur's eyes widened, and a slow smirk spread on her lips.

"That they are," she agreed. "French and English alike."

Apolline wanted to know all about Hermione, all about her schooling so far and what she thought of France. She seemed delighted to hear Hermione wax poetic about what a beautiful place France and Paris were, and it was clear she was very proud to be French.

"If you think this is beauty, you would be struck at Beauxbatons," Apolline told her, bringing over a sparkling drink for them to try. "Beauxbatons, mon dieu, it was made to be the most beautiful place, and with the Flamel legacy, it is a blessing to the eyes…"

"I wish I could," Hermione admitted. "It sounds stunning."

Apolline turned a sly eye onto Hermione.

"You are smart enough, it seems," she commented. "Maybe if your French improved, you could put in for a transfer."

"Maman!" Fleur exclaimed, her cheeks darkening to a bright red. "Ça suffit!"

"Je veux juste que ma fille soit heureuse," Apolline said back, unruffled. "Est-ce si mauvais de vouloir?"

Hermione's French was only barely adequate (she'd never be able to learn at Beauxbatons, not without serious remedial lessons), and she fought to follow along. Fleur had told her mother to cut it out, she thought. And Apolline had said something about just wanting her daughter to be happy, Hermione was fairly sure, but she wasn't sure about the latter part – maybe asking if that was a bad thing to want?

Fleur's face was red and she wasn't looking at Hermione or her mother, while Apolline cast knowing glances at her daughter. Hermione bit her lip at the awkward silence, only for it to be abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

The noise broke the tension as all eyes went to the door, and suddenly Fleur was standing.

"Where is Gabrielle?" she asked, her eyes on her mother.

Apolline sighed as she went to the door. "I suspect we will find out…"

On the other side of the door was another woman, a very angry witch, from what Hermione could tell. She spoke rapid, angry French at Apolline, who was trying to respond in a calm, reassuring tone, but the woman was having none of it.

"The witches here, they all resent my mother," Fleur whispered to her. "They fear she will steal their husbands…"

The angry woman stepped aside, arms crossed and furious, and Apolline went outside, resigned. Fleur was quick to grab Hermione's hand and follow after, kicking the door shut behind them.

The angry witch marched Apolline down the street three doors to her backyard, where a young blonde girl was playing with two boys. One of the boys was dangerously high up in a tree, and the other one following the girl around with a dopey expression, talking at her constantly. As they entered the yard, the young girl's eyes flew to her mother.

"Maman!" she exclaimed, running to her mother and burying her face in her dress. She mumbled something rapidly in French, and Apolline shushed and comforted her, running her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Gabrielle is just seven," Fleur told Hermione, her voice quiet. "She is having… there are changes in her magic, recently. It is unstable, sometimes, until we reach eleven, and then it changes once again once we come of an age."

"So sometimes her hair enchants boys?" Hermione asked, watching the one boy continue to babble at Gabrielle while her mother withdrew an amulet from her pocket. "Even though she's just a child?"

"She is so young," Fleur sighed. "She dislikes how the amulets make her feel. And she refuses to wear a wig. They are too hot, she says, and she wants to play like a normal child."

"I can understand that," Hermione commiserated. "No one wants to be treated as strange."

Apolline had fixed the amulet around Gabrielle's neck, and her daughter's hair seemed to wilt, no longer blowing in an unseen breeze. The boy nearby seemed to blink and come to, looking around with a startled expression, while the boy up in the tree suddenly started to scream.

The two adults swore in French and hurried over to the tree. They spoke rapidly, and the boy continued to scream, clutching the tree in terror, though he had been calm just a moment before. His desperate clutching of the tree made it sway more dramatically than it had been, worsening the situation as he shrieked, and Hermione felt cold fear clutch her heart.

Magic or not, a fall from that height...

"Boys try and impress…" Fleur continued, looking up at the child. "Usually false boasts of prowess. But to a child, trying to impress another…"

Hermione bit her lip anxiously, glancing at Fleur. "Should I go up and get him?"

Fleur looked startled. "You have a broom? With you?"

"No," Hermione said. "But that's alright."

The danger of the child falling was imminent, in Hermione's mind, and there was no time to run and find a broom. It took barely a thought for her air elemental to whirl into action, lifting Hermione up the tree gracefully, as if she had been born to fly. She flew up to the top, where the boy was still clutching the top of the tree, staring at her.

It was a risk, but a calculated one — there had never been a Voldemort here, as far as Hermione knew, and there was no reflexive association of free flight with Dark magic. And something had to be done to save the boy...

"Ça va," she told the child, whose eyes had gone wide. "It's okay. I've got you— come here— err— viens ici—"

The small child launched himself at Hermione, clutching her middle tightly and burying his face in her stomach, and Hermione staggered a moment under the impact. With a soft smile, she shifted so one of her arms was around the child as well, and she slowly started to descend, not wanting to startle the boy.

