Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

SUMMARY - In which Hermione Granger receives an offer she can’t refuse and the reader is introduced to a Knight of Walpurgis.

Summer, 1994

(From the desk of Minerva McGonagall)

Dear Miss Granger:

I hope this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying your summer holidays. I would like to invite you and your parents to join me for tea this coming Sunday, as I have some matters concerning your education I would like to discuss with you.

The enclosed bottle-cap is a Portkey. This is a form of Wizarding travel with which you may not be familiar. At precisely 2:00 p.m. on Sunday, make sure that all three of you are touching the bottle-cap. I suggest you hold it in your palm while your mother and father each place one fingertip on it. The Portkey will bring you directly to my home in Hogsmeade. The procedure only takes a few seconds and is quite safe, painless.

If the date or time is not convenient for you, please send me an owl and we can make other arrangements. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.

Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**

Hogsmeade - Home of Professor Minerva McGonagall

As the magic that held them dissipated, both Hermione Granger and her mother staggered. Professor McGonagall was there immediately, fussing and chivvying them into seats. It only took a moment for Hermione to recover her equilibrium and she looked around her eagerly. They were sitting in a small, sunny parlor with a bay window that looked out onto a charming garden. The chairs and sofa were covered in a bright, patterned fabric and the whole scene spoke of an almost idyllic domesticity. It was also, Hermione noted with amusement, completely Muggle. Were it not for the fact that Professor McGonagall was wearing robes rather than a Muggle dress, they could have been in any home in any rural village in Scotland.

“Hermione, Mrs. Granger – I’m so pleased you could come.” Professor McGonagall settled herself in a large armchair. Hermione and her mother were seated on the sofa facing her and between them was a low table that was practically groaning under the weight of a full silver tea set and several plates of delectable goodies that made Hermione’s mouth water. “I hope the journey didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

Seeing that her mother still looked a bit disoriented, Hermione spoke for them both. “It was...unusual. I think it may take me a while to get used to traveling that way.” Professor McGonagall nodded and began preparing three cups of tea.

“No one knows why, but all forms of travel in the magical world become much easier to manage when you learn how to Apparate. You will be taught Apparition during your sixth year and you will be able to test for your license any time after you turn seventeen.” After asking how they liked their tea, she handed the cups around and gestured towards the plates of baked goods. “Please, help yourselves.”

“I’m sorry my husband couldn’t join us.” Emma Granger said, still sounding a bit shaky. “One of his patients had an emergency.” Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The ‘emergency’ had been an invitation to play golf with one of the members of the very exclusive club that her parents had been trying to join for the past year.

“Of course. I do hope his patient is all right.” There was something about the expression on Professor McGonagall’s face that led Hermione to believe that she was fully aware of what Doctor Daniel Granger was really doing, but was too polite to say anything about it. Hermione helped herself to a delicious looking cream cake and ignored the glare her mother shot her.

“You said you had something to discuss with us?” Hermione looked at the smile on her mother’s face and decided that it was smile #17—the “You are important enough that I will listen to you politely but please hurry up and say what you need to say so that I can get back to talking to people who are more important than you” smile.

“Yes. Well, as I’m sure you know, Hermione is an exceptionally gifted student. She received marks of ‘Outstanding’ in all her classes last year.”

“Hermione has always excelled academically and I know she loves studying at Hogwarts.” Now, her mother was wearing Smile #5 – the “you’re complimenting my daughter’s brains, which pleases me, but I’d be more pleased if she were prettier, thinner, and more socially adept’ smile.

“Hermione, I do wonder whether you grasp the significance of this accomplishment.”

“Accomplishment?” Hermione was a bit thrown by this. “Surely, other people have gotten ‘O’s in all their classes before.”

“Yes, but you received top marks in eleven classes, whereas most students only take eight— nine at the most.” Professor McGonagall smiled at her. “Only three other students in the school’s history have accomplished the same feat and the last one left Hogwarts in 1816!”

“Really?” Hermione’s mother gave her smile #21 – the “You’ve done something I can brag about” smile. “Good for you, sweetie.”

“I....I.....” Hermione supposed she must look quite silly with her mouth hanging open and her eyes bulging out of her head. “I didn’t realize....”

“We were all quite excited about it when we discussed your results during the final staff meeting. Even Professor Snape was moved to comment that he would consider you a model student were it not for your tendency to provide unauthorized assistance to some of your less gifted classmates.” The professor smirked as she took a sip of her tea. “Miss Granger, before I continue, I need your word that you will not repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone. That includes Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley.”

“Potter....? Weasley....?” Out came Smile #16 – “Politely Confused.”

“She means my friends Harry and Ron, Mum.” Hermione explained. “I won’t say anything, I promise.” She added, turning to Professor McGonagall and doing her best to look mature and responsible.

“Last week, Headmaster Dumbledore informed me that he intends to retire in five years’ time.” McGonagall gave her a stern glare. “I must stress that this information is not to leave this room. For the moment, the only other people who know are Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape, and Octavia Ogden, the current head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The Headmaster does not wish to make a public announcement yet.”

“I won’t say anything.” Hermione repeated, her mind reeling with shock. “But...why are you telling me?”

“I’ll come to that in a moment.” Professor McGonagall sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “When the Board of Governors approved my appointment as Deputy Headmistress, it was with the understanding that, upon Professor Dumbledore’s retirement or—Heaven forbid—his death, I should assume the position of Headmistress. Tradition dictates that an outgoing Headmaster gives his Deputy five years’ notice of his intention to leave, so that the transition of authority and responsibility can happen smoothly and without undue disruption to the school. Over the next five years, I will be assuming more and more of Professor Dumbledore’s duties, while passing those of the Deputy on to Professor Flitwick who will, I hope, be named Deputy Headmaster in due time. I will be stepping down as Head of Gryffindor at the end of this coming term and I will begin searching for a new Transfiguration teacher who will, I hope, be able to take up his or her position in two years’ time. I will also begin gradually implementing some of the changes that I would like to see happen at Hogwarts. That is the reason I’ve asked you here today. This year, I would like to bring back the Mentorship program. Are you familiar with it?”

Hermione thought for a moment, then shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid I’m not, Professor. I believe that the author of Hogwarts, a History referred to it several times, but he never described it in detail.”

“I’m not surprised.” Professor McGonagall shook her head sadly. “The program fell out of fashion in the early nineteenth century and, despite several well-intentioned efforts over the years, it has not been successfully re-integrated into our curriculum. I propose to once again attempt to revive the program and believe that I can make a success of it.”

“What does it involve?” Hermione asked, rather breathless.

“A member of the staff chooses an exceptional student and designs a course of independent study for him or her that incorporates, but also exceeds the regular NEWT level courses currently taught at Hogwarts. The materials the student is given to study are far more advanced than those given to his or her year-group, and the student is held to the highest standards of discipline, honor, and academic achievement.” Hermione couldn’t help it—she let out a low moan of pure desire. If the professor noticed it, she didn’t say anything. Unfortunately, her mother heard it and gave Hermione a sharp poke in the ribs, along with Frown #3 – “Act like a lady!”

“Normally, a Mentor chooses a student after he or she has taken the OWL exams, but I feel that you will benefit from an earlier start, don’t you?”

“Me?” Hermione squeaked. “Someone wants to mentor me?”

“Several someones, actually.” Professor McGonagall looked rather smug. “When I proposed the idea to the rest of the staff, Professors Flitwick, Vector, Babbling, and Hagrid all offered to serve as your Mentor. I, however, pulled rank.”

“You...you want to mentor me?” Hermione desperately wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, but didn’t dare for fear that she was. Her mother was neither frowning nor smiling—she merely looked rather puzzled, as if she didn’t quite understand what was happening.

“You have an extraordinary mind, Miss Granger.” McGonagall’s expression softened and she offered Hermione a genuine smile. “More than that, you possess determination and self-discipline...both of which you will need to meet the challenges I and your other teachers intend to set for you. That is, if you’re willing. You may, of course, decline this offer, but if you do, please know that it might not be made again.”

“Are you joking?” Hermione blurted. “There is absolutely no way I would refuse such a fantastic opportunity! Where do I sign? What do I need to do? When can I start?”

“Hermione, manners!” Her mother snapped.

“Oh, it’s quite all right.” Though she was still smiling, Hermione could see a cold glint in the professor’s eyes as she turned to really look at Hermione’s mother. “As an educator, I can’t tell you how gratifying it is to have a student who is so enthusiastic about learning.”

“What does this Mentorship entail, exactly?” Emma Granger looked slightly suspicious, as if she thought Professor McGonagall had an improper interest in her daughter. Hermione sternly suppressed an almost hysterical giggle at the thought.

“It means that, from now on, I will personally direct Hermione’s studies—with input from her other teachers and from Hermione herself, of course. This will allow her to move at her own pace and to remain challenged, rather than having to sit through classes where she is already fluent in the material. We believe that Hermione will be more than ready to take her OWL exams in June—a full year early—and her NEWT exams next year. She will then be finished with her fifth year and can spend the remainder of her time at Hogwarts pursuing studies that are of interest to her and will be useful in her future career.”

“How will it all work?” Hermione asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Well....” Professor McGonagall stood and walked to a small side table from which she picked up a slender green book and a stack of parchments. “You will no longer attend most of your classes with your year-mates. Instead, you will have individual tutorials with your professors once a week. We will give you assignments and expect you to work on them during the time you would normally be in class. It goes without saying that the assignments and projects we will be giving you will be far larger and more advanced than those you are accustomed to doing.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of Hermione being pulled out of class.” Emma gave the Deputy Headmistress Frown #12 – the “that isn’t socially acceptable” frown. “After all, we sent Hermione to Hogwarts so that she could meet and mingle with children from the magical world…”

“Hermione will still take a few classes with her year-group.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was reassuring, but Hermione could see a muscle twitching in her jaw. “And she will still have ample time to socialize with her friends.”

“But....” Hermione didn’t see Professor McGonagall move, but she felt the whisper of magic as it brushed past her and hit her mother. Emma Granger’s expression suddenly went blank. “I’m sorry, what was I saying?”

“Mrs. Granger, would you like to take a walk in my garden?” Professor McGonagall stood and gently took Hermione’s mother by the elbow, steering her towards the door,

Hermione heard her say “Hermione and I should be done with our discussion in a few minutes and then we’ll join you.” She sat in stunned silence as her mother was led out of the room. A moment later, Professor McGonagall returned and took her seat.

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Hermione.” She sighed. “I honestly thought your parents would be pleased to hear about this.”

“What did you do to her?” Hermione asked in a small voice.

“It’s a variation on a Confundus Charm.” Professor McGonagall sounded a bit weary. “She’ll be perfectly safe in my garden and she’ll find it fascinating until we go to fetch her.”

“But...she’s Muggle.” Hermione said, slowly. “Is that even legal?”

“Since she is the parent of a magical child, knows that I’m a witch, and willingly accepted an invitation into my home, it is. I don’t like having to do that, I assure you, but I was worried that her....concerns....might have a negative impact on our conversation. Since she has no real say in this matter, it seemed the kindest thing to let her enjoy herself while we talk.” Hermione nodded, slowly. While she was still slightly uncomfortable at the ease with which Professor McGonagall had altered her mother’s brain, she found that she couldn’t completely condemn her teacher’s actions.

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

“First, take this.” Professor McGonagall handed her the book. “It’s the handbook that Mentors used to give their new protégés back when the program was running regularly. While some of the rules are archaic or even obsolete, I recommend you read through it to get a better idea of what you can expect from me and what I and your other teachers will expect from you.” Hermione nodded.

“May I ask...” she began, hesitantly.

“Please do.”

“You said that the mentor usually chooses the student after the OWL exams....”

“And you want to know why we’re starting so early?” Professor McGonagall finished her thought. “Well, there are two reasons. First, your other teachers and I have been watching you closely for three years and, with a few exceptions, we feel you have already mastered material well beyond that taught to fourth year students. It seems cruel and wasteful to force you to sit through classes where you are already fluent in the material, simply because of your age. Second, I want to get us both accustomed to our new relationship before I take on too many new responsibilities.”

“That makes sense.” Hermione nodded, feeling a happy glow of smug satisfaction.

“As I began explaining before, I am withdrawing you from all your regular classes save for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. For your other subjects, you will attend weekly tutorial sessions with your professors—here is the schedule we’ve worked out.” She handed Hermione one of the sheets of parchment. Hermione scanned her new schedule and noted that she had one tutorial a week per class and that some took place in the evenings or on the weekends.

“September the first falls on a Friday this year and regular classes will not begin until Monday. However, your tutorial sessions will begin on Saturday morning---that will be Potions with Professor Snape. You and I will meet on Sunday afternoons and Wednesday evenings. I have compiled a list of all the texts you will need for this year as well as some additional supplies. This list includes all the books for fourth and fifth year classes as well as some others that your professors would like you to get.” Handing her another parchment, Professor McGonagall paused and gave a delicate cough. “Will this pose any...er...financial difficulties for you?”

“Oh no.” Hermione laughed. “My parents are very…generous with money for school supplies and they never know what to get me for my birthday or Christmas, so they usually just hand me a check with a ridiculously large number on it before I go to Diagon Alley. I usually don’t even spend half of what they give me.”

“And you will have no problems getting to Diagon Alley?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Ginny Weasley has invited me to spend the last two weeks of the holidays at the Burrow and I’ll go shopping with her. Plus, I’ve got loads of Owl-order forms from Flourish and Blotts.”

“Good.” Professor McGonagall seemed to relax slightly.

“I’ll still be taking regular Defense and Care of Magical Creatures classes?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.” Professor McGonagall sighed. “The staff and I agree that your education in Defense Against the Dark Arts has been erratic and remarkably lacking in practical application. The standard fourth-year DADA curriculum usually focuses on learning basic shielding techniques and how to deflect and defend against low-to-mid level curses, hexes and jinxes. The new teacher Professor Dumbledore has hired is a former Auror and seems uniquely suited to teaching those skills, so I would like you to participate in his class. Unfortunately, Albus only managed to convince Alastor to sign a one-year contract, so we will need to re-assess the situation next year, depending on who fills the post.”

“And Care of Magical Creatures?”

Professor McGonagall gave an exasperated snort. “Hagrid has the best intentions, but he has all the common sense of a boiled egg! If you were to do a tutorial with him, he’d probably have you out in the Dark Forest at night trying to put a sweater on an Acromantula to keep it from catching a cold!” Hermione shuddered at the thought and decided that, perhaps, it was best she stay with the rest of her year for Hagrid’s class.

“What about History of Magic?” she asked, looking at the schedule. “I don’t see a tutorial with Professor Binns listed.”

“I’m afraid that I was unable to convince Professor Binns to alter his routine to accommodate you, so I will be taking over his lessons.” Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in annoyance. “As I told you, we will meet twice a week. Our time on Wednesday evening will be devoted to Transfiguration, while our time on Sunday afternoon will be spent discussing History of Magic.” Hermione couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face.

“I do not believe that you will find the fourth and fifth year Transfiguration lessons a challenge.” Professor McGonagall continued. “You’ve clearly mastered the theory behind transfiguring static objects and turning living objects into non-living objects. In the fourth year, we focus on animation and switching spells. In fifth year, we begin to work on transfiguring one type of living thing into another. We also talk about the ethics of transfiguration and magic use in general. During our first tutorial session, I will test you to see how much of the practical material you will need to work on. The theory and ethics will be covered by your reading and our discussions. If it is at all possible, I’d like to start you on basic Conjuration in the spring. I should also add that Professor Flitwick and I plan to introduce wandless casting into your coursework this year.”

“Would....would it be possible for you to teach me to become an Animagus?” Hermione asked, hesitantly. She’d done some reading on the subject already and was desperate to learn more. Professor McGonagall looked startled, then enormously pleased.

“I’d be delighted.” She beamed. “Fair warning—while it is certainly a worthwhile endeavor, it is a very long, and often frustrating, process. It will require a great deal of patience and focus. It took me nearly two years before I was able to reliably shift my form and, from what I understand, I was a rather quick study.”

“I understand.” Hermione said, solemnly. McGonagall paused in thought for a moment.

“After the Christmas holidays, I will give you the first reading materials and exercises. I am going to insist, however, that you do not attempt any self-transfiguration without my supervision. It’s rather like Apparition—if you do not know what you are doing, you can seriously harm yourself.”

“All right.” Hermione agreed.

“As for History of Magic—to be quite frank, Professor Binns was teaching at Hogwarts long before the OWL and NEWT tests were developed. The exams were written to his curriculum, as were all the textbooks. If you read the books, you will have all the information you need to excel on the exams. I intend to spend those sessions developing skills and focusing on subjects that you wouldn’t otherwise learn at Hogwarts. Among other things, I want to begin teaching you about Wizarding society, culture and etiquette. My father was a Muggle, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” Hermione was taken aback at the sudden change in topic.

“Yes, well, my mother was a Muggle-born witch who decided to leave the Wizarding world. She gave up her wand, married my father and would have happily lived out her life without ever hearing from the Wizarding world again except for the fact that I was born a witch. When I entered Hogwarts, I was like you and had no working knowledge of the magical world. Fortunately, I was blessed with good friends from old, established families. One of these invited me to spend several summers with her and I spent quite a lot of time learning from her, her mother, and her grandmother. By the time I left Hogwarts, I was fully prepared to enter the Wizarding world and my blood status and lack of a Wizarding family were not held against me because I walked, talked, and acted just like any other pure-blood witch. I plan to pass those lessons on to you.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione said, quietly. She felt that she was finally beginning to grasp the enormity of the gift that Minerva McGonagall’s mentorship was going to be in her life and it awed her. “What happens after I take my NEWTs?” She asked.

“That is something you and I will spend some time discussing. The course of study you pursue after you take your exams will depend greatly on your career goals and the opportunities that become available to you. I have every reason to feel confident that you can finish your seventh year with a Mastery, if you wish. For now, however, I’d like you to focus on preparing for your OWL exams. We will have plenty of time to discuss what happens next after you take them.”

“All right.” Hermione did her best to suppress that part of her that wanted all the answers now. A thought flashed through her head and, silly as they sounded, the words were tumbling out of her mouth before she realized that she had begun to speak.

“Professor, what about the assignments we were given to do this summer?”

“As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, the laws restricting magic use by underage witches and wizards make it impossible for us to ask you to do any practical work over the summer.” Professor McGonagall replied. “The assignments we give you are primarily meant to help you review and retain the lessons you learned last year, but you are not meant to learn anything new. Once you’ve taken your OWLs, you can obtain a Probationary Magic License. This license allows older students to use magic while not at school, so that they can prepare for their NEWT exams. Once you have this license, we will be able to give you some more practical assignments rather than the busy-work you’ve got now.” She picked up a thick bunch of parchments that were tied with a ribbon and dropped it in Hermione’s lap.

“Your other professors and I know that you are more than capable of absorbing and understanding new material without us having to spoon-feed it to you. Therefore, we have all taken the liberty of compiling some reading assignments we would like you to complete before you return to school. I believe some of your other professors have also written notes of congratulations and descriptions of the course of study they intend to set for you.” It took all of Hermione’s self-control not to tear into the packet straightaway.

“This.” Professor McGonagall held up the final sheaf of parchment “is the official Mentorship contract. Please read through it and owl me if you have any questions. If everything agreeable, sign it and give it to me before the Welcoming Feast.” Her face became very serious. “This is a magically binding contract, Miss Granger. Do you understand what that means?”

“A bit…I think.” Hermione chewed her lip as she tried to remember everything she’d read about contracts in the wizarding world. “Signing it invokes a spell, like waving your wand and saying an incantation, right?”

“Very good.” Hermione took a moment to bask in her teacher’s approval. “The enchantment on the parchment ensures that everyone who signs the contract abides by its terms. There are rather severe consequences should either of us break one of the rules set forth in the contract. That is why it’s very important you read through this and ask any questions before you sign it.”

“Yes, Professor.” Hermione took the proffered contract and held it gingerly, as if it might explode in her hands. Professor McGonagall gave her a smile that was both sympathetic and amused.

“Do not worry, Miss Granger. It would take a very serious offense to constitute a breach of the contract. You do not need to worry about anything more serious than detention and lost House Points, should you be caught wandering the halls after curfew after having smuggled an illegal dragon out of the castle again.”

“You knew about that?” Hermione suspected she looked utterly ridiculous with her mouth hanging open.

“Not at the time, no.” Professor McGonagall admitted. “In the aftermath of that whole business with the Stone, however, Hagrid told Professor Dumbledore and myself about his ‘pet’ and about how you lot convinced him to send it to the dragon sanctuary in Romania. It didn’t take much to put the rest of it together, including the fact that Mr. Malfoy had somehow learned about your scheme and was attempting to thwart it when Mr. Filch caught you.” Hermione sat back in her chair, stunned and not knowing what to say to that. “My point is this, Hermione. The contract does not hold you to an impossibly high standard of discipline. Quite frankly, the only ways you could be in breach of it were if you failed most of your classes or got yourself expelled on disciplinary grounds. I find it impossible to conceive of you doing either. The contract is meant to protect you rather than to force you into a rigid set of standards and behaviors.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“The relationship between a Mentor and a student can develop into something very….powerful.” Professor McGonagall paused, obviously choosing her words carefully. “It is one built on trust, loyalty and respect. In many ways, it is like the relationship between a Master and his or her Apprentice in that regard. Unlike the Apprenticeship contract, however, the Mentorship contract contains clauses to protect the student from a Mentor who might wish to abuse that relationship. While such abuses can and do occur in Apprenticeships, those contracts do not offer the same protection because one must be of age to become an Apprentice and it is assumed that those who sign such contracts are able to protect themselves. The Mentorship contract also contains clauses that prevent outside parties from interfering with the relationship. Once the contract is signed, not even the Minister of Magic himself can break it.”

“I see.” Hermione stared at the parchment in her hands. She could feel the magic stirring within it and the sensation was a bit disturbing.

“Oh, before I forget,” Professor McGonagall went on in a businesslike manner “I have instructed Madam Pince to allow you unfettered access to the Restricted Section of the library. I should warn you that Irma is not particularly pleased with this arrangement, but I assured her that you will be extremely responsible.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Hermione suppressed a giggle. She knew perfectly well that Professor McGonagall was using this sudden shift in topic to distract—and possibly entice—her, but she didn’t mind in the least.

“Both Professor Flitwick and I will be assigning you practical work that is NEWT level and beyond. Some of the spells you will be learning are potentially dangerous and should not be attempted in an unwarded space. There is a chamber behind the statue of Bertha the Bald on the fourth floor across from the History of Magic classroom. We thought it would be a good place for you to practice. We’ve given the room the same level of protection that we give the other NEWT practice rooms, so you can work in there safely. We also thought it would make a good place for you to study and to keep your materials should you find the Gryffindor Common Room too distracting. This space is intended for you and you alone—please do not abuse our trust in this matter.” Professor McGonagall glared at her over the rim of her glasses. “To enter the classroom, tap Bertha’s head with your wand and say ‘rub-a-dub-dub’. Do you have any other questions?” Hermione thought for a moment then shook her head.

“I’m sure I’ll think of more after I read the contract and the book you gave me.” She said. McGonagall nodded.

“My door is always open to you, Hermione. That’s part of what being your Mentor means. I realize that we are going to be asking a great deal of you, but you should know that you are not alone in this. If you ever need help or someone to talk to—about anything, not just your schoolwork, please come to me. Also, if you begin to feel that the amount of work we are giving you is simply too much – say something. I do not want you working yourself into the state you did this past year because you’re too afraid to ask for help!”

“I will.” Hermione promised.

“God. Now, there is one other thing I’d like to discuss with you. It concerns Mr. Weasley.”

“Ron?” Hermione had to blink several times to clear the visions of books from her head, so she could focus on what the Professor was saying. “Is something wrong with him?”

“Not that I am aware.” Professor McGonagall gave her a wry smile. “No, I wish to speak about his schoolwork. Specifically, about the fact that you seem to have done more of it than he has.”

“But, I don’t....” McGonagall held up her hand to forestall the interruption.

“I am not accusing you of purposely allowing him to submit your work as his own. However, over the past two years, there have been periods of time—when you were in the hospital wing during your second year, and last year when the two of you were quarreling—when you were unable or unwilling to assist him. The difference in the quality of his work was quite noticeable. Mr. Weasley handed assignments in late and skipped some entirely, and the essays he did hand in were, to put it bluntly, mediocre. I compared notes with Professors Flitwick and Snape and we all noticed that Mr. Weasley demonstrates an inadequate understanding of theory and that there was a marked decrease in the quality of his spelling, punctuation, and sentence structure in the essays he wrote when you weren’t assisting him.”

“I’m sorry...” Hermione whispered, her bubble of euphoria suddenly punctured. “I’ll....”

“You’ll do nothing.” McGonagall said, sternly. “I do not mean to chastise either of you. I sincerely doubt that Mr. Weasley is being intentionally malicious or deceitful when he asks for assistance with his homework, but the amount of assistance you give him encourages some of his less virtuous character qualities. In short,” she said, frowning slightly “he is a rather lazy and unmotivated student and, on some level, he has figured out the trick of getting you to do the work for him. He is entering his fourth year, however, and it is high time he learned to do his own homework!”

“I’ll be much more careful.” Hermione sighed. “You’re right. Ron is a big boy and I shouldn’t have to be his personal homework planner.” She paused, as another unpleasant thought struck her. “Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering how badly off Neville will be in Potions, if I’m not there to help him.” Hermione sighed. “He tries...he really does. He understands the concepts, I know he does, but he just can’t seem to master the practical aspects of brewing. Professor Snape makes him terribly nervous and he can’t seem to get the hang of some of the techniques....”

“Yes, I can see that will be an issue.” McGonagall pursed her lips. “It boggles my mind why you children never use the practice laboratories. I understand that the Slytherins can make life difficult for you....” Her voice trailed off as she saw the stunned look on Hermione’s face.

“There are practice labs?” Hermione whispered, her eyes round.

“That bloody man!” McGonagall was practically hissing. “Do you mean to tell me he never told you about the practice labs?” Hermione shook her head. “Ooooh, I am going to send him such a Howler.... He has spent the past eleven years complaining non-stop about now lazy and incompetent you lot are and yet he didn’t even bother to....” With a visible effort, she calmed herself. “I apologize for losing my temper, Miss Granger, and my language.”

“It’s all right, Professor.” Hermione gave her a weak smile. “To be fair, I don’t think he was just going after Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs don’t know about the labs either...I asked around during my first year. I don’t know about the Slytherins....”

“Rest assured, I will deal with the situation when I return to Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall was breathing heavily and her nostrils were flared. “I will, of course, not mention that you were the one to bring this to my attention.”

“Thank you.” Hermione sighed with relief. “When we get back to school, I’ll drag Neville down to the labs and make him practice until he can brew things without melting his cauldron.”

“That...would be appreciated.”

**

An Unplottable Location in Bulgaria

Viktor Krum had grown up in the shadow of the Watch Tower. His paternal grandfather had been Knight-Constable of the Tower for nearly sixty years and his father had been a Knight until his untimely death. Several of Viktor’s uncles and cousins had held ranks in the Order of Walpurgis and Viktor had been given his star and shield on his twelfth birthday.
Still, in all that time, he had never once been inside the Tower itself. From the outside, the building was remarkably unimposing—round and squat, it looked like so many others that dotted the Bulgarian landscape. It had been built in a time when such structures were meant to provide shelter and defense, rather than aesthetic pleasure. Though time, the weather and the local flora had softened the Tower and given it an air of faded glory, it was still not the sort of place that was sought out by tourists. Muggle-repelling charms kept those few with a keen interest in such monuments away, and strong, Goblin-forged wards kept out any magicals who were not welcome, whether they be man or beast. As he was led across the weathered stone of the courtyard and in through the unassuming wooden door, Viktor was keenly aware of the fact that, had he not been specifically invited to enter, those wards would have reduced him to a pile of ash the instant he’d crossed them.

The inside of the tower was as different from the outside as it was possible to be. While the exterior of the Tower was all crumbling stone, covered in ivy and lichen, the inside was fastidiously neat. The floor was made of a polished dark marble and light emanated from globes that had been strategically placed on the walls so as to provide ample illumination without drawing undue attention to themselves. There were portraits of Knight-Commanders on every wall and, as he looked around, several of them nodded to Viktor and one even bowed.

The Squire touched his elbow deferentially and Viktor allowed the boy to lead him to a raised platform in the middle of the room. Once he was standing in its center, the Squire stepped off and placed his palm on a small pedestal. Viktor felt the familiar tug behind his navel as the platform moved through the Void.

When the platform came to a halt, Viktor blinked several times before slowly stepping down onto soft, green grass. All around him rose the almost-sheer walls of the mountains and he surmised that the platform must have taken him to one of the innumerable valleys hidden within.

“Ah, Knight-Captain Krum. You’ve arrived.” Viktor was smiling even before he turned around.

“Madam Ianevski.” He executed a formal bow then came forward to bow again over her hand. “You look as lovely as ever.”

“Stop it!” She gave him a mock glare and wagged her finger at him, laughing all the while. “You’re not going to make me blush, no matter how hard you try. I simply cannot allow it!”

“Cruel woman!” He struck a dramatic pose with his legs splayed and his hand over his heart, a tragic expression on his face. She laughed even louder and gave him a less than gentle slap on the shoulder.

“Come now.” She said. “I did not bring you here so we could flirt all night. There are great matters that must be attended to.” Sobering quickly, Victor nodded and followed her. As he always did, he marveled at how spry a woman of her age and seeming frailty could be. The platform had deposited him at what appeared to be one end of a long, gorge, but the rock-strewn path Madame Ianevski led him along soon led into a wide, open field redolent with the scents of grass and flowers.
A small fire had been built and was blazing away merrily, and a few light-globes hung in the air as if stuck there by some invisible hand. Three figures sat around the fire and it was there that Madame Ianevski led him.

“Ah, Knight-Commander Ianevski.” The troll did not bother to rise, but saluted the pair as they approached. “This is our newest Knight-Captain, I presume?”

“Knight-Captain Viktor Krum, may I present Watch-Commander Dorog, Chief Scholar Gaptooth, and Mystic Serafina.” Viktor offered formal bows to the troll, goblin, and centaur respectively.

“Well met, Knight-Captain.” The Chief Scholar said. “Thank you for joining us.”

“It is my honor.” Viktor replied.

“Sit.” Madame Ianevski pointed to a spot between Dorog and Serafina. “We have much to discuss and the night wears on.” Viktor refused to be seated until he had seen her settled—a move that earned a mock glare from his mentor and looks of approval from the others.

“Now that we are all comfortable...” Madame Ianevski rolled her eyes as she looked at Viktor. “Speak, Gaptooth.”

“We have learned that the Dark One has returned to England.” Gaptooth began, instantly dispelling the jovial atmosphere. “He has found a temporary host, but he seeks to regain full form and power. What is worse, he has managed to contact many of his old followers who are rendering him aid and comfort.”

“Dumbledore?” Dorog asked.

“He knows.” Gaptooth sighed. “Potions Master Snape told him everything— including that the Dark One intends to insert one of his own creatures into the castle to get at Harry Potter.”

“Will he allow it, do you think?” Madame Ianevski asked.

“Unknown.” Gaptooth shook his head. “I believe we should proceed as planned.”

“Very well.” Madame Ianevski sighed. “Knight-Captain Krum...we have a mission for you.”

Chapter Text

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Saturday, Sept. 2

 “Look! There he is!”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“Oh Georgie, really? What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to ask for his autograph.  Hang on, has anyone got a self-inking quill?”

“Maybe you should ask to see his broomstick.”

“Maybe I’ll ask to ride his broomstick.”

Giggling. Viktor Krum suppressed a growl of irritation as the giggling started again. He stomped his way across the stone flagstones of the courtyard and, as he passed through the doors that led from the grounds into the castle, Marko—his best friend and first lieutenant—caught up with him.

“A fetching lot, aren’t they?” Marko said, cheerfully, waving to one of the knots of girls scattered around the area like leaves blown into drifts.

“Not the word I’d choose, brother." They were speaking in Bulgarian, of course, but they kept their voices low, as a precaution. It was just a matter of time before someone discovered the Babel spell and it wouldn’t do to get careless.

“Someone got up out of the wrong side of the hammock this morning.” Marko’s good humor seemed to be completely unaffected by Viktor’s grumpiness. As they approached the doors to the Great Hall, however, his smile faded and his voice dropped even lower. “Karkaroff is in there.” Viktor sighed. “We need to be rid of him, Captain.”

“I know.” The entrance hall was riddled with small alcoves and, without discussing the matter Viktor and Marko stepped into one. Marko cast a cloaking spell quickly, though Viktor noted with approval that he had not opted to use a spell that would render them completely invisible. Instead, he cast a subtler spell that would make everyone think that they were simply two random Durmstrang students, rather than the famous Viktor Krum and his equally infamous best friend. “We cannot move against him until the Champion is chosen, but I intend to start building support with the staff today and I will seek the counsel of Potions Master Snape.” 

“Is that wise?” Marko looked concerned. “I have heard stories about him, captain.” 

“As have I. But Madam Ianevski says he can be trusted.” Marko gave a short, swift nod and that settled the matter.  “Do not worry. Karkaroff will do something stupid soon enough, and then we can wash our hands of him.” 

“If he doesn’t?”

“I will deal with him.” Viktor assured him. “Now, what do you have to report?” 

“The security around this place is a joke.” Marko ran a hand through his thick black curls. “The original wards were very impressive—goblin forged and quite strong in their day. However, they haven’t been repaired or reinforced in over a century, and they’ve been tampered with as recently as a month ago.” 

“Tampered with?” Viktor frowned. “How?”

“I’m not sure. There are so many alterations, it’s impossible to tell exactly what was done.” 

“Dumbledore?” 

“Yes, but he’s not the only one. There are at least two other magical signatures, though they feel old, so it appears that some changes were made by previous Headmasters. Dumbledore has done the most damage, by far. It is no wonder that a teacher possessed with the Dark One’s spirit was able to walk these halls, unrecognized, for almost a full year!  And now, there’s that fellow swigging Polyjuice like it’s Butterbeer...” 

“What of internal security?” 

“Even worse.” Marko snorted with disgust. “They have done nothing to increase security around here in decades, even though they had at least two confirmed break-ins last year.  The dormitories are feebly guarded by enchanted objects that are ridiculously easy to bypass and the castle is riddled with so-called ‘secret’ passages that are known to most of the students.  Several of those passages lead out of the castle and beyond the wards. The suits of armor and gargoyles are enchanted to defend the school, but they can only be activated by the Headmaster. If the school is attacked while Dumbledore is away....” He gave Viktor a meaningful look.

“What do the others say?” Viktor commanded all forty students who had traveled from Durmstrang to Hogwarts, but only a handful of them knew his true face and mission. Each of these had their own specialties and he relied on them for information.

“Alexei reports that there are no creatures of significance in the castle.” Marko said, promptly. “Many students and staff have magically enhanced pets and some have familiars, but we do not need to worry about those. The only people here who have animal forms are the Deputy Headmistress and Potions Master Snape. She is listed in the official Ministry registry. He is not.” 

“We knew about them already.”</b> Viktor nodded. <b>“What of the grounds and forest?” Marko laughed.

“Alexei is in Heaven!  He found the tribe of centaurs in the forest that Serafina told us about. He says that they are wary of us, but not hostile. They do not like Dumbledore—they say that he has not kept to the terms of the treaty that the centaurs have with the school. Alexei believes we can win them to our cause if we deal with the nest of Acromantulas that plague them.”

“Acromantulas?” Viktor’s eyebrows rose. “In Scotland?”

“Yes.” Marko shook his head in disbelief. “Alexei hasn’t heard the whole story, but the centaurs apparently feel that Rubeus Hagrid is responsible for bringing those monsters into their domain. He also let a Cerberus Hound loose in there. Hagrid is protected by Dumbledore, so that is one more reason they have to dislike and distrust the old man. Alexei says that the forest also contains a tame thestral herd and several wild unicorns. The Black Lake has a colony of merpeople, but we already knew that. Alexei says that they have problems with grindylows and he has offered our assistance there as well.” 

“Good.” Viktor nodded. “Petra?”

Marko laughed. “She would murder Dumbledore right now, if she could get away with it. She’s found a Ritual Room that hasn’t been touched in over 100 years. Most of the seventh-year students here can barely do what ours master in their second year.  Less than half of the teachers hold Masteries in their subjects...the list goes on and on.” He sobered. “These children aren’t taught even the most basic aspects of mental magic and Petra feels that this knowledge has been withheld from them deliberately. Both Dumbledore and Potions Master Snape are accomplished Legillimens and yet the Ministry seems blissfully unaware of this fact or its implications. Petra believes that one or both of them may have used their abilities on Harry Potter, and she requests permission to examine him more closely. Talia wants to come with us and scan him as well.” 

“Talia?” Viktor gave his second a sharp look. “Why?”

“She felt a dark presence in the Hall last night she believes that it emanates from Potter.”

“Possession?”

“Unknown.” Marko replied. <b>“She doesn’t think so – she describes it more as a leech that clings tenaciously to a fat man’s back. She wants to get a closer look at the thing...”</b> He held up a hand before Viktor could interrupt. “I made her swear not to do anything except look. Believe me, Captain, I have no wish to relive Vienna.” 

“Good. You may take Talia, but for Bari’s sake, be careful! When?”

“We won’t go for at least a month. We are newcomers now and are being watched constantly. It will be easier to do it when our presence is not so interesting.” Viktor nodded.

“What of our people?”

“Mostly, it is the usual grumbling about Karkaroff. They are beginning to realize that he has no intention of teaching us this year. There is one problem...” Marko hesitated. “Mikael.” 

“What has he done now?” Viktor did his best to keep his temper under control.

“Somehow, he got a hold of several bottles of that swill they call firewhiskey here. Last night, Gregor found him drinking with some of the oldest snakes and talking more than was good for us.”  Viktor swore.

“I will deal with him.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Marko looked concerned. “I can...”

“If my cousin wishes to join our company, he must learn to obey orders!” Viktor snapped. “As I am the one giving those orders now, I am the one who must teach him this lesson.”

“And if he doesn’t learn?” Marko asked, quietly.

“I will not allow my loyalty to my family to interfere with our task.” Viktor gave his friend a reassuring pat. “My grandmother knows this and, though she is not pleased, she understands and will not interfere again.”

“Good.” Marko suddenly gave Viktor a sly grin. “And what of your pretty little witch? Have you spoken to her yet?”

“I deeply regret telling you about that.” Viktor sighed as they slipped out of the alcove.

“Won’t you at least tell me who she is?” Marko pleaded, laughing. “I will die of curiosity!” They entered the Great Hall and walked to the table on the far right. It was still quite early, so only a few of the littlest snakes were yawning over their bowls of porridge. They were clumped at the end of the table closest to the staff, so Viktor and Marko sat down at the end closest to the door.

“At least when you are dead, you will not be able to plague me with foolish questions.” Viktor pointed out in his most reasonable tone of voice—the one he knew irritated Marko the most.

“Heartless fiend!” Marko laughed. “Be nice or I’ll tell Petra...” 

“Tell Petra what?” Viktor made a noise of despair as they were joined by Petra and Gregor. As was their usual way, Petra sat next to Marko while Gregor sat next to Viktor, who was on the end of the bench nearest the wall.

“Nothing.” Viktor snapped.

“Our captain has found his Star-bound.” Marko snickered. “She’s here, though he won’t tell me who she is.” Viktor groaned as Petra gasped with delight.

“That is not for repeating.” He growled and thrust his fork at Marko.  “If I find out that you’ve told anyone else...”

“I would never!” Marko dodged the makeshift weapon, laughing.

“You just did.”  Petra pointed out.

“Yes, but that’s different.” Marko pulled a plate of sausages towards him. “As Viktor’s lieutenants, we all need to know about anything that might affect his health and well-being. He is no good to us if he wanders around the castle looking like a forlorn puppy and ignoring his duty.” 

“He has a point.” Gregor was rubbing his hands together with glee. “We must know everything about this girl so that we can be sure our leader is not being led astray...” 

“Don’t tease.” Petra said firmly. Viktor shot her a look of gratitude. “I still remember what you were like when we first met.  Or what you were like, Marko, when you first met Aleksandr.” Gregor blushed which was, as always, a rather odd sight on someone so large and hairy, but Marko just laughed.

“All kidding aside,” Petra continued, turning back to Viktor “it would be best if you tell us who this girl is. Once your interest in her becomes known—and you know it will—she will require protection. From Karkaroff if no one else.” The sausage that Viktor had just eaten turned to lead in his stomach.

“I...had not thought of that.” He admitted. It was evident that Marko hadn’t thought of it either, which was rather ironic since security was his main concern. He paled dramatically.

“I am sorry, Viktor.” He said, subdued at last.

“It is done.” Viktor gave a small shrug and smiled at his friend to show that there were no hard feelings. “But no one else is to know.” 

“Except Talia.” Petra said, firmly. “You will need her help...unless you wish to make a mess of things the way these two did.” The four friends laughed.

“She already knows.” Viktor said. “She was there when Serafina read the stars for me.”

“So....” Gregor nudged Viktor with his elbow, causing Viktor to wince. Gregor would never intentionally hurt a fly, but he sometimes forgot his own strength.“Who is she?”

“I do not know her name.” Viktor admitted. “All I know is that I saw her in the Minister’s Box at the World Cup and then again last night at the Welcoming Feast.” 

“Describe her.” Petra ordered, but before Viktor could say anything else, he caught sight of a pale blonde head of hair at the door.

“Malfoy.” He murmured. Gregor immediately launched into the end of a far-fetched story about the time his father had wrestled a manticore. Malfoy sat down next to him, just as he reached the punch-line, and laughed with the others, though it was obvious he hadn’t understood a word.

“Draco!” Gregor greeted him with a hearty slap to the back, nearly causing the boy to land face-first in his porridge. Viktor caught Petra’s eye and shook his head, ever so slightly. She narrowed her eyes and nodded. A casual observer might have seen Gregor’s gesture as friendly, if a bit overenthusiastic, Viktor knew that it had been a de- liberate attempt to humiliate the boy. While he certainly shared Gregor’s dislike for the son of House Malfoy, Gregor would have to be reminded that they were to do nothing to antagonize the lad or his father....at least, not yet.

Draco recovered himself and, after peering at him for a moment, Viktor was satisfied that he was completely oblivious to any of the negative undertones in Gregor’s gesture. Indeed, Draco seemed to be treating it as a sign of honor and inclusion. Since Draco had seated himself with them, Viktor and his lieutenants were forced to speak in English and to keep to safe topics. This proved to be quite easy because Draco soon dominated the conversation.

When they’d met him the previous evening, Draco Malfoy had been too awestruck to say too much…for about five minutes.  Once he’d recovered his wits, all vestiges of shyness disappeared and his monologue appeared endless.  Viktor suspected that Draco treated his lackeys within Slytherin house in a similar manner.

This morning, Draco was droning on about all the important people his father knew and had introduced him to. As he chewed his sausage, Viktor allowed his gaze to wander, keeping one ear on Draco, lest the boy say something of interest.

The Great Hall was now beginning to fill up with sleepy students. The only people who seemed truly alert were the first years, who were obviously still reveling at the novelty of Hogwarts and were noisily planning to use their first full day in the castle to explore.   

The door to the Hall opened and a large, rather noisy group entered. Like a magnet, Viktor found his eyes drawn to the girl with extremely curly brown hair who was walking in front, sandwiched between a tall, gangly red-head and a short, painfully skinny boy with messy black hair and glasses. They were followed by three more red- heads—two boys who were obviously twins, and a younger girl—and a rather round- faced boy. Marko and Petra both noticed is interest.  Marko started grinning like a loon, while Petra’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Harry Potter.’ Draco gestured at the skinny boy with glasses and spat the name like a curse. Viktor turned back to him with an inquiring look, and Draco was off again. Viktor listened, while wondering how to turn the subject to Potter-s friends—especially the girl.

“...and he doesn’t even act like a proper wizard!” Draco huffed.

“Potter was live with...er....what is your word....Muggles, yes?” Marko asked. Viktor hated the broken English they were forced to use here, but he understood the necessity. In his experience, British witches and wizards seemed to equate intelligence with a mastery of their language. If you displayed a lack of fluency, you were assumed to be stupid. That assumption could come in very handy.

“Yes. Dumbledore sent him to live with his mudblood mother’s relatives.” Draco grumbled.

“Then how can he know how to act like proper wizard?” Petra asked, the very picture of innocence. Draco gaped at her, mouth opening and closing.

“Who are his friends?  His allies?” Viktor asked, quickly, before the teasing could get out of hand..

“Why?” Draco asked, suspicious.

“He is enemy, maybe.” Viktor shrugged. “Is good to know all about enemies. If know their strengths, their weaknesses, can plan.”  

“Oh.” Draco blinked several times as he assimilated this information. He smiled and Viktor resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  It galled him that this self-proclaimed paragon of the house of cunning hadn’t noticed that Viktor had never stated that Potter was his enemy, just that he might be an enemy.  Still, Malfoy’s stupidity worked in his favor and Viktor was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“All the red-heads are members of the Weasley family.” Draco reported. “They’re descended from the Prewetts on their mother’s side, but you’d never know it from the way they act. Their father has a low-level job at the Ministry and, from what I hear he can barely afford to keep body and soul together. Blood-traitors, the lot of them!”

“Blood-traitors? What is this, please?” Viktor asked, genuinely curious. It had not been difficult to grasp that “mudblood” was a pejorative term for someone whose parents were not magical, but for the life of him, he could not figure out what was meant by the term “blood-traitor.”   Draco launched into a long-winded explanation that, as far as Victor could tell, boiled down to “People who aren’t mudbloods, but who don’t agree with me.”

“Anyway, the whole Weasley family is in tight with Potter.” He continued. “Ron— he’s the tall, spindly looking one with the robes that are too short—he’s Harry’s best mate. He’s a stupid, lazy git, though so you don’t really need to worry about him. The twins are Fred and George. They’re a couple of years ahead of me and they think they’re awfully clever. They pull all sorts of practical jokes—last year, they somehow managed to get into the Slytherin Common Room and they charmed the snake sculpture that guards the entrance to the boys’ dorm to sing the Gryffindor fight song any time someone walked past!” Viktor had to kick Marko under the table to keep him from laughing.

“Ginny—that’s the girl—is the only Weasley you need to really worry about. She’ll hex you for looking crossways at her and she’s got good aim and reflexes. Let’s see....” Draco paused to think a moment as he ate some of his eggs. “Potter hangs around with Neville Longbottom a lot, but he’s definitely a weakness. He’s the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House, but he’s practically a Squib. He melts his cauldron in Potions at least once a month.”

“And girl with brown hair?” Viktor asked. “Is she....er....what is term? Girlfriend?” Unfortunately for everyone in a three-foot radius of Draco, the scion of House Malfoy was drinking pumpkin juice when the question was asked. The boy was too busy laughing and coughing to notice the glares that Gregor, Petra, and Pansy Parkinson (who had just sat down next to Petra) were giving him.

“Granger?” Draco was practically incoherent. “Potter’s girlfriend? Merlin, no! Not even Potter would sink that low.”

“Hermione Granger is Muggleborn.” Pansy Parkinson explained as she used a napkin to wipe pumpkin juice off her robes. “Plus, she’s a bossy, pushy know-it-all who refuses to learn her proper place. Or proper hair care.” She added with a sniff.

“She is clever, though.” Draco said, finally getting himself under control. “You’ll want to watch out for her.” Viktor grunted his assent as he attacked a sausage. Watching out for Hermione Granger was certainly not going to be a problem for him.

**

Hogwarts - Professor Snape’s Office

Saturday, Sept. 2

Severus Snape was in an uncommonly good mood. As a rule, he deeply loathed teaching.  However, every so often, he came across a student with real talent and a passion for learning and that made dealing with all the others bearable. Hermione Granger was one of those special students.  Had she been in any other House or year, she would have been the undisputed Queen of the Potions laboratory, as far as Severus was concerned. Unfortunately, she had been sorted into Gryffindor just minutes before Harry Bloody Potter and, what was worse; she had become one of the boy’s best friends. That, and the fact that she was Muggleborn, marked her as an enemy of Draco Malfoy and his crowd, which meant that Severus had to treat her as an enemy as well.  Now, he would no longer be forced to teach her in a class where both were constantly being watched. While he could never explain why he had been so cruel to her over the years, he could make it up to her by filling her head with the knowledge she so obviously craved and by treating her with the respect she deserved. The thought filled him with the kind of joy he hadn’t felt in years.

At precisely ten o’clock, there was a knock on the door of his office.

“Enter.” He called. He watched Granger step into the room and look around. She was wary, he noted. Not frightened, but she certainly didn’t trust him one bit.  That was completely understandable.  “Close the door and take a seat.” He gestured a chair that was placed near one end of his desk. He’d purposefully cleared a space so she could take notes if she wished, and was pleased to note that she took out parchment and quill without prompting. The girl was practically bouncing with excitement, which amused Severus to no end.

“Before we begin, I must give you the speech I will be giving all my classes this year.” Severus sighed. “It seems that I have been negligent in my duties as Potions Professor as I have not provided adequate information regarding the practice laboratories. Potions Labs One and Two are the designated practice labs.  You may go in to one of these when there is not a class in session and experiment or practice as you wish, provided the lab is supervised. My NEWT students will be acting as proctors, and they will be instructed not to interfere with students unless there is a legitimate concern for their safety or the safety of others. They have the right to banish you from the laboratories if they feel that you are acting in an irresponsible or dangerous manner, though you may appeal that decision to me. A schedule of when the labs will be available will be posted tonight on the notice board in your Common Room, and the labs will be open starting on Tuesday morning. Any questions?”

“No, sir.” Hermione shook her head.

“On a personal note,” Severus said “I would appreciate it if you would encourage Mr. Longbottom to make use of these practice labs. His efforts will not be graded and I will see to it that he is not disturbed, unless it truly becomes necessary.”

“I...” Hermione blinked several times, obviously thrown by his request. “I will talk to him about it, Sir.” She said, finally.

“Good. Now, I have reviewed your progress in my class and I have reached the conclusion that it is a waste of both my time and yours to spend our tutorial sessions on the standard OWL prep curriculum.” Severus began. “Your classmates are going to spend the next two years brewing increasingly complex potions but, other than a few ingredient preparation techniques, they will not be learning anything new. Here is a list of the potions they will be working on between now and the exams. They are listed in the order in which I intend to teach them.” He handed her a parchment, which she scanned quickly before looking up at him inquisitively. “I would suggest you practice brewing each of these at least once, as you will be required to brew something from that list during your exam. I will evaluate your efforts, if you wish, but they will not be graded. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your Potions tutorial will consist of three parts. First, we will work on enhancing your knowledge of ingredients and their interactions. Second, we will discuss recipe modification, as well as the methods and the circumstances that might lead to that necessity. By the time you leave Hogwarts, I will expect you to be fully capable of modifying potions to suit demands and creating your own recipes. This....” He handed her another parchment “is a list of the potions I will be assigning you this year and their corresponding due dates.” He saw her eyes widen slightly as she looked at his list, and he wondered if she was a bit overwhelmed by its length or if she had noticed that he expected her to brew Polyjuice potion and that the due date happened to correspond to the date on which she’d finished her first batch of the stuff back in her second year. He made a mental note to find some way to ask her how she’d managed to turn herself into a human-feline hybrid, without revealing that he knew she’d done so. “Professor Sprout and I have discussed our plans for your lessons, and the third part of your lessons this year will be a joint project for Potions and Herbology. You will be growing certain ingredients and harvesting them yourself. I expect you to begin using the first fruits of your labor after the New Year.”

“What about reading assignments and essays, sir?”

“I am well acquainted with the fact that you can both read and write, Miss Granger.” Severus’ tone was dry, but there was a slight quirk to his lips. Hermione made a startled noise, somewhere between a cough and a giggle. “You have the list of texts and I believe it will be readily apparent which parts you need to read in order to prepare for our meetings. Since we will be discussing the material, I see no reason to go over it again in an essay. I trust you obtained all the supplies on the list I provided?” She nodded.

“Now I understand why you told me to get two extra cauldrons.” She said, indicating the assignment list.

“Indeed. You may, of course, obtain ingredients out of the student cupboard whenever you need them. However, if you need something that is not available there, I recommend that you purchase it from Smethwyck & Son’s Apothecary in Hogsmeade. They are quite reliable and reasonably priced and they will deliver by owl-post. You can pick up order forms during your first Hogsmeade weekend, but I also have a few if you need them.”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was quiet, but firm. “What are these dates at the bottom of my assignment list?”

“Those are the dates on which I will be demonstrating new preparation techniques to my fourth and fifth year classes. You are not required to attend those classes, but are permitted to do so if you wish. If you do, I expect you to remember that you are an observer, not a participant. Are we clear?” She nodded.

“Should I do my assignments in the practice labs or ...?” She was interrupted as the door flew open and Draco Malfoy walked into the office as if he owned it. He was followed by one of the students from Durmstrang.

“Professor Snape.” Malfoy simpered, in his best sucking up voice. He caught sight of Hermione and scowled. “Leave.”  Severus suppressed a sigh of impatience.

“Mr. Malfoy, you have been told—repeatedly—that when my office door is closed, you are to knock and wait for permission to enter.” He snapped, resisting the urge to point out that Hermione Granger had knocked, even though she had never been informed of his rules regarding such things.

“What is she doing here?” Draco asked, ignoring the rebuke.

“From now own, Miss Granger will be attending weekly tutorials in Advanced Potions with me, rather than taking the regular Potions class with her House-mates.” Severus said, knowing that there was no point in pressing the knocking issue. Had Draco been alone, he would have cheerfully thrown the boy out on his ear, but since he was accompanied by one of their honored guests, restraint was called for. As expected, Draco looked horrified. The stranger, however, looked rather impressed. “Now, if you gentlemen would like to sit down, I will be finished with Miss Granger in a moment.”

Severus watched, with amusement, as Draco fought an internal battle about whether to take the one empty chair in the room or whether to offer it to his companion. Some measure of basic cordiality must have won out, because the young man from Durmstrang sat down while Draco hovered behind him like a mother hen protecting her chicks. “To answer your question, Miss Granger, I do not expect you to do your assignments in the practice laboratories. I have set aside a table for your use in Laboratory Three. I will show you how to activate the stasis charms during our next session. If you wish...”

“Potions Lab Three?” Draco burst out indignantly. “But that’s for NEWT students only!”

“As I was saying...” Severus shot Draco a glare. “If you wish to start brewing before our next session, come see me during my regular office hours.”

“Please...what is Newts?” Severus now recognized the stranger as Viktor Krum. As he asked the question, he was looking at Hermione rather intently. She noticed his attention and a slight flush rose to her cheeks.

“N.E.W.T.”  She spelled it out.  “It stands for Nastily Exhausting...”

“He wasn’t asking you, mudblood!” Draco snarled. The temperature in the room dropped by at least ten degrees, as three glares were turned on him.

“That is enough, Mr. Malfoy.” Severus kept his tone even, but his jaw was clenched and it was a moment before he could safely turn to the stranger and respond to his question.

“N.E.W.T. stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test.  They are the examinations that our seventh-year students take just before leaving Hogwarts. Students in my NEWT. preparation classes have a dedicated laboratory space. Even though she is only just beginning her fourth year, Miss Granger is being permitted the use of this space, owing to special circumstances.”  He wasn’t quite sure quite why he felt the need to commend the girl so highly to this stranger, but he certainly enjoyed the effect his doing so had on Draco. 

“What special circumstances?” Draco asked, looking both petulant and belligerent.

“That’s really none of your business.” Hermione sniffed. Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Severus cut him off.

“Miss Granger, as it is your first day back and it is obvious that we will not be left to talk in peace, I am going to suggest we end our session early. Next week, we will discuss the three primary categories of ingredients and the ways in which they typically interact with one another.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Do you have any further questions for me?”

“Just one.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Some of the Gryffindors are organizing a kind of Quidditch training program since we won’t be having the regularly scheduled games this year. We’d like to get it sanctioned as an official school club and we need all four Heads of House to sign off on it. I’ve already spoken to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and I’ll be speaking to Professor Sprout shortly...” As she thrust the parchment towards him, time seemed to slow. Severus saw Draco’s mouth open and in that moment, he didn’t need one of Sibyl Trelawney’s crystal balls to see what was about to happen. Draco would object and he, as Head of House Slytherin and loyal Death Eater, would be forced to refuse her perfectly reasonable request. In a day or two, a committee of Slytherin Quidditch enthusiasts, probably headed by Draco Malfoy, would approach him with exactly the same request. He would sign off on it, but Minerva (and, perhaps Filius and Pomona acting in solidarity) would refuse.  There would be no Quidditch and yet another wedge would be driven between the Houses.

“Is good idea.” Viktor Krum said. Though Draco was standing behind him, Severus had the sneaking suspicion that Krum was aware that he had been about to say something stupid...again. “Is fun, training for Quidditch. I help to train. My friends help also.  Marko, my friend, is Chaser on Bulgarian National team and Petra and Gregor are on reserve team. Petra is Beater and Gregor is Keeper. We help. If is all right?” He asked, looking at Hermione. If it was possible, the girl became even redder.

“I’m sure my friends would welcome your help.” She stammered.

“You no play?” Draco, obviously feeling that he had to insert himself into the conversation somehow, barked with malicious laughter.

“Her? Granger’s terrible on a broom! The only thing she knows how to do with it is weep the floor! The only thing that she can hold between her legs is...”

“Enough!” Severus took the parchment and signed it with a flourish. “Here you are, Miss Granger. I will see you next week – and I will be sure to put a locking charm on the door so we can work without interruption.”

“Thank you, sir.” She stood and turned to Viktor. “Goodbye...and thanks again.” The young man nodded and Hermione left, completely ignoring Draco who looked torn between following her and staying with his idol.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Severus had to repeat his name several times to get his attention. “Miss Granger will be attending private tutorials with me and will be coming down at regular intervals to use the laboratories. Additionally, Professor McGonagall has discovered that I have been remiss about informing students from the other Houses about the practice laboratories. Neither she or nor I will tolerate any harassment of Miss Granger or any other student coming down here to use the labs. Am I making myself clear?”

“But sir...”

“Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco sat down in the chair Hermione had vacated, sulking.

 “Good. Now will you please introduce me to your companion?”

“Viktor, this is Professor Snape. Professor Snape, this is Viktor Krum.” Draco waved a lazy hand between them. “Viktor wanted to speak with you, so I volunteered to show him the way to your office.”

“Greetings, Potions Master Snape. I am Viktor Krum, Knight-Captain of the Order of Walpurgis.” Severus’ eyebrows rose as Viktor addressed him by his proper title and in Bulgarian. “Madame Ianevski sends her regards. Is there a way to get rid of this boy so we may speak freely?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” Severus replied, enjoying the look of shock on Draco’s face as he began speaking Bulgarian as well. “He does not understand your language, but it is best we do not discuss private things in his presence. We should also switch back to English, so that he does not grow suspicious.” 

“Bah.” Viktor made a disgusted face. “I hate having to fake ineptitude in your language. Ah well...” Switching back to English, he said. “I come to ask favor. Headmaster Karkaroff. He comes to judge. To win tournament. He does not teach. We teach our own. Need place to do this, yes? Boat is too small.”

“You will want to speak with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall about using an empty classroom or two.” Severus said. “I can offer you a place to brew potions, if you need it, but no more.”

“That is good.” Viktor nodded. “Need...what is word? Labaratory.”  His pronunciation was all wrong, but Severus saw Draco’s feeble attempt to hide a snicker and understood what Krum was doing.

“I will open Laboratory Six for you and the other Durmstrang students.” He said. “It has not been used in quite some time, so you will need to clean it. When you are ready, come to me and I will show you where it is.” Switching back to Bulgarian, he said <b>“If you wish to talk more, come back to this office...alone...tonight after dinner.”</b>

**

Hogwarts - Great Hall

Saturday, Sept. 2

Hermione Granger was practically floating as she walked into the Great Hall for dinner. Professor McGonagall had arranged for her to have preliminary meetings with all her professors upon her return to school, and most had given her new assignments that were due at the time of her first official tutorials. Much of the material was new to her; she hadn’t even encountered it when reading ahead!  Even better, she had a trunk full of new books up in her room, just waiting to be opened. She’d obtained many of her books while she was on Diagon Alley with the Weasleys, but Flourish and Blotts had been forced to specially order some of the rarer titles.  These had been waiting for her in her dorm room las night.  She’d been sorely tempted to bring one of her new treasures down to dinner with her, but after a moment’s consideration, had decided against it.

Hermione had learned a great deal since coming to Hogwarts and, contrary to popular opinion, not all of it came from books and lectures. During the last year, it had become very clear to her how much she needed her friends and how important it was to maintain at least some semblance of balance in her life. While the books had issued forth their sirens’ call, she’d realized that her new schedule would limit the amount of time she could spend with Harry and the Weasleys, and she resolved to make the most of what time she had.

As she approached the Gryffindor table, she saw two identical heads of red hair huddled together with Lee Jordan’s dreadlocks. With a grin of mischief, she pulled the club application form out of her bag and sat down next to Fred. He and George had been the ones to come up with the idea to have a Quidditch training camp, but it had been her idea to make it an officially sanctioned club. Fred and George had been been inclined to dismiss the idea of making things ‘official’, but had agreed to try it if she could get all the Heads of Houses to sign the charter.

“I spoke to the teachers.” She said casually, handing Fred the charter. George and Lee were still whispering together as Fred glanced at the parchment.  He looked again, then turned to fully stare at her.

“How....how.....?”  Hermione completely lost her control. She giggled as she watched Fred, who was still staring at her, reach out to shake George’s shoulder.

“What?” George asked. Fred passed him the parchment. “Oh! She got.....” George’s voice trailed off and his expression of shock mirrored Fred’s exactly. “How....How....?” Hermione’s giggles turned into gales of laughter.

“What did you do?  I think you broke them.” Ginny said, sitting down on Hermione’s other side. It took Hermione a moment to collect herself before she could answer.

“I just gave them the club charter they asked me to take to all the Heads of Houses” She tried to project an air of bewildered innocence, but knew she was failing miserably.

“Look!” George waved the parchment at Ginny, who scanned it quickly. Her eyes widened as she saw the signatures, but she did not lose the ability to speak coherently.

“Hermione...How did you get Snape to sign this?”

“I asked.” Hermione gave a delicate shrug. “He was more than happy to do it once Viktor Krum said he thought it was a good idea. Oh, that reminds me. he wanted me to ask if he and some of his friends could help with the training ...Viktor Krum that is, not Professor…Eeep!” Without warning, Hermione found herself buried under a mountain of exuberant Weasleys (and Lee Jordan), who were all trying to hug her at once. She emerged, slightly disheveled but grinning, to see that Ron and Harry had arrived and were looking very confused.  Before any explanations could be offered, however, the attention of the entire table was grabbed as Viktor Krum and three of his classmates entered the Great Hall. Instead of heading to the Slytherin table, as they had done during previous meals, they walked towards the Gryffindor table and came to a halt in front of Hermione. Viktor bowed.

“Greetings. I not know if you remember...we meet in Potions Master’s office but we are not being properly introduced. I am called Viktor. This is Petra,” He indicated a statuesque blonde girl who looked like she’d just stepped out of someone’s idea of a Viking sex fantasy “this Marko,” Marko was a tall, thin boy with dark, curly hair and laughing eyes “and this is Gregor.” Gregor was, in a word, huge. He was also very, very hairy and had a beard that would rival Hagrid’s.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand. He took it, but instead of shaking it, he bowed over it as if she was a fine lady, instead of an awkward fourteen-year-old with frizzy hair and a crooked tie. He kept his eyes on hers the entire time, sending a thrill of electricity through her entire body. Hermione blushed and the silence around her was broken by the twin sounds of Lavender Brown’s gasp and Ron Weasley chocking on his pumpkin juice. Petra, Marko, and Gregor all took turns shaking her hand (though, much to her relief, they did not bow over it the way Viktor had), then Viktor gestured to the small crowd around her.

“Is this your Quidditch friends?”

“Oh, yes...” Hermione quickly introduced the group, then gestured to the empty seats next to Harry and Ron. “Would you care to join us?”

Over the next hour, Viktor and his friends did more to dispel the less-than- savory reputation of the Durmstrang Institute than any of the pamphlets distributed by the Department of International Magical Cooperation had managed in the past six months. By the time they left, a tentative plan had been worked out and members of the other Houses had been consulted regarding schedules. When Cassius Warrington, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, came over the Durmstrang students accepted him and treated him the same way they treated everyone else. After a moment’s hesitation, the other students followed suit.  Warrington seemed rather nonplussed by this behavior, but adapted quickly.

A delegation was sent to the Beauxbatons students, to invite them to participate, but soon came back with the French rejection ringing in their ears.

“It’s that Fleur Delacour girl.” Cedric Diggory, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, muttered. “Some of them looked interested, but she told them not to waste their time on such silly nonsense.”

After the Durmstrang students left, the Gryffindors all trooped up to the tower together. Once there, Ron immediately got into an enthusiastic discussion about the new club with Fred, George, and several of the other Lions. Hermione sat down on a sofa next to Harry.

“I need to talk to you.” She said, keeping her voice quiet. While staying at the Burrow, she had told Harry and the Weasleys about her Mentorship and, for the most part, they had been quite pleased for her.  Ron had thrown a rather nasty temper tantrum, much to everyone’s surprise. He’d been under the impression that she was going to be getting a special treat while the rest of the class was working, and he hadn’t spoken to her for several days. Finally, his father had intervened and made Ron understand that Hermione was going to be doing more work and not less. Ron had apologized, quite handsomely, but Hermione still felt a little wary of his temper.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked. “How did your first tutorial go with Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry.  It was going well until Malfoy barged in.” Hermione grumbled. “But....he did bring Viktor Krum with him and, without him, there probably wouldn’t be a Quidditch club. But that’s not what I want to talk about.” She paused, trying to find the best way to express her concern. “Do me a favor, all right?”

“Sure.

“Don’t let Ron turn you into a slacker. I love him to bits, but we both know he’s so lazy he would never get out of bed if he was allowed to have his meals in the dorm. I’m not going to have the time to keep on you both about your schoolwork this year, and Professor McGonagall said he skipped several assignments last year when we weren’t speaking.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I did some thinking over the summer and I owe you an apology about all that.”

“Oh, Harry...you don’t....”

“Yeah, I do. I was mad about the broom, sure, but I don’t think I would have totally shut you out if I hadn’t let Ron talk me into it. And that whole thing with Scabbers...”

“That was partly my fault. I was being rather....insensitive about Ron’s pet.”

“Maybe, but that’s not really my point. That really had nothing to do with me, did it?  I chose sides, Hermione. I chose his side every time and, at least with the Scabbers thing, I should have stayed out of it.  I’m really sorry about that. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to drop them over such stupid stuff.”

“Oh, Harry....” Hermione hugged him.

“And you don’t need to worry about me not doing my work.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out more than ever. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Ron, after the way he went off on you, but his Dad loaned me a book about Wizarding careers while we were at the Burrow this summer.  I had several really god talks with him and with Bill. They explained some of my career options to me and Bill told me all about the stuff I could do for Gringotts. It was fascinating, Hermione; it’s not just the bank, you know. The Goblins are involved in all kinds of things in both the magical and Muggle worlds. It really sounds like a great place to work, but Bill told me that Gringotts only hires people with really good OWL and NEWT scores. It’s one of the few places in the wizarding world where you’re hired solely on merit, you know. They don’t want to hire ‘The-Boy- Who-Lived’ just so that they can say they’ve got him and they don’t care about whether someone’s parents are Muggle or Muggleborn. They want someone who can do the job.”

“I know.” She smiled at him.

“So, I’m going to work really hard and get the scores I need so I can be the person they want to hire.  I think I want to try for their Wards department, but I haven’t totally worked that bit out yet.” Harry blushed and looked down at his sneakers. There was a small smile playing on his lips. “Ron doesn’t know yet, but I dropped Divination. I wrote to Professor McGonagall and she’s fixed it with Professor Babbling. I’m going to start Ancient Runes this year. I’ll have to do serious work to catch up, but I think it will be worth it.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful.” Hermione squealed. Fortunately, everyone was so interested in the discussion about the club that no one noticed her outburst. “It’s a fascinating subject – you’ll love it! I’ll do whatever I can to help. But why don’t you want to tell Ron?”

“He’s...he’s changed. Have you noticed?” Harry looked at her then, his expression troubled. “I noticed it at the World Cup and it’s been getting worse since then. He’s becoming moody and...well....” He paused, as if unsure of what to say.

“Selfish, immature, and irrationally angry.” Hermione finished for him. “Yes, I’ve noticed it too. It started last year. It’s like there’s this dark, mean, petty part of him and it’s fighting the sweet, goofy side of Ron we’ve always known.”

“And the dark side is starting to win more and more.” Harry nodded. “He’ll catch himself, sometimes...I can see it happening...but it’s getting harder and harder for him to do.”

“I’ve been chalking it up to puberty. If that’s the case, he’ll grow out of it.  If not...? Well, maybe this Quidditch club will help.” Hermione linked her arm through Harry’s and leaned her head on his shoulder. “If nothing else, Professor McGonagall’s added a clause to the club charter that says that everyone who participates has to maintain the same level of grades required for players on the regular house teams.  It will be rough for a while, but Ron has got to learn to stand on his own two feet.  He’s not going to like that and I think you’re right--he won’t like the fact that you’re not taking Divination. I’ll....I’ll be there when you tell him, if you like. You don’t even have to tell him about Gringotts or any of the other stuff...just say that you can’t take another year of Trelawney predicting your horrifyingly painful and disgusting death.”

“That could work!” Harry beamed. “You really are the brightest witch of your age.”

“Shut up.” Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. “Speaking of....Padfoot,” she whispered the name “how is he?”

“All right, I suppose.” Harry sighed. “We know the Ministry hasn’t caught him yet and I got a few notes over the summer, so I know he’s still alive. We’ve got to do something to help him, Hermione.”

“I know. We will.” The pair lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

**

Hogwarts - Severus Snape’s Office

Saturday, Sept. 2

As Viktor Krum left his office, Severus Snape sat back in his chair and stared at the fire. The young man had given him a great deal to think about and he realized that the decisions he made over the next few hours were, ultimately, going to be as important as those he’d made just after leaving Hogwarts. This time, however, he was determined to consider the possible consequences of those decisions and the effects that they might have on others.

For more than a decade, Severus Snape had served two masters. He had allowed himself to be bound to both in moments of high emotion, without thinking beyond his immediate circumstances.  His recklessness, naiveté, and pride had blinded him to the fact that both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore were, at heart, nothing more than self-centered bastards, willing to use anything and anyone that came to hand to achieve their own ends. Though their methods differed—Dumbledore preferred subtle manipulation, while Voldemort preferred the more direct approach of threat and torture—their aims were remarkably similar.  Both men saw themselves as the rightful, unquestioned rulers of Wizarding Britain and were determined to turn their visions into reality, by any means necessary.    

By the time Severus understood this truth, it had been far too late for him to do anything about it. If things were to continue as they had been, one or the other of his masters would eventually win, at which time Severus Snape would no longer be useful to either of them. He had seen it as inevitable that he would either be killed or sent to Azkaban the minute the war that was coming was finished.

It was ironic, he thought, that he’d found the possible solution to his dilemma while doing something that both bastards had wanted him to do. Voldemort and Dumbledore had each wanted him to achieve his Mastery in Potions—for different reasons, of course—and both had been pleased when Severus had qualified for an Apprenticeship with Madam Feodora Ianevski, one of the world’s most renowned Potions Mistresses. It was she who had told him about the work done by the Order of Walpurgis, and it was she who had shown him the way he could re-claim his life and truly repay his debt to Lily Evans.

One night, about six months after Severus arrived in Bulgaria, Madam Ianevski had taken him to the centaurs to have his stars read. It had been one of the most moving and painful experiences of his life. The mystics had laid the heavens bare for him, showing him how his actions and decisions had affected others in ways both great and small—like the ripples cascading from the spot where a stone has been dropped into a pool. They had then told him that there was a time yet to come when he would be forced to choose one of three paths—and that this choice would be the final one.  Once chosen, he would have to go where that path led, though they could not tell him whether it was to damnation or salvation. That was when Madame Ianevski had asked for his help.

Unlike Voldemort, she had not promised him honor and glory, nor had she played on his guilt the way Dumbledore had. She had not demanded vows of loyalty or fealty and she had hidden nothing from him. She had told him that service to the Order was not, and would never be, easy and that, in all likelihood, he would end up dead or imprisoned even if he did as she asked. But during the year he’d spent in Bulgaria, he’d learned the true meaning of honor, duty, and sacrifice and he’d come to understand that there really was a Greater Good that must be served.

Tonight, with the arrival of Knight-Captain Krum, Severus knew it was time he chose his path. But really, he thought as he stood and walked to his fireplace, there was no choice. There never had been.

Tossing a handful of Floo powder into the flames, he called out “Malfoy Manor!” The fire turned emerald green and, after a moment, Narcissa Malfoy’s head appeared.

“Severus!” she greeted him warmly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I have news for our Lord.” He said. “It is news he will wish to hear immediately. May I come now?”

“Of course.” Her head disappeared and Severus activated the Portkey he kept in his pocket.  After a minute of whirling, spinning chaos, he landed in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was there to greet him and she beckoned him into the sitting room.

“My Lord.” She said, as she opened the door, “Severus has come with news.”

“Step forward, Severus.” The high-pitched voice came from the depths of an armchair that faced the fireplace. “I wish to see you.” Severus did as he was told, taking care not to step or trip on the coils of the large snake wound around the legs of the chair. Dropping to one knee in front of the chair, he did his best to hide the horror and revulsion he felt at catching sight of the...creature that was the Dark Lord.

“What news do you bring?”

“My Lord, a Knight of Walpurgis has come to Hogwarts.” Severus murmured, keeping his eyes downcast. He wished he could hold his breath, for the stench emanating from the baby-like figure of the Dark Lord was truly foul. “He travels in the guise of one of the students from Durmstrang.”

“Ah....” Lord Voldemort sighed in satisfaction. “You did well to bring this news to me. He has made himself known to you, I presume?”

“He has.” Severus said. “What is more, he has confirmed the Order’s interest in Harry Potter.”

“Has he asked for your assistance?”

“Not yet, my Lord, but I believe he will. Tonight, he merely asked about Potter’s position in the school—his enemies, his allies, his relationship to Dumbledore, that sort of thing. He hinted strongly that he wishes to have further meetings in the future.”

“Is Dumbledore aware of his presence?”

“I do not believe so, my Lord. If he is, he has not shared that fact with me. The Knight told me that he does not intend to reveal himself to the Headmaster.”

“Stand aside.” Voldemort ordered. “I wish to think on this. I will call you when I have instructions. Wormtail!” From the shadows, the fat, shabby form of Peter Pettigrew scuttled forward. “It is time for me to feed!” Severus bowed his head briefly, stood, and walked to the far end of the room, where Lucius and Narcissa stood.

“I trust your news pleased our Lord.” Though Lucius Malfoy was only an inch taller than he was, the man still seemed to be looking down his nose at him.

“It did.” Severus nodded. “He wishes to think on it before giving me instructions.”

“We were just about to dine.” Narcissa said. “Would you care to join us?”

“Thank you, but I have eaten already.” Severus said, “I would, however, like to speak with the two of you a moment, concerning Draco.”

“Oh?” Lucius arched an eyebrow. “He is doing well?”

“Has something happened to him?” Narcissa asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“Draco is fine, I assure you.   I merely want to ask you to remind him about the value of discretion.” Severus said, smoothly. “I can state with certainty that he has already dropped several broad hints to his friends about our Lord’s miraculous return. While his friends are all the children of our Lord’s loyal followers, it is still unwise to speak of such things where others might hear. What is more, his lack of....deference towards myself and other members of the staff is becoming an issue.”

“What has he done?” Narcissa sighed.

“This morning, he barged into my office when I was meeting with another student, refused to leave, and generally made himself so unpleasant that I was forced to cut my meeting short. This afternoon, the Muggle Studies teacher caught him hexing a first-year and deducted points. He called her a ‘mudblood’ and now, he has detention for a week.”

“You will take care of that, I presume?” Lucius sounded rather bored.

“I cannot.” Snape did his best not to snarl. “Your son did not just call her ‘mudblood’ – he shouted it at the top of his lungs in the middle of the courtyard. There were at least twenty witnesses, including both Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. I was not present and could not defuse the situation. Draco’s punishment will stand and there is nothing I can do about it. He will not be serving detention with me, either. Professor McGonagall has assigned that...honor to Professor Burbage, the teacher he insulted.”

“You...”

“Enough!” Narcissa snapped.  “Your risk disturbing our Lord with your squabbling.”  Lucius glared at his wife and then, without another word, marched out of the room.  Narcissa looked at Severus, an unspoken plea in her eyes.  “Severus, we will do as you ask, though I fear it will do little good. Our Lord saw fit to favor Draco with his attention a few times this summer, and it seems to have gone to his head.”

“I will ignore his behavior for as long as I can, but if he does not mend his ways, I will be forced to discipline him—whether Lucius likes it or not.”

“Severus – our Lord calls!” Pettigrew whined. Severus gave Narcissa one last, meaningful look then returned to kneel before the armchair.

“Severus, my servant. You will speak with this Knight again. You will recruit him to our cause, but you will not reveal my return. However, you may hint that such an event is a future possibility. You understand?”

“I do, my Lord.”

“Find out all you can about their interest in Potter and try to discover why they mistrust Dumbledore. Also, if you can, have him deliver the traitor Karkaroff to me. This would please me, but is not necessary.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Draco wrote his father to say that you are tutoring the mudblood friend of Potter’s.” Though he kept his expression carefully blank, Severus took a great deal of pleasure in conjuring up a vision of Draco Malfoy being boiled in oil.

“I have no choice, my Lord. It is...”

“I do not cast blame, my servant. In fact, this is an opportunity that I would be remiss to ignore.”

“An opportunity, my Lord?”

“I require a source of accurate information about the boy. I had rather hoped Draco would be in a position to give me what I need, but he has proved to be rather….disappointing. The girl is, as I understand it, one of Potter’s closest friends and strongest allies.  She is ideally placed to push Potter in the directions we want him to go. You are now in a position to corrupt her. Poison her mind against him. Do it with words, if possible, and with your wand if your words are not enough. I want to Mark her as soon as she leaves Hogwarts.” The vision in Severus’ head changed to one of Draco being eaten alive by Hagrid’s three-headed dog.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You may go.”

A few minutes later, Severus returned to his office. Checking his pocket watch, he discovered that he still had a half hour until curfew. Good—even if Dumbledore knew he had left the castle, he wouldn’t be summoned until after all the students were tucked safely into their dormitories. Walking over to his desk, Severus picked up the finely carved wooden box Viktor had given him. Sitting down in the chair by the fire, he opened the box and carefully removed the piece of cloth that covered the lid’s interior, revealing a mirror. The box itself was filled with tiny crystal vials, each containing three phoenix tears, but as far as Severus was concerned, the mirror was the real gift. He tapped it gently with his wand.

“Viktor Krum.” He said. After a moment, the Bulgarian Knight’s image appeared.

“Potions Master Snape.” He gave a respectful nod.

“I have spoken with the Dark One.” Severus reported. “He wishes me to recruit you. He wants to know more about your interest in Potter and he wants you to deliver Karkaroff to him.” He paused.

“There is more?”

“He knows that I am tutoring Hermione Granger. He wants me to turn her against Harry Potter—using magic if necessary.” Viktor frowned. Severus knew who the girl was to him and knew he would not stand idly by and allow her to be harmed.

“I will talk to Petra.” Viktor said, at last. “Hermione will be protected.”

“Good.” Severus sighed. “I believe that I was wrong before, when I advised you not to say anything to Miss Granger about the Order and her place in it. I can hold off on probing her mind for a while, but I will eventually have to do it and you and I both know that protections put on her by someone else will only stand up to so much abuse.”

“How much time can you give me?” Viktor asked.

“I do not think the Dark One will press the issue until at least the Christmas holidays.”

“I....” Viktor “I will think on what you have said. You are correct now, but you were also correct earlier when you said that she is a British Muggleborn and will have no understanding of the movement of the stars.”

Chapter Text

Hogwarts - Gryffindor Common Room

Sunday, Sept. 3

“Neville, can I have a word?” Hermione was sitting at one of the tables in the Gryffindor Common Room. Early morning sunshine was streaming through the window. She’d just finished drafting a schedule for herself and Neville’s timely arrival afforded her the perfect opportunity to put one of her plans into action.

“Sure, Hermione.” Neville stuffed Trevor into the pocket of his robes and took a seat across the table from her. Almost immediately, Trevor made a run for it, but did not get very far. Crookshanks, who had been napping on the floor between Hermione’s feet, woke up and began playing. Though he didn’t harm Trevor, he did keep the toad trapped between his body and the wall. “I told Dean and Seamus I’d wait for them to go down to breakfast. Dean isn’t even out of bed yet, so it will be a while. What’s up?”

“I need your help.” Hermione blushed a little sheepishly as Neville’s jaw dropped.

“What...” he said, slowly “could you possibly need my help with?”

“Professor Sprout and Professor Snape assigned me a joint project for Herbology and Potions.” Hermione explained. “Professor Sprout is giving me one of the planters in Greenhouse Four and I’m to use it to grow ingredients that I will then have to use in potions that Professor Snape has assigned me to brew. This term, I’m supposed to grow a Flutterby Bush and some Singing Stalks. I’ve then got to harvest them properly and start a Heart’s Ease potion just after the Christmas holidays.”

“Okay,” Neville nodded. “Well, Singing Stalks can be a bit tricky, but Flutterby Bushes are easy. You just plant them and give them water when they need it, like you would for a plant in the Muggle world.”

“That’s just it.” Hermione moaned. “I’ve never been any good at Muggle gardening. You’ve heard of a green thumb?” Neville nodded. “My grandfather used to tell me I had a black thumb—I killed every plant I touched!”

“But you’ve always done quite well in Herbology.” Neville protested.

“That’s because we’ve never had to take care of the plants.” Hermione said. “We’ve always been taking cuttings or re-potting or harvesting seeds. We weren’t expected to try and keep them alive!”

“I see your point.” Neville chuckled. “I’d be happy to help you, Hermione. Merlin knows you’ve helped me enough with Potions.” He sighed. “I cannot tell you how much I’m not looking forward to going to Snape’s class without you.”

“Well...” Hermione gave him a sly smile. “I think I can help you with that. Did you know that there are practice laboratories that all students are permitted to use?”

“What?” Neville’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Hermione gave him an enthusiastic nod.

“Professor Snape has apparently ‘forgotten’ to tell anyone but the Slytherins about them for years. Professor McGonagall found out and ...ahem...had words with him about it. He mentioned it to me during my tutorial yesterday and he suggested that if I brought you down there, we would not be interrupted.” Neville’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What, exactly, does that mean?” he asked, rather suspicious.

“I think it means that he won’t hover around and make nasty comments while we’re trying to work.” Hermione giggled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron and Harry enter the Common Room. “Really, Neville. All you need is some practice to build up your confidence and some work on your preparation techniques. I’ll tell you what...” She pushed her schedule towards him. “We’ll trade off. Once a week, I’ll take you down to the potions lab and we’ll work on your brewing skills. Then, we’ll go to the greenhouse and you can teach me how not to be a walking, talking herbicide.”

“Deal!” Neville grinned at her. Looking at her schedule, he whistled. “Crikey, Hermione! When are you planning to sleep? Let’s see....we’ve got a free period after lunch on Wednesdays. You’ve got that marked down as ‘Miscellaneous Schoolwork’ so I assume that means you don’t have anywhere you need to be. Does that work for you?” Hermione nodded, eagerly. “Why don’t we do Herbology then—that’s when I was planning to go to the greenhouses and work on my own projects...and we can work in the Potions labs on....Sunday morning after breakfast,”

“Sunday morning?” Ron interrupted, giving Neville an incredulous look. “Merlin, Nev. Why in the world would you want to go anywhere near a Potions lab on a Sunday morning?”

“Look at her schedule!” Neville held the parchment up so both Ron and Harry could get a good look at it. “There’s hardly any time for her to breathe.  I’ve got to find a time when she’s not busy doing something else and Sunday morning fits the bill.  Also, there won’t be many people in the lab then, so there will be fewer people to see me make a fool of myself.”

Hermione quickly explained about the labs, then said “Neville’s trading me help in Herbology for tutoring in Potions.  Professor Snape has....er...suggested that I give Neville some extra help since I won’t be in class with you this year.” Harry looked interested, but Ron simply rolled his eyes.  

“Can I...would you mind if I joined you?” Harry asked, tentatively.

“Of course not!” Hermione beamed.

“Sure!” Neville grinned. “Misery loves company. What about you, Ron?”

“I’m not spending any more time on homework than I have to, thank you.” Ron snorted. “You’re barking...the lot of you!”

Hermione checked her watch. “Breakfast doesn’t start for another half hour and I haven’t had my first tutorial with Sprout yet, so it’s probably not a good idea to start on the plantings.” She said. “The practice labs won’t be open until Tuesday, but we can go over a few things here, if you like...” Harry and Neville both nodded eagerly. Ron stared at them for a few moments, then wandered off to an armchair by the fire, where he promptly fell asleep.

**

Hogwarts - Slytherin Common Room

Sunday, Sept. 3

“Is everyone present?” Severus looked out over the sea of faces and did a rough count. He came up a bit short and glanced inquiringly at Cassius Warrington.  In addition to being Quidditch Captain, Warrington was the unofficial “Head Boy” of Slytherin House.  Severus always chose a Head Boy and Girl for Slytherin, regardless of who held the position for the school at large. Their primary responsibility was to maintain discipline within the House.  Warrington flushed, embarrassed at the scrutiny.

“Malfoy, Bole, Urqhart, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott, sir.” He said. “They heard that the Quidditch club meeting was starting after breakfast and that Viktor Krum was going, so they decided to go there instead of coming back here. I told them the meeting was mandatory....” Severus gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and Warrington subsided, obviously relieved that he wasn’t going to be blamed.

“Do any of the rest of you wish to attend this Quidditch club meeting?” Tentatively, Warrington raised his hand, as did a number of other students.  It seemed like half the House wanted to participate. Severus offered thanks to whatever deity was listening that Viktor Krum had been in his office when Hermione had presented him with the charter.

“Please, sir...” Warrington said, “we told them we had a House meeting and they said it was perfectly all right if we turned up a bit late.”

“Very well. I will endeavor to make this as brief as possible.”  Severus always met with the members of his House on the first Sunday morning of term. This ensured that everyone knew exactly what behavior would and would not be tolerated, and what punishments would befall those who dared to violate the rules of Slytherin House.  While his speech was new to the first years, the older students had heard it all before and were clearly impatient.  As he wound down, several students looked as though they were prepared to bolt for the door.  He glared them into submission, then cleared his throat meaningfully. 

“I have three more matters I wish to discuss with all of you. The first is that Professor McGonagall has reminded me that the practice laboratories are to be made available to all students, not just those from this House. Those of you in my NEWT classes have already received the schedule containing the days and times you are expected to be in those laboratories, acting as proctors. Since there will be more students in the labs, I ask you to be diligent and conscientious in the performance of your duties. I must stress to all of you that Professor McGonagall and the other Heads of House will not be pleased to find their students being harassed in any way when they are using the labs, or prevented from having full access to them. I will not be pleased to find any members of this House tampering with another student’s potions, flinging curses and jinxes inside the labs, or otherwise attempting to sabotage some else’s work. Proctors, I expect you to uphold these rules and to be as objective as you can when settling disputes. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Professor Snape.” The group chorused.

“Good. Second, I need to inform you that Hermione Granger will be spending quite a lot of time down here. She will be attending tutorials with me, once a week, and she will be working in both the practice labs and in laboratory number three. She is not to be disturbed! If I find that anyone has attempted to assault, insult, humiliate, or injure her in any way, or that they have tampered with her potions, that person will spend a month harvesting flobberworm eggs without gloves. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor Snape.”

Severus paused for a moment, trying to decide how best to couch his next words.  “Lastly, I wish to remind all of you that the traits for which our House is renowned are ambition and cunning. You lot have displayed admirable amounts of the former, but some of you have been remarkably lacking in the latter department. I do not think I need to tell most of you that we live in dark times and that things are going to get worse before they get better. I encourage you all to temper your ambition with common sense and to make use of all the cunning you possess. I will also encourage all of you to use your heads! With a very few exceptions, you are all intelligent and capable human beings, able to make decisions based on your own observations and deductions. I expect you to do so. Mr. Warrington, when you see Mr. Malfoy, please tell him that I expect him and his associates to be in my office at one o’clock sharp. Tell him that I will deduct ten points from each of them for every minute he is late.  Dismissed!”

**

Hogwarts - Great Hall

Sunday, Sept. 3

While almost everyone in Gryffindor trooped out to the Quidditch pitch for the first official club meeting, Hermione spent a blissful morning curled up in front of the Common Room fire with one of her new Arithmancy texts. Her first Arithmancy tutorial was after dinner on Monday night and Professor Vector had asked her to have the first half of the book read by that time. Pausing every now and then to jot down a question or to do a practice problem, Hermione put the book down just before lunch, satisfied that she was prepared.

As she descended the stairs to the Great Hall, she considered her plans for the afternoon. She was scheduled to meet with Professor McGonagall for her first History of Magic tutorial at four, but she had a few hours to fill before then. She had her first Herbology tutorial after breakfast on Monday, but Professor Sprout had not asked her to read anything to prepare—indeed, Professor Sprout hadn’t assigned her any new textbooks!  Clearly, most of her work in that class was going to be practical from now on, which was not very surprising, given the subject. 

Her next classes after Arithmancy were Defense Against the Dark Arts just after breakfast on Tuesday morning, and Ancient Runes during the last class period before dinner Tuesday afternoon. She had no assignment for the former (indeed, she hadn’t even met the teacher yet), and the reading assignment for the latter was reasonably short and would only take a couple of hours. As she crossed the Entrance Hall, Hermione began debating whether to spend the afternoon doing the Runes reading, or whether to spend it practicing Charms and Transfiguration.

The Great Hall was much quieter than usual when she entered, as most of the student body was still out on the Quidditch Pitch. Even the staff table was virtually empty; only Professors Sprout and Flitwick were on hand to supervise. The visitors from Beauxbatons were gathered at the Ravenclaw table, where one girl was engaged in a seemingly non- stop monologue.  Hermione could see that most of her classmates looked rather unhappy and she wondered whether they wanted to be outside playing Quidditch with the others.

Just as she finished loading her plate, the door to the Great Hall opened and, to her surprise, Viktor Krum came in alone. She saw him pause as his gaze flicked towards the staff table, then he approached her.

“Greetings, Hermione.” He gave her a little bow.

“Hello.” She smiled at him. “Would you care to join me?”

“I cannot.” He said, and there was real regret in his tone. “Karkaroff comes soon. He is not happy if I sit here again. I wonder...we walk around lake after meal? Yes?” It took Hermione a moment to grasp what he was asking and she blushed, furiously.

“I would like that, yes.” She said.

“Good.” Viktor beamed. “Front steps. We meet in one hour. Yes?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. Giving her another little bow, Viktor turned on his heel and made his way to the Slytherin table. He had only just sat down when Professor Karkaroff entered, talking rapidly to Madame Maxine. In another minute, the Great Hall began to fill with students, all excited and breathless from their morning’s activities.

Ginny and Harry sat down on either side of Hermione, while Ron took a seat on the opposite bench. They looked rather disheveled and extremely happy.

“How was it?” Hermione asked.

“It was brilliant!” Ron was grinning from ear to ear and she suspected he couldn’t stop doing so if he tried. “Viktor Krum and the others from Durmstrang did a demonstration and then everyone got divided up by position. That Gregor fellow—he’s the Reserve Keeper for the Bulgarian National team. There are only a few of us who want to play Keeper, so he spent a lot of time with me...”

“You’re leaving out the best part!” Ginny complained. She continued before Ron could say anything else. “Malfoy and his cronies were there—the rest of the Slytherins showed up a little late, but Fred and George said that Warrington told them there was a house meeting so it was okay. Anyway, Malfoy was sucking up to Krum and Harry was standing nearby. Krum said that he heard Harry is a pretty good Seeker and Malfoy started going on and on about how awful Harry is and how great he is. He was being really loud about it and everyone was watching.”

“Oh my....” Hermione began to giggle. “What happened?”

“Krum looked Malfoy dead in the eye and told him to put up or shut up.” Harry picked up the tale. “He was politer about it, of course, but everyone knew what he meant. Well, everyone but Malfoy that is.... So, Krum got all the seekers on the House teams together—that’s me, Malfoy, Cho Chang, and Cedric Diggory—and he released the Snitch and told us to catch it. Said he wanted to see our form.”

“Remember that time Harry caught the Snitch out of Malfoy’s sleeve?” Ginny was laughing so hard it was almost impossible to understand her. “Well, this was better!”

“Krum let the snitch go and the four of us went rushing after it.  Diggory was on one of the school brooms because he smashed his over the summer and his father won’t get him a new one.  Anyway, the stupid school broom picked then and there to develop a mind of its own.  Diggory couldn’t control it at all, so we were not only trying to grab the Snitch, but dodge him as well. Malfoy started doing all these flashy moves to try to impress Krum....and then he tried the Wronski Feint. There was no good reason to do it, but when has that ever stopped Malfoy from showing off?”

“He plowed into the ground, naturally, face down.” Ginny jumped in again “and the Snitch came to hover just above his head. Harry and Cho both dove for it, but Diggory accidentally ran into Cho so Harry caught it!” Ron was trying to eat while laughing hysterically, which was presenting Hermione with a rather unattractive view. She did her best to ignore this and grinned at Harry.

“Well done! Are you going back this afternoon?”

“We are, but the Durmstrang students aren’t.” Harry took a swig of his pumpkin juice. “They said they had something to do, but I didn’t catch what it was...did you?” He shot inquiring glances at Ron and Ginny.

“Lessons.” Ginny said, promptly. “Petra told me about it. She says Karkaroff doesn’t plan to teach them anything this year, so Krum got Professor McGonagall to let them use a couple of the empty classrooms and they’re going to teach one another.  They’re planning to sort themselves out this afternoon, I guess—make a schedule, decide who is teaching what, that sort of thing.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, excited.

“Why?” Ron asked at the same time, looking faintly disgusted. “They’ve got a whole year off school—I can’t believe they’d want to spend that time studying.” Ginny ignored her brother.

“Petra says that they have exams at the end of their seventh year—like our NEWTs. When she and the others all agreed to come to Hogwarts, they thought Karkaroff was going to help them prepare, but.....” she gave an eloquent shrug.

“That’s awful.” Hermione felt her indignation swell. “There are...what? Forty of them here? Most of them look like they’re sixteen or seventeen. He really doesn’t plan to do anything to help them with their exams?”

“I guess not.” Ginny shrugged again.

“Well.” Hermione huffed. There was an awkward silence for a moment before she decided to steer the conversation back to lighter topics. “Other than Malfoy’s humiliation, how was the morning?” That set Ron off and he spent the next three quarters of an hour talking non-stop. By the end, even Ginny and Harry were starting to look a little bored.

“Are you doing anything other than Quidditch this afternoon?” Hermione asked, when Ron paused to take a bite.

“We saw Hagrid as we were coming back to the castle.” Harry said. “He invited us all to come to tea—wanted me to tell you that you’re included in that invitation. We’re supposed to be at his hut at three thirty. “

“Oh dear.” Hermione sighed. “I’ve got my first tutorial with Professor McGonagall at four. I’ll have to write Hagrid a note.”

“We’ll bring some rock cakes back for you.” Harry grinned. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed. “I’m going back to the training club until it’s time to meet Hagrid. What about you?”

“I think...” Hermione had had ample time to consider the matter during Ron’s monologue and had decided that she was not going to tell the others about her appointment to walk around the lake with Viktor Krum. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on there, but whatever it was, she wanted to keep it to herself for now. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ve been reading Arithmancy all morning and I want to stretch my legs before I meet with Professor McGonagall.”

“Well, I’m going to nap until it’s time to go to Hagrid’s.” Ron’s announcement was punctuated by a yawn.

“You’re not going back to the club?” Ginny asked, puzzled.

“Why bother?” Ron shrugged. “The Durmstrang students won’t be there, so what’s the point?”

“Um...practice?” Harry said, giving his best friend an odd look. “We’re not going to have all that much time for Quidditch once classes start, you know.” Ron made a dismissive gesture with his hands. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all gave each other worried looks.

**

Hogwarts - Front Steps

Sunday, Sept. 3

Hermione spotted Viktor the minute she stepped outside. He was standing to one side of the massive doors and, for a change, he was not being mobbed by his adoring fans. In fact, he was being virtually ignored by the students around him. He caught her gaze and gave her a broad smile, though she thought he looked rather startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to show up. She smiled back, suddenly feeling rather shy.

“Hello, Hermione.” He gave her a slight bow and extended his arm. She took it hesitantly, and he led her down the steps and across the lawn. As they walked, he asked innocuous questions about the castle and grounds and she answered, slowly growing more comfortable in his presence. When they passed the grove of trees that lined one edge of the lake’s shore, they encountered a particularly loud group of girls who were all craning their necks and looking up and down the path.

“Is that him? The one with Hermione Granger?”

“No, it’s just some random Durmstrang student. Honestly, Marietta—do you really think Viktor Krum would bother himself with a plain little bookworm like Granger?” Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks as Viktor tensed slightly. They walked past the group silently and it was a few minutes before Hermione could think of something to say that didn’t sound terribly stupid.

“Why didn’t they recognize you?” She asked. “You’ve done something to yourself...I can sort of see it, but I can’t figure out what it is.” Viktor looked surprised again, but answered quickly.

“Is....we call it a cloak spell.” Viktor said. They had passed beyond the trees now and were alone. The patch led them along the narrow strip of land that lay between the forest and the water. “Is taught at Durmstrang. Is like your ‘Notice-me-Not’ spell, but...”

“Different.” Hermione nodded. “People can see you and might even notice you, but they don’t recognize you.”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded. “Is useful sometimes.” Hermione smirked. Her embarrassment had faded as it had become obvious that Viktor wasn’t about to either drop her like a hot potato or humiliate her further with pitying platitudes. “You wish to learn?” Hermione gasped with delight.

“Could I? You would teach me?”

“Of course.” Viktor led her over to a boulder that jutted out into the water and bade her sit. He squatted beside her and picked up a large pebble. Holding it in one hand, he drew his wand with the other and, muttering some words in a language that Hermione suspected was Bulgarian, made several slashing motions above the pebble. When he was finished, she saw that he had somehow managed to pain a perfect, miniature rose in bloom on its surface. “Hold out hand. Palm up.”

When she did as he instructed, he placed the pebble into it. “Now we make look like ordinary rock.” He declared. “First, you tap into your core.”

“My what?” Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Your core.” Viktor looked equally puzzled. “The place where your magic lives. Do they call by different name here?” Hermione’s jaw fell and she nearly dropped the pebble in her astonishment.

“They...they never told us where the magic comes from.” She admitted. “I...I can’t believe I never thought to ask!” Viktor frowned and Hermione suddenly had the urge to cry. She couldn’t imagine why the idea of disappointing someone she’d only known for a day bothered her so deeply, but it did. He seemed to read her thoughts, for his expression softened.

“Is not your fault.” He said. “You are....eh....born of non-magicals, yes?” She nodded, slowly, wondering if he was about to prove that his school’s less than savory reputation was well-earned. To her surprise, he beamed at her. “My mother is same. She is telling me about first time she learn about magic....about the wonder she felt when she bought her first wand. She is American and there, they do not teach about the core either. She knew nothing about it until she married my father.” Though his accent was as strong as ever, Hermione noticed that Viktor’s command of English was improving with every sentence.

“You speak very good English.” She said. “Why are you pretending you don’t?” He goggled at her for a moment then looked rather sheepish. Hermione ducked her head, realizing too late that she should have kept her thoughts to herself.

“I grow careless.” He muttered. “I do not wish most people to know that I speak English as well as I do. Now, they say things around me they would not otherwise, and I am able to learn many important things. You understand?”

“I do.” Hermione nodded slowly. Several things she’d half seen and heard over the past two days began to make sense, starting with the fact that Viktor had seemed genuinely offended when Draco had called her a ‘mudblood.’ A suspicion began to form and, before she could stop herself, she spoke again. “You’re not really here for the tournament, are you?” she asked.

Viktor sat back on his heels, obviously surprised, and just looked at her for a moment. “Karkaroff is.” He said, at last. “Many of the others are. I am not.”

“Can you tell me why you are here?”

“Harry Potter.” Hermione went rigid with tension. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that Viktor had led her to a point well away from the castle, where they were unlikely to be seen by anyone. Moreover, even if she could get past him off the rock, there was only enough land between the water and the forest for the path. She was fairly certain she couldn’t outrun him and the only place to hide would be within the trees.

“What do you want with Harry?” She hated the way her voice shook.

“Be at ease.” Clearly, Viktor was trying to reassure her. He sat down next to her, but with enough distance between them that he wasn’t invading her personal space.  He made sure she could see him putting his wand into the sleeve of his robes. “We mean him no harm.”

“We?” If anything, Hermione grew even more anxious. Her fist clenched around the pebble while, with her free hand, she fumbled for her wand.

“Bah.” Viktor ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Petra was right. I am making a mess of this. Hermione, I swear to you on my life and my honor that I wish no harm to come to you or to Harry Potter.” Though he was no longer holding his wand, Hermione felt a swirl of energy as he spoke the words and, for a moment, he seemed to be surrounded by a nimbus of light. She had read about magically binding vows, but had never witnessed or participated in one before. It took her breath away. “Please. Trust me in this, if nothing else.” Unable to speak, she nodded slowly. Viktor let out a long breath.

“I am sorry. I am not doing this well. You....surprised me.” He said, giving her a glance that was full of some emotion Hermione didn’t recognize.

“Who are you? Really?” she asked, quietly.

“I am Viktor Krum. Knight-Captain of the Order of Walpurgis.” His voice was tinged with pride. “You have heard of the Order?”

“A little bit.” She said. “Our History of Magic class and textbooks mostly focus on British history and I’ve only seen a few references to the order in other books.  I know that it was originally founded at the time of the Crusades, and was meant to be the magical equivalent of the Templars or the Hospitaliers.  I know that they were active throughout Central and Eastern Europe for several hundred years, and that they were instrumental in defeating several dark witches and wizards, but everything I’ve read says that they died out in the early 16^th century.”  Viktor’s smile of approval gave Hermione the courage to continue.  “When Grindelwald rose to power in the 1920s and ‘30s, he and his followers claimed to be the ‘new’ Knights of Walpurgis, but that’s just nonsense!  Voldemort tried using the name for his early followers, but dropped it when people he was just a poor copy of Grindelwald.”

“Very good.” Viktor said, his voice warm. Hermione had to remind herself sternly that this was a situation fraught with peril and that she could not be distracted by the fact that an attractive man thought she was clever. “You are right; Grindelwald and the one you call Voldemort were never part of the Order and used and corrupted our name for their own ends.  In fact, the existence of the Order has been a well-guarded secret since 1529. Do you know what the purpose of the Order is?” Hermione shook her head.

“The books I read just said that it existed, not why.”

“The Order protects Magic.” Viktor said, simply. “Magic is like....” He gestured towards the lake that was spread out before then. “Magic is like a river that flows from here...” he extended his right arm “to there.” He held out his left arm. “This is important. Magic is not just the water in the river. It is all the things that make up the river—grasses, pebbles, fish, snakes, the trees with branches that hang out over the water, the swans that swim on the surface. You understand? It is all part of a whole. It is all good. It is all natural. Some things are dangerous, yes, but not bad.”

“The Dark Arts.” Hermione murmured.

“Yes!” Viktor looked impressed and Hermione felt a happy little glow in the pit of her stomach. Trying to ignore this, she chewed her lip in thought. The Durmstrang Institute was notorious for teaching the Dark Arts, But, what were the Dark Arts, really? In the three years she’d been taking a class specifically designed to teach her to defend herself against them, she’d never heard or read a decent definition of the term. What if....what if the Dark Arts were really just another type of magic, albeit something more dangerous than what was taught at Hogwarts?  She resolved to consider the matter at length, later. Right now, she had more important things on her mind. “But what does all this have to do with Harry?”

“I am coming to that.” Viktor said. “Like I said, the magic...the power flows from here to there.” He held his arms out again. “The power is clean and pure. The creatures and plants, they live, they die, they eat, they shit, but it is all natural. Witches and wizards....we are like the folk who live alongside the river. We can make use of the power, the way a fisherman can get his dinner from the river, or a miller uses the force of the water to turn his wheel. The power passes through us and, when we die, goes back to where it started.  Again, it is all natural and good…until one man comes along and decides that he wants all the power for himself. He builds a dam. Power can flow in, but it cannot flow out.”

“He makes a lake.”

“Yes. Only here is where magic is not like water—magic is not meant to be still, to be hoarded by one or a few. When men build dams for magic, it is the job of the Order to destroy them or, if we cannot, to re-direct the flow of magic. Otherwise, bad things happen. Sometimes, on lakes, scum forms on top of the water. You know of this?” Hermione nodded.

“Algae.” She said. “It covers the surface of the water so that the light can’t get to what’s beneath. The plants can’t grow or produce oxygen and the creatures start to die off and...oh...” The force of the realization of what he was trying to tell her hit her as surely as if he had literally struck a physical blow. “Oh my....”

“It is bad.” Viktor nodded. “It is our duty to see that this corruption, this destruction does not happen.”

“How?”

“It depends on who is building the dam and why. There are some men who do not realize what they are doing is wrong.  They can be taught and, when they learn, they stop. Their only crime is ignorance and that is easily remedied.  Others are not so innocent.  They know that their actions will cause damage, but do not care.  However, it is not always easy to tell the difference between the two.  So, we watch and we listen and we decide. Is it a mistake? Or is there a person who wants corrupted magic?” Hermione was about to ask why anyone would want tainted magical power, but thought better of it. She had a feeling that the answer would lead to many sleepless nights. “There is balance, you see. Balance must be maintained. We came to Hogwarts because the balance is in danger. People are throwing stones in the river to make dams and there is already corruption. Scum forms on the lake.” He pointed and she saw that, indeed, a small patch of algae had formed close to the water’s edge. A small, disconnected part of her mind made a note to mention it to Hagrid.

“Lord Voldemort.”  Hermione whispered.  Viktor gave a snort of disgust.

“A stupid, made-up name.” He grumbled.  “He is Lord of nothing and we do not honor him as such.  We refer to him only as The Dark One.  Yes, he threatens the balance, but there is another…”  His voice trailed off as he stared across the lake.  Hermione was full to bursting with curiosity, but there was one question that was she had to have an answer to.

“And Harry?  What does he have to do with all this?”  Viktor started and gave her a small smile.

“Harry Potter is….special.” He said, after a moment.  “Though he is not aware of it, he is an unusually powerful wizard and will leave a large footprint on the world.  He is young, though, and there are those who wish to control that power or destroy it entirely.”  Something about this rang a bit false.  Hermione was sure Viktor wasn’t lying to her, but he wasn’t telling her everything.

“While I agree that Harry is special, surely the Order doesn’t send people to watch over every powerful teenager in the world?” she said.

“No, we do not.”  Viktor agreed.  There was a long pause and Hermione was beginning to think he wasn’t going to say any more.  Then, Viktor let out a long sigh and looked at her.  “We have come to watch over Harry because he has a role to play in what is to come.  It has been foretold.”

“It has been foretold?”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed.  “That sounds like Divination, to me.”  To her surprise, Viktor laughed.

“Ah, yes.  I have seen what passes for Divination in your country.  Most of those who claim the powers of foresight are fools or charlatans.” 

“That certainly describes Professor Trelawney.”  Hermione muttered. 

“Nevertheless,” Viktor persisted.  “there are those in the Order of Walpurgis who are true Seers.  They tell us that Harry Potter is destined to shape the future of Wizarding Britain, for good or ill.”

“How?  What is he supposed to do?” 

“I cannot say.”  Viktor gave her a sad smile.

“Cannot or will not?” she asked.

“Both.” He held her gaze with his. “I...I have told you too much already. It is not a matter of trust, you understand? You will not speak of this, I know. It is a matter of safety.” He reached out and gently tapped her temple. “Others could reach into your mind and take what they want. You would not need to say anything. You might not even know it is happening.” Hermione gaped at him.

“People can do that?” She squeaked. With all the wonderful and terrible things she’d seen over the past three years, it had never occurred to her that magic could be used on one’s mind as well as one’s body.

“Yes.” Viktor said. “Such things are not taught at Hogwarts, but I know them, as do my brothers and sisters in the Order. Others know them, too. There are rules set forth concerning the times people may use Mind-magic on others and what they are permitted to do, but bad people do not always follow rules, do they?”

“Yes.” Hermione gave a shaky chuckle. “Not following the rules is kind of one of the requirements for being a bad person, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”  Viktor looked thoughtful.  “There are those who have evil intent, but who use the rules to shape the world in the image that is most pleasing to them.”  He shook his head.  “But that is not the point.  There are things...ways to protect your mind.” Hermione had to exercise every ounce of restraint she had not to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until all his knowledge poured out of him like coins out of a slot machine.

“Teach me!” She demanded, then blushed. “Please?” Viktor laughed.

“It will be my honor to help you.” He bowed his head to her. “But it takes time to learn...especially as you are taught magic differently than we are taught it at Durmstrang. You can be patient?”

“I can.” She nodded. “I....I want to help. Harry is my friend and, whatever is destiny is, he should be allowed to control his own life.  I don’t like the idea of someone else trying to use him for their own purposes.”

“Good.  I will ask Petra to put a shield on your mind. It will not protect everything; outside protection never does, but it will warn you and Petra if someone is trying to read your thoughts.”

“Petra is the blonde girl, right? The one who plays Chaser for your reserve team?”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded.

“Is she also a Knight of Walpurgis?”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded. “She, Gregor, and Marko are all Knights. Alexei is a Squire and Mikeael...” His voice trailed off as he frowned..

“Mikael?” Hermione cast her mind over the Durmstrang students she knew. “Have I met him?”

“No. Mikael has been confined to the boat since yesterday morning. He...he is like your Draco Malfoy.” Hermione made a face.

“He is not my Draco Malfoy, I can assure you.” She said, primly. Viktor laughed again.

“I mean only that he is rich, lazy, and spoiled. He thinks everyone should bow to him. Mikael is also a Squire, but he does not work to become a Knight, as Alexei does.  What is worse, he is my cousin.” Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “The other students from Durmstrang are not Knights, though some of them know of the Order.  Come.” He stood and extended his hand to her. “Petra will meet us in the Entrance Hall. She will put protection on you and I will ask her to teach you how to protect yourself.”

Hermione stifled the slight twinge of disappointment she felt at learning that Viktor was not to be her tutor. Again, he seemed to read her thoughts. “We all have gifts. Petra’s gift is the magic of the mind. My gifts lie...elsewhere.” With that enigmatic comment, he handed her down off the rock and back onto the path.

Sensing that this topic of conversation was closed, for now at least, Hermione spent the walk back to the castle peppering Viktor with questions about the classes the Durmstrang students were going to take and how it was they were going to manage without a teacher. Viktor explained that each student at Durmstrang specialized in a particular area of study.  By the time they reached their seventh year, they were considered experts in their field and were more than qualified to instruct others in the basics.  Whe Hogwarts classes began on Monday, they would all gather in the classrooms assigned to them by Professor McGonagall, and would divide into groups.  Each group would focus on one particular topic and the students were free to pick the subjects that interested them or that they needed to work on for their exams.

Petra met them in the Entrance Hall, as promised, and Hermione began to wonder if she’d somehow been set up. Clearly, the girl was aware that Viktor had told her something, because she dismissed him without preamble and practically dragged Hermione into one of the small rooms that stood off the hall.

“Viktor tells you what I will do, yes?”

“He said you would put protections on my mind and that you could teach me how to do it myself.” Hermione said, still somewhat unsure about the exuberant blonde.

“Yes, yes!” Petra nodded eagerly. “First, I must scan your mind. I do this to see how best to place protections. You permit?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded, slowly. Petra beamed at her and pulled out her wand. Hermione knew a moment of sheer terror as the girl muttered something and a flash of white flew out of the wand’s tip, hitting her right between the eyes. But, as there was no pain and nothing horrible happened, she began to relax. Petra, on the other hand, lost her smile and grew rather agitated.

“Hermione.” She said, slowly, moving her wand around as if looking at different parts of Hermione’s brain. “Your memory...it is modified!”

“What?” Hermione squeaked. “Modified? How? What does that even mean?”

“There is a memory....” Petra continued to peer intently at her. “Blocks have been put in so that your mind cannot....oh....what is word?”

“Access it.” Hermione said, her voice flat. “You’re telling me that someone has made it so that I can’t remember something that happened to me? Why would someone do that?”

“Mind healers do it, sometimes.” Petra seemed to be trying to reassure her. “If something bad has happened and it is best for a person not to remember that bad thing....did you give consent for this to be done?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head emphatically. Then, a thought struck her. “Would I remember if I had?”

“If it was done by a proper Mind-Healer, you would remember that it was done and that you had consented.” Petra frowned. “It is a very small modification...only a few moments.”

“Can you fix it?” Hermione asked, anxiously. Her slight fear over having the scan performed had been eclipsed by the greater fear that someone had tampered with her mind and she hadn’t even known about it.

“I cannot remove the blocks without causing great pain.” Petra said, slowly, grasping Hermione’s chin and tilting her head back and forth.  “But I can withdraw the memory so we can see what it contains.  You will not remember it, you understand, but you will be able to see what has happened to you.  Like a Muggle movie.”

“Really?” Hermione’s eyes went wide. “I had no idea such things were possible.”

“Many things are possible with magic.” Petra grinned. “Come. We will need Viktor’s Pensieve.” She led the way out of the anteroom. Viktor was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall and he and Petra began to converse in rapid-fire Bulgarian. At one point, Viktor looked like a thundercloud had landed on his face, but Petra said something that seemed to soothe him.

As she watched them, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what their relationship was. Though they did not touch each other, there seemed to be an ease and confidence between them that bespoke great closeness. Viktor had mentioned that Mikael was his cousin, but he hadn’t mentioned any family relationship to Petra. Furthermore, they didn’t resemble one another at all.

After a few minutes, Viktor turned and ran out the door while Petra led Hermione back into the anteroom from whence they’d come.

“Viktor goes to get his Pensieve.” She explained. “While we wait, I will extract the memory.”

“What’s a Pensieve?” Hermione asked.

“You do not have these here?” Petra asked. Hermione shrugged.

“Maybe the teachers do, but I’ve never seen one and I don’t think we’re taught about them in any of our classes.”

Petra made a snort of disgust that sounded suspiciously like “English!”  There was a bench in the anteroom and Petra sat on it, pulling Hermione down beside her.  “A Pensieve is a device used for the viewing of memories...your own or another’s.” she explained. “First, we will extract a memory. Then we will place it in the Pensieve, so we can all see it.” She held her wand up again. “You permit?” Hermione nodded.

This time, instead of shooting a spell into Hermione’s face, Petra held the wand up to her temple. Hermione felt as if someone had stuck a spoon in her brain and was stirring slowly. It wasn’t a painful, or even an unpleasant, sensation....it was just very odd. After a moment, Petra drew her wand away from Hermione’s temple. A silver thread was dangling from its tip. At first, she thought it might be a hair, but then Petra carefully guided it into a glass vial, where it pooled.

In a few minutes, Viktor joined them, carrying a shallow stone bowl that was covered with runes.  He conjured a table, set the Pensieve onto it, then turned and started waving his wand at the door, muttering in Bulgarian.

“He wards the door.” Petra explained, seeing Hermione’s inquisitive expression. “The wards will see to it that we are not disturbed or interrupted.” Petra dumped the contents of the glass vial into the Pensieve, then stirred them several times with her wand. Hermione was astonished to see that, somehow, the liquid from the vial, which was smaller than most perfume bottles, had filled the bowl almost to the top. As Viktor joined them, Petra tapped several runes and a mist began to rise from the liquid. The mist condensed and formed a rough rectangle; Hermione was strongly reminded of a television screen. The resemblance increased even further when an image suddenly appeared. Hermione stared at herself, only younger.

The memory was, she guessed, taken from her second year.  She’d grown several inches in the last year and her robes now fit differently. Younger-Hermione was in the library and she was frantically poring through books. The three watched in silence as she grabbed one particularly old and fat tome and feverishly began leafing through it. Hermione gasped as the younger version of herself sopped and then, slowly and carefully, began to tear out one of the pages.

“I remember this!” she whispered. Petra touched the Pensieve with her wand and the image froze. “This was the night I was Petrified by the basilisk.”

“What?” Both Petra and Viktor looked astonished.

“We had a basilisk running around the school during my second year.” Hermione explained. “It’s a long story, but people kept getting attacked and turned to stone and nobody knew why. I figured it out, but I was Petrified before I was able to tell anyone except a Ravenclaw prefect named Penelope Clearwater.” Viktor and Petra looked grave as Petra touched the Pensieve again. They watched in silence as Younger-Hermione finished tearing the page out of the book and scribbled something on the parchment.

“Pipes.” Hermione murmured. “I figured out that the basilisk was moving through the castle by using the pipes.” They watched as she folded the paper and put it into her pocket, then began digging through her satchel. Eventually, she pulled out a small mirror.

“The basilisk never killed anyone—at least, not that year.  It only Petrified them.” Hermione spoke, quietly, as they watched her younger self hurry from the library. “I realized it was because no one had looked at it directly—one boy saw it through the lens of a camera, while another saw it through a ghost.” The memory-Hermione was in the hall now and nearly collided with an older girl with curly, dark hair.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” The girl gave the young Hermione a smile.

“It’s a basilisk! The thing that is Petrifying everyone is a basilisk!” Hermione gasped. She pulled out the piece of paper and waved it at the girl. “It’s moving around the school—we’ve got to tell someone!”

“Tell someone what?” In the anteroom, Hermione blinked in surprise.

“Professor Dumbledore?” she said. “I don’t remember seeing him that night....” The old man strode into the “screen” of the memory and the younger Hermione began waving her parchment at him and talking rapidly. After a moment, Dumbledore held up his hand for silence.

“You are correct, Miss Granger. There is a basilisk at Hogwarts and I assure you it will be dealt with appropriately. However, it is not yet time for that to happen.”

“You know?” Hermione gaped at him.

“Not time? What do you mean not time?” Penelope Clearwater looked equally surprised.

“Thank you for this.” Dumbledore plucked the parchment out of Hermione’s unresisting hand. “I will see that it gets to Harry when the time is right.  For now...” Neither Hermione saw how the wand got in his hand. One minute it wasn’t there, and the next minute, it was.

“Petrificus Basillisica!” Dumbledore intoned. Light shot out of his wand and the image faded abruptly.

For a moment, Hermione, Viktor, and Petra just stared at one another. Then, Hermione burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts - Severus Snape’s Office

Sunday, September 3

Viktor Krum had always congratulated himself on his self-control. There were times, however, when it struck him just how easily he could snap.  Certain things were guaranteed to sorely test his limits and, apparently, seeing Hermione Granger cry was one of them.

It had taken nearly ten minutes before Hermione was calm enough to tell them the whole story: how the basilisk had terrorized the school for nearly a year, how Dumbledore and the rest of the staff had done absolutely nothing to get rid of it or to protect the students, how those who were Petrified had been left as statutes while Mandrakes were grown in the greenhouses (despite the fact that Restorative Draught was readily available from hospitals and apothecaries around the world), and how a twelve-year old Harry Potter had been forced to face the beast and the Dark Lord’s shade in their lair, with nothing more than a sword, a phoenix, and a talking hat.

As Viktor stalked towards the Potions Master’s office, he couldn’t help but worry about the girl he already thought of as his own. Both he and Petra had urged Hermione to stay with them longer, but she’d been forced to leave to attend a tutorial with her Mentor. There had only been enough time to erase the evidence of her weeping and to make plans for another meeting. Viktor had no way of knowing how she was coping or how she would react the next time she saw either Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore.  He hadn’t seen the Headmaster since the Welcoming Feast and he hoped that the old man would stay hidden.  If they were to meet now, blood would be shed.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Viktor knocked on the door to Severus Snape’s office.

“Enter.”

Viktor slipped into the office and, after confirming that they were alone, closed the door and began to ward it. Snape arched an eyebrow, but said nothing until Viktor turned and placed the Pensieve on his desk.

“Where is Albus Dumbledore?” Viktor asked, quietly. He had to work hard to keep his voice steady.

“He left for Italy this morning, to attend the annual meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Snape replied. “He will be gone for approximately two weeks.”

“God.” Viktor nodded. That would give him enough time to cool down and to figure out how to help Hermione deal with the situation.  “Watch.” He ordered, as he tapped the Pensieve with his wand. Rather than watching the images that flickered above the stone basin, Viktor watched the Potions Master. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man’s shocked and horrified expression told him, more plainly than any words, that he had not known about the attack.

“I knew...” Snape paused to lick his lips. “I knew Albus knew what was attacking the students and I knew he expected Harry to deal with it, but I never thought...he never told me it was a basilisk, nor that he did... I....Miss Granger is really quite remarkable. No one else put all the clues together.”

“Why would he want a child to deal with such a creature?” Viktor asked. Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How much do you know about my history?” he finally asked.

“Madame Ianevski has only told me that you studied with her and that, if you had not sworn other vows, you would be a good Knight.” Viktor shrugged. Severus let out a small, rueful laugh.

“I cannot say much without betraying those vows, but I can tell you that Albus Dumbledore believes that Harry Potter has a destiny and is convinced that only he—Dumbledore, that is—knows what that destiny is. He has been working to prepare Potter to meet his so-called ‘fate’ since before the boy arrived at Hogwarts.” Viktor wanted to ask him to say more, but didn’t. Madame Ianevski had gone into some detail about the oaths Severus Snape had sworn and Viktor knew that his curiosity wasn’t worth risking the man’s life.

“Does he still prepare the boy?” He asked, quietly.  Snape did not respond. He sat as still as a statue, his eyes boring into Viktor. Viktor slowly nodded in understanding.

“And Hermione Granger?  Has he…?” Snape let out a long, slow breath and Viktor wondered if he was relieved at being able to answer the question.

“To the best of my knowledge, he has not done anything else to her.  However, Miss Granger is Harry Potter’s best friend and, thus, Dumbledore pays a great deal of attention to her.  He knows that, whether they realize it, Miss Granger is probably the person who exerts the most influence on Mr. Potter.”

“Dumbledore...he does not like this?” Viktor frowned.

“On the contrary. For the moment, he is quite pleased to allow their friendship to flourish because it suits his purposes. You see, for all that Potter is Dumbledore’s Chosen One, he is also a typical adolescent boy. He cares more about his broom than his homework and would far rather spend his time playing Exploding Snap with his friends than jumping through whichever hoop Dumbledore sets in front of him. Miss Granger is devoted to her studies and has an almost unhealthy regard for most authority figures. She’s the one who pushes Potter to put at least some effort into his classes and it is thanks to her brains that Potter can solve the problems the Headmaster sets him and win the day.  Miss Granger remains safe from Dumbledore, so long as he thinks he can make use of her.  Has she seen this?”  Snape gestured towards the Pensieve, frowning when Viktor nodded.  “If Dumbledore discovers that she’s on to his game, he will do everything he can to remove her from Potter’s life.”

“She will not trust the old man after this.” Viktor said, quietly. “We....Petra and I....we managed to convince her not to say anything for now, but I do not know how well she can keep such a secret—especially from her friends.” To his surprise, Snape chuckled.

“The girl was using a Time Turner to attend all her classes last year and I can assure you that nobody knew, other than Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Hermione Granger is more than capable of keeping a secret if she feels it is necessary to do so and, once the initial shock wears off, I have no doubt she’ll be able to act naturally enough.  Since she surrounds herself with teenage boys who are, to a man, thick-headed, I very much doubt anyone will notice the fact that something is wrong. Where is she now?”

“She went to a class with her Mentor. That is Professor McGonagall, yes?” Viktor replied, promptly. Hermione had told Viktor a bit about the accelerated academic course she was taking and he’d been deeply impressed. As a rule, he’d found the state of education in magical Britain to be appalling, but he’d been encouraged by what Hermione had told him about her Mentor and the coursework she was being given.  He had a strong feeling that Hermione’s muggle upbringing played a strong part in her success at Hogwarts. 

Snape nodded slowly and looked thoughtful. “She is. You might want to consider speaking with her…Professor McGonagall, that is.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She is a powerful and intelligent woman, and is fiercely devoted to the well-being of her students, particularly Miss Granger.  What is more, unlike many of my countrymen, she does not see Albus Dumbledore as a saintly font of irreproachable wisdom.  While she will be shocked and, I dare say, furious to learn what he’s done, she will not deny the evidence put before her simply because it casts Dumbledore in a bad light.  I believe that she would make a strong ally.”

Viktor thought about this for a moment. On the one hand, he did not like disclosing his secrets to someone unknown to either himself or Madame Ianevski, but on the other, one of his goals this year was to forge alliances with British witches and wizards who could serve as his eyes and ears when he was out of the country.  He’d been impressed with Minerva McGonagall during their brief interview and he knew that Snape’s other obligations meant that he could only offer so much assistance to the Order. It would also be no bad thing to have the Deputy Headmistress’ support, if they were going to have go up against Albus Dumbledore.

“Very well.” He said. “Would you be willing to arrange a meeting?”

**

Hogwarts - Minerva McGonagall’s Office

Sunday, September 3

Something was wrong.  Hermione had arrived for her tutorial looking pale and, though she was being perfectly polite and respectful, she’d given minimal answers to questions about her holidays and her trip on the Hogwarts Express.  Minerva was worried.  She debated asking the girl what was bothering her, but decided that it was too soon in their new relationship to pry too deeply.  She was just going to have to hope that Hermione would, in time, trust her enough to seek out her help when something was troubling her.

“And how did your tutorial with Professor Snape go yesterday?” Minerva asked.  She had to admit that she was a bit worried about this.  Over the past three years, Severus Snape had taken every opportunity to tell everyone how much he disliked Harry Potter and his friends, and Minerva had her doubts about his ability to remain professional.  She was prepared to step in at the first sign of trouble

“It was going well…until Draco Malfoy showed up.”  Hermione scowled and, for the first time, seemed to be engaged in the conversation.  “Honestly!  I don’t understand why Professor Snape allows him to get away with so much!”  Minerva had her suspicions, but wasn’t about to share them.  “Actually,” Hermione continued “I was rather surprised. Professor Snape was…well, I won’t say nice, but he was perfectly civil to me.  I think he may even have tried to crack a joke.  I admit I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I believe that his attitude towards you may be influenced by the fact that you are no longer a beginner.”  Minerva paused, choosing her words carefully.  “Professor Snape is the sort of teacher who prefers guiding students through the more advanced aspects of his subject.  To be frank, he only really enjoys teaching his NEWT students, and he absolutely loathes teaching younger students the basics.”

“Then why does he do it?”  Hermione asked.  Minerva was pleased to see that she no longer had the distracted, almost haunted look she’d worn when she came into the office.  “Come to think of it, why is there only one teacher for each subject?  Wouldn’t it be more sensible to have one person to teach the lower years and one person to teach the more advanced students?”

Minerva sat back in her chair and smiled.  “Those are excellent questions, and I have discussed them with both the Headmaster and the Board of Governors on several occasions.  They always tell me that this is the way things have always been done; and that to make any significant changes to the way the school is run would dishonor our noble traditions and damage the school’s reputation and ability to function.”  She chuckled at the skeptical look on Hermione’s face.  “We will return to this subject in a moment, as it has some bearing on one of the topics I wish to cover in your tutorial this year.    I trust you’ve done the reading I requested?”  Hermione nodded, reaching into her bag and drawing out well-worn copies of Hogwarts: A History and A History of Magic.  “Very good.  I know you have read both books before, but do you know why I asked you to read them again and why I asked you to read one right after the other?”

“I…think so.”  Hermione frowned.  “It’s because there are places where they don’t agree on what happened, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.”  Minerva beamed.  “You and I will be focusing on three things this year and the assignment I gave you relates to two of them.  Tell me about the discrepancies you found.”

“Well….”  Hermione unrolled the parchment and Minerva could see that it was covered with small, neat handwriting.  “Hogwarts: A History says the school was founded in 1,000 C.E., while A History of Magic says it wasn’t founded until the late 13^th century—that’s almost two hundred years later.  Hogwarts: A History says that the Ministry of Magic was formed just after the International Statute of Secrecy was signed in 1689 but A History of Magic says it was created in 1832.  Hogwarts: A History…”  Minerva held up her hand to halt the flow of words.

“Well done, Miss Granger.  Now, let us take the example of the founding of Hogwarts.  Can you tell me which book is correct?”  Hermione looked slightly panicked.

“I’m sorry, Professor.  I didn’t realize you wanted to know that or I would have done more research….”

“I think I should have phrased my question slightly differently.”  Minerva interrupted, gently.  “I do not want to know which book is correct.  Rather, I’d like to know whether you can say, with certainty, which book is correct.  You understand the difference?”

“I think so.”  Hermione frowned, thoughtfully.  “But, really, there’s no way to tell which book is correct without doing further research.  Neither cites sources the way a Muggle history book would.”

“And where would you do this research?  Say I did want you to tell me when Hogwarts was founded.  Where would you look?”  Minerva could practically hear the wheels spinning in her student’s brain. 

“Well,” Hermione spoke slowly, as if feeling her way through a dimly lit room.  “The Hogwarts Charter might have a date on it…”

“That’s one idea.”  Minerva nodded.  “Can you think of any others?”

“I know that there are some very old manuscripts in the library.  Maybe one of them might have a mention of Hogwarts?  If there’s something there that was written in, say, 1100 and it references Hogwarts, then that would mean that A History of Magic is wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed.”  Minerva nodded.  “But would that automatically mean that Hogwarts: A History is correct?”  Hermione opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again.

“No.”  She said, finally.  “It wouldn’t.”

“Correct.”  Minerva wished she could give the girl House Points, but the other Heads of House had politely “requested” that the normal points system not be applied to Hermione’s academic achievements, lest it skew things too heavily in Gryffindor’s favor.  “One of the most important skills you can ever develop is that of critical thinking.  It is not enough to simply accept what you read or are told as fact—you must learn to question and evaluate information you are given so that you can decide for yourself whether it is of any value.”

“But how can these books have the wrong information?”  Hermione seemed to be profoundly disturbed by the notion that her beloved books might have somehow lied to her.  “Didn’t their authors do any research?”

“There are many different reasons for the discrepancies.”  Minerva sighed.  “The first and foremost is that witches and wizards have a tendency to be remarkably lazy.  Let us take A History of Magic, for example.  It was written, as you know, by Bathilda Bagshot.  She is the only Hogwarts student to sit the History of Magic NEWT exam in the past 100 years.  Regrettably, Madam Bagshot never bothered to learn how to do original research and her book is based entirely on Professor Binns’ notes and lectures.  If those notes and lectures had incorrect or missing information, then…” 

“Then A History of Magic simply repeats the mistakes.”  Hermione’s eyes widened in horror.

“What is more, as you may have noticed, Madam Bagshot’s text only goes up through 1735.”

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded.  “I assumed we’d be getting a new text covering more recent history.”

“A reasonable assumption, but one that is, unfortunately, incorrect.  No one knows for certain, but it is reasonable to suppose that Professor Binns died in 1735 and is unable—or unwilling—to speak about events that occurred later.  To be quite frank, Miss Granger, our History of Magic class is the laughingstock of the Wizarding world.”

“Then why is Professor Binns still teaching it?  I’m not suggesting he be driven out of the castle or anything like that.” Hermione added, hastily.  “But why not simply hire a new teacher and move the class to another room?  I sincerely doubt Professor Binns would notice the difference.”

“Such a solution has been proposed….many times.”  Minerva sighed.  “This goes back to what I was saying before about the reluctance of both the Headmaster and the Board of Governors to enact any real changes here at Hogwarts.  Both Headmasters Dippet and Dumbledore have cited a lack of funds as their reason for not hiring a new History teacher, but that’s a load of hogwash, if you ask me.  The Hogwarts Trust….”  She paused and took a deep, calming breath.  “Regardless, simply hiring a new teacher will not solve the problem, will it?”

“No.”  Hermione looked thoughtful.  “The entire curriculum would need to be evaluated for accuracy and a lot would need to be added…”

“Precisely.”  Minerva sat back in her chair and observed her pupil over the rim of her teacup.  Hermione seemed to have forgotten whatever was bothering her—at least for the moment—and was leaning forward eagerly.  “I’m afraid that this is not the only part of our curriculum that needs…er….refreshing.  While I cannot currently do anything about the situation, I intend to begin preparing for the day when I can.  When the time comes, I want to implement the desired changes quickly and efficiently.  That is where you come in.”

“Me?” 

“As I told you, your textbook contains all the information you will need to pass both your OWL and NEWT exams, so there is no need for us to cover that material in our tutorial sessions.  Instead, I am going to be assigning you research projects that will, I hope, result in information that can be used to correct errors, encourage students and faculty to embrace new areas of study, and convince the Board of Governors that certain fundamental changes need to be made to the way Hogwarts is run.”

“Oh my….”  Hermione looked as if she was having trouble breathing.

“We are going to focus on the history of Hogwarts first, so that you can gain experience with the research methods and tools available to you and develop your ability to absorb and analyze information.  I’d like you to keep a research journal, of sorts.  In it, I want you to keep a record of the topics you are researching, your sources of information, and your evaluation of those sources.  You might also want to include any questions your research inspires.”  Hermione was diligently taking notes.

“I’d like you to begin with two specific topics.  First, I’d like you to see if you can find any primary sources that might give us some idea about when the school was founded.  I confess that I don’t know for a certainty and, to the best of my knowledge, no one else knows either.  The other thing I’d like you to do is to see what you can find out about Professor Binns.”

“Professor Binns?”  Hermione looked startled. 

“Yes.”  Professor McGonagall nodded.  “I regret to say that there are no easily accessible records about who he was in life and how, or why, he came to Hogwarts.  He refuses to answer any questions on the subject.  I’d like you to see what you can find out.  Use any means at your disposal—so long as you don’t need to violate any Hogwarts rules, of course.  I’m not going to give you a deadline for either project.  Rather, I want you to keep track of your research and report your progress to me next week.  Right now, I’m as interested in your process as in your results.”

“I understand.”  Hermione nodded.

“I think we’ve adequately covered the first two components of your history tutorial for now—critical thinking and Hogwarts research--so let us turn to the third.  As we discussed when we met this summer, I will be using this time to introduce and acclimate you to the Wizarding world.  Many muggleborns assume that the magical world is, in most ways, like the Muggle world was about a hundred and fifty years.  That is simply not the case.  We are going to begin by focusing on government and the law…”

**

Hogwarts - Severus Snape’s private quarters

Sunday, September 3

“Minerva McGonagall, allow me to present Viktor Krum, Knight-Captain of the Order of Walpurgis.” Severus Snape was not sure how he’d expected Minerva to react. He supposed she’d be confused—most people had never heard of the Order, after al.  Perhaps, she might be intrigued at the revelation that a member of a near-mythical order of medieval wizard-warriors was posing as a student from Durmstrang. He could even imagine her being outraged, believing the whole thing to be some sort of hoax. What he didn’t expect was for her to beam broadly, while dropping a small curtsey.

“I am very glad to know you, Knight-Captain Krum. I was wondering when the Order was going to start taking an interest.” Severus was glad to see that Krum looked almost as shocked as he felt. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d have reacted to finding out that two of the only people in the British Isles that he genuinely liked and respected had known each other and kept it a secret from him.

“I....your pardon, Madam, but how do you know of the Order?” Viktor’s expression was pleasant, but his eyes were wary. “Are you an Ally...?”

“No.” Minerva shook her head and Severus saw that she looked genuinely sorry about that fact. “My second husband, Archimedes Fowler, was Head of the Department of Mysteries....Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Severus, close your mouth! You really do look quite ridiculous.”

“You were married?” He spluttered. “Twice?” She huffed in exasperation.

“As difficult as it may be for you children to imagine, I did not hatch from an egg full-grown, wearing a brand new set of teaching robes!” she snapped. “As I was saying, my second husband was Head of the Department of Mysteries and was privy to information about the Order that is not made available to the public. He always spoke of the Knights in the most complimentary terms.”

“I am honored.” Viktor offered a little bow, while Severus attempted to collect his thoughts.

“I am curious, though, how you know about the Order, Severus.” Minerva gave him one of her patented penetrating glares that practically dared a person to try to lie to her. Severus was heartily grateful that he could be completely honest...at least about this.

“I served my Apprenticeship with Madam Feodora Ianevski.” He explained. “She was—and still is—Knight-Commander of the Order.”

“I see.” She nodded. “May I presume that this has something to do with Harry Potter?” Severus had to work to keep his jaw from dropping again.

“It concerns Hermione Granger.” He said, finally. “Although Mr. Potter has been—and will be—indirectly affected by what we discuss tonight. Please...” he gestured towards a chair and, after holding his gaze for one more moment, Minerva sat. “This afternoon, Mr. Krum was speaking with Miss Granger and he....er...”

“I said more than I intended.” Viktor was, to Severus’ secret amusement, blushing. “While I do not believe she will willingly speak of what I said, I am concerned that someone might try to take the information from her mind.”

“What?” Minerva gasped. “But....the only Legillimens at Hogwarts are Severus and Albus Dumbledore and I cannot imagine that either of them...” Viktor held up a hand to interrupt her.

“Please. Karkaroff is...er....he can also do these things.” Severus was interested to see that Minerva seemed to relax and grow more tense at the same time. That was interesting…despite her protests, did she think that he or Albus was capable of such behavior?  Once again, he wondered how she was going to react to the Pensieve.

“I see. Forgive my interruption. Please continue.”

“Yes, thank you.” Krum paused to marshal his thoughts. “I was concerned, as I said. So, I offered to teach Hermione how to shield her mind, but this takes time. We...the Order, that is....we have ways to protect another person’s mind during the time it takes them to learn to protect themselves. So they can be safe. You understand?” Minerva nodded. “I...Mind-magic is not my talent. I brought Hermione to Petra, who scanned her mind and found a memory that had been blocked.”

“Blocked?” Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “You extracted it?”

“They did.” Severus interjected. “Minerva, it’s from the night that Miss Granger was Petrified.”

“Oh, my word....” Minerva’s hands were trembling. “It’s not of that horrible creature, is it?”

“If you are referring to the basilisk, then no, it isn’t.” Severus said. “I think you ought to see it before we say any more.” He touched the runes on the Pensieve and the scene played itself out again. When it finished and the last image had disappeared, Severus looked at Minerva McGonagall and knew a stab of genuine fear for the first time in a very long time.  Not even the return of the so-called Dark Lord frightened him as badly as the ice in her eyes.

He had seen her angry before—he privately felt that she had a temper that was equal to that of Molly Weasley—but now, she was completely still, her face carved from marble. Severus had only seen her like this once and he shuddered at the memory.

“It is...” she said at last “a very good thing that Albus Dumbledore is in Italy right now else I would be strongly tempted to march up to his office and....”

“And what?” Severus asked, suddenly very tired. “If you confront him with what you know, he’ll likely just alter your memories and go on as if nothing happened.” He saw her bow her head in acknowledgement and felt his shoulder slump with relief. It was exactly the sort of thing Dumbledore would do and, afterwards, he would work to eject Minerva from the school as quickly and quietly as possible. They needed her here, with her mental faculties intact. Both men remained quiet while Minerva stared into the fire.

“Severus,” she said, finally, keeping her gaze on the flames. “I know about the Prophecy and I know that you were the one who told You.....Voldemort about it. I know that, when you learned that it might refer to Harry Potter, you came to Albus Dumbledore and that you very foolishly agreed to swear magically binding oaths of fealty, loyalty, and obedience to that bastard in exchange for his agreement to protect Lily. Furthermore, I am aware that one of the terms of the oaths you swore is that you cannot discuss your actions, Dumbledore’s orders, or the oaths themselves with anyone who does not already know about them.” She looked at him, at last, arching an eyebrow.  

Severus could only gape at her.  She went on “I am aware that Dumbledore has instructed you to show favoritism to the Slytherins and to gain their trust and respect, so that you can then report to him on their gossip and actions. Though I cannot imagine why he has done such a thing, I know that Dumbledore has ordered you to be especially harsh towards Harry Potter.”

“He....” Severus had to clear his throat “he wishes the boy to see James and Lily—but especially James--as being worthy of praise and admiration.  He wants to put them on a pedestal, so as to instill in Harry a desire to follow in their footsteps and to make good on their sacrifices. As I am the only person in the castle who was their contemporary....”

“He wants Harry to compare his parents with you and find you wanting in every way.” Minerva finished for him. “What is Albus’ aim in all this, Severus? Why is he doing all this? Or do I need to guess that before you can speak of it?”

“No.” Severus sighed. “I honestly don’t know what the old man’s purpose is. I know he expects Potter to defeat Riddle once and for all, but I suspect that there is more to it than that.”

“You-Know-Who…Voldemort is back, isn’t he?” she asked, quietly.

“Call him Riddle.” Severus suggested. “That’s his name, you know. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Yes, he’s back.”

“When? How?”

“Early July. Dumbledore was right; his spirit was haunting an Albanian forest.  Peter Pettigrew somehow managed to find him and....” Severus shuddered again. “He found a vessel to house the spirit until Riddle can be fully restored. They came back to England and are staying in the home of one of Riddle’s followers.”

“Malfoy Manor, no doubt.” Minerva muttered. Severus had to clench his jaw to keep from gaping again. “Does Hermione know?”

“About Riddle?” Severus was momentarily confused. “Of course not!”

“No, about that....” Minerva waved a hand towards the Pensieve.

“She does.” Severus jumped slightly at Viktor Krum’s rumbling reply and was gratified to see Minerva’s eyes widen slightly. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten about the Knight’s presence. Quickly, Viktor described the events that had led to the discovery of the blocked memory.

“That would explain why Hermione seemed so distracted for the first few minutes of our tutorial. Considering what I’ve just seen, I find it rather remarkable that she regained her composer as quickly as she did. I trust that...Petra, is it? I trust that Petra put protections on her mind....”

“She was not able to do it.” Viktor sighed. “Not yet, anyway.  Hermione was due to meet with you and we only just managed to get her calmed down in time.  We will meet tomorrow and do it then.”

“There is something else we need to discuss with you.” Severus interjected. “Apparently, Mr. Krum and his associate have come to the realization that Miss Granger is a burgeoning Occulomagus.” Minerva drew in a sharp breath and looked between the two men, as if trying to decide whether they were having her on.

“Are you certain?” She asked, finally.

“Yes.” Viktor nodded. “She saw through my cloaking spell this afternoon and Petra confirmed it when she scanned Hermione’s mind.”

“She does not know about this.” Severus cautioned. “To the best of my knowledge, she does not even know such a thing is possible. Albus went to a great deal of trouble to ensure that all references to Talents were removed from the school library.”

“I know.” Minerva closed her eyes briefly and he could see a muscle in her jaw twitching. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one having trouble suppressing his instinctual responses. “Do you remember Nymphadora Tonks, Severus? She was in Hufflepuff—I believe she was in her fifth year when you began teaching here.” Severus had to pause for a moment to recall the girl.

“Rather clumsy girl, wasn’t she? I seem to rememberl that she accidentally knocked over her cauldron during the OWL exam, as well as those of her two nearest neighbors.”

“Yes, that’s her.” Minerva nodded, smiling slightly. “During Miss Tonks’ second year, it became quite...obvious that she was a Metamorphmagus.”

“A what?” Viktor’s brow furrowed.

“A shape-shifter—she has the ability to change her hair—its color, length, or texture— her facial features, her body type...I understand that she’s even learned how to alter the pigmentation of her skin.”  MInerva explained. ‘It caused quite a bit of havoc as no one knew what to do when she began spontaneously shifting in the middle of her classes. Since Albus had so thoroughly purged Hogwarts of any literature on the subject, it took us a good three months to find someone who could help her learn how to control her abilities.  She spent almost her entire third year in detention before she finally understood why it was not acceptable to make herself look like someone else to get away with pulling pranks.” She smiled fondly at the recollection, before turning serious again. “My point is this; the moment Albus got wind of what was going on, he made the girl into one of his ‘special projects.’ He monitored her education quite closely and was constantly hounding the tutor we brought in for reports on her progress. He encouraged her to join the Aurors and, as far as I know, is still in contact with her. At the time, I thought his interest was harmless, but since then, I’ve come to realize that he is far more interested in Miss Tonks’ gift than he is in her well-being....”

“He cannot know that Hermione has this Talent.” Viktor stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

“I’m not sure how we can keep him from finding out.”  Minerva said.  “While I can use the Mentorship contract to ensure that any tutors we hire won’t talk to Albus, I will have to inform him that they are here and why.”  She paused, and then sighed.  “With what I’ve heard tonight, I cannot discount the possibility that Albus might try to use Legillimency on Miss Granger to get the information he wants.  Will her gift prevent you from placing a shield on her mind?”

Viktor shook his head.  “It makes Petra’s work harder, but it is not impossible.  Provided we can take Hermione someplace without distraction, it will be done tomorrow.  It will not last long, though, and Hermione will need to learn to protect herself.”

“I agree.”  Minerva nodded.  “What do you suggest?  Miss Granger’s talent needs to be trained—the sooner, the better—and, though she is quite an accomplished student, I honestly do not know how easily she will master either her Mage-Sight or mind magic as she cannot learn about either out of books.  She will certainly not master either before Dumbledore comes back from Italy.”

“I think, for now, the best thing is to make sure she does not attract any unwanted attention.” Severus said. “The Headmaster is currently fixated on Harry Potter to the point where I doubt if he realizes that the other students have personalities, abilities, or plans of their own.  So long as Miss Granger does nothing to draw his attention, he should ignore her. After all, up until now, she has unwittingly gone along with his plans...” Minerva shot a pointed look at the Pensieve and Severus nodded in acknowledgment. “For the most part. I believe that it would be best for you to explain the situation to her, Minerva. She respects you and, more importantly, she trusts you far more than she does either of us.”

“Is that wise?” Viktor asked, looking concerned. “She is...very young. Very inexperienced. The less she knows, the less danger she is in.”

“She knows too much already.”  Minerva said.  “Believe me, Mr. Krum, I don’t like this any more than you do, but the only cure for inexperience is experience.  Miss Granger is very curious and, when it comes to acquiring knowledge, I regret to say that she has the rather Gryffindorish tendency to rush headlong into situations without considering the consequences.  If we tell her everything we know, she is far less likely to get herself into trouble.”

“She’s right.” Severus sighed. “It’s best that Miss Granger be informed of all the facts and the dangers inherent to her situation.  We can only offer her so much protection—she will have to do most of the work herself. When can you do it, Minerva?”

“Wednesday evening.” She said, decisively. “That’s the time I have allotted for her Transfiguration tutorial. I’ll take her to the room Filius and I set up for her. It’s well warded, so privacy shouldn’t be a problem. That will also give her ample time to collect herself before she has to face her friends.....” Minerva suddenly went pale. “Severus...did.....did Albus do anything to any of the other children?”

“I don’t know.” Severus ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Whatever he wants everyone else to think, Albus does not trust me very much. He tells me only what I need to know to carry out my orders.  He occasionally lets something slip when he’s boasting, but nothing more.”

“We should get them all checked.” Minerva declared.

“How?”

“Poppy...”

“Madam Pomfrey is an excellent woman and highly skilled Matron.” Severus interjected. “But she’s also blindly loyal to Dumbledore. You know that as well as I do.”

“Perhaps we could show this to someone else…?” Minerva shot a look at Viktor who, obviously reading her thoughts, shook his head sadly.

“It would look bad.” He said. “People would say that Durmstrang interferes and that it is not Dumbledore who did bad things to children, it is those nasty foreigners.” Minerva looked like she wanted to protest, then after a moment, nodded gravely.

“We shall have to figure it out for ourselves.” She said. “In the mean- time, there is the matter of Miss Granger’s mental protection to attend to. As I said when I gave you the classrooms, I would be interested in observing some of your classes. I can bring Miss Granger along with me a time or two and then ‘reluctantly’ accede to her request to attend some of your lessons on her own. That way, she and Petra can work together without fear of suspicion or interruption.”

“How very Slytherin of you, Minerva.” Severus murmured. She shot him a glare. “Is there anyone in your group who can help Hermione work on her Mage-sight?” Viktor shook his head.

“There is only one in the Order who has this Talent and she...it is dangerous for her to leave her homeland.” Severus felt a spark of curiosity, but it was clear that Viktor was not going to say more on the matter. “I must go before Karkaroff starts looking for me.” He bowed to both professors and slipped out the door. There was silence as a few moments, as Minerva and Severus both stared at the fire.

“Well, I may have a notion of how to manage things.” Minerva said, almost to herself. “I know someone…”

“Don’t say anything else.” Severus warned. “If Albus asks me a direct question, I cannot lie to him.”

“Oh Severus....” For the first time, it crossed Severus’ mind that Minerva McGonagall was getting on in years. She was usually so strong and so full of energy, but now she looked old. “How...why would you swear such oaths?”

“I....” he began, then had to swallow the lump that rose, unbidden, in his throat. “I made many poor choices in my youth, Minerva.  You know that.  I have been forced to learn some very hard lessons—one of which is that I must not allow my emotions to cloud my judgment.”

“I understand.” She stood, slowly, and to his surprise placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just help me protect them. Please?”

Chapter Text

 Hogwarts – Hermione’s Classroom

Monday, September 4

Monday afternoon saw all the fourth-year Gryffindors heading off to their first Transfiguration class of the term, while Hermione walked to the fourth floor and entered the classroom that had been set aside for her use. “Classroom” was something of a misnomer. It was more of a cozy study with a fireplace, two squashy armchairs, and a large work-table. Best of all, Professor McGonagall had made a point of showing her the enchanted cat door that would only permit entry to Crookshanks. Like the other cats inhabiting the castle, Crooks was free to wander to his heart’s content, but he genuinely seemed to prefer spending time with his owner. Hermione was still unpacking her bag and arranging her books when the half-Kneazle wandered in and jumped into one of the armchairs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione had initially thought she would do most of her studying in the Common Room, but after just two days, she’d given that up as a bad job. It was already clear that the work she was going to be doing was far more advanced than anything she’d ever done before, and was going to require her full attention and concentration. There was just too much going on in the Common Room—too many people coming and going, too many conversations, too many people asking her for help (and classes hadn’t even started yet, for Merlin’s sake)—to allow her to focus properly. Therefore, she’d decided to spend her days in “her” classroom and spend her nights in the Common Room with her friends.

Now, she was grateful for the solitude as she had not really had a chance to sit and think about the implications of what she’d seen in the Pensieve or the discussion she’d had with Viktor Krum. Her History of Magic tutorial had been a welcome distraction, though she harbored a suspicion that her new Mentor was aware that something was wrong.

Viktor and Petra had made her see the necessity of remaining silent about their discovery.  Though she understood—and agreed with—their logic, it was still quite difficult to sit by Harry, listening to him chatting happily about Quidditch, knowing that he had been deliberately sent down into the Chamber of Secrets with nothing more than his faith in Dumbledore and Ron’s rather dubious assistance.

As she pulled out her Ancient Runes text, Hermione finally allowed herself to dwell on the terrible thought she’d been trying to ignore since yesterday afternoon; if Dumbledore had purposefully sent Harry to face the basilisk, what else had he done? The more she thought about it, the more she realized just how much of Harry’s life revolved around ‘coincidences’ that, when considered carefully, weren’t really all that coincidental.

Take that entire business with the Philosopher’s Stone their first year. Hermione recalled, with sudden clarity, the way all the obstacles under the trap door seemed to have been designed with them in mind—and really, if you wanted to guard the most valuable object in the world, why hide it so elaborately, when it would have been so much easier (and safer) to hide it “in plain sight”, as it were. Or, better yet, why not just destroy the thing? After all, isn’t that what had happened in the end? What was more, there had been that moment, after everything was done, when Harry had suggested that Dumbledore had known what they were up to and had given them little hints and pushes along the way. Hermione even found herself wondering if she’d been allowed to nearly drive herself insane with the Time Turner last year, just so that she could have it on hand when it was needed to rescue Sirius. She made a mental note to figure out a way to work the Time Turner into her next conversation with Professor McGonagall.

These suspicions made her very nervous about the fact that the Tri-Wizard tournament had been revived and was being held at Hogwarts this year. It seemed that Dumbledore was determined to give Harry some sort of “test” each year and the tournament could have been dredged up for just that purpose. It was true that the Ministry had loudly proclaimed that no one under the age of seventeen was to be allowed to enter, but if Dumbledore wanted Harry to participate in the tournament, he certainly wasn’t going to be stopped by Ministry regulations.

What made all this even worse was that there didn’t seem to be anything anyone inside or outside of Hogwarts could do to stop the Headmaster-slash-Chief Warlock-slash-Supreme Mugwump.  Professor McGonagall had given her an overview of Wizarding Britain’s political system and Hermione was horrified.  The books she’d read had always given her the impression that Britain’s magical government was a parliamentary democracy, like the Muggle government.  This was hardly the case. 

The Wizengamot, which acted as both the legislative body and the High Court, had been established in the early Middle Ages and was supposed to consist of representatives from each of the Ancient and Noble families who were, as far as Hermione could tell, the magical equivalent of Muggle nobility.  Albus Dumbledore was from one such family and he was the undisputed leader of the Wizengamot.  The Ministry was supposed to see to the day-to-day administration of Britain’s magical world while the International Confederation of Wizards, which might have been able to affect some change, was also controlled by Albus Dumbledore.

With a sigh, Hermione shut her eyes and forced herself to shove her fear and anger into the place at the back of her mind where all such things went when she needed to concentrate on her studies.  After all, there was nothing she could do about any of this right now.  Knowledge was her greatest weapon and she lacked all but the most basic knowledge of the way the wizarding world worked.   Professor McGonagall had instructed her to find the Wizengamot’s Rules and Register (which was the official name for the collection of laws governing Wizarding Britain) and to begin working her way through it but, as much as she wanted to rush off and start on that project now, she did have other classes and other assignments to complete.

Hermione decided that she would talk to Viktor about the tournament. Perhaps he might have some suggestions about how to keep her best friend out of trouble, for once. For now, though, she had to read three more chapters of Ancient Runes before lunch.

**

Hogwarts - Great Hall

Tuesday, Sept. 5

Harry finally worked up the nerve to tell Ron about dropping Divination at lunch on Tuesday. He didn’t have a choice—the class met that afternoon.

“What?” Ron stared at Harry in horrified shock. “You’re not taking Divination anymore?”

“We can do that?” Seamus asked, eagerly.

“Talk to Professor McGonagall.” Harry shrugged. “You’ll have to pick up something else if you drop it, though. I’m taking Ancient Runes.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ron’s voice was deceptively quiet.

“No.” Hermione could see that Harry was attempting to keep his tone light. “I worked it out with McGonagall over the summer. I just can’t take another year of that old fraud predicting my death every week.”

“But....but why didn’t you tell me?” Looking at Ron, Hermione was reminded of a bull that was pawing the ground, building up steam for a charge at the red cape.

“I tried, but then you found out about Hermione’s mentorship and went spare....” Harry stopped as Ron turned to Hermione.

“You!” he hissed. “This is all your fault! You don’t like Divination so you don’t think anyone should. You made him...”

“You’re being ridiculous, Ron!” Hermione snapped. “I didn’t make Harry do anything. I didn’t even know he’d dropped Divination until we got back to school.”

“Liar!” Ron roared. People up and down the Gryffindor table were staring at them, as were a few Ravenclaws within hearing distance. “You dropped Divination because you were rubbish at it and you made Harry drop it so you could pretend like you’re better than the rest of us! What about me, huh? Did you think about me even once?”