There was a soft bump as they hit the ground, and the boy fled from her to hurl himself at his mother, speaking rapidly in French to her, his mother hugging him tightly and talking back. Hermione glanced at Fleur, gnawing her lip.

"Is she less mad now?" she asked. "Will everything be okay?"

Fleur was surprised by the question.

"She is comforting him," she said. "She is still angry that Gabrielle enchanted them, but that will continue to happen. There is no use trying to drain her anger."

Apolline quietly departed with Gabrielle while the mothers fussed at their sons, Fleur and Hermione quickly following after her to head back to the house. On the way, Fleur nudged Hermione, who looked up at her.

"How did you do that?" Fleur asked, her eyes curious. "You could fly."

"Oh," Hermione flushed. "That's… it's rather a long story, really."

Fleur's eyes sparkled. "But you will tell me?"

Hermione looked at Fleur, gnawing on her lip. It was still a secret, really. But how could she refuse to share her secrets with Fleur, when Fleur had trusted Hermione with the secret of her heritage?

"Maybe," Hermione agreed, cheeks red. "If we have time, later. I still want to practice with your ley line."

A slow smile spread across Fleur's lips, and Hermione cursed her inability to keep her breath about her when Fleur smiled at her in such a way.

"Perfect."

Chapter Text

Ley line magic was very different from any kind of magic Hermione had experienced. Pulling on a ley line made her feel almost drunk with magic, if she pulled too much, and it had a way of lulling her into almost a trance, her own magic and heartbeat syncing with that of the world.

"You cannot let the line capture you," Fleur admonished, pinching Hermione sharply. "Pay attention. You must stay centered."

The pain helped focus Hermione even as she winced, and she wrenched her eyes shut and focused on her core, taking deep breaths to steady it once again. As she did, her core finally returned to its natural spin, finally spinning the ley line magic within her to resonate with her own natural magic, as opposed to vice versa.

"Good," Fleur murmured approvingly. "Now – cast with this magic. Use none of your own."

Keeping her own magic separate from the ley line magic felt like a sort of mental gymnastics, tearing Hermione's head in two, but she thought she had somewhat managed it by the time she took out her wand.

"Orchideous."

A bouquet of flowers burst from the tip of her wand, and Hermione felt almost dizzy. Fleur steadied her.

"It is hard, to be a channel for magic," she soothed her. "But look! You have succeeded already!"

"But I feel like I'm about to pass out," Hermione protested, rubbing at her eyes. "Fleur, can we take a break? I don't think I can do this again right now."

Fleur cast an examining eye over her before nodding.

"I do not want you to overextend," she said. "Carefully, now – let go of the line."

Letting go of the ley line helped Hermione immensely, as she felt more and more normal as she let it go. She shook her head as if to clear it, before collapsing back onto the lawn dramatically, heaving a great sigh.

"Hopefully the hedgewitches will have an easier time of it," she said, sighing. "They won't have much natural magic to have to keep separate from it – maybe they'll take to it naturally."

Fleur laughed, shrugging her shoulders impishly. "Perhaps."

The grass behind Fleur's house was thick and a deep green, with pretty bushes and flowers planted around. Elaborate gardens seemed to be a very French thing, and Hermione saw it reflected in the Delacour yard, though on a much smaller scale.

"Your mother seemed to like me," Hermione said, looking to Fleur. She smiled tentatively. "That's good, right?"

"Very," Fleur assured Hermione. "My father, he will like you simply because my mother does. She is the one who decides things in the house." Fleur paused, tilting her head curiously, and it looked like she wanted to say something else.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Fleur hesitated. "You… did not seem overcome when you met my mother."

"Um," Hermione said. "No?" She looked at Fleur quizzically. "I thought you tested that already – when you took your wig off, in the park."

"Oui, you do not fall subject to Veela hair," Fleur said, looking at Hermione, "but my mother, she still has the Veela allure, and much stronger than mine."

Hermione knew she must look puzzled. She wasn't following Fleur's train of thought.

"Maybe she wasn't using it?" Hermione offered.

"It is not a thing to be turned 'on' and 'off'," Fleur said, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. "It simply is."

"Oh," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "Well, certainly that's a good thing, right? It'd be very embarrassing if I was staring inappropriately at your mother or something, wouldn't it?"

Fleur laughed. She looked slyly at Hermione sideways, her smile wicked, and Hermione felt her breath catch.

"Oui, Hermione," she said. Her blue eyes had darkened. "But if you do not fall prey to my mother's allure… how is it you fall victim to my own?"

Hermione froze.

"I—I don't—"

"I am not stupid." Fleur's voice was lower now, her eyes fixed on Hermione's. "I see how you look at me, how you blush when I touch you. I can feel your pulse flutter when I take your hand."

Hermione could feel her face burn red.