“What about you?” Harry asked, genuinely bewildered. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Why do you even want to take Ancient Runes anyway?” Ron asked, completely ignoring the question. “It’s stupid and pointless and a lot more work.”

“No more pointless than Divination.” Fred pointed out.

“Yeah, you name me one person who’s actually gone on to make a career out of looking into crystal balls or trying to figure out what soggy tea leaves mean.” added George.

“Other than Trelawney.” Ginny interjected.

“Well, yeah, other than her.” George conceded.

“Don’t expect me to drop it.” Ron glowered.

“I don’t.” Harry blinked, still completely bewildered.

“And don’t expect me to help you with your stupid Runes homework.” Ron added. At this, Neville, Seamus, Fred, and Ginny all burst out laughing. Hermione couldn’t help it—she giggled too. She tried to cover it with a cough, but it was far too late. Ron turned to glare at her.

“What’s so funny, mudblood?” Silence descended on the table as if someone had cast Silencing charms on everyone simultaneously. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. Ron seemed to start and his eyes went wide.

“Oh....Oh no....Hermione, I didn’t....I would never....”

“I cannot believe you just said that.” Harry’s voice was low and dangerous. Fred, George, and Ginny were all staring at their brother with open mouths, as if they’d never seen him before.

“I’m really sorry....I just got angry....” Ron was babbling and looked absolutely terrified.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for your language, Mr. Weasley.” Everyone at the table jumped in surprise. Both Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were standing behind Hermione, though no one had seen or heard their arrival. Professor McGonagall looked ready to spit nails, while Professor Snape’s face was....blank. He looked like the most terrifying statue Hermione had ever seen.

“Come with me, Miss Granger.” Professor Snape’s voice was quiet, but devoid of all emotion. Numbly, Hermione nodded and Ginny moved out of the way so she could swing her legs over the bench and stand.

“And you, Mister Weasley, will come with me.” Professor McGonagall snapped. “Miss Brown, please inform Professor Trelawney that Mr. Weasley will be late to Divination.”

“Yes, Professor.” Lavender’s eyes were the size of saucers. Hermione followed Professor Snape out of the Great Hall and didn’t pay much attention to where they were going until they reached to the door to his office.

“In.” He held the door open for her and she made her way to one of the chairs next to his desk. Her hands were trembling and she felt rather sick to her stomach. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even and did not notice what Professor Snape was dong until he pushed a vial into her hands.

“Drink.” He said. She raised her eyes to his and saw something she’d never have expected in a million years—compassion. “It’s a Calming Draught.” He added, as he took his own seat. Slowly, she brought the bottle to her lips and downed its contents. Instantly, she felt as though a sort of gauze had been wrapped around her emotions. She could still think clearly and she was certain she’d be able to walk and talk and do her homework without difficulty, but the horror and pain that had twisted her stomach into knots had eased somewhat.

“Thank you.” She said, carefully placing the empty vial on the desk.

“I have a story to tell you, Miss Granger. It concerns a young man who attended Hogwarts at the same time I did. His mother was the last remnant of an old wizarding family, albeit one that had fallen on hard times.  His father was the son of Muggleborns. As he was neither powerful, intellectually gifted, nor well connected, the boy’s father had difficulty finding a decent job after leaving Hogwarts.  To make some quick Galleons, the man engaged in some less than legal activities, for which he was sent to Azkaban when the boy we are speaking of was quite young.  He died less than a year after he was sentenced.  The boy’s mother went into a self-imposed exile of sorts, moving to a house that lay on the outskirts of a Muggle village. She and her son were the only wizards in the area and the boy had very little exposure to his peers in the magical world. What was more, his mother disapproved of his associating with Muggle children. Consequently, he was very lonely. One day, he was wandering in the park and he saw a Muggle girl his age on the swings. She had reached the highest point in the arc of her swing and she let go of the ropes. She hovered in the air for at least a minute before she landed, quite gracefully, I might add.”

“She was a witch.” Hermione said.

“She was.” Snape nodded. “She was like yourself—a Muggleborn with no idea that the Wizarding world existed. The boy was eager to make her acquaintance and they soon became the best of friends. He was....for the first time in his life, he was not lonely. He was happy. The children both turned eleven and received their Hogwarts letters. They were thrilled that they would be attending school together. The boy was terrified when his friend was sorted into Gryffindor and he was sorted into Slytherin—even then, the animosity between our two Houses was quite virulent. The girl wasn’t worried, though, and their friendship persisted, even though most of the people in both of their Houses strongly disapproved.

“The girl was beautiful and intellectually gifted and she attracted the attention of a fellow Gryffindor—a boy from a wealthy, well-established Wizarding family. This boy decided that the best way to gain the girl’s affection was to drive a wedge between her and her Slytherin friend. For nearly six years, he was unsuccessful.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked, mesmerized, despite herself.

“One day, just after finishing the OWL exams, the Gryffindor boy decided to publicly humiliate the Slytherin boy. The girl came to her friend’s rescue, but in his hurt and anger, the boy said something....terrible to his friend. Something he knew would hurt her.”

“He called her a Mud...”

“Careful.” Snape interjected. “Lest I be forced to deduct points for your language.”

“He called her that name, didn’t he?” she amended.

“He did. She, naturally, became upset and responded with an insult of her own, before storming off. Later...and pay attention, because this is the important part of the story...the boy attempted to apologize, but she wouldn’t speak to him and the boy grew increasingly angry and frustrated with her.”

“Do you...do you think he understood why what he said hurt her so badly?” Hermione asked, quietly. Professor Snape paused to think about this for a moment.

“I don’t think he understood it at the time.” He said, finally. “He knew what the term meant, of course, and he knew that it was a mean and hurtful thing to say. It wasn’t until years later, though, that he began to recognize just how difficult life can be for Muggleborn witches and wizards, especially children. He realized that they are thrust into an entirely new culture and expected to behave as if they’ve been raised in that culture since birth. They are given little or no information or training, but are expected to know how to fit in with their peers and they are criticized for every mistake.  To most Muggleborns, I believe that….that term represents rejection; a constant reminder that there are those who will never allow them to fully be a part of this world.  The girl I speak of had heard the term often enough—many of the other Slytherins had used it frequently—but hearing it from one she considered a friend must have been devastating.”

“It is.” Hermione nodded, sadly. “Sir....may I ask...?”

“Why am I telling you all this?” He prompted.

“Yes.”

“Because, as much as I know that the young man made a terrible mistake when he uttered that foul world, I have come to believe that the girl made a mistake, too.” Snape sighed. “The boy was wrong and I do not wish to downplay the magnitude of his error or make excuses for him, but the girl couldn’t look past his one lapse—and, I assure you, it only happened once--to see the pain and humiliation that caused it.  She would not listen to the boy’s apologies, nor would she allow him to even attempt to make up for the pain he’d caused her. She withdrew her friendship that day and made it quite clear that there was nothing he could do to repair the relationship. When she refused to forgive him—refused to even acknowledge that forgiveness was possible—the boy was, once again, alone. He had no one to challenge the choices he made or to hear him when he cried out for help. What is more, I think the girl allowed her ager to cloud her judgment—not just about the boy, but other things as well.  She also made certain…ill advised choices in her life and I would like to think that some of them could have been avoided if she’d still had her Slytherin friend.  I do not wish to see you make the same mistake she did.”

“You think I should forgive Ron?”

“Not necessarily.”  Snape shook his head.  “Unlike the Headmaster, I do not believe in giving people who have hurt me free rein to do so again with impunity.  However, I do not know what prompted Mr. Weasley’s outburst and neither, I think, do you.  I think that you should listen to him and attempt to understand what pushed him to the point where he felt he needed to lash out at you.  He hurt and humiliated you—I do not dispute that and neither, I think, would he—and you have every right to be angry and insulted. However, I ask you to remember that Mr. Weasley is not....” The door banged open and Draco Malfoy nearly ran in.

“Did you hear? Ron Weasley called Hermione Granger a....” Draco paused, seeing Hermione for the first time.

“That will be ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for entering my office without knocking...again.” Hermione was shocked to see that Snape was nearly snarling. “I congratulate you. When added to the one hundred and fifty points you lost for missing the house meeting and then being late to our appointment on Sunday, you now hold the record for the most House points lost by one student in a single week!” Draco gaped at him.

“I’ll...I’ll tell Father.” He whined. “He favors me! He won’t let you treat me this way!” Hermione had the distinct impression that the “He” Draco was referring to wasn’t his father. The fact that Professor Snape grew even paler, if such a thing was possible, lent credence to her theory.

“Silence!” Snape snapped. “Leave my office at once or I will deduct another fifty points!” Draco stood there, as though his feet had been nailed to the floor. “Fine!  Fifty points from Slytherin. Would you care to make it a hundred?” Draco spun and ran out of the office.  With a wave of his wand, Professor Snape shut the door behind him.

“As I was saying, Ronald Weasley is not Draco Malfoy,” Professor Snape’s voice was calm, though his eyes were snapping. “Though it appears that they both have lost what few brain cells they possessed. Mr. Weasley spoke out of anger and not out of a sincere desire to hurt you or a genuine hatred of you or your heritage.  He is your friend and you have shared a great deal. I am simply asking you to think about that before you make any decisions.”

“Yes sir.” Hermione nodded.

“Now, I will escort you back to the entrance hall as I suspect that Mr. Malfoy is lurking outside my door in the hopes of ambushing you.” Snape stood and opened the door for her.  As he predicted, Draco was, indeed, lurking a few feet away, but turned tail and ran the moment he saw that Hermione wasn’t alone.

“Professor? What happened to that girl and boy in your story?” she asked, as they walked towards the stairs.

“The girl was killed during the last war.” Snape said, quietly. “The boy...made some very poor decisions and has spent the last decade or so trying to atone for them.” Hermione digested this for a moment.

“How did you even know what was going on? I mean, Ron had hardly said...that word...and you and Professor McGonagall were right there...”

“That, Miss Granger, is a secret that can only be revealed to Hogwarts professors.” To Hermione’s astonishment, Severus Snape smirked at her.

Ron was not in the Common Room when Hermione got back and everyone else had left for afternoon classes. Hermione grabbed her Ancient Runes books and some parchment and decided to spend the remainder of the time before her next tutorial in the library. She wanted a chance to think about what Professor Snape had said before she talked to Ron and she knew good and well he wouldn’t enter the library unless someone dragged him in there. While she already loved “her” classroom, there was something about being surrounded by all the books in the library that made her feel safe and completely at ease. She needed that comfort now.

The last period of the day began at three thirty and, shortly before the bell rang, Hermione made her way to Professor Babbling’s office to have her first tutorial in Ancient Runes. She knocked and, after hearing the call to enter, opened the door. She was nearly knocked off her feet by the human missile that launched itself at her and enveloped her in a huge hug.

“Hermione, are you okay? I was so worried!  I could punch Ron in the face for what he said.  Fred and George are already plotting revenge.  What did Snape want?”

“Harry!” Hermione managed to disengage herself. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Oh....surprise!” Harry gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m going to be doing your tutorial with you.” His expression turned anxious.

“What?” Hermione blinked rapidly to clear the confusion from her mind. Ron’s verbal assault and Professor Snape’s unexpected revelation (for it was clear to her that he had been the boy in his story) had left her head spinning and this wasn’t helping matters at all.

“I told you I needed to catch up.” Harry explained, a bit nervously. “The third year Ancient Runes class conflicts with Transfiguration and...”

“And Mr. Potter is not ready to join the fourth years.” Professor Babbling interjected. “Therefore, I suggested that he share your tutorial. He will work on learning the runic alphabet and beginning translations, while you will focus on learning about the practical applications of runes. During our sessions, we will talk about the cultures that produced these runes and I will be teaching you both how to start channeling your power to activate them.” There was a slight pause, then Hermione beamed.

“That’s absolutely brilliant!”

**

Hogwarts - Entrance Hall

Tuesday, Sept. 5

Severus Snape was on the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall when he heard the voices.

“What happened to the Slytherin point counter?” asked Ginny Weasley. The Entrance Hall was nearly empty and Ginny was standing in the middle of it, staring, transfixed at the large hourglasses that displayed the current house point tallies.

“They’re in negative numbers!” Hermione Granger was giggling as she joined the Weasley girl. “That’s why the stones are all in the top half of the hourglass, see? They’ll have to work off all of the stones in the top half before they can start accumulating points in the bottom half like the rest of us.”

“What happened?” As Harry Potter came down the stairs, Severus tucked himself a little more securely into the shadows.

“Malfoy.” Granger was grinning from ear to ear and, frankly, Severus couldn’t blame her. “He came barging into Professor Snape’s office while I was in there after lunch. Professor Snape docked him ten points for not knocking and then another fifty for not leaving when he was told and he said he’d already docked Malfoy one hundred and fifty this week for not going to the House meeting on Sunday and for being late to something else.”

“Malfoy lost all those points?” Potter looked positively jubilant.

“Yes—look closely at the stones. You can see his name.”

“They’re going to kill him.” Ginny was giggling now.

“Blimey!” Everyone turned to look at Ron, who had stopped on the staircase, transfixed by the sight of the Slytherin point counter. The twins were behind him. “What happened to the Slytherins?” There were other students behind him on the stairs and the volume of chatter was beginning to rise, making it difficult for Severus to hear what was being said. What was worse, the Slytherins were now coming up the stairs behind him and he had to move before he was caught lurking. With a sigh, he made his way into the Great Hall. As he took his seat, he kept his head bowed, but his gaze rested firmly on the Gryffindor table. After a few minutes, Potter came in, practically dragging Ginny Weasley by the elbow. They sat at the Gryffindor table, both casting anxious glances at the doors to the Great Hall.

As Severus slowly began to serve himself, Minerva McGonagall sat down next to him with a sigh.

“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are having a conversation in the Entrance Hall.” She announced, keeping her voice quiet. “The twins are ensuring that they are not disturbed. What did you say to her, Severus?”

“I told her the story I told you shortly after I started teaching.” He murmured. “About the boy who behaved as Mr. Weasley did. I also reminded Miss Granger that she and Mr. Weasley have a great deal of history and that rash action on her part would not be….advisable.”

“I see.” Minerva looked down at her plate, then up at him. “I gave him a week’s detention and attempted to impress upon him the fact that the world does not revolve around him.”

“Attempted?” Severus’ lips twitched.

“Sadly, while I believe Mr. Weasley truly regrets his choice of words, I’m not certain he is prepared to make the changes necessary to see that he does not repeat them.”

“Changes?”  Severus arched an eyebrow.

“Ronald recognizes that he should not have called Miss Granger....that word....but he still feels justified in his anger towards her.”

“What caused the anger, if I may ask?”

“Harry Potter has decided to drop Divination in favor of Ancient Runes.”

“I heard rumors to that effect. That’s...encouraging.”

“Isn’t it?” Minerva gave him a tight smile. “I gather he had several very productive conversations with Arthur and Bill Weasley over the summer, and has decided to put some effort into his education this year.”

“It’s all well for him, but it makes my job that much harder.” Severus grumbled, though he felt no real rancor.

“Anyway, I spoke to some of the others and Ronald became incensed when Harry gave him the news. During the ensuing argument, Ronald made an unintentionally humorous remark. Several people laughed, but Ronald focused on Hermione. He seems to blame her for the fact that Harry is ‘abandoning’ him.”

“Abandoning....” Severus stared at her. “It’s one class, Minerva!”

“I know.” She snapped. “Frankly, I found Ronald’s...possessiveness of Harry to be a bit disturbing. It’s not some sort of romantic infatuation....I’ve seen enough of those in my time, believe me...but it’s like Ronald feels a sense of entitlement...of ownership where Harry is concerned. He seems to think he has the right to expect that Harry will share everything with him and will follow his lead in every situation.  I don’t think we’ve seen the end of this, Severus.”

“I daresay you’re right.” Snape sighed. “However, I think you will have more immediate concerns.”

“Oh?”

“As I said, there are rumors flying around about Potter dropping Divination. I have already had four students approach me asking if they can drop the subject, two wanting to drop Arithmancy because it’s ‘too hard’ and twelve wanting to drop Care of Magical Creatures because they’re afraid of what Hagrid is going to make them study next.” Minerva closed her eyes, as if in pain.

“I will make an announcement about this tomorrow morning.” She said, finally. “Filius and Pomona have both come to me with similar requests, as have a number of my Gryffindors.  It seems that I owe you an apology. I have been remiss in sharing Hogwarts policy regarding dropping and adding courses. It just didn’t occur to me that people wouldn’t read the handbook!  That’s how Harry found out, you know.” Severus smirked, but decided not to press the issue. His professional relationship with Minerva McGonagall had always been civil, but nothing more. Now, for the first time, he was beginning to see her as an ally—possibly even a friend—and he was willing to pass up a chance to gloat at her expense to preserve this new-found bond.

“Frankly, I assumed Miss Granger told him.”

“As did I, but she says she had no idea about any of it until after they returned to school.”

“I am impressed.” Severus took a sip from his goblet. “Albus does not know about any of this, does he?”

“He does not. Nor do I plan on telling him…or allowing him to interfere. He has always made his feelings clear about what he feels the duties of the Headmaster are and what responsibilities lie with the Deputy Head.  I am responsible for day to day operations of the school—including dealing with any academic issues that come up—while he concentrates on larger school policies.  Mr. Potter’s choice of class clearly falls into the former category.” Minerva said, primly. Severus was about to respond, when his attention was caught by Draco Malfoy. The bane of his existence had just entered the Great Hall and had stopped near the door. He was talking to Igor Karkaroff. Severus frowned. Seeing his expression, Minerva followed his gaze.

“I wasn’t aware they knew one another.” She commented, far too casually.

“Neither was I.”

**

Hogwarts - Various Locations

The fact that Ron Weasley had called Hermione Granger a “mudblood” was all anyone could talk about that evening. Though Hermione made it clear that she had forgiven him, the rest of Gryffindor was not so easily won over. His siblings were furious and Ron was, quite frankly, terrified of what Fred and George were planning to do to avenge the honor of their “adopted sister.” There was a row in the Common Room when Ron caught Ginny writing a letter to their mother with a detailed account of the incident. Hermione had been forced to get between them to prevent Ginny from throwing a hex, and had sternly reminded Ron that, as Draco Malfoy had witnessed their altercation, it was only a matter of time before he told his father.

“Think about it, Ron!” she snapped. “Can’t you just see Lucius Malfoy saying something nasty to your father the next time they meet at the Ministry? It’s best that they hear this now—from you!” Though Ron had eventually agreed that it was best that his parents be told sooner rather than later, he refused to write anything himself.

After giving Ron a good telling-off, Harry was being perfectly friendly to him again, but it was clear that a barrier had descended between the two; clear, that is, to everyone except Ron.  Hermione noticed that Harry hadn’t told Ron they were taking their Ancient Runes tutorials together.  That was probably for the best.

The rest of Gryffindor was divided between those who felt that what Ron had done was unforgivable (this camp included Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan), and those who felt that Ron’s behavior could be excused on account of his chronic stupidity. Almost everyone was giving him the cold shoulder, though Ron didn’t seem to notice that either.  Hermione was surprised at how much support she received from outside her House. The Hufflepuffs had, according to Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, rallied behind her at once.  Padma Patil told her that most of the Ravenclaws in their year were behind her as well, though there was a substantial number of their housemates who felt that she was a fool for forgiving Ron.

The biggest shock, however, came the next morning when Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bulstrode, and several of the older Slytherins approached her in the Entrance Hall before breakfast.

“Look, Granger.” It appeared Blaise was to be the group’s spokesman, and equally clear that he was very uncomfortable in that role. “I...that is, we just want to say that not all pure-bloods think you’re....uh....think the way people like Malfoy and Weasley do.”

“Oi!” Ron shouted from where he was standing in the crowd of Gryffindors that had instantly gathered around Hermione when the Slytherins approached. Everyone ignored him.

“We were talking, see....” Blaise continued, trying to look anywhere but at Hermione “and we figured that we ought to say something because....well...”

“We thought you might assume that, because we’re Slytherin, we all think the way that Malfoy and his crowd do.” Millicent interrupted, after shooting Blaise an impatient look. “We just wanted you to know that we don’t care who your parents are.  You may be a bossy know-it-all, but we are all aware that you’re the smartest witch at this school and that Malfoy and Parkinson and that lot are a bunch of inbred idiots.”

“I....uh, thanks?” Hermione was a bit taken aback and didn’t know what else to say. She gave Millicent a tentative smile. Fortunately, nothing else seemed to be required as Millicent smiled back at her and the Slytherins departed as quickly as that had come.

“What was that about?” Harry asked, looking after them with curiosity.

“And why did they lump me in with Malfoy?” Ron asked. Hermione ignored him as she considered Harry’s question.

“I think that Malfoy has been more....Malfoy-ish than usual this year.” She said, finally. “I noticed it on the train and again, in Professor Snape’s office. He thinks he owns the castle and he’s treating everyone who doesn’t fawn all over him as an enemy. It’s almost like he wants to force people choose sides in some game that only he’s playing.”

“So?” Fred looked perplexed.

“So,” Hermione’s lips curved in a grim smile. “I think those Slytherins just made their choice.”

After breakfast, Professor McGonagall announced that fourth years would be allowed to drop and add elective courses provided they got approval from both their Head of House and the professor whose course they were planning to add by the end of the week. Fifth years were not allowed to drop or add courses, since there was no way they could catch up in time for their O.W.L. exams. Amidst a storm of cheers (from the fourth years) and protests (from the fifth years), she reminded them sternly that they all had handbooks with this information in it.

The news about being able to drop and add courses made everyone almost completely forget about Hermione and Ron’s quarrel, but it made Ron remember that this had all started because Harry had dropped Divination. When he started another rant on the subject, however, Hermione was pleased to see Harry round on his best mate and look him square in the eye.

“Ron.” Harry kept his voice firm, but even. “I’ve chosen my courses and I’m not going to change my mind. You know what you need to do if you want to change yours.”

“Why would I want to change mine?” Ron asked, genuinely bewildered. “The only other options are Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies and they’re loads more work.”

“Fine.” Harry shrugged. “You don’t need to change anything if you don’t want to, just stop going on about it.”

“You know,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “There really ought to be more elective courses. I read that Beauxbatons offers instruction in basic Healing for people who want to become mediwizards...” This got everyone on to a new topic of discussion and Ron was successfully distracted.

Hermione meant to bring the subject up with Professor McGonagall during their Transfiguration tutorial on Wednesday evening, but completely forgot about it when the Professor informed her that Viktor and Petra had discovered that she was an Occulomagus.

“But...what does that mean?” she asked, feeling somewhat nervous.

“It means that, once you are fully trained, you will have the ability to see—or, at least sense—magic.  It’s a very rare gift, Miss Granger and one that is very much in demand, particularly as it is impossible to learn if one does not have the natural talent for it.”

“So, I’ll be able to tell if something’s been transfigured? Without having to cast spells on it, I mean.”

“Exactly. You’ll also be able to tell if someone is wearing a glamour or is trying to otherwise disguise or conceal themselves using magical means” Professor McGonagall smirked “I suspect that you will even be able to spot Mr. Potter when he is wearing that Invisibility Cloak of his.”

“You know...? I mean....” Hermione faltered, blushing deeply.

“Yes, I know Harry has his father’s cloak.” Professor McGonagall chuckled. “James had it while at school and there were enough cats wandering around the castle back then that he never seemed to notice...or care...which one brushed up against his legs. These days, unfortunately, Mrs. Norris makes it difficult for most other cats to wander freely.” She frowned. “To the best of my knowledge, Crookshanks is the only true cat that Mrs. Norris doesn’t bother. I really must have a word with Argus about her behavior....”

Momentarily distracted, Hermione asked “Why does Hogwarts employ a non-magical caretaker anyway?”

“Tradition.” Professor McGonagall made a rather sour face. “You might want to add it to your list of future research questions. For now, let us return to the subject of your Mage-Sight.”

“You said I’ll need training?” While Hermione was excited at the prospect, she was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed. After only five days of classes, she had begun to grasp just how much work she was going to be doing, and she was already struggling to fit in the lessons in mental magic that Viktor was insisting she needed. This just seemed to be too much. Professor McGonagall, as if sensing her thoughts, gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I do realize that this is asking quite a lot of you, Miss Granger, but I hope to give you some time to adjust to your other studies before beginning this particular set of lessons. As I said, your gift is quite rare and no one here possesses it. I will be asking a friend to recommend a teacher, but we are hampered by a need to find someone who can be trusted to be discreet.”

“Discreet?” Hermione was, once again, distracted. “You mean you don’t want people to know?” Professor McGonagall sighed.

“I think it would be best if the Headmaster were to remain....ignorant for the time being, don’t you?” she asked, gently. It suddenly dawned on Hermione that, if Viktor had told the professor about her gift, he might have told her about the memory as well.

“You....you know?” She whispered. “About what he did?”

“I do.” Hermione had always felt that Professor McGonagall had an extremely expressive face. She could tell, by the way the older woman’s lips were pressed together or the gleam in her eye, whether her teacher was pleased, angry or feeling smug or worried. Never, in her three years at Hogwarts, could Hermione remember Minerva McGonagall looking so utterly sad before. “Hermione, I am so terribly sorry for what he did to you.”

“But Professor, it’s not your fault! You...” Professor McGonagall waved away her protest irritably.

“While it is true that I am not directly responsible for his actions; as your teacher, as your Head of House and as Deputy Headmistress for this school, I am responsible for your safety and well-being. Had I been doing my job properly, none of you children would have remained in the castle more than an hour after the first attack. Instead, I allowed Albus to convince me that it was prudent to keep things running as normally as possible. As persuasive as that man can be, I still cannot think why I didn’t go over his head to the Board of Governors to shut the school down after Mr. Creevey was attacked....”

‘Perhaps....” Hermione hesitated. Should she share her theory with Professor McGonagall? She really had no other options; she wasn’t about to add this burden to Harrys already ridiculously large pile of them and Ron.....well, she might have forgiven Ron for his insult, but the incident—and his reaction to it—had brought home to her the fact that Ron was not someone she could trust or rely upon completely. And she had to talk about it to someone.

“Yes?” Professor McGonagall prompted, not unkindly.

“Is it possible you did protest and that....that you don’t remember doing it?” Professor McGonagall stared at her as if she’d grown an extra head. Hermione blushed and began to stammer. “I...I’m sorry, I just thought that....if he did it to me....”

“Don’t be silly, child!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” She added, must less harshly. “It just never occurred to me to consider that the old fool might have tampered with my memories. Oh, but that would explain so many things...”

“We don’t know that he did it, though.” Hermione pointed out.

“You’re right, of course. We don’t know. However, we suspect and, as the Headmaster has a proven history of doing such things, I think it best we allow our suspicions to guide us, don’t you?”

“You could....you could ask Viktor and Petra to look.....like they did for me?” Professor McGonagall paused, as if choosing her words carefully.

“While I have no doubt that Mr. Krum and his associate have nothing but the noblest of intentions, it would not be wise for me to approach them for further assistance with this matter. Memories extracted by someone other than an Auror are not admissible as evidence in the Wizengamot.”

“Oh.” Hermione said, in a very small voice. She had rather hoped that, someday, Dumbledore might be punished for what he’d done. “So, you’ll go to the Aurors?”

“I can’t. Not right now, anyway.” McGonagall’s mouth twisted in irritation. “Not until I can give a good reason as to why I think my memories have been altered—an excuse that does not begin with ‘Some students from Durmstrang discovered that Albus Dumbledore—the bloody Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot—Petrified two students and altered their memories!’ You are, all things considered, new to the magical world, Miss Granger, and I suspect that you have no experience of it beyond Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. You have not seen the way people outside these walls worship Dumbledore, nor have you seen the extent of his influence. If...no...when we confront him for his misdeeds, we will need to have a very large amount of irrefutable evidence or we will be utterly destroyed. Do you understand?”

“But Professor, what about Harry?” Hermione was nearly in tears. “I just know that Dumbledore has something awful planned for him this year and.....”

“Wait!” Professor McGonagall held up a hand. “What do you mean? What does Mr. Potter have to do with this?” Hermione recounted all the adventures she, Harry and Ron had had since their first year and the ways in which she thought Professor Dumbledore might have influenced, directed, or outright manipulated Harry into situation after life-threatening situation.

“It was Professor Dumbledore’s idea to get me a Time Turner, wasn’t it?” she asked, finally. Professor McGonagall’s lips were pursed together and Hermione had the impression of a tea kettle that was on the verge of bursting into an angry whistle.

“It was.” Hermione had read all the books in her parents’ house by the time she was ten. In one of her father’s spy novels, she’d come across a character who spoke in “deadly” tones. She’d never been able to imagine what that would sound like...until now. “In the past, when there has been a student who wished to take more than the standard number of electives, arrangements have been made for tutorial sessions in the evenings and on weekends.”

“And....” Hermione really didn’t want to hear the answer to this question, but she had to know. “And my Mentorship? Was that....”

“That was my idea, I assure you.” Professor McGonagall patted her hand in reassurance. “In fact, while Dumbledore knows I had plans to revive the program, I’m not sure I ever told him that I intended to make an offer of Mentorship to you. Now, as to Mr. Potter, I understand and share your concern, but I don’t see what we can do about it right now. I think we shall just have to trust to the presence of guests in the castle to keep Mr. Potter safe this year.”  Hermione nodded, slowly.  Somehow, she suspected that Dumbledore would do whatever he wanted, no matter who was watching him.

By Friday morning, things had settled down to something vaguely resembling normal.  As she adjusted to her new academic routine, Hermione gradually became less overwhelmed by the amount of work she was being given.  After all, she now had much more time in which to do it, since she wasn’t attending most classes, and the sanctuary of her classroom provided her a place where she could work without distraction.  While she certainly felt challenged, she was becoming more and more certain that she could manage things much better than she had with the Time-Turner.  It helped that Professor McGonagall had assured her that her Occulomagus training would not begin until well after she’d finished the mind-magic lessons with the Durmstrang students.  In fact, her Mentor had hinted that those classes might be held during the summer and that she might need to travel to the teacher, rather than the other way around.

Ron’s behavior had (mostly) been forgiven by the other Gryffindors, though many were still treating him with a cool formality.  He seemed to be going out of his way to avoid talking to Hermione unless Harry or one of his siblings was present, which suited her just fine.  During breakfast on Friday, he received a letter from his mother.  While he didn’t tell anyone what it contained, reading it made Ron turn a rather interesting shade of green. 

“She wanted to send a Howler.” Ginny confided as they all left the Great Hall “but Dad talked her out of it—he said that it would only make things worse for you.”

“He’s right.”  Hermione grimaced.  While most of the school had moved on to newer gossip, Draco and his cronies still took every opportunity to taunt her about Ron’s insult.  “Please thank him for me.”

“I will.”  Ginny gave her a wicked grin.  “Anyway, Fred got a look at the letter Ron got and Mum said that she is planning on having a long ‘talk” with Ron about his behavior when we go home for Christmas.  That’s why he looked like he was going to be sick.”  At Hermione’s blank look, Ginny began to giggle.  “Mum can’t vent her anger through the owl post, the way she usually does, so she’s saving it up until we go home.  Trust me when I say that she will not forget this, nor will she cool off between now and the holidays.  If anything, she’ll get even angrier. When he gets home, ickle Ronniekins is going to be treated to his own personal Howler and Mum will have nearly three months to build up steam….”  As understanding dawned on Hermione, she too began to giggle.

“I almost feel sorry for him.” She said at last.

“Don’t.” All traces of humor were suddenly gone from Ginny’s face.  “He has it coming.  This…what Ron said to you and the way he treated you this summer…it’s just further evidence that he has turned into a complete and total prat.”  Ginny gave a small sigh, then shook her head as if to force all thoughts of Ron to tumble out her ears.  “What are you up to this morning?”

“I’ve got my first Astronomy tutorial with Professor Sinistra in a few minutes and then I told Hagrid I’d visit with him before lunch since I wasn’t able to make it last weekend.”

“Sounds fun.”  Ginny said.  “Wait…why are you doing your Astronomy tutorial in the morning instead of at night?”

“Apparently, upper level Astronomy focuses more on the application of astronomy to the study of magic than the stars themselves.  I’ll have to do some practical work at night, of course, but Professor Sinistra says we can discuss the theory during the day.  What have you got?”

“Double Potions.”  Ginny grimaced.

“Have fun!”  Hermione gave her friend a jaunty wave as they parted in the Entrance Hall.  The youngest Weasley stuck out her tongue and Hermione was still laughing when she arrived at her first Astronomy tutorial.  An hour later, she left the office with her head full of ideas and a piece of parchment bearing a list of the topics she wanted to research.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts – Practice Laboratory

Sunday, Sept. 10

Hermione’s second Potions tutorial with Professor Snape went much more smoothly than her first and on Sunday morning, Neville, Hermione, and Harry made their first excursion to the Portions practice lab.  Ron, who had gorged himself on pancakes and bacon, went back to bed. 

When they arrived, the only other people in the lab were the sleepy looking proctor and a small group of first year Ravenclaws.

“All right.”  Hermione said, once they’d commandeered two table near the back of the room. “Professor Snape gave me a list of all the potions that you are going to work on this year.  The first one is going to be a Shrinking Solution.  Harry, you work here…” she indicated the table on her left “and Neville, you work here.”  He scurried to the table on her right.  I’ll move between you two and make suggestions as you go.  If more people come in, we’ll move Harry over and you two can work at the same table, but for now, I want you to work separately.”

They gathered their ingredients and began working. True to her word, Hermione moved back and forth between them and, almost immediately, she spotted a problem.

“Neville,” she said, gently.  “Did you read the instructions all the way through?”

“Yes.”  He looked down at the dogwort root he was chopping and frowned in confusion.  “What’s wrong?”

“The instructions were to slice the dogwort, not chop it.”

“What’s the difference?”  Hermione and Harry both stared at him.  Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, thinking furiously.

“Harry,” she said, slowly “did Professor Snape ever actually demonstrate the basic ingredient preparation techniques?  I mean, I know he’s shown us the more complicated things, like how to core a Spitfire fruit, but what about the kinds of things that are used in Muggle cooking, like chopping and slicing?”

“Uh…” Harry frowned in concentration “No.  Now that you mention it, I don’t think he did.  There was a lot of stuff in first year about brewing, but…”

“Neville, do you know the difference between boiling and simmering?” Hermione asked.

“Uh, well...not really.”  Neville admitted, looking rather embarrassed.

“Did your Gran ever teach you how to prepare basic potions?  Before you came to Hogwarts, I mean.  Like, burn salves and that kind of thing?”

“No.  She said it would violate the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Use of Magic statute and that I’d learn it all at school.  Besides, she always said it was a waste of time to brew at home, since there were plenty of good apothecaries on Diagon Alley.”  Hermione sighed as a great deal of puzzling behavior suddenly made sense.

“Hermione?”  Both Harry and Neville were looking at her with questions in their eyes.

“Professor Snape never talked to us about basic ingredient preparation because he probably assumed we knew it already.” She explained.  “Simple potions don’t require any real magic, so kids from Wizarding families are usually taught how to do things like chopping and slicing and boiling before they ever get to Hogwarts.  Doing that stuff does not violate the laws about using underage magic.” She added for Neville’s benefit.  “That’s how all the Weasley kids learned—Ginny told me.”

“But…”  Neville looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione in confusion.  “You two are from Muggle families.  How did you learn?”

“You do a lot of the same things in Muggle cooking.”  Harry explained. “I’ve been doing it since I was tall enough to reach the stove.”  Hermione cringed at this revelation.  She didn’t know much about Harry’s home life, but what she did know wasn’t good.

“My grandmother taught me.” She said.  “And when Professor McGonagall came to tell me about magic and Hogwarts, she suggested that, if I didn’t know basic cookery, I should learn it.  Dean’s mum wouldn’t let him near the kitchen when he was a child, but she taught him the basics when he got his Hogwarts letter.  Oh, Neville...” Her heart went out to the boy who had always been such a disaster in Potions.  If only they had known.  “Right.”  She said, briskly.  “There’s no time for woolgathering.  Harry, you continue working.  Neville, go and get another dogwort root from the cupboard and I’ll show you how to slice it properly.”

**

Hogwarts - Gryffindor Common Room

Sunday, Sept. 10

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny asked, as she joined Hermione on the couch.  They had all left dinner together and Harry still hadn’t made it back to the Common Room. 

“Library.”  Hermione replied, promptly.  “The Quidditch training club is meeting tomorrow afternoon, so he’s getting a head start on his homework.”

“Really?”  Ginny arched an eyebrow.  “Your suggestion?”

“No.”  Hermione laughed.  “Why does everyone find it so hard to believe that Harry is doing his schoolwork without any advice or encouragement from me?”

“Because we know Harry.”  Fred said, sitting on one arm of the sofa.

“And we know you.”  George added, sitting on the other side. “Though, I have to say I’m not surprised.  We…er…. might have inadvertently overheard some of Harry’s talks with Bill and Dad this summer.”

“Right.”  Ginny rolled her eyes.  “I can see how you might have picked something up by accident when you were standing with your ears pressed to the door.”

“And who was it nearly fell off the roof trying to listen at the window?” Fred asked.  Ginny huffed at him and they all shared a laugh.  “Seriously, I’m glad Harry’s got some idea about what he wants to do after school.  I could wish that some other people had a clue.”  He shot a dark look at Ron, who was playing a game of Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus.

“To be honest, I have no idea what I want to do when I leave Hogwarts.” Hermione admitted. 

“But you want to do something, right?”  Ginny said, looking serious.

“Of course.”  Hermione felt slightly indignant.  “I just haven’t decided yet and I probably won’t for another few years.”

“We’re not saying you should have it all planned out now.”  Fred reassured her. 

“Yeah.”  George chimed in.  “That would be mental.  Like, Percy level mental!”

“Our point is that, even if you don’t know what you want to do when you leave Hogwarts, you and Harry know that one day you have to leave and get jobs to support yourselves, and you’re planning accordingly.  Ron isn’t.”  For once, Fred looked rather worried.

“Yeah.”  George agreed.  “I mean, sure he talks about playing professional Quidditch, but, to be honest, he’s only a fair player.  He might do well if he put in some serious work, but we all know that he’s allergic to the stuff.  Take the club, for example.  Ron only goes when Krum and the other professionals are teaching—he says the rest of it is too ‘boring.’”

 “Dad’s really worried about him.”  Ginny wound a lock of hair around her finger nervously.

“Your mother isn’t?”  Hermione was surprised by this.  From what she’d gathered, Molly Weasley expected a great deal of her children and wasn’t shy about pushing them.

“Mum….well, she still sees Ron as her baby boy.”  Fred said. 

“Dad’s brought it up a couple of times, but Mum just says things like ‘He’s far too young to worry about that.’ and ‘Let him be a child while he can.’”  George added, doing a remarkably good impression of their mother.

“Meanwhile, she’s already started dropping anvil-sized hints about how she and Dad started ‘walking out’ together during their fourth year and asking me if there are any boys I fancy.”  Ginny grumbled.

“Besides, Ron tells Mum what she wants to hear.”  Fred looked sour.  “He says he wants to go into the Ministry like Dad and Percy.  Mum’s a bit….er…”

“Gullible?” George supplied. 

“I was going to say ‘naïve’.’” Fred amended.  “She thinks that working for the Ministry is just about the best thing any witch or wizard can do, short of being a Hogwarts professor.  Ron tells her he wants to join the Ministry and so she thinks he’s all sorted out ad doesn’t bother him.”

“The thing is, Dad can only do so much for Ron.”  George’s face was a mirror for his twin’s.  “He can introduce him to people and get him interviews for open positions…”

“But there are loads of other Ministry employees with kids who want jobs, and there are only so many to go around.”  Ginny finished for him.  “Percy got a plum position, but he got really good grades here and was Head Boy.  Dad still had to use up a lot of favors to get him that interview.  And just look at your year…most of the Slytherins and at least half of the Hufflepuffs have parents or guardians in the Ministry and I think there are a couple of Ravenclaws who do, as well.  At the rate Ron is going, he’ll be lucky to get a job working the night shift in the Floo Network Regulation Department.”

“Hermione…”  George bit his lip, looking suddenly anxious.  “Do you think you could…”

“No.”  Hermione said, flatly.  “Look, I understand.  I really do and I’m sorry.”  She added, seeing their crestfallen expressions.  “But I do not have the time to keep after Ron about his schoolwork, nor do I have the patience to deal with his temper tantrums.”

“You’re right.”  Ginny sighed.

“But you’ll have to make it up to us.”  George grinned.

“How?”  Hermione gave him a suspicious glare.

“Flitwick is having you do NEWT level charms, right?”  Fred asked.

“Yes, but…”

“It’s the Silentius charm.” George explained.  “We’ve been experimenting with using it on Muggle earplugs, but we can’t seem to make it last more than about five minutes.  If you can get us two sets…”

“Three.”  Ginny was quick to add

“Three sets with permanent Silentius charms by the Christmas holidays all will be forgiven.” 

At Hermione’s perplexed look, Fred added “Between Ron’s behavior and the grades he’s likely to get if he doesn’t shape up, Mum’s going to yell the house down when we go home. And believe me, her rant will last more than five minutes.”

“Right.”  Hermione laughed.  “Speaking of Ron, I’ve got a question for you lot.  His wand—the one he started with in first year, not the one he has now—that was Charlie’s old wand, right?”

“Yes.”  Ginny nodded.  “Ron told everyone he got a hand-me-down wand because Mum and Dad couldn’t afford to get him a new one, but the truth is that it’s actually a tradition among some of the older pureblood families; when a Weasley kid leaves Hogwarts, he buys a new wand and puts his old one in the family vault.  Then, the next one to get a Hogwarts letter tries out all the wands that are in the vault and, if any of them match, that’s the wand he uses.  Bill used Uncle Harold’s wand, Percy got Dad’s old wand and Charlie’s wand was originally bought by our great-great-grandfather.  Honestly, I don’t know why Ron had to be such a prat about it.”

“There weren’t any family wands that worked for me and Fred so ours were new.” George added.

“What about yours?”  Hermione asked Ginny.  “I hope I’m not being rude, it’s just that Neville said something that got me thinking about wands.”

“My wand is actually the one Mum used when she was at school.”  Ginny gave her a reassuring smile.  “When Mr. Ollivander told her we were a match, she burst out crying!  Right there in the shop!”

“Wait….Mr. Ollivander told you the wand was a match?”

“Oh yes!”  Ginny gave Hermione a funny look.  “Mr. Ollivander has to approve all second-hand wands for Hogwarts students.  Didn’t you know?”

“Gin, she’s a muggleborn.” Fred reminded her.

“Yeah – no wands in her family to pass down to future generations.”  George added.

“But why?”  Hermione asked, intrigued.

“Dad says really bad things can happen if someone tries to learn to do magic with a wand that’s not an exact match for them.”  Ginny replied.  “It’s one thing for an adult wizard to use someone else’s wand, but if a kid who hasn’t fully learned to control his magic uses a wad that’s not a good match, he could hurt himself or someone else.”

“So, Hogwarts requires that all students using second-hand wands have to be tested by Mr. Ollivander to make sure that they are a match.”  Fred continued.

“We tested all the family wands, but none of them worked for us.” George added.  “Mum says that we probably would have been perfect matches for her brothers’ wands, but they were destroyed when Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian died.”

“In addition to getting wands tested by Mr. Ollivander, any parent sending their child to school with a second-hand wand has to tell Professor McGonagall about it so that she can make sure there aren’t any problems.”  Ginny finished.

“But if Mr. Ollivander tested the wands…” Hermione frowned in thought.

“It’s rare, but sometimes problems crop up after a witch or wizard has been using a wand for a few months.”  Fred explained.

“Again, it’s not really an issue for an adult witch or wizard because they know what their wand is supposed to feel like and if something’s off, they just go to Ollivander to get it fixed or to get a new wand.”  George said.

“But with kids…” Ginny’s voice trailed off as she stared at Hermione.  “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

“I…I’ll be back in a moment.”  Hermione said, standing abruptly and unceremoniously dislodging Crookshanks from his seat of honor on her lap.  The cat yowled and glared at her.  “Sorry, Crooks!”  Hermione said, rather breathlessly.  Sparing a glance at the clock, she dashed for the portrait hole and tumbled out into the hallway, barely managing to keep herself from falling.  She ran all the way to Professor McGonagall’s office, only stopping to catch her breath when she reached her Mentor’s door.

Knocking, she rocked back and forth on her heels impatiently, until she heard the longed-for invitation to enter.

“Miss Granger!”  Professor McGonagall was seated in the chair by the fire, a book in her hands.  “What brings you here at this hour?  Is something wrong?”

“Yes…no.  I’m not sure.”  Now that she was here, Hermione wasn’t quite sure how to explain herself.

“Sit down.”  Professor McGonagall gestured to the other chair.  “First things first.  Is anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“Has anyone turned their friend into a footstool or set their bed curtains on fire or something like that?”

“No.”  Hermione gave an embarrassed giggle.

“Right.  So, we’ve established that there is no immediate emergency.  Would you care to tell me what has you so upset that you decided to seek me out a half hour before curfew, rather than waiting until tomorrow morning?”

“Did you know that Neville is using his Dad’s old wand?” Hermione blurted it out, feeling both relieved and frightened as she did so.

“What?”  Professor McGonagall simply stared at her for a moment, apparently at a loss for words.  That didn’t last long.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded, vigorously.  “And I don’t think that he and that wand are a good fit.  I’m sorry.  I probably should have waited until the morning, but when the Weasleys started telling me about the awful things that could happen…”

“Perhaps…”  Professor McGonagall spoke slowly, carefully, as if testing each word to make sure it didn’t break anything “Perhaps I should conjure us some tea and you should tell me what happened.”  In a few moments, they both had steaming cups of herbal tea in their hands and Hermione began to talk.

“This morning, I took Neville and Harry down to the dungeons…to the practice labs.”

“Yes.”  Professor McGonagall gave her an encouraging look.

“Well, Professor Snape gave me a list of the potions the class is going to brew this year and I had them start on a Shrinking Solution.  Right away, I realized that Neville didn’t know the first thing about basic ingredient preparation.  Professor Snape never taught us any of that, you know….I think he assumed that everyone from Wizarding families would have learned it all at home and all the Muggleborn students would have been taught basic cookery.”

“Augusta didn’t teach him anything?”  Professor McGonagall looked horrified.

“No.”  Hermione felt the sadness and anger welling up inside of her.  “Neville says it’s because she didn’t want to violate the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic laws, but from other things he’s said, I gather his gran thought that chopping roots was beneath the dignity of a Longbottom.”

“That woman!”

“Anyway, Harry got to the last stage of the potion first—that’s the point when you stick your wand in the cauldron and cast a Catalyst spell.  I watched him do it and I was watching his wand.  I…I could see the power going through it – from his hand, into the wand, and then out the other end into the potion.  It was beautiful!  I guess it was my Mage-Sight kicking in or something, because I don’t ever remember seeing anything like that before, but it was clean and pure and the potion came together reasonably well.”

“Reasonably well?”  McGonagall arched an eyebrow, though Hermione could see the thousand questions behind her eyes.

“He got a bit lazy with his stirring.” Hermione shrugged.  “I pointed it out to him and he promised to pay more attention.  Anyway, he packed up and left and then Neville got to the final stage of his potion.  I watched him put the wand into the cauldron and I heard him cast the spell…” Her voice trailed off and she gave her Mentor an anguished look.

“What happened?” Professor McGonagall asked, gently.

“I…I could see the power leave his hand and go into the wand.”  Hermione faltered.  “It was pure and clean, just like Harry’s, but then, it was like there…like there was something coating the inside of his wand that made it hard for the power to go through.  Really hard.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”  Professor McGonagall’s brow furrowed.

“I…”  Hermione searched for the words to explain and, suddenly, they came to her.  “My uncle John died of a heart attack when I was nine.”  She paused, then asked, shyly “You know what that is, don’t you?”

“I do.”  Hermione could practically hear the acerbic comment that the Professor was obviously suppressing and hurried on quickly.

“Right, I forgot you were raised in the Muggle world.  Sorry!  Anyway, I adored my uncle and was absolutely shattered when he died.  I wanted to understand why it had happened, so I asked my teacher and she gave me a book about heart disease and heart attacks.  It had drawings that showed how plaque can build up on the walls of the arteries, bit by bit, until the artery is so clogged that blood can’t flow through it smoothly anymore.  The more the plaque builds up, the harder the heart has to work to pump the blood through until one day, there’s just too much…”

“I see.”  Professor McGonagall nodded.  “And these pictures… they reminded you of Neville and his wand?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I asked the Weasleys and they said that there are all kinds of rules about students using second-hand wands at Hogwarts.  They have to be approved by Mr. Ollivander and you have to be notified.  And, you see, during our first year, Harry, Dean and I were talking about our trips to Ollivander’s and I remember Neville asking what Mr. Ollivander was like and I didn’t put the pieces together until just now…”  Hermione felt as if she might cry.  Professor McGonagall closed her eyes and looked as though she was working very hard not to explode.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Granger.  To answer your question, no. I was not aware Mr. Longbottom was using his father’s wand.  However, now that I do know, I will take steps to see that he receives a wand that is more suitable.”

Hermione let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.  “Oh, thank goodness.  The Weasleys told me that Neville could accidentally hurt someone if he’s using a wand that’s not well-matched to him.”

“Indeed, he could.  In fact, it’s a minor miracle that he hasn’t done so already.  Now, it’s almost curfew, so you’d best be on your way.” 

**

Hogwarts - Professor McGonagall’s Office

Sunday, Sept. 10

The door had barely closed when Minerva stood up and nearly knocked the small flowerpot off the mantel in her haste to grab a handful of Floo powder.  Throwing it into the fire, she stuck her head in the flames and called “Abelard Fowler, The Coop.”  Her head spun for a moment and then she was staring into the eyes of a startled old man.

“Minerva?” 

“Alby, I need to speak to you right away.  It’s important.”

“Of course.  Come over now, if you like.”

“I just need to let Filius know I’m leaving the school.”  He nodded and Minerva pulled her head out of the fire.  Standing quickly, she took out her wand and tapped one corner of her desk. 

“Filius?”

“Yes, Minerva.  I’m here.”  The distortion caused by the ancient communication spell made his voice sound even higher than normal.

“Filius, I have to leave the school for a little while.  I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but it really is rather urgent.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Minerva.  I’ll look after things until you get back.”

“Thank you.  I should only be gone for about an hour or so.” Tossing another pinch of Floo powder into the fire, she stepped into the emerald flames and, after a dizzying moment or two, arrived in Abelard Fowler’s comfortable, but rather shabby, living room.

“Minerva!”  Abelard stood and held out his hands to her.  “How lovely to see you.  It’s been too long.”  She pressed his hands warmly and gave him a sad smile.

“It has.” She agreed.  “I do wish this was a social call, but I’m afraid it’s not.”

“Oh dear.”  Abelard sighed.  “Would you care for some tea.”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head.  “Though I will take something stronger if you have it.”

“That bad, hmm?”  He arched an amused eyebrow at her.  “Sit, sit!”  He ushered her to a chair and then re-took his own seat.  “Lolly!”  The smallest House-elf Minerva had ever seen appeared.  “Be a dear and fetch that bottle of brandy from the cellar—the one I pulled out for dinner with the Minister--and two glasses.”

“Yes, Master Alby.”  The elf popped away.

“Where’s Heloise tonight?” Minerva asked.

“She’s with Nya.”  Abelard replied.  “The baby is due any minute and Heloise was afraid she’d miss it if she didn’t get there early.  Don’t worry, Minerva.  We’re alone, except for Lolly, of course.”  As if summoned, the elf reappeared and placed a tray with the requested items on a low table between them.  Bowing slightly, she popped away again.  Abelard began pouring the drinks.  “So.  Am I speaking with my sister-in-law, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts or my grand-nephew’s Head of House?”

“All three, I’m afraid.”  Minerva sighed and thanked him as he passed her a drink.  “To begin with, were you aware that Augusta sent Neville to school with Frank’s old wand?”

“What?”  Abelard’s eyes went wide and he nearly spat out his drink.  “No, I bloody well wasn’t aware. Damn!  How badly was he hurt?”

“He wasn’t, thank goodness.”  Minerva sighed.  “But it is clear that he and that wand are not a good match and his work has suffered because of it.  What’s worse, he has almost no confidence in his own abilities.  I….” she trailed off as her mind filled with memories of Neville Longbottom struggling with even the simplest transfigurations.  “Oh, Alby.  I should have known something was wrong…”

“Now, now Minerva.”  Abelard said, looking rather awkward “There’s no use in crying over spilled butterbeer.  The question is, what’s to be done about it?”

“I’d like to take Neville to Diagon Alley, the sooner, the better.” She said.  “But I know Augusta will never allow it.  I thought that you might be able to talk some sense into her.”

“There’s no need.”  He suddenly looked very tired.  “I love my sister, but you and I both know she hasn’t been right since poor Frank and Alice…”  He took a deep, steadying breath.  “Neville doesn’t know this yet but…well, I’m his legal guardian now.  If there are any decisions to be made about his education, I will be the one making them.  Of course, you may take him to Diagon Alley or I’ll do it, if you like.”

“No, thank you.”  Minerva gave him a small smile.  “I wanted to go into London anyway, so this is as good an excuse as any.  If I may ask….” She coughed delicately.  “What happened to prompt these new arrangements?”

“It’s a long story.”  Abelard sighed, wearily.  “And it’s not a happy one.  I’ll fill you in on the details later.”  The mixture of sorrow and anger in his eyes convinced Minerva that it was best not to push for answers just now.  “Was there anything else?”

“Yes.”  She nodded.  “However, before I continue, I must insist that what I am about to tell you be kept out of any reports you or the people in your department send to the Wizengamot.”  To her surprise, Abelard let out a bark of laughter.

“Minerva, my dear.” He chuckled.  “The Wizengamot has not had an accurate or truthful report from my Department in over thirty years.  Fools that they are, they don’t even realize we’re just handing them a scroll full of lies every time!”  Minerva let out a sigh of relief.  “You’ve done an excellent job of piquing my interest.  Care to tell me what you don’t want them to know?”

 “One of my students is an Occulomagus and I think it would be best if Albus Dumbledore did not become aware of that fact.”  This time, Abelard’s shock overcame his good manners.  Frowning, Minerva dabbed at the brandy he’d sprayed all over the table between them.

“An Occulomagus?  At Hogwarts?  Are you certain?”  Before Minerva could speak, Abelard answered his own question.  “Of course you are.  You wouldn’t have come to me otherwise.  Who is he?  Has he had any training?  Why don’t you want Dumbledore to know about this?”

“She is a fourth year by the name of Hermione Granger.”  Minerva said.

“Hermione…not Neville’s friend, Hermione?”

“The very same.”  Minerva nodded.  “She hasn’t had any training.  She’s a muggleborn and, as far as I can tell, her gift has only started to manifest itself since she returned to school earlier this month.”

“Remarkable.”  Abelard was grinning from ear to ear.  “You realize, of course, that I’m going to do my damndest to make sure she ends up coming to work for the Department, don’t you?”

“I do.”  Minerva nodded.  “However, I intend to provide you with some stiff competition.  In addition to being an Occulomagus, Miss Granger is one of the brightest young witches to walk the halls of Hogwarts in several generations.  She received marks of ‘Outstanding’ in eleven courses last year.”

“Eleven….?  Abelard gaped at her.

“She would make an excellent Professor and I can easily imagine her becoming Headmistress of Hogwarts someday.  I don’t mind telling you that I’ve revived the Mentorship program at Hogwarts for the express purpose of getting her into it and becoming her Mentor.”

“But you said she’s a fourth year….”

“She is.  She’ll be taking her OWL exams this coming June and her NEWT exams next year.  I have every confidence that she’ll do extremely well on both.”

“And she’s an Occulomagus.”  Abelard marveled.  “Neville told me she was brilliant, but I had no idea….”

“It’s all very exciting.”  Minerva said, smiling.

“But you haven’t answered my third question.”  Abelard gave her a shrewd look.  “Why don’t you want Dumbledore to find out about this?”

“Miss Granger is very good friends with Harry Potter.”  Minerva sighed.  “I trust you are aware that the boy’s Hogwarts career has been… interesting.”

“To say the very least.”

“It has recently come to my attention that Albus was more than a mere observer during at least one of Harry’s misadventures….”  Minerva went on to tell him about Hermione’s memory.  When she was finished, she saw that Abelard had gone very pale and that his fists were clenched.  “Alby?”

 “I….”  Abelard looked a bit desperate.  “Yes.  It’s best if you see for yourself.”  He stood and walked to a massive desk that sat against one wall of the room.  Picking up a piece of parchment, he returned to his seat before handing it to her.  Minerva glanced at the seal and recognized the crest of Gringotts: a crossed hammer and sword superimposed over the image of a Galleon.  She read:

August 24, 1994

Dear Mr. Fowler –

As Account Manager for the Longbottom Estate, it is my duty to inform you, in your role as Trustee of said estate, that two attempts were made by unauthorized persons to access the family vaults today.

At 1:34 p.m., Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, entered the bank and presented one of our tellers with a letter, signed by Madam Augusta Longbottom, granting him access to the Longbottom family vaults and the right to withdraw monies and property from said vaults up to the amount of 50,000 Galleons (see enclosed). The teller recognized that Madam Longbottom is not a Trustee of the Longbottom estate and, therefore, lacks the authority to grant such permission.  Suspecting fraud, he requested my presence.

I spoke with Mr. Dumbledore at length and was, eventually, able to persuade him of the facts of the situation.  He became quite angry when I refused to allow him to withdraw any funds and told him that, should he persist in his demands, I would have no choice but to call the Aurors.  He insisted on knowing the name of the Trustee for the Longbottom estate and I was forced to remind him, several times, that such information is held in the strictest confidence.  He left the bank at 2:28 p.m.  An hour later, Madam Augusta Longbottom arrived and attempted to withdraw 50,000 Galleons from the same vault. As that far exceeds the allowance permitted to her by the Trust, her request was denied.  She became very agitated and our guards were forced to escort her from the premises.  

         In accordance with Gringotts policy, both of these incidents have been reported to the Ministry’s Goblin Liaison office.  To ensure the security of the Longbottom account, I will require you to come to the bank to verify any future claims on the estate made by persons other than yourself.

Gaprod,

Account Manager

Gringtotts Wizarding Bank, Diagon Alley, London

Minerva could only stare at the letter in shock and horror.  “I….Abelard…I don’t understand any of this.  Why on earth would Albus or Augusta need to withdraw funds from the Longbottom vaults?”

“I asked myself the very same question.”  Abelard looked grim.  “Both our father and Richard Longbottom left Augusta large sums in their wills.  More than enough to allow her to live out her days quite comfortably.  The allowance the letter refers to is meant for Neville.  Frank and Alice didn’t want Augusta to have to spend her own money taking care of him, if something happened to them.  As for Dumbledore, well, I have my suspicions about that.”

 “Alby, you’re not making any sense.” Minerva said.  Noting that Abelard had already downed two full tumblers of brandy, she banished the bottle to a cabinet on the far side of the room.  He glared at her for a moment, before sighing. 

“Sorry, Minerva.  It’s just…this latest news only seems to confirm what I’ve suspected for months.  You see, after I got that letter, I went to speak to Augusta.  I’m ashamed to admit this, but it had been a long time since I’d been to Long Hall…nearly a year, in fact.  The moment I set eyes on my sister, I knew something was wrong.  Her mind has been fragile for some time now, but she’d gotten worse.  A lot worse.  I found her sitting in the parlor, talking to Frank as if he was sitting right there with her.”

“Oh dear….”

“I just stood in the doorway and listened and watched, Minerva, and do you know what she said?”  Minerva shook her head.  “She said ‘I know it’s a lot of money, Frank, but Albus has to have it!  You-Know-Who is hunting for Neville, just like he was before and only Albus can keep him safe!  I’ve done everything Albus has asked and he’s kept Neville safe so far, but I’ve run out of money.  What else can I do?’  She went on and on like that, for nearly ten minutes, before she noticed I was there.  She invited me to sit down for a cup of tea and then proceeded to tell me why I had to give Albus bloody Dumbledore unrestricted access to the Longbottom vaults.  I flat out refused and she…. Minerva, she drew her wand on me and attempted to cast an Imperius curse.”  Minerva gasped in horror.

“Augusta tried to cast an Unforgiveable?”

“Tried being the operative word.”  He said, grimly.  “In her condition, I’m not sure she could have lit her wand, let alone pulled off something that requires as much power and focus as an Imperius.  I had to Stun my own sister, Minerva.”  There were tears running down Abelard’s cheeks, but he seemed to be completely unaware of the fact.  Minerva felt utterly and completely helpless.

“Is this why you became Neville’s guardian?” she asked, at last.  Abelard nodded.

“I contacted a Healer from the Department and had him examine Augusta from head to toe.  He discovered that she had been subjected to a truly criminal number of memory modification charms and something that seems to be a cross between a Confundus charm and an Imperius curse.  She wasn’t exactly following someone else’s orders, but the charm made her highly susceptible to someone’s suggestions.”

“Albus Dumbledore.”  Minerva hissed.

“I think so, yes.  The healer—Geronius Oswald—managed to lift the curses and he’s working on removing the memory blocks, but it’s a long, slow process and Augusta’s mind and magic were badly damaged.  How badly, I’m not sure, but Oswald tells me that she’s been subjected to this treatment for years—possibly since Frank and Alice were injured.  It would certainly explain her increasingly erratic behavior and some…well…some very poor decisions she made concerning Neville.  Did you know that she made him swear an Unbreakable Vow not to say anything about his wand?”

“What?”  Minerva clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.

“And she stood by and did nothing when my idiot brother, Algernon, decided to try to ‘scare the magic’ out of Neville by dangling him out the window and dropping him off a pier!” 

“’You’re not serious!”

“I am.”  Abelard shook his head in disgust.  “Apparently, Algie took it into his head that the boy might be a Squib and….”

“Don’t.”  Minerva held up a hand.  A small, clinical part of her brain noticed that it was shaking.  “You tell your fool of a brother that if he ever says anything like that to Neville again, I will…”

“You’re too late.”  Abelard sighed.  “Once she regained her senses, Augusta and I had a long talk and she told me some of the things he’s said and done to that boy.  I will…”  He paused for a moment and Minerva had the distinct impression he was attempting to regain control over his temper.  “I’ve asked Healer Oswald to look at him the next time he comes around here looking for some money.  If his mind’s been tampered with, well…I can’t really blame him for that.  If not....let’s just say that I’m well aware that Neville’s education in practical Defense Against the Dark Arts has been sorely lacking and I intend to make up for it this summer by allowing him to practice on Algie.”

“Good.”  Minerva gave a curt nod.  Normally, she did not approve of violence, but in this case, she would happily make an exception.  Algernon Fowler had always been her least favorite in-law and she could only imagine what psychological scars Neville had from such shabby treatment.

“Anyway, Augusta has agreed that it will be best for me to take over as Neville’s guardian.  She’s gone to the South of France.  There are some excellent healers there and the French Ministry is not about to give Dumbledore any assistance in finding her.  She’s physically and magically weak and her mental state is quite fragile, but we hope that she will be recovered enough to spend the Christmas holidays with us at Long Hall.”

“And Dumbledore is responsible for all this?”

“While I don’t have enough evidence to bring to Amelia Bones, let alone satisfy the Wizengamot, I believe he is.”  With a glance at Minerva, Abelard Summoned the brandy bottle and poured another drink for himself.  However, once the glass was full, he didn’t touch it.  “Augusta has made me Neville’s Proxy in the Wizengamot, though I’ve managed to keep that quiet for now, and she gave me permission to go through her Gringotts vaults with her account manager.  Apparently, she gave Albus unrestricted access to her money five years ago and he’s taken almost everything she had.  My sources at the DMLE tell me that he has emptied the vaults of several of his other ‘friends’ and tried—repeatedly and unsuccessfully—to access both the Potter and Black vaults.  He’s managed to get a bit out of Harry Potter’s trust vault, because he’s the lad’s guardian, but that’s all.”

“What is that man playing at?”  Minerva was certain that nothing anyone could say about Albus Dumbledore could ever surprise her again.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, he has taken great care to ensure that he isn’t caught.”  Abelard picked up his drink, stared at it a moment, then put it down again.  “Even if Healer Oswald can lift the blocks on Augusta’s memory, we both know that they will be badly corrupted and inadmissible in a Wizengamot trial.”

“And Miss Granger’s memory isn’t admissible because it wasn’t removed by an Autor.”  Minerva nodded, gloomily.

“I’d like to see that memory, if I may.”  Abelard suddenly leaned forward, all business again.  “The Department has opened an investigation into Dumbledore’s activities—he’s done more than just swindle or outright steal from those who trust him.  Voldemort is back, did you know?”

“I found out the other day.”

“Albus told you?”  Minerva snorted in disgust.

“Of course not.  Severus Snape told me, but that was only after I managed to worm my way through the loopholes in the oaths of loyalty and secrecy Albus made him swear.”

“Severus Snape….”  Abelard gave a violent shake of his head.  “Best to leave that mess for another time.  The point is that Dumbledore knows about Voldemort—has known since the beginning of August, at least--and has not seen fit to inform the Ministry or the Wizengamot.”

“What do we do, Abelard?”  Minerva asked, fighting off the despair that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Well, to begin, I think we need to re-think how you handle this situation with Miss Granger and her Mage-Sight.”

Chapter Text

Hogwarts - Hallway

Monday, Sept. 11

As the fourth year Gryffindors left their Common Room to head to breakfast on Monday morning, they found Professor McGonagall waiting for them.

“Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger, I would like to speak to both of you for a moment.”  She led them to an alcove, well out of earshot of their curious classmates, before continuing.  “Mr. Longbottom, it has come to my attention that you are using your father’s old wand.  While I understand that the wand has sentimental value to you, it is clearly not well suited to your needs.  Therefore, I have your guardian’s permission to take you to Ollivander’s today to get something that is more compatible with your magic.”

“My guardian…. You talked to Gran?”  Neville looked confused.  For a moment, Professor McGonagall gave him a look that could almost have been described as kindly.

“Your Great-Uncle Abelard is going to be your legal guardian from now until you come of age.” She explained, gently.  “He’ll explain everything when we see him later.”  Neville blinked in surprise.  “Miss Granger, you will accompany us, as this outing provides me with several opportunities to begin giving you some more practical lessons about the Wizarding world.”

“Really?”  Hermione felt the excitement rising in her chest and had to stop herself from bouncing up and down.  “What will we be doing?”

“We will be making several stops on Diagon Alley, including Gringotts, Ollivander’s, and a few shops that are not usually frequented by Hogwarts students.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “If you have a Muggle bankbook or debit card, please be sure to bring them with you.  After we finish on the Alley, we will be going to the Ministry of Magic where we will meet with Abelard Fowler, Neville’s Great Uncle and the Director of the Department of Mysteries.  We will not return to Hogwarts in time for lunch, so we will dine at the Leaky Cauldron.  Mr. Longbottom, you have been excused from classes today.  Miss Granger, I have spoken to Professor Sprout and she has agreed to reschedule your tutorial for later in the week.  We should be back in plenty of time for your Arithmancy tutorial, but if we are not, Professor Vector will schedule a make-up session with you as well.  I want both of you to meet me in the Entrance Hall at eight o’clock sharp.  Understand?”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall.” They chorused.  Giving them both a curt nod, she strode off down the hall.  Hermione was about to follow, when Neville laid a hand on her arm.

“Wait a minute, Hermione.”

“Yes, Neville?”  Hermione felt almost as nervous as Neville looked.  Neville wasn’t stupid—far from it.  He had almost certainly put two and two together and realized that she was the one who had told Professor McGonagall about his wand.  She knew that in doing so, she might have violated some unspoken rule of the Wizarding world, but when that was put in the balance against Neville’s safety….

“Thank you!”  To Hermione’s astonishment, Neville reached out and grabbed her in a fierce hug.  “Thank you so much!  I know that Dad’s wand isn’t right for me, but I could never say anything about it….”

“Why not?”

“Look, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Professor McGonagall and my Gran are really close…well, they used to be.  They were roommates when they went to Hogwarts.  They stayed in touch after they left school and Aunt Min—that’s what I used to call Professor McGonagall—married Gran’s older brother.  That was just before I was born.  Unfortunately, he was killed shortly after my first birthday.”

“Oh no….”  Hermione gasped.

“Anyway,” Neville hurried on “Gran made me promise not to tell Aunt Min about using Dad’s wand.  She made me swear an Unbreakable Vow.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of those.” Hermione admitted.

“They’re rare.”  Neville explained as they began walking towards the staircase.  “It’s a magically binding agreement.  If I had broken my word and told Aunt Min, or any of the other teachers, about the wand, I would have died.”  Hermione stopped so abruptly that Neville took several steps before he realized she was no longer with him.  “Hermione?”

“Are you serious?” She asked, doing her best to keep her voice from becoming shrill.  “Would you really have died if you’d said something to Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes.”  Neville gave her a sober nod.  “Like I said, Unbreakable Vows are really rare.  Most people aren’t willing to take that kind of risk.  I only swore it because I didn’t realize what the consequences were until after it was all done and I asked Great-Uncle Abelard about it.”

“But you told me….”

“Yes, but you’re not an adult and I didn’t tell you directly, did I?”  Neville explained.  “Unbreakable Vows are very literal.  Harry, Ron and Dean have known about my wand since first year, but none of them said anything to McGonagall or any of the other teachers.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why Ron didn’t say anything, but I doubt Harry or Dean realized there was anything worth telling about.  After all, Ron used his brother’s old wand his first year and he got along just fine.  They probably thought that loads of kids use their parent or sibling’s old wands.”

“I just…I wanted you to know how much I appreciate this.”  Neville said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh, Neville…”  It was Hermione’s turn to reach out and hug him.  Her estimation of Neville’s Gran’s insanity skyrocketed as they walked into the Great Hall.  While Neville tucked into his food, Hermione explained their outing to the others.

“I understand why Neville is going, but why do you get to go?” Ron asked, sounding rather peevish.

“As part of my History of Magic lessons, Professor McGonagall is teaching me about the Wizarding world—the things most muggleborns don’t learn until after they leave Hogwarts.”   Hermione said this more for Harry and Ginny’s benefit, than for Ron’s.  “I’m not entirely sure what we’ll be doing, but she said we’d be stopping at Gringotts and Ollivander’s.”

“You’ll have to tell me everything when you get back.”  Harry said.  “I envy you, Hermione.  It’s a real shame that they don’t teach us the things McGonagall is going to teach you, as part of our regular lessons.”

“It is.”  Hermione nodded fervently.  “Professor McGonagall and I were talking about it last week and…”

“It’s not fair!”  Ron complained.  “We don’t get to leave school until the first Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Ron, it’s not like I’ll be off having a fun-filled day full of adventure and excitement.”  Hermione snapped.  While this wasn’t exactly true—she was quite excited about the excursion—she knew that Ron would not share her enthusiasm.  “I’ll still be in class.  It’s just a…a field trip!”

“A what?”  Ginny asked.  Hermione began to explain the concept of field trips to Ginny, while Harry distracted Ron with a question about the Quidditch club.  When she was sure that Ron was completely absorbed in his conversation with Harry, Hermione leaned towards Ginny and began to speak in a low voice.

“Do me a favor, will you?  The Durmstrang students will be at the Quidditch club this afternoon, right?”  Ginny nodded.  “Will you please tell Viktor where I’ve gone and that I might not be back in time to meet him as we planned?”  Ginny’s eyes went wide.  “And try to do it when he’s not surrounded by people; I would really rather not have to deal with the gossip, all right?”

“All right.”  Ginny said, staring at her with wide eyes.  “But I expect full details on these plans of yours and how you came to make them!”

Hermione laughed.  “I’ll tell you tonight, so long as it stays between us.”  Ginny nodded her agreement.

At five minutes to eight, Hermione and Neville were in the Entrance Hall awaiting Professor McGonagall’s arrival.  It was hard to tell which of them was more excited.  Neville was swiveling his head back and forth as he tried to catch sight of the Professor, while Hermione was humming happily to herself.  Most of the other students had gone to class and those with a free period were outside, enjoying the fine weather, so they were alone.  Or so they thought.

“Look, it’s Longbottom and Granger!”  Hermione stifled a groan as she heard Draco Malfoy’s distinctive drawl approaching from the stairs to the dungeons. “I wonder.  Would it be worse to be a Squib or a mudblood?”

“I think it would be worse to be a Squib.”  Pansy Parkinson tittered.  Hermione was reminded of the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.  “Squibs are so useless…and they’re a disgrace to their family name.”

“But at least they have a family name.”  Draco pointed out.  “Mudbloods are completely worthless.  No status, no influence…”  Neville’s face was beet red and Hermione realized that she was grinding her teeth.  With an effort, she relaxed her jaw muscles.

“I think the real question we should be asking is which smells worse, a mudblood or a squib?  Honestly, I’m about to faint from the odor.  We should ask them to shower.” Pansy sneered, laughing.

“Better yet, let’s ask them why they’re wearing their cloaks.”  Draco’s eyes narrowed.  “What happened, Longbottom?  Did the teachers finally give up on you?  Are they sending you home?”

“Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger are accompanying me on an excursion to Diagon Alley.”  Everyone jumped and turned to face a scowling Professor McGonagall.  “That will be twenty points from Slytherin for each of you and you are henceforth banned from the Quidditch club, Mr. Malfoy.”

“But Professor…”

“No!”  She snapped.  “You have been warned…repeatedly…about your behavior.  Bigotry of the sort I just witnessed will not be tolerated at Hogwarts.  If you cannot get that through your head, you will simply have to suffer the consequences of your actions.”  Her voice had risen to a near shout.

“Is there a problem, Minerva?”  Professor Snape glided across the floor.  Hermione wondered where he had come from.

“Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson seem to find it difficult to remember that they need to treat their fellow students with a modicum of courtesy and civility.”  Professor McGonagall’s lips were pursed and her eyes were flashing.  “I overheard them insulting Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger and using words that have been expressly forbidden to them.  I have taken points and I have banned Mr. Malfoy from the Quidditch Club, since he has received repeated warnings and punishments for this same offense.”

“I see.”  Professor Snape paused and peered at Draco and Pansy.  “What have you to say for yourselves?”

“Professor, it’s not fair!”  Draco burst out.  “Granger and Longbottom started it….”

“That’s not true!”  Neville shouted.  Hermione laid a hand on his arm.

“I think there’s a very simple way to solve this.”  Snape’s voice was smooth as silk.  “We can obtain memories from all the parties involved and then we can determine where the fault lies.”

“An excellent idea, Professor Snape.”  Professor McGonagall was wearing a grim smile.  “I’m sure the Headmaster won’t mind if we borrow his Pensieve. If, on viewing the memories, we discover that Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom acted improperly or provoked Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson, I will rescind the ban, restore the points and award an additional fifty points apiece to Slytherin, along with appropriate punishments for Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger.  Does that sound reasonable?”

“Very.”  Hermione suppressed the urge to giggle.  Neville, who had finally caught on, covered his mouth with his hand in a rather unsuccessful effort to hide his grin.  “And if we discover that Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson were, indeed, at fault their punishment will stand and I would suggest adding a week of detention to be served with Mr. Filch.  Agreed?”

“Agreed.  Wait here and I’ll go get the Pensieve.”  

“What?”  Draco squeaked.  “You can’t take my memories! I won’t allow it.”

“Nor will I!”  Pansy chimed in.

“No one is suggesting removing the memories by force.”  Professor Snape’s words were reassuring, but his tone was not.  “However, you were witnessed engaging in behavior that you have been told is forbidden.  You maintain that you only broke the rules because Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom provoked you.  Unfortunately, there were no witnesses to that provocation; it is just your word against theirs.  Therefore, if you are unwilling to provide memories, I have no choice but to allow Professor McGonagall’s punishment to stand and to deduct a further twenty points from Slytherin for each of you.”

“For what?”  Pansy gasped.

“Lying.  Badly.”  Snape looked her in the eye.  “So, what’s it to be?  Shall Professor McGonagall get the Pensieve?”  There was a moment of silence, during which everyone watched Draco Malfoy’s face turn several very interesting shades of purple.

“My father will hear about this!” he snarled, finally.  Turning away, he stalked back towards the dungeon, Pansy in tow.

“I’ve no doubt.”  Hermione heard Professor Snape mutter.  “Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom…I offer my apologies on behalf of my students.”

“Ah….Thank you, sir.”  Hermione said as Neville stammered out something that sounded like it was along the same lines.

“Minerva, I know you and your Lions are going to Diagon Alley and I was wondering if I could impose on you for a favor.”

“Certainly, Severus.”

“Thilandra Hastings contacted me yesterday with the news that she has acquired one of Arsenius Jigger’s experiment notebooks.  Naturally, I am quite eager to purchase it and have already instructed Gringotts to transfer the funds from my vault.  However, the book is very old and very fragile.  Madam Hastings offered to send it via owl post but I’m afraid that it might not survive the trip and it will be a few days before I am able to leave the castle.  Would you mind picking it up for me?”

“Not at all.”  Professor McGonagall gave Professor Snape a small smile.  “I had planned to stop in to speak with Madam Hastings today, anyway.  You’ll fire-call her and let her know I’ll be picking up the book?”

“I will.”  He nodded.  “Thank you.”  He turned and followed his students down the stairs to the dungeons.

“Let’s be off.”  Professor McGonagall said.  Holding out a handkerchief, she instructed each of them to grasp a corner between two fingers.  Hermione felt a tug behind her belly button and the Entrance Hall vanished.  Several dizzying seconds later, she landed in one of the private parlors of the Leaky Cauldron.  Stumbling, she nearly fell over.  Professor McGonagall must have been prepared for this, because Hermione felt herself being caught and pushed down into a chair before she was aware of what was happening.

When her vision cleared, Neville and Professor McGonagall were both looking at her with concern.

“How long until that stops happening every time I take a Portkey?” she asked.  Neville grinned at her.

“Sorry, Hermione, but it took me about a year of making trips once a week, before I could consistently land on my feet.”

“It will become easier once you learn to Apparate.”  Professor McGonagall reminded her.  “I don’t know why, but something about mastering Apparition makes other forms of magical travel much easier.  Now, if you’ve recovered, Miss Granger, we’d best be off.  I’m afraid that kerfuffle with Mr. Malfoy has put us a bit behind schedule.”

She led them out of the parlor, through the Leaky Cauldron’s back door and onto Diagon Alley.  To Hermione, the street seemed empty and deserted.  Instead of the usual crowds of talking, laughing, harried shoppers, only a few elderly witches and wizards could be seen peering through the shop windows or examining the wares displayed on the outdoor tables and booths.  It took her a moment to remember that she had only ever seen Diagon Alley at the end of the summer holidays—when it was full to bursting with Hogwarts students and their families. 

They stepped into the cool, marble interior of Gringotts, but instead of leading them towards a teller, Professor McGonagall pulled them into a small alcove.

“Before we begin our business, I want to explain what we’re doing here today.  Mr. Longbottom, your uncle has authorized Gringotts to establish a vault for you.  Your parents made provisions for you to receive an allowance from your estate and that will now go into your new vault, rather than going through your grandmother.  Your uncle feels that it is high time you begin to learn the rudiments of estate management and that this is an excellent first step.”  Neville looked slightly nervous, but nodded.

“Miss Granger, you will be opening a new vault today.  You will find that this makes shopping a great deal easier as you can direct Gringotts to transfer money from your vault rather than having to carry a bag full of coins around with you everywhere you go.  Your account manager will also provide you with some literature regarding the many services that Gringotts offers to witches and wizards.  We will discuss those services and the situations in which you might find them useful next week.  Understood?”

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Very well.  I realize that you will have any number of questions, but I will ask you to hold them until after we leave the bank.  Goblins prize efficiency and, if you ask a question that does not directly relate to the business at hand, they will think you are wasting their time.  I should also warn both of you that the goblins will want a small amount of blood from each of you to confirm your identities. The process can be rather startling, but it will not cause you any pain.  Try not to flinch.”

They joined a rapidly moving queue and when it was their turn, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, exuding a poise and confidence that Hermione envied.  She informed the teller that Neville had an appointment to speak with Account Manager Gaprod and that Hermione needed to open a vault.  For the briefest of moments, an expression Hermione couldn’t recognize flitted across the teller’s face, before he gave them a crisp nod and instructed them to wait.   Hopping down from his stool, the goblin scurried through one of the many doors that lined the bank’s main hall.  He returned a moment later and beckoned them forward.  Hermione, Neville, and Professor McGonagall followed the goblin through the same door he’d used earlier, and down a seemingly endless marble corridor.  More doors lined each wall and they had been walking for a good two minutes before they finally stopped in front of one. 

“Account Manager Gulrot’s office.” The goblin announced.  “He will be able to assist you.”  Without another word, he turned on his heel and practically ran back the way he’d come.  Neville and Hermione gave each other nervous glances, and Professor McGonagall frowned, but she forbore to comment as she lifted her hand and knocked three times on the door.

“Enter.”  Professor McGonagall opened the door and ushered the two students into the office.  Hermione stared about her, wide-eyed with wonder. The office was huge—easily twice the size of her dorm room at Hogwarts, which was roomy enough to comfortably accommodate three teenaged girls.  The room contained a small desk towards the back, a table and chairs that bore a striking resemblance to the type used for conferences and meetings in Muggle offices, and an enormous filing cabinet that took up one entire wall.  A goblin, who was significantly shorter and older than the teller, stood from his seat behind the desk.

“Madam McGonagall.  I am Senior Account Manager Gulrot.  I understand that you require assistance with two vaults?”

“Yes.”  Professor McGonagall’s tone was scrupulously polite, but her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.  “Miss Granger needs to open a new vault and Mr. Longbottom needs to speak with his Account Manager.”

“Account Manager Gaprod is ill and unable to fulfill his duties to House Longbottom.”  The goblin snapped.  “I will handle both matters.  Sit down.”  Though she still looked worried, Professor McGonagall ushered the two students to adjoining seats before placing herself directly across the table from them.  Gulrot picked up several items from the desk, then took the seat at the “head” of the table.

“We will begin by establishing that these two children are who they claim to be.” He announced.  Placing a blank piece of parchment on the desk, he held out his hand towards Neville.  “Right hand, please.”  Blinking in surprise, Neville extended his hand, which Gulrot grasped, turning it so that the palm was facing up.  With his free hand, he held a small instrument, resembling an extremely thin Muggle ball-point pen, about an inch above Neville’s palm.  He pressed a button on the top of the device and a long, thin needle shot out and pierced Neville’s skin.  Neville’s eyes widened, but he held his hand steady.

“It really doesn’t hurt.” He said, awestruck.  With a sneer, Gulrot withdrew the needle and turned Neville’s hand over, so that the blood dripping from the wound fell onto the parchment.  The drops were absorbed completely, leaving the parchment looking completely unblemished.  The effect was rather disturbing and Hermione couldn’t help but remember what Harry and Ginny had told her about Tom Riddle’s diary.  Gulrot released his grip on Neville and sat, silently, staring at the parchment.

After a moment, words began to appear in red ink and Gulrot sat back, looking well satisfied.  He pushed the parchment towards Neville and Hermione, unable to restrain herself, peered over his shoulder to read.

Neville Francis Longbottom

Parents – Francis Longbottom (St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies), Alice (McKibbin) Longbottom (St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies)

Scion of Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom

Scion of Ancient House of McKibbin

Heir-Presumptive of Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom

Current Residence – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Age – 14

Legal Guardian – Abelard Tiberius Fowler

Vaults –

Longbottom Family Vaults (2) – Restricted Access

Fowler Family Vaults (2) – Restricted Access

McKibbin Family Vault – Restricted Access

Personal Vault – Full Access

“Very good.”  Goblin expressions were, Hermione thought, hard to read, but she had the strangest feeling that Gulrot was laughing at Neville.  She instinctively disliked him.  “Now, you, Miss Granger.  I shall assist you with opening a vault today, but in future you will most likely be assigned to work with one of the junior account managers.”  Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione held out her hand without being prompted.  She was practically bursting at the seam with questions and was anxious to hurry this along so they could leave the bank and she could get some answers.

Gulrot took the pen-like instrument and held it over Hermione’s palm.  Since she’d watched the procedure with Neville, she knew what to expect and didn’t flinch or cry out when the needle pierced her flesh.  Neville was right—it didn’t hurt.  There was a slight tingle, but that was all.  Gulrot held her palm over the parchment then released her once a few drops of blood had fallen and been absorbed.  He pushed the parchment towards Hermione without really looking at it.

“Since you are not from a wizarding family, you will not have access to….” The goblin’s voice trailed off as words began to appear on the parchment.

Hermione Jean Granger

Parents – Daniel Granger (Muggle, Crawley), Emma (Tedley) Granger (Muggle, Crawley)

Scion of Ancient and Most Royal House of Pendragon

Scion of Ancient and Most Noble House of Black

Head of Ancient and Most Royal House of Pendragon

Heir Presumptive of Ancient and Most Noble House of Black

Current Residence – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Age – 14

Legal Guardian – Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Vaults -

Pendragon Family Vaults (7) – Full Access.  Note – These vaults have been classified as Dormant and will need to be reopened and audited before withdrawals can be made.

Black Family Vaults (4) – Restricted Access

Malfoy Family Vaults (2) – Restricted Access

LeStrange Family Vaults (2) – Restricted Access

Tonks Family Vault – Restricted Access

“I…I don’t understand.”  Looking up, Hermione saw that Gulrot, Professor McGonagall and Neville wore almost identical expressions of shock.  The goblin was the first to recover.

“Wait here, please.” He said, standing abruptly.  Walking so fast he was almost running, he hurried out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

 “What just happened?”  Hermione asked, in a small voice.  When she answered, Professor McGonagall did so, slowly, as if her words were travelling on boggy ground and the wrong one might sink her entire thought.

“Miss Granger, there is a small group of scholars who believe that there is no such thing as a true ‘muggleborn’ witch or wizard.  They maintain that everyone born into a magical family has magic, regardless of whether or not they are able to use it.”

“Squibs.”  Neville breathed.

“Exactly.”  Professor McGonagall nodded.  “These scholars believe that Squibs pass their magic down to their descendants, just as witches and wizards do, and that magic gains strength, little by little, until it emerges, many generations later, in a so-called ‘muggleborn’ witch or wizard.  Not many people give credence to this theory, but it appears that, in your case at least, those scholars are correct.”

“But…but…”  Hermione felt almost dizzy with confusion.

“Hermione,” Neville spoke gently, pointing at the parchment.  “according to this, you are a Scion of both House Pendragon and House Black.  That just means your most recent magical ancestors were from those families.”

“All right.”  Hermione said, slowly, as she struggled to pull her thoughts together into some sort of coherent shape.  “So, my great-great grandfather was a wizard?”

“Something like that, yes.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “You would need to have a genealogy chart drawn up to ascertain exactly what relationship you have to your last magical ancestors, but, I would venture a guess that you are descended from wizards on both sides—that is to say, both your mother and father have magical ancestry.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”  Hermione nodded, slowly.  It was a matter of genetics and she could wrap her head around that.  “So, I’m descended from magical families.  But….Pendragon?  I’m descended from King Arthur?”

“I suppose it is possible.” Professor McGonagall mused. “But, again, you would need to have a genealogy chart drawn up. 

 “What does the rest of it mean?”  Hermione gestured to the parchment, almost afraid to ask.

“You’re the Head of House Pendragon.”  Neville said, exuding a self-assurance that Hermione didn’t know he had.  Clearly, he knew what he was talking about and, what was more, he knew he knew it.  “That means you are the oldest living member of the Pendragon family.  In fact, since it says here that the vaults have been classified as Dormant, you are the only living member of the Pendragon family.  Well, the only living member who is a witch or wizard, anyway.”  Hermione gasped as she suddenly made a connection.

“The Pendragons and the Blacks….they are some of the wizard noble families you were talking about, aren’t they?” She asked Professor McGonagall.  Her Mentor stared at her and then nodded slowly.

“Yes.  Though the comparison only works on a superficial level, let us say, for the moment, that the Pendragons are the magical equivalent of Princes, while the Blacks and Longbottoms are the magical equivalent of Dukes or Earls.  We will have an in-depth discussion about the similarities and differences in the positions later.”

“As the Head of an Ancient and Most Royal house, you’re entitled to certain privileges and you are expected to fulfill certain responsibilities.”  Neville said.  “I don’t know what they all are, of course, but I would imagine that they’re a lot like the rights and prerogatives extended to Most Noble Houses.  You don’t have to worry about most of those for a long time because they have to do with members of your House and you won’t have any until you have children or obtain Vassal Houses.  However, you will have some public and political duties.  Gran once told me that the Pendragon’s Wizengamot seat has been empty for at least a hundred and fifty years.”

“What?”  Hermione squeaked.  “I’ve got a seat on the Wizengamot?  Professor McGonagall stared a Neville for a moment, and then began to laugh.  It wasn’t a chuckle or a snicker, but a full-bellied laugh from which it took her several minutes to recover.

“I apologize.” She said, wiping her streaming eyes with a handkerchief she’d fished out of the sleeve of her robes.  “Mr. Longbottom is correct.  Not only do you have a Wizengamot seat, but as the Head of a Royal House, you outrank everyone on the Wizengamot, even the Chief Warlock!  The idea of having to answer to a muggleborn—a teenaged girl, no less—is going to drive some of those horrible old men insane.  But the laws that govern the Wizengamot are magically binding and there is nothing they can do to change them!” 

“But I’m only fourteen!”  Hermione protested.

“It doesn’t matter.”  Neville said. “Any Head of a Royal or Noble House, is considered an adult witch or wizard, legally speaking.  They had to pass that law during the last war because so many Wizengamot members died with underage heirs.”

“Oh.” The very notion of having to face down a roomful of adult wizards and assert her right to join them as their equal, terrified Hermione.  Something of this must have shown in her face, because Neville gave her a sympathetic look.

“You can always appoint a proxy to act on your behalf in the Wizengamot.” He said.  “That way, you don’t have to deal with any of this until you’re ready.”  He picked up the parchment and, with a grin, held it out to Professor McGonagall.  “Did you see this?  Hermione’s Heir-Presumptive of House Black.”  He turned back to Hermione.  “Each Head of a Royal or Noble House appoints an Heir; someone who will assume the position of Head of House when the previous Head dies.  I don’t know what’s involved in naming an Heir, but I think there’s a ritual of some sort that the Head of House does to make everything official.  Until that ritual is done, there is an Heir-Presumptive.  That’s the person the title will pass to, if the Head of House dies without naming an Heir.  I’m Heir-Presumptive of House Longbottom because my Dad is still alive, but he…he can’t perform the ritual, so he can’t name me his heir properly.”  Neville’s voice trailed off and his face grew bright red.  Hermione was about to ask him what he meant by that, but Professor McGonagall shook her head slightly.

“I would not become too attached to that position, were I you.” She said.  “Narcissa Malfoy is the current Head of House Black.  She is Draco’s mother.”  She added, seeing the blank expressions on her students’ faces. 

“Oh.”  Neville looked slightly deflated.  “So, all she’d have to do is name Draco her Heir….”

“But isn’t Draco her heir anyway?” Hermione asked.  “I mean, he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters that I know of.”  Professor McGonagall frowned.

“You are correct, Miss Granger, but Madam Malfoy has clearly not formalized his role within the House of Black yet.  Until she does that, whoever is closest in relation to the originator of the Black family is the Heir-Presumptive.  Say that the first Black had three sons, each of whom produced children.  You might be descended from the eldest, while Madam Malfoy might be descended from the middle or youngest.”  She might have said more but, at that moment, the door opened and a small crowd entered.  Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or relieved by the fact that Gulrot had not returned.

There were six newcomers; four guards, who were dressed and armed similarly to those who stood at the bank’s entrance, a goblin who bore an uncanny resemblance to Percy Weasley, and the shortest, oldest goblin Hermione had seen yet. 

Hermione had a moment of panic, thinking that they were about to be tossed out of the bank or, worse, arrested.  The armed goblins, however, took no notice of the three humans.  Instead, two of them took up positions just inside the door, while the other two left the room.

The Percy-goblin stepped forward.

“I present to you Ragnok, Director of Gringotts and Supreme Leader of the Goblin Nation.”  He intoned, as the old goblin peered at them through a pair of pince-nez.   “Step forward and identify yourselves!”

Professor McGonagall took one step forward, then spoke in loud, clear tones, similar to those the goblin had used.  “I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  This,” she placed one hand on Hermione’s shoulder “is Miss Hermione Granter, Head of the Most Ancient and Royal House of Pendragon and Heir-Presumptive of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.”  She placed her other hand on Neville’s shoulder.  “This is Mister Neville Longbottom, Heir-Presumptive of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom.”

There was a pause, then Rangok bowed to Hermione.  Not knowing what else to do, she gave him a small curtsey.  This earned her an approving nod from both Ragnok and the Percy-goblin.  Still not speaking, the Director bowed to Neville, who bowed back, and then to Professor McGonagall, who also curtsied.

“Now that we have all that nonsense out of the way, perhaps we can get down to business.” Ragnok said.  Hermione was surprised at how strong and clear his voice was, given his obvious age.  The Percy-goblin gave a sigh of resignation, but hurried to pull out the seat at the head of the table for his superior.  “Please, sit.”  The three humans retook their seats, while the Percy-goblin sat down next to Professor McGonagall.  From somewhere, he produced parchment, ink, and quill, and proceeded to start writing industriously.  Hermione supposed that he must be a scribe or secretary of sorts.

“Miss Granger, may I see your Heritage Verification Document, please?”  Hermione looked blank, until Neville tapped the parchment on the table in front of her.  Blushing, she nodded and placed this in Ragnok’s outstretched hand.  The Director perused it, briefly, then waved a hand over it.  There was a brief, intense flash of light that left Hermione blinking rapidly, though no one else in the room seemed to have noticed it.  Ragnok seemed satisfied, for he handed the parchment back to Hermione with another slight bow.

“Miss Granger,” he began “I am certain that you have been instructed not to ask questions, as we goblins prize efficiency.  Let us dispense with that custom today.   You are our Patron and our most valuable client…”  He paused as Professor McGonagall gasped audibly and the Percy-goblin dropped his quill.  Ragnok’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his subordinate, but he did not comment.  “I believe that the time spent giving you the information you require will save misunderstanding and loss of profit in the future. I, too, have questions.”  Hermione felt the panic rise in her chest again.

“Director, if I may…”  Professor McGonagall coughed, delicately, to attract attention.  “Miss Granger is new to the magical world and is not yet well-versed in our ways and customs.  Perhaps I can answer any questions you might have?”  Ragnok cocked his head, eyeing her thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you can, perhaps you cannot.” He said.  “To begin, why did you come to the bank today?” As Professor McGonagall described the dual purposes of their visit, Ragnok’s brow lowered and he began to scowl.

“Chokebar, who is the Account Manager responsible for House Longbottom?” he barked.  The Percy-goblin—Choebar—appeared to be used to such treatment, for his demeanor was completely unruffled.

“Senior Account Manager Gaprod, sir.” He replied.  Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned.

“I asked to speak with Account Manager Gaprod when we arrived, but we were shown here instead.  Account Manager Gulrot informed us that Garpod was ill.”

“Chokebar, go and find Gaprod and send him here.  Then find out which teller served Madam McGonagall this morning.  Return here when you have done this.”  Chokebar nodded.  Standing, he waved his hand at the quill, which suddenly stood up on its own and began writing.  Ragnok returned his attention to Hermione. 

“Miss Granger, as you have almost certainly realized by now, though neither of your parents are magical, their ancestors were.”  Hermione nodded.  “We will begin by discussing your role as Head of House Pendragon, then we will move on to matters of House Black.  Tell me, what do you know of the line of Pendragon?”

“I….I’m not sure.”  Hermione admitted, hesitantly.  “The Muggles tell all kinds of stories about King Arthur, but they’re considered fiction.  After I found out I was a witch, I learned that Merlin was a real person, but….” Ragnok’s snort of derision interrupted her.

“Merlin….” He muttered.  “I can assure you that most of the stories witches and wizards tell about him are also fiction.”  Seeing the astonished looks Neville and Professor McGonagall were casting in his direction, Ragnok gave himself a little shake.  “Forgive me, I was not speaking to the purpose.  The line of Pendragon is a long and noble one.  Its founder was the honorable Uther, father of your King Arthur.  Arthur was not gifted with magic, but his older half-sister, Morgana, was.”  Hermione nodded.

“Arthur had no children, but Morgana and her husband, King Lot of the Orkney Isles, had four.  Their second son, Theodric, was magically gifted.  With Lot’s blessing, he took his mother’s family name and passed that on to his children.  That is who you are descended from, Miss Granger.”

“Wow!” Hermione did her best to ignore Neville’s awed stare.

“Indeed.”  Until now, Ragnok had seemed perfectly at ease, even relaxed.  However, the moment the door opened, his body went rigid with tension.  Gulrot bustled into the room, paying more attention to the large sheaf of parchment in his arms than to his surroundings.

“Gulrot!”  The Account Manager gave an undignified yelp at the Director’s shout and dropped his burden.  Eyes flashing, Ragnok waved his hands.  The scattered parchments flew into the air and landed, piled neatly, on the table in front of him.  From where she sat, Hermione could see that the documents were not written in English, nor in any language she recognized.  Ragnok glanced at the top sheet and snarled.

Gulrot, who had been standing as though his feet were nailed to the floor, spun on his heel and tried to run.  One of the guards by the door caught him easily.

“Put him there.”  Ragnok pointed to the seat at the foot of the table.  Despite the Account Manager’s struggles, it took little effort for the guard to follow the Director’s instructions.  As soon as Gulrot was ensconced in the chair, golden chains sprang up from….somewhere…to keep him securely fastened.  Ragnok turned his attention back to Hermione.  “Forgive the interruption, Miss Granger, but it seems that your timely arrival has uncovered treachery in the heart of our nation.”  He glared at Gulrot, who whimpered.  “Before we can continue, I must find out how far this corruption has spread.” 

The door opened and Chokebar entered the room.  Ignoring the still-struggling Gulrot, he bowed to Ragnok.

“Honored Director, I regret that I was unable to send Gaprod to you, as you requested.  He has been with the Healers since early this morning and they cannot predict when they will release him.”  Ragnok scowled and Hermione saw him cast a questioning glance towards Gulrot.  Chokebar nodded, slightly, which only seemed to make Ragnok angrier. 

“Did you find out who brought Madam McGonagall and her charges here?” He asked.

“I did.”  Chokebar nodded.  “It was Axeslice of the Ruby Caves.”  Ragnok made a flicking motion with one finger and one of the guards slipped out of the room.  Almost immediately, another, identical, guard entered and took his place.

“Very well.  Have a seat.”  Again, Ragnok turned to Hermione.  “Where was I?”

“Er…you were telling me about the House of Pendragon?”  Though Ragnok had told her she could ask questions, Hermione was sure that this freedom did not extend to matters concerning the ‘corruption’ he’d spoken of earlier.

“Ah, yes.”  Ragnok nodded.  “As I said, the House of Pendragon has had a long and noble history.  They became a Royal House in 1316, after the Muggles forced the goblins and wizards to sign a treaty of everlasting peace.”

“What?”  Professor McGonagall couldn’t have looked more shocked if someone had told her that Hagrid had just been named Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

“Do they not teach about such things at your school?”  Ragnok gave her a shrewd look that caused Hermione to suspect he already knew the answer to the question.

“The Treaty of 1316 is covered in our History of Magic class, of course,” Professor McGonagall said. “but, as far as I was aware, it had nothing to do with the Muggles.”

“I am not surprised.” Ragnok chuckled.  “Wizards have a tendency to ignore the parts of history that they don’t like.  The treaty of which I speak was signed at the end of the last goblin rebellion.  Oh, I know.”  He held up his hands to interrupt Professor McGonagall, who had obviously been about to object.  “Your histories say that there were three more rebellions, but those were all fights between wizards and disaffected members of our society who held radical ideas.  Fanatics, I think you call them. 

“The last rising of the full goblin nation ended in 1316 and, despite what the Ministry would like you to believe, it did not end with the complete and unconditional surrender on the part of the goblins.  The uprising of 1316 was the largest and most deadly conflict between our peoples in recorded history and the loss of life was so high that, eventually, the Muggles became involved.”  He shuddered.  “The Muggle monarch, Edward II, forced both wizards and goblins to negotiate an everlasting peace.”

“The Muggles forced you…..?”  Professor McGonagall looked astounded.

“It is not something we like to speak about.” Ragnok said, stiffly.  “King Edward wanted to impose his will on the witches and wizards living in his kingdom and on his borders, and chose to use the uprising to do it.  He was aware, you see, that there were those who wished to usurp his power and claim it for their own.  With the help of five powerful witches and wizards, he forced the goblins and wizards to agree to his terms.  King Edward rewarded those who had aided him by giving their families ‘Most Royal’ status within the magical world.  One of these was Gilbert Pendragon, your ancestor.”

“So, that’s where the Ancient and Most Royal Houses come from.”  Hermione mused.  “What about the Ancient and Most Noble Houses?”

“Edward named some of them, like the Blacks and the Longbottoms.” Ragnok replied.  “Later monarchs named others as reward for services rendered to the crown by witches and wizards.”

“What is the difference between a Royal House and a Noble House?” Hermione asked.  Ragnok was silent for a moment, and seemed to be thinking hard.

“I cannot answer that question fully, as I do not know how witches and wizards govern themselves these days.” He said, finally.  “With respect to the bank, all of the founders of the Royal Houses agreed to be Patrons of Gringotts.  When the bank was formed, the first Director signed a magical contract with the Patrons.  The burden of that contract has passed down from Director to Director and to each Head of n Royal House, ever since.”

“So….I’m now bound by that contract?”  Hermione could hear the quiver in her voice, but was certain she couldn’t have stopped it if she tried.

“You are.”  Ragnok nodded.  “I will make sure you have a copy of it to review before you leave here today.  I will say no more of it now, as we do not discuss such things in the presence of outsiders.”  Hermione found that she was having trouble catching her breath.  “Do not be overly troubled by this.”  She was surprised by the gentle tone of Ragnok’s voice.  “I know well that you are new to our world and that all of this is quite a shock.  There is much you will need to learn before you can truly take up the task of being our Patron. This will take time, but I can be patient.”

“Thank you.”  Hermione murmured.  She wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking him for, but she did feel it ought to be said.

“Now, let us move on to discuss the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.” Ragnok said, rubbing his hands together in a businesslike manner.  The Head of House Black has no children and has named no Heir.  Since you are the closest in descent to the main line of the Black family, you are the Heir-Presumptive.  When Sirius Black dies…”

“Wait, Sirius is Head of House Black?”  Everyone turned to stare at Professor McGonagall.  She blinked and looked rather embarrassed.  “I apologize for my interruption, Director.  I was under the impression that Narcissa Malfoy was the current Head of the Black family.”

“What?”   It was Ragnok’s turn to look shocked.  “Explain this!” he snapped at Gulrot.  The captive’s face had turned the color of oatmeal and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face.

“After the death of the Lady Walburga, Lady Malfoy was proclaimed Head of House Black by the Wizengamot.” He stammered. 

“What does the Lady Walburga’s death have to do with it?  She was never Head of House.”

“She was named Regent after Lord Arcturus died….”  Gulrot was visibly shaking now.

“Gulrot,” Ragnok spoke slowly and carefully and Hermione had the distinct impression that he was fighting against a rising tide of anger. “I was a witness when the Lord Arcturus made Sirius his Heir in blood and magic, as were you.  As I recall, he said he did so specifically to keep that madwoman from ever having any legitimate power over the rest of the family.  What happened?”

“The…the Wizengamot.”  Gulrot stammered.  “After Lord Arcturus died, Lady Walburga convinced them to disinherit Sirius in favor of his brother, Regulus.  Regulus died during the war and the Lady Walburga acted as Regent of House Black until her death, at which time, the Wizengamot named Narcissa Malfoy as Head of the family.”

“And you allowed this deceit to continue?”

“It is a Wizarding matter.  I dared not interfere….”

“And what of Sirius Black?”  Ragnok demanded.  “It is a gross violation of the Treaty to deny him his rights…”

“He is in prison.”  Gulrot announced.  He had calmed down, somewhat, and wore an oddly smug expression.

“Not anymore.”  Professor McGonagall said, quietly.  The goblins turned to stare at her.  “He escaped from Azkaban last year and has been a fugitive ever since.”

“That doesn’t matter!”  Gulrot snapped.  “He was convicted…”

“No, he wasn’t.”  Everyone now turned to stare at Hermione. 

“Miss Granger…”  Professor McGonagall sounded uncertain and, Hermione thought, a little bit frightened.

“Sirius Black was never given a trial, ma’am.”  She said, slowly.  “I looked it up over the summer.  There are loads of articles in the Daily Prophet about his arrest, but then…nothing.  I even went to the Ministry archives to look and there’s no record that he was even questioned, let alone given a trial.”

“That is of no importance.”  Gulrot sneered.  “He is nothing more than a criminal…”

“Silence!”  Ragnok was starting at Gulrot as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra head.  “Chokebar, fetch Records Keeper Ligroth and tell him to bring the Ministry’s arrest and conviction records with him for… your pardon, Miss Granger, but when was Mr. Black arrested?”

“November 1, 1981.”  Hermione supplied, promptly.  If anything, this seemed to make Ragnok stare at Gulrot even harder.  The Senior Account manager squirmed under the Director’s scrutiny.

“Tell him to bring the records for the last fifteen years.”  Ragnok instructed.  Chokebar stood, bowed and hurried out of the room. “My apologies, Miss Granger, but this matter is too important to be left unresolved.  Gulrot. did Lady Malfoy put on the Black family ring?”

“Ah…well, I believe she chose to leave it in the vault…”

“That is not what I asked.”  Ragnok snarled.  Turning to Hermione, he said “As Head of House Pendragon, the family ring is now yours.  All Heads of Royal and Noble houses have similar rings.  They are goblin-forged and have many enchantments worked into them.  Each is unique, but one thing they all have in common…” his glare shifted back to Gulrot “is that they will not allow themselves to be worn by one who cannot truly claim the title of Head of House.  So, Gulrot, I repeat.  Did Narcissa Malfoy put on the Black family ring?”

“I….”  Gulrot seemed to be struggling to speak.  His mouth opened and closed ad his eyes rolled wildly.  Finally, he slumped back in his chair, mutely shaking his head.  Ragnok scowled. 

“We will discuss this later.” He said.  As he turned back to Hermione, she was astonished to see how quickly the anger left his face.  “Before you leave this office, you will put on the Pendragon family ring.  You will do this in my presence, so that there can be no question about your claim.  This is tradition.  Though many of your kind look down on us, our integrity in such matters has never been questioned.”  Hermione heard Gulrot whimper as Ragnok’s gaze returned to him.

“Sirius Black cannot be Head of House Black, sir.” He whined.  “The Wizengamot will never accept it…”

“Arcturus Black died when Sirius was thirteen.”  Professor McGonagall looked as if she’d suddenly realized that her wand was made of rubber.  “Sirius wasn’t disinherited until he was sixteen.”

“I…see.”  Ragnok tapped one finger on the table.  “Sirius was eight when Arcturus performed the ritual.  He did not plan to inform the boy he had done so until after the lad had finished his fifth year at Hogwarts.  Senior Account Manager Gulrot, did you inform Lord Black of his elevation?”  As she watched Gulrot, Hermione realized that something was wrong.  He was struggling to speak and a faint nimbus of white light formed around his body.  She had to blink several times before she could convince herself that she wasn’t simply imagining it.  Ragnok’s eyes narrowed as Gulrot’s mouth opened and closed and he started to thrash in his seat.  Clearly, he was in pain, though he made no noise. 

“What’s wrong with him?”  Neville asked in some alarm.

“He is trying to lie to me.”  Ragnok’s voice was quiet, but hard as rock.  “His suffering will end when he tells me the truth….or he dies.”  Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth to stop the shriek that threatened to explode out of her chest.  Gulrot’s thrashing grew ever wilder, though he was still completely silent.  Only the chains holding him in the chair kept him from falling to the floor.  “I grow weary of this, Gulot.  Speak!”

“No, I didn’t.”  Gulrot finally shouted.  The nimbus of white light dissipated instantly and the chains were the only thing keeping him in his chair.  “I did not tell him.”  There were tears running down his cheeks.

“And why not?”  For one horrifying moment, as she watched his mouth open and close and heard him gasping for air, Hermione thought Gulrot was going to fight against Ragnok’s magic again.  However, he seemed only to be trying to catch his breath.

“Albus Dumbledore…he came to me just before Arcturus died and….and….”  Gulrot was openly sobbing now and seemed unable to continue speaking.

“He paid you to remain silent on the matter.”  Ragnok said, softly.  Gulrot could only nod, miserably.  “And has he paid for other such….services?”  Another nod.  “Are there others who have made use of you in this matter?”  Yet another nod.  “Did he pay you to poison Gaprod?”  This time, Gulrot shook his head.

“N…no.  He wanted access to the Longbottom vaults and paid me to get that for him.  I discovered that the Trustee of the estate had authorized a trust vault for the Heir-Presumptive and…and…”

“And you took the initiative, hmmm?  Did you intend to have young Mister Longbottom sign one of these?”  Ragnok tapped the stack of parchments in front of him.  Gulrot nodded.

“And are there others of our nation who have shown such weakness?”

“I…do now know, sir.”  Gulrot said, between hiccups.  Ragnok seemed about to say more, but the office door opened and Chokebar returned, followed by a new goblin, who was carrying a leather case.  Both bowed low before Ragnok, then Chokebar returned to his seat. 

“Squad Leader Chokebar informed me that you require my presence.” The newcomer said.

“Yes, Ligroth, I do.”  Ragnok gave the newcomer a beady stare.  “Before we address the reason for my summons, I must first ask you to show me your wrist.”  The goblin called Ligroth looked startled, then glanced at the humans in the room.

“You doubt me, sir?”  He asked, sounding rather stiff.

“Show me.”  Ragnok insisted, his voice growing suddenly colder.  Ligroth’s eyes widened.  Slowly, he put the leather folio on the table and removed his jacket, carefully lying it on top of the folio.  Never taking his eyes off those of the Director, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pushed the material back, holding the inside of his wrist out for his leader’s inspection.  Hermione tried not to be too obvious in her curiosity, but she was transfixed by what appeared to be a tattoo or stamp of a golden Galleon that seemed to wink and shine on the goblin’s flesh.

“Thank you, my friend.”  Ragnok said, quietly.  “I apologize for doubting, but I have just learned that there are those among us who have forgotten the meaning of honor and integrity.”  He cast a significant glance at Gulrot, who shrank in his seat.  Ligroth merely bowed his head in acknowledgment.  “You brought the records?”

“I did, though I was not told why they were needed.”

“Sirius Black.  I need to know whether he was convicted of any criminal activity in the last fifteen years.”  Ligroth nodded and opened the leather case.  Withdrawing a piece of parchment, he laid it flat on the table and brushed one fingertip across it, murmuring in a language Hermione didn’t understand.  Words appeared on the parchment, just as they had on the ones she and Neville had used, but again, they were indecipherable

“There is a record of Lord Black’s arrest, but there was no trial or conviction.”  Ligroth announced, after a moment.  Gulrot whimpered.

“Thank you, Ligroth.”  Ragnok put a hand on his shoulder.  “Go.  Secure your archives and then prepare a summons for all the Clan Leaders.  We will meet tomorrow morning.  Say nothing of what you have seen or heard to anyone.  We have one traitor among us and there may be more.”

“I understand.”  With a final bow, the archivist picked up his leather case and walked out of the office.

“Now.”  Ragnok sounded positively cheerful, as if nothing untoward had happened.  “I assume you have further questions about what you have learned today?” 

“Er…yes.”  Hermione said, forcing her mind away from Uther Pendragon, Sirius Black, Edward II, and traitorous goblins.  “This parchment says I have restricted access to the Black, Malfoy, LeStrange and Tonks vaults.  I know who the Blacks and the Malfoys are, but I don’t know who these other people are and I can’t imagine why I would be allowed any access to any of their vaults.  Can you tell me what all that is about and how restricted access differs from full access?”

“All of those are very good questions.” Ragnok nodded.  “Having full access to a vault simply means that the money and items stored within the vault are yours to do with as you choose.  Restricted access is just that; you are granted access to a vault that does not belong to you or your House, but there are restrictions to what you can do with the contents of that vault.  Those restrictions vary, depending on the contracts families make with one another and with the bank.”

“It’s actually fairly common for families to include discussions of vault rights in marriage contract negotiations.”  Neville said.  Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was more horrified by the sentence itself, that Neville had tossed it off so easily, or that both Professor McGonagall and Ragnok were nodding their agreement.

“Indeed.  The last Head of House Black was, as I have said, Arcturus Black.  He had two sons, both of whom he outlived.  His elder son, Orion, had two sons, Sirius and Regulus, while his younger son, Cygnus, had three daughters: Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa.  Andromeda married Edward Tonks, Bellatrix married Rodolphus LeStrange, and Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy.  Andromeda has one daughter and Narcissa has one son.  Those five, plus Sirius, are all that is left of the Black family.”  There was a moment of silence during which Hermione attempted to absorb all the information that had been flung at her in the past half hour.

“I should like to return to the matter of Sirius Black for a moment.” Ragnok said, at last.  “As Head of a Noble House, he is entitled to certain assistance and protection that Gringotts does not offer to clients with lesser status.  Should he enter any facility owned or operated by Gringotts, he would be entitled to all the rights and privileges due to one of his rank.  In short, were he to ask us for help, we would do our best to provide it.”  Gulrot made an odd noise that made Hermione think he wanted to protest, but Ragnok simply glared him into silence.  “Tell me, Miss Granger.  Do you know where Sirius Black is?”  Hermione stared at him in surprise.

“I have no idea where he is.”  She was very glad she didn’t have to lie to this goblin.  The memory of what had happened when Gulrot had tried to do it was still fresh in her mind.

“But you know how to contact him?”  Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Professor McGonagall, then nodded.

“I would take it as a personal favor if you would write to him and inform him that Gringotts is ready and willing to assist him should he require it.”  Ragnok said.

“I will.”  Hermione nodded, relieved.  For a moment, she’d thought that Ragnok was going to give her some task that would either be impossible to perform, or would put Sirius in danger.

“My thanks.  Now, we will begin the process of reopening the Pendragon vaults today, but it will take us some time to do the necessary paperwork to fully reopen them and provide you with accurate inventories.  We will also be performing full audits on both the Pendragon and Black vaults to ensure that everything is where it should be.  Unfortunately, we are required to inform the Ministry of your elevation.”

 “Can’t we keep this between us?” Hermione asked, in a small voice. 

“I’m afraid not, Miss Granger.”  Professor McGonagall looked like she was truly sorry to be saying this.  “As Mr. Longbottom told you, you now have duties that are public and political in nature, duties that you cannot and should not avoid.  It will be incumbent upon you to take up some of them right away.”

“Oh.”  Hermione wondered if she could make it out of the bank without being physically ill.

“Hermione, I don’t understand.”  Neville looked baffled.  “Why on Earth don’t you want anyone to know?”

“Neville, I’m a muggleborn Hogwarts student.” Hermione spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word so as not to say too much.  “Can you imagine what will happen when Lucius Malfoy finds out I’ve got a seat on the Wizengamot?  What do you think Draco will do when he finds out I’ve replaced him as Heir of House Black?”

“Heir-Presumptive.”  Neville corrected automatically.  “Sirius is still alive, so he could still have kids of his own or he could name someone else as Heir.”

“All right, I’m Heir-Presumptive of House Black. Draco is still out of a title because, even if Sirius decides to make someone else his Heir, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be him.  Plus, you know as well as I do that there are plenty of people at Hogwarts who will hear this news and think that they can flatter or bully me into doing what they want.”

“Just like they do with Harry.”  Neville murmured.  “And there are going to be a lot of people who will be jealous and resent you, just like they do with Harry.  Don’t forget Ron….”

“How can I?”  Hermione made a sour face.  “This is not going to make him happy.”

“We can worry about Mr. Weasley’s wounded pride later.”  Professor McGonagall said, briskly.  “Let us return to the matter at hand.  Miss Granger, I understand your reluctance, but I’m afraid that it is simply not possible to keep this a secret.  Nor is this something you can refuse or decline.  You will have to learn to live with your new position in our society, whether you like it or not.  I suggest you ask Mr. Potter for advice on how to deal with the other students.  He seems to have managed it quite well.”

“Let us not forget the benefits of this new position, either.”  Ragnok inserted.  “Even if we discount the Black vaults and those that are connected to it, you will have full access to the Pendragon vaults once they are returned to active status.  The Pendragons are one of the wealthiest families in Britain—muggle or magical.  One of your ancestors created and patented several magical devices that are still in use today.  Another was a very shrewd investor and you now own quite a few wizarding and muggle businesses and shares in many more, as well as a good deal of residential and commercial property in both the magical and muggle worlds.  There has been no account manager to ensure that rents, royalties and dividends were collected, but we’ll soon get that sorted out and I can assure you that interest due from Gringotts has been paid regularly.”

“I’m sure it has.”  Hermione hadn’t known Ragnok very long, but she could already tell that he took a great deal of pride in the bank’s professional conduct.  An idea flashed into her head.  “Director Ragnok, I must confess that I know next to nothing about finance or money management.  My parents are well off but if I understand what you’re saying, I am now wealthy beyond their wildest imagination.  The only money I’ve had to deal with until now is my allowance and they don’t teach this sort of thing at Hogwarts.  Is there someone at Gringotts who could recommend some books I could read or give me some advice?”  The Director gave her a broad smile and Hermione knew she’d said exactly the right thing.

“Certainly, Miss Granger, and may I congratulate you on your common sense.  We see many young witches and wizards in your situation—children who have inherited money, but have not had the training to be able to handle it responsibly. They tend to rely on the advice of friends and family, some of whom mean well and some of whom do not, or they ignore all advice and empty their vaults within five years.  Since Gulrot will not be available to manage your accounts for you, I will assign someone who has some experience with people in your situation and will know best how to instruct and advise you.  Do you require something similar, Mr. Longbottom?”

“Er…I’m not sure.”  Neville’s face had gone quite pink.  “I…uh…think my Uncle Alby was planning on teaching me that stuff.”

“Very good.”  Ragnok nodded.  “Now, Miss Granger, I do not mean to rush you, but we both have other business to attend to today.  So…” Holding his hand about a foot over the table, Ragnok muttered something in a language Hermione had never heard before.  There was a flash of light that was so bright, it hurt her eyes.  When she could see again, a small ring box lay on the table underneath Ragnok’s hand.  Given the pyrotechnics involved in its arrival, the box was surprisingly ordinary.  Ragnok picked it up and handed it to her.

“The Pendragon family ring.” He said, quietly.  Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked around the table.  Ragnok’s face was curiously devoid of expression and Professor McGonagall looked somewhat nervous, while Neville looked as excited as he did whenever Professor Sprout announced they were going to be working with a new kind of pant.  Hermione opened the box and looked at the ring inside.  It was, she thought, remarkably plain.  The wide band—obviously meant for a man’s finger—was made of gold and a square cut sapphire was the only embellishment. 

“Well?  Go on, put it on!”  Neville said, eagerly.  Putting the box on the table, Hermione carefully picked up the ring and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. 

Oh.

Hermione was so caught up in the rush of raw power and emotion that overwhelmed her senses the instant the gold touched her skin that she barely noticed the ring changing and shrinking to fit snugly around her finger.  In an instant, she understood why Professor McGonagall had told her that she could not deny this heritage and why she would never again even think of doing so.  The weight of over a thousand years of duty, responsibility, and trust settled onto her shoulders and while one part of her feared she would be crushed by it, another welcomed it as if it was a long-lost friend.

“Ah.” She heard Ragnok say with satisfaction.  “The Pendragon magic seems to like you.”

“I…what?”  Hermione had to shake her head a few times to chase away the sparks dancing in front of her eyes.  “It…likes me?”  Ragnok pointed at her hand.  Looking down, Hermione saw that not only did the ring now fit, it had changed noticeably.  The ring she had placed on her finger had been large, rather plain, and inescapably masculine.  Now, however, the band had decreased in width as well as size and the stone had not only shrunk but had somehow become an oval, rather than a square.  The ring was now far more delicate, feminine and age appropriate than it had been before Hermione put it on.

“The magic in the ring has responded to your…essence, I suppose you’d call it.”  Ragnok explained.  “Not only has the ring accepted you as Head of House Pendragon, but it has changed itself into something that it believes will be more pleasing to you.  That is not common.”

“It doesn’t really look like a House ring.”  Neville said, frowning.

“I suspect that the only House rings you’ve seen have been worn by adult men.”  Professor McGonagall held out her hand and Hermione placed her own in it so that the Professor could examine the ring more closely.  She waved her wand over it several times.  “It’s a remarkable blend of Charms, Transfiguration, and some very powerful mental magic.  This ring is enchanted to adapt to Hermione’s needs: it can change itself into a signet for sealing documents and proving one’s identity, there are potion detection charms and….” She frowned, obviously puzzled.  “There are at least three spells I don’t recognize.”

“One is a ward key.”  Ragnok said.  “When you go to Tintagel, you will find that it possesses goblin-made wards.  The spell on that ring allows you to control those wards, even if you are not on the property at the time.”

“And the others?”  Professor McGoangall asked.  Ragnok shrugged. 

“I daresay that there will be something about the other spells in one of the family journals.”  Hermione’s ears perked up at this.

“Journals?” she asked eagerly, pointedly ignoring Neville’s snicker.

“You will find them in one of your vaults.  Your account manager will inform you when they have been returned to active status. In the meantime, Miss Granger, I understand that you came to Gringotts to open a vault.  Do you still wish to do so?”  Hermione looked to her Mentor for guidance.

“I…don’t think that will be necessary.”  Professor McGonagall said, slowly.

“Very well.”  Ragnok nodded.  “Unless you have any further questions, I must go deal with the traitors among my own kind.  I will send Chokebar to fetch copies of the literature we provide to new account holders at Gringotts and that which we provide to our more affluent clients for both you and Mr. Longbottom.  He will also, give you a copy of the contract between the bank and its Patrons.”

“Thank you.”  Hermione murmured, blushing slightly. “I do have one more question, if it’s not too much trouble?”  Ragnok made a gesture with his hand that she took as an invitation to continue.  “The parchment says I cannot withdraw money from my account until it is returned to ‘Active’ status.  How long will that be, please?”

“It will take us about a month to make the appropriate arrangements.”  Ragnok informed her.  “Unfortunately, you will not be able to charge purchases to your account until it is fully active, but when you can, you will find that you need not carry coins around with you.  You can simply ask for purchases to be charged to your account and use your ring to imprint your seal on the receipt.”

“I understand.”  Hermione said.  “Thank you, again.”

“I realize that you will probably have many more questions as you become accustomed to all of this.”  Ragnok patted her shoulder in a grandfatherly way “But I am probably not the one best suited to answer them.  I suggest you arrange a meeting with your account manager as soon as possible.”

“Unfortunately, I’ll be at Hogwarts until Christmas…” Hermione began, but Professor McGonagall cut her off.

“As Head of a Royal House, the Hogwarts Charter allows you to leave the school, provided you are doing so to attend to the business of your House.  Meeting with your Gringotts account manager would certainly qualify.”  Hermione looked desperately at Neville.

“Ron is going to go spare.” She moaned.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts – Astronomy Tower

Monday, Sept. 11

Severus saw the owl fly away from Hogwarts and sighed.  He recognized the creature and knew both who had sent it and the message it carried.  It was time to do some pre-emptive damage control.  Returning to his quarters, he placed a fire-call to Malfoy Manor.  Thankfully, Narcissa Malfoy answered.

“Severus!”  She was obviously surprised to see him.  “Is everything all right?”

“No.”  He sighed.  “I need to speak with you, Cissy.  It’s about Draco.”

“Come through.” She said, quickly.

“Would you mind coming here? I cannot leave the castle just now without arousing suspicion.”

“All right.”  He stepped away from the fireplace and, a few minutes later, Narcissa stepped through.  Severus noticed how tired and pale she looked and that, in recent months, she’d lost more weight than was healthy.

“Did you have trouble getting away?” Severus asked, ushering her to a seat. 

“No.  Lucius is at the Ministry and our…guest…ignores me unless his meals aren’t served on time or his fire gets too low.”  She gave Severus a smile that was entirely devoid of pleasure.  “I appreciate the excuse to get out of the house.  Now, what’s this about Draco.  Is he hurt?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.  When is Lucius due to return?”  Narcissa shrugged.

“If he comes straight home, I would expect him around seven.  However, he may decide to visit one of his whores, in which case he will be much later.  Why do you ask?”

“Draco just sent him an owl and I am certain that Lucius will be most eager to show his letter to our Master. I seriously doubt, however, that either your husband or your son will receive the reaction they expect.”

“What happened?”  Briefly, Severus recounted the earlier incident and the punishment Draco had received.  “Oh, Severus.” She sighed.  “Can’t you do something about all this?  I mean, if Draco apologized to the other students or…”

“Cissy, I’m going to be blunt because you need to understand the precarious situation that Draco has created for himself.”  Severus held her gaze.  “You told me that your guest showed favor to Draco over the summer.  You understand why, don’t you?”

“Well…”  it was clear from her expression that she didn’t.  Severus had known Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, since they had been first year Slytherins at Hogwarts.  He liked her, but he had always known that her gifts were not of the intellectual sort.

“He did it because he needed Lucius.  When the Dark Lord came back, he was weak….terribly weak and vulnerable.  He needed a safe, secure place to hide and regain his strength, and he needed Lucius to contact those still loyal to his cause.  By flattering Draco, our Master knew he was flattering Lucius.  But he has gotten stronger, Cissy, and more and more of his supporters are rallying to his banner.  The day is coming when he won’t need Lucius anymore and that day is coming sooner than you think.”  Standing abruptly, Severus walked over to a small table covered in bottles.  “Drink?”

“Please.”  Narcissa sighed.

“Draco needs to learn discipline, Cissy.  You know perfectly well what will happen the first time Draco argues with your guest or fails to carry out an order exactly as it was given to him, because he thinks he knows better.”

“Draco wouldn’t…”  As she took the goblet from his hand, Narcissa looked at Severus with pleading eyes.

“Wouldn’t he?”  Severus asked, not unkindly.  “Draco is your son and I know you love him more than anything, but you cannot be blind to his faults.  He is selfish, stubborn, and arrogant.”

“Just like Lucius.”  Narcissa sighed.

“Just like Lucius.”  Severus agreed.  “Only Lucius has shown that he is, occasionally, capable of learning from his mistakes.  Draco has yet to demonstrate that ability and that’s what worries me.  Minerva’s punishment was so harsh because Draco has been told, repeatedly, that the type of behavior in which he was engaged is not permitted under any circumstances.  What is more, he has been expressly forbidden to use the terms ‘mudblood’ and ‘squib.’”

 “But Severus, you’ve always smoothed things over before…”

“I have.”  He nodded.  “And I’m afraid that’s part of the problem.  Draco has lost all respect for me.  He sees me as nothing more than his father’s lap-dog and he does not understand that our Master’s return has changed everything.  I serve our Master, Narcissa, not your husband or your son.  Draco needs to learn self-control if he is to survive what is to come, let alone rise high in our master’s favor.”

“What can I do?”  Narcissa was near tears.  “I understand what you’re saying, truly I do, but Draco will not listen to me.”

“No, but Lucius will.”  Severus told her.  Noting her surprised look, he smirked.  “You know how to persuade him, Narcissa.  You suggest things in such a way that Lucius thinks he thought of them himself.  Talk to him.  Tell him that he needs to take a firm line with Draco.  I doubt a letter will be sufficient to bring your son to heel, but last weekend in September is a Hogsmeade weekend and there is no reason why Lucius couldn’t meet Draco there.”

“Oh, Severus….”  The tears started to roll down Narcissa’s cheeks.  “I’m so afraid.  I know you’re right. Even now, the Dark Lord is not as kind to Lucius as he was a month ago and Lucius doesn’t see…doesn’t understand…”

“Make him understand.”  Severus insisted.  “For all your sakes, make him understand.”

**

Diagon Alley

Monday, Sept. 11

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Professor McGonagall took the leather folios Hermione and Neville had been given and cast Featherlight Charms on them.

“Thank you.”  Hermione sighed with relief.  “That thing is heavier than my Arithmancy and Potions texts combined.”

“You could have done it yourself.”  Neville reminded her.  “You’re an adult now, legally speaking.”

“That’s going to take a bit of getting used to.”  Hermione admitted as they followed Professor McGonagall down the street.

“You’ll want to wait until we get to the Ministry to start becoming accustomed to your newfound liberty.”  Professor McGonagall warned her.  “Your wand still has the Trace on it and it.  There’s a spell that automatically cancels the Trace on your seventeenth birthday, but if you want it removed before then, it has to be removed by an authorized Ministry official.”

“Oh dear.”  Hermione sighed.  “I was hoping to have a few days before the news got out, but if I’ve got to tell someone at the Ministry so I can get my wand fixed…”

“I believe Neville’s uncle would be considered a ‘qualified Ministry employee and I assure you that he will be quite discreet.’” 

“Really?  That’s good to know.”  Hermione said, a bit more cheerfully.  A sudden thought struck her.  “Neville….is this the same uncle who dropped you out a window?” 

“No, no.”  Neville hastened to assure her.  “That was Great Uncle Algernon – Algie for short.  This is Great Uncle Abelard – Alby for short.”

 “Oh, I’d like to have a word or two with your family.”  Professor McGonagall muttered.  “However, now is certainly not the time for that.  Miss Granger, I suggest you reconcile yourself to the idea that you are going to become very famous soon.  Your new position will not remain a secret for long and the sooner you accept the publicity that comes with it, the better.”

“I know.”  Hermione sighed.  “But I’d like the chance to tell Harry and the Weasleys and my roommates before they read about it in the Daily Prophet.”

“I understand.”  Professor McGonagall started walking again and gave Hermione a sly glance.  “You might want to ask Mr. Krum for advice on dealing with the press.  He’s quite an old hand at it and I’m sure he’d be delighted to help.”

“What does she mean?”  Neville asked, looking from one to the other in confusion.

“Nothing, Neville.”  Hermione said, hastily.  Her cheeks were burning, but she was also oddly pleased.  “Oh look, we’re here!”  They had stopped outside of Ollivander’s.  Glancing at Neville, Hermione saw that he had gone very pale.  “Neville?  What’s wrong?”

“What if…what if I can’t find a wand that works for me?” he asked in a very quiet voice.  “What if I don’t have enough power to use a wand other than my dad’s….”

“Neville Longbottom, you stop that this instant!”  Hermione snapped before Professor McGonagall could say anything.  “Not enough power?  Neville, you’ve been using your father’s wand for three years despite your incompatibility.  If anything, that suggests that you have more power than the average wizard, not less!”

“She’s right.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “Mr. Longbottom, in all my years, I have only ever heard of one occasion where Mr. Ollivander was unable to find a wand in his store to suit his customer. He made a wand especially for that person.  Do you want to know who it was?”

“Who?”

“Filius Flitwick.”

“Really?”  Neville looked a bit happier.

“Truly.  Now, come along.  We spent more time than I intended at the bank and we’re behind schedule.”

As it happened Neville walked out of the shop ten minutes later with the third wand he tried.  Hermione left the store empty handed, though Professor McGonagall assured her she’d be making a return trip soon.

“You’ll want to have a custom-fit wand holster.” She spoke quietly, though Neville was too busy admiring his new wand to pay any attention to them.  “Many adult witches and wizards carry their wands in holsters on their arms and they are quite discreet and convenient.  I also want you to have time to have a more in-depth conversation about wands and wand-making with Mr. Ollivander.  I think you will find it both enlightening and entertaining.  Now,” she said in a slightly louder voice.  “we’re due at the Ministry in half an hour.  I suggest you two make your way to the Leaky Cauldron and ask Tom to make you up some sandwiches.  I will fetch Professor Snape’s book and meet you there.”

Twenty five minutes later, Hermione stepped out of the tallest fireplace she’d ever seen.  It was, she saw, just one of a long row of fireplaces that sat along one wall of a long corridor.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic.  This way.”  Professor McGonagall ushered them over to a security desk where, Hermione was amused to discover, their wands were registered and they were scanned, very much as they would have been at a Muggle airport.  They were each given a badge and ushered into a giant atrium, at the center of which was a fountain featuring a statue of a wizard, a witch, and several magical creatures. 

This was Hermione’s first time at the Ministry of Magic and as Professor McGonagall chivvied them towards a bank of lifts, she turned her head this way and that, trying to see everything all at once.  In Muggle primary school, she’d gone on field trips to see Parliament and London’s City Hall and she could see a lot of similarities, from the bored security guard to the food kiosk placed near the most commonly used entrance (in this case, the bank of fireplaces connected to the Floo network).

There were some obvious differences, though.  While there were plenty of notice-boards posted throughout City hall, Hermione was certain that none of them reminded employees that familiars had to be leashed or caged while on the premises, nor were there advertisements for the very latest in Dicta-Quills.  And Hermione was sure that she would not be able to find a single vending machine selling Headache Relieving Potions anywhere in the Parliament building.

They stepped into one of the lifts and were son joined by Arthur Weasley and two rather harried looking witches wearing badges that identified them as members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.

“Hermione!  Neville!  Professor McGonagall!”  Mr. Weasley stared at them in surprise.  “What brings you lot to the Ministry? Is something wrong?” Before anyone could answer him, the lift stopped and, to Hermione’s dismay, Lucius Malfoy got on, accompanied by the Minister of Magic.  She’d never met Minister Fudge, but she’d seen his picture often enough in The Daily Prophet to recognize him.

“…really shouldn’t be a problem.”  The Minister was saying.  He stopped as he noticed the others.  “Well, hello Professor McGonagall.  What brings you and your students to the Ministry today?  No trouble, I hope?”

“Not at all, Minister.”  Hermione was beginning to recognize the different ways her Mentor smiled and dubbed this Smile #3—the “if I had my way, you’d be boiled in oil” smile.  “We’re here for a meeting with Abelard Fowler.”

“Really?”  Lucius Malfoy arched an eyebrow.  “I am curious as to why the Head of the Department of Mysteries would want to meet with a couple of Hogwarts students.”  He said the words ‘Hogwarts students’ in the same tone of voice Ron Weasley said ‘extra credit.’

“I fail to see how that is any of your business, Mr. Malfoy.”  Professor McGonagall said, with some asperity.  The smile was gone.

“As Minister of Magic, I’m afraid it is mine.”  Cornelius Fudge sounded very pompous.

“Mr. Fowler is Neville’s great-uncle and his Guardian.”  Professor McGonagall replied.  “He wished to speak with Neville regarding private House business.”

“There!  You see, Lucius?  Nothing to be concerned about.”  Fudge beamed at them all as if he’d just pronounced a judgment worthy of Solomon.

“And the girl, Minister?  Surely, she has no House business to attend to today.”  Lucius Malfoy’s voice was smooth and had an almost alluring quality to it, but when he looked at Hermione, she shivered to see the naked hatred in his eyes.  There was a pause as he elevator stopped and the two witches got off.  Hermione was pleased when they both shot Lucius Malfoy a glare before disappearing around the corner.

“Miss Granger is here to register as a Gifted Magical.”  Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.  Professor McGonagall had explained the Registry of Gifted Magicals to her but she’d understood that, to keep her talent a secret from Dumbledore, she wouldn’t be put on the official Ministry registry yet. Obviously, something had happened to change that plan.

“Really?”  The Minister, Lucius Malfoy, and Arthur Weasley all spoke at the same time.  Mr. Weasley looked surprised, but pleased.  The Minister’s smile made Hermione think of the way the wolf must have smiled at Little Red Riding Hood, while Lucius Malfoy looked rather dubious.

“Forgive me, Minerva, but since when does mere cleverness earn someone a place on the Registry of Gifted Magicals?” He drawled, sounding bored.  Hermione bristled and she could see two spots of color on Professor McGonagall’s cheeks.  The elevator stopped and the doors opened, but no one got on or off.

“Miss Granger is an Occulomagus.”  Professor McGonagall kept her eyes firmly locked on the Minister.  “Director Fowler has kindly agreed to confirm my initial findings and to assist me in finding a tutor for her.”

“How wonderful!”  Arthur Weasley gasped.  “Oh, Hermione, your parents must be so proud!”

“Arthur, they’re Muggles.  I doubt they could understand a word of this conversation, let alone appreciate its significance.”  Lucius sneered.  “I’m surprised at you, Minerva.  I always took you for a reasonably intelligent woman—how could you allow yourself to be fooled by the obvious play-acting of such an insignificant little mudblood?”

“Mr. Malfoy!”  Professor McGonagall snapped.  Arthur and the two students glared at the man and even the Minister looked faintly shocked.

“Really, Lucius.  There’s no need for that kind of language.” He sputtered.

“Although I do see where Draco gets it from.” Neville muttered to Hermione.  She had to stifle a giggle and cast a grateful look at Neville.  Just then, the elevator stopped again and Professor McGonagall ushered them into the hallway.  To Hermione’s surprise, Mr. Weasley followed them out.

“Professor, may I have a private word with Hermione?” he asked.  “I’ll bring her along to Abelard’s office when we’re done.”

“Certainly, Arthur.  Come along, Neville.  We’re running late.”  Mr. Weasley waited until Professor McGonagall and Neville had vanished through a door at the end of the hall, before turning to Hermione.

“Hermione, I just wanted to say how sorry Molly and I are for the way Ron has treated you.”

“Oh, Mr. Weasley, you don’t need to…”

“I do.” He held up a hand to stop the flow of her words.  “In case we haven’t made it clear to you, Molly and I think of you as part of our family.  We were appalled by the way Ron reacted to your news about your Mentorship this summer and we are, frankly, bewildered by his behavior so far this year.”

“I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.”  Hermione sighed.  “Ron doesn’t know about my Occulomagency yet, but since I’m going to be officially registered, I suppose I’ll have to tell him.”  She didn’t bother mentioning the news she’d received from the goblins.  She wanted that kept quiet for as long as possible.  If nothing else, she wanted to get some advice on how to broach the subject without sounding like she was bragging.

“Molly sent Ron a letter…” Mr. Weasley sighed.

“Yes, I know.”  Hermione nodded.  “Ginny told me you talked her out of sending a Howler.  Thank you for that.”  He gave her a sheepish smile.

“Molly means well, but I’m afraid she sometimes forgets that Howlers delivered during breakfast can be heard by the entire school.  I hope that the talk has…er…cooled down a bit?”

“More like the gossips have moved on to other things.”  Hermione shrugged. “I’m still getting some guff from Draco Malfoy and his lot, but that’s to be expected.”

“Yes, it’s clear that the twig doesn’t fall far from the broom in that family.”  Arthur frowned.  “I honestly do not know why Cornelius lets him get away with such behavior.  Well, that’s a discussion for another day.  Let’s get you to Abelard’s office, shall we?”

As they approached the door through which the others had disappeared, it opened and Professor McGonagall stepped out into the hall.  “Mr. Fowler would like a few minutes to speak to Neville alone.” She explained.  With a flick of her wand, she conjured three squashy armchairs.  “Care to join us, Arthur?”

“I can’t.”  Arthur sighed.  “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork on my desk.” With a wave, he turned and headed back towards the elevator.  With another wave of her wand, Professor McGonagall banished one of the chairs and replaced it with a low table. 

“Elf, please.” she called, motioning to Hermione to take a seat.  Hermione nearly screamed when a short…creature…in a loincloth appeared in front of them.  “Tea for two, please.”  The creature nodded and vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Who…what…was that?”  Hermione asked, staring at the patch of air where it had been standing.

“That was a House Elf.”  Professor McGonagall explained.  “Quite a few of them work for the Ministry and they are one of the reasons I wanted to bring you here today.  I am aware that Mr. Potter has had some experience with House Elves—well, one in particular--and I’m afraid he may have gotten the wrong idea about their place in our society.  I wanted you to see them in a more…er…normal setting.  Now, sit down, please.  We have a great deal to discuss.”  Hermione sank into the chair, still staring at where the House elf had been.  Professor McGonagall’s sigh was part amused, part exasperated.  “I see that I will not be able to get anything useful out of you until your curiosity is satisfied. Go on, ask.”

“Are they….are they people?” Hermione spluttered.

“Elves are magical beings, like the goblins and the centaurs.”  Professor McGonagall explained.  “They are sentient and have their own society and culture.  However, unlike goblins, centaurs, and other magical beings, elves cannot exist independently.  You see, they feed on magic.”  She paused as the elf reappeared, bearing a tea tray.  It bowed and vanished again and the professor busied herself preparing two cups of tea.  She did not speak again until she handed a cup to Hermione.

“Sadly, for all that we are a school of witchcraft and wizardry, Hogwarts does not teach its students about the nature of magic and how the various magical species interact with and affect it.  I will draw up a reading list for you when we return to the castle.  For now, it is simplest to say that elves need magic the way that humans need food and water.  Unfortunately, they cannot simply gather it, the way you or I could pick an apple off a tree.  They require a bond with their source of magic.”

“So, people are able to use those bonds to make the elves do their work for them?” 

“Unfortunately, that is a common misconception held by many witches and wizards.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “Every few years, a muggleborn student learns about the elves and starts a campaign to free them from what they see as slavery.  The students raised in magical homes laugh at them, though they have no more understanding of the situation than the muggleborns.  The truth is, most elves form a bond with a magical place, rather than with a witch or wizard.  For obvious reasons, they prefer places where a lot of magic is used, like the Ministry or St. Mungo’s Hospital, but they can also be found on private property that has been inhabited by witches and wizards for a long time.  Elves live hundreds of years, so it is not unusual for one elf on an estate to serve many generations of the same family.  If the family dies out or leaves, the elves remain.”

“And they serve us because….?”

“That is where their talent, skills, and interests lie.” Professor McGonagall said.  “To them, service is a calling, just as teaching is my calling and medicine is Madam Pomfrey’s calling.  It is true that there are witches and wizards who mistreat the elves that are bound to them or to their land, because they believe that they are dealing with dumb animals and not creatures who have the same capacity for intellect as they do, but the elves have methods of protecting themselves.  Now,” Professor McGongall held up a hand to forestall any further questions “I realize that this explanation is…paltry, but I believe that this is a discussion that is best continued during one of your tutorials.  Right now, I’d like to discuss what happened this morning.  First, are you all right?”

“What?”  Hermione blinked, trying to force her mind onto a new train of thought.  “I…oh, you’re talking about Mr. Malfoy?  I’m fine, Professor, really.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but I was not just speaking about that nonsense with Lucius. I was referring to the news you received at the bank.  Most people imagine that discovering that they are the long-lost heir to titles and a massive fortune would be thrilling and romantic, but I can see that you are quite troubled by it.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel.”  Hermione admitted.  “I’m really confused about the whole thing.  I understand the words, but not the meaning behind them—if that makes any sense.”

“It does.”  Professor McGonagall nodded.  “As I said, the Heads of Most Royal and Noble Houses are something like the Muggle nobility.  If you suddenly found out that you were Princess Hermione of the House of Windsor, you would have some idea of the history and meaning behind the title, how it relates to other titles, and at least some of your duties and responsibilities.  Since you did not grow up in the Wizarding world, you have no such context to bring to bear on this situation.”

“Exactly.”  Hermione said with relief.

“Well, I’ll explain what I can, but I think you will find that Neville and his uncle can actually provide you with more information than I can.  Neville is Heir to his father and will, one day, be Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom.  Though I strongly disapprove of many of his grandmother’s notions about child-rearing, she has obviously given him a thorough education concerning his position and what will be expected of him.”  Professor McGonagall sipped at her tea, gathering her thoughts. 

“As we’ve discussed, wizards have a class of titled ‘aristocrats,’ just as the Muggles do.  However, there are some notable differences between the Muggle and magical nobility.  The biggest and most important of those is that wizarding nobles are magically bound to perform certain duties, whereas Muggle nobles are not.  So, for instance, a Muggle Duke has the right to sit in the House of Lords, but there is noting that compels him to do so.  The Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House, on the other hand, is required to take his or her seat in the Wizengamot or appoint a proxy.  I’m not certain what the consequences of failing to do this are, but I suspect that they are rather severe.”

“Oh.”  Hermione’s eyes were quite round.  “What would I have to do to appoint a proxy?”

“I don’t know.”  Professor McGonagall admitted.  “We can ask Abelard to obtain an up-to-date copy of the Wizengamot Rolls and Register for you.  That document contains all the procedural rules that Wizengamot members are expected to follow.  For now, however, let us return to our discussion of Wizarding nobility.  Like Muggle nobles, there are various ranks of wizarding aristocrats.  At the bottom of the ladder are the ordinary families who do not possess any family titles.  That, of course, includes most of the magical population of Great Britain.  Even most of the so-called ‘pure-blood’ families fall into this category: the Malfoys, the Bulstrodes, the Greengrasses, the MacMillans, and the Prewetts are all considered ‘common.’  Next come the families that are referred to as ‘Ancient’.  This simply means that there have been ten or more consecutive generations of magical persons in that particular family.”

“So, it’s a blood status thing.”  Hermione said, frowning.

“There is an element of elitist snobbery, I grant you, but no more so than the nineteenth century Muggles who referred to themselves as Squires.  There are is no social stigma against members of ‘Ancient’ families marrying Muggleborn witches and wizards or even the occasional Muggle.  Nor does achieving ‘Ancient’ status confer any special rights or privileges on members of the family   In fact, the title has largely fallen out of use these days, unless it is accompanied by another, more distinguished, honorific. Arthur Weasley, for example, is Head of the Ancient House of Weasley, and all of his children are Scions of that House.  None of them bother with the title as it just doesn’t seem important to them to do so.”

“I see.”  Hermione nodded.

“Above the ‘Ancient’ families are the ‘Most Noble’ Houses.  If Ragnok is correct, and I believe he is, then ‘Noble’ status is conferred upon a witch or wizard by the Muggle monarch.  Each Noble House possesses a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot and the right to own a magical estate—that is, they have the right to erect certain Muggle-repelling wards on their land, their holdings are not listed in any sort of Muggle land survey or register, and they do not have to pay taxes on their lands.  There are some other perks, I am sure, but I do not know what they are.”  Professor McGonagall paused.

 “Come to think of it, that’s probably why Lucius Malfoy was so eager to have his wife named Head of House Back.  He spent years trying to obtain a seat on the Wizengamot for himself before Walburga died and, the moment Narcissa was named Head of the family, she made him her Proxy.  Malfoy Manor is also, technically, a Black family property.”  She shook her head dismissively.  “There are currently fifty-six families who style themselves ‘Ancient and Most Noble.’  Some of these have not achieved ‘Ancient’ status, but they use that title anyway and nobody seems to mind.”

“Fifty-six?”  Hermione frowned.  “That number seems a bit….high.  If that many people did some sort of service for the Crown, how is it that the Statute of Secrecy hasn’t been broken yet?”

“You are not wrong.”  Professor McGonagall nodded.  “However, I want to remind you of two things: first, we do not know that the goblins’ account of events is accurate.  I grant you that it probably is, but it would be wise to find some corroborating evidence before we come to any conclusions.  Second, witches and wizards can be rather…er…gullible.  As we’ve discussed, students at Hogwarts are taught what to think, not how to think.  Sadly, as adults, most never learn that lesson.  If they are told something often enough, or by someone they see as the authority on a given subject, they tend to believe it.”

“In other words,” Hermione frowned “it’s possible that some of the people claiming to be from ‘Noble’ houses, aren’t?”

“Precisely.”  Professor McGonagall gave a curt nod.  “I believe there is an…accurate…listing of all the Noble houses somewhere in the Ministry, if you’re interested.  We can ask Abelard.  However, I can tell you that, aside from Mr. Longbottom, there are several true Scions of Ancient and Most Noble Houses in your year: Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Tracey Davis, and Harry Potter.”

“Wait….Harry’s a wizard noble?”  Hermione interrupted.  “He has a seat on the Wizengamot?”

“If, and when, he becomes Head of House Potter, he will have a seat on the Wizengamot and access to several vaults at Gringotts.” 

“Professor, does he know about any of this?”  Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to answer, then paused.

“I…I’m not certain.  The Headmaster assured me that Hagrid took Harry to Gringotts before he started Hogwarts, so I assumed that Harry had met with the goblins and…”

“Harry told me about that trip.”  Hermione said.  “He told me that Hagrid had a vault key that he gave to the teller and that they took a cart down to his vault.  To the best of my knowledge, Harry’s never dealt with any goblins other than the tellers and the cart operators.”  Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment and her face looked like thunder.

“Thank you for telling me this, Hermione.  I will be sure that both Mr. Potter and the goblins are informed that proper procedure was not followed.  However, we are getting off topic.  We’ve covered the Ancient and the Ancient and Most Noble families.  At the top of the wizarding world’s social and political ladder are the ‘Most Royal’ families. There were initially five of them, as Ragnok told you, but four of them were believed to have died out, until today.  Besides yourself, there is only one other man in the British Isles who can claim to be Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House”

“Oh my…”  Hermione felt her stomach twist a bit at this news.  “Who is he?”

“He’s a charming old fellow by the name of Antony ap Llewdor.”  Professor McGonagall had a vague smile playing around his lips, as if she was reliving a fond memory.  “He was at Hogwarts at the same time I was, actually.  Oh, the stories I could tell you….”  She stared off into space dreamily for a moment, before recalling her present situation and audience. 

“My apologies, Miss Granger.  I was woolgathering.  As you know, the Ancient and Most Royal Families were descended from men who were appointed by the Muggle King to rule over the magical population of England, and then Great Britain.  Think of your Muggle history.  You recall the powers that Dukes and Earls wielded within their own territories before Henry VII’s victory at Bosworth?”

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded, slowly.  “They were essentially kings in miniature.  They had their own armies, held their own courts and could basically do whatever they wanted within their own borders.”

“Precisely.  The Ancient and Most Royal Families had similar powers within the Wizarding World.  Or, I should say, they have similar powers.  You see, when King William agreed to ratify the Statute of Secrecy in 1689, it was with the understanding that members of the Ancient and Most Royal Families would continue to play a leading role in Wizarding government and society, and would continue to serve as a link between the Crown and its magical subjects.”

“Ratified….?”  Hermione blinked at Professor McGonagall.  “Professor Binns never told us anything about the King ratifying the Statute.  Why wouldn’t he….?”

Professor McGonagall sighed.  “Later, Miss Granger.  It is all well and good to be curious about the world around you and to have a wide range of interests, but you must learn to focus on one thing at a time.  As I was saying, King William made it a condition of his ratification that the Ancient and Most Royal Families retain their status and serve as a means of communication between the Muggle world and the magical.  As the years passed, most of the family lines died out and, as I said, there has been only one person permitted to carry the title of Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House until today.”

“Antony ap Llewdor.”

“Yes.  I’m afraid Ant has become something of a recluse, but when we return to Hogwarts, I will write to him and ask if he’d be willing to speak with you.  Frankly, he is the only person in Britain who is truly qualified to guide you through the intricacies of your public and political duties and it is high time he started fulfilling some of those duties himself.”  Professor McGonagall seemed to realize she was starting to shout and took a sip of tea to calm herself.

“Now, I know you must have a thousand more questions about all this, but there is something else I want to discuss before you meet with Abelard.  As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I am not attempting to keep your gift a secret, despite our plan to do just that.”

“I had wondered about that.”  Hermione nodded.

“What I told the Minister was true.  I asked Abelard to help me find someone to tutor you since there is nobody at Hogwarts who is qualified to do so.  During that conversation, I was forced to explain my reluctance to share your news with the Headmaster.”

“You told him?”  Catching herself, Hermione quickly looked up and down the hall to see if anyone had heard her.

“I trust Abelard.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “And he is no friend to Albus Dumbledore, believe me.  I understand why you are reluctant to share your experience, Miss Granger, but if we are going to keep you, Mr. Potter, and the other students safe, Albus Dumbledore needs to be removed from Hogwarts.  He wields a great deal of power within the Wizarding world and getting rid of him will not be easy.  Abelard is the strongest ally we have at the Ministry right now, but he can only help us if he has all the facts.  Do you understand?”

 “I suppose.”  Everything Professor McGonagall said made sense, but Hermione still wasn’t happy.  “You really trust him?”

“I do.”  Professor McGonagall’s words were simple, but said with conviction.  “After I told Abelard what happened and how we intended to deal with it, he suggested an alternate course of action and convinced me that it will be far more effective than keeping your talent a secret.”

“We’re going public, aren’t we?”  Hermione sighed.  It wasn’t hard to deduce.

“It’s more than that.”  Professor McGonagall gave her a grim smile.  “We’re going to use Ministry bureaucracy to our advantage.  You see, the Registry of Gifted Magicals is maintained by the Department of Mysteries, which has very strict requirements and restrictions regarding training of talents such as yours.  In the past, the Registry has been looked after by a low-ranking member of the department and it has been easy for people to get around those rules and restrictions, or to ignore them altogether.  However, Abelard Fowler is going to handle the list—and your case--personally and he intends to see that every rule is followed…to the letter.”

“All right.”  Hermione nodded, slowly.  “But how does that help us against Dumbledore?”

“It helps us in several ways.  First, the rules require that you receive training in your gift from a Ministry-approved tutor. Only the person in charge of the Registry can grant such approval, and Abelard assures me that the vetting process is quite thorough.  He will make sure that any tutors you work with will be completely free of outside influence—both magical and mundane—and that they stay that way for the duration of your training.”

“So, Professor Dumbledore won’t be able to get away with bribing my tutor or altering his or her memory?”

“Exactly.  In fact, Professor Dumbledore is not permitted to be involved in the training of your talent in any way.  Your tutors may only speak about you with Abelard or with me, since we have signed a Mentorship contract.  Fortunately, you no longer have need of a Guardian, so that’s one less person involved in your business.”

“My Guardian?”  Hermione took a sip of her own tea.  “I did want to ask about that—I saw you listed as my legal guardian on the Gringotts parchment.  Aren’t my parents my legal guardians?”

“I’m afraid that neither the goblins nor the Ministry recognize the legal rights of Muggles to act within the magical world, even when they are the parents or spouses of witches and wizards.  When students from non-magical families come to Hogwarts, it is customary for the school to assume legal guardianship over them in case there are decisions that must be made that would, in ordinary circumstances, require the presence of a parent or other family member.  These situations include medical emergencies that are too serious to be dealt with at the school and extra tuition, such as the Mentorship program.  You may recall that, during our conversation this summer, I said your mother had no real say regarding your Mentorship?  This is what I meant.”  Professor McGonagall explained.  “As Deputy Headmistress, I am listed as the legal guardian of record for all the Muggleborn witches and wizards in the castle.”

“But you said I no longer have need of a guardian…”  The pieces began to fall into place.  “because I’m now an adult in the magical world!”

“Correct!”  Professor McGonagall looked quite smug.  “And there’s nothing Albus bloody Dumbledore can do about it!  He must deal with you as he would deal with any other adult witch or wizard in the castle.  You now have as much autonomy as the seventh years—maybe even more, since you are the Head of your family.  Provided you don’t break any major school rules, Dumbledore has absolutely no authority over you and, should he attempt to violate your mind or otherwise mistreat you again, you would be within your rights to contact the Aurors on your own behalf!  He cannot question your teachers or tutors about your progress, nor will he have any say in your choice of classes or subjects of study.  Best of all, he cannot deny you access to any information available in the castle!”  Hermione clapped her hands with glee, then paused as a sobering through hit her.

“Professor,” she said slowly “as much as I hate the thought of this, I think Neville’s uncle is right.  We need to make my new….er…status public as soon as possible.  Before Dumbledore gets back from the I.C.W. conference.” 

“Oh?”

“Professor Dumbledore is head of the Wizengamot…”

“Yes?”

“Well, would he be able to….I don’t know…change the laws or something like that?  If he wanted to?”

“What?”  McGonagall looked puzzled for a moment and then she sat back in her chair, looking thoughtful.  “Oh, I see your point.  Yes, Albus could attempt to use his position to persuade the Wizengamot to alter the laws so that you would not be able to exercise the rights and privileges of an adult witch while you were at Hogwarts.  But I can assure you, any such attempts would fail.”

“But if he’s as powerful as you say he is…”

“Dumbledore is powerful and he does have a great deal of influence, but even Wizengamot members who might support him otherwise will balk at any efforts to infringe upon the rights of another member.  That would set a dangerous precedent.”

“What about what they did to Sirius?”

“Fair enough.”  Professor McGonagall conceded.  “However, I do not believe that either Ragnok or the International Confederation of Wizards will allow such a thing to happen again.  While the I.C.W. does not have much influence in Great Britain, the goblins can apply a great deal of pressure on those who would try to deny you your rights.  Ragnok is quite…put out about what happened to Sirius.”

“He is, isn’t he?”  Hermione chuckled “But if my new status were to be announced before Dumbledore gets back, wouldn’t that make it harder for him to even make the attempt?”

“That is a very good point and one I think we should discuss with…”  At that moment, the office door opened and Neville stuck his head out.  “Are you ready for us?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Hermione couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something different about Neville.  He seemed somehow looser and freer than when they’d walked off the elevator.  As she stepped into the office, Hermione added this to the ever-growing list of things she would need to think about later.

**

Hogwarts – Quidditch Pitch

Monday, Sept. 11

Viktor surveyed the Quidditch Pitch with satisfaction.  He and the other members of his team had divided the students up into small groups and were running coordination drills this afternoon.  Things were moving along quite smoothly and people seemed to be getting along.  He and the others had deliberately incorporated members from all four Hogwarts houses into each drill group and there were even three Beauxbatons students in the crowd, their pale blue uniforms a stark contrast to the Hogwarts black.

Ginny Weasley was currently working in a group with Marko.  She had arrived early to practice and had passed along Hermione’s message.  Viktor had been disappointed, but not overly so.  He knew how excited Hermione was about her tutorials and he looked forward to hearing the enthusiasm in her voice as she spoke about all the things she’d seen and done.

With an effort, Viktor wrestled his thoughts away from Hermione and onto more serious matters.  He, Marko, and Petra had discussed the events of the past week and had decided that they could not afford to wait any longer to see if Dumbledore had tampered with Harry Potter’s mind or, the minds of any of the students closest to him.  Marko planned to sneak into the Gryffindor dormitory tonight, with Petra and Talia, and, while Marko was responsible for the security of the group, Viktor had taken on the job of making sure they weren’t disturbed or found missing by Karkaroff.  Carefully, Viktor went over all his distraction plans until he was satisfied that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

As he watched Cassius Warrington struggle to adjust his flying pace to that of a first year Hufflepuff on a substandard broom, Viktor turned his mind to the problem of Mikael.  Mikael wasn’t on the Quidditch Pitch—he had been confined to the boat again, after he’d been caught trying to sexually assault one of the girls from Beauxbatons.  Petra and Talia had been the ones to catch him and Mikael had compounded his error by trying to erase their memories of the incident.  Viktor had been forced to ask the Hogwarts Matron for Skele-Gro to repair the damage to his cousin’s limbs and he was almost certain that Mikael would never be able to father children. 

Mikael’s career as a Squire of the Order of Walpurgis was over.  When he told Madam Ianevski what happened, she had agreed with Viktor’s decision to immediately terminate his service, and to rescind any and all protection the Order extended to its members.  Unfortunately, though he was no longer a member of the Order, Mikael was still a student of Durmstrang.  They could only keep him on the boat for so long without attracting unwanted attention.  Mikael was old enough to enter the Tournament and Karkaroff was keeping close tabs on all the potential Champions, though he was banking on Viktor being chosen.  The High Master had not noticed Mikael’s absence yet, but he soon would.

That thought led Viktor, inevitably, to the problem of what to do about Karkaroff.  After only a week and a half, it was becoming achingly evident that the man needed to disappear sooner, rather than later.  His continued presence was making it nearly impossible for Viktor and the other Knights to get anything done.  His insistence that the students from Durmstrang socialize, almost exclusively, with the members of Slytherin House made it difficult for the Knights to establish alliances with other Hogwarts students, while his stubborn refusal to accept the idea that his students actually wanted to learn something was wreaking havoc on their efforts to prepare for their examinations.

Viktor considered his options.  One idea was to deliver Karkaroff to the Dark One as a token of friendship, but that would surely lead to Karkaroff’s death. Viktor wished the man out of his life, but he had no desire to see him killed.  Another possibility was to arrange for the appropriate authorities to find some of Karkaraoff’s more illicit possessions.  The problem with this plan was that all Karkaroff’s truly Dark artifacts were on the boat and that was considered Bulgarian soil (so to speak).  No one from the British Ministry of Magic could set foot on the boat without the express permission of the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and Viktor knew that would only be given if Karkaroff was foolish enough to commit some crime on British soil.  Igor Karkaroff was many things, but a fool was not one of them.

There was a third option, but Viktor didn’t want to use it unless he had no other choice.  As he watched players zooming around the pitch, occasionally crashing into each other, the goal posts, and the stands, he decided that it would be best to let matters stand until the champions were chosen at the beginning of October.  If he hadn’t come up with a viable solution to the Karkaroff problem by then, he’d use the blue crystal that was currently hidden beneath the false bottom of his trunk.

**

Malfoy Manor

Monday, Sept. 11

“Master.”  Severus dropped to one knee and bowed his head. 

“Rise Severus.”  The Potions Master did as he was told, noting how much stronger Riddle looked, even after only a few short days.  He pushed this troubling thought to the back of his mind.  “I am surprised to see you so soon.  You have news?”

“Yes, my Lord.  It concerns Hermione Granger.”

“What of her?  Surely she cannot have abandoned Potter already….?”

“No, my Lord.  This morning, Minerva McGonagall took Miss Granger and another student to Gringotts and the Ministry.  When they returned, Minerva informed the staff that Hermione Granger is an Occulomagus, the newly discovered Head of House Pendragon, and the Heir-Presumptive to House Black.”  For once, Severus completely understood, and shared, the Dark Lord’s astonishment. 

“Explain.”  The creature in the armchair commanded. Severus quickly recited the facts that he and the others had decided to share with Riddle and his followers.  It was, for the most part, the truth.  Hermione had initially been resistant to the idea of telling Riddle anything, but between them, Viktor, Minerva and (to Severus’ great surprise) Neville Longbottom had made her see that her safety lay in Riddle thinking she could be useful to him.  In the end, she had agreed to their plan.

“Who else knows about this?” Riddle said, at last.

“As I said, Minerva told the staff and, by now, I’m sure that all of Gryffindor Tower knows, as well.  A general announcement will be made to the school tomorrow morning.  Granger added her name to the Registry of Gifted Magicals today.  No doubt that, and her elevationb will be on the front page of tomorrow’s Prophet.  Currently, Arthur Weasley, Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge know that she is Gifted, but I do not know if they have heard the news about her titles yet.”

“Lucius?”  Riddle snapped.  “How would he know?”

“Minerva told me that they encountered Lucius while he was with the Minister this afternoon.”  Though it was hard to determine the Dark Lord’s real emotions from the perpetual rictus worn by the homunculus, Severus was reasonably certain Riddle was frowning.  There was silence for a moment.

“You say the Granger girl is Heir-Presumptive to the House of Black?  How is that possible?  Lucius informed me that honor belonged to his son.”

“I believe that Lucius was…misinformed.”  Severus wasn’t sure how much Lucius knew about the truth concerning the Black legacy.  The safest course of action was to assume that Lucius truly believed his son to be the Heir and not to imply that the man had deliberately misled the Dark Lord…no matter how much pleasure it would give him to see the arrogant bastard taken down a peg or three.  “As I understand it, the Wizengamot meddled in the line of succession.  You will recall that Walburga Black acted Regent for House Black after Arcturus’ death?”  Riddle nodded.

“She acted in the name of her youngest whelp, as I recall.”

“Indeed.”  Severus nodded.  “She arranged for the Wizengamot to disinherit her elder son in favor of her younger.  After Regulus died, Walburga named Bellatrix LeStrange as her Heir.  After Bellatrix was sent to Azkaban, she changed her will and named Narcissa and her children as her Heirs.  Unfortunately, the title was never Walburga’s to bestow, either on Regulus or on Narcissa.”

“Oh?”

“Arcturus named his elder son, Sirius, his Heir in blood and magic when the boy was eight.”  The Dark Lord hissed.  “This act was mentioned in his will and the ritual was witnessed by the goblins, but it seems that both the Wizengamot and the Ministry chose to ignore those facts.  After the old man’s death, they gave the Regency to Walburga with the understanding that Sirius would become Head of House when he came of age.  Then, as you know, she had a falling out with Sirius and disinherited him in favor of Regulus.  As far as Gringotts is concerned, however, Sirius Black became Head of House Black the moment his grandfather died, and Hermione Granger is his Heir-Presumptive.  I hear that the bank intends to issue a formal statement to that effect.”

“I was told that Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban, accused of betraying the Potters.  I thought that the goblins took such things into account.”

“They do when there is a conviction.  However, Sirius Black inherited his title long before his arrest and was never given a trial.  The goblins hold that he is the rightful Head of the family.  According to Minerva, they were unaware of his escape from Azkaban until today and have offered him their assistance.”

 “I….see.  Wormtail!”

“My Lord?”  Severus didn’t bother to hide his distaste for the sniveling coward he had once known as Peter Pettigrew.  He often wondered if Black and Lupin knew just how….apt the nickname they’d bestowed on their former friend was.

“Contact Nott. Tell him I wish to speak with him as soon as he leaves work.  Then find Lucius and Walden and tell them I require their attendance.”  While Severus had made his report, Wormtail had been relegated to the far end of the room, to prevent eavesdropping.  The Dark Lord gave his order in a calm, almost friendly tone, which made chills run up and down Severus’ spine.  He remembered Riddle using this tactic in the old days: if he felt that one of his followers had not shared information with him, he would pretend ignorance and question the man carefully until he either decided that the poor fool didn’t know anything or got the information he wanted.  If he believed that the information had been withheld deliberately….Severus shuddered. 

Even in his weakened state, the Dark Lord’s wrath was terrible to behold.  Walden MacNair had always been one of the Riddle’s more enthusiastic enforcers and Severus had no doubt that, should it be required, he would gleefully administer any punishments ordered.  He started as the Dark Lord’s attention returned to him.

 “Once again, you have done well, my servant.  Tell me, how go your efforts to poison the girl’s mind against Harry Potter?”

“While I believe that she will eventually be open to my overtures,” Severus chose his words very carefully “I have not yet had the opportunity to even begin the task you set for me.”

“Why not?”

“Draco Malfoy.”  As much as Severus disliked the boy, he did not want Draco to be subjected to the punishments the Dark Lord meted out to those who displayed too much arrogance or independence of thought.  However, if forced to choose between the safety of a spoiled, arrogant bully like Draco and a true innocent like Hermione Granger, he would not hesitate to serve Draco up to the Dark Lord on a silver platter.  Riddle hissed.

“What has the brat done?”

“Nothing serious…yet.”  Severus replied.  “However, his antipathy towards both Potter and Granger grows daily, as does his reluctance to exercise any control over his temper.  When he hears this latest news....”  He stopped speaking as Lucius and Walden strode into the room. Severus instinctively stepped aside and did his best to blend with the shadows cast by the dancing firelight.

“Ah, Lucius, there you are.  I have not seen you since your return from the Ministry.  I trust you had a productive day?”

“Indeed, my Lord.”  Lucius gave a slight bow.  “As you instructed, I have persuaded the Minister to lend his support to the werewolf registration law that will be considered at the next meeting of the Wizengamot.” 

“Excellent.  How much did it cost us?”  Severus suppressed a snort at the use of the word ‘us.’  Riddle was no more willing to use his own money to bribe the Minister than Lucius was to endow Hogwarts’ Muggle Studies class.

“A pittance.”  Lucius gave a careless shrug.  “It seems that Fudge’s Senior Undersecretary shares our views on such things and has been quite diligent in her persuasive efforts.”

“Senior Undersecretary…that would be Madam Umbridge, would it not?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Hmmm.  And did anything else of interest occur at the Ministry?  Did you, perhaps, hear anything that might be useful?”

“No, my Lord.”  Severus couldn’t help but wince at the confidence in Lucius’ voice.  He didn’t know if the Head of House Malfoy was delusional, an idiot or both.  At this point, he supposed it really didn’t matter.  In the end, the result would be the same.

“And you, Walden?  Did you hear anything of interest?”  Walden MacNair squirmed under the Dark Lord’s attention.

“Only a rumor, my Lord.”  The man stammered.  Severus always found it faintly amusing that MacNair, who was one of the most physically imposing men to ever don Death Eater regalia, was absolutely terrified of his Master.  “I do not know if there is any truth to it…”

“I understand. Walden, but even the wildest story sometimes contains a grain of truth.”

“Yes, my Lord.  Well, I heard some of the Unspeakables talking and they said that a new name has been added to the Registry of Gifted Magicals.”

“Really?”  The Dark Lord’s tone made it quite evident that this was not a surprise.  His gaze shifted back to Lucius who, for the first time, looked rather uncomfortable.  “And did you hear this ‘rumor’, Lucius?”

“I did hear something.”  Lucius admitted, reluctantly.  “But I do not give it any credence.”

“Oh?”  Severus could imagine the Dark Lord arching an eyebrow, but the construct his spirit currently inhabited had none to lift.  “Why is that?”

“The person in question is nothing but a mudblood—a Hogwarts student.”  Apparently not aware of the dangerous ground on which he was treading, Lucius went on.  “She is said to be an Occulomagus.  That is, as you know, a very rare and powerful gift.  It is impossible that someone so insignificant could possess it.  Historically, such gifts have run in the old families.”

“And that is why you did not tell me of this?  Because the girl in question is not from one of the old families?”

“That is correct, my Lord.  It is simply unheard of for such gifts to arise spontaneously.”

“Is not your wife’s niece a Metamorphmagus?”

“She is, my Lord.” Lucius admitted, reluctantly.

“And she is a half-blood, is she not?” 

“She is, my Lord.”

“Tell me, Lucius, for I do not recall clearly.  Does that talent run within the Black family?”  Lucius looked as though he had been forced to swallow several of Albus Dumbledore’s noxious lemon drops.

“It does not, my Lord.”

“And the girl obviously did not inherit her talent from her father’s side of the family, as they are all Muggles.  Therefore, your assertion that the spontaneous appearance of magical Talents is unheard of is incorrect, is it not?”   The Dark Lord did not give his hapless servant a chance to answer.  “For shame, Lucius.  You seem to have forgotten many of the lessons I once taught you.  You must not allow yourself to be so blinded by your prejudices that you fail to see the potential use of any witch or wizard – no matter their parentage.  Even half-bloods and mudbloods have their uses.  But, enough of this.”  Severus imagined that, if he could, the Dark Lord would have waved a lazy hand, as if dismissing the dispute.  “Severus tells me the girl is in the same year as young Draco and that there is a great deal of animosity between them.”  For the first time, Lucius seemed to notice Severus’ presence.  Severus met the other man’s glare with a steady gaze of his own.

“Yes, my Lord.”  Lucius growled, still scowling at Severus.  “However, I feel that I must point out that Snape cannot be trusted to…”

“To what?”  The Dark Lord was finally letting his anger show.  “To be a faithful and obedient servant?  To bring me accurate information in a timely fashion?  To carry out my orders exactly as they are given to him?  No, Lucius, I trust Severus to do all these things.  You and your son, on the other hand…”

“My son?”  Lucius tore his eyes away from Severus.  “I assure you, my Lord, Draco wishes for nothing more than to join your service.”  He mistook the lack of response for an invitation to continue.  “In fact, I received a letter from Draco this evening.  He shares my concerns about Snape.”

“Why?”  The Dark Lord’s voice was smooth as silk again. 

“He believes that Snape is attempting to win favor with you at his expense, by administering overly harsh punishments for imagined infractions of the rules.”

“And what, Severus, caused you to hand out this overly harsh punishment?”  Severus suppressed a sigh as he stepped forward. 

“I assume that Draco is referring to our encounter this morning.” He said, not bothering to hide his irritation.  “I came upon him in dispute with the Deputy Headmistress, regarding punishment she handed out to Draco for his role in an altercation with two other students.  An altercation, I might add, that the Deputy Headmistress witnessed and says was entirely the fault of Draco and Pansy Parkinson.  I attempted to resolve the issue by suggesting that we view the memories of all parties involved to determine exactly where the blame lay.  The Deputy Headmistress agreed, at which point Draco said that we could not ‘take’ his memories.  I pointed out that we would only proceed if he and Miss Parkinson willingly provided memories of the incident, but that failure to do so would lead to an assumption of guilt on their parts.  They refused.”

“At which point, you took more house points!” Lucius snarled.  Severus rolled his eyes.  After a moment’s pause, when it became clear that the Dark Lord was not going to intervene, he spoke.

“Your son was lying, Lucius.  He engaged in an unprovoked verbal attack on two students, was caught, and attempted to blame the other students.”

“Who were these other students?” Lucius challenged.

“Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom.”

“A mudblood and a squib!”  Lucius scoffed.  “You would favor them over my son?”

“Enough!”  The Dark Lord barked.  "This is why Draco says Severus is not to be trusted?   Because Severus no longer panders to his every whim?  Because Severus is attempting to impress the need for discipline on him?  It might please you to know, Lucius, that I expressed an interest in the Granger girl some time ago and that Severus has been tasked with recruiting her.  You see, Lucius, that girl is one of Harry Potter’s closest friends and allies.  She holds a position I had hoped Draco might occupy.” 

“As had I.”  Two bright red blotches had appeared on Lucius’ cheeks, but otherwise, he appeared as calm as ever.  Severus had to admire the man’s ability to hide or suppress his emotions.  He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the return of Wormtail, who was followed by Theodore Nott, Senior.

“Ah, Nott.”  Severus retreated to his shadows to observe.  He had a shrewd notion of why Nott, who worked in the Gringotts owlery, had been summoned, but it was clear that Malfoy and MacNair did not.  “So good of you to join us.  In truth, I had expected you much earlier.”

“My apologies, my Lord, but I only just left the bank.  There is news.”

“Oh?”

“Ragnok sent an owl to The Daily Prophet this afternoon.  I was able read the message, though I didn’t dare cast a duplication charm.”

“I understand.  Pray tell, what did the leader of the goblin nation have to say to Britain’s premiere magical newspaper?  I do not believe he is in the habit of writing to them.”

“This is the first time he’s ever done so, my Lord.  A Muggleborn witch came into the bank today to open a vault.  She was given a standard identity test and it was discovered that she is a descendant of House Pendragon.  She is also….” Severus caught Nott’s sidelong glance at Lucius “Heir-Presumptive of House Black.”  All the color fled from Lucius’ cheeks and Severus saw him sway slightly.

“Astonishing.”  Again, the Dark Lord’s voice made it quite clear that this was anything but a surprise.  “Lucius, didn’t you tell me that your son was Heir-Presumptive to House Black?”

“Impossible.”  Lucius moaned.  He seemed to be talking to himself.  “It is impossible….”

“Tell me everything, Nott.”  The Dark Lord commanded, apparently ignoring Lucius’ reaction.

“I don’t know much else, my Lord.”  Nott admitted.  “Only that House Pendragon is an Ancient and Most Royal House and that their vaults have lain dormant for years, but are now being brought back to active status.  As to House Black…”  Nott glanced at Lucius again and proceeded to tell the Dark Lord much the same thing that Severus had, only adding that the goblins held that, in ignoring Arcturus’ will with regards to the succession, the Wizengamot and the Ministry had violated some treaty or other.  Severus kept his eyes on Lucius, who was now pacing the room like a caged animal.  The comparison was apt, Severus thought, for Lucius was well and truly trapped. 

Thanks to his friendship with Narcissa, Severus knew the truth.  Abraxas Malfoy had died less than a week after Riddle had disappeared, leaving his only son in complete control of the Malfoy fortune.  Lucius had rapidly spent most of his inheritance on bribes to the Ministry to keep himself and his cronies out of Azkaban and had used what was left to “persuade” certain Wizengamot members to act on his behalf when that august body gathered to consider the Black inheritance.  Once Narcissa was named Head of House Black, Lucius had felt free to make use of the contents of the Black vaults in whatever way he saw fit.  Narcissa had once confided to Severus, after a bit too much elf-wine, that her husband was in the habit of transferring large sums from the Black vaults into the Malfoy vaults.  As Draco was expected to inherit both, this was not a problem for anyone (except, perhaps, Draco).  However, if someone else inherited the Black vaults, the money would have to be accounted for and, most likely, returned.  That would bankrupt House Malfoy and render Lucius completely useless to the Dark Lord.

“Tell me, Nott.”  The Dark Lord’s voice drew Severus back to the present.  He noticed that Lucius had stopped pacing and was also paying close attention.  “If the Ministry’s actions have violated treaties, as the goblins claim, why are they only acting on it now?”

“I am not certain, my Lord.”  Nott admitted.  “I do know that there was a great deal of activity amongst the upper echelons of the bank this afternoon—the Senior Account Managers and Archivists and so on.  I do not know what it was about, but the goblins I spoke to were…er…surlier than usual.”

“It is Ragnok.”  Lucius declared.  “I have no doubt of it.  He was only named Director of the bank a few years ago and there are many of his own kind who dislike and distrust him.  One wrong move and he will be deposed and, most likely, killed.  He is weak, my Lord, and I have no doubt that he has seized upon this opportunity to make himself appear stronger than he is.  I have contacts within the bank, my Lord.  Goblins who are loyal to me.  It would not be difficult to arrange for this…fool to be removed.  Once that happens, things will return to how they were…how they should be.”

“I…see.”  The Dark Lord seemed to consider this idea for a moment.  “What say you, Nott?  Is Lucius correct in his assessment?”  Nott closed his eyes, briefly, and Severus could almost hear him heave a sigh.

“I do not believe so, my Lord.”  Nott spoke quietly.  He wasn’t looking at Lucius now, though the other man was staring daggers into him.  “I cannot be certain, but from everything I have heard, Ragnok’s position is secure and is likely to remain so.”

“Very well.”  The Dark Lord gave a sharp nod.  “You are dismissed, Nott.”  With a grateful nod, the Death Eater strode out of the room as quickly as he could while still maintaining his dignity.  “Lucius, I am displeased.  In the morning, you will go to Gringotts and you will speak to your contacts there.  You will find out all you can, but you will do nothing to disturb the current situation at the bank.  You will then return to me and you will tell me everything that you have learned, whether you think it will please me or not.  For now, I think it best that MacNair administer a reminder about the need for promptness, honesty and accuracy in your reports.  Walden, please be gentle—he needs to be fit to travel tomorrow morning…and please use a silencing charm.”  MacNair gave a short bow and grabbed a gaping Lucius Malfoy by the elbow.  Severus tried not to watch as the two men retreated to the other end of the long sitting room and MacNair’s wand appeared in his hand.

 “Now, Severus, about young Draco.  You say that he is interfering in your efforts to befriend the Granger girl.  How?”  Severus tore his gaze away from Lucius and MacNair and returned his attention to the Dark Lord.

“He has interrupted our meetings twice now.” He replied.  “The first time is of no account, since it took place before I received your orders, but on the second occasion, he cost me a golden opportunity to begin the work you set for me.”  Briefly, he related the incident with Ron Weasley and the subsequent meeting with Hermione that had been, in his re-telling of it, ended by Draco’s interruption.  “And, of course, there was that incident this morning.”

“I see.”  Riddle said, thoughtfully.  “You are correct, Severus.  Draco cannot be allowed to continue in this way.  The child must learn that such impudence will not be tolerated.  Since his parents seem to be incapable of teaching him this lesson, I leave it to you.”

“My Lord,” Severus spoke hesitantly and tried not to wince as, out of the corner of his eye he saw Lucius fall to the floor, mouth open in a silenced scream “you know that while we are at Hogwarts, there is only so much I am permitted to do with regards to discipline….”

“Yes, House points and detention!”  The Dark Lord scowled.  “You will simply have to be creative.  Now, to other matters.  Does Dumbledore know anything about the Granger girl yet?”

“No, but he will.”  Severus replied.  “As I said, the news will be on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow or Wednesday, at the latest, especially as the goblins have already made an official statement.”

“Is Dumbledore still in Italy?”

“Yes, my Lord.  He is scheduled to return on Sunday, but I believe he may cut his trip short when he learns what has happened.”

“No doubt, but he cannot return before Thursday night, so you will have at least three days to work unfettered.  Is there anyone in your House who can be trusted to befriend Granger?”  Severus gave the matter serious thought. 

“I can think of one or two who have not openly attacked her and might be counted on to behave in such a way as to invite friendship.  However, I do not believe that they or their parents are your loyal servants.”

“Who are they?”

“Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass come to mind.  Both are in her year and both are quite intelligent.”

“I do not recognize the names.”

“The Zabinis are an old line from Italy.  Blaise’s father, Cosimo, came to England to run a branch of the family business.”  Severus reported.  “He is quite wealthy, but because he was not born in Britain, Cosimo is forbidden from taking a seat on the Wizengamot and is not received by many of the best families here.  This…irks him.”

“And Greengrass?”

“They are a relatively new family.  Daphne is the youngest of three sisters and the only one currently at Hogwarts.  Their father, Gerald, died when our forces attacked St. Mungo’s during the last war.”

“Was he part of the Ministry’s attempt to foil us?”

“Ah….no, my Lord.  He was a patient at the time of the attack and did not participate in the fighting.  I do not know who was responsible for his death and neither, I think, do Daphne or her mother.”

“Very well.  You will speak to these two and you will persuade them to get close to Granger, but you will not mention my name nor our cause.  Once they have succeeded, you will obtain information from them and I may require you to ‘suggest’ certain actions to them.  I also want you to continue in your efforts to befriend the girl.”

“You still wish to poison her mind against Potter?”  Severus could hear the tremor in his own voice, but the Dark Lord seemed to ignore it.

“Yes, but that is not my priority now.”  Riddle spoke slowly and thoughtfully.  “I need the allegiance of House Pendragon and access to its vaults.  You and your students will obtain these for me.  If turning her against Potter is the way to get me what I need, so much the better.”

“I understand, my Lord.  But it will take time.  She will be watched very closely—by the Ministry, by Dumbledore, and by her peers.  It is too risky to try and move her mind with magic.”  There was a moment of silence, during which Severus held his breath and prayed that he would not be the next to suffer under MacNair’s wand.

“You are correct.”  Riddle said, finally.  “But I still want to mark her the moment she leaves Hogwarts.  Do whatever it takes to see that it happens.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do not fail me in this, Severus.  Bring me the girl and I promise you…”  Whatever the Dark Lord was about to say was lost as MacNair lifted the silencing charm.  Severus could clearly hear Lucius’ groans.

“Done so soon, Walden?”  Riddle asked in a tone akin to that another man would have used when inquiring about the preparation of his dinner.

“Bah!”  MacNair spat in disgust.  “Weak, I say.  If I do any more, he won’t be fit to stand tomorrow, let alone do as you command.”

“I understand.”  The Dark Lord oozed sympathy.  “Perhaps….perhaps his wife could take the rest of his punishment?  Why don’t you fetch her to us, Wormtail.  You are dismissed, Severus.”

Chapter Text

The Ancient and Most Royal House of Pendragon Reborn!

By Rita Skeeter

Like the phoenix that adorns its crest, the Ancient and Most Royal House of Pendragon has risen from the ashes and, as a result, the Wizarding World stands on the brink of a new Golden Age!

Yesterday, a routine trip to Gringotts changed a young girl’s life forever and ushered in a new era for all wizard-kind!  Hermione Jane Granger, a stunningly pretty muggleborn witch, who recently began her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, went to Diagon Alley accompanied by Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and another student. While at Gringotts, Miss Granger was astonished to discover that she is the Head and sole magical representative of the Ancient and Most Royal House of Pendragon.

Being Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House comes with many privileges.  Though only fourteen, Miss Granger—one of the top students at Hogwarts and the first to enroll in the newly revived Mentorship program—is now, legally speaking, an adult witch and has been granted full access to the vast Pendragon fortune, as well as seats on the Wizengamot, the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Board of Directors of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies.  (For more on how a muggleborn witch can have inherited one of the highest titles in wizarding Britain, see my exclusive interview with Muggle Studies expert Belinda Beeson on page 3)

One can only imagine the shock and delight Miss Granger must have felt upon hearing the news…but that was only the first piece of glad tidings she received.  In addition to being the Head of House Pendragon, Miss Granger is Heir-Presumptive of House Black.  Until yesterday, it was widely believed that Narcissa Malfoy, wife of Ministry official Lucius Malfoy, was Head of House Black, making her only son Draco, also a fourth-year student at Hogwarts, Heir-Presumptive.  This reporter has learned, however, that the goblins have long known that the real Head of House Black is none other than escaped murderer Sirius Black, the man who betrayed the Potter family to You-Know-Who and is, thus, directly responsible for the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived is an orphan.  Due to a clerical oversight at the ever-muddled Ministry of Magic, this fact has remained hidden since the death of Arcturus Black in 1972.  In an ironic twist of fate, Miss Granger is alleged to be one of young Harry Potter’s closest friends.  Both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were unavailable for comment.  (For more on the Ministry’s botched handling of the Black family inheritance, see page 5.  Why have the Goblins betrayed the Black family? – See page 4.  A statement by Ragnok, Director of Gringotts – See page 15).

If all this good fortune wasn’t enough, Miss Granger and her companions stopped in at the Ministry of Magic where, sources have revealed exclusively to this reporter, Miss Granger’s name was added to the Registry of Gifted Magicals.  Apparently, Miss Granger began displaying signs that she is a burgeoning Occulomagus when she returned to Hogwarts on September 1.  (Occulomagency vs. Occlumency – What’s the difference? – See page 12).  Miss Granger is the first British Occulomagus in nearly two hundred years and hers is the first name to be added to the Registry of Gifted Magicals in over a decade.  Many are already touting Hermione Granger as the second coming of Merlin!

Little is known about the wizarding world’s newest star, but have no fear, dear readers.  I am pleased to announce that I will be sitting down for an exclusive interview with the lady herself very soon.  Miss Granger has already displayed a wisdom and insight that belie her tender years and we look to her to be a beacon of hope in these troubling times.

**

Hogwarts - Great Hall

Tuesday, Sept. 12

“Oh no.”  Hermione moaned.  “This is awful!”

“I don’t know…” Fred snickered.

“I think the part about you being the second coming of Merlin is quite nice.” George laughed.

“I rather like the part where she ‘displays wisdom and insight beyond her tender years.’” Harry added, grinning and ducking as Hermione threw a piece of bacon at him.

“What’s this about you giving an exclusive interview to the Prophet?” Ginny asked, examining the front page of one of the newspapers that had been deposited on the Gryffindor table.  Much to Hermione’s dismay, the Daily Prophet had decided to send a free copy of this special edition to all the students at Hogwarts.  Fortunately, Professor McGonagall made the announcement before the morning post had arrived, so most of the students had gotten over the initial shock by the time they saw the headline.

“I have no idea.”  Hermione sighed.  “I certainly didn’t agree to any interview.  I haven’t even been asked!”

“You’ll want to be careful what you say to Rita Skeeter.”  Lavender said, uncharacteristically serious.  “My Mum’s sister, Lucretia, used to work for Madame Malkin’s.  Rita Skeeter wrote an article about her after she won some contest and…well…” Lavender blushed.  “She made poor Auntie Lu out to be some kind of loose woman!  Because of that article, Lu lost her job, her fiancé broke off the engagement, and people started crossing the street when they saw her coming.  The poor dear had to move to Canada just to get away from it all!”  Hermione was about to protest that people weren’t stupid and wouldn’t believe something just because it was in the paper, but then she remembered Gilderoy Lockhart and the way she had practically worshipped the man, along with most of the other witches in Britain.  All because they had believed what he’d written.

“Thanks, Lavender.” She said, softly.  “To be honest, I don’t want to talk to her at all, if I can possibly avoid it.”  Hermione had, quite frankly, been surprised at the unfeigned happiness both Lavender and Parvati had shown her when she’d broken the news to them last night.  Her relationship with her roommates had not always been an easy one and Hermione had been somewhat worried that news of her new wealth and status might provoke animosity, but both girls had been genuine in their declarations of affection and pledges of unconditional support.  

As Hermione had expected, Ron did not take the news well.  What she couldn’t have anticipated, however, was just how badly he would respond.  Within one minute of the completion of her story, Ron had broken his solemn vow never to call her ‘mudblood’ again and things had gone downhill from there.  Ron had drawn his wand on her, but had been hit with at least six different jinxes before he could cast a single spell and Professor McGonagall had been forced to rescue him from the wrath of the other Gryffindors.  He was still in the hospital wing recovering and awaiting punishment.  Harry, Fred, George, Ginny, Neville, and Lavender all had a week’s detention with Professor McGonagall, but no one really minded.  After all, as Fred had pointed out, if she was really angry with them, she would have made them serve detention with Filch.

“Where are the Slytherins?” Harry asked for the third time since they’d come down to breakfast.  The entire House, including their Head, seemed to be missing and the only occupants of their table were the students from Durmstrang. 

“They’re probably all in their Common Room, plotting my imminent demise.” Hermione muttered.

**

Hogwarts – Slytherin Common Room

Tuesday, Sept. 12

The Slytherins were all in their Common Room and Severus had ensured they would stay there by sealing the exit.  He had asked the elves to prepare food for the children and the little creatures had outdone themselves, in terms of both quality and quantity.  As students came up from their dormitories, they were directed to a long table where the meal had been laid out, buffet style.  Once they had a plate, they were instructed to sit in the chairs Severus had conjured for the occasion.  When everyone had served themselves, and was seated, Severus did a quick head-count and came up two short.

“Doyle and Bole are not here, sir.”  Cassius Warrington reported, without having to be prompted.  “Doyle is in the hospital wing and Bole is….well, I think he’s still asleep, sir.  He was still in bed when I left the dorm.” 

“What happened to Mr. Doyle?” Severus asked, his eyes narrowing.  Patrick Doyle was a first-year muggleborn.  School had been in session for less than two weeks and he had already been sent to Madam Pomfrey twice.

“He…er…tripped on one of the moving staircases, sir.  Broke his ankle.”  Warrington cast a significant glance at the knot of fourth years sitting towards the back and Severus nodded in acknowledgment.  If he’d had any doubts as to the cause of Doyle’s so-called “accident” they were dispelled when Draco Malfoy laughed loudly.

“Stupid mudblood….”  He stopped when the sound of a bell rang throughout the room, followed by a strange rattling noise.  As one, all heads in the room turned to a giant hourglass standing in one corner and several people gasped as twenty stones appeared in the top bulb.

Severus had to clear his throat to regain their attention.  “We will not wait for Mr. Bole.  Mr. Warrington, if he is not down here by the time we are finished, you will inform him of what I have said and you will tell him to be in my office at three o’clock sharp.  Understood?”  Derrick Bole was a notoriously deep sleeper and Severus had long ago absolved his roommates of any responsibility for ensuring that he managed to get himself out of bed on time for classes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well.”  He turned to face the members of his house and noted, with displeasure, that Draco was slouched in his seat and appeared to be falling asleep.  “I apologize for disrupting your morning routines, but we have several matters we need to discuss and they simply cannot wait.  Those of you with first-period classes have been excused from them so that we can have ample time for discussion.  However, your teachers expect that you will stop by their offices some time later today to had in any homework that is due and to get your new assignments. 

“By now you have all seen the hourglass in the corner.  This is an exact replica of the Slytherin glass that stands in the Entrance Hall.  Please take note of the parchment next to it.”  He pointed at the wall next to the hourglass.  The parchment was blank except for the words Malfoy:  -20 – Use of forbidden language.

“This parchment is enchanted to display a running list of the points that are earned and lost by members of this house.  As you have, no doubt guessed, you will hear a noise whenever the point counter changes and you will then be able to see who is responsible.”  This had been Granger’s idea, based on Longbottom’s comment that the other Slytherins would not react well if they knew exactly how many points Draco was costing them.  It was, to Severus, the perfect solution to the problem of how to discipline Draco within the limits imposed by the school and by common decency.  The students would do the work for him and they would use means that, as a teacher, he could not.  So long as they didn’t hex the brat while he was standing in the room, Severus was fully prepared to look the other way when punishments were administered.

“The more observant among you will have noticed that I did not actually take points from Mr. Malfoy.  At the staff meeting last night, the other teachers and I agreed to some changes in the way the points system operates. It seems that too many students are taking advantage of the absence of a teacher or prefect to break certain school rules.  Therefore, we have enlisted the assistance of the castle itself.  There is a list of violations which now result in an automatic deduction of points, regardless of whether the offense is committed in front of witnessses.  These deductions cannot be appealed.  And, just so everyone is absolutely clear on this point, any use of the words ‘mudblood,’ ‘squib,’ or ‘blood-traitor’ will result in an automatic deduction of twenty points.  Any attempts to jinx, hex, or otherwise magically injure another student in the corridors will earn you a deduction of fifty points.  Are we clear on this?” 

“What?  You can’t do that….” Draco sputtered.  Severus was pleased to see the number of glares he was receiving from his house-mates.

“We can and we have.”  He snapped.  “We have made some other changes to the system of discipline that mostly relate to the regularization of points that can be given or taken away by a staff member or a prefect depending on circumstances.  When you return to your dorms tonight, you will all find new copies of the Hogwarts handbook with a detailed description of the new rules and points allocation system. I expect you all to read them and address any questions to me or to another teacher.  Understood?”

“Yes, Professor Snape.” They chorused, though Draco looked mutinous.

“Very well.  I am pleased to say that, in light of these changes, the other Heads of House have agreed to discount all points gained or lost prior to this morning.  Therefore, Mr. Malfoy has only put us at negative 20 points, rather than the negative 254 points we had yesterday.  I expect you all to familiarize yourselves with the new rules as soon as possible.   Unless there are any questions, I will now move on to our next order of business.”  There were no questions.  Severus nodded and continued.

“The next topic I wish to discuss concerns the reason we are meeting in here this morning.  As some of you may know, Professor McGonagall took Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger to London yesterday….” He proceeded to tell them the same things that Minerva was planning to tell the rest of the school.  As he expected, the room broke out into absolute chaos.  He heard the bell ring a total of nine times before he was finally able to restore order.  Glancing at the parchment, he saw that Draco was responsible for seven of the new offenses and the other two could be laid at the feet of Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott, Jr.

“All right.”  Severus sighed.  “Settle down!  It seems that I was correct in my assumption that some of you would be rather disturbed by this news.  However, I do not think that you quite grasp the significance of these developments.  We are somewhat pressed for time, so I will make this as simple as possible.  Here is how Hermione Granger’s new titles and abilities relate to you.  One.”   He held up a finger.  “For those who find meaning in such things, Miss Granger now outranks everyone at this school, including myself, the Headmaster, every member of the Board of Governors, and all of you.  There is only one person in this country who is her equal in social and political stature and he has not set foot off his estate in at least fifteen years.  Two.”  He raised a second finger.  “Miss Granger is now one of the five wealthiest persons—magical or otherwise--in Great Britain. 

“Three.”  A third finger went up.  “Miss Granger is now, legally speaking, an adult.  If attacked, she is permitted to use certain defensive spells that have potentially lethal consequences.  Those of you under the age of seventeen, on the other hand, are not permitted to use such spells under any circumstances.  Four, if Miss Granger is attacked, she has the right to summon the Aurors to the school and there will be nothing that I, the Headmaster, or any other member of staff can do to stop her.  I might also add that attacking the Head of a Royal House is a felony punishable by a sentence of at least fifteen years in Azkaban.”  This prompted a ripple of murmurs and Severus saw several students give each other worried looks.

“Sir?”  Veruza Mountjoy, a second year, raised a tentative hand. “What if she attacks us first?”  Severus suppressed an irritated retort and considered how best to approach the underlying issue.

“Miss Mountjoy, has Miss Granger attacked you?”

“Well,….no, sir.”  The girl was blushing.

“But some of the other Gryffindors have!”  Darius Stibbling, another second-year, rallied to her defense.  “They pick on us ‘cause we’re small and can’t fight back, but the teachers don’t pay as much attention to us as they do the first years.”

“I see.”  Severus glared at the older students.  “And were your house-mates aware of this?”

“We told the prefects.”  Darius said, staring defiantly at the students in question, who were scowling at him.

“I see.” Severus sighed.  “We will address that issue in a moment.  For now, I would like to ask you all this question: is there anyone here, other than Mr. Malfoy, who has ever been physically or magically assaulted by Hermione Granger?”    There was a low murmur as people whispered to their neighbors, but no one raised a hand or spoke out.  “With the exception of Mr. Malfoy, I have neither seen or heard of Hermione Granger provoking a physical or a magical altercation.  What is more, as you no doubt know, Miss Granger has embarked on an accelerated academic course this year.  Professor McGonagall has made it clear to her that, while she may have the legal standing of an adult, she is still subject to the rules of this school and her Mentorship contract.  Violation of those rules will not be tolerated.  My advice to you is this – don’t bother her and she won’t bother you.”  He paused in consideration.  “I would also recommend that you not target her friends, especially Potter and Weasley.  While she will not provoke hostilities, I have no doubt that she will be quick to defend someone else and we wouldn’t want there to be any unfortunate….misunderstandings, would we?”

“Sir?”  Annaleigh Simpson, a seventh year, raised her hand next.  “Will we be expected to call Granger ‘My Lady’ and will she be permitted to have her own house elf?”

“I highly doubt Miss Granger will wish to be addressed by her title.” Severus said.  “I spoke to her last night and she indicated a desire to live her life as normally as possible under the circumstances.  I do not know whether she will be permitted to have a personal elf while at school, but I very much doubt she even realizes that such a thing is possible.”  He heard Draco snort and mutter something under this breath.  There was another chime and more stones appeared in the top bulb of the hourglass.  Warrington, who was sitting directly behind Malfoy, grabbed the younger boy’s shoulder and began hissing in his ear.

 Severus regarded his students for a moment and was pleased to see that, for the most part, they looked interested and engaged.  Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be paying attention.  Parkinson looked bored, while Nott had fallen asleep in his chair.  Draco looked absolutely livid with rage.  “Mr. Zabini?”

“Sir, I thought that Malfoy was Heir-Presumptive of House Black.  How did Granger get that title?”  Blaise wasn’t bothering to hide his smirk.  Severus knew that there was no love lost between Zabini and Malfoy and it was obvious Blaise was eager to get his digs in; not that Severus could blame him.

“I’m afraid Mr. Malfoy’s title is the unfortunate victim of a misunderstanding between the Ministry, the Wizengamot, and Gringotts.”  Severus replied, doing his best to hide his amusement.  “I will not bore you with trivialities, except to say that there was an underage Head of House Black whose mother wished to disown him.  The Ministry acceded to her request, but Gringotts refused.  This caused some confusion that has only now begun to sort itself out.  It is enough to say that Mr. Malfoy is not, and has never been, Heir-Presumptive of House Black.  Those of you whose families owe fealty, service, or debts to House Black will need to speak with Miss Granger, although I strongly recommend waiting until things calm down a bit and Professor McGonagall has time to teach her about such things.  From what I understand, she is still rather….overhwelmed.”

With those words, the last of Draco Malfoy’s power vanished.  Crabbe and Parkinson were openly glaring at him and Goyle was pounding his fist in to his palm.  Only Nott seemed to be unaffected by the news, but that was probably because he was snoring.  Draco was, as ever, completely oblivious to the not-so-subtle emotional undercurrents eddying around him, and was glaring daggers at Blaise.  Severus even heard him hiss “I’ll get you for that, Zabini!”

“I wonder.” Severus said, softly.  “How many of you recognize the opportunities that this situation presents?”  He was pleased to see that more than a few of his snakes looked thoughtful or calculating.  “Very good.  I see that some of you, at least, are clever enough to realize that Miss Granger’s sudden elevation presents some very interesting possibilities for you and your families. Just remember that she is far more intelligent than the average Gryffindor and that I and the other teachers will be watching her carefully to make sure she is not being harassed.  I will also remind you that Miss Granger has a band of loyal friends who will not take kindly to the idea of someone trying to take advantage of her.  Those friends include Fred and George Weasley who, I believe, consider Miss Granger to be an honorary sister.” 

A visible shudder ran around the room.  Aside from Draco and his cronies, no one in Slytherin was willing to mess with Ginny Weasley.  If her bat-bogey hex wasn’t bad enough, nobody was eager to bring the wrath of Fred and George down onto their heads.  As far as they were concerned, Hermione Granger was now equally off-limits.  Severus smiled to himself. 

During what he had dubbed the “Council of War” last night, Hermione had expressed some fear about how the Slytherins—particularly Draco—would respond to her new position.  Though Severus had been quick to rise to the defense of his house, he found that he really couldn’t argue the validity of her concerns.  Now, with just a few sentences, Severus felt sure that he had neutralized all serious Slytherin threats to Miss Granger’s safety.  Malfoy was, at best, a weak wizard who had only achieved the power he had over his fellow students by relying on the debts and vows they and their families owed to House Black.  Now, he was completely on his own.  As for the others, Severus had planted the idea that Granger could be useful.  That, more than anything, would keep her safe.

“Right.”  Severus nodded, seeing that his message had been taken in and absorbed by most of the students.  “Now, let us address the issue Mr. Stibbling raised earlier…”

The meeting ran for another half hour and, by its end, four more entries had been made on the points parchment.  Two of the sixth year prefects had lost points for not intervening when younger students were being bullied, and two other sixth years were awarded points for volunteering to teach basic shield charms to those who had not yet learned them in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Severus glanced at the clock.

“I believe we have touched on everything I wished to discuss this morning.  You have half an hour until your next class.  Mr. Malfoy.  I expect to see you in my office in ten minutes.  If you are not there on time, I will take 100 points from Slytherin, with an additional 20 points taken for every minute you are late.  Mr. Zabini and Miss Greengrass, please stay in your seats as I would like to speak to you briefly.  Everyone else is dismissed.”

**

Hogwarts – Hallway

Tuesday, Sept. 12

“You are angry with me.” Viktor had waited for Hermione outside her Ancient Runes professor’s office.  He ruthlessly stifled a pang of jealousy as he watched her conversing with Harry Potter, but then she spotted him and cleverly sent Potter to the library, saying that she’d meet him at dinner.  Only when the boy was gone did Viktor approach.  He’d tried to catch her eye as she’d walked past him on her way to breakfast, but she’d deliberately avoided his gaze and, when she hadn’t turned up for lunch, Viktor had decided to ambush her as she was leaving her tutorial.

“What?  No, of course not!  Why would I be angry with you?” Viktor sighed with relief.  She was not avoiding his gaze now and he was shocked at how tired she looked.  Immediately, he chastised himself—of course she was tired!  Yesterday had to have been emotionally taxing and the meeting they had both attended last night had run into the small hours of the morning.  Though he didn’t know her very well yet, Viktor could not imagine that Hermione Granger had gotten much sleep in the short time she’d had before having to get up for breakfast.

“We need to talk someplace a bit more private.”  He told her.  As if to underscore his words, a group of younger students chose that moment to turn the corner.  Viktor turned his back on them before they could recognize him, and gently took Hermione’s arm.  “Our classrooms are empty.  Alexei has taken most of our students out to the forest to help the centaurs deal with the nest of Acromantulas.”

“Oh dear.”  Viktor saw a small smile of amusement tugging at the corners of Hermione’s lips, as if she couldn’t help herself.  “Hagrid isn’t going to like that.”

“Hagrid?  He is the large man, yes?  The one who teaches about magical creatures?”

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded. “He’s the one who let the first Acromantula loose in the forest, you see.  He thinks of it as an old friend.  Later, he went and found it a mate.”

“You have studied them in your Magical Creatures class?”  Viktor asked, carefully.  He desperately hoped he hadn’t just sanctioned the destruction of Hogwarts property.

“No.”  Hermione shook her head.  “I think Hagrid does his best to avoid talking about them, to be honest.”  As they walked to the rooms that had been assigned to the Durmstrang students, she told him about the abrupt end to Hagrid’s Hogwarts career and the role Aragog had unwittingly played in both that and his later, brief incarceration during the basilisk fiasco. 

All the students they encountered seemed far more interested in Hermione than in the Durmstrang student accompanying her.  With each whisper, gasp, and pointed finger, she grew more irritated.  Viktor couldn’t really blame her.  Since arriving at Hogwarts, he had decided that the school needed to offer courses in basic manners and etiquette.  Even the so-called “pure-bloods,” like Draco Malfoy, who thought they were superior to everyone else because their families were older and they had more money, were, in Viktor’s opinion, little better than barbarians.

Unfortunately, the classrooms that the Durmstrang students had been assigned were on the same hall as the Charms classroom.  They turned the final corner to find themselves face to face with all the fourth-year students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin, who were just leaving their class.  Viktor felt Hermione’s entire body vibrate with tension as every conversation stopped instantly. Hermione’s step faltered and he felt a slight tug on his arm, as if she wanted to retreat, but he never broke stride and, after a slight hesitation, she fell back into step with him.  They ignored the giggles and whispers and, as they reached the door to the Durmstrang classroom, Viktor was pleased to hear the high-pitched voice of the diminutive Charms Professor.

“Class!  Class!  Come now, that is no way to behave.  You’ve all known Miss Granger for years and Mr. Krum is an honored guest at this school.  I am ashamed….”  Anything else he was going to say was cut off as Hermione firmly shut the door.

“That’s getting old.” She sighed.

“It is.”  Viktor nodded.  “Your schoolmates…they show no restraint.  At Durmstrang, such behavior would not be tolerated.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t gossip.” She laughed.  “I’ve met Petra and Marko, remember?”

“Oh, we gossip.”  He said, then thought better of it and amended his statement.  “They gossip.  But they do not do so in public and they do not point and giggle and make rude comments where others can hear them.”

“I think I owe Harry an apology.”  Hermione muttered, throwing herself into one of the chairs.  “For years, I’ve been preaching at him to just ignore all the nonsense.  I’m starting to realize just how hard it is to do that.”  She shook her head violently, causing her hair to fly about and become frizzier than ever.  “Now, will you please tell me why you thought I was angry with you?”

Viktor looked at the floor and shuffled his feet.  He felt utterly ridiculous.  “You were angry last night and when you would not look at me this morning, I thought maybe your anger was with me.”  Hermione simply stared at him.

“I wouldn’t look…Viktor, you were wearing your Cloaking spell this morning.  I didn’t want to look at you because I thought you were trying to avoid attention!”  It was Viktor’s turn to stare as Hermione started to laugh.  Viktor grinned sheepishly.  She was right, of course.  He had heard the giggling girls, lying in wait for him, through the open doors as he and Marko had approached the castle and, on impulse, he’d cast the Cloaking spell.

“My apologies.”  Viktor chuckled.  “When you were not at lunch, I thought I must be the reason.”

“I missed lunch because Professor McGonagall let me go home to talk to my parents.”  Hermione explained.  “My new…situation may indirectly affect them, so I wanted them to be aware of what was going on.”

“How did they take it?”  Hermione hadn’t said much to Viktor about her parents, but he had the impression that theirs was not a close relationship.

“All right, I suppose.” Hermione shrugged.  “My mother was absolutely thrilled until she realized that she won’t be able to brag about it to her friends.  My father was very interested in how much money is in my Gringotts vaults and all but demanded I reimburse him for my Hogwarts tuition.”  Though her voice was steady and her expression registered only mild disapproval, Viktor could see the deep hurt in Hermione’s eyes.  He was torn between pulling the girl into a comforting embrace and cursing the stuffing out of her parents, but had to settle for a kind smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“No matter what they say, I am sure your parents are proud and happy for you.”  His words were empty and he suspected she knew it, but Hermione seemed to appreciate him saying them nevertheless.

“I just wish I could talk to Tibs about all this….”  Hermione murmured, speaking more to herself than to Viktor.

“Who is Tibs, please?”  Viktor rapidly sifted through his memories of all the people he’d met at Hogwarts and he couldn’t recall anyone with that name.  His question obviously startled Hermione, but the look of intense pain that crossed her face was all Viktor needed to see to know he’d inadvertently touched on a very sensitive subject.  “I am sorry.  It is a personal matter and I shouldn’t…”

“No, it’s all right.”  Hermione waved away his concern with a dismissive gesture and gave him a sad smile.  “Tibs—short for Tybalt—is my older brother.  He and my father never got along and Dad made Tibs leave home shortly before my eleventh birthday.  I don’t know what their last argument was about, but it was so bad that Dad disowned Tibs and wouldn’t even let me write to him.”

“I am sorry.”  Viktor sighed, sinking into the seat next to hers.  “You were close?”

“I adored him.”  Hermione’s statement was simple, but the emotion behind it was extraordinarily powerful.  “I was….well, let’s just say that my parents were rather surprised to find out that they were going to have me.  They took care of me when I was little, of course, but they didn’t really spend a lot of time with me.  Tibs was the one who played with me and he taught me how to read and he always had time to listen to me….”  She paused and Viktor could see unshed tears in her eyes.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prattling on about this….”

“It is good to speak of those we love.”  Viktor told her.  “You do not know where your brother is?  As Head of House, you are an adult now…”

“Only in the magical world.” She reminded him.  “And no, I don’t know where Tibs is now.  He was in university when Dad made him go but he will have left or graduated by now, and my parents were very careful about making sure we didn’t have any contact.  I tried sending him an owl during my first year at Hogwarts, but since he left before I got my letter, he doesn’t know about the magical world and owls won’t go to muggles who aren’t in the know about witches and wizards.”

“I am sorry.”  Viktor gently patted her hand, while his mind whirled with ideas and plans.  He “accidentally” forgot to move his hand and was pleased to see that Hermione either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. 

“No, I am.”  Hermione rubbed her eyes with the back of her free hand.  “With everything else that’s going on, I can’t spend time worrying about something I can’t change.  Besides,” a hard glint came into her eye.  “I’m no longer financially dependent on my parents, so when I leave Hogwarts, there’s nothing to stop me from finding Tibs on my own.  Now.” She turned a stern gaze on him.  “Let’s get back on topic, shall we?”

“Very well.”  Viktor gave a dramatic sigh and sat back in his chair.  He lifted his hand from hers and, though neither of them remarked on it, he thought he saw a slight frown of disappointment cross her face.  “Where shall we begin?”  Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment.

“You said that I was angry last night and I guess I was.  I think I need to explain that.”  She held up a hand to forestall his interruption.  “Please, let me finish.  It’s important you understand this, or we’re going to keep running into the same problem, over and over again.”  Viktor nodded.  What she said made a great deal of sense.

“Go on, please.” He said.

“All right.”  Hermione took a deep breath, as if bracing herself to say something difficult.  “Yesterday and all through the meeting last night, I kept being told that I am now an adult and that people will expect me to behave accordingly.  Yet, there were times last night when everyone in the room, except for Neville, was treating me like a child.”  Viktor gaped at her.  With an effort, he quashed his instinctive denial and really thought about what she was saying. 

“We….we spoke of you as if you weren’t in the room.” He breathed, horrified at his own behavior.  “We were making plans and decisions for you…without regard for your opinion.”

“Exactly.”  Hermione nodded.  “By the end of the meeting, I was getting very tired of people not telling me things because they didn’t think I needed to worry about them. You all might as well have patted me on the head and told me to go play with my dolls, while the grown-ups took care of everything.  If I’m expected to behave as an adult, I must insist that I be treated as one.  I’m not asking you to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets, of course, but don’t shut me out just because you don’t think I’m old enough or experienced enough to handle things.”

“I understand.”  Viktor nodded, slowly.  “I apologize for my behavior and I will endeavor not to repeat it in the future.”  The words sounded absurdly stiff, but Hermione seemed to accept them and the spirit in which they were intended and smiled.  “But, if I may ask, why did you not say something last night?”

“I was exhausted last night.”  Hermione said.  “I know myself well enough to know that I….don’t express anger in a particularly constructive manner when I’m tired.  I don’t think that throwing a tantrum would have done much to convince people to treat me as an adult, do you?”  She smirked at him.

“Very true.”  He nodded and decided to let the matter drop.  “I have some other news.”

“Oh?”  She tilted her head to one side and looked adorably inquisitive.

“Petra, Marko, and Talia broke into your friend Harry’s dormitory last night.”  He saw her stiffen slightly and she leaned forward, attentively.

“What did they find out?  Is Harry all right?”

“Your friend is…remarkable.”  Viktor sighed.  He had only spoken to Harry Potter a few times, but had found him to be a quiet, well-spoken, intelligent lad.  Given what the Knights had learned about him, the fact that he gave every indication of being sane and in possession of a healthy sense of empathy, was astonishing.  “Talia was right—there is a darkness on his soul, but it is not within his soul.  In fact, it doesn’t seem to have affected him at all.”

“A darkness?  What kind of darkness?  What do you think caused it?”

“Talia is not sure, but she has a theory.  She thinks that a piece of the Dark One’s essence might have been transferred to Harry during their first…confrontation.”

“So…”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed, thoughtfully, as she stared at a point somewhere over Viktor’s left shoulder.  “You’re saying that when Riddle tried to kill Harry and the curse rebounded, a piece of his….consciousness, I guess you’d call it…just flew off and landed on Harry?”

“That is what we think, yes.”  Viktor nodded.

“And no one noticed this?”  Hermione looked horrified.  This time Viktor shook his head.

“Someone noticed.”  He scowled.  “Talia says that there is a sort of bubble around the fragment.  As far as she can tell, someone cast some kind of spell after the darkness was forced inside of Harry, to keep it from dissipating or being absorbed into his soul.”

“But if they could do that….couldn’t they have just removed it?”  Hermione looked deeply troubled.

“Yes.”  Viktor said, emphatically.  He had to pause to subdue the rage he felt rising in his chest.  “Since the darkness is foreign to Harry, it has no roots and would be easy to remove.  What is more, any decent Healer should have recognized it for what it was and removed it immediately.  So long as it remains, there is a risk that the darkness will take root within Harry’s own soul.  Talia says that the magic that separates the two is weakening.”

“You said a decent Healer would be able to see and fix the problem….”  Hermione paused, obviously thinking furiously.  “Oh, damn!  I wish I knew more about magical medicine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Madam Pomfrey is the Matron of the Hospital wing here.”  She explained.  “As far as I know, she’s the only magical Healer Harry has ever seen.”  It was her turn to grimace.  “I wonder - Did she see the problem and, if she did, did she tell anyone about it?”

“Like Dumbledore, you mean?”

“Yes.  Because here’s the thing.”  Hermione was staring at him now and Viktor had to remind himself that there were more important things than her pretty eyes.  “There’s a missing day in Harry’s life.”

“I’m not exactly sure…”

“Harry’s parents died on October 31, 1981.  They were killed shortly after 8:00 in the evening.  Hagrid once told me that he was at the cottage in Godric’s Hollow by 8:30. From what both Hagrid and Harry have said, it sounds as though Harry was not delivered to his relatives until nearly midnight on November 1^st.  I’ve looked at the maps and Godric’s Hollow isn’t all that far from Surrey—only three or four hours’ drive and Hagrid was using magical transportation, so he probably went a bit faster.  And I know for a fact that Madam Pomfrey had just started working here as Matron.”

“I still don’t follow…”

“I think that Hagrid brought Harry here, first.”  Hermione explained.  She was practically vibrating with excitement.  “This…bubble that Talia found.  It couldn’t have formed naturally, could it?”

“Definitely not.”  Viktor now had a sense of where she was going with this and, once again, was deeply impressed with Hermione’s intellect.  “It would require a great deal of skill and power to cast something like that.  I am not familiar with your British system of Healers, so I do not know how a Matron is ranked here, but in Bulgaria, such precise work could only be done by a highly-trained specialist, and such a person would not be working in a school infirmary.”

“I agree.”  Hermione nodded.  “I don’t think Madam Pomfrey did it, but I think she knows about it.”

“Dumbledore.”  Viktor growled.  “Given what else Talia and Petra found, it makes sense.”

“What?  What else did they find?”

“There are caps on Harry Potter’s power.  When he casts a spell, he can only draw on so much of his magical energy before the caps will prevent him from taking any more.  He is a student now and so the amount of magic he uses is relatively small, but as he gets older and does more, this will become problematic…even dangerous.  It will limit how far he can Apparate, for example, or how powerful the spells he casts are.  What is more, there are similar caps on the magic of your friend, Neville Longbottom.”  Hermione had her hands pressed to her mouth and looked as though she wanted to scream.

“Can they be removed?” she finally asked.

“Yes, but it is not an easy thing to do.” Viktor admitted.  “The caps act as a dam on a great river—one that allows only a very small amount of water through to the other side.  Think of what would happen if, one day, poof!”  He made an explosive gesture with his hands “the dam disappears.  All the water that has built up behind…”

“Comes rushing in and floods the village.”  Hermione groaned.

“Yes.”  Viktor nodded.  “With the amount of power they have, both boys would be driven mad, if not killed outright.  Fortunately, the caps do not have to be removed all at once.”

“You’ll do it piece by piece!”  Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding.  “You’ll take a bit away at a time, letting the power through in a controlled way?”

“Yes.”  Viktor nodded.

“What about the foreign presence?  Can you remove that, as well?”

“We cannot, but there are people in the Order who can.”  Viktor told her.  “While it is not a difficult task, it takes a good deal of time and can be tiring for both the caster and the person on whom the caster is working.  It will be best to wait for a time when Harry is not in school to deal with it.  The caps, however, we can start removing now.  I will need your help, though.”

“Of course!  But…”  Hermione looked puzzled.  “I don’t see how I can really help.  I don’t know anything about how to do this…”  Viktor smiled at her.

“I need you to help me explain what is happening to Harry and Neville.”  He said, quickly.  “It is possible to do what is needed while they are asleep, but much easier, and safer, if they are awake and aware of what is happening to them.”

“Oh.”  Hermione nodded.  “Of course.  When…?”

“We will need a few days.”  Viktor admitted.  “Talia knows the theory of what must be done, but has never done it herself.  She is seeking guidance from others back home.”

“I see.”  Hermione looked disappointed, but determined.  “I suppose it can’t be helped.  I’ll work on figuring out a way to get Harry and Neville alone, so we can talk to them without…anyone…finding out.”

“Good.”  Viktor decided that another change of topic was in order.  “Have you had any official response from your government to your elevation yet?”

“No.”  Hermione shook her head.  “However, I’ve been in tutorials or out of the castle for most of the day, so I haven’t been available to the owl post.  I expect dinner is going to be a fiasco.  Professor McGonagall told me that thirty owls were looking for me at lunch and that I could expect at least as many tonight.”

“You will want to be careful.”  Viktor warned her.  “Some of those owls were carrying letters in bright red envelopes….”

“Howlers.”  Hermione groaned.  “Oh dear.  I hope no one got hurt when they exploded.”

“Your Mentor took all of those letters and destroyed them.” He assured her.  “But those are only some of the letters that can cause trouble.  No doubt some are from people who are sincere in their well wishes, but there will be others who are displeased with your elevation, and still more who will wish you to do things for them that they cannot or will not do for themselves. There are people who write such letters to me.”

“Fans.”  Hermione nodded.

“Yes.”  Viktor took a deep breath.  “Most are very kind people who merely wish to express their admiration, but some….” He shuddered, remembering some of the uglier letters he’d received.  “I know you will not heed the words of the ignorant people, but it is not their words that concern me.  Some of them will try to use magic to achieve their ends, whether it be to harm you or to control you.”

“Oh my…”  Hermione’s eyes widened with fright and her hand flew to her mouth.  “People really do that in the Wizarding world?”

“Yes.”  Viktor nodded.  “If the wards around the school were as they should be, the owls would not be able to deliver letters that contain truly dangerous curses, but…” he shrugged.  One of the topics of conversation during their meeting last night had been the poor condition of the Hogwarts wards—Professor McGonagall had been so distraught at that revelation and its implications that Potions Master Snape had been forced to give her a Calming Draught.

“What do I do?”  Hermione sounded so lost that it took every ounce of self-control Viktor possessed not to gather her into his arms.  Fortunately, he had a solution to this problem, if not to any of the myriad other challenges she faced.

“You can do as I do.” He assured her.  “Ask house elves to sort through your mail.  They are very good at finding those with enchantments or dangerous substances and either making them safe or destroying them.”

“But I don’t have a House elf.”  Hermione pointed out.

“There are many at the school….”  Viktor’s voice trailed off as he saw the shocked expression on Hermione’s face.  “You did not know of this?” 

“No, but I should have realized.” She said, a small smile of chagrin playing around her lips.  “Professor McGonagall did say that they like to bond with highly magical places and…well….” She made a vague gesture to the room around her.  “What’s more magical than a school for witchcraft and wizardry?”

“I require an elf, please.”  Viktor called, hoping to distract Hermione from her embarrassment.  There was a loud pop and an elf wearing the most bizarre outfit Viktor had ever seen appeared before them.  Rather than the neat white tea towel with the Hogwarts crest that Viktor had seen on other elves in the castle, this elf was dressed in a pair of bright red shorts, a little vest that had obviously been hand-knitted out of lime green yarn, and a pair of mismatched socks.

“How can Dobby be helping the son of Durmstrang and the Lady Pendragon friend of the Great Harry Potter?”  Viktor could only stare at the odd little creature, but he heard Hermione gasp.

“You’re Dobby, aren’t you?  You’re the elf who helped Harry a couple of years ago?  What are you doing here?”

“Yes, Miss Lady Pendragon.”  The elf’s ears flapped as he nodded eagerly. “The Great Harry Potter freed Dobby from the bad wizards, but then Dobby was not able to find work with another family.  So, he came to Hogwarts and asked the Head elf for work.  Many elves who do not have families work here.” He added.

“Does Harry know you’re here?” Hermione asked.  Dobby’s smile disappeared as if someone had come and wiped it away with a wet cloth.

“No, Miss.”  The elf’s ears dropped.  “Stupid Headmaster will not let Dobby go to the Great Harry Potter.  He says Dobby must wait until it is the proper time.”

“That man!”  Hermione looked ready to jump out of her seat to start hunting down Dumbledore that instant.  “Dobby, you’re not allowed to go to Harry, but did Dumbledore say anything about Harry coming to you?”

“No, Miss!”  Dobby looked at her, pleadingly.  “But the great Harry Potter is not knowing there is house elves at Hogwarts, Miss.  Dumbledore is telling all elves that they is not allowed to appear to students unless they is called for.”

“Do students call for elves often?”  Viktor asked, genuinely curious. 

“Some students from the snake house is calling for them all the time.”  Dobby frowned.  “They is lazy and makes elves pick up after them.  A few students from the badger and the eagle houses call, but they only do so when they has real need.  Most students do not know we is here or they thinks they cannot call us.”

“Dobby, do you have to tell Dumbledore everything that happens?  Will you have to tell him that you met with us?”  Hermione asked.  Viktor drew in a sharp breath as he realized the implications of her question.

“No, Miss.”  Dobby shook his head vigorously.  “Stupid Headmaster is not Dobby’s master.  Dobby must tell Head elf Terlee, but Terlee thinks stupid Headmaster is stupid and she does not talk to him.  She tells other elves to do as he commands, but not to talk to him.”  Viktor sighed with relief and cast Hermione an admiring glance.  The thought that the Headmaster could use the elves to spy on the students hadn’t even occurred to him.  Hermione smiled. 

“I’ll tell you what, Dobby.  Some time tonight or tomorrow, I’ll get Harry alone and then I’ll call for an elf.  You make sure you’re the one who comes when I call.  We’ll surprise Harry, okay?  Since I’ll be the one calling for an elf, you won’t be disobeying Dumbledore’s instructions.”

“Oh yes, Miss!”  Dobby clapped his hands in delight.  “Thank you, Miss!  Is there anything else Dobby can be doing for you, Miss?”

“Yes, Dobby.  Viktor says that there are elves at Hogwarts who can check my mail to make sure that nothing dangerous gets through.”  Dobby was nodding so hard, Viktor thought his head might fall off.

“Dobby is fetching Terlee, the Head elf.”  He said.  “Terlee can help Miss with her mail!”  With a pop, Dobby disappeared.  Viktor and Hermione only had time to exchange an amused glance before he reappeared, accompanied by an older looking elf in the more traditional tea-towel.

“This is being Terlee.”  Dobby announced.  The older elf bowed low.

“How can Terlee be helping you?”  Terlee had a markedly lower voice and was clearly much calmer than her companion. 

“Hello Terlee.”  Hermione smiled at the elf.  “I need some help with my mail and Dobby says you are the elf I should ask…”

“Oh!”  Terlee clasped her hands together and bounced with delight.  “Miss is needing a personal elf?  Terlee knows just what to do…”

“Er…”  Viktor almost laughed at the sudden look of alarm on Hermione’s face, but Terlee would not be ignored.  When they left the classroom a half hour later, House Pendragon had its first bonded House Elf and Hermione had elicited a promise from Viktor to explain exactly what that meant at the earliest possible opportunity.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor

Tuesday, Sept. 12

It would take a truly astonishing feat of understatement to say that Lucius Malfoy was unhappy.  As he settled back in his chair and waited for the pain relief potion to take effect, he took stock of his current situation and his mood grew even darker.

During the war, Lucius had been a loyal Death Eater, but his accomplishments had always been overshadowed by those of his father—or else Abraxas had simply taken credit for his son’s work.  Fate had finally smiled on Lucius when, a week after the Dark Lord’s disappearance, Abraxas had had died at the hands of an unknown poisoner.  Since becoming Head of House Malfoy, Lucius had worked tirelessly to erase the stigma of his previous associations and to position himself among the political and social elite of wizarding Britain.  It was true that a lot of his power came from his wife’s position as the assumed Head of House Black (and the access she—and, by extension, he—had to the Black vaults) but that had never troubled him much.

By the time Draco was old enough to received his Hogwarts letter, Lucius had grown accustomed to enjoying the benefits of being one of the richest, most powerful men in the country.  There had been a few difficulties in recent years—that fiasco with the diary, for instance—but a few months ago, he would have told anyone foolish enough to ask that he foresaw a rosy future for himself and his family. Still, he had longed for more.  Then Peter Pettigrew had knocked on his door.

At first, Lucius had seen the Dark Lord’s return as the answer to all his unspoken prayers.  Trapped in a magical construct, the Dark Lord had been forced to rely on Lucius for nearly every necessity and comfort.  Lucius had also been responsible for sounding out “the old crowd” and advising his master on who could be trusted.  He relished the flattery Voldemort had heaped upon him and his head nearly swam with visions of being the power behind the throne, once the Dark Lord achieved his victory.

Then shortly before Draco left for his fourth year at Hogwarts, things had started to go wrong.  Lucius had not failed to notice how frequently Severus Snape was invited to attend upon their master, nor had he missed the fact that Severus was privy to information that he, Lucius, was not.  As the Dark Lord grew stronger and the ranks of the Death Eaters began to swell with both old and new recruits, the compliments had become less fulsome and the demands on both Lucius’ time and purse had become much heavier.  Lucius had comforted himself with the knowledge that he was still well positioned to be the Dark Lord’s right hand when the Ministry inevitably fell.  He had not doubted this, even for a moment, until the moment he’d learned that a fucking mudblood had stolen what was rightfully his.

The revelation that his wife’s deranged cousin was Head of House Black, and that the Heir-Presumptive was no better than the whores Lucius occasionally picked up on Knockturn Alley, had hit Lucius with the force of one of McNair’s Cruciatus curses.  At one stroke, he had lost his Wizengamot seat and access to the Black family fortune.  He’d thought things couldn’t get worse, but then he’d gone to Gringotts.

Upon entering the bank, Lucius had immediately been accosted by two armed guards and informed that the Director wanted a word with him.  To add insult to injury, his wand was been confiscated.  Ragnok kept him waiting for nearly an hour, then informed him that, as Lucius had withdrawn money from the Black vaults under false pretenses, the bank would have no choice but to consider his actions theft unless the money was repaid in full.

Without his wand, Lucius knew he was completely defenseless against the leader of the goblin horde.  He’d tried to stall for time, asking if he could speak to the Senior Account Manager in charge of the Black vaults to arrange payment.  That was when Ragnok informed him that he had kept Lucius waiting while he oversaw the trial, conviction and execution of said Senior Account Manager for various crimes against one of the Blank’s oldest clients—including allowing withdrawals by unauthorized personnel.  What was left of the Malfoy vaults had been drained dry and the goblins had even emptied the two “private” vaults Lucius had set up to hide money from his wife—though he took some comfort in knowing that those vaults had only contained Black gold.  Even when all this was set against the money owed, the debt was still substantial.  Lucius had thought to make it up by selling the Manor, but Ragnok had reminded him—in strident tones—that Malfoy Manor was Black family property and, as such, could only be sold by the Head of the Family.  Ragnok had then presented him with an eviction notice, signed by that Head.  Lucius had until the end of the month to vacate the premises.

Still, the debt could be paid.  Lucius would have to empty both Narcissa’s personal vault and Draco’s trust vault, as well as the “private” vault in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, but the money would be repaid by Yule, the deadline the goblins had been “generous” enough to give him.  He would be virtually penniless, but at least he wouldn’t be subject to goblin justice.

The Dark Lord had been....most unhappy.  Lucius knew that the only reason he was still alive was that there was no one else as well connected in the Ministry as he was.  Fudge was an idiot, but even he might become suspicious if Lucius was to suddenly disappear, only to be replaced by someone else who seemed to know all the Minister’s tastes and secrets.  Amelia Bones was certainly not an idiot and while she was suspicious of Lucius, he was protected by the Minister’s trust and confidence; something that could not be bought.  So, Lucius’ life had been spared, though it had been irrevocably altered by the events of the past two days. As the potion worked its way through his system and he began to relax, he resolutely turned his mind from the past to the future.  It was time to take stock of what few resources remained to him and see what use he could make of them. 

Once the debt was paid off, the “private” vault would contain about eighty thousand Galleons.  That wasn’t much, but he could use some of that money to obtain reasonable lodgings for himself and to keep up appearances.  There were quite a few valuable items in the Manor that could be sold, if necessary, though he was going to have to check and make sure that none of them were entailed to House Black.  He would have to ask Narcissa…

With a growl, Lucius sprang from his chair and started pacing. His wife—his oh-so-loyal and devoted spouse of nearly sixteen years—had abandoned him in his most desperate hour.  Wormtail had been sent to fetch her on Monday night to receive her share of his punishment, but had returned alone.  Narcissa was nowhere to be found.  An elf had been summoned and sent to fetch her, only to return with the news that, wherever Narcissa was, she was outside the wards of Malfoy Manor.  At first, everyone had just assumed she’d gone out for the evening, perhaps to visit one of her friends, but when she hadn’t reappeared by morning, Lucius had realized that she wasn’t coming back.

His wife’s defiance (and quick thinking) astonished him.  Her decision to leave must have been made only that afternoon, since she had had said nothing about it, nor had anyone seen any indication that she was preparing to do such a thing.  In the privacy of his own chambers, Lucius had to admit, if only grudgingly, to a newfound feeling of respect for a woman he’d never considered to be anything more than an attractive airhead.  Still, she was gone and that meant he could not use her for any of his plans.

As he stared at the fire, Lucius scowled.  Aside from the galleons in the cellar and the few small trinkets around the house, the only asset he had, that could not be claimed by the bank, was his son.  Lucius considered Draco carefully and sighed.  There wasn’t much to work with there, but it was all he had.  Resuming his seat, he poured himself a brandy and considered how Draco could best be used in the current situation.

First and foremost, he would have to be brought to heel.  Despite his protests to the contrary, Lucius knew perfectly well that Draco was a spoiled little shit who could barely hold his wand, let alone do anything constructive with it.  That was going to have to change because, for all Draco’s faults, he was in a unique position that could be very useful to his father.  Draco was at Hogwarts with Hermione Granger.

As sick as the idea made him, Lucius could understand why the Dark Lord had such an interest in the girl.  She had succeeded where Draco had failed; she was a close confidante and ally of The-Boy-Who-Lived.  What was more, she was now unfathomably wealthy and had, in an instant, gained more political and social power than everything Lucius had spent a lifetime working to obtain.  The Dark Lord wanted her allegiance—well, what better way to obtain it than through an alliance by marriage?  Draco would simply have to hide his understandable aversion until after the wedding.  Lucius indulged himself in some particularly titillating fantasies about the wedding night (the Head of House Malfoy routinely enjoyed the rights of Droit du seigneur) before pulling his mind back to the present.  Before there could be any wedding night, Draco would have to woo and win the girl and that would not be easy.  If the brat kept on as he had been going, it would be impossible.

Unfortunately, Draco was at Hogwarts where Lucius could not personally monitor and correct his behavior.  In the past, he’d relied upon reports from the sons and daughters of Black family vassals for such things, but he was not fool enough to think that any of them would feel any sense of loyalty or responsibility towards him now.  That only left Severus Snape as a reliable source of information.  The thought of having to ask that man for anything made Lucius’ stomach churn, but as he stood and made his way towards his writing desk, Lucius sternly reminded himself that every victory required sacrifice.

**

Rome, Italy – Headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards

Wednesday, Sept. 13

Patience.  It was, perhaps, the most valuable character trait a man could possess, but it was also the hardest to master.  He could not count the number of times he’d felt the urge to act, to make things move in the direction he wanted them to go, only to achieve his ends by doing nothing; by sitting back and letting events unfold, by being patient.  As he considered the headlines taking up fully half the front page of the forbidden newspaper currently hidden in a trunk in his quarters, he smiled.  He had demonstrated his ability to be patient and, once again, the universe had rewarded him handsomely.

Hermione Granger is the Head of the Royal House of Pendragon.  He repeated this fact to himself over and over, feeling a little thrill of excitement each time.  Even in his wildest fantasies, he had never considered the possibility of having access to the unimaginable wealth and power wielded by a Royal House and now, here it was, all shiny and new and practically gift wrapped for him.  Any misgivings he might have felt over the return of the Pendragon line was quickly dismissed.  After all, Hermione Granger was an impressionable fourteen-year old, muggleborn girl and hardly likely to challenge his authority.

The best part was, Albus Dumbledore reflected, that he wouldn’t have to do much at all to lay claim to the Pendragon legacy.  Harry and Hermione were already quite close and likely to become even closer over the course of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  It was entirely possible that the two would become romantically involved without any need for persuasion or compulsion on his part.  He just had to see to it that the Weasley boy didn’t interfere too much, but as young Ronald was dumber than a horde of Pufferskins and still of a mind to be more interested in food than girls, he wasn’t overly concerned.  Albus would monitor the situation closely, of course, but saw no reason to intervene directly at this point.  He would be patient.

With an effort, Albus pulled his mind back to the meeting at hand.  The delegate from Egypt had been speaking for well over an hour and, in Albus’ opinion, the man made Cuthbert Binns sound like a master orator.  Many of his fellow delegates seemed to agree.  Seated next to Albus, the Taiwanese delegate was fast asleep, while on his other side, the Peruvian delegate was industriously doodling.  Further along the row, the French and Spanish delegates were talking together and Señora Ruerte was gesticulating wildly.  This gave Albus pause.

 While the European delegates tended to agree on most issues and usually voted together, Albus had gone to some lengths to ensure that there was a good deal of personal animosity between Monsieur Noelles and Señora Ruerte. With those two constantly bickering, Albus had been able to ensure that the European agenda matched his own.  Now, however, Noelles and Ruerte were chatting like the best of friends, their words obscured by a privacy charm. 

Albus frowned.  The only person with permission to carry a wand within the Halls of Unity was the reigning Supreme Mugwump.  Even he hadn’t been able to get around that restriction.  That meant that the privacy bubble had been cast by Madam Umatsu, the current Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.  If she had consented to cast the privacy charm, she must know what the delegates were discussing and that was…worrisome.

Albus Dumbledore had been elected to the position of Supreme Mugwump in 1946 and had served in that position until 1955, when he’d lost a bitter re-election campaign that represented one of the very few failures he’d had to endure throughout the course of his long life.  Fortunately, he’d managed to keep his loss from the British press and no British witch or wizard would ever be so crass as to subscribe to one of those foreign rags, so Albus had been able to maintain the fiction that he still reigned over the I.C.W. as he did in the Wizengamot.  He’d used his position as Chief Warlock to quietly re-appoint himself as Great Britain’s delegate to the I.C.W. every three years and no one was any the wiser.

As the Egyptian delegate ground on, Albus cast a glance at Madam Umatsu.  She caught his eye and had the nerve to smirk at him.  For the first time in many years, Albus felt a stirring of uneasiness.  Umatsu definitely knew what was going on and, whatever it was, Albus harbored a suspicion that he wasn’t going to like it one bit.  His eyes shifted back to the French and Spanish delegates and he noticed that they were both now looking at the Egyptian delegate…who was looking at them and nodding in a way he clearly thought was subtle.  Just how many people were in on this…whatever this was?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.  Within five minutes of the silent exchange between the delegates, the Egyptian concluded his presentation.  Albus caught the subtle movement of Madam Umatsu’s hand as she cancelled the privacy charm around the French and Spanish delegates, and he noted that she cancelled a few others at the same time.  Several delegates had to wake up their neighbors and Albus performed this duty on the Taiwanese delegate with an elbow to the ribs. The Taiwanese delegate snorted with surprise and nearly fell out of his chair, but no one paid him any mind. 

Once she was sure she had everyone’s attention, Madam Umatsu called for a vote on the issue.  Albus couldn’t recall was the issue was, so voted as his neighbors did.  This had the effect of both putting him in the minority and on the opposite side of the issue from the rest of Europe.  The Egyptian delegate glared at him, while Albus was certain he heard Noelles snickering.  He cursed silently to himself, recalling that he had promised his support to the Egyptian delegate in exchange for Mr. al-Zahir’s support for his proposal concerning the use of the Goblet of Fire at the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  Fortunately, that issue had already been decided, so Egypt’s inevitable retaliation would not harm his immediate plans.

“Is there any more business to be brought forth before this council before we adjourn?”  Madam Umatsu’s words pulled Albus out of his thoughts once again.

“If it please you, Madam Chairperson, I have several issues that must be addressed immediately.”  Noelles said.  His voice was grave, but he was failing miserably in his attempt to hide his grin. 

“Come off it, France!”  The delegate from the United States was notoriously impatient at these meetings and had long since made it known that he bitterly resented any efforts to drag out the proceedings any longer than was absolutely necessary.  Whatever Umatsu, Noelles, and Ruerte were up to, they had not involved Mr. Shoemaker.  “Surely whatever this is can wait until next year.  If it was that important, you should have put it on the agenda!”

“As it happens, I could not put it on the agenda, since these matters were only brought to my attention this morning.” A ripple of interest ran around the gallery.

“What are the issues?”  Madam Umatsu asked, before Shoemaker could say anything else.  “State your case, France, and this body will determine whether they must be handled now, or can be put off until our next meeting.”

“Thank you, Madam Chairperson.”  Noelle gave her a slight, ingratiating bow.  “These are the issues that I would bring before this body for judgment.  They are all interconnected and they all concern violations of the Geneva Charter of 1817.”  Albus blinked in surprise.  This was…unexpected.  The Geneva Charter was the foundation document of the International Confederation of Wizards and bound its signatories to follow certain rules and regulations.  While he, personally, had violated many of those rules, he could not imagine how someone else could have done so without his knowledge.  It was, of course, unthinkable that his own indiscretions had been discovered.  After all, the only people with the authority to commandeer a hearing on their grievances from the I.C.W., without going through official channels, were the delegates themselves and…

“The first and most pressing matter is the case of the Head of an Ancient and Most Noble House of Great Britain.  He claims that he was willfully denied both his birthright and due process of law by the British Wizengamot in direct contravention of several of the Charter’s articles.”  Noelles kept his gaze firmly locked on Madam Umatsu, though Albus saw several others turn to look at him in horror.  I trust that the United States can forgive us for encroaching upon his time in this manner.”  Noelles shot a quelling look at Shoemaker.  This was completely unnecessary as Shoemaker was staring at Albus, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Madam Umatsu, I must object!”  Albus wasn’t quite sure when he’d risen, but years of habit enabled him to strike an authoritative pose without having to consciously think about it.  “The matter about which Mister Noelles speaks, while certainly tragic, does not have any international implications, nor does it fall under the jurisdiction of this body.   Clearly, Mr. Noelles has lost what respect he has ever had for the basic protocols…”

“It seems to me that you are the one lacking in respect, Britain,” Madam Umatsu cut him off without even a hint of an apology “since you seem to be incapable of waiting for permission to speak or addressing either myself or your colleagues by their proper titles.”  Albus winced, acknowledging her point.  “You have also, apparently, forgotten those protocols that you claim to hold so dear.  You are entitled to make your objections, but at the proper time.  The issue before us is whether to deal with these matters now or to postpone the hearing until the next meeting.  Your arguments for hearing them now, France?”

“Madam Chairperson, my argument is simple.  As we all know, the British Ministry of Magic makes use of Dementors.  Those…creatures…have been given a ‘Kiss on Sight’ order and have been allowed to roam freely throughout Britain’s territory in search of the petitioner.  Should they apprehend the individual in question, he is to have his soul sucked out, without being given any opportunity to defend himself.  The individual in question fled the country, believing that he would be safe from these foul creatures, but in their efforts to recapture the petitioner, the British Ministry violated French sovereignty by sending Dementors into France to capture him.  While the petitioner escaped, four Muggles and one wizard were Kissed.    There is no reason to believe that the British Ministry would think twice about sending their ‘pets’ to another country, should they take it into their heads to do so.” Albus couldn’t help but sigh, resolving to hex Cornelius Fudge silly when he got home.  “The petitioner is the Head of one of Britain’s Noble Houses and, therefore, is entitled to seek aid, comfort, counsel, and judgment from this body in his own name, rather than going through traditional channels.  Given the British Ministry’s flagrant disregard for international sovereignty, it is highly unlikely he would survive until our next meeting.”

“Very well.”  Madam Umatsu nodded.  “Your rebuttal, Britain?”

“Madam Chairperson, while I acknowledge that France makes some valid points with regards to its territorial sovereignty, I feel that it would be a gross miscarriage of justice and abuse of this august body’s authority against both myself and my countrymen were you to allow this matter to proceed now, without giving me the chance to marshal my defenses against the charges levied.”

“I see.”  Madam Umatsu peered at him over the rim of her spectacles.  “And how do you propose to deal with France’s arguments, which, as you say, are valid?”  Albus allowed himself to relax, slightly.

“As Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, I have it within my power to offer Mr….ah…the petitioner sanctuary and protection for the time it takes to resolve this matter.”  Albus spoke with more confidence now.  “I offer you my personal guarantee that on harm will come to him while he is in my charge.” 

“Your response, France?” 

“I would merely ask Britain why he did not offer this vaunted protection of his when he had the chance?”  Reaching into his robes, Noelles pulled out a folded piece of paper.  “Madam Chairperson, I have here a clipping from the leading newspaper in magical Britain.  In an article, dated June the 28^th of this year, the reporter tells a rather thrilling tale about the petitioner.  He was captured at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was sentenced to be Kissed by a Dementor that very same night.  Fortunately, he somehow managed to escape from a locked tower.  While the reporter admittedly takes some…er…dramatic license with the story, she clearly and unequivocally states that Albus Dumbledore was on the premises at the time of the petitioner’s capture and escape, was aware of the situation, and made no effort to intervene on the petitioner’s behalf.  Her article contains quotes from several witnesses to the event and the pertinent facts have been verified by both the Petitioner and the Goblin Nation.  I would also add that Britain, in his position as Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, presided over that body when they conspired to deprive the petitioner of his rightful heritage.”

“I see.”  Dumbledore had to fight the urge to squirm under Madam Umatsu’s unrelenting gaze.  “And how do you respond to Britain’s argument that to hear this case now would deny him time to mount a proper defense?”

“Madam Chairperson, I am convinced that, to both the British Ministry of Magic and the Chief Warlock of its Wizengamot, ‘mounting a proper defense’ means falsifying records, tampering with potential witnesses, and otherwise muddying the waters.  Unfortunately, Britain has not shown himself to be a man of honor and integrity when dealing with this body.”  He held up a hand to forestall Albus’ interruption.  “I can provide evidence to the fact that Britain has misrepresented himself to his countrymen as being the reigning Supreme Mugwump of this body, has deliberately and knowingly prevented the free and fair election of his country’s delegate to this body, has, on more than one occasion, not shared decisions made by this body with his countrymen and, in at least one situation, has blatantly lied to them about I.C.W. policy.”

“I…see.”  Madam Umatsu looked deeply troubled and Albus realized that, whatever she had been told about ahead of time, she hadn’t heard that before.  “Very well.  Ladies and gentlemen of the I.C.W.: you have heard the arguments for and against dealing with this matter now.  Let us vote.”  It was no surprise that the vote was almost unanimously in favor of hearing the case immediately.  Albus was annoyed to notice that both Egypt and the United States were particularly quick to raise their wands.

“Let the record show that this body has agreed to extend this session to hear the matters put before it by the delegate from France.”  Madam Umatsu paused, thoughtfully.  “France, you said that you spoke to the petitioner.  I trust that he can be brought here quickly?”

“He can, Madam Chairperson.”  Noelles nodded.  “He awaits our pleasure.”

“Very well.  We must not, however, deny Britain the opportunity to obtain records and summon witnesses for his defense…”  She paused, as someone in the gallery got her attention.  “The Chair recognizes Turkey.”

“Thank you, Madam Chairperson.  How will we deal with the fact that Britain will need to recuse himself for the duration of the hearing as it is, I understand, his conduct that is being questioned?  His country will need to be represented…”

“That is a good point.”  Madam Umatsu nodded.  “Britain, how long will it take your alternate to answer our summons?”  Albus swallowed thickly.

“Madam Chairperson, I’m afraid that I have no alternate.”  He replied.  “The witch who served in that capacity passed away a few weeks ago and the Wizengamot has not yet appointed her replacement.”  It was a bald-faced lie and Albus was rather distressed to see that more than a few of the delegates recognized that fact.  Madam Umatsu frowned, then leaned over her desk to speak with the Clerk in hushed tones.  After a few minutes and some frantic leafing through an obnoxiously thick book, she sat up again.

“Precedent states that, in the event a delegate is forced to recuse himself and has no alternate, he may select an alternate from another country.  That person will swear a magically binding oath to judge all matters fairly and without bias to their own country.  Britain, choose your alternate.”  Albus thought frantically, before inspiration struck.

“I choose the alternate from New Zealand.”  He announced.  There were several audible groans and he had to suppress a smirk of his own.  New Zealand was as far away from Italy as it was possible to get and an international portkey would take at least seven hours.  Better still, when the poor soul finally arrived, he or she would be so sick they wouldn’t be able to do anything for at least two days.  That would give him time to plan and maneuver…

“New Zealand, your alternate has been requested.  You will need to arrange for transport…”  New Zealand stood up and Albus was disturbed to see that he was wearing a broad grin.

“No need for that, Madam Chairperson.  My alternate is my wife.  She’s currently in Pompeii seeing the sights and can be here tomorrow morning.  We just need to make arrangements for the children.”  There was a brief spattering of spontaneous applause.

“Thank you, New Zealand.”  Madam Umatsu looked immensely relieved.  Albus felt anything but.  “Britain, we will give you twenty-four hours to organize your defense.  This will also allow the rest of us time to inform our governments of the unavoidable delay in our return.  I am going to make the public floos available and permit personal correspondence to be sent and received during this period, but I will remind you all that we are still in session and that all matters discussed within this chamber are to be kept confidential.  Britain, I realize that you will need to share some information so that you can secure documents and witnesses but, in light of France’s assertions regarding your integrity, I am going to insist that the Clerk be present during any conversations you might have with your countrymen.  We will resume session and begin hearing this case tomorrow after lunch.”

Chapter Text

Dear Miss Granger –

As per the arrangements we made during our meeting, I am sending you an update on the progress Gringotts has made with your accounts.

As we discussed, I have been looking for an account manager who is both qualified to manage the Pendragon account and skilled at instructing new clients in the basics of finance and estate management.  I regret to say that I have, thus far, been unsuccessful in my efforts.  Our interrogations of the traitor, Gulrot, have led to the arrest of several other Senior and Junior Account Managers and I expect that we will lose a few more before our investigation is complete.  It seems that many of my people have succumbed to the temptations or threats presented to them by Albus Dumbledore and others in your Wizengamot and Ministry. 

Naturally, these unfortunate circumstances have greatly reduced the number of candidates for the position we discussed and there are none that are ideally suited to meet your needs.  What is more, I am forced to admit that I spoke in error when we met.  Though our inventories are not yet complete, I have evidence that several of those arrested have taken liberties with both the Pendragon and Black accounts.  Interest has not been paid into the Pendragon account in quite some time, unauthorized persons have been permitted to remove items and money from the vaults of both families, and several properties belonging to House Pendragon have been illegally sold. 

All of this has disturbed and displeased me greatly and I give you my word as First Leader of the Goblin Nation that these matters will be attended to and that those goblins responsible will be punished to the full extent of our laws.  While we cannot legally punish the witches and wizards involved, we have given all our evidence to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  Though it is not our usual way, we have elected to give the DMLE the opportunity to conduct their own investigation and to ensure that proper punishment is meted out to these criminals, before we enact our own brand of justice.  I can assure you that, even if the Ministry chooses not to move against them, the criminals will soon discover that their actions violated the contracts they signed with Gringotts and their vaults are forfeit.

It will not be difficult to find and recover most of the artifacts that were removed from your vaults as they were all entailed to the Pendragon estate.  Madam Bones of the DMLE has requested that we furnish her with a complete list of all the stolen items before we begin our recovery efforts, as this will aid her in her investigations and will prevent those affected by the recovery from claiming that their property was stolen.  Once this list is complete, we will begin recovering the artifacts by either removing them from the vaults in which they are now stored, or by using a Retrieval spell to obtain them from locations outside of the bank.  We are in the process of comparing past and present inventories now and recovery should begin within a week.

Once you have a new Account Manager, I will assign him the task of going through the records and determining what money is owed to you by Gringotts and what money has been taken out of the vaults by unauthorized persons.  While the amounts removed are quite substantial, they are a mere fraction of the total funds in the vaults.  Rest assured, all missing monies shall be replaced, but I doubt you will notice their absence before such time as this can happen. 

I propose the following solution to the problem of finding an acceptable Account Manager for you: I will assign a qualified and trustworthy Senior Account Manager to handle your finances and I will appoint one of our human employees to serve as a teacher, guide, and as your personal factotum.  Many affluent witches and wizards employ factotums that have been trained by Gringotts and the position is something akin to that of a personal assistant in the Muggle world.  However, a factotum is not just an assistant—he or she has the authority to act as your personal agent, representative, social secretary, and legal proxy in certain situations.

Senior Account Manager Orgut is a goblin of great wisdom and integrity and has sworn on our Oath Stone that he has never broken the laws of our Nation, nor has he dishonored himself by breaking faith with a client of Gringotts.  He has agreed to devote himself exclusively to the management of the Black and Pendragon accounts and I believe that he will serve you well and bring great profit to your Houses.  Orgut is quite capable of managing the complexities and subtleties of your finances, but he is rather set in his ways and is neither accustomed nor inclined to work with clients who are not as informed and astute about wealth management as he is.  Hence, the need for a factotum.

Though my inquiries have been discreet, word about the possibility that you will require the services of a factotum has already spread throughout the bank and several of our human employees have expressed interest.  This does not surprise me, as becoming a client’s factotum is the highest position a human can obtain within Gringotts and the pay is equivalent to that of our Senior Account Managers.  The position confers a great deal of status on the employee and his or her family; status that can only be enhanced by being associated with House Pendragon.  I must warn you that some of our more ambitious employees may attempt to contact you directly about the job.  This is a serious breach of protocol and should be reported to me at once.  The perpetrator will be handed over to the Ministry of Magic where they will be tried by the Wizengamot on the charge of attempted fraud under the terms of the Concord of 1836.

I have found one applicant I think would be well suited for the position, but I require your approval before I offer it to him.  William Weasley is a Curse-Breaker currently working out of our Egyptian branch.  When he heard that you were in need of a factotum, he spoke to his supervisor, who then contacted me.  I am given to understand that you have met Mr. Weasley and that you are friends with his youngest brother and sister.  Though he is not trained in the more esoteric aspects of finance, Mr. Weasley has passed all the standard examinations required of every Gringotts employee, which means that he has a firm grasp of the basics.  His supervisor and colleagues all report that Mr. Weasley is a hard worker who excels at training new members of his team.  More importantly, it is my belief that his concern for your safety, well-being, and happiness are genuine and not merely a show to mask his own greed and ambition.

The owl bearing this letter will wait for a reply.  If the plans I have made are agreeable to you, I will assign Senior Account Manager Orgut and Mr. Weasley to your account today.  Orgut can begin immediately, but Mr. Weasley will need to travel to London and undergo some preliminary training before he can begin to assume all his responsibilities.  If you approve of him as your factotum, you may expect him to contact you by next Monday, at the latest.   If these arrangements are not satisfactory, I will devise a different strategy to meet your needs.

Sincerely,

Director Ragnok

Gringotts Bank

**

Dear Tracey –

Hello, darling.  How were your first few days of school?

By now, you’ve no doubt heard the astonishing news about that muggleborn girl who has been named Head of House Pendragon.  She’s in your year, isn’t she?  Do you know her? What can you tell me about her?

Tracey, you must realize that you are in a wonderful position to help our family.  An alliance with House Pendragon can only be to our benefit, and, as the girl has no breeding or education to speak of (other than what she has received at Hogwarts), she should be easy to manage.  If we handle this correctly, our family could effectively rule Wizarding Britain for at least the next century.  That is, of course, provided we can get close to her before anyone else has similar ideas.

Do you share any classes with the girl?  If you do, you might want to see if you can be assigned to work with her on projects, as this will offer the perfect excuse to spend time together.  If you don’t, find out what she likes to do outside of class and do whatever you must to join her. 

I know that your father and I have expressed our displeasure at your abnormality in the past, but we have both come to realize that it might not be such a bad thing, under the circumstances.  We will need to move slowly, of course, so as not to arouse suspicion, but your Aunt Effie says that there are several potions and spells that might serve our purposes.

This year, I want you to concentrate on becoming the girl’s friend.  Do what you can to isolate her from the other students and then, over the summer, Effie will brew a love potion that works slowly and is undetectable by most medical and Ministry scans.  By the beginning of your sixth year, I expect that your relationship with the girl will have progressed to the point where we can teach you some of your grandfather’s ‘special’ spells.

Think well on this, Tracey.  This is probably the best chance you will ever have to prove to your father and myself that, despite your unnatural behavior, you are a dutiful daughter and Scion of House Davis.  If you require any advice or assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.  We will all do everything in our power to help you in this undertaking.

Your loving Mother

**

Dear Hermione,

I want to start by congratulating you for pulling off what I believe will go down in history as the finest prank ever played on the British Wizarding World.  In only a few short days, you have managed to confound and confuse everyone.  All those so-called ‘superior’ folk who have been going on about the purity of their blood and have refused to entertain the notion that someone who was born to Muggle parents could ever aspire to be part of their ridiculous little clique look like fools.  You’ve managed to give Director Ragnok a much-needed kick in the rear and he’s now busy getting his house in order (and plotting the destruction of several of those aforementioned fools).  You’ve even managed to upset the tidy apple-cart that is the International Confederation of Wizards, but more on that later.  The best part is that, unless I’m sadly mistaken, you’re only just getting started.  Well done, my dear!

All right, now that I have that out of my system, down to business.  I realize that this is all new to you and probably rather overwhelming.  I will explain what I can now and I promise to answer all your questions the next time I see you.  However, before I say anything else, you should know that I have placed a jinx on this letter.  If anyone but you or Harry touches it, they’ll be in for a nasty surprise.  So, don’t leave it lying around!  Also, if anyone tries to read over your shoulder, it will look like Transfiguration notes. These precautions may seem a bit paranoid, but believe me when I tell you they are necessary.

Let me start by telling you where I am and what has happened to me since I saw you last.  As you probably heard from Harry, I’ve left Great Britain.  Dumbledore smuggled me out of the country and sent me to stay with one of his lackeys in southern France, with strict orders not to leave the man’s property.  Basically, I was forced to trade one jail cell for another, slightly larger jail cell.  While the place in France didn’t have Dementors, it did have Jean-Paul, who was a pompous blowhard and a wine snob to boot. 

It seems that old Jean-Paul wasn’t as loyal as Dumbledore thought because, about two weeks after I arrived, he contacted the British DMLE and began hinting that, for the right price, he could tell them where that notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black could be found.  Lucky for me, I had time to escape before the Aurors and Dementors showed up.  I decided that I didn’t like Dumbledore’s version of “protection” so, instead of getting in touch with him right away, I set out on my own. I remembered that Harry’s grandparents had a small chateau near where Jean-Paul lived and I went there.

Now, to fully explain this next part, I need to tell you about Entail Charms.  All the old families have their own unique version of this spell, which creates a magical link of sorts between the Head of the family and magical items they don’t want to risk being lost, stolen, or sold off by some poor cousin who had a bad run at the hippogriff track. The strongest Entail charms tie an object to a specific place—a building or even a room—so that it is almost impossible for anyone but the Head of House to take it away with them.  The Potters were very fond of this spell.  I visited the chateau during the summer between my sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts and that place was full of enchanted items that had been Entailed.  I know for a fact that all the books in the library were charmed so that they could not be removed from that room.

Hermione, when I went back there this summer, the place was stripped bare of everything even remotely magical.  Some of the furniture was still there, but all the books, all the portraits, all the jewelry and knick-knacks...even the clothing was gone (and the only magic on that was a moth repellant charm!).  The worst thing was that two of the three house elves attached to the chateau had died.  I realize that you probably don’t know much about house elves but, for now, the important thing is that they rely on magic to survive.  Some elves bind themselves to people, but some prefer to bind themselves to a place that holds a lot of enchanted artifacts.   The two elves that died had bound themselves to the chateau, rather than to the Potter family.  When all the items were removed, the elves didn’t have any magic to feed on.

The third elf, Lolly, is bound to the Head of House Potter.  Fortunately, I met Lolly on my last visit here and so she recognized me.  She told me some things that I think you will find very interesting.

Charlus Potter—Harry’s grandfather and the Head of House Potter—is alive.  We all thought he died about a month before James and Lily did, but Lolly tells me the whole thing was an elaborate ruse concocted by Albus Dumbledore.  According to Lolly, Dumbledore is keeping Charlus cooped up somewhere where Lolly can’t find him (and let me assure you that it is damn near impossible to separate a house elf from his or her master), but Charlus is still alive so Lolly is still able to feed on the magic through their bond.

Apparently, Dumbledore also managed to get Charlus’ House ring off his finger (another thing that is supposed to be impossible to do) and he used it to circumvent the Entail spells on the stuff in the house.  (The books thought they were being removed by the Head of House Potter, so they didn’t object).  Since leaving the chateau, I’ve discovered that Dumbledore has also been using the ring to fool the Wizengamot into believing that House Potter is casting votes.  Bunch of morons that they are, they never bothered to ask which Potter was voting!

I’m not ashamed to admit that I was terrified by what Lolly told me.  I seriously considered running away, but then I thought about Harry. I wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to help and protect him last time, but I promised myself that I would do better this time.  I spent the night at the chateau talking to Lolly and making plans.

The next morning, I snuck into a Muggle house with a fireplace and used an emergency Floo connector Dumbledore gave me to contact him.  I told him that Jean-Paul had sold me out and then pretended that the Muggles who owned the house were coming home before he could come up with any more “helpful” ideas or instructions.  I “accidentally” left the Floo connector in the Muggle chimney, then lit a fire the Muggle way, which destroyed the blasted thing.  So, as far as the old man was concerned, I was still a loyal sycophant who was just in a spot of trouble and unable to get in touch.

After all of that, I used an old Marauder trick involving mirrors to contact Remus Lupin.  I asked him to come to France and to bring me some money.  Moony was there the next day and I told him everything that Lolly told me.  I won’t bore you with details, but from that day until I got your letter on Monday night, we have been wandering around Europe, even sneaking back into England a time or two, trying to find out just what the hell is going on.

The pieces didn’t start to fall into place until I got the letter you and Harry wrote.  Remus and I went straight to Gringotts (we were in Switzerland) and I had a long meeting with Ragnok.  On his advice, I agreed to be treated by a Goblin Mind-Healer.  Few wizards know or want to acknowledge this, but goblins have very powerful magic of their own and they’ve taken it in very different directions than we have.  While I still have to undergo several more treatments, the work the Mind-Healer has been able to do on me already is astounding. 

Again, I won’t bore you with all the details, but I will tell you that the Mind-Healer found and was able to remove several blocks that had been placed on my memories.  I learned some truly horrible things, including the fact that Albus Dumbledore was the one who performed the Fidelius charm on the cottage in Godric’s Hollow.  He knew damn well I wasn’t Lily and James’ Secret Keeper and yet he stood by and did nothing while I was thrown into Azkaban without a trial.  Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t the one who gave Barty Crouch the idea in the first place.

All of this is my very long-winded way of telling you that you cannot and should not trust Albus Dumbledore under any circumstances.  I realize that I have given you absolutely no reason to trust me, but I do hope you’ll think seriously about what I’ve said.  I hope to be back in Scotland by the time you lot have your first Hogsmeade weekend and we can discuss this more then.  In the meantime, Remus is traveling back to London tonight and should be at Hogwarts at some point in the next few days.  More on that in a minute.

I’m sure this whole Head of House and Heir-Presumptive thing is rather confusing—and I’m afraid the fact that you are both tangles things even further.  Here’s the way it works (and, mind you, Remus and Ragnok had to spend half an hour explaining this to me before I understood even half of what they were saying).  As you know, I am Head of House Black (lucky me!) and you are Heir-Presumptive.  What this means is that, unless I name another Heir, you will inherit the Black title, the vaults, the property, and all the possessions, including a lovely set of biting teacups and my mother’s portrait, which has a tendency to scream obscenities at anyone who isn’t a Pure-blood. 

Traditionally, the Heir-Presumptive is legally and magically bound to obey the wishes of his or her Head of House, particularly if the Heir is underage.  However, since you are a Head of House in your own right and, therefore, considered to be an adult, I think we can dispense with that.  I do, however, reserve the right to give you loads of unsolicited advice.  I will also be more than happy to render any assistance to you that I can.  Speaking of…

Ragnok tells me he gave you the ring for House Pendragon.  I have the Heir ring for House Black and I’ll give it to you the next time we meet.  Wear them at all times!  Once you put on the rings, they are almost impossible for someone else to get off your hand (although, as I mentioned earlier, Dumbledore somehow managed to do it).  I’ve never seen the Pendragon ring, but the ring for the Black Heir is a ghastly thing that is huge and ostentatious.  Fortunately, they are amenable to a certain amount of Transfiguration.  As long as the crest and the central stone are visible, you can make them look however you like.  You will need to use them when you cast votes in the Wizengamot and many families key the wards of their houses to family rings.

Speaking of the Wizengamot – I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but make time to read the current Wizengamot Rolls and Register.  They print a new copy every year and the Hogwarts library should have the latest edition.  The next meeting of the Wizengamot will take place in January and you will be expected to attend in person or appoint a proxy to cast your votes.  There are some people who will do anything they can to invalidate your vote (and the votes of anyone who chooses to support you), on the grounds that you didn’t follow the correct procedure.  Don’t give them that opportunity.

All right, so I lied.  I am going to give you one order as Head of House Black and I expect you to obey it!  Under no circumstances are you to let Albus Dumbledore make any decisions for you.  As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he is required to see that you receive at least the same education as every other student – and since you’ve entered into a Mentorship agreement with Minerva McGonagall (Congratulations!  Remus was very excited when he told me about it), he really has no say in the classes you take, your living arrangements or any other aspect of your Hogwarts career.  Provided you don’t break the rules so badly that you risk expulsion, he has no authority over you.  Please note that, as, an adult witch, you are allowed to leave the castle so long as you do not do so while you are supposed to be in class.  Don’t let Dumbledore try to tell you otherwise.  Also, don’t believe him if he says he can help you train your new Talent, either.  The man has a lot of skills, but I know for a fact that Occulomagency is not one of them.  Dumbledore may try to use his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to control or restrict your actions, but he does not have the right to do so.  He is only allowed to exercise authority over the Wizengamot as a body—not its members.

Oh – I promised that I would have more to say about Remus and his arrival at Hogwarts, I’ve hired him to be they factotum for House Black.  Since I can’t show my face in Britain until this mess with the Ministry and its so-called justice gets sorted out, I will be delegating a lot of House Black business to him – and to you as my Heir-Presumptive.  He’s going to spend some time at the bank in London to learn about the Black accounts and some of the other things he’ll need to know, but when he’s finished with that, he’ll be moving into a house in Hogsmeade that the Black family has owned for centuries.  You might want to ask Ragnok or our new account manager if the Pendragon family owns any property in Hogsmeade.  If they don’t, consider buying something. You’ll want your factotum close by.

Speaking of Remus brings me neatly to the subject of what I’m doing now—namely, waiting for my trial in front of the International Confederation of Wizards to begin.  With Ragnok’s help, Remus arranged a meeting with officials from the French, Spanish, Belgian, and Canadian Ministries of Magic. (We weren’t actually planning on talking to the Canadians, but it turns out that the Ministers of France and Canada are first cousins and were spending a week together in Marseilles when Remus contacted them.)  He’s explained my lack of a trial, incarceration, and escape and he requested that I receive a hearing before the I.C.W., as is my right as Head of an Ancient and Most Noble House. The Ministers contacted their representatives on the I.C.W. and the delegate from France brought my suit before the assembled Confederation yesterday.  Despite Dumbledore’s best efforts to get the whole thing put off until next year, they agreed to extend their session to hear my case.  The trial starts in about an hour.  That reminds me – Dumbledore is not…repeat NOT the Supreme Mugsump of the I.C.W.  Hasn’t been since 1955!  I’m sure he’ll do his best to keep this out of the papers back home, but he’s in a whole hell of a lot of trouble here because he’s allowed everyone in Britain to think that he’s in charge of the I.C.W. for so long, and has prevented free and fair elections of a proper delegate.

My trial will effectively tie Dumbledore up here for a least three or four more days, which should give you a bit more time to adjust to all this and to hire a factotum before he gets back into the country. While Dumbledore (and, I suspect, Minister Smudge) will do their best to keep me out of Britain, once I get a verdict from the I.C.W., I’ll be able to move around the rest of the world freely and I’ll have full access to people and resources who can help me figure out just what the old man’s plan is and how Harry fits into it.  Because, mark my words, whatever it is that Dumbledore wants, he’s using Harry to get it.  Remus told me that Dumbledore nearly single-handedly revived the Tri-Wizard Tournament and pulled all kinds of strings to ensure that it’s being held at Hogwarts this year.  I can’t tell you how nervous that makes me. 

Be aware that the I.C.W. permitted him to use the Goblet of Fire.  The Goblet is an ancient Greek artifact that used to be used to select rulers of a city.  It creates a very powerful, magically binding contract with anyone who submits their name.  Allegedly, Dumbledore and the others involved in planning the Tournament have decided that no one under the age of seventeen will be allowed to enter, but no one knows what precautions will be taken to keep underage witches and wizards from submitting their names, or to keep adults from submitting names that are not their own.  Please tell Harry to be on his guard.

Speaking of Harry, I am going to leave it up to you whether to tell him any of this or not.  If my suspicions are right, he may have his hands full soon, and knowing just how badly Dumbledore has behaved and that his grandfather is still alive may be too much for him.  You know him better than I do, though, so I trust your judgement.  If you do decide to tell him, let me know and I’ll make sure that my next letter to you is charmed so that both of you can read it. 

Now, before I sign off, I have two favors I need to ask of you.  First, please send an owl to a woman named Andromeda Tonks and tell her about my trial and that I am working with the goblins to reverse her disinheritance (I’d do it myself but my thrice-be-damned mother placed some very fiendish little charms on me that make it impossible for me to contact her directly.  The goblin healers are going to remove them, but I’d rather not make Andy wait any longer than necessary.)  I’ll give you a Black family history lesson some other time, but Andromeda is my first cousin and she was disowned by my mother after she married a Muggleborn wizard.  I understand that Ted Tonks is quite successful, so they don’t need the money, but I know Andy will appreciate the gesture and might want to take advantage of some of the social perks that come with being a member of House Black.  Also, she has a daughter, so family membership might be useful for her as well.  As a side note, Andy is an expert at the social game.  Before you leave Hogwarts, you might want to consider asking her for some advice and tips on etiquette and wardrobe and that sort of thing – Merlin knows, I won’t be able to help you with any of that!

The second favor I need to ask is far more important, but may be more difficult to manage.  As Head of an Ancient and Royal House, you can take in orphans from Noble houses and make them your wards.  I would ask you to do this for Harry, please, and the sooner, the better.  I don’t want him to have to spend one more minute with Lily’s sister and her lout of a husband (I met them at the wedding, so I have at least some idea of what Harry’s been living with).  I am quite certain that Dumbledore is going to fight you on this with everything he has, so if it is at all possible, you should get started on this before he returns.  He seems to be highly invested in making sure Harry stays away from other witches and wizards whenever the boy is outside of Hogwarts.  Don’t let him win.  Remember – the law is on your side.  No matter how much Dumbledore likes to preen and pretend he is omnipotent, he is as subject to the laws of the Wizengamot as anyone else and those laws strictly prohibit the Wizengamot from interfering in what is, essentially, a private matter.  Remus will give you whatever help he can and the goblins may prove useful as well.  I suggest you start by asking them to examine the so called “blood wards” on Harry’s aunt’s house.  I suspect that they either collapsed a long time ago or that they never existed in the first place.  As they are Dumbledore’s strongest (and only) argument for forcing Harry to remain with his relatives, an objective assessment of them will go a long way to de-bearding the old goat. 

Believe me, I would love to do this myself, but I am not sure how long it will be before I can safely come back to Great Britain.  Even if our esteemed Minister manages to pull his head out of his arse tomorrow and completely exonerates me, I doubt that the Ministry would give custody of Harry to me any time soon – they’d insist I spend a year or more with the Mind-Healers at St. Mungo’s and….well, let’s just say that I didn’t have the best reputation before I was thrown into Azkaban.  Besides, as Head of a Royal House, you will have a lot more influence than I ever could.  Dumbledore will find it a lot harder to challenge your right to take Harry in as a ward—after all, everyone knows you’re one of his best friends, you’ve got two living parents, and you certainly have the financial means to look after Harry.  Unless the old man produces Charlus (and, if he does, I will be at the front of the line demanding that the man be thoroughly tested for compulsion charms and potions), he really doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on.  Once you become Harry’s legal guardian (assuming you agree to do this, of course) we can discuss living arrangements.  Harry is my godson and I want to honor my best friend’s wishes by giving his son a proper home. 

I think that’s all for now.  I’m sure there is more to say, but if I don’t wrap this up soon, my hand will fall off.  I’ll conclude by congratulating you once again on your excellent prank and by bidding you a hearty “Welcome to the family!”

Your cousin (somehow – not quite sure how we’re related)

Sirius

Chapter Text

Author's Note (2/19/22)- A kind reader pointed out a really stupid mistake, so this chapter has been edited to correct the error. Sorry!

Ministry of Magic – Office of Cornelius Fudge

Wednesday, Sept. 13

“Ah, young Weasley! Come in!  Come in!  Do sit down!”  A nervous Percy Weasley stepped into the spacious office of the Minister of Magic.  He had no idea why he’d been summoned and that terrified him.  Percy had been working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation for almost three months and, though he felt that he was making an important contribution to the running of the department (which was in absolute shambles since mid-July, when Director Crouch had died suddenly), he knew he hadn’t done anything exceptional enough to warrant the attention of Cornelius Fudge himself.

Minister Fudge was sitting behind a huge, ornate wooden desk beaming at him and gesturing to one of the two chairs facing him.  Percy breathed a silent sigh of relief; whatever it was, it couldn’t be too bad if the Minister was smiling.  The only other occupant of the room was a short, stout woman dressed all in pink, who stood behind the Minister looking like the world’s worst bodyguard. 

“Percy Weasley, allow me to introduce Dolores Umbridge, my Senior Undersecretary.”  Fudge beamed at the pair of them like a proud father introducing his beloved daughter to a potential suitor.

“Madam Umbridge.”  Percy bowed and she gave him a regal nod.  Dolores Umbridge had a less than savory reputation at the Ministry, but despite this, she was known to be one of Fudge’s top aides and advisors.  Even with his relative lack of experience, Percy was already quite certain that he did not want to get on her bad side.

“Sit!  Sit!”  Minister Fudge made vague flapping motions with his hands until Percy perched gingerly on the edge of one of the chairs.  “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Weasley.  Dolores and I were talking and we believe that you are in a unique position to be able to do a great service for the Ministry of Magic.”

“Me, sir?”  Percy flushed with pride.  “I’ll be happy to do whatever I can to assist you, Minister.”

“Excellent!”  Fudge rubbed his hands together gleefully.  “Now, Dolores tells me that you were Head Boy at Hogwarts last year.  Gryffindor, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So then, you must know Hermione Granger.”  Percy relaxed.  He wasn’t stupid and, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t at all surprised that Hermione Granger was the reason the Minister wanted to see him.  She had, overnight, become the most important person in the Wizarding world next to Harry Potter. In some ways, Hermione was even more important than Harry—after all, she was Head of a Most Royal House, while Potter was only a Scion of a Most Noble House.  Given the current political climate, it was obvious that the Minister wanted to court Granger’s support and her vote in the Wizengamot.  He, Percy Weasley, was in the perfect position to help him do just that. 

“Yes, sir.  I was a fifth-year prefect when Hermione was a first-year student and she’s very good friends with my youngest brother and sister.  In fact, she stayed at our house for two weeks this summer and attended the Quidditch World Cup with us.” 

“Excellent!  You were right, Dolores, young Weasley here is the perfect person to speak to the girl on our behalf.  I presume you have seen the special edition of the Prophet announcing Miss Granger’s rise in the world?” the Minister asked, turning back to Percy.

“Yes, sir.  I was, I admit, very surprised at the news.”

“As were we all.”  Dolores Umbridge’s voice was surprisingly high and girlish and, though she wore a smile, Percy had the distinct impression that she was unhappy about something.

“The thing is, Percy…may I call you Percy?”  Without waiting for an answer, Fudge went on “We find ourselves in a bit of a delicate situation.  It seems that the goblins are all in a flap about something or other and they’ve seized the vaults of several notable citizens.  The DMLE has launched an investigation into the matter and it appears that…er…some people with whom I have been associated in the past are about to fall on some very hard times.  Because of my brief, past association with these individuals, Amelia Bones is starting to pry into my affairs.  Clearly, the goblins won’t be satisfied until they’ve wrung every last galleon out of us that the can!”

“You, sir?”  Percy was bewildered.  “Why on earth would the goblins’ issues make Madam Bones want to investigate you?”

“Who knows?”  Dolores Umbridge sniffed.  “Filthy creatures, the lot of them.”  Percy privately wondered whether the Senior Undersecretary meant to include Amelia Bones in that remark.

“Yes, well….”  Percy saw Fudge shoot a concerned glance at Madam Umbridge, but she didn’t seem to notice.  “While she assures me that she doesn’t expect to find any…er….problems,  Madam Bones has told me that the investigation will have to go forward to appease our goblin friends.”  Umbridge sniffed disdainfully, but Fudge continued to ignore her.  Percy noted that the Minister’s eyes were darting back and forth and, though he was still smiling broadly, his grin had become something of a rictus.

“I’m sure it’s all just a formality, sir.”  Percy attempted to sound reassuring.

“Oh, no doubt.  No doubt.”  Fudge gave a forced chuckle.  “However, Dolores pointed out that the goblins seem to have a very high regard for Miss Granger and it occurred to us that she might be persuaded to…er…put in a good word, so to speak.”

“Neither the Minister nor I know Miss Granger personally, of course.”  Percy had the oddest feeling that Dolores Umbridge was proud of that fact, but pushed it to the back of his mind.  “And I doubt that she is…hem, hem…”  Madam Umbridge coughed politely “very well informed about the current state of affairs in the Ministry or Wizarding Britain at large.”

“Through no fault of her own, I’m sure.”  Fudge hastened to add.  “After all, she’s been cooped up in that school for three years, knowing nothing but what Dumbledore tells her and what she reads in Witch Weekly.”  Fudge chuckled in what Percy had to admit was a rather patronizing manner.  He considered telling the Minister that Hermione had once called Witch Weekly a rag that wasn’t even fit for use in the bathroom, but discarded the idea.  After all, the Minister was correct in his assumptions, even if he did have some of the details wrong.

“I agree, sir.  Professor Dumbledore has always been quite careful to keep the students at Hogwarts isolated from the rest of the world.  He claims he wants to shield them, but…”  Percy allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.  Since starting his new job at the Ministry, he had noticed that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was not in the Minister’s good graces.   Percy had thought long and hard about whether to defend Dumbledore against his detractors, but in the end, had reasoned that the Minister had more power and was more likely to help Percy along his chosen career path than Dumbledore ever was.

“Exactly!”  Minister Fudge slapped the table with his hand.  “Albus Dumbledore is deliberately poisoning the minds of the students against me!”

“Minister,” Dolores interjected, gently.  “that’s why young Percy is here.  To help us make sure that the voters of the future have all the information they need and that Miss Granger understands why it is so important to nip this silly investigation in the bud.”

“You’re right, Dolores.”  Fudge gave his Undersecretary a fond smile.  “My apologies, Percy.  Didn’t mean to…. Well, never mind. Where were we?”

“Hermione Granger.”  Madam Umbridge prompted.

“Ah, yes.  You see, Percy, we’d like to make sure that Miss Granger has all the relevant information she needs to make an informed decision about this goblin nonsense and to prepare her to vote at the next Wizengamot meeting.  We also want to ensure that she knows that we at the Ministry are eager to offer our support and guidance during what I’m sure must be a very confusing time for her.”  Percy couldn’t help but notice that Dolores Umbridge didn’t look all that eager.  Again, he pushed the thought away.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be grateful for any help you can give her.  She’s a very sensible girl, you know.  But, Minister, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you need me for.  Surely, such an offer coming from the Minister of Magic…”

“Ah.”  The Minister’s cheeks flushed slightly and he looked somewhat embarrassed.  “Well, you see we have to be a bit careful how we approach Miss Granger.  This silly investigation….we wouldn’t want Madam Bones to get the…er…wrong idea, would we?  And then there are all those foolish rules about what the Minister can and cannot do and say to members of the Wizengamot…”

Understanding burst in Percy’s head like one of Fred and George’s fireworks.  The relationship between the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic had always been fraught with tension and things had gotten progressively worse over the past few years.  Percy’s father had told him that Fudge had nearly lost his job after someone on the Wizengamot had filed an official compaint alleging that the Minister was accepting bribes from Lucius Malfoy in exchange for using his authority and power as Minister to coerce other Wizengamot members into following Malfoy’s agenda.

“So,” Percy spoke slowly, sounding each word out in his head before speaking it “you would like the offer of Ministry support to come through me…and you want me to ask Hermione to speak to the goblins…or Madam Bones…on your behalf.  Is that it?”

“Precisely!”  Percy didn’t think it was possible, but the Minister’s smile grew even wider.  It had also become completely natural again, no longer looking forced and almost panicked.   “You were right, Dolores, our Mr. Weasley is quite the young go-getter.  I can see a great future for you here at the Ministry, young man.”

“Indeed, Minister.”  Madam Umbridge simpered.  “I’ve long believed that Agnes Snagsby is barely competent to be Head of the Floo Regulation Network, let alone something as important as the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  In a year or two, Mr. Weasley might be just the sort of man we need to fill that position.”

“I…I’m honored, sir….ma’am, but I wouldn’t even know how to begin doing what you’ve asked..”  Percy stammered.  The part of him that had been raised by Arthur and Molly Weasley to know the difference between right and wrong was jumping up and down, trying to get his attention, but the suggestion that he could be made Head of an important department before he turned 30 held all his focus.

“You can begin by writing a letter to Miss Granger offering her your congratulations and telling her that the Minister is happy to be of any service he can to her.”  Madam Umbridge said. 

“You might mention…casually, of course….that the goblins have things all wrong and that this silly investigation of theirs is completely unnecessary.” Fudge added. “You should also tell her that Albus Dumbledore cannot be trusted to have the best interests of Wizarding Britain at heart, though you should probably wait on that until you’ve established a relationship with the girl.  For now, we just want you to stick your foot in the door, so to speak.  Test the waters and see how Miss Granger responds.”  The Minister looked serious, for a change, and leaned forward intently.  “It is very important that we establish ourselves as Miss Granger’s friends and allies as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”  Percy promised.

**

The Burrow

Wednesday, Sept. 13

The sun was low in the sky and trees and buildings cast long shadows over Ottery St. Catchpole as Bill Weasley appeared on the hill overlooking the Burrow.  Since he was keyed into the wards around the house, he could just as easily have Apparated into the front yard, but the view from the hill was one of his favorites in all the world.  It had only been a few weeks since his last visit home, but he took a moment to savor the view and all the joy and love it always stirred up within him whenever he saw it.

As his hungry eyes took in the crooked house, the pile of boots, tools, and old toys by the door, the overgrown garden and the orchard, he heard the shrill laughter of children.  A little boy and girl came dashing around the corner, obviously racing one another.  The girl reached the back door first and crowed in triumph.  The boy, who was smaller than the girl, joined her and bent over double, breathing heavily.  The girl, laughing, turned her head and caught sight of Bill.

“Mrs. Weasley!” she called, grabbing the boy by the arm and towing him towards the door.  Bill grinned and half ran, half slid down the steep slope, that was still damp from an earlier rain shower, as his mother opened the door.  She held a toddler in her arms and had an expression on her face that combined amusement, exasperation, worry, and patience.  Bill called it her ‘Mum’ face and, as he saw it, his grin grew even wider.

“What is it, Meg?”  Bill watched as the toddler squirmed and his mother adjusted her grip without even seeming to notice.

“Man!”  The baby in his mother’s arms pointed and Molly Weasley looked up and locked gazes with her eldest son.

“BILL!”  For one horrifying moment, Bill thought his mother was going to drop the baby and trample the other two children in her rush to smother him in one of her hugs.  Fortunately, the girl had the presence of mind to pull the boy out of harm’s way and, though his mother did fling out one arm to him, the baby remained securely on her hip.

“Hello, Mum.”  Bill grinned at her, copying her one-armed hug while taking care not to squash her burden.  The baby, evidently trying to copy what she was seeing, stretched out her arm in an effort to hug Bill as well.  Her squirming seemed to remind Bill’s mother that they weren’t alone.

“Oh!  Children, this is my oldest son, Bill.  Come say hello.”  The little boy, who had finally managed to catch his breath, approached warily, while the girl seemed to dance back and forth, unable to contain her seemingly boundless energy.  “Bill, this is Peter Winkle,” Molly gestured to the boy “his sister, Meg,” she pointed to the girl, “and this is Grace Diggory, Cedric’s little sister.”  She jiggled the toddler a couple of times, eliciting a happy giggle.  Grace was staring at him with big brown eyes that reminded Bill of her older brother.

“Hello.”  Bill solemnly shook hands with Peter and bowed to Meg, which seemed to delight her.  “It’s very nice to meet you all.”

“Come in the house, all of you.”  Molly chivvied them through the door and into the kitchen.  “Peter, Meg – your mother will be here soon, so why don’t you go collect your things?  Bill, sit down while I get dinner started.  Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t know about an hour ago.  I traveled from the dig site directly to Gringotts last night, and I’ve been there all day.”  Bill replied, easily.  He was grateful that his mother seemed to recognize the need to wait until after the children were gone to discuss the far more important issue of what he was doing there in the first place. 

“Can you stay for supper?”  As she talked, Molly Weasley bustled around the kitchen.  After seven children, she was more than capable of putting a meal together with only one free hand.

“Absolutely!”  Bill grinned. “In fact, I was rather hoping you’d let me stay here for…Accio Grace Diggory!”  The baby had barely fallen past Molly Weasley’s knees when the spell caught her and she zoomed into Bill’s outstretched arms, screaming gleefully all the way.

“Oh…oh my….thank you, Bill.”  Bill bounced the baby on his knee as he looked at his mother with concern.  She was pale and breathing heavily as she leaned against the icebox.  “I don’t know what would have happened…”

“It’s all right, Mum.  Grace is fine.”  There was obviously more to the incident than simply his mother’s surprised reaction, but Bill decided that this topic also needed to wait until after the children were gone.  “Would you like some help with…”

“No, no.  You sit there and entertain Gracie while I finish up.  Your father, Percy, and the other parents should be here in a few minutes.”  Bill watched his mother resume her activity.  As she worked, she prattled on about the children.  Bill listened with half an ear, enjoying the sound of her voice, but not paying much attention to the words.  After all, he’d been hearing similar things for years.

Once the twins had gone off to Hogwarts, Molly Weasley had started running a day-care-slash-dame-school for the children of Ministry employees who did not wish or could not afford to hire a nanny or private tutor.  It helped bring some badly needed income into the house and it kept Molly busy and happy doing what she loved best.

Meg and Peter returned to the kitchen after a few minutes and Bill amused himself by talking to them, all the while keeping an anxious eye on his mother.  Her color had returned, but her hands still shook slightly and she seemed to be having a bit of trouble catching her breath.

The low-toned chime that signaled the arrival of someone via the living room fireplace rang through the kitchen and it was quickly followed by three more.  The noise level increased exponentially as Molly started handing jackets and bags to the children.  Percy was the first to arrive, which startled Bill slightly, until he remembered that his brother was no longer a Hogwarts student, but was now a fully-fledged adult wizard with a job.

“Bill!”  Percy was so surprised that he stopped in his tracks.  Bill heard a muffled “oof!” and suspected that whoever had been behind him hadn’t stopped in time.  Blushing, Percy stepped aside.  “Sorry Mr. Diggory.”

“Quite all right, quite all right.  Bless my soul, is that young William?”  Amos Diggory stopped and stared at Bill.

“What?  Bill’s here?”  Bill heard his father’s voice from somewhere behind Mr. Diggory.

“Arthur, what’s going on?  Amos, get a move on!  I’d like to get the children home before their Hogwarts letters arrive.”  This voice was female and rather shrill.

“Sorry, Esme.”  Amos grinned sheepishly and stepped out of the doorway, allowing Arthur Weasley to enter, followed by a tall, thin, waspish looking woman. 

“Children….good.  You’re ready.  Come along.  Quickly now.  I’ll bring them by at the usual time tomorrow, Molly.”

“Of course, Esme.”  Bill noticed that his mother gave each of the children a brief hug before releasing them to the custody of their own parent.  He suspected that she thought this was the only physical affection either child would receive today.  The thin woman placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder and steered her brood into the living room.  There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that no one spoke until they heard the flames of the fire whoosh, signaling that the Floo had been activated.

“Horrible woman.”  Amos Diggory muttered, then held out his arms.  “There’s my Gracie.  Come to Daddy, sweetheart.” Carefully, Bill handed the baby to her father and tried to ignore the odd, empty ache in the pit of his stomach.  Amos fussed over his daughter for a moment, then bid them all a cheerful good-night.  Rather than leaving by the Floo, he simply walked out the front door and Apparated away once he was in the garden. 

“Bill!”  Bill embraced his father warmly and then gave Percy a firm, enthusiastic handshake.  “What are you doing back so soon?  How long can you stay?”

“Dad, I’ve got a lot to tell you and I haven’t eaten all day.”  This was not, strictly speaking, true.  On his arrival at the London branch of Gringotts, Bill had been hustled into a chamber that was equipped with a Temporal Field.  For every day that passed within a chamber, an hour would pass outside of it.  Twenty one hours had passed in the real world, while Bill had spent three weeks receiving intensive training and being brought up to speed on his new duties.  The temporal chamber was one of the goblins’ many secrets and the contract he’d signed specifically forbade him from speaking of it to outsiders.  “Can the explanation wait until after Mum’s put what smells like a fantastic dinner on the table?”

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”  His mother looked worried.

“No, Mum.  In fact, it’s good news.  I promise.”  She smiled and patted his cheek, fondly, then set about placing an absurd amount of food on the table.  It tasted even better than it smelled and Bill was not the only one to have multiple helpings.  Still, there was a goodly amount of food left when everyone was finished.  Bill watched as his mother carefully placed the leftovers into boxes, which she shrank and placed in the ice-box.

“It’s getting to be time for you to make another run to the shelter, Arthur.” She commented as she began distributing teacups and arranging biscuits on a plate.

“I’ll do it this weekend.”  Her husband promised before turning to his eldest son.  “All right, Bill.  You’ve made us wait long enough.  What brings you back to England?”

“I’ve been given a promotion.”  Bill grinned. “I’ll be based out of the London branch….mmmmph!”  He found himself suddenly unable to breathe, let alone talk, as his mother threw her arms around him in delight.

“Oh, Bill!  You’re moving back to England?  How wonderful!  We can fix up the twins’ room for you…I don’t know what we’ll do come summer, but don’t worry.  We’ll manage.”

“Molly, let the boy go.”  Bill heard his father chuckle.  “He’s turning blue.”

“What?  Oh, sorry, dear.”  Bill was slightly alarmed to see that his mother’s eyes were wet with tears.  “I’m just so happy that you’re coming home.”

“Mum, I don’t think I’ll be living here.” He said, carefully, not wanting to shatter her happiness, but also not wanting her to harbor false hopes.  “Yes, I’d like to stay here for a few days if it’s all right with you, but I think I will probably end up living in Hogsmeade.”

“Hogsmeade?”  Arthur and Percy spoke at the same time and wore identical looks of confusion.  Bill took a deep breath and cast a wary glance at his mother, lest she attempt to smother him again.

“I’m to be Hermione Granger’s new factotum.  I’ll need to live in Hogsmeade because I expect that I’ll be meeting with her regularly while she’s at Hogwarts.” He announced.  There was a moment’s stunned silence.

“Oh, BILL!”  His mother threw her arms around him again, but this time Bill had enough warning so he could turn his head to breathe.  When she finally released him, his father took her place, though mercifully, his embrace didn’t threaten to crack any of Bill’s ribs.  Percy remained in his seat, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s wonderful news, Bill.  There’s been a lot of speculation at the Ministry about who was going to get the job.  I know the Minister was planning on offering Hermione some recommendations….”  He stopped and seemed to wilt slightly under the gazes of his parents and older brother.

“Percy…” Arthur spoke, slowly.  “How do you know what the Minister’s plans are with regards to Hermione?”

“I…well…”  Percy squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.  “The Minister knows that we know Hermione and he asked me to convey his best wishes to her and ask her for her support regarding legislation he’ll be bringing before the Wizengamot…”

“Did you?”  Bill asked, sharply.  “Did you say anything…write anything to her?”

“Not yet.”  Percy said, looking bewildered. “I was going to draft something tonight and show it to Dolores Umbridge for approval tomorrow…”  Bill sighed with relief and saw his father’s shoulders sag.

“Son,” Arthur said, gently.  “there are very, very strict rules governing how the Minister may conduct himself with members of the Wizengamot, particularly those who have served for less than a year. What the Minister asked you to do violates at least three of them.  He was almost sacked a few years ago for just that sort of behavior.”

“But…”  Percy’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Think about it, Percy.”  Bill said, quietly.  He was probably the family member who was closest to Percy and he was well aware of his little brother’s ambition.  He also knew that Percy was incredibly naïve, stubborn, and prone to excessive hero-worship.  Percy was smart, however, and if he could be led to reach the right conclusions for himself, he would learn from his mistakes.  However, if someone simply told him he was not acting properly, he might very well dig in his heels and make things worse.  “If the Minister’s intentions towards Miss Granger are completely honorable, why wouldn’t he just contact her himself?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Amelia Bones has evidence that suggests that the Minister has been taking kickbacks from a group of wizards who have stolen money from Gringotts.”  As his father spoke, Bill studied Percy carefully.  He knows.  Bill thought, sadly.  He knows that this is wrong and he was going to do it anyway.   “And I’m sure you know Dolores Umbridge’s reputation.”  Arthur added.  “Please believe me when I say it’s well earned.  If she’s involved, can what the Minister asked you to do really be that innocent?”

“The Minister was….was using me.”  Percy said, slowly, frowning deeply.  Bill could practically see the puzzle pieces falling into place in his head.  “He said something about the DMLE investigation…If I’d been caught…”

“You would have lost your job and you probably would have been made to stand trial before the Wizengamot.  Dad probably would have been fired too.  You know Fudge has been wanting to get rid of him for ages.”  Bill said. 

“Oh, sweet Merlin on a cracker…” Percy moaned.  “What am I going to do?”  Before he could answer,  they all heard the chime from the fireplace in the kitchen.  That was the one the family used for fire-calls.   Arthur stood swiftly, took a pinch of floo powder from the pot on the mantel, threw tit into the flames of the kitchen fire, then sank to his knees.  Minerva McGonagall’s head appeared after a moment. 

“Good evening, Arthur.  I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I must speak to you and Molly.  It’s a disciplinary matter, I’m afraid.”

“Oh dear.”  Arthur sighed.  “By all means, please come through, Professor.”  Her head disappeared and he stood up.  Molly was already summoning another teacup while Bill and Percy finished clearing the table.

“I swear, if your brothers have hurt someone with one of their stupid pranks, I’ll skin them alive!”  Molly hissed, waving her wand so vigorously at the teapot that hot water sprayed out of its spout and Bill and Percy were forced to duck to avoid being scaled.  “Sorry, boys.”  She said, somewhat sheepishly as she grabbed a towel to mop up the water.

A moment later, Professor Minerva McGonagall stepped into the kitchen, brushing ash off her robes.  Bill saw her eyes widen in surprise as she caught sight of him, but then his mother hurried over to the Professor, wringing her hands in dismay.

“Oh, Professor McGonagall.  I’m so sorry.  Whatever the twins have done, I’m sure they meant no harm by it.”

“Molly…”

“They’re good boys.  Really, they are.  I told them not to try feeding those stupid trick sweets to the other children.  In fact, I thought I confiscated them all before they left.”

“Molly!”  Arthur intervened and pushed his wife into a chair.  “Good evening, Professor.  Please take a seat.  Can we offer you some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”  Professor McGonagall accepted the chair Bill held for her.  “Bill, Percy, it’s very good to see you again.”

“You too, Professor.”  Bill watched his mother fidget as Percy poured tea and offered their former Head of House the plate of biscuits.

“As I said, I’m sorry to call so late, but this really cannot wait.  I’m afraid Ronald has gotten himself into some trouble and, if something is not done, I fear there will be more.”

“What’s he done now?”  Arthur sighed.

“Now?  What do you mean now?”  Bill asked.  A glance at Percy told him that his brother was equally clueless.  He could have understood his father’s weary expression and his mother’s gasp of dismay had they been discussing the twins, or if McGonagall had told them Ron had landed in the hospital wing after one of his insane adventures with Harry Potter, but his youngest brother had never really given their parents trouble of the sort that Charlie and the twins had.

“Your father and I got several letters from Ginny and the boys the other day.”  Molly explained.  “It seems that Ronald became angry with Hermione Granger...I’m not entirely sure why…and he called her…well, he called her a word that I am quite certain he didn’t learn in this house!”  She pressed her lips together in a thin, disapproving line.

“Wait…” Bill held up his hand before Professor McGonagall could say anything.  “If what Ron did has anything to do with Miss Granger, you should know that I’ve been hired as her factotum.”

“I know.”  Professor McGonagall gave him a small smile.  “She told me that you had been offered the job.  Congratulations!”

“Thank you.”  He said.  “But if Ron’s hurt Miss Granger in some way—physically or magically, I mean—than this is more than just an issue of school discipline.”

“He hasn’t, yet.  However, I am well aware of what could happen if matters are allowed to develop unchecked.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “That’s why I wanted to speak to your parents tonight.  I’m glad you’re here, as it saves me a further difficult conversation.  I’m hoping we can figure out how to resolve this mess before Ronald does something that cannot be undone.”

“Perhaps you could tell us what happened?”  Arthur prompted.

“While we were in London on Monday, Miss Granger told me she planned to inform her friends of her new status before I made an announcement to the school on Tuesday morning.”  Professor McGonagall began.    “I stopped by the Gryffindor Common Room on Monday night to check on the students and to see if any of them had any questions I could answer.  When I arrived, Ronald was shouting at Miss Granger and using a word he swore to me he’d never use again.  To be quite frank, that was the nicest thing he called her.  Anyway, he drew his wand.  Fortunately, before he could cast anything, he was hit with a number of spells cast by other students, including Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Ginevra, and the twins.  Unfortunately for Ronald, Mr. Longbottom had only just acquired a new wand and was still adjusting to it.  His jelly-legs jinx was rather stronger than he intended, so Ronald’s legs were literally turned to jelly. Ginevra hit him with something called a ‘bat-bogey hex’ at almost the same time Lavender Brown hit him with a nose reduction charm she found in Witch Weekly.  The two spells…did not react well together.”  Bill and Percy looked at one another and winced.  Both had seen the Bat-Bogey hex in action and could easily imagine how much more painful it would be if one’s nose was smaller than normal. 

“Madam Pomfrey regrew the bones in Ronald’s legs easily enough, but she has had some unanticipated difficulty in healing the muscle tissue and his nose will not be fully regrown before lunch tomorrow.”  Professor McGonagall concluded.  “I have attempted to impress upon Ronald the seriousness of his actions and the consequences, should he attempt to attack Miss Granger again, but he….” She paused, as if at a loss for words.  “I’m afraid Ronald doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong.  He was most put out with the punishment he received and he wanted to know what I was doing to punish Miss Granger.  When I pointed out that she had done nothing wrong, he tried to tell me that she had somehow fooled the goblins and the Ministry into ‘giving’ her the Pendragon fortune and that she ought to be thrown into Azkaban.”

“Oh dear…..”  Bill saw that his mother had tears in her eyes again.  “What are we going to do, Arthur?”

“We have no choice.”  Arthur Weasley looked suddenly very old and very tired.  “We’ll have to bring him home, for his own safety.”

“I don’t understand…” Percy said, slowly.

“As  Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House, Miss Granger’s person is sacrosanct.”  Bill explained.  “Anyone convicted of attacking her—either physically or magically—faces a minimum sentenced of fifteen years’ imprisonment in Azkaban.”

“But….but they’re just kids.”  Percy sputtered.

“Miss Granger isn’t.”  Bill reminded him.  “And it doesn’t matter that Ron is underage.  He would be tried, convicted, and sentenced just as if he was an adult.”

“But if you bring him home, Ron won’t be able to finish Hogwarts.  He won’t get his O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s.  He won’t have wand rights!  He’ll be little better than a squib as far as getting a job goes.”

“Ronald is not being expelled or even suspended.” Professor McGonagall assured them.  “I have already disciplined him for his actions—I took House Points, assigned him a week’s detention, and banned him from the Quidditch club.  It is entirely your decision whether to remove him from school.  However, I would like to offer a suggestion, if I may….”

“Please.”  Arthur leaned forward, eagerly.

“Take Ronald out of Hogwarts for the remainder of this term.  I can obtain a list of his assignments from his teacher and, Arthur, you can obtain a temporary permit for him to practice age-appropriate spells at home.  Spend the next few months talking to Ronald about his temper and about his relationships with Miss Granger and Mr. Potter.”

“Harry?”  Percy blinked in surprise.  “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Ronald seems to feel that Miss Granger is somehow interfering in his friendship with Mr. Potter.  He thinks that she is encouraging Harry in his newfound studiousness with the specific aim of separating him from Ronald.  The argument last week started when Harry informed Ronald that he dropped Divination.”

“We saw a bit of that over the summer.”  Bill nodded, grimly.  “Ron was very…possessive of Harry while he was here.”

“You may wish to have him examined by a Mind Healer.”  Minerva said, gently. 

“What does the Headmaster say?”  Molly asked.  “Surely he has some ideas…”

“Albus is in Italy, attending the I.C.W. conference.”  Bill noticed a certain tightness in Professor McGonagall’s voice that piqued his curiosity.  “He is not permitted to receive correspondence, except in an emergency.”

“The conference was due to end this afternoon.  Maybe we should wait until he gets back to make any decisions…”  Molly fretted.  Bill gaped at his mother.  She had always been an incredibly strong woman with a dominant—some might say overbearing—personality and she had never had any trouble making decisions before.  This deference to the Headmaster was new and rather disturbing.

“I’m afraid the Headmaster will be gone a bit longer than anticipated.”  Professor McGonagall was peering closely at Molly Weasley and Bill got the distinct impression that her thoughts were running along the same tracks as his.  “Apparently, Sirius Black managed to flee the country and has successfully petitioned the I.C.W. for a hearing.”

“What?”  Bill was the only one not surprised by the news.  Senior Account Manager Orgut had told him all of this shortly before he’d left the bank to come to the Burrow.

“But he can’t do that.”  Arthur protested.  “He’s not Head of House Black…”

“Yes, he is.”  Bill said, softly.  As one, everyone in his family turned to stare at him.

“But how is that possible?”  Molly asked, slowly.  “The Wizengamot disinherited him.  I remember…”

“The Wizengamot does not have the power to remove someone who is already a Head of House.”  Professor McGonagall’s voice was clipped and Bill got the sense that she was very angry about something.  “Sirius inherited his position when he was thirteen—he was sixteen when his mother petitioned the Wizengamot to have him disowned.”

“But he’s still a convicted murderer!”  Molly said, fiercely.  “He shouldn’t have any rights at all!  He should be…”

“Sirius Black was never convicted.”  Bill said, quietly.

“What?  Don’t talk nonsense, Bill.  Of course he was…”

“He was never given a trial, Mum.”  Bill said, watching her carefully.  The color was draining from her cheeks again and her hands were shaking.

“Perhaps we should return to the subject of Ronald.”  Minerva said, quickly.  “Molly, while I understand your desire to wait for the Headmaster’s return, I’m afraid that time is not on our side.  I do not know how long this hearing is going to take, but I cannot imagine that Albus will return to the castle before the weekend.  I cannot keep Ronald confined to the Hospital wing for that length of time and I believe that he is currently unable to control himself or his actions with regards to Miss Granger.”

“What about Harry?”  Arthur asked, suddenly.  “Maybe he could talk to Ron….get him to see reason.”

“Yes!”  Bill got the impression that his mother was clinging to the idea as if it was a life-line.  “Ron will listen to Harry, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “Harry is quite upset with Ronald right now.  Ginny and the twins told me that, during the confrontation last night, Ronald demanded that Harry cease his friendship with Miss Granger on the spot and, when Harry refused, Ron gave the entire Common Room explicit details about Harry’s wretched home life.  Apparently, he revealed some things that had been told to him in confidence and he stated that Harry deserved every bit of it.  Harry announced that his friendship with Ronald was at an end and Ronald turned to Miss Granger and began accusing her of manipulating Harry.  That’s when he drew his wand.”

“No….no….”  Molly’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she was now shaking so badly she was in danger of falling out of her chair.  “Harry wouldn’t do that.  Dumbledore wouldn’t let that happen….”  Bill exchanged an alarmed look with his father who looked absolutely baffled.  With dawning horror, Bill realized what was happening.  Reaching a snap decision, he released his wand from its holster.

“Stupefy!”  His voice nearly broke as he released the spell and dove to catch his mother before she hit the floor.

“Bill! What….”  His father was on his knees now, Molly’s head cradled in his lap.

“Hang on, Dad.  You can yell at me after I check something.”  Waving his wand, Bill muttered in Arabic for a moment until his mother’s body began to glow.  Molly Weasley’s aura was a deep, mellow gold but there were streaks of black and an ugly purplish green color that reminded Bill of old bruises.

“What is that?”  Arthur gasped.

“Someone’s cursed her!  We need to get her to Gringotts now!”  Bill barked.

An hour later, Bill returned to the Burrow to find Percy, still sitting at the kitchen table, staring morosely into a teacup.  When he caught sight of Bill, Percy half stood, a look of terror on his face.

‘Bill?  Mum….?”

“Mum will be fine.”  Bill waved Percy back into his seat.  “She’s sleeping right now.  The Healers think she’ll wake up in another hour or so, then they’ll give her another round of potions and send her home.  She’ll have to take it easy for a few days, but she’ll be fine.  Is there any tea left in that pot?”

“Er…”  Percy picked up the teapot and shook it experimentally.  “No.”

“Good.”  Grinning, Bill walked into the living room and fetched a bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet that was hidden behind his father’s chair.  “We have an excuse to open this, then.”

“Bill!  That’s…we’re not supposed to….”  Percy sputtered, looking both horrified and fascinated.

“Relax, Percy.”  Bill chuckled, grabbing two glasses on his way back to the table.  “I need to talk to you and Dad said I could open this.”  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two identical flasks that were hardly larger than thimbles.  He handed one to Percy.  “Drink this.”

“What is it?”  Percy eyed the flask with suspicion.

“It’s a hangover prevention potion.”  Bill used his thumb to work the tiny cork out of his own bottle and downed its contents in one swallow.  “You’re never had firewhiskey before, have you?”

“No.”  Percy shook his head. 

“Then trust me when I tell you that you’ll want to drink that potion first.”  Bill gave his brother a challenging look and watched as, with a sigh, Percy uncorked his own bottle and swallowed, grimacing.

“That stuff is awful.”  He complained.

“Don’t worry.”  Bill chuckled as he began pouring out the whiskey.  “This will wash the taste out of your mouth.”  He pushed one glass towards his brother and took a healthy swallow from the other.  “Mum thought she had Banshee Blight, Percy.”  Percy stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his glass and dumped half its contents down his throat.  Bill waited patiently for him to stop coughing before he continued.  “Someone fed her a potion that mimics the symptoms.  Someone made our mother think she was dying, Percy.”

“Who did it?”  Percy’s voice was quiet, but there was a dangerous quality to it that Bill had never heard before.  “Don’t lie to me, Bill.  I know you know who did this.”

“Do you like working at the Ministry?”  Bill asked.  Percy stared at him for a moment.

“What does that have to do with…?”

“Just answer the question, Perce.”. 

“Well…”  Percy stared at his glass before taking another, smaller drink “Until today, I did.”

“What changed today?”

“I….I knew something was wrong when I was talking to the Minister.”  Percy admitted, looking ashamed.  “I knew he shouldn’t be asking me to do those things.  I didn’t know he was asking me to break any laws, mind, but I did know that there had to be a reason why he wasn’t contacting Hermione himself.”

“And?”

“And I chose to ignore my instincts. All I could think about was that I was doing the Minister a favor and that he’d be bound to be grateful and Madam Umbridge suggested I could become Head of my department in a couple of years....  I didn’t think about how it might affect me or Dad.”  Percy sighed.  “That’s one reason I liked working for Mr. Crouch, you know.  I am perfectly well aware that he should have known my name and that he didn’t really appreciate anything I did, but there was absolutely no uncertainty with him, do you know what I mean?  He knew all the laws and rules and he would never have done anything to break or even bend them.  He would never have asked me to do anything like that, either.  After he died….well, I don’t know.  I think a part of me thought I could somehow replace him… that I could become the person that some new hire looked up to as a role model.  Even under Madam Snagsby, I know exactly what I’m supposed to do and I don’t have to….”  He paused and Bill finished his thought for him.

“You don’t have to think for yourself, right?  You don’t have to make decisions because someone else is there with all the rules, telling you what to do and how to act.  Is that it, Percy?”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”  Percy asked, sounding defensive.  “That’s why the laws and rules are there, isn’t it?  So we don’t have to think about whether something is right or wrong….?”

“Grow up, Percy!”  Bill growled.  Percy reared back in shock at the anger in brother’s voice.  “The laws are only as good as the people making them!  You know as well as I do that Lucius Malfoy and his ilk have been pushing laws through the Wizengamot that make it harder and harder for any witch or wizard who isn’t from a pure-blood family to live in Great Britain.  How many of your muggleborn friends and classmates have been able to get jobs here since leaving Hogwarts?”

“Uh…well…”  Percy thought for a minute and then took another drink of whiskey.  “What has any of this got to do with Mum?”

“I’m getting there.”  Bill assured him.  “Now pay attention because you’re only going to get one shot at this.”  Percy leaned forward attentively.  Bill suspected he was already slightly drunk.  “I told you that I’m the factotum for House Pendragon.  Normally, I’d be stepping into a Household that is well established and where there are already experts in place to handle things like the accounting, estate management and all that sort of stuff.  But House Pendragon has been dormant for almost two centuries.  I’m going to have to build it all up from scratch.  I want you to be a part of it, Percy, but only if you can adjust your attitude a bit.”

“You….”  Percy’s mouth moved several times before he finally managed to get sound to come out of it.  “Are you offering me a job?”

“Yes.”  Bill said.  “But, as I said, for this to work, you’re going to need to make some changes.”

“Like what?  What would I need to do?”

“You need to use your brain, Percy.”  Bill said, quietly.  “I know you have one, but you tend to like someone telling what do and what to think.  I need you to be able to make important decisions based on what you think is right and wrong.  I also need you to put your ego and ambition on the back burner.  If you take this job, you will always have to put Miss Granger’s needs and interests before your own.  You have to think about her and how any decision you make will affect her before you think about your family, your friends, Penny…”  Percy opened his mouth but Bill continued before he could interrupt.

“I’m serious, Percy.  I’m not saying you can’t have a personal life—far from it.  I’m just saying you can’t use your connection to Miss Granger to do favors for your friends and family, nor can you use it to give yourself more power or status.  I know you’re angry about Mum, but if you take this job you can’t use your position to help exact revenge if it goes against Miss Granger’s wishes…although I suspect that’s not really going to be an issue in this case.”

“I understand.”  Percy nodded, slowly.  “What else?”

“You have to be a lot more careful about what you say.  When we all went to the Quidditch World Cup, all I heard from you was ‘Mr. Crouch said…’ and ‘Madam Snagsby thinks...’  You cannot do that if you take this job, Percy.  Not even with Mum and Dad or the rest of the family.  Unless Miss Granger or I tell you otherwise, everything you see, hear, or learn on the job is strictly confidential.  You can’t repeat it to anyone.”

“That’s why you haven’t told me who gave Mum that potion.”  Percy breathed.  “This is somehow tied into House Pendragon business.”

“Sort of.”  Bill allowed.  “I’m going to be honest with you, here, Percy.  I’m not just offering you this job because you’re my brother.  You are very clever and you know a lot of things I don’t.  You’ve got a fantastic memory and you’re far better at maths and accounting than I will ever be.   But people aren’t going to understand that.  They’re going to think I’m just giving jobs to my family, and if either of us makes a mistake it will reflect badly on Miss Granger.  She’ll have no choice but to fire both of us to preserve her own reputation and position.  So, if you’re going to take this job, you need to act with the utmost integrity and scrupulousness at all times.”

“I understand.”  Percy said. 

“Do you?”  Bill held his brother’s gaze.

“Yes.”  Percy gave a solemn nod.  “I’m ambitious, but I don’t really want to be in charge.  I’m more interested in being in a position where I can make things better, do you know what I mean?  Anyone who knows Hermione knows she’s not going to put up with the garbage that people like Lucius Malfoy are shoveling through the Wizengamot.  I remember making a remark to Penny last year that Hermione Granger was going to be someone that the old families wouldn’t be able to ignore—and that was before her elevation.  She’s going to be a huge force for change over the next few years and I would love an opportunity to be on the inside from the beginning.  I know it isn’t going to be easy because Hermione doesn’t know how things are done in the Wizarding world, but I also suspect that she has a vision of what our world could be like and I would be honored to help make that vision a reality.”

Bill studied his brother for a moment.  It might have been his imagination (or the firewhiskey) but he had the oddest sense that Percy was a bit more mature now than when the conversation had started.

“All right.”  He said, slowly.  “You’re hired.”

“Brilliant!”  Percy grinned.  “Er….what exactly have I been hired to do?”  Bill laughed and some of the tension left his body.

“For now, let’s say you’re the lead accountant for House Pendragon.”  He said.  “Tomorrow, you’ll need to officially resign your position at the Ministry.  Then, I’ll take you over to Gringotts where you can sign a contract so that everything’s official.  I’ll introduce you to Orgut, the account manager for House Pendragon and House Black….you know that Miss Granger is Heir-Presumptive for House Black, right?”

“Yes.”  Percy nodded. “But why do you keep calling Hermione ‘Miss Granger’, Bill?  You know her…”

“She’s not just Ron and Ginny’s friend anymore, Percy.  She’s Head of a Royal House.”  Bill said.  “Protocol dictates that we address her as Miss Granger or Lady Pendragon until we are invited to call her by her first name.  It’s also proper to refer to her as Miss Granger or Lady Pendragon when speaking of her to others.”

“But it’s just us…”

“It’s best to get in the habit of doing things properly from the start.”  Bill insisted.  That way, we don’t risk slipping up when it matters.”

“Good point.”  Percy said.  “Anyway, yes.  I do know that Her…Miss Granger is Heir-Presumptive of House Black.’

“Orgut will go over all the accounts with you.  One of the problems he mentioned to me is that there are a lot of people who owe House Pendragon a lot of money.  There are businesses that have not paid any dividends on investments and people who haven’t paid rent on their property.  I’m going to need you to figure out what Miss Granger is owed and by whom, and work with the debtors to arrange payment.”

“We’ll probably want to set up some kind of monthly plan.”  Percy looked thoughtful.  “I doubt anyone can come up with that much cash at once and we don’t want to put anyone out of business.  That…wouldn’t look well.”

“Exactly!”  Bill gave his brother an approving nod.  “Additionally, you and I are, between us, going to have to start teaching Miss Granger the basics of estate management, politics, protocol and etiquette.”

“Wow.”  Percy breathed. “How in the Hell is she going to manage all that, Bill?  She’s still got four years at Hogwarts and she’s doing loads more work than anyone else already.”

“Well, that’s why she has us.”  Bill declared, finishing off his drink.  “We’re going to take as much of the burden off her shoulders as possible.  Now, back to your job.  I want you to concentrate on learning the ropes for now.  When we’re all a little more settled and we’ve got a few more people, I think I’m going to put you in charge of monitoring the political situation and keeping Miss Granger informed.  I’ll also want you to try and track down what happened to the properties that were sold without permission.”

“All right.”  Percy finished his own drink and eyed the bottle for a moment, before pushing his glass away.  “Now, will you please tell me who poisoned Mum and what, if anything, we can do about it?”  Bill filled both glasses and pushed Percy’s back towards him.

“Albus Dumbledore poisoned our mother so that he could control her by dangling a cure in front of her.” He said.  “He also modified her memory at least three times.”  Percy downed his drink in one swallow.

**

Hogwarts – Professor Snape’s Office

Friday, September 15

“Close the door and sit down.”  Draco desperately wanted to sneer at the Potions Master; to refuse, or even to turn on his heel and stride out of the office without a word or a backward glance.  This time last week, he would not have bothered to respond to the summons and there would have been little Snape could do about it.  As he did his best to slam the heavy wooden door, Draco seethed.

Before his first year at Hogwarts, his father had told him all about Severus Snape; a nobody, whose father was a filthy Mudblood who had died in Azkaban.  “Despite his lack of breeding, Severus has managed to acquit himself quite well in his chosen field.” The elder Malfoy had cautioned his son.  “For this, he is entitled to a modicum of respect.  What is more, he will be your teacher and Head of House for seven years, so it would be wise not to make an enemy of him.”  Draco had followed his father’s advice for three years, but then everything had changed.

Draco had been present the night that Snape had been reunited with his master.  He had watched the man flailing on the ground, screaming until his throat was raw, as MacNair cursed him and the Dark Lord laughed.  Draco had seen the look of pure disgust on his father’s face and had understood.  Only a person of lesser blood would carry on so.  Only a person of lesser blood would be treated so.  The Malfoys would never be subjected to such humiliation because they were better than the half-blood, who was forced to cast a Scourgify on his robes after he soiled himself.

On his return to Hogwarts, Draco had been prepared to act as if nothing had happened.  After all, there was no need to rub Snape’s hooked nose in his inferiority, but the man simply refused to acknowledge that he was, in fact, Draco’s inferior.  What was worse, Snape had somehow managed to turn the entirety of Slytherin house against him.  The final blow had come during the House meeting on Tuesday morning, when Snape had told everyone that Draco Malfoy was not going to inherit the Black title and fortune.  If anything, his housemate’s reactions made Draco even less inclined to do Snape’s bidding.  What did he care if he lost more points for Slytherin?  What was Slytherin doing for him?

But yesterday, Draco had received a terse and rather cryptic letter from his father.  Only a few lines long, the letter had informed Draco that, due to “changes in circumstance,” he would need to improve his grades, make every effort to befriend Granger, and follow Snape’s instructions to the letter.  Dire, but unspecified, punishment had been threatened for disobedience.  So, Draco had responded to Snape’s summons, full of anger and resentment, but also curiosity.  There was a moment of tense silence before Snape spoke.

“I received letters from both of your parents yesterday.”  He said.  “I must confess that they have put me in a rather…difficult position, as they disagree on the course of action they wish for you to take.  The instructions your father and mother have asked me to pass on to you directly contradict one another.  I have thought long and hard , trying to figure out some way I can honor both of their wishes but, in the end, I feel that this is impossible.  Therefore, I have decided to tell you as much as I can about the situation, relay both sets of orders, and allow you to make the decision yourself.”

“I…see.”  Draco’s anger was gone almost as quickly as it had come.  Not only was Snape not giving him another lecture on discipline and self-control, he was treating Draco with a respect he’d never shown before.  “Go on.”

“Very well.”  Snape sat back and eyed Draco carefully, as if measuring his reactions.  “As I am sure you realize, the revelation that your mother is not Head of House Black has caused quite a few….complications for both your parents.  It is quite possible that your father will be forced to answer to the Wizengamot for acting as Proxy to House Black, when he had no authority to do so.”

“But I thought that the Wizengamot…”

“Yes, yes.”  Snape rolled his eyes.  “The Wizengamot was responsible for the events that led to your mother being named Head of House Black, but now they are facing sanctions from both Gringotts and the International Confederation of Wizards.  They need a scapegoat and that scapegoat is likely to be your father.  To make matters worse, your father used his position as your mother’s proxy to gain access to the Black family vaults.  Since the death of your Great-Aunt Walburga, he has transferred over four million galleons into the Malfoy vaults.  The goblins are threatening to name him a thief unless the money is paid back…with interest.”  Draco’s jaw dropped.   Even he knew that it would be very difficult for his father to come up with that kind of money.

“What….what is he going to do?”

“I’m not entirely certain.”  Snape admitted.  “He cannot sell the Manor, as it is Black family property, but he has some money that has not been seized by the goblins, and some objects that he believes will fetch a good price overseas.  However, since word of his financial difficulties is spreading like wildfire, he may not be able to get as much as he thinks he will.  He has been evicted from the Manor and is currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron while he finds more…affordable accommodations.”

“That explains his orders about Granger.”  Draco murmured, more to himself than to Snape.

“Ah, yes.”  The professor nodded.  “Your father did tell me that he wishes you to befriend her.  I believe he plans to marry the two of you off as soon as you are both of age.  Please…” he added, as Draco started to sputter.  “Let me continue.”  Draco nodded, reluctantly.

“So, as I have said, your father has lost his position on the Wizengamot and owes Gringotts—or, to be more accurate, House Black—a truly staggering sum of money.  Your mother left the country on Monday night and she has no intention of returning any time soon.”

“What?”  Draco blinked, rapidly, not sure how to take this latest piece of news.  “Why?”

“I am not certain, but I suspect that, somehow, she found out what was about to happen and managed to escape before the Dark Lord heard the news.”

“But….how?”  Draco asked, mystified.  “I thought the Dark Lord had people patrolling the ward-line….”

“He does.”  Snape nodded.  “No one knows how she got out, just that she did.  She is in Italy now, where her cousin, Sirius, is standing trial before the International Confederation of Wizards.  If he is exonerated—and I have it on good authority that he will be—she intends to beg him to bring her back into the House of Black, so that she can divorce your father.”  As much as it pained him to do so, Draco had to admit that this was quite a sensible move on his mother’s part.  If she divorced his father and became, once again, an unmarried Daughter of the House of Black, she could return to Britain in relative safety and would not suffer any of the consequences of Lucius’ stupidity.  What was more, if Sirius accepted her back into the family, he would become responsible for her maintenance and Draco was sure his mother would demand to be kept in the style to which she was accustomed.

“Will he do it?  Sirius….will he take her back?”

“I don’t know.”  Snape shrugged.  “I….cannot claim to know him very well, nor do I know what kind of relationship he had with your mother prior to her marriage.”

“And Father?  Does he know about this?”

“Your father knows your mother is gone; her absence was discovered when the Dark Lord ordered that she should bear some of the punishment for your father’s stupidity.  However, I do not know if he knows where she is or what her intentions are.”  Draco nodded.

“Is Father still in disfavor?”  Growing up, Draco had heard stories about the lengths to which his father’s master would go to chastise those who displeased him.  His ire could last for weeks, months, or even years.

“He is.”  Snape nodded.  “However, as your father is still the Dark Lord’s best link to the Minister, he is willing to postpone further reprisals….for now.  As long as your father is useful, the Dark Lord will allow him to remain alive and….relatively unharmed.”

“And….what about me?”  Draco was all too aware of how many of his fellow Slytherins aspired to rise high in the service of the Dark Lord and he suspected that they might attempt to gain favor by visiting the punishment intended for his father onto him.

“The one thing your parents agree on is that you are to remain at Hogwarts—and out of the Dark Lord’s sight—for the remainder of the school year.  You will stay here for the Christmas and Easter holidays and, depending on how events progress, your father may ask me to keep you here for the summer.”  Draco grumbled, but did not protest.  After all, it sounded like he didn’t have anywhere to go.

“So, what do they disagree on, then?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.  “What are these different orders they’ve given you?”

“Your father, as you are aware, wishes you to become friendly with Miss Granger and has asked me to assist you in those endeavors.  I have told him and I am telling you that I will not do this, as it is contrary to our Lord’s wishes.  I have told your father that his plan is….ill conceived.  Not only is Miss Granger highly unlikely to forgive or forget your past treatment of her, but our Lord will not permit the Pendragon legacy to fall into Malfoy hands.”

“Surely he doesn’t intend to debase himself by marrying her….”

“I do not presume to know our Master’s intentions.”  Snape said.  “To continue….though I have advised him otherwise, your father still intends to follow through with his plans.  He has ordered me to tell you that he will be waiting for you in a private room at The Three Broomsticks at noon on September 23rd.  I believe he intends to give you further advice and encouragement at that time.  In the meantime, I am to ensure that you remain on close terms with those members of our house who are loyal to the Dark Lord.”

“And Mother?”  Draco realized that he was fidgeting and sternly forced himself to sit still.  “What does she say?”

“She has asked that I do everything in my power to curtail your father’s influence and to steer you away from our Lord and his followers.”

“But…why?”  Draco asked, his eyes going round.

“Should she succeed in obtaining her cousin’s protection, your mother is going to ask him to extend that same protection to you.  Sirius Black has always been an outspoken opponent of our Lord and his cause, and is unlikely to do as your mother wishes if he believes that you plan on taking the Dark Mark.”  Silence fell again as Draco attempted to make sense of everything he had been told.

“You do not need to make any decisions today.”  Snape said, quietly.  “Both your parents have asked that I advise you, so I will do so, though not in the way I think either of them expects.  My advice to you is this, Draco.  Grow up.”

“What?”  Draco felt anger burning away the fog of shock and confusion.

“Your father’s foolishness has left him—and, by extension, you—penniless and powerless.”  Snape said, quietly.  “When you leave Hogwarts, Lucius will not be able to buy you a prestigious apprenticeship or a cushy job in the Ministry.  With no money and a ruined name, the only thing you can offer a Master or employer is your education and your willingness to work.  I advise you to spend the remainder of your time at Hogwarts applying yourself to your studies and thinking long and hard about what you want from life and how you want to go about getting it.”

“But…but I’m a Pure-blood.”  Draco protested.  “Surely that must count for something….”

“So are the Weasleys.”  Snape pointed out.  “As much as it pains me to do so, I must point to Bill and Percy Weasley as examples on which you should model yourself.  Bill was Head Boy and was hired by Gringotts right out of Hogwarts.  I trust you know how difficult it is for a human—particularly one with little or no work experience—to get a job with the bank?”  Draco nodded.  “Bill has just been promoted to the highest position a human can hold within Gringotts.  Though I do not know what his salary is, I believe he will be making at least twice what his father makes at the Ministry.  Percy was also Head Boy, as you know, and obtained one of the most prestigious entry level positions in the Ministry less than two weeks after he graduated.  Neither of them bought their way into the jobs they hold and, though Percy’s father is a Ministry employee, it is highly doubtful that Arthur exercised any real influence on his son’s behalf.  They both earned those jobs and it is likely they were only even considered because of the marks they earned on their N.E.W.T.s and the positions of authority they held while at Hogwarts.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  Draco asked.  “None of the other teachers will grade me fairly…they all hate me…”

“Enough!”  Snape snapped.  “This…this…is exactly what I mean.  You barely put any effort into my class and I have heard from your other teachers that you don’t even do that much in theirs.  You were injured in Care of Magical Creatures last year because you blatantly disregarded Professor Hagrid’s explicit instructions.  Were your father still in a position of influence, I might have allowed him to persuade me to make you a Prefect next year, but as things currently stand, the position will go to Zabini.  Even if you were made Prefect, there is no way the other Heads of House would agree to name you Head Boy.  If you want those positions, you will need to earn them.”  Standing abruptly, Snape pulled two scrolls off the top of a pile of parchment and shoved them at Draco. 

“What are these?”  Draco eyed the scrolls warily.

“Letters to you from your parents.  They are both concerned that if they write to you directly, their letters will be intercepted, so I have agreed to act as an intermediary.  Your next class starts in twenty minutes.”  And with that, Draco found himself ushered out into the hall and left, once again, to his own devices.

Chapter Text

The Burrow

Friday, Sept. 15

On a typical Friday, Percy spent his day in the office, came home for a quick shower and change of robes, then then met his girlfriend, Penny, for dinner and a Muggle movie.  This Friday, however, found him sitting at the kitchen table with no plans to leave it any time soon. Bill was busy, attending to House Pendragon business, but they had both agreed that at least one of them should be at the Burrow when their parents and Ron returned from St. Mungo’s.  Ron had come home from Hogwarts Thursday afternoon and had been immediately whisked away to the hospital.  Though their mother was now a huge fan of goblin healing and would have preferred to take her son to Gringotts, Percy had been forced to remind her that if, as they suspected, Ron was acting under the influence of some spell or potion, any evidence collected by the goblins would be dismissed as “tainted.”

Percy had taken Penny to breakfast that morning to tell her about his sudden career change.  He’d been terrified that she wouldn’t want to date him now that he was no longer a Ministry employee, and was astonished when she squealed with delight and hugged him almost as tight as his mother.

“Oh, Percy!  I’m so pleased.”  She gushed.  “To be honest, I was getting very worried about you.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”  She nodded.  “Over the past few months, you’ve been so eager to become a good Ministry man that you were losing a lot of the heart and soul that I fell in love with.”

“Oh Penny…”  Percy felt tears well up in his eyes.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“At first, I thought it was…you know…just a phase.  You had just started your new job and you were so eager to fit in.  I thought that you would calm down after a few weeks and things would go back to normal.  But you just seemed to be drifting further and further away from me….” Penny drew in a deep breath and Percy clutched at her hand.

“I’ll never leave you.” He said, vehemently.  “I’m out of the Ministry, I promise.”

“But what will you do now?” she asked, worried.  Percy grinned.  Now that he knew she wasn’t upset about his leaving the Ministry, he was certain she’d be pleased with the next piece of news.

“I’m going to be working for my brother, Bill….”  Penny had gasped and hugged him again, much to the amusement of the other diners.  Percy had told her what he could about his new position, explaining that he would be unusually busy for a little while and might not be able to see her as often as either of them wished.  Penny had been very understanding and supportive and, by the end of their meal, she had given him good reason to hope that in a few months, when things had calmed down, she might be open to a proposal of marriage.

Marriage was the furthest thing from Percy’s mind as he slowly paged through another ledger, making notes as he went.  He had spent the morning at the bank, most of it in the temporal chamber with Orgut.  Fortunately, the goblin had decided that Percy didn’t need as much training as Bill, and their time had been spent bringing Percy up to speed on the many financial holdings and investments of House Pendragon.  After leaving the temporal chamber, Orgut had set Percy the task of going through the accounts for the Hogwarts Trust.  Lacking an office of his own, Percy had brought the ledgers home and set to work.  It was now nearly eight o’clock and Percy stared at the column of figures in front of him, feeling deeply disturbed.

He had been astonished to discover that, contrary to everything he had been taught at school, Hogwarts had not been founded by….well, the Founders.  Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin had, in fact, been the first teachers.  It was true that the school had been their idea but, lacking money and influence, they had approached the House of Pendragon for patronage.  The Head of House at the time—one Theodric—had donated the castle and the land on which it sat and, he and his descendants had established the Hogwarts Trust. 

The Trust was set up to defray the expenses of running the school: teachers’ salaries, maintenance of the buildings and grounds, and the costs of keeping the wards and Muggle-repellant charms up to date.  Ideally, the Trust was meant to be used to cover all the costs of running the school, so that a good, free magical education could be provided to every witch and wizard in Britain.  Down through the centuries, every Head of House Pendragon had contributed to the Trust and the goblins had taken great pains to invest the funds wisely.  The only thing that Theodric and his descendants required in return for their generosity was a permanent seat on the Hogwarts Council, which had eventually become the Board of Governors.

Near the end of her life Liza Pendragon, the last magical member of the family, instructed the goblins to transfer almost all the family’s liquid assets into the Trust.  Despite the vagaries of both the wizarding and muggle economies, Percy could see that the goblins’ investments had paid substantial dividends and, managed properly, those dividends should have been more than sufficient to keep the school going well into the next millennium.  Liza Pendragon had died in 1789 and, since then, it appeared that no one had been paying close attention to how the Trust was being used. 

This lack of oversight had led to increasing amounts of graft and corruption.  The Board of Governors had voted themselves salaries in the early 1820s and those salaries had doubled, then doubled again over the next fifty years and continued to rise steadily since.  These days, Governors made more than most of the Ministry’s department heads. Even worse, Percy had discovered that regular payments had gone from the Trust to the past five Ministers of Magic and both Armand Dippet and Albus Dumbledore had received two salaries: one as Headmaster and one as a member of the Board of Governors.  Worst of all, enormous sums of money had simply started disappearing about thirty years ago—around the same time Hogwarts had started charging tuition. 

The Trust was almost completely depleted now and Percy couldn’t find any records of who had taken the money, or what it had been used for.  It certainly hadn’t been used to update the wards which, as far as Percy could tell, hadn’t been given a thorough going over by the goblins in nearly fifty years.  Nor had the money gone to staff salaries.  The number of teachers at the school was almost half now what it had been in the early 1960s, and no one, save the Headmaster, had received a raise in the past decade.

As he closed one ledger and reached for another, Percy heard the Floo chime.  Quickly, he rolled up the parchment he had been making notes on and began shoving the ledgers into his new, bottomless, featherlight satchel.  Percy couldn’t help but stroke the bag’s smooth, buttery leather.  He had spent most of his savings on this one item, but he felt that it was worth every penny.  Besides, with his new salary, he’d be able to replace the funds in under a month.

Percy’s thoughts were interrupted as his father stepped into the room. 

“Dad!”  Percy didn’t like the worn, unhappy expression on his father’s face.  “What happened?  Where are Mum and Ron?  Have the Healers told you anything?”

“Your mother and Ron will be here in a moment.”  Arthur said in what Percy suspected was supposed to be a reassuring voice.  Frowning, he watched as his father Summoned two Calming Draughts from the family’s medical supply cupboard.  “Your mother has a report from the Healers, but we had to….er….skim over the details at the hospital.  They were upsetting her.  We do know that someone definitely tampered with Ron’s mind.”

“Dumbledore?”

“That’s our best guess, though I don’t think we will be able to get any concrete evidence.”  Arthur nodded.  “Fortunately, the Director of the hospital takes a rather dim view of anyone on staff violating patient confidentiality and, after Ragnok’s warning, put every single Healer, mediwitch and –wizard, and orderly through a rigorous vetting process and made them all swear new, magically binding oaths.  It’s unlikely Dumbledore will find out that Ron was even there.”

“Is all the secrecy really necessary?” 

“Until we can find some way to protect ourselves from that….animal….I think it’s best that we not draw attention to the fact that we know what he’s been up to.” Percy had rarely seen such a look of determination on his father’s face.

“Does Ron know?”

“He knows that something was done to him, but we haven’t mentioned Dumbledore by name.  Whether or not he’s guessed anything….?”  Arthur shrugged just as the Floo chimed twice.  Soon both Molly and Ron were in the kitchen.

“Hello Mum.  Hello, Ron.”  While he had been talking to his father, Percy had been tidying up his work, so the table was now clear of anything that might trigger a negative response from his youngest brother.  “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”  Ron announced.  “When’s dinner?”

“Ronald, you just ate an hour ago!” their mother scolded.  As she bent to kiss her husband, she handed him an envelope.  “Hello, Percy dear.  Have you eaten yet?”

“I had breakfast with Penny and a late lunch at the bank.”  Percy did his best to ignore his mother’s happy little gasp.  She adored Penny and had made no secret of the fact that she expected them to marry and produce grandchildren at the earliest opportunity. 

 “Sit down, son.  We need to talk.”  At Arthur’s words, the mood instantly turned sober again.  With a loud sigh, Ron threw himself into a chair.  Percy watched as his father opened the envelope and scanned its contents.  It was his turn to sigh.  “Ron, what did the healers tell you?”

“They said that someone gave me potions to make me behave.”  Ron admitted.

“That’s not quite accurate, dear.”  His mother chided him.  “They told him that the potions he was given enhanced certain aspects of his character while suppressing others.”  Percy saw his father read the letter again and watched as his jaw tightened.  Wordlessly, he downed one of the Calming Draughts in one swallow.

“Arthur?”  Molly gave him a worried look. 

“One for each of us.”  He said, curtly, as he held out the second bottle.   She sighed, swallowed her own potion and then sat down.  “All right, Arthur.  What is it?”

“The Healer says that Ron was fed four potions.  One was a modified version of a Calming Draught.  It was created to help people control their tempers and other negative emotions, but the version Ron was fed suppressed those emotions almost entirely.  Two potions were a modified version of Amortentia.  They were not meant to inspire romantic love, but rather the kind of love one would feel towards one’s family or very close friends.  One was targeted towards Harry Potter and the other was targeted towards Hermione Granger.  The fourth potion was designed to correct certain chemical imbalances caused by prolonged exposure to the first three.  Ron’s been getting the Calming potion and the Amortentia targeted towards Harry since September 1991, the Amortentia targeted towards Hermione since January 1992 and the corrective potion since September, 1992.  In addition, Ron has been Obliviated…..”  Percy watched his father blanch as he stared at the parchment.  “thirty four times!”

Percy winced.  “Potions like those would have to be administered on a regular basis.  Probably once a month or so.  Whoever fed them to him must have blocked his memory after he took each dose.”

“Makes sense.”  Ron shrugged.  “I don’t remember taking any of that stuff.  I don’t know why anyone would want me to fall in love with Harry….”

“You weren’t supposed to….never mind.”  Percy gave his wand an irritated flick and Banished his bag to his room.

“Ron, the Healer says that all the potions have been successfully flushed from your system, but that there have been too many memory blocks put up to make extracting any one memory possible.”  Arthur continued.  “She says that your behavior of late is due to your body and mind beginning to reject the potions.  Your mind and magic understood that they weren’t natural and were fighting back.  However, you’ve been using them for so long that you will need to re-learn how to handle your negative thoughts and emotions in an appropriate way.  She recommends that we keep you away from Harry and Hermione while you figure out how you really feel about them.”

“Well, Minerva did suggest that we keep Ron out of school for the remainder of the term.”  Molly pointed out.  “As far as I’m concerned, this confirms what a good idea that was.”  Percy marveled at the power of the Calming Draught.

“But that’s almost three months!”  Ron protested.  “What am I supposed to do for all that time?”

“You can help me with the children.”  His mother told him.  “That will be good practice in controlling your temper.”

“And you have assignments to do.” His father reminded him.  “I’ll get a special permit from the Ministry, so you can practice your Charms and Transfiguration at home.  I’m sure Mr. Lovegood will let you work in his garden, so that takes care of Herbology, and you can brew potions right here in the kitchen.  Amos Diggory’s got a capital viewing platform, so there’s Astronomy….what else?”

“Defense, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic, and Divination.”  Percy supplied, ignoring Ron’s glare.  “History of Magic’s easy enough—just read the book.”

“And Divination’s rubbish—at least the way they teach it at Hogwarts.”  Molly sniffed.  “I’ve heard the way the boys talk about Sibyl Trelawney and she sounds exactly like Cassandra Vablatsky—she taught the subject when your father and I were at school.”

“I don’t know what we’ll do about DADA or Care.”  Arthur admitted.  “But we’ll figure something out.  The important thing, Ron, is that you are going to do your assignments and you are going to do them properly.  You will help your mother with the children and you can help me with some chores around the house.  Most of all, you are going to have to learn how to deal with your anger and your jealousy.  The Healer says that you may have some issues since they’ve been suppressed for so long.”

“This is pointless.”  Ron whined.  “Why can’t I just go back to Hogwarts?”

“Ron,” Percy said, casting a sideways glance at his father.  “What would you say if I told you that Bill and I are working for Miss Granger now?”

“Who?”  Ron looked puzzled for a moment, then his face flushed with anger.  “You mean Hermione?  You’re working for her?”

“Yes.”  Percy said, privately wondering if Ron should have also been given a Calming Draught.   “Bill is her factotum and I’m handling her accounts.”

“But…you can’t!”  Ron sputtered.  “That…it’s not right!  It’s not fair!”’

“What’s not fair?” Percy asked, nettled.  “They’re good jobs and both Bill and I have worked…”

“You worked?”  Ron sneered.  “You wouldn’t have those fancy jobs if it wasn’t for me.  I’m the one who’s had to put up with that swotty, know-it-all bitch for years…”

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!”  Clearly, the Calming Draught had worn off because Molly’s face was bright red and her shout rattled the windows.

“Molly…”  Arthur put a restraining hand on his wife’s arm.  She glanced at her husband, then closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

 “Ron, go upstairs and go to bed.” She finally said, quietly.  “We’ll talk again after you’ve had a chance to think about things and after you’ve had a proper night’s sleep.” 

“But what about dinner?”  Ron whined.

“Now, Ron!” Arthur snapped.  Ron started in surprise, then scurried out of the kitchen.  When they heard his bedroom door slam shut, Percy sat back in his chair and sighed with relief. 

“This is not going to be pleasant, is it, Arthur?”  Molly sighed.

“No, dear.  I daresay it is not.”  Percy was in total agreement with his parents.

**

Snug Harbor – The home of Ted, Andromeda, and Nymphadora Tonks

Friday Sept. 15

“Ah, you must be Mr. Weasley.  Please, do come in.”  Andromeda Tonks gave the young man an appraising look.  He was certainly handsome enough and, as he grew older, he bid fair to become even more so.  However, the long hair, the dragon-fang earring and the utilitarian robes would have to go.  Sternly reminding herself that she was in no position to tell anyone what was and was not proper—not yet, anyway—she ushered him into the living room and bade him take a seat in Ted’s favorite leather chair.

“Thank you for coming to see me.” She began, after ensuring that he was comfortable and had been provided with a cup of tea.  “I realize that you must have a great many things to do, so I’ll come straight to the point.  I do not know if you are aware of this, but my cousin, Sirius, has restored my name to the Black family rolls.”  The young man nodded.

“Miss Granger did inform me that he was working on doing so.”  Andromeda noted that his expression never wavered from being that of polite interest and that he offered no further information or opinions.  Good.  The boy must have had some training with the goblins.

“I received a letter from Miss Granger, shortly before the news arrived from the bank, and I found her to be a polite and charming young woman.”  Andromeda continued.  “However, if I may be quite frank, she is clearly unprepared for the role our society will expect her to play.”  She saw the faintest flash of annoyance before the young man’s face returned to its bland expression.

“How so?” he asked.

“Please understand that I do not mean to criticize Miss Granger.”  Andromeda said, soothingly.  “It is only that it was obvious to me, as it will be to others, that Miss Granger has had no training in the forms and niceties used by wizard-kind.  It is really a shame that such things are no longer taught at Hogwarts.”

“They taught that stuff at Hogwarts?”  Andromeda was amused by the young man’s surprise.  “I had to learn it from my horrible Auntie Muriel.”  He scowled briefly, before blushing and looking rather sheepish.  “My apologies, Madam Tonks.”

“It’s quite all right.”  She smiled at him.  “I had a horrible Auntie Walburga. I believe that such women are why the classes are no longer taught at Hogwarts.  Those from Wizarding families learn these sorts of lessons from their horrible aunties and those who were born or raised in the Muggle world are left to figure things out for themselves.”

“You think it’s a deliberate attempt to…what?  Discriminate against muggleborns?”

“I think it is more likely that whoever made the decision to cancel those classes wanted to ensure that muggleborns are always easily identifiable.”  She said.  “Simply by addressing me as Mrs. Tonks, rather than as Madam Tonks, Miss Granger betrayed her origins.  Ordinarily, her lack of knowledge might present challenges to her obtaining a decent job, but the obstacles would not be insurmountable; particularly as she is, I understand, quite a gifted young witch.  However, in her present circumstances, I’m afraid that even a slight breach of etiquette, no matter how unintentional, could have disastrous consequences.”

“I know.”  The young man nodded and Andromeda was slightly worried by the slump in his shoulders.  “I’m going to talk to Auntie Muriel to see if she’d be willing to teach Miss Granger, but she can be rather….horrible.  Aunt Muriel, that is.  Not Miss Granger.”

“Your aunt would be Muriel Prewett, yes?”  Andromeda asked, keeping her voice light and casual. “I know her.  She’s an excellent woman, but I have never known her to be a particularly patient one, especially when she is dealing with children. However, I believe that I may have a solution to the problem that will be more comfortable for all involved.  In her letter, Miss Granger mentioned that Sirius recommended me to her as an expert on etiquette, deportment, and social politics.  She asked for any advice I might give her and I am certainly happy to impart whatever small wisdom I may have on these subjects.”  Andromeda paused to be sure she had his full attention “It occurs to me, however, that there is another, more substantive way that I might be of assistance.  Tell me, has Miss Granger a Chaperone?”  She had to hide a smile at the young man’s dumbstruck expression.  His professional mask had completely slipped by this point and, though she would have to work with him on maintaining it, his inexperience worked to her advantage.

“I…ah….she’s only fourteen.” He protested. 

“It is my understanding that she turns fifteen next week.”  Andromeda had shamelessly used Ted’s contacts at the Ministry to obtain that information, though the woman in the Department of Education had not been able to give her much information beyond than the Granger girl’s Hogwarts House, birth date and class standing.  “While most respectable witches and wizards do consider that to be too young to begin formal courtships, there are some….unscrupulous sorts who may try to take advantage of Miss Granger’s youth and ignorance of our customs to trap her into courtship, or even an engagement, without her knowledge or against her will.”

 “I hadn’t thought about that.”  The young man sighed and was silent for a few moments, obviously lost in thought.  Andromeda simply watched him, more and more pleased with what she saw.  It was clear that William Weasley had inherited the best qualities of both of his parents.  He had all his father’s quiet charm and dignity without the older man’s diffidence and he had his mother’s confidence and spirit, without her temper or overbearing nature.  That he had obtained a job at Gringotts just out of Hogwarts spoke to his intelligence and that he had been put in such an exalted position at such a young age spoke to his inelligence and ambition.  He was grossly inexperienced, it was true, but if he let her, she was more than willing to guide him through the treacherous waters of magical England’s social seas.

“Forgive my rudeness,” He said at last.  “but I must ask: What would you expect in return for this service?”  Andromeda sat back, surprised but pleased by the question.

“As you already know, my father disowned me when I married Ted.  Naturally, this meant that I was persona non grata in certain social circles.”  She chose her words carefully.  She didn’t dare lie to him, but she needed to spin the truth in such a way that she didn’t sound too self-serving.  “Once I was no longer in the center of those circles, I was able to take a more objective look at them and at our society as a whole.  I did not like what I saw.  The Blacks are an ancient and honorable house and my ancestors have done many things that have benefitted both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds.  Did you know that my great-great grandfather, Cadmus Black was the inventor of the Skele-Gro potion?  Or that Phyllidia Black, one of my more remote ancestors, was part of the delegation that convinced King William to ratify the Statute of Secrecy?”

“I did not know that.”  William shifted in his seat, obviously slightly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

“Few people do.”  Andromeda gave a delicate shrug.  “Between that wretched excuse for History of Magic taught at Hogwarts and the actions of certain family members from my parents’ generation and my own, the Black name has become synonymous with bigotry, entitlement and intolerance.  When people speak of my family, they do not speak of Cadmus or Phyllidia.  Rather, they speak of my insane aunt Walburga and my equally insane sister, Bellatrix; both devoted followers of a self-styled lord whose only goal seems to have been the total destruction of everything we hold dear!”  Andromeda realized that she was coming perilously close to shouting and paused, taking a deep breath.

“My apologies, Mister Weasley.  My family’s name and reputation mean a great deal to me and it saddens and angers me how badly both have been tarnished.  To return to my point, Miss Granger is Heir-Presumptive of my House and may very well be its Head one day.  Even if Sirius has children of his own or decides to name another Heir, she will still be a prominent member of our family.  While I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, I have heard enough to know that she will bring honor to our House and will do a great deal to repair what has been damaged.  However, if she is not properly trained and prepared to meet the demands that society will place on her, she may unwittingly do more harm than good.”

“I see.”  William Weasley sat back in his chair and gazed at her for a moment.  “And the fact that you have a daughter of marriageable age who might benefit…”  He broke off as Andromeda began to laugh.

“You have not met my daughter, have you, Mr. Weasley?”  He shook his head.  “My ‘Dora is a bright, beautiful young witch who despises the very idea of Society and the marriage market.  She is an Auror-Cadet who is far happier chasing down a criminal than primping and preparing for a party.”

“Sorry.”  The young man blushed.  “What, exactly, would you do as Miss Granger’s Chaperone?  Forgive me if I’m asking a stupid question, but as I am not a girl, my aunt never discussed such things with me and my sister is still a bit too young to require a Chaperone, so I doubt anyone has talked to her about it either.”

“Of course.”  Andromeda smiled at him.  “Well, a Chaperone typically serves as a buffer against unwanted attention and as a guardian of a young lady’s virtue and reputation at public events.  Given Miss Granger’s unusual circumstances, I would like to propose that, in addition to these tasks, I act as her social secretary—handling correspondence, arranging her schedule, that sort of thing—at least until she has completed her education.  I realize that, as her factotum, that is technically your responsibility, but…”

“I’ll be the first to admit that I’d be completely hopeless at that sort of thing.”  William said, quickly.

“Very well.  Since Miss Granger is, in the eyes of the Wizarding world, an orphan, as her official Chaperone, I would be expected to train her to the highest standards of proper dress, deportment and etiquette.  I would also…” she hesitated “like to ensure all members of her household meet those same standards.”  William grimaced.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he sighed.

“And the earring.”  She gave him an apologetic smile.  “You might also want to consider some sort of livery…”

“My brother, Percy…he’s acting as my assistant and chief Accountant for House Pendragon…has already spoken to the tailors at Twifitt and Tattings about that.”  William said, quickly.

“Good.”  Andromeda nodded.  “Well, what do you think about my proposal?”

“I’m all for it.”  William said, seriously “But the final decision will have to be Miss Granger’s.  I hope she’ll agree, but I cannot speak for her.”

“Of course.”  Andromeda gave a gracious nod.  “Will you be speaking to her soon, or should I write to her?”

“I think it’s probably best if I speak to her.”  William said.  “Miss Granger is a very remarkable young woman and has already made great strides in adapting to Wizarding culture, but there is still so much she doesn’t know.  From what I understand, Muggles stopped regularly using Chaperones over a hundred years ago and she may feel that the idea is a bit…old-fashioned.  I will need to explain to her about the necessity of having a Chaperone and the kinds of trouble she is liable to get into if she doesn’t have one.”

“I understand.  Please do let her know that I will be happy to give her whatever instruction or advice she needs, even if she decides she doesn’t want a Chaperone.”

“I will.”  He promised.  “I’ll actually be meeting her for the first time later this afternoon—well, for the first time as her factotum, that is.”

“Oh?  You’ve met before?”  Andromeda arched an eyebrow. 

“Yes.  She is very good friends with my…sister and is in the same year as my youngest brother.”  She noticed the slight hitch in his voice as he said this and wondered what had caused it.  “She spent two weeks at our house this summer.”

“Will you be based in Hogsmeade while Miss Granger is at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”  William smiled.  “With Miss Granger’s permission, I am purchasing a house in the village for her use.  I expect that we will be connected to the Floo network by tomorrow afternoon, at which point, I will make that my permanent residence.  I’d like to arrange for you to have your meetings with her there.”

“Not at the castle?  Surely there is plenty of room…”  Andromeda stopped speaking as she saw a dark cloud fall over William’s features. 

“Please understand, Madam Tonks, that I mean you no disrespect, but there are some things I cannot tell you until you have officially been offered the position of Chaperone.”  William paused, frowning.  “Though I feel that I must warn you that, should you become Miss Granger’s Chaperone, there is a possibility that you and your family could receive some…unwanted attention.”

“You mean that there are those who might wish to exert pressure on me to influence Miss Granger.”

“Yes.”  Bill said.  “There are also those who do not want to allow a muggleborn to hold such an exalted position in our society and will go to great lengths to remove her from it.”

“I see.”  Andromeda’s mind raced.  She knew exactly the sort of people he was talking about; people like her despicable brother-in-law, Lucius Malfoy and his ilk.  She and Ted had been targets during the first war and, with a start, Andromeda realized that if she followed through with her plans, she’d be making them targets again.  Was she prepared to risk her life—and, more importantly, those of her husband and daughter—to be some stranger’s tutor and social secretary? 

As she had done her whole life, Andromeda made a mental list of the pros and cons.  On the one hand, becoming Hermione Granger’s Chaperone would mean that she and her family would suddenly find themselves moving in Wizarding Britain’s most politically and socially powerful circles.  It would do wonders for Ted’s career and could only help ‘Dora in her quest to become a Senior Auror-Investigator.  There was also the family to consider; the passion she had expressed earlier to restore the name of Black was genuine.  All this had to be weighed against the very real possibility that she would be putting her family in danger.  Andromeda considered this carefully.  She and Ted had faced similar troubles before in the first war and, though people often said Ted looked as though a stiff breeze might carry him off, he had received an ‘Outstanding’ on his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. and had done quite well for himself on the American dueling circuit the summer after he’d finished Hogwarts.  While certainly not at her husband’s level, Andromeda was confident that she could take care of herself in a fight and ‘Dora was a fully trained Auror.

“I thank you for your warning.” She said, at last.  “I do think it is best to know the potential consequences of one’s decisions before making them.  However, my mind is unchanged.  I will be glad to be Miss Granger’s Chaperone, if she will have me.”  Young Weasley’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief. 

“Thank you.”  He said. “I’m afraid I must also ask you not to speak about this to anyone until I have had a chance to discuss this with Miss Granger.”

“Of course.” She nodded.  “I assume that, should I be given the position, I will need to sign a magically binding Contract that includes a Confidentiality clause?”

“Yes.  I… Hang on.”  William’s head tilted slightly and Andromeda could see that he’d just had an idea.  “Your husband is a solicitor, isn’t he?”

“He is.”  Andromeda’s heart skipped a beat.  Ted was very ambitious and extremely good at his job.  Were it not for the fact that he was a muggleborn, she had no doubt that he would be the premier solicitor in the country.  Ted didn’t do too badly for himself, but handling the legal affairs of House Pendragon…  She had to blink to clear the rosy visions of the future from her eyes.

“That is….”  With an effort, William stopped himself from saying anything more, but Andromeda was perfectly capable of finishing the sentence.  “…exactly what we need.” 

“Did you wish to speak with him?”  Andromeda was pleased at how…ordinary she sounded.  To sound too eager now could cost her everything.

“I do.”  William nodded.  Andromeda stood and picked up one of Ted’s business cards from the pile they kept on the mantel.  William stood, took the proffered card, and carefully stowed it in a moleskin wallet.  “Thank you.  As I said, I’ll be speaking with Miss Granger this evening.  I’ll let you know what she thinks tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”  Andromeda was beaming as she ushered her guest towards the front door.

**

Hogwarts – Severus Snape’s Private Quarters

Tuesday, September 19

“Master Snape!  Master Snape!”  Severus groaned as the elf’s high-pitched voice penetrated his consciousness.

“I’m awake, Tippi.  What is it?”

“It is the Headmaster, sir.  He is wanting you in his office.  The password is being ‘Blood Lolly.’”

“What time is it?”

“It is being three-thirty, sir.”

“Thank you, Tippi.  Please tell him I will be there in ten minutes….and have some tea ready for me when I arrive.”

“Yes, sir.  Tippi is making your special blend to help you wake up.”

“Thank you, Tippi.”  Severus said with feeling.  The little elf was, he was convinced, a gift from the gods.  Precisely ten minutes later, he stalked into the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Severus, my boy.  So good of you to join me.”  Albus sat behind his desk, beaming and looking fresh as a daisy.

“I had a choice?”  Severus neither expected, nor received, an answer to the question.  “Did you just get back?”

“Yes.”  Albus gave a dramatic sigh.  “I left by Portkey just after dinner.”  Severus arched an eyebrow.

“You didn’t use one of the Gringotts portals?”

“No.”  Dumbledore scowled.  “Ragnok has given orders that I am not to be permitted to set foot on goblin soil.”  They were interrupted by the arrival of Tippi, bearing a tray loaded down with tea things.  Dumbledore frowned.  “I didn’t order…”

“It’s for me, Headmaster.”  Snape said, carefully allowing just a hint of his anger and exasperation to bleed into his voice.  “I was fast asleep when you summoned me.”

“Oh.”  Dumbledore blinked.  “I see.  Well, then drink up!  We have much to discuss and I have several tasks for you.”  Severus made no attempt to hide his irritation as he prepared what he was sure would be the first of many cups of tea.  As he deliberated over every step, he took the opportunity to reinforce his mental shields.  When he was satisfied, he took a sip, then sat back in his chair.

“Well?”

“To begin with, I must tell you that Sirius Black has been exonerated by the I.C.W.”

“What?”  Snape spat.  “How is that possible?”  It was easy to feign the righteous indignation of an ill-treated teenager; after all, he encountered the real thing on a daily basis.

“As you are well aware, Sirius managed to escape the Ministry last spring and I was able to smuggle him into France.  I sent him to stay at a farm belonging to a friend of mine.  Unfortunately, this friend was not as…reliable as I had hoped and he attempted to sell Sirius to the Ministry.  Sirius managed to escape, but that imbecile Fudge had Aurors and Dementors running all over France looking for him without going through proper channels.”

“Oh dear.”  Severus didn’t bother to hide his smirk. 

“Indeed.  Sirius contacted me from a Muggle fireplace the next morning, but before I could direct him to another safe house, the Muggles who owned the house showed up.  After that, he disappeared.  I didn’t hear from him again until Wednesday afternoon when he arrived in the Halls of Unity to accuse Great Britain of violating the Geneva Charter.”

“The man was in Azkaban for twelve years.”  Severus snorted.  “Surely, no one took him seriously.”

“Unfortunately, at some point during the time for which I cannot account, Sirius managed to make his way to the goblins.  They claim to have performed some kind of Mind Healing on him.”

“So?”  Severus shrugged.  He was rather enjoying this conversation, since he already knew everything Albus was telling him.  “They’re only goblins.  No one will believe them capable of such things.”

“Sadly, some of the member countries of the I.C.W. still persist in humoring the goblins’ claims that they can perform the old magics.”  Dumbledore gave a sad little sigh.  Severus snorted and the old man looked faintly pleased.  Of course, he had no way of knowing that he was the object of the Potions Master’s scorn, not the goblins or the I.C.W..  “As Head of an Ancient and Most Noble House, Sirius does, technically, have the right to bring such a petition before the I.C.W. and, despite my best efforts, I was unable to dismiss the matter or even postpone the hearing until the next session.”

“So, I suppose the mutt will be strutting down Diagon Alley, waving his money at every woman under the age of seventy.”  Severus didn’t have to feign his anger at this.  He accepted that Sirius was not responsible for Lily’s death and he was even willing to forgive the man’s attempt to get him killed—twelve years with the Dementors seemed a fitting punishment—but he still heartily disliked Black and was not looking forward to having to deal with him again.

“No.”  Dumbledore shook his head.  “I will be taking steps to ensure that the Ministry continues to treat Black as a criminal.  First thing in the morning, you are to go to Tom and tell him what has happened.  Tom knows that Black will never serve him and, given the opportunity will throw all the resources at his disposal behind Harry Potter.  It should not take much effort on your part to convince him to use his influence at the Ministry…”

“Pardon me, Headmaster, but there are things you do not yet know which might have some bearing on this.”  In the event Severus obtained information that might affect Dumbledore’s plans, the Headmaster had ordered him to share it as soon as possible.  In this case, Severus had no qualms about doing so.

“Oh?”

“How much do you know about the recent elevation of Hermione Granger?”

“I saw the initial announcement in the Prophet.  I read the follow-up articles, but I didn’t see any new information in those.”  Severus nodded in understanding and proceeded to tell Dumbledore all about Lucius Malfoy’s rather spectacular downfall and the investigation into both his and Fudge’s financial activities.  Frowning, Dumbledore sat back in his chair and popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

“What does Tom say about all of this?” he asked.

“As I am sure you can imagine, he is….displeased with Lucius.  However, Lucius is still useful to him, so he cannot be too forceful with his punishments.  It might interest you to know that Narcissa has left the country.”

“Has she?”  Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose.

“She has gone to Italy to try and convince Black to take her back into the family, so that she can divorce Lucius.”

“I see.”  Dumbledore frowned.  “And what does young Draco make of all of this?”

“I’m not entirely certain.”  Snape admitted.  “I have explained the situation and relayed his parents’ wishes to him, but I do not know what he will do.”

“He will need to be watched.”  Severus took a sip of tea while he firmly tamped down the urge to roll his eyes.  “What about Fudge?  Will Tom intervene to save him or does he have another candidate in mind for Minister of Magic?”

“While he has not spoken to me about these matters, I believe he is working to keep Fudge in office.  I do not know if he will succeed.  Since the goblins are in the process of seizing the vaults of most of his wealthiest Death Eaters, the Dark Lord will not be able to bribe his way to victory—unless, of course, he chooses to spend his own money.”

 “Hmm.”  Dumbledore nodded, thoughtfully.  “Have the Aurors arrested Lucius?”

“Not yet.”  Snape said.  “Lucius believes that the goblins have persuaded Amelia Bones to give him the opportunity to repay the debt before demanding that he be brought up on charges.  He has until Yule.”

“Is he still close to Cornelius?” Snape shrugged.

“He says he is, but I suspect that Fudge has gotten wind of Lucius’ predicament and is doing his best to put distance between them.  Whether Lucius recognizes this…?”  Severus gave an eloquent shrug.

“You are most likely correct.”  Dumbledore took another lemon drop.  “Regarding Sirius Black, I will contact the Minister in the morning and give Black my full endorsement.  I will, of course let Cornelius know that the evidence exonerating him comes from the goblins…”

“…and the Minister will immediately declare it to be invalid.”  Severus nodded.

“Precisely.  Unless Amelia decides to arrest Cornelius, he will be in office until the Wizengamot meeting in January, if not longer.”  As he poured his second cup of tea, Severus imagined what it would feel like to smack the self-satisfied smile off Albus Dumbledore’s face.  “Unfortunately, my enemies in the I.C.W. saw Black’s accusations as a chance to be rid of me.”  Severus arched an eyebrow.

“Did they succeed in removing you from your position as Supreme Mugwump?”

“Yes.”  Albus was scowling and Severus had to take a drink of his tea to avoid grinning like a loon.  He considered pressing the issue, but decided against it.  Dumbledore was being unusually talkative tonight and Severus didn’t want to alert him to that fact.  “This may cause some difficulties with the Wizengamot, but I have other, more pressing concerns to deal with.”  There was a pause as Dumbledore ate another lemon drop.  “Tell me…Why does the Slytherin point count appear to be displaying negative numbers?”  With a heartfelt sigh, Severus recounted, once again, Draco Malfoy’s many misdeeds and told the Headmaster of Riddle’s orders concerning Draco’s education in discipline.

“Even taking Mr. Malfoy’s behavior into account, how have you managed to lose over 300 points in two and a half weeks?” Dumbledore managed to look both incredulous and amused.

“Actually, we’ve lost over 300 points in under a week.”  Albus was most displeased to hear about the new disciplinary measures and the automatic points deductions.

“I shall have to speak with Minerva about this.” He murmured.  “Children will misbehave and we should not punish them too harshly for doing what comes naturally.”  There was a crack as the teacup in Severus’ hand broke.  Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice.  As he used his wand to clean up the mess and repair the cup, Severus did his best to get his temper under control.  Even through his rage, he found himself being genuinely surprised that the old man could still use the same words in exactly the same tone of voice he had used when Sirius Black had nearly gotten Severus killed.  “Tell me, has Tom given you any other instructions?”

“He has.”  Snape nodded.  “He ordered me to recruit Hermione Granger.”

“Yes.”  Dumbledore nodded.  “I can imagine how badly he wants to lay his hands on the Pendragon vaults.”

“Actually, he ordered me to recruit her before she learned of her heritage.”  Severus felt an irrational surge of irritation on Hermione’s behalf when he saw the genuine shock and bafflement on Dumbledore’s face.

“But why?”

“Headmaster, it may have escaped your notice, but Granger is the most intelligent student to walk these halls in at least thirty years.  What’s more, she’s Harry Potter’s best friend and the primary reason the brat is still alive.”

“Yes….”  Dumbledore mused.  “I see your point.  No doubt the Pendragon title and money make her an even more pleasing prospect.  How are your efforts progressing?”

“They haven’t, really.”  Snape shrugged.  “The only time I am alone with Granger these days is when we are doing our potions tutorials and even then…”  Dumbledore held up a hand to interrupt.

“I’m sorry…Potions tutorials?”

“Yes.”  Snape gave Dumbledore a curious look.  “Didn’t you know?  Minerva pulled Granger out of almost all her classes this year…”

“What?”  Dumbledore looked horrified.  “She can’t do that!”

“She and Miss Granger signed a Mentorship agreement.”  Snape said.  “So, yes, Minerva has the right to direct Granger’s education.  She has decided to remove the girl from most classes and each member of staff has been asked to hold a tutorial with her once a week.  Minerva intends for Granger to sit her OWL exams this coming June and her NEWT exams next year.”

“That’s all well and good, but it cannot be allowed to continue.”  Dumbledore declared.  Snape snorted again and the older man glared at him.

“Forgive me, Headmaster, but how, exactly, do you plan to stop this?  You agreed to allow Minerva to revive the Mentorship program and you refused to participate in the selection of candidates.  I was here when Minerva spoke to you about this, as was Filius.  Both Minerva and Miss Granger have signed a magically binding contract that contains a clause specifically designed to prevent interference by an outside party.  What is more, Miss Granger’s participation in the program has been touted in the Prophet.” 

“That doesn’t matter.  The Prophet will print what I tell it to print.”  Dumbledore said.  “Mr. Potter will need the undivided attention of both Miss Granger and Mister Weasley…”

“So, you haven’t seen Minerva’s report about Weasley yet?”  Severus asked, indicating the large stack of scrolls sitting on Dumbledore’s desk.

“What about him?”

 “He attempted to hex Miss Granger last Monday night.  Fortunately for him, his siblings and several others—including Potter—got him first.  He ended up in the hospital wing for several days, after which Minerva convinced Arthur and Molly that it would be best to keep him home until January.”

“What?  That’s nonsense.  Students hex each other all the time!”

“Yes, but they don’t usually court a prison sentence by doing so.”  Severus reminded him. 

“Don’t be ridiculous!”  Dumbledore snapped.  “No one goes to Azkaban over a school argument.”

“Headmaster, I realize that you have no use for the Noble Protocols, but that does not change the fact that they exist.  You must accept that there are certain legal privileges that are only available to those from Noble or Royal Houses.  Those same privileges now apply to Hermione Granger.  Whether you like it or not, anyone who attacks her will be sent to Azkaban.”

“I do not like it.”  Dumbledore declared.  “And you can be sure I will start seeing that those laws are changed or abolished at the earliest opportunity.”  There was no response Severus could really make to that, but he filed it away with the rest of the information he’d pass on to the others.  “Forgive me, I have distracted you.  You were telling me about your efforts to recruit Miss Granger.”

“Yes, well, I have had three meetings with her so far.  The first is of no consequence because I had not received my orders.  During the other two, I have concentrated on establishing a relationship of mutual respect.”  Dumbledore frowned. 

“That’s it?”

“It is a start.”  Severus shrugged.  “Because she is a Gryffindor and has allied herself with Potter, I’ve spent the past three years treating her like something I wouldn’t scrape off my shoe.  That is not something that can be undone overnight.  Tom understands and accepts that I will have to move slowly to avoid suspicion.  He also understands that, under the circumstances, it may not be possible to separate her from Potter.  Since her elevation, he is far more interested in Granger’s vaults than he is in their relationship.”

“Is there a relationship?”  Dumbledore asked, suddenly looking far more interested.  “Between Harry and Hermione?”

“You mean of the romantic sort?”  Snape shook his head.  “I have not heard anything to that effect.  However, I am the last person who would be privy to their confidences.”

“True….”  Dumbledore sat back in his chair and gazed out the window.  Severus knew he wasn’t really seeing anything—for one thing, it was the middle of the bloody night and pitch dark outside and for another, the old man’s eyes were, so to speak, turned inwards.

“It would seem…” Dumbledore said, at last “that we can use Tom’s orders to you to our advantage.”

“Sir?”

“Tom has ordered you to recruit the girl.  To do this, you will need to become close to her.  Be her friend, her ally, and her champion.  Gain her trust.  So long as Tom sees you doing this, he will think you are following his orders.  Rather than driving a wedge between her and Harry, however, I want you to encourage their friendship.  We will see how things progress once Mr. Potter becomes a Tri-Wizard Champion.  If the two manage to work things out on their own, then we will wish them a hearty congratulations.  If not, then after the holidays, you will begin feeding her a mild infatuation potion…”

“Headmaster, the Noble Protocols…”

“You’ve already told me about those!”  Dumbledore snapped.  “Now I’m telling you.  I want the Granger girl to be head over heels in love with Harry Potter by the time she takes her O.W.L.s.  While I would prefer it happen naturally, I will take whatever steps are necessary to see that it happens!”

Chapter Text

Hogwarts – Corridor

Wednesday, Sept. 20

“Granger?  Can we have a word?”  Hermione looked up from the notes she’d been scanning to see most of the fourth-year Slytherins standing in her path.

“Um…all right?”  Hermione strictly stifled the nervous fluttering in her stomach.  Malfoy and Parkinson weren’t part of this group and they were the only Slytherins in their year who had been overtly hostile to her in quite a while.  Besides, Professor Sinistra’s office was just down the hall.   “What can I do for you?”

“In here.”  Daphne Greengrass tugged her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom.  The others followed and Hermione noted, with relief, that they left the door open.  “We need your help.  Go on, Tracey.  Show her.”  Tracey Davis, a small, shy girl with whom Hermione had had virtually no interaction until now, withdrew a letter from her pocket and, blushing furiously, handed it to Hermione.

“It’s from my mother.” She explained.  “It’s…it’s about you.  I…”  She seemed to lose the ability to speak; her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, before closing firmly. 

“Read it.”  Daphne said, looking serious.  Hermione skimmed the letter quickly, then read it again more carefully.

“Oh…” she gasped.

“Look, Granger, I don’t know how Muggles feel about same-sex relationships, but there are some witches and wizards—like Tracey’s parents—who think that having a daughter who likes girls instead of boys is worse than having a Squi….er…non-magical child.”  Millicent Bulstrode said.  “Most of us don’t really care one way or the other, but…”

“But there’s always a few idiots who spoil things for everyone.”  Hermione nodded.  “It’s pretty much the same in the Muggle world.  Have you showed this to anyone else, Tracey?”  Tracey shook her head emphatically, but said nothing.

“If we show it to a teacher, they’ll have to call the Aurors.”  Millicent explained.  “Because of who you are and what they want to do to you.  They’ll have no choice.  Tracey’s parents will be arrested and, worse, Tracey’s secret will be out and she’ll be disowned by her entire family.”

“I can’t….”  Tracey choked back a sob.  “Granger, I’m not smart or talented like you.  I’m not very powerful either.  I only got into Hogwarts because my parents went here.  I’m supposed to meet a suitable boy and get engaged by the end of my sixth year.  My mum has already started making arrangements for the wedding the summer after we graduate and I haven’t even had my first date!  If I’m disowned, I won’t be able to get a job or….”  Tracey began to cry in earnest and became rather incoherent.  Hermione felt sympathy well up within her for the poor girl.  From what she said, Tracey’s mother had a lot in common with her own.  Of course, Hermione highly doubted her mother would suggest that she find herself a love slave….

“Stop saying you don’t have any talent.”  Daphne snapped, putting a protective arm around Tracey’s shoulders.  “Tracey’s an absolutely brilliant musician.  She’s the best wind-harp player I’ve ever heard….”

“What’s a….wait!”  Hermione shook her head.  “Never mind.”

“This is all Parkinson’s fault.”  Daphne snarled.  “She caught Tracey and me….well…”

“Snogging.”  Millicent said, bluntly.  “If you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to say it, Daph.”

“All right, I will.”  Daphne gave Hermione a defiant look.  “Tracey and I were kissing in our dorm room last term and I forgot to draw the curtains around the bed.  Pansy walked in and saw us and Tracey begged her not to say anything.  Pansy said she’d keep quiet if Tracey let her copy off her during the Arithmancy exam.  Tracey did her part, but Pansy got caught and was kicked out of the exam room and received an automatic “T.’  Then, this summer, she ‘accidentally’ told Tracey’s mum what she saw.”

“That’s horrible!”  Hermione remembered that there had been a fuss during the Arithmancy final last year, but she’d been so absorbed in her own paper, she hadn’t even raised her head to see what was going on.

“We figured that if we showed the letter to you, you might have some ideas.”  Hermione stared at Vincent Crabbe.  In the three years she’d known him, she’d never heard him do more than grunt or speak in monosyllables.    

“What makes you think I can help?”  Hermione asked, genuinely bewildered.  Weren’t Slytherins supposed to be known for their cunning?

Greg Goyle snorted with laughter.  “We know about the Polyjuice potion Potter and Weasley used our second year.  Neither of them have the skill to brew something that complicated.”

“Or the brains to come up with that plan in the first place.”  Vincent Crabbe muttered.  Hermione glared at him, but Millicent spoke before she could rise to her friends’ defense.

“We also know that you ended up in the hospital wing with fur and a tail.  What happened?  Obviously, you didn’t make a mistake when you brewed it or it wouldn’t have worked for the boys.  And I know you’re not stupid enough to intentionally attempt to use Polyuice to become an animal.”

“The key word in that sentence is ‘intentionally’.”  Hermione grumbled, not wanting to elaborate further.  The Slytherins had the decency not to laugh in her face, though from the looks of it, it cost them some effort.

“Look, we’re not asking you to wave your wand and make Tracey’s problems go away.”  Blaise Zabini said, seriously.  “We’re just asking you to think about it and to help us help her.  And we’re not coming to you empty-handed, either.  You need us, Granger.”

“I do?”  Hermione gave them all a suspicious look.  “What for?”

“For information, of course.”  Blaise said.  “Between the six of us, we have eyes and ears in just about every corner of Hogwarts.  Give us an hour and we can tell you exactly what is being said right now in the Gryffindor Common Room, what kind of tea Professor Flitwick is drinking and what grade Longbottom is going to get on the potion he brewed in class today.  Surprisingly, it won’t be a ‘T’.”

“We know that you’ve been meeting with Snape, McGonagall, Potter, Longbottom and that dreamy Bulgarian.” Daphne added.  “We know the Headmaster did something to you, Potter, Longbottom and Longbottom’s gran that has you all steamed.  We can help you get revenge.” 

“What’s more, Daphne’s mother is a member of the Wizengamot, my dad and Blaise’s father are very well connected in the business community and Tracey’s parents are in tight with the Minister and his crowd.  They all tell us things that could be useful to you.”  Millicent said.

Hermione’s mind raced as she considered what they were saying.  “This is about more than just Tracey’s problem, isn’t it?  What else do you want from me?”  She was startled when all three boys groaned in unison and began digging in their pockets.  Millicent was grinning and Hermione couldn’t help but be amused by the grumbling as the boys each deposited several coins into her outstretched palm.

“When are you going to learn?”  Daphne asked, rolling her eyes as she snickered.  Even Tracey let out a watery giggle.  “Never, ever bet against Bulstrode, Granger.  She never loses.  I honestly don’t know how she does it…”

“I told you.”  Millicent smiled complacently as she deposited the coins into a pocket in her robes.  “I only bet on sure things.”

“And I’m a sure thing?” Hermione asked.

“I was sure you were smart enough to realize that we want your help with more than just Tracey.”  Millicent shrugged.  “Don’t get me wrong; her problem is very real and very serious, but yeah…we all have our reasons for wanting your help and support.”

“It’s nothing bad.”  Daphne added, hastily.  “It’s just that Professor Snape pointed out that people are going to be bending over backwards to make you happy over the next few years and that might have some adverse effects on us.”

“What?”  Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Why should people wanting to kiss up to me affect you one way or another?”

“Some of it is the whole ‘Gryffindors hate Slytherins’ thing.”  Millicent explained.  “You weren’t raised in the Wizarding world so you have no idea how much the Sorting affects life outside of the school.  People know you’re a Gryffindor, so they automatically assume you hate all Slytherins.”

“That’s….”  Hermione did her best to stifle the outrage.  “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, Wizards have no common sense!”

“It’s not just that.”  Vince said.  “Draco, Pansy and their fathers have been bad-mouthing you, specifically, since the summer after our first year.  People are going to think that, because we’re all in the same year, we think the same way.”

“Professor Snape told us that he had a letter from Davina Langley a few days ago.”  Blaise said.  “You know she had an offer to apprentice with one of the Healers at St. Mungo’s, right?”  Hermione nodded.  Davina was a Slytherin who had been Head Girl during their second year.  She’d been one of Hermione’s early role models at Hogwarts.  “She was supposed to start next month.  Her apprenticeship has been yanked because you are on the board of St. Mungo’s now and they’re afraid you’ll be angry they gave the spot to her.”

“Oh, that’s just ridiculous!”  Hermione snapped.  “Davina’s brilliant and St. Mungo’s would be lucky to have her!”

“We agree, but it doesn’t change the facts.”  Daphne pointed out.  “Because Davina was in Slytherin and at Hogwarts at the same time as you, people assume that she hated you and vice versa.  I want an Apprenticeship in Magical Law when I leave Hogwarts and, with things in the state they are now, there’s no way I’ll get anyone even remotely respectable to consider taking me on.”  The others nodded.

“To be frank, I don’t care about an Apprenticeship.”  Millicent shrugged.  “However, my Dad owns Comet brooms—a company that was started nearly four hundred years ago with the assistance of a substantial investment made by the Pendragon family.  After the last Pendragon died, my family stopped paying the dividends on that investment.  I want to make sure you’re not going to decide to wipe us out by demanding we pay everything at once.  I know my Dad wants to put things right, but we hope to be able to work out some kind of reasonable payment plan.”

“I want a seat on the Wizengamot.”  Blaise said, quietly.  “My father can’t serve because he was born in Italy, but I was born in England, so I’m technically eligible.  The problem is that the laws all favor the old British pure-blood families and only people who have ‘Ancient’ status are supposed to be able to serve.  If a seat becomes vacant because a line dies out, my Dad can bid for it, but the Wizengamot chooses from among the bidders and they tend to favor their own.”  Hermione sighed.

“Damn, I wish they taught Wizarding government here.” She muttered.

“They used to.”  Daphne told her.  “But they dropped a lot of classes in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.  Crabbe, Goyle.  You’re up.”  Hermione saw that the two large boys were blushing and shuffling their feet.

“We’re vassals of House Black.”  Goyle said finally, staring at the floor.

“What?”  Hermione blinked in surprise.  “Vassals of…What does that even mean?”

“Okay, we can go into the history of it later.”  Daphne said.  “But basically, Greg and Vince’s fathers swore magically binding oaths of loyalty and obedience to Arcturus Black, who was head of the family at the time.  When he died, the magic in those oaths was passed on to the next Head of the Black family.  Everyone thought that was Draco’s mother.”

“Yeah, and believe me when I tell you that both Draco and his dad have really enjoyed having us at their beck and call.”  Goyle muttered. 

“Greg and Vince aren’t technically bound by the oaths because they weren’t even born when they were sworn, but their families have been vassals of House Black for generations and they’ll be expected to swear the same vows when they turn seventeen.” Blaise said.

“So, that’s why you’ve been acting as Draco’s…bodyguards all this time?”  Hermione barely stopped herself from calling them ‘thugs.’

“Yeah.”  Crabbe nodded.  “Thank Merlin we don’t have to do that anymore.  We were thinking we could be your bodyguards since you’re Heir-Presumptive.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry about that now.”  Daphne said, sharply and Hermione wasn’t sure whether the order was directed at her or the boys.  “As you can see, Granger, we do want stuff from you, but it’s nothing bad and we’re being totally up front about it.  Can you say the same about most of the rest of the people in this school?”  Hermione didn’t bother to answer the question as it was clear from the faces in front of her that they already knew what she would say. She had to admit that their honesty made a refreshing change from the clumsy attempts that the other students—and even some of the teachers—had made to gain her attention and favor.  Plus, she acknowledged to herself, they were right; they could offer things that she couldn’t get anywhere else at Hogwarts.

“All right.” She said, slowly.  “You’re right; Tracey’s problem is the most urgent.  I’m not sure what the final solution is, but I think I know how to buy her some time.  Tracey, does your mother know Andromeda Tonks?”

“Um…I think so.”  Tracey screwed her face up in concentration.  “I think they work together on some charities.  Why?”

“She’s my cousin….of sorts….on the Black side of the family and she’s agreed to be my Chaperone.  She’s going to teach me etiquette and deportment and that sort of thing.  I’ll talk to her and to Professor McGonagall this afternoon, and see if we can incorporate those lessons into some kind of school club, so that other people can participate.  Tracey, write to your mother and tell her that you don’t have any classes with me, but that you’re going to join this club.  Tell her there aren’t any books about that sort of thing in the library—there aren’t, I checked--and ask if she can send some.  She’ll think you’re doing what she wants and that should keep her happy for now and give us some space to maneuver.”

“Brilliant!”  Daphne clapped her hands with pleasure.  “Can I join your club too?”

“I don’t see why not.”  Hermione shrugged.  “I’ve got to talk to Mrs….er, Madam Tonks, though, and make sure she’s willing to go along with this.”  She paused and gave Tracey a sideways look.  “Will you be all right if I tell a couple of people about your mum’s letter?  I don’t plan to tell anyone about anything that would get your parents arrested.” She added, hastily.  “Just that your parents want you to get close to me so that they can try to influence me and that you came to me for help.”

“Who are you planning on telling?”  Tracey asked.

“Madam Tonks and Professor McGonagall.  Maybe Professor Snape.”  Hermione said.  “I’ll need their help to get this club idea off the ground.”

“All right.”  Tracey nodded.  “I don’t even mind if you tell them about me and Daphne.  Professor Snape already knows and he always says that Professor McGonagall doesn’t care about that sort of thing.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve got a Chaperone.”  Millicent said, earnestly.  “Is she going to live in the castle?”

“No.”  Hermione shook her head.  “I’ve purchased a house in Hogsmeade and she can Floo there for our meetings and lessons.”

“But you’ve directed your mail to her, right?”  Blaise looked rather anxious.

“Yes…everything except the letters from my parents and Gringotts, of course.  Why?”

“We’ve heard rumors that several families are already putting together betrothal contracts for you.”  Millicent said.  “Madam Tonks will know how to handle them so there isn’t any confusion and no one can claim you agreed to something you didn’t.”

“But….but I’ve only just turned fifteen!”  Hermione spluttered.  “And betrothal contracts?  People actually do that here?”

“Oh yes.”  Daphne nodded, earnestly.  “Blaise and I have been betrothed since we were ten years old.”  Hermione simply gaped at them. 

“Not all families do it that early.”  Millicent assured her.  “Most let their kids meet and date people at Hogwarts and then their families draw up the contracts after they graduate; the kids are allowed to choose their partners.  But some families want to lock things down early and there are some people who will try anything to get their hands on your title and your money.”

“So be very careful about who you agree to date.”  Daphne warned her.  “I heard that some people have already started asking about the first Hogsmeade weekend.  No offense, but if someone who hasn’t said two words to you before now suddenly wants to take you to Hogsmeade, the chances are that they’re more interested in Lady Pendragon than they are in Hermione Granger and they’ll do whatever they can to get you to marry them—they’ll lie or try to manipulate or trick you or they might try to slip you a potion….have you got a personal elf?”

“Yes.”  Hermione said, feeling slightly faint.  “She checks my food and drink and my House ring has detection spells as well.”

“You’re pretty safe in the Great Hall.”  Millicent assured her.  “The elves at Hogwarts don’t let anyone near the food they’re preparing and you’ve got the Weasleys and Potter to make sure no one tries to put something in after it’s already on the table.  Your elf should only have to intervene if they miss something or if whatever is in your food is something your ring doesn’t detect.”

“You’ll also need get some appropriate robes….” Daphne began.

“One thing at a time.”  Hermione interrupted.  “I know I need some proper clothes, but I don’t need to go shopping for a new wardrobe right this second.  After all, I’m only allowed to wear my uniform in school.”

“She has a point.”  Millicent poked Daphne.  “Besides, she’s starting to look a little glassy-eyed.  Let’s give her some time for all this to sink in before we dump anything else on her.”

“Fine.”  Daphne pouted.  “But I’m telling you right now, Granger.  I’m in charge of your makeover—not Brown or Patil!” 

**

Hogwarts – Hagrid’s Hut

Thursday, Sept. 21

“Professor McGonagall!  Come in!  Come in!”  Minerva smiled as Hagrid stood aside and allowed her to enter the cottage.  There were those among the students and staff who disdained Hagrid’s plain and simple dwelling, but she’d always found its simplicity to be quite charming.

“Thank you, Hagrid and thank you for the invitation.”  Minerva sat in the chair he offered her and watched as he puttered around the kitchen preparing the tea things.  “I realize that I am the one who asked to speak with you, but to be quite frank, my office might have been a bit…er…”

“Cramped?” he suggested, as he placed the tea tray on the table.

“Well…yes.” She said, smiling slightly as she began to pour.  “Besides, I wish to discuss some matters that are best kept away from the ears of any overly curious students.”  At his inquisitive look, she elaborated.  “The Weasley Twins have been experimenting with something they call Extendable Ears and I have to regularly sweep my office for listening charms.  The students mean no harm by it, I’m sure, but they are not always as respectful of my privacy as I could wish.”  She didn’t mention that at least two of the charms she’d found had been cast by the Headmaster, or that she’d found one last week that had been cast by Alastor Moody, probably at the Headmaster’s request.  While Hagrid’s back was turned, Minerva surreptitiously checked his hut and temporarily disabled the two charms she found there, both bearing Dumbledore’s signature flourish.

“So, what can I do for you?” Hagrid asked, sitting and pushing a plate of rock cakes towards her.

“Well, there are two matters I wish to discuss with you.  The first concerns Miss Granger.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”  Hagrid was grinning from ear to ear.  “Who’d have thought?  Our Hermione, a proper lady!  I bet it gave Lucius Malfoy a real turn when he found out.”  Clearly, Hagrid hadn’t forgotten the fuss the man had made over Buckbeak, the hippogriff.

“I’m sure it did.”  Minerva allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smile.  While she would never go so far as to revel in another person’s discomfort, she had to admit that she was enjoying the way Hermione’s elevation had shaken up some of the more fanatical pure-bloods.   The best part was that they could not offer any substantial arguments against her inclusion in their ranks, because to do so would be to bring their own titles and inheritances into question.  “As I’m sure you understand, Hagrid, Miss Granger’s new title comes with a great many responsibilities for which she is, alas, ill prepared.”  Hagrid nodded sagely.

“She’ll need to learn about the government and her estate and proper manners and such.  She’ll also need training in that Mage-Sight of hers.”  Minerva was pleasantly surprised at his grasp of the situation.

“Exactly!  Since there is no one qualified to teach such things at Hogwarts, I have had to make arrangements with several different tutors.  That has, unfortunately, necessitated some changes to Miss Granger’s current schedule.”

“Oh?”  Hagrid looked politely puzzled and Minerva suppressed the urge to sigh with exasperation.  It amazed her how a man who was capable of such insight could be so dense sometimes.

“Yes.  As her Mentor, it is my responsibility to see that the poor girl does not work herself into a state like last year.” 

“That would not be good.”  Hagrid agreed.  “She really oughtn’t to be taking so many classes to begin with.  It’s not healthy.”

“I agree.  She and I have discussed the matter at length and I’m afraid that Miss Granger will be withdrawing from Care of Magical Creatures, effective immediately.”  To her surprise, Hagrid did not look particularly surprised or upset by the news.

“I figured this was coming.” He admitted.  “Hermione….she likes creatures all right, but she hasn’t got a passion for them like she does for some of her other subjects.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that.”  Minerva took a sip of tea to steady herself.  She had been prepared for a long, drawn-out argument and his quiet acceptance had caught her a bit flat-footed.  “Miss Granger plans to tell you herself tomorrow, but I was afraid that if you didn’t have sufficient time to get used to the idea you might…er…”

“Try and make her feel bad about it?”  Hagrid hung his head, somewhat shamefaced.  “Yeah, if you had told me this a week ago or…well, even a couple of days ago, I might have done that.”

“What changed?”  Minerva asked, curious.

“Harry…er…had words with me on Tuesday night.”  Hagrid admitted.  “He came down here and told me how hard Hermione’s been working and how much she’s got to do and then he said that she told him she was going to drop out of Creatures class and that was scared to tell me.”  Minerva nodded.  “I don’t want anyone to be scared of just talking to me, Professor McGonagall.  Honest!”  Hagrid had a lost look in his eyes and Minerva’s heart went out to him.

“I know you don’t.”  She gave his hand a gentle pat.  “And I don’t think Miss Granger is frightened of you, exactly.  It’s just that…I know your friendship means a great deal to her and she’s concerned that you might see her leaving Care of Magical Creatures as a….well, as a personal rejection.”

“Yeah….I can see where she might think that.”  Hagrid admitted.  “But Harry explained it all to me and got rather…er…shirty with me about it when I tried to argue.”

“Did he?”  Minerva took another sip of tea to hide her smile.  “I have noticed that Miss Granger’s friends have become quite protective of her since the announcement.  I must say that I’m very pleased to see it.”

“Me too.”  Hagrid said, then smiled, brightly.  “She’s also got Professor Dumbledore to look after her.  I’m sure he won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Are you?”  Minerva peered at him closely.  She and her fellow conspirators had spent a good deal of time discussing Hagrid.  On the one hand, he was the children’s friend and they all knew he would never deliberately betray them.  On the other hand, he was easily manipulated and fanatically loyal to Dumbledore.  It had been Viktor Krum who had pointed out that, if they could persuade Hagrid that Dumbledore’s intentions were not honorable, the Headmaster would lose both a valuable source of information and an ally whose true strengths he didn’t seem to appreciate.

“Of course!”  Hagrid looked genuinely baffled.  “He’s a great man…”

“I know, I know.”  Minerva held up her hand to halt the inevitable paean of praise about to spring from Hagrid’s lips.  “This actually brings up the other subject I wished to discuss with you.  Hagrid, can you honestly tell me that the Headmaster’s decisions have always been in the best interest of the children?  Take that business with the Philosopher’s Stone.  He removed the Stone from Gringotts which, I’ll grant you, was certainly a good idea, all things considered, but then he hid it behind a series of tests that three first years were able to master with ease.”

“Well…”

“Then there was that mess with the basilisk.”  Minerva went on, not allowing him a chance to speak.  “Putting aside the fact that we ought to have shut the school down after the first student was attacked, why did he wait for Pomona’s mandrakes to mature, rather than reaching out to St. Mungo’s or one of the other magical hospitals to obtain the necessary ingredients for a restorative draught?  And let us not forget the Dementors last year.”

“Now hang on.”  Hagrid was getting upset.  “That was the Ministry’s idea, on account of Sirius Black…”

“Who managed to get in and out of the castle twice despite the presence of the Dementors.”  Minerva reminded him.  She sighed.  “Hagrid, I’m not saying that the Headmaster doesn’t have the best intentions, but I think that there are times when he is so busy looking out for his ‘Greater Good’ that he forgets that he is responsible for the safety of the children under his care.  Think about how many times Harry Potter has nearly died in circumstances that Albus either created or allowed to continue long past what any reasonable person would consider safe.”

“Yean, but he’s okay.”  Hagrid protested.  “Dumbledore always got to him in time…”

“Did he?”  Minerva arched an eyebrow.  There was a moment of heavy silence before Minerva decided to try another approach.  “Harry told me that you were the one who brought him his Hogwarts letter.”

“Yeah!”  Hagrid was instantly all smiles again.  “I got to take him to Diagon Alley and everything!  On his birthday, no less!” 

“Did Albus ever tell you why he sent you to take Harry his letter?  You and I both know the responsibility of delivering letters to the muggleborn students usually falls to me.”

“But Harry’s not a muggleborn!”  Hagrid protested.  The slightly offended tone in which he said this saddened Minerva.  Even the most enlightened witches and wizards—the ones who welcomed the muggleborns into their world with open arms—thought that to be a muggleborn was not quite as good as being born to magical parents.

“He might as well be.”  Minerva said, gently.  “”Harry went to the Dursleys when he was only a year and a half old.  He doesn’t remember his life with his parents.  All he knows is the Muggle world.”  She took a sip of her tea, considering how best to proceed.  “Harry is not the first student we’ve had who was born to magical parents, yet raised in the Muggle world.  We give them the same instruction as we give to those students who are truly muggleborn.  I make a home visit and bring them to Diagon Alley.  I was just wondering if you knew why Albus had asked you to do this, instead of me.”

“Well,” Hagrid frowned, clearly trying to dredge up an old memory.  “He said that Harry was having trouble getting his letters and that the Dursleys might kick up a fuss, so I’d best be the one to go and fetch him.”  Minerva closed her eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath.  She couldn’t begin to count the number of laws Albus had broken, but now was not the time to go into that.

“And what was Mr. Potter’s home like?” she asked.

“Dunno.”  Hagrid shrugged.  “he wasn’t there when I found him.  Them Dursleys were right scared of us, so when the letters started arriving, they decided to run away.  They were staying in a little shack perched on a rock in the middle of the ocean when I found them.”  He rolled his eyes as if to say How stupid can these Muggles be?  Minerva didn’t know who she wanted to hex first: Hagrid, Albus Dumbledore, or the Dursleys.  She now understood why Albus had sent Hagrid; the Dursleys had the right to refuse to allow their nephew to receive a magical education.  Albus wanted to be sure that they didn’t have the opportunity to do so.

“Has Harry told you anything about his life with the Dursleys?” She asked.  Hagrid shook his head.

“He doesn’t like to talk about himself much.”  Minerva sighed.  She hated to put Harry through the ordeal of speaking about his terrible home life, but it was probably the only way to convince Hagrid of the truth. 

“Ask him.” She said, quietly.  “Ask him about what it was like to grow up with the Dursleys.  Ask him about what happened every time he had a burst of accidental magic or got better marks than his cousin.  When you do, please remember that Albus placed him with the Dursleys, with no warning or explanation other than the letter he left in the basket.  Really listen to what Harry has to say and then think about whether Albus made the best decision for him.”

“All right.”  Hagrid sounded unsure of himself, which Minerva took as a good sign.  If he did as she asked and really listened, he might come to realize that Albus Dumbledore was not the champion he’d always believed in.  He wore a rather lost expression that led Minerva to suspect that she had managed to break through his shell of hero-worship, even if only a little bit.

 “Both Harry and Hermione love and respect you, Hagrid.” She said, quietly.  “As do I.  I know that you feel you owe the Headmaster your loyalty for allowing you to stay on after you were expelled, but if you think about it, I think you’ll see why I am concerned.”  When she left, he was sitting at the table, staring into his cup of tea.

**

Hogwarts –  Hallway

Friday, Sept. 22

Hermione Granger was on a mission.  It had been nearly three weeks since she’d received her first History of Magic assignments from Professor McGonagall and, until today, she had made no real progress in learning either the date of the founding of Hogwarts or the story of who Professor Binns had been in life.  She’d exhausted all the Library’s resources and even requested information from the Ministry’s Archives, but had found no concrete answers.  While Professor McGonagall had deemed her efforts to be satisfactory, Hermione felt driven to succeed at the tasks she’d been set.  She had a burning desire to prove—to herself, to her Mentor, and to the world at large—that she was, despite everything that had happened, still the same Hermione Granger.

The breakthrough had come just this morning, when she’d encountered Nearly-Headless Nick just outside of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.  Hermione liked talking to Nick.  He was polite, had a wry sense of humor, and took her seriously, even when she rambled on about her latest academic obsession.  He also told wonderful stories about the things he’d seen during his time as a ghost.  It was while he was telling her a rather comic tale about Professor McGonagall’s student days, that the realization had hit Hermione like a bolt from the blue; Nick had been in the castle for nearly 502 years and remembered everything.  Within minutes, she had the information she needed regarding Professor Binns and, while Nick couldn’t tell her when the school was founded, he was able to direct her to someone who might be able to help.

“The Grey Lady is the oldest ghost in the castle.” He told her.  “If anyone would know the answer to your question, she would.”

So now, Hermione was on her way to Ravenclaw Tower, in search of the Grey Lady.  Nick had warned her that the Lady was shy and did not often speak to those outside her House but, as far as Hermione was concerned; nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

Ravenclaw Tower was on the opposite end of the castle from Gryffindor Tower and, as Hermione was rather annoyed to discover, there was no direct route between the two.  The trip took nearly twenty minutes, though some of that was spent admiring portraits and paintings she’d never seen before.  Finally, Hermione climbed the last staircase and reached the corridor that led to the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. 

To her surprise, she found that she was not alone.  The girls standing in the corridor had their backs to her, but Hermione could hear them quite clearly.

“Come on, Loony.  Just say it and we’ll let you go!”  Hermione frowned, recognizing Cho Chang’s signature lilt.  Hermione had never met Cho, but Harry had a bit of a crush on her and Hermione had indulged his need to have someone listen to him rhapsodize on the fifth-year’s flying skills, her lovely face, and the startling, yet dulcet, tones of her Scottish brogue.  Hermione had never given much thought to the older girl’s personality, but there was something about the words and the way they were spoken that brought back unpleasant memories of the girls who had tormented her in primary school.

“Please, I’ll be late for Potions…”  Hermione was now close enough to see that Cho and two other girls were standing shoulder-to-shoulder and were deliberately blocking the passage of a fourth, smaller girl.  Eyes narrowed, she stalked down the corridor towards them.

“All you have to do is say it and we’ll let you pass.”  Another girl wheedled.  “Come on, Loony, you know what we want to hear.”

“Say it!”  Cho barked and, to Hermione’s horror, she reached out and shoved the smaller girl so hard that she nearly fell over.  “Admit that Nargles aren’t real!”

“Ladies!”  Hermione plastered a patently false smile on her face and deliberately spoke in an obnoxiously cheerful voice.  “Is there a problem?”

“Go away, Granger!”  Hermione recognized Marietta Edgecombe, a fifth-year pure-blood who had never bothered to hide her resentment of Hermione’s academic achievement.  “You don’t belong here.”

“Hello.”  Ignoring Marietta, Hermione shouldered her way between Cho and the third girl, who backed away so quickly one could be forgiven for thinking Hermione was a poisonous snake.  “I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Hermione Granger….and you are?”  She held her hand out to the younger girl, who took it gingerly, as if not sure what to do with it.

“I’m Luna Lovegood.”  The girl’s voice was quiet and a bit unsure.  “Are you here to try and make me say things that aren’t true, too?”

“What?  Of course not!”  Hermione scowled at the three older girls.  “I came up here to talk to the Grey Lady.  Do you know where I can find her?”

“The Grey Lady is the Ravenclaw ghost, Granger.”  Edgecombe sneered.  “She only talks to those who are smart enough to be sorted into her House!”

“Marietta!” Cho hissed, tugging at her friend’s elbow.  “You can’t talk to her that way…”

“Why not?”  Marietta tossed head, causing her curls to bounce.  “I don’t care what the Prophet says, she’s still just a jumped-up little mudblood who…”  Hermione couldn’t hear what she said next over the clanging of the chime.  She had, of course, been told about the new disciplinary measures that the staff had put in place, but this was the first time she’d seen—or rather, heard—them in action.  As she shook her head to rid herself of the ringing in her ears, she wondered if the volume of the alert might not be a bit excessive.

“What the hell was that?”  The still-unnamed third girl asked, looking around wildly.  “It’s never been that loud before.”

“I don’t know, but we should go.”  Cho backed even further away, shooting Hermione a terrified look as if, somehow, she was responsible for the alarm.

“No!”  Marietta growled.  “Not until she…” 

“Listen to your friends.”  They all jumped at the sound of the newcomer’s voice.  Whirling around, Hermione found that they had been joined by the Grey Lady.  “The alarm really was quite loud.  Professor Flitwick is on his way and I doubt you want him to catch you with your wand pointed at Miss Granger.”  The ghost eyed Marietta coldly and Hermione shivered as she realized that the other girl had, indeed, drawn her wand.

“Shit!”  The nameless girl grabbed Marietta’s arm and began pulling her down the corridor.  Cho was already several feet ahead of them and rapidly gaining distance.  Marietta cast one last glare at Hermione and Luna.

“This isn’t over!” she hissed.  Hermione waited until the three bullies had disappeared, before turning back to the younger girl.  Luna still held her hand, but all her attention was focused on the ghost.

“Hello, Helena.”  Luna’s voice was dreamy.  “How are you?”

“I am well, dear one.”  The ghost smiled fondly at Luna.  “Though I do wish you’d speak to Professor Flitwick about those girls.  They’re only going to get worse, you know.”

“There’s no point.”  Luna sounded quite matter-of-fact.  “No one will listen.  Not even Professor Flitwick.”

“They’ll damn well listen to me!”  Hermione growled.  This entire situation was far too reminiscent of her own childhood.  The teachers hadn’t believed her when she’d complained about the bullies; not until that time Jane Perkins had pushed her into the street and the driver of the lorry that had almost hit her had made a fuss.  Even then, Jane hadn’t gotten into trouble, not really.  She’d continued to verbally assault Hermione at every opportunity, though the teachers had made sure that the physical attacks stopped.  Hermione was damned if she was going to let someone else suffer the way she had.

“Very well spoken.”  The Grey Lady gave an approving nod.  “The House of Pendragon has ever and always served as a voice for those who cannot…or will not…speak for themselves.”

“Have they really?”  Hermione asked, momentarily distracted.  “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about them yet.  There isn’t much in the Library…”

“No, there wouldn’t be.”  Luna said.  “The Headmaster removed all the books about the Royal and Noble houses.  He doesn’t want people learning about them.”

“He doesn’t?”  Hermione felt her blood boil with anger.  Modifying her memory and deliberately putting her in danger was bad enough, but deliberately withholding knowledge was taking things too far!  “Why not?”  Luna opened her mouth to respond, then froze.  Suddenly, she was surrounded by a nimbus of butter-yellow light.  When the girl finally spoke, her voice had lost its dreamy quality.  In fact, she sounded as though she had just swallowed gravel.

“The Phoenix rising signals the renewal of the ancient war.  The Red Dragon has shaken off the sleep of ages, the Moon has found her song, and the Knight will follow his star.” Abruptly, the glow disappeared and, with a sigh, Luna slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Luna?” Hermione knelt on the cold, stone flagons and frantically searched for a pulse.  A part of her mind that was not engaged by the immediate crisis absently noticed that the girl wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Miss Granger?”  Professor Flitwick had clearly been running, for he was out of breath.  “What happened?”

“I…I don’t know…”  Hermione stammered.  “She was….something happened to her and then she lost consciousness.”

“Miss Lovegood’s Gift has been awakened.”  The Grey Lady spoke solemnly.  “She has made her first true prophecy.  She’ll be perfectly all right.” She added, seeing that Hermione was still trying to tend to the unconscious girl. “She’s just fainted.  She will recover her senses in just a moment, though she will have no memory of what has transpired.”

“A true prophecy?”  Professor Flitwick looked rather bewildered.  “But…what is she even doing here?  She’s supposed to be in Potions…”  Hermione quickly related what she’d seen and heard, with some assistance from the ghost.  She saw a flash of chagrin cross the tiny professor’s face, followed by guilt, then determination. 

“Thank you for telling me this, Miss Granger.  I had heard…rumors, but I’m afraid that Miss Lovegood’s reputation….well, that’s no excuse.  I shall put a stop to this nonsense, at once!”

“You should make haste, Master Professor.”  The Grey Lady gave him a level gaze.  “Miss Edgecombe is most wroth and has no fear of consequences.”

“I will.”  Professor Flitwick rubbed a weary hand over his face.  “I suspect that is why the alarm was so shrill…she intended real violence.  What of Miss Chang and Miss Forsythe?”

“They follow Miss Edgecombe’s lead, but they understand that there is a line that should not be crossed.  Miss Chang came close to crossing that line when she shoved Miss Lovegood, but will go no further unless Miss Edgecombe incites her to it.  Miss Forsythe’s family labors under some sort of obligation to House Edgecombe.  Though she disapproves of Marietta’s actions, she feels that she has no choice but to go along with them.”

“I see.”  Professor Flitwick looked grim.  “I shall have words with Miss Edgecombe’s father as soon as I can.  But first, we must get Miss Lovegood to the hospital wing.”

“Oh, there’s no need.”  Luna’s eyes flew open and she sat up, as if nothing untoward had happened.  “I’m perfectly fine, Sir.”

“I…ah….”  Professor Flitwick looked just as flustered as Hermione felt.  The logical part of her mind suggested that Luna had been awake for most, if not all, of the time she’d been on the floor, but some instinct told her that this was wrong.  Somehow, she just knew that Luna had just woken up, as refreshed as though she’d just taken a nap.  “Are you certain, Miss Lovegood?  I really do feel that you ought to see Madam Pomfrey.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that.”  Luna scrambled to her feet.  “I’ve only just managed to rid myself of the last nargle and I don’t want to risk picking up any more.  The hospital wing is simply full of them, you know.  But I would appreciate it if you could give me a note for Professor Snape…?”  As soon as Professor Flitwick had complied with her request, Luna nearly bolted down the corridor.

“Er…..nargles?” Hermione felt rather dazed at the speed of Luna’s recovery and departure.

“Miss Lovegood is….special.”  Professor Flitwick looked vaguely troubled.  “She’s always seen things that others cannot.  I confess that I thought that her creatures were merely the result of an overactive imagination, but now…?”

“She is a true Seer.”  The Grey Lady said, softly.  “The first to walk these halls in over two centuries.”

“She’ll need training….proper training.”  Flitwick murmured.  “I’ll have to speak to the Headmaster about it.”  Hermione felt a sudden flash of panic.  She’d only just met Luna Lovegood, but she already felt intensely protective of the girl and the idea of the Headmaster sinking his claws into her made her feel physically ill.

“Head of my House, you will not speak of this matter to anyone but Minerva McGonagall.”  In that moment, the Grey Lady seemed to transform.  While her appearance remained the same, she seemed to become much more solid and imposing.  Her voice was one of command and Hermione had the sense that, if disobeyed, the ghost could wreak a terrible vengeance.  Professor Flitwick squeaked in surprise and Hermione had to grab his elbow to keep him from falling backwards.

“Maybe…maybe you should talk to Professor McGonagall.” She said, carefully.  “She has a friend in the Department of Mysteries who is helping her find someone to train me.  He might know someone who can tutor Luna.”

“Really?”  Professor Flitwick’s face lit up, as though someone had just told him that tomorrow was Christmas morning.  “I’ve always been so curious about the DoM.  Perhaps Minerva will let me speak to her friend….”  Muttering, he wandered off down the hallway, apparently having completely forgotten Hermione. 

“Again, you have done well.”  The Grey Lady said.  “Filius Flitwick is a good man, but he is far too easily distracted.  I will see to it that he remembers to attend to Miss Edgecombe and her friends and that he speaks of Miss Lovegood’s gifts to no one save Minerva McGonagall.”

“Thank you.”  Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is my pleasure.”  The Lady bowed her head in acknowledgement.  “Miss Lovegood is dear to me and I am pleased that those who would harm her have finally been stopped.  Now, tell me why you were searching for me.”  Hermione had to think for a moment, before recalling the purpose of her errand.  Quickly, she explained her research assignment and, to her delight, The Grey Lady—whose name was Helena Ravenclaw—had a definitive answer to her question about the founding of Hogwarts.

She was far less pleased to discover that both A History of Magic and Hogwarts: A History were wrong.

Chapter Text

The Burrow

Friday, September 22

Percy had never seen his father drunk before.  Arthur Weasley had always had a reputation for sobriety and many people either scorned or admired him for his refusal to “hoist a pint with the lads” after work.  As he stepped into the kitchen and cast his gaze from his worried mother’s face to the form of his father, slumped in his usual chair with the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey in front of him, Percy felt a small part of his childhood slip away.

“What happened?” he asked, quietly.

“I don’t know.”  Molly was wringing her hands.  “I was at the market and came home to find him like this.”

“Where’s Ron?  What about the kids?”  Horrible visions ran through Percy’s head of what could happen if the Winkle children—or worse, their mother—was to see his father in this condition.

“Ron took the children to play in the orchard.  They left at the same time I did and I told him to keep them there until it was time for them to go home.”  She glanced at the clock on the wall.  “Amos and Esme will be here in less than an hour, Percy…”

“All right.”  Percy sighed.  “I’ll….see what I can do.  Maybe…”  he eyed his mother, trying to gauge his mood.  “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t here when he wakes up?”  She opened her mouth, as if to protest, then closed it again.  She stood there a moment, her eyes moving from her husband to her son, then nodded sharply.

“I’ll be in the garden.”  Once she was gone, Percy fished the hangover cure he’d brought with him out of his bag.  Thumbing the cork out of the vial, he used his wand to revive his father.

“Ohhhhhhhh….”  Arthur moaned.

“Here, Dad.”  Percy carefully guided his father’s hand around the vial.  “Drink this.”  It took several tries, but Arthur finally managed to get the potion into his mouth and swallow. 

“Ohhhhhhh……”  Arthur moaned again.  Blindly shoving the vial back at Percy, he dropped his head in his hands.

 “Dad, what…?”  Percy was alarmed.  “What’s happened?  Why are you home from work so early and what in Merlin’s name possessed you to get so drunk that you passed out in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Minister Fudge has given me the sack.”  Arthur proclaimed in a mock-grandiose voice.  Percy closed his eyes and allowed the rage to well up within him for a moment. 

“Why?” he asked, doing his best to keep control of his voice.  “What reason did he give?”

“Reason?”  Arthur laughed harshly.  “He doesn’t have to have a reason, Percy…”

“Yes, he does.”  Percy interrupted.  “You are a Ministry employee, Dad.  There are laws….procedures that the Ministry must go through if they want to be rid of you.  You’ve had one warning, right?  For that business about the flying car?”

“Yes.”  Arthur nodded slowly.

“They have to give you three before they can even begin the process of chucking you out.”  Percy declared.  “I’ll talk to Bill tonight.  He’s hired Ted Tonks and we can fight this.”

“Percy, we don’t have the money to pay Mr. Toniks’ rates…”

“Dad, Bill and I talked about this.”  Percy interrupted as he took a seat.  “We…er…had a feeling something like this was going to happen.  We’ll handle any legal costs.  You’ve done so much for us so we’re going to do this for you.  We’re not taking no for an answer.”

“But you can’t afford….”  Arthur stopped speaking as Percy laughed. 

“I’m making twice as much now as what I was making at the Ministry and Bill makes at least three times what I do.  Trust me, we can afford to hire the best solicitor in the country and that’s Ted Tonks.”

“But is it worth it?”  Arthur questioned.  “Even if we win, Fudge and his cronies will just find some reason to chuck me out again.”

“Dad, do you like working at the Ministry?” Percy asked, unconsciously echoing the question Bill had asked him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“What?”  Arthur looked genuinely startled.  “I….ah….well…”

“Bill and I have a proposal for you.”  One didn’t have to be Sibyl Trelawney to predict how the Minister was going to react to what he obviously saw as Percy’s betrayal.  To make matters worse, Hermione (or, rather, Andromeda Tonks) was flatly rejecting all overtures of friendship from the Ministry and Fudge wanted someone to blame.  Percy had no doubt that the Minister saw his father as an easy target because he was poor and not particularly well connected.  He also suspected that Lucius Malfoy and his cronies had helped to influence Fudge’s decision.  Knowing all this, the Weasley brothers had already taken steps to ensure that their family didn’t fall into run.  Orgut had approved of their plan and, more importantly, so had Hermione.  “You know that Bill has to basically build the infrastructure of House Pendragon up from scratch, right?”

“Yes.”  Arthur nodded, slowly, looking rather wary.

“Miss Granger has made it clear that she intends to maintain a presence in the Muggle world.  She wants to keep in contact with her family, contribute to Muggle charitable causes, and invest in Muggle businesses.  What’s more, as Head of a Royal House, Miss Granger is expected to serve as a liaison between the magical world and the Muggle monarch.  She’s been invited to dine with the Queen in a few weeks.  We need someone to oversee the Muggle side of her estate, including the investments, security arrangements for her family, and any work the Crown needs her to do that will involve other Muggles.  We want you.”

“You….what?”  Percy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at his father’s gobsmacked expression.  “Percy, I don’t think you should be giving out jobs like that without talking to Hermione….”

“We did….well, Bill did.”  Percy said.  “She thought it was a brilliant idea, but she did say that you needed to take care of some things before you begin.  First, she wants you to challenge your sacking….just for the principle of the thing.”

“What’s the point?”  Arthur asked, eyes shining with joy.  “If I’ve already got another, better job…”

“Well, Miss Granger pointed out that Fudge and his administration are as subject to the law as any other witch or wizard in Britain.  She thinks that publicly forcing him to defend his sacking of you will remind him of that fact and may force him to behave a bit better in the future.  It will also help with…er…certain other matters.”   Percy paused, unsure of what he could or should say about the joint Gringotts/DMLE investigation into the activities of Fudge and some of his staunchest allies.  Orgut was keeping them informed on its progress.  It appeared that Dumbledore hadn’t been the only one exerting “influence” at Gringotts; Malfoy and some of his cronies had bribed and hexed their way into the confidence of several Senior Account Managers and had used their access to take funds from dormant accounts.  Some of that money had found its way into Fudge’s pockets and there was mounting evidence to suggest that Fudge had been aware of the source of all these “presents.”  It was very likely that there would be elections for a new Minister held soon, but Hermione felt that calling Fudge out on his actions, even at this late date, would serve as a good warning to whoever took his place.

“And?  What’s the second thing I’ve got to do?”  Percy was pleased to see that the bottle of firewhiskey had been completely forgotten. 

“Miss Granger seems to think that you need a bit of time to…er…educate yourself about the Muggle world.” He said. 

“But I got an ‘Outstanding’ on my Muggle Studies N.E.W.T.” Arthur protested.

“Yes, well…she is less than thrilled with the Muggle Studies course offered at Hogwarts.  Apparently, the information is woefully out of date and the entire curriculum is designed around the idea that Muggles are interesting, but primitive, creatures.  You remember my friend Andrew Westwood?”  Arthur nodded.  Andrew had been one of Percy’s roommates at Hogwarts.  “I talked to him about it and he told me that radios, cars and trains are all Muggle inventions and that they’ve done things we’ve never even dreamed of.”

“Really?  Like what?”

“Dad...focus.”  Percy said.  “My point is, every time Harry Potter and Miss Granger are here, you ask them questions about plugs and rubber ducks and that sort of thing.  You can’t do that if you’re going to be handling House Pendragon business.  You’ll need to be able to walk, talk, and act like a Muggle, otherwise you’ll stand out like a snapped wand.  Miss Granger suggested that we hire someone to be your tutor.  We’ll want someone who is muggleborn or raised in the Muggle world.  I talked to Andrew and he’s quite keen on the idea.”  Percy frowned as the light in his father’s eyes suddenly went out.

“It sounds wonderful, Percy, but is it really a good idea for Hermione to hire so many people from one family?  People will accuse her of favoritism…”

“Dad, you know as well as I do that the Wizarding world runs on nepotism.  You and Mum are the only adult witch and wizard Miss Granger knows outside of Hogwarts…well, other than Lucius Malfoy.”  Percy didn’t mention Sirius Black, as that wasn’t his secret to tell.  “She’d much rather work with people she knows than with strangers.  What’s more, I’ll tell you what Bill told me when he offered me the job—we’re employees just like any other.  If we don’t do our jobs or if we make Miss Granger look bad, she is well within her rights to give us the sack.”  Percy grinned at his father.  

“I’ll do it!”  Arthur was nearly shouting with joy and, with a wave of his wand, the firewhiskey bottle was Banished to the cabinet where he kept such things for company.  “I’ll do it!  Your mother will be so pleased…”  As quickly as it had come, Arthur’s smile faded again.  “Oh dear.  Ron…”

“What about him?”

“He’s still having….trouble.”  Arthur confessed.  “We don’t dare mention either Harry or Hermione around him at the risk of setting him off.  He even gets mad when we talk about you and Bill and he was horrid to Bill when he was here the other night.”  Percy sighed.

“Dad, I think that maybe you’re going about things the wrong way with him.”  He braced himself to speak some hard truths.  “I’ve noticed that you and Mum…you were different with Ron and Ginny as kids than you were with the rest of us.  I know a lot of it has to do with the fact that Ron is the youngest boy and Ginny is the only girl and they were both born when the fighting was really bad, but….well…”

“Say it, Percy.”  His father’s voice was unexpectedly gentle.

“You were easier on them.”  Percy said.  “They weren’t expected to do as much, they were more…protected…from the realities of our financial situation, and Mum sometimes still treats them like they’re incapable of blowing their own noses without her help.  If the twins or I had done what Ron did with Harry during their first year—breaking into the forbidden corridor and all that—Mum would have taken her wand to our backsides faster than you can say ‘Quidditch’ and you know it.  Ginny….she’s okay.  I think that business with the diary really made her grow up a lot, but Ron….”

“I know.”  Arthur rubbed a weary hand across his face.  “As much as I’d love to blame all his problems on Dumbledore and those blasted potions, I’ve come to realize that there were some issues that we didn’t see or…well, that we chose to ignore.”

“I’m not saying that you need to throw him out on the street or make him pay rent or anything like that.”  Percy said, hastily.  “But you shouldn’t…you can’t allow him to run your life this way.  The question is, do you want the job?”

“I do.”  Arthur nodded.

“Do you think that taking the job will have any negative consequences for Ron?  Real ones, I mean.  Not just whatever he thinks is so bad about it all.”  Arthur thought about it for a moment.

“No.”  he shook his head.  “If what you said about the salary applies to me…”

“It will.”  Percy grinned. 

“Well then, that will make things much easier around here.  I am concerned, though, that Ron might do or say something that will get him into real trouble.”

“I understand that,” Percy nodded.  “but at some point, Ron is going to have to be responsible for his own behavior and he is going to have to bear the consequences of his mistakes.  I don’t think avoiding the issue is going to solve anything.”

“You’re right.”  Arthur sighed.  “I’ll have a talk with your mother tonight.  She….well, Ron is her baby, you know?  You’re right about Ginny—she grew up a lot during her first year at Hogwarts and she’s got the same independent streak as Fred, George, and Charlie.  Your mother recognizes that and, as much as she dislikes it, she understands that she has to let Ginny go.  She…hasn’t quite reached that stage with Ron.”  Percy nodded his agreement.  “Since it will be a while before I start my new job, I’ll be able to be more involved in things here…..” 

“Arthur?  Percy?  Is everything all right?”  Percy heard his mother before he saw her, but he suspected that most people would say the same thing. 

“Things have never been better!”  Arthur stood and scoped his wife into a warm embrace.  Percy politely averted his eyes until his mother’s laughter assured him that it was safe to look again. 

“Arthur?  What’s gotten into you?”

“I ought to be off.”  Percy said, standing.

“Won’t you stay for supper?”  As usual, his mother looked rather desperate at the idea that one of her children would deliberately choose not to have a meal at home.

“I’m meeting Penny in an hour.”  Percy explained and his mother’s expression softened.  “Dad, you’ll need to go to Gringotts tomorrow to sign a contract, and we’ll need to set up a preliminary meeting with Ted Tonks.  I’ll fire-call you later so we can make arrangements.”  Chuckling, Percy made his escape through the Floo before his mother could start peppering him with questions.

**

Slytherin Boys’ Dormitory

Saturday, Sept. 23

As he lay in his bed and stared at the canopy overhead, Draco Malfoy couldn’t help but smile as he felt a warm glow of pride radiate from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes.  For the first time ever, his father had asked—no, begged--for his help. 

Father had a plan to put the Malfoys back on top.  If they succeeded, the Dark Lord would have no choice but to restore them to their rightful places at the head of his army.  Privately, Draco thought that, if they succeeded, the army could become theirs.  After all, the Dark Lord was a weak, disgusting creature that depended on others to fulfill even his most basic needs.  Surely, the men of House Malfoy could dispose of him easily enough, when the time was right.  But that time was not now.  Before they could rise to the pinnacle of power, the plan had to succeed and, since the Dark Lord was keeping a close eye on Father’s movements, Draco had to be the one to act.

Draco couldn’t help but grin as he recalled the best part of the meeting: the moment when he—he—had been the one to suggest the solution to their biggest obstacle.

“What about Karkaroff?”

“What about him?”  Father had studied him over the rim of his glass.

“He can Apparate.”  Draco said.  “No one will stop him if he wants to leave the grounds.”

“Yes….”  Father looked thoughtful.  “That could work.  But how do I convince him?  It will be noticed if I send him an owl.”

“I’ve been speaking with him.”  Draco was nearly bursting with excitement.  “He knows the Dark Lord is returning and is anxious to be make amends for his past mistakes.  If I tell him that this will earn him favor….that the Dark Lord might even forgive him…”

Father’s plan was risky, it was true.  If this first part didn’t come off perfectly, the whole thing would fail.  But without risk, there was no reward and Draco was confident in his ability to handle his assignment.  All he had to do was convince Karkaroff to help him; Father would take care of the rest.  Just over a week from now, they would have what they wanted and no one would dare take it away from them.

In his bed, Draco Malfoy squirmed with delight as he remembered the praise his father had heaped on him for his brilliant suggestion.  In the morning, he would seek out the High Master of Durmstrang and tell him of the role he was destined to play in the rise of House Malfoy.

**

Hogwarts – Headmaster ’s Office

Sunday, September 24

Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself and exchanged a glance with her Mentor.  Professor McGonagall gave her a reassuring smile, while Bill Weasley put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  Though nothing was said, Hermione was grateful for Andromeda Tonks’ presence on her other side.

She had known this moment was coming ever since Professor Snape had informed them of the Headmaster’s return to the castle.  The group had a plan in place and, between them, Hermione felt that the three adults could handle anything Dumbledore tried to throw at them.  Thanks to the goblins and the Slytherin spy network, they knew how Albus Dumbledore had spent the last few days and what information he had obtained.  Checking her watch, Hermione allowed a small smile to play on her lips.  10:35. Perfect.

“Jelly Baby.” She said to the gargoyle and had to bite her lip to keep herself form snickering at Professor McGonagall’s disgusted snort.  She had never been to the Headmaster’s office before, but she was quite familiar with escalators so was not fazed by the moving staircase.  The door at the top of the stairs was open and Hermione led the way into Dumbledore’s office.  The Headmaster was at his desk, looking over some papers.

“Miss Granger, you are late….” He began, without bothering to raise his head.

“Really, Albus!”  Professor McGonagall snapped.  At the sound of her voice, Professor Dumbledore looked up and Hermione was pleased to see that he was surprised, though not at all happy, to see that she was not alone.  “You are the very last person who has any right to give lectures on punctuality!” 

“Minerva?  I’m sorry, but there seems to be some confusion.  The staff meeting doesn’t start until two…”  They had all agreed that the best way to get through this meeting was to keep Dumbledore as off-balance as possible.  To Hermione’s untrained eye, it looked as though they were off to a good start.

“I’m aware of that.”  Professor McGonagall directed Hermione to a seat while Andromeda perched on its mate.  Bill remained near the door to prevent unwanted interruptions, while Professor McGonagall stood behind Hermione.  “I, or rather, we are here with Miss Granger.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Dumbledore said, blinking rather owlishly. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but since your note didn’t specify what you wanted to talk about, I thought it best to ask everyone to attend.”  They had all agreed that there was more chance of Lucius Malfoy donning a tutu and dancing in the Muggle ballet than there was that Hermione would willingly meet with Dumbledore on her own.  However, both Professor Snape and Viktor had suggested that it would be better for the Headmaster to think that she was still the same naïve, eager-to-lease girl she had been the last time he’d spoken with her.  Their plan was to focus the Headmaster’s attention (and anger) on to the three adults in the room, rather than on Hermione, herself. 

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Miss Granger.”  Professor Dumbledore looked genuinely bewildered as he looked around at them all.

“Well, sir, if you wanted to talk to me as Headmaster of Hogwarts, then I need to have my Mentor present.”  Hermione spoke quickly and did her best to smile.  “It’s part of our contract, you see, and I’ve read all about magical contracts and how dangerous it is to break one.”

“Ah.  Well, you needn’t worry about that, Miss Granger.”  Dumbledore sat back and appeared to be doing his best impression of Father Christmas.  “I do know all about the dangers of magical contracts and, rest assured, I would never risk damaging yours.  In fact, none of the matters I wish to discuss with you today concern your education…”

“In which case, I thought it must have something to do with House Pendragon.” Hermione interjected.  “That’s why I asked Bill to come.  He’s my factotum and knows ever so much more about all this than I do.”

“This really doesn’t have anything to do with House Pendragon, either.”  Dumbledore said, sounding slightly desperate.

 “But, then why could you possibly want to speak with me?”  Privately, Hermione thought she might be overdoing the “babe in the woods” act, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, as you know, I am Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot….”

“But you have no authority to act in that capacity outside of the Wizengamot chambers and, as Miss Granger has not officially taken her seat yet, you cannot discuss Wizengamot proceedings with her without violating several laws.”  Bill said.  Dumbledore turned to peer at him closely, before returning his attention to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, I’m afraid that I will have to ask these people to leave, as what I wish to discuss with you is private.  As I’ve already said, this does not concern your education or the business of House Pendragon, so there is no need for any of these people to stay.”

“Sir…”  Hermione began, but Andromeda cut in, smoothly.

 “Excuse me, my Lady, but perhaps I can be of some help here.”  Andromeda was a small, delicate-looking woman, but she exuded confidence and a kind of power that defied description.  “Headmaster, my name is Andromeda Tonks.  I’m not sure if you’ll remember me, but I graduated from Hogwarts in 1970.”

“Ah….yes.  Miss Tonks.  How delightful to see you.”  Bill snickered.  The fact that Andromeda didn’t glare at him told Hermione that she was as amused by the Headmaster’s gaffe as Bill was.

“It’s Madam Tonks, actually.  My maiden name is Black.  I’m here as Miss Granger’s Chaperone and…”

“Chaperone?  Now, really, Hermione.  There is no need for such foolishness.”  Hermione almost felt sorry for the Headmaster.  Clearly, he had no idea how far in over his head he was.

“Albus…..” Professor McGonagall warned.

“Miss Granger is a proper young lady and will be treated as such.”  Andromeda said at the same time. 

“I meant no disrespect."  Dumbledore said, hastily.  “Hermione, my dear, I assure you that my intentions are quite honorable.  A chaperone is quite unnecessary.  All of this protocol and etiquette business is really just so much stuff and nonsense.  No one pays attention to it anymore.  That being said, if you must have one, you would be well advised to ask someone from one of the…hmmm….more respectable families to help you.  I’m sure Molly Weasley would…”  Bill laughed again and Hermione distinctly heard Professor McGonagall chuckle, though her face remained locked in its professional, though slightly irritated, expression.

“Headmaster, please make up your mind.” Bill said.  “Either Miss Granger needs a Chaperone or she doesn’t.  If she does, I’m afraid that my mother is not available.  She has her hands full, what with her dame school and Ron and…”

“Ronald?”  The Headmaster’s attention was now fully focused on Bill, so Hermione took the opportunity to study his office.  The wall behind the large, mahogany desk was lined with shelves which were covered with books.  There were small tables around the room, each of which boasted several strange instruments that whirred and chugged and let out little puffs of smoke.  Some of these instruments also glowed faintly, though Hermione suspected that most people wouldn’t be able to see that.  She wondered whether Dumbledore was aware of just how many of his gadgets were completely non-magical.  With a wrench, she pulled her attention back to the conversation.  Dumbledore was looking at her again.  “Yes, we do need to discuss young Ronald.  Therefore, to protect his privacy, I must insist that the rest of you leave….”

“Oh, honestly!”  Professor McGonagall snapped.  “You have all the subtlety of a first-year Hufflepuff!  Face it, Albus.  You’re not going to win this one.  You have no right to demand a private meeting with Miss Granger, nor any legitimate reason for doing so that I can think of.  If you do not wish to discuss Miss Granger’s education and, as we’ve already established, you cannot discuss Wizengamot business, I don’t see why this meeting is even necessary.  In fact, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, the only reason you would ever have to speak with her is if she violated one of the rules outlined in Article 11 in the school charter!”

“Article 11?”  Andromeda looked confused, though Hermione knew perfectly well that she and McGonagall had rehearsed this bit.  Obligingly, she took her cue.

“She means Article 11 of the Hogwarts school charter.  The part that talks about the things that can get you expelled from the school.  The Charter states that the Deputy Head is in charge of all disciplinary matters unless a student kills, attempts to kill, or recklessly endangers the lives of other students.  I assume that’s why Hagrid was expelled, wasn’t it, sir?  Because he recklessly endangered the lives of other students?” She turned wide eyes to Dumbledore.  She had her suspicions about this and was eager to see how he’d react.

“Er….yes.”  Hermione had to bite her cheek to keep from asking more questions, but promised herself to more thoroughly investigate that incident at the earliest possible opportunity.  Now, it was time for the next test.  Hermione returned her attention to Madam Tonks, though her comments were really meant for Dumbledore’s ears.  “I remember Article 11 of the Charter because there’s a clause in my Mentorship Contract that states that it can be broken if I’m expelled due to an Article 11 violation.”

She was sure she didn’t imagine the calculating look that flashed across Dumbledore’s face, or his irritation at Professor McGonagall’s next words.

“Of course, if Miss Granger were to be accused of such a violation, the contract would only be broken if she was proven to be guilty.  That could only happen after an independent investigation by the Aurors.”

“No one is being expelled, Minerva.”  Professor Dumbledore said, wearily.  “Hermione, I just wanted to know if you have any questions about your new situation that I can, perhaps, answer.”

“Actually, sir, I do have several questions for you.”  The Headmaster looked positively relieved and sat back in his seat again.

“Yes?”

“Why isn’t there a current copy of the Wizengamot Rolls and Register in the library?”

“I’m sorry?”  Dumbledore looked genuinely confused again.  Hermione was almost ashamed at how much fun she was having.

“The Wizengamot Rolls and Register.”  She repeated, patiently.  “I went to look at it as soon as Neville told me that I’ve got to attend the Wizengamot meeting in January, and found that the copy in the library is nearly fifteen years old!  I got the most up-to-date copy from the Ministry and compared the two and our copy is horribly outdated.  Besides myself, there are at least four students currently attending the school who will be eligible to take seats on the Wizengamot when they come of age., so I just wanted to know why we don’t have a copy of the most recent record of the rules and procedures here.  From what I understand, the members of the Wizengamot are very particular about these things and have invalidated votes because the proper procedures weren’t followed!”

“Four other students?  Really?”  Andromeda looked intrigued.  In truth, the number was a lot closer to ten.  According to Daphne Greengrass, the last war had been quite hard on the Wizengamot.  That august body, which wasn’t very large to begin with, had lost a number of its members, either because they were killed by Death Eaters or because they were Death Eaters or proven collaborators.  Seats on the Wizengamot were hereditary, so when a member died or was banned from service, his or her right to serve automatically devolved onto his or her Heir.  Currently, there were quite a few underage Wizengamot members whose duties were being carried out by proxies.  In several cases, the seat-holder was an orphan and their proxy had been appointed by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot—Albus Dumbledore. 

“Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Amy Honeywell, and Cassius Warrington.”  Hermione rattled the names off easily.  They had chosen to mention these four because Dumbledore already knew about them.  Neville and Susan were both represented on the Wizengamot by family members, while Amy Honeywell (a seventh year Ravenclaw) and Cassius Warrington (a sixth year Slytherin) would both be eligible to take their seats at the next meeting.

 “Ah, I’m not sure.  I’ll ask Madam Pince to look into it.”  Dumbledore was clearly floundering again.  He was also lying.  When Madam Pince had refused to answer Hermione’s questions on the matter, she’d brought out the big guns; namely, Professor McGonagall.  After tea, some delicious elf-made biscuits, and some probing questions, Madam Pince had admitted that Dumbledore had instructed her not to replace the old Rolls and Register.  As if this confession had opened a floodgate, the librarian had then told McGonagall about all the other ways in which Dumbledore had abused his position with regards to the school’s library.  By the end of the meeting, Madam Pince was firmly on their side.  “Now, what else can I help you with?”  Dumbledore clearly wanted to change the subject and Hermione was more than prepared to let that happen.

“Well, sir, I’ve been doing some reading on the Pendragon family and I understand that they established the Hogwarts Trust when the school was founded.”

“Indeed.”  Dumbledore was smiling now.  “The Trust is one of the things I wished to discuss with you, as a matter of fact.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.  You see, I’m afraid that the Trust is….well….there is very little money left in the vaults.”  As Dumbledore paused for breath, Hermione took the opportunity to jump in.

“Oh, I know, sir.  That’s what I wanted to ask you about.  You see, Liza Pendragon, my…er….”  She cast an appealing glance to Andromeda, who understood her dilemma at once.

“Just say ‘my most recent ancestor.’”  The older woman advised.  “It is quite proper, saves time and everyone will know what you mean.”

“Right.”  Hermione nodded.  “Well, sir, before she died, my most recent ancestor donated nearly twenty million Galleons to the Trust, which more than doubled the size of the school’s endowment.  According to the Pendragon account manager at Gringotts, the annual dividends from that endowment should have been enough to keep the school running for five hundred years; with a staff of twenty-five teachers and an evaluation of the wards every ten years, no less!  He says that, if things had been handled correctly, there should have been no need to add to the principal, let alone charge tuition.”

Hermione had been nearly incandescent with rage when Orgut and Percy had showed her the Trust ledgers.  In the absence of a living member of the Pendragon family, the Board of Governors, the Ministry and several others had treated the Trust as if it was their own personal vault.  Almost none of that money had gone to benefit the school and, to make matters worse, when the Board had decided to start charging tuition, they had set the prices for muggleborns at nearly ten times that paid by magical families. 

“I’m afraid that your account manager has not taken into account the rise in costs…”

“Well, that ‘rise in costs’ is one of the things that concerns me.”  Hermione said.  “I’ve seen the account books, Headmaster, and almost all of the money seems to have been spent on salaries for the Board of Governors.”

“They deserve some compensation for all their hard work, don’t you think?”  Hermione goggled at the old man’s audacity.

“Albus, they spend….what?  A week out of every year on Hogwarts business?”  Professor McGonagall looked seriously annoyed.  “I’d hardly call even that work.”

“And 20,000 Galleons a year is really quite a large sum.”  Bill added.  “That’s twice what a mid-level Gringotts employee makes and, from what I hear, Gringotts salaries are among the highest in the country.” 

“And there’s loads of people who are getting salaries who aren’t even on the Board!”  Hermione finished.  “Like…the Minister of Magic.  Why is he drawing a salary from the Hogwarts Trust?  Meanwhile, the wards haven’t been updated in over fifty years!”  They had decided not to directly confront Dumbledore about the fact that he was “double-dipping” nor about the money that had simply gone missing.  As Viktor had reminded them; they were fighting a war, not a single battle.  They needed to save some ammunition for later.

“Ah….perhaps we can hold off on discussing this further until I’ve had a chance to assess the situation?”  Dumbledore had gone very pale and kept casting sidelong glances at the window.  Hermione wasn’t sure what was happening, but he seemed worried about something other than what they were discussing.  Bill was also looking at the window, too, but as he hadn’t moved from his position by the door, Hermione decided that there was no immediate danger.

“All right.”  She allowed some of her dissatisfaction with the Headmaster’s answers—or lack thereof—to creep into her voice.  After all, she wanted the Headmaster to think she was innocent, not an idiot!  “My next question is this: why hasn’t Sirius Black been cleared of all charges?  As his Heir-Presumptive, the goblins sent me a letter stating that the I.C.W. had exonerated him.  Surely, as his friend and as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you must be able to do something about the fact that the Ministry is still treating him like a criminal.”

“Ah…You see, Hermione, that’s a very difficult and complicated question.  I think that you are, perhaps, a bit too young to really comprehend…”

“Excuse me, Headmaster, but I must insist you address Miss Granger properly, as befits her station.” Andromeda had warned Hermione that the Headmaster might try to use her youth against her and they had planned their response carefully. 

“I beg your pardon?”  Dumbledore was now looking somewhat irritated. 

“Miss Granger is Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House.”  Andromeda explained, using a tone of voice Hermione had only ever heard parents use with very young, very naughty children.  “It is not proper to address her by her first name unless she gives you permission to do so.”

“Hermione doesn’t mind, do you dear?” Dumbledore gave her what he clearly thought was his best grandfatherly smile. 

“What is more, Headmaster, Miss Granger is legally an adult and as Heir-Presumptive of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.  As such, she is entitled to an answer to her question without any patronizing dragon shit from you.”  Dumbledore rocked back in his chair as if he’d been slapped.  Even Hermione was startled by the vehemence in Andromeda’s voice.  There was a moment’s silence as Dumbledore seemed to be very interested in the window again.  Hermione followed his gaze, but saw nothing….well, there might have been something there, but she wasn’t sure.

“Well, Albus?”  Professor McGonagall said, after a moment’s awkward silence “Why hasn’t Sirius Black been cleared of all charges?  You and I both know the man is innocent.”

“We know that, of course, but the Minister is being rather…stubborn.”  Dumbledore said.  “As you may remember, he put a lot of effort into the hunt for Sirius last year.”

“I remember that he put a lot of effort into publicizing that hunt.”  Professor McGonagall sniffed disdainfully.

“Precisely!  Because of that publicity, his popularity increased significantly.”

“So, you’re saying that he doesn’t want to admit Sirius is innocent because he thinks he’ll look foolish.”  Hermione said, slowly.

“Yes.”  Dumbledore’s expression cleared.  Obviously, he thought he had dodged a Bludger. 

“And if people start to ask questions about the hunt, then he might have to explain why Sirius never had a trial in the first place.”  Hermione continued, as if the old man hadn’t spoken.  Again, this was not the time for a direct confrontation, but it didn’t hurt to let Dumbledore worry about what they did and didn’t know.

 “Yes.  To make matters worse, I understand that Minister Fudge is currently being investigated by the DMLE and the goblins.  I believe that he is afraid that exonerating Sirius would lead them to look more closely at his role in the matter that is being investigated…”

“…and he has done something he doesn’t want them to find out.”  Hermione nodded.  According to Vincent Crabbe, who had heard it from Draco Malfoy, Lucius had paid large sums to Fudge to make sure that Sirius was Kissed as soon as possible after capture.  “But does Minister Fudge really have a choice in this?  Professor McGonagall is teaching me all about Wizarding government and, as I understand it, the DMLE is only supposed to catch the criminals.  It’s the Wizengamot that passes judgement and sentence.  So, if the Wizengamot decided to….”

“I’ll….ah…look into it.”  Dumbledore said, hastily.  “Now, I have a question for you, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t you think you were rather harsh with Mr. Weasley?”  Hermione gave him her best “butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth” look.

“I’m sorry, sir, but which Mr. Weasley are you referring to and how was I harsh with him?”

“I am referring to Ronald Weasley, of course.”  Dumbledore said, obviously frustrated.  “I realize you are angry with him, but asking his parents to remove him from school…”

“Albus…” Professor McGonagall was nearly growling, but Dumbledore ignored her.

“Really, Miss Granger, I’m not sure you understand the consequences of your actions.  Mr. Weasley’s entire future could be jeopardized over what is, when all is said and done, a childish squabble.  I’m sure if you just apologize…”

“Headmaster, take my advice and stop talking before you say something you’ll regret.”  As Bill spoke, Hermione caught sight of something moving under Bill’s collar.  It was only a moment, but she was sure she’d seen it; what was more, she was sure Bill was aware of it too. “My family’s decisions regarding Ron’s education are none of your business.”

“To be clear, Albus, Miss Granger has nothing to apologize for.”  Professor McGonagall was practically hissing now.  While they had anticipated that Ron Weasley would be one of the topics Dumbledore wanted to discuss, they hadn’t expected him to use this tactic and it was clear that Professor McGonagall was having trouble holding on to her temper.  “She is not responsible for Mr. Weasley’s poor behavior and you have no right to insinuate otherwise.”

“Minerva, I am merely trying to impress upon the girl that her actions have consequences…”

“What actions, Headmaster?”  Andromeda was also getting angry.  Hermione began to worry that someone might let their emotions overrule their good sense, but she couldn’t think of how to stop what was happening without letting something slip herself. 

“Madam Tonks, this is really none of your concern…” Dumbledore blustered.

“Oh, but it is.  You see, I am not only Miss Granger’s Chaperone, I am her family and, until my cousin returns from the Continent, I am the closest magical family she has.  I will not stand here and allow my kinswoman to be insulted or unjustly accused.  You have now stated—twice—that Miss Granger’s actions will have negative consequences for Mr. Ronald Weasley.  I think we would all like to know just what actions you think those are.”

“Well…asking Ronald parents to remove him from school.”  Hermione was genuinely shocked by this. 

“But I didn’t.” she said.

“You didn’t…what?” Hermione had never seen Dumbledore so….flat-footed before.

“I didn’t ask Ron’s parents to take him out of school.  In fact, the only contact I’ve had with Mr. or Mrs. Weasley since this summer is when I spoke to Mr. Weasley at the Ministry two weeks ago and that was before Ron tried to attack me.”

“So, you’re saying that Mr. Weasley attacked you for no reason?  That you did nothing to provoke him?”  Dumbledore was clearly trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation.  Hermione wondered if he realized just how lame and petty he sounded. 

 “For Merlin’s sake, Albus!”  Minerva huffed.  “Get your facts straight before you start lobbing accusations and demanding apologies!  I was there, as you would know if you’d read my report.  Miss Granger did nothing to provoke Mr. Weasley’s attack and I find it rather disturbing that you jumped to such a conclusion without any investigation.”

“Still….”  Dumbledore began, obviously making a valiant effort to control his temper “it is important that Ronald return to school and…”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but that’s not up to me.”  Hermione said, standing.  “Now, if that’s all?”

“No.”  Dumbledore frowned.  “I understand that you have taken Harry Potter on as a ward of House Pendragon.”  Hermione looked at Bill, who nodded slightly.  While she had started the process soon after receiving Sirius’ request, she had not been certain—until just now—that she had been successful.

“Yes, sir.” She was tempted to leave it at that, but couldn’t help rubbing salt into the old man’s wounds.  “As he is now my ward, he no longer has need of a Guardian.  You needn’t trouble yourself any longer about his living arrangements and your only duty towards him is the same as that you have to every student here in your role as Headmaster.  You have no legal authority over Harry or any obligation towards House Potter.  You cannot and will not force him to return to those horrible Muggles.”

“You…you can’t….Miss Granger, surely you know that the blood wards are the only things that keep Harry safe?”  Hermione was somewhat surprised to see that Dumbledore was genuinely panicking.

“What blood wards?”  she asked.  “I asked the goblins to evaluate the Dursley’s home and they found no evidence that any kind of ward had ever been placed on that house, let alone something as powerful as a blood ward.  Now, I assume you were relying on the anonymity of the Muggle world to keep Harry safe from those who want to do him harm, but Mr. Weasley managed to get Harry’s aunt’s house hooked up to the Floo network this summer.  If he can do that—and, from what I understand, it was quite easy—I don’t think that it is unreasonable to assume that those who wish to do Harry harm would be able to find him just as easily.  What’s more, Harry’s relatives are absolutely horrible to him.  Harry is my friend and I will not sit by and watch him suffer needlessly when I have it within my power to help him.”  She had to stop and draw in a deep breath.  Professor McGonagall put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Miss Granger, I’m afraid that I cannot allow this to happen.”  Dumbledore said, gravely.

“And I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it, Headmaster.” Andromeda smirked as she put extra emphasis on his title.  “Now if there’s nothing else….?”  When Dumbledore didn’t speak, she gave a sharp nod and steered Hermione towards the door to his office.

“Good day, Headmaster.”  Hermione said, wiling herself to keep a straight face.  Dumbledore didn’t answer.  Bill opened the door and Hermione and Andromeda walked out onto the small landing.  Before Professor McGonagall joined them, Hermione heard her speak.

“Headmaster, I will see you at two o’clock.  Please do not waste the staff’s time by discussing things that are none of your concern.”

The group was silent as they made their way to Professor McGonagall’s office.  Once inside, Bill held a finger to his lips.  Turning up his collar, Hermione caught sight of a large beetle nestled there.  McGonagall gave a startled gasp of surprise while Andromeda looked rather amused about something. Turning his collar back down again, Bill spoke quite naturally.

“Well, that was…interesting.”

“Yes.”  Andromeda nodded.  “Professor, I was going to spend the rest of the morning working on Miss Granger’s etiquette lessons at the house in Hogsmeade.  However, I think we need to discuss what just happened.  Would you care to accompany us?”

“Certainly.”  McGonagall nodded, her lips pursed.  “Just one moment…”  They waited while she contacted Professor Flitwick and informed him that she was leaving the castle.  Then, Andromeda threw Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through.  Professor McGonagall followed and, to Hermione’s astonishment, the beetle flew off Bill’s shoulder and transformed into a tall woman with platinum-blond hair, large spectacles, and a rather hideous outfit.  She flashed Hermione a toothy smile before stepping into the Floo. 

“That’s Rita Skeeter.”  Bill informed her, speaking at barely more than a whisper.  “She’s a….”

“…reporter.”  Hermione sighed.

Chapter Text

An Exclusive Interview with Miss Hermione Granger, Head of House Pendragon

**

Hogwarts – Gryffindor Common Room

Monday, Sept. 25

“You gave Rita Skeeter an interview?”  Ginny stared at Hermione, disbelief and suspicion warring for pride of place in her expression.  Hermione cast a quick glance around the Common Room, but they were alone.  Both girls were early risers, so had gotten into the habit of chatting while they waited for the boys to roust themselves.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”  She grumbled.  “Look, if I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell the others, okay?  Not right now, anyway.”

“All right.” 

“Okay, so you know how Dumbledore summoned me to a meeting yesterday?”  Ginny nodded.  “It was a trick…of sorts.  He arranged with Rita to let her sit in on our ‘conversation’ if she promised to write certain stories about the Tri-Wizard tournament.”

“Wait…”  Ginny held up her hand.  “I have questions.”

“Okay.”

“One: you had a conversation with Dumbledore in front of skeeter?  And two: what did he want her to write about the tournament?”  Hermione chewed her lip, considering what it was safe to tell her friend.

“I can’t answer your second question.  Not right now, anyway.” She said, finally.  “I’m serious, Gin.”  She said, when the other girl looked like she was going to protest.  “Ask me again, after the Champions are chosen.”

“All right.”  Ginny huffed.  “What’s the answer to my first question?”

“I was not, knowingly, going to have a conversation with Dumbledore in front of Rita Skeeter.”  Hermione said.  “However….” She paused for dramatic effect “Rita Skeeter is an Animagus!”  she was gratified by Ginny’s gasp of surprise. 

“She is??  What is she?  Some kind of worm or something?”

“Close.  A beetle.  And she’s currently unregistered, so we need to keep that under our hats, at least for a little while.”  Hermione gave Ginny a sharp glance.  “That was part of the deal.”

“Okay,” Ginny shok her head, as if she was trying to clear water out of her ears.  “I think you need to start from the beginning.”

“Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus.”  Hermione repeated.  “Her form is a beetle.  That’s how she’s been getting her stories; she transforms and then eavesdrops on people.  Dumbledore found out years ago and promised not to turn her if she wrote certain stories for him.  They’ve had a mutually beneficial business relationship ever since.”

“And he invited her to sit in on his conversation with you.  Why?”  Ginny looked as confused as Hermione had felt when she’d first heard all this.

“We’re not sure.”  She admitted.  “Since we didn’t let Dumbledore control the conversation, we didn’t find out what his real motives were.”

“Okay, so Rita was sitting in on the meeting and…?”  Ginny made a gesture of impatience with her hands.

“We….that is, Professor McGonagall, Madam Tonks, Bil and I, confronted Dumbledore with some things he’d rather not share with the public.”  Hermione replied.  “What none of the rest of us knew was that Bill was trained by the goblins to recognize transformed Animagi.  Apparently, that’s something they encounter occasionally in Egypt.”

“So….”  Hermione could practically hear the wheels spinning in Ginny’s brain.  “He saw her for what…or, rather, who she was?”

“Yes.  What was more, Rita realized that he’d spotted her.  She was also terrified that Dumbledore might try to do something to her after we left.”

“Like what?  You don’t think he’d try to kill her or something, do you?”  For a moment, Hermione debated telling Ginny the true story about the night she was Petrified, but decided against it.  She still wasn’t comfortable talking about what had been done to her, but she was also aware that it was a mere drop in the bucket compared to what had been done to Ginny that year.

“No, but he might try to alter her memories.  You heard about what he did to Ron and your mother, right?”

“Yeah.  Bastard!”  For a moment, Hermione thought that she might have to keep Ginny from running off and hexing the Headmaster.  “So, what?  Rita switched sides?”

“Well, yeah.  Dumbledore was starting to panic and kept glancing in her direction.  Bill saw it and Rita realized he knew what she was, so she flew under his collar and snuck out of the office with us.  We all went to the house in Hogsmeade and Rita told us everything.”  She made a face.  “Don’t ask me how this happened, but she’s now in charge of public relations for House Pendragon.”  Ginny stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh.  After a moment, Hermione reluctantly joined her.

“Only you.”  Ginny gasped.  “Only you.”

**

The Burrow

Monday, Sept. 25

“Ron!”  Ron Weasley groaned and pulled his pillow over his head.  In his opinion, his mother’s voice was worse than any alarm clock.  Fortunately, this was only the first call.  He had at least ten minutes until she tried again, and it wasn’t until the third call that he needed to worry about her storming into his room.  Even then, she’d leave him alone as long as he made it look like he was ready to get up.  The kids wouldn’t be here for at least another two hours, so….

The pillow was yanked off his head and Ron felt a hand shake his shoulder, none too gently.

“Get up, son.  There’s a lot to be done today.”  Turning over, Ron blinked blearily at his father.

“Dad?  What are you doing here?  Why aren’t you at work?”

“Breakfast is in twenty minutes.  I’ll explain everything after you eat.”  Ron watched his father leave the room then, shrugging, turned over and went back to sleep.  An hour and a half later, he finally stumbled into the kitchen.  He was surprised—and dismayed—to see that there was no food on the table.  His mother was nowhere to be seen, but his father was sitting in his usual spot, sipping tea and reading the newspaper.

“Where’s breakfast?” Ron asked, opening the oven to see if a plate had been left in there to keep warm.

“It was on the table twenty minutes after I came to get you.”  Ron could see genuine anger in his father’s eyes.  “We waited for another twenty minutes, but when you didn’t turn up, your mother boxed it all up for the food pantry.  She’s gone to the village.” He added, seeing Ron’s frantic look.

“But…why didn’t you call me?” Ron asked.  If he’d known that the food was going to be gone, he would have gotten out of bed sooner.

“We did.” His father reminded him.  “Your mother called you and I came into your room to tell you when breakfast would be on the table.  It is not our fault that you chose to ignore us.  Now, sit down.  We have some things to talk about.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Good!  Perhaps, next time, you’ll come when you’re called.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Every fiber of his normally laid-back father’s being seemed to vibrate with tension and his voice was….harsh.  “Why are you even here?  Why aren’t you at work?”  Even as he spoke, Ron’s eyes strayed towards the cooler.  It was strictly forbidden to take food meant for the shelter, but if his father left before his mother got back…

 “Sit down, son.” Arthur repeated, pointing to a chair.  “I have something to tell you, but before I do, I want to make some things very clear.  I suspect that what I have to say is going to make you angry.  That’s fine.  You have a right to your feelings and neither your mother nor I will hold those feelings against you.   What we will no longer do is pander to those feelings.”

“What do you mean?”  Ron asked, genuinely confused.

“I mean that we will no longer tolerate your tantrums, nor will we allow your lack of self-control to dictate our actions or conversation.” Ron opened his mouth to respond, but his father held up a hand.  “Let me explain.  Do you remember what happened when Bill was here a few days ago?”

“Yeah.”  Ron shrugged.  “He showed up and started talking about the bitch and then he left and Mum yelled at me and sent me to my room.”  For a moment, his father simply stared at him, his expression strongly reminiscent of his wife’s when she was trying to control her temper.

“Ron, you are never to refer to Miss Granger…”

“Wait!”  Ron interrupted.  “Now you’re doing it too?”

“Doing what?” His father looked rather nonplussed.

“Calling her ‘Miss Granger.’  She’s just Hermione, Dad.  She’s just a jumped-up little…”

“Stop!” Arthur’s hand hit the table with such force that it made his teacup rattle.  “Stop talking.”  Ron squirmed in his seat under his father’s glare, uncomfortably reminded of the time Fred and George had been caught trying to make him swear an Unbreakable Vow.  That was the only time Ron could recall his father spanking any of them.  Arthur drew in a deep breath to steady himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Even if Miss Granger was not the Head of an Ancient and Most Royal house, she is still entitled to respect, as is any other woman with whom you come in contact.  We will return to this in a moment.  Do you remember why your mother yelled and sent you to your room after Bill left?” 

“Er…” Ron stole a glance at the clock that hung above the stove.  This was an ordinary, time-telling clock, unlike the Family clock that sat on the mantel.  It was nearly nine.  Ron hoped that Mrs. Winkle and her children would arrive soon to put an end to this conversation.  If he could just stall a bit…

“It was because, while Bill was here, you harassed and insulted him incessantly and generally made life so unpleasant that he has refused every invitation to come back.”

“Well, good!”  Ron glared at his father.  “I don’t want him here, if all he’s going to do is go on about Hermione and his new job….”

“This!”  Ron’s father pointed at him.  “This is what I’m talking about!  I understand that you are angry and have negative feelings about Miss Granger…”

“Don’t call her that!”  Ron shouted.  “She’s just plain old, boring, know-it-all Hermione!”  For one moment, Ron thought that his father might actually hit him.  Arthur’s hands were clenched into fists, his face was flushed and Ron could see a vein throbbing on his neck.  There was silence as they sat motionless, until Arthur sighed and some of the tension left his body.

 “In the end, I suppose what happened with Bill doesn’t really matter.”  He murmured.  “What’s past is past and all we can do is move on.”  Ron nodded, relaxing slightly.  “What it comes down to is this, Ron.  Whether you like it or not, Miss Granger is Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House.  For that reason alone, your mother and I insist that you keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to or about her.  You will not dishonor the Ancient House of Weasley or any of its members with your disrespect!  Do you have any idea what would happen to our family if you were to say things like that where other people could hear you?”  Ron’s jaw fell.

 “Wh…what do you mean?” he stammered.  His father’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Didn’t you pay attention when your Aunt Muriel was talking to you about the Noble Protocols?” He asked.  Ron felt the tips of his ears burn.  He’d never paid attention to any of his Aunt Muriel’s lectures and he suspected his father knew it.  “Well, I’ll make this short and sweet.  Because Miss Granger is Head of a Royal House, she is entitled to more deference than the average witch or wizard.  If someone was to hear you speak about her disrespectfully, they would conclude that you were speaking on behalf of the entire Weasley family and they would act accordingly.  Your brothers and I would lose our jobs and you, the twins, and Ginny would not be able to find work after you graduate.  We would have no income.  Your mother wouldn’t even be able to run her dame school because no one would want to be associated with us, let alone entrust their children to our care.”

“But that….that’s stupid.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”  It was Arthur Weasley’s turn to shrug.  “That doesn’t change the facts.  What’s more, the goblins have a particular interest in Miss Granger’s comfort and prosperity.  If the House of Weasley insults or injures her, they will seize our vault.  We will all be destroyed, Ron.  Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not!” Ron stared at his father, aghast.  “How could you even think that?”  His father gave him a baleful stare and Ron dropped his gaze, flushed with shame.  Suddenly, he recalled something his father had said.

“Wait…you said that you would lose your job…”  Ron saw the wary look in his father’s eyes and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, Ron.”  His father stood, abruptly, and carried his teacup to the sink.  After rinsing it out, he turned, leaned on the counter, and folded his arms over his chest.  “Minister Fudge sacked me last week.  Fortunately, I’ve been offered a new job…a better job.”  Ron felt the knot twist and had to clear his throat before he could ask.

“What job?”

“I’m to be the new Muggle Liaison for House Pendragon.”  There was no mistaking the pride in Arthur Weasley’s voice as he said this.  Ron opened his mouth to protest, but his father spoke first.  “I don’t want to hear it, Ron.  This is an amazing opportunity and I’ll not hear a word against it because, in the end, it has nothing to do with you!  If I thought that my taking this job would harm you in any way, I would have turned it down.  But it doesn’t.  Now, I want to go over the new rules before your mother gets home.”

“New rules?” Ron felt the rage bubble up within him, but it was tempered with dread.  New rules were never a good thing.

“Yes.  Your mother and I have decided that, since you cannot seem to control your own behavior, we’re going to have to do it for you.”

“Where is Mum?  Why isn’t she here?”  Ron looked around the kitchen, desperate for his mother’s comfort and protection.  She wouldn’t let his father treat him this way.

“I told you, she went down to the village.  Your mother loves you very much, Ron, but she recognizes that you are not a child anymore and that we cannot keep treating you like one.  Still, it’s….”  There was a pause as Ron watched his Dad’s face scrunch up the way it always did when he was looking for the right word.  “It’s hard for her.  She and I agreed that it would be best if she wasn’t here for this discussion.  So,” He stood up and rubbed his hands together briskly.  “let’s finish this before she gets back, eh?  New rules!”

“New rules.”  Ron looked at his father, warily.  

“First up, you will never refer to Miss Granger as a ‘bitch’ or ‘mudblood’ again.  You will only refer to her as ‘Miss Granger’ until she gives you permission to use her first name.  Do you understand?”

“But she’s…”  Ron quailed at the fury in his father’s eyes.

“You are either very stubborn or very stupid.”  Ron had to strain to hear his father’s voice.  The lack of volume did nothing to detract from the danger it conveyed.  “I am going to do you the favor of assuming that you are stubborn.  You get that from me.  I’d be willing to wait out this foolishness, but your mother….Well, she still has that book by Persimmon Pringle.  You remember that book, don’t you?”

“Yes.”  Ron gulped.  Persimmon Pringle’s Punishments had been his mother’s favorite book of discipline charms when he was growing up.  He still had vivid memories of the day his mum had used that one charm that was meant ‘…for the Filthy Mouth.’  He’d belched soap bubbles for a week after she had cast it on him.

“Good. I’m glad we understand one another.  Next rule: you will not comment on Miss Granger’s behavior or your past interactions with her, unless it is to state verifiable facts or offer a compliment.  I would prefer that you not comment on her at all, but I recognize that your past friendship makes that an unrealistic demand.  If someone asks you a question about her, you may answer, provided that you do so honestly and within the boundaries that I have just described.  Understood?”

“Yes, Dad.”  Ron wondered who, exactly, his father thought would ask him a question about Hermione, but decided that now was not the time to pursue that particular issue.

“Now, your mother and I understand that you may not want to listen to conversations about Miss Granger or about the work your brothers and I are doing for her.  However, your brothers and I have as much right to be here as you do and we all have the right to talk about whatever we please.  If you feel that you cannot be around us or you do not like the conversation, you may excuse yourself—politely—and you will be allowed to leave the room.  If we are eating, your mother has agreed that you may take your plate into the living room.  You will not complain, whine, or throw a tantrum when Miss Granger is mentioned, nor will you insult or harangue me or your brothers for taking positions with House Pendragon.  I should add that, if you do decide to stay in the room while we are talking about Miss Granger or House Pendragon business, you may not repeat or otherwise discuss what is said with anyone, not even your other siblings.”

“Yes, Dad.”  Ron took another desperate look at the clock.  It was well past nine o’clock and the kids still hadn’t come.  His father followed his gaze and seemed to read his mind.

“Your mother is taking a week off from caring for the children.” He explained.  “I’ve got a bit of work to do to prepare for my new job and we want you to become accustomed to your new schedule before we bring them back.”

“My…my new schedule?”  Ron felt his mouth go dry.

“Yes.”  His father reached behind him and picked up something before returning to the table and placing the object in front of Ron.  Ron recognized his school satchel.  “Professor McGonagall dropped this off last night.  Your brothers have packed all your books and Professor McGonagall has given me the list of assignments you are expected to complete while you are at home.  From now on, you will spend at least two hours a day doing schoolwork and your mother and I will be checking to make sure you do it properly!”

Ron groaned.  His father ignored him.

“You will also spend two hours a day on chores.  You are not on vacation and it is high time you remember that.”  His father was unrelenting.  “You will be expected to be on time for every meal.  If you are not, you will not get any food.  And, just so you know, your mother emptied the cooler this morning, so don’t bother trying to sneak any food out of there.  Now, let’s see.  What else is there?  Homework, chores….oh, yes!  Your mother and I have decided that you need to start putting some real effort into preparing for your future.  From now on, you will spend at least one hour a day learning some useful skill or other.  Your mother is going to teach you basic housekeeping: cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on, and I am going to start teaching you some of the things that go into building and maintaining our house and property.  Percy has agreed to teach you some basic accounting and Xeno Lovegood has kindly offered to show you his presses and introduce you to journalism.  If there is something that catches your fancy, let me know and I’ll see what we can do to get you a tutor….”

“I want to play professional Quidditch!” Ron said, quickly. 

“Really?”  For the briefest of moments, the expression on his dad’s face was eerily reminiscent of the one Professor McGonagall wore when Ron tried to explain why his homework wasn’t done.  “Fred and George said you only went to the Quidditch training club when the students from Durmstrang were there.  Tell me, Ron, how many hours do the Chudley Canons practice each week?”

“Forty, unless they’re traveling for a match.” Ron answered, promptly.  As the words left his mouth, he suddenly understood the purpose of the question.  “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”  His father smirked.  “If you can learn to control your temper, I will ask Professor McGonagall if she will allow you to re-join the Quidditch Club when you return to school.  Until then, I want you to put some time into thinking about what other jobs you might want to do.  It’s all well and good to want to play Quidditch, but there are a lot of other people who have the same dream.”

That was when, somewhere in Ron Weasley’s brain, two synapses collided and a little light went on.  While he’d slept through most of his Aunt Muriel’s lectures, he remembered enough of them to know that the Ancient and Royal Houses were the top of the top of wizarding society.  Now that Hermione was Head of House Pendragon, she merely had to say she wanted something and everyone would run around to see who could get it to her fastest.  She was also wealthier than the Malfoys, the Notts, and the Parkinsons combined. 

Even as Ron felt the familiar burn of rage in his chest, a small voice in the back of his mind spoke up and asked a question he hadn’t considered before: “How can Hermione help me?”  He was so surprised by this that he almost forgot his anger.  Before he had time to contemplate it, however, his father recalled him to his present situation.  

“And, of course, you’ll still be helping your mother with the children.”

Ron groaned.

**

Hogwarts – The Black Lake

Wednesday, Sept. 27

She was surrounded by darkness.  It wasn’t oppressive or scary; rather, it reminded Hermione of blissful mornings spent huddling under the bedcovers in winter.  All was warmth and comfort and safety. Her mind wandered through the darkness, knowing what it was looking for, but not actively seeking, until it was in front of her.  The flame was like a tiny candle in the middle of the darkness, but though it was small, it shone fierce and bright and Hermione could feel its joy.  Wonderingly, she reached out to touch it and…

“Oh!”  With a start, her eyes flew open.  She turned her head to see Viktor beaming at her.

“You have found it.”  It wasn’t a question.  Hermione nodded anyway.

“That’s….that’s amazing!” She breathed.  “That’s me!”

“It is.” He nodded.  “It is your core and it is the source of your magic.  If I may ask, what did it look like?”

“Well, at first, it looked like the kind of flame you’d see on a little candle.”  Though she’d been sitting perfectly still, Hermione felt the odd need to catch her breath.  “But when I touched it, it was like I was bathing in fire, but it didn’t hurt.  It was like power and heat and….”  She gave a vague gesture of her hand, unable to think of an apt description.

“For me, it was like water.”  Viktor said, sounding as though he was recalling a fond memory.  “At first, I saw a small drop of it, hanging in the air before my eyes and then, when I touched it, it was if I had jumped into a deep lake full of clear, pure water.”

“It’s lovely.”  For a moment, the two shared happy smiles.  Hermione felt a small glow of triumph as she considered her achievement.  Since their first conversation by the side of the lake, Viktor had been patiently coaching her in her efforts to find her core, but this was the first time she’d had any success.  Both Viktor and Petra had assured her that the first time was the hardest, but she’d been worried that it was taking so long.

“Do it again.”  Viktor said, his voice gentle, yet commanding.  Obediently, Hermione closed her eyes and sought out the flame.  This time, it was much easier and seemed to take much less time.  She allowed herself to bask in the energy for a moment, before pulling away and opening her eyes.

“Very good.”  Viktor shifted positions so that he was squatting on his heels.  “Do you still have the stone I gave you?”

“Of course!”  Without thinking, Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out the little pebble with the perfectly painted rose.  It was only when she was holding it in her palm that she realized the implications of her words and actions.  She felt her face grow very hot and she dropped her eyes.

“Hermione…”  Viktor’s voice suddenly sounded strange, thick.  Instinctively, Hermione looked up to see what was wrong and found Viktor gazing at her with the most intense expression she’d ever seen.  Tentatively, he reached out one hand and brushed her cheek with the lightest of touches.  “I…”

“Viktor!”    Hermione couldn’t help the gasp of surprise, but her reaction was nothing to compare to Viktor’s.  She saw the briefest flash of rage before he jumped to his feet, placing himself between her and the interloper.

As Hermione stood, she saw that Igor Karkaroff was striding towards them, along with another Durmstrang student.  She hadn’t met either of them, but the tension in Viktor’s body and the scowl on his face told her everything she needed to know.  They were dangerous They were enemies.

“Is that Mikael?” she murmured.  He gave a terse nod.  “Petra told me he was confined to the boat after that business with the girl from Beauxbatons…..”

“He was.”  Viktor growled. Hermione’s mind raced at the implications of this.  Clearly, Karkaroff had released Mikael and from the speed of their approach, they had come looking for Viktor.

“There you are, cousin! We’ve been looking for you.”  Mikael was a large man and, Hermione guessed, a year or two older than Viktor.  Far too old to still be in school.  He was handsome in the sort of way that some girls were radiantly pretty at eighteen; like flowers, they bloomed bright, but after only a short time, they began to fade and wither.  Hermione suspected that Mikael had already passed the peak of his attractiveness and was now on the decline.  Still, he was not bad-looking if, in Hermione’s opinion, rather ordinary.  “Who is your pretty little friend?” 

“Miss Granger, allow me to present Igor Karkaroff, High Master of Durmstrang, and my cousin, Mikael Andrenyi.  Mast Karkaroff, Mikael, this is Miss Hermione Granger, Head of the Ancient and Most Royal Head of Pendragon.”  Viktor sounded stiff and formal, but Hermione caught him shooting a look at Mikael that practically screamed Behave!  Unfortunately, Mikael either didn’t see the look or chose to ignore it, for he openly leered at her.  Karkaroff pointedly ignored her.

“We must speak.”  He said to Viktor, leaning forward aggressively.  Karkaroff was a good head taller than Viktor and he wore a glower that was obviously meant to be intimidating.  As she watched the two, however, Hermione couldn’t help but feel that the High Master was merely a child play acting at being a powerful adult, compared with Viktor, who was an adult who wanted people to believe he was still a child. 

“She’s a pretty one, cousin!  Is she friendly, as well?”  Mikael took a step towards Hermione, but stopped when Viktor blocked his path.  Hermione had felt no qualms about allowing him to protect her in this manner.  Feminism and girl-power were all well and good, but when faced with a man who was older, larger, and had already demonstrated an inability to hear the word ‘no,’ common sense told her to stay behind Viktor and to keep her mouth shut.

“What do you want?”  Viktor asked Karkaroff.  His voice was calm, but there was an undertone to it that Hermione had trouble identifying.  Whatever it was, it was both thrilling and frightening. Karkaroff rattled something off in Bulgarian, before finally looking in Hermione’s direction.  His face was contorted with disgust.

“Mikael will take care of this…girl.” He said.  Hermione couldn’t help but shudder.  She was sure that ‘girl’ hadn’t been the first word to spring to Karkaroff’s mind.  Viktor’s thoughts may have been running along the same track, for he let out a low growl and deliberately turned towards her, smiling shyly.

“Miss Granger, I’m afraid we will have to continue our conversation another time.  However, if you will permit, I will escort you back to the castle.”  Hermione nodded and quickly picked up her bag. 

“You will do no such thing!”  Karkaroff hissed.  “How dare you disgrace the name of Durmstrang…”  His voice trailed off as Viktor returned his full attention to the High Master.  Since his back was to Hermione, she couldn’t see his expression, but she had a clear view of the others as they reacted to it.  All the blood drained from Karkaroff’s face and he took a step backwards, before catching himself.  Mikael nearly fell over in his haste to move away.  Viktor held their gazes for a moment, then turned back to offer Hermione his arm.  He said nothing as they began to walk down the path and Hermione had to resist the urge to look back to see whether they were followed. She didn’t feel completely comfortable until they were in the Entrance Hall.

“Thank you.” She said, quietly, relinquishing Viktor’s arm.

“Do you have any more tutorials today?” He asked, sounding uncommonly serious.

“I’m meeting with Professor McGonagall after dinner.” She said, feeling somewhat mystified.  “Why?”

“I…where are you going now?” He asked.  Hermione checked her watch. 

“Gryffindor Tower, I suppose.” She shrugged.  “Dinner’s in less than an hour and my tutorial is right after that.”

“Good.”  He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Please do not go anywhere in the castle or grounds alone tonight?”  Hermione felt vaguely affronted, but then she remembered Mikael’s words and expression.  Slowly, she nodded.

“Good.”  Viktor smiled.  “Things should be…well by tomorrow morning.  I will tell you if they are not.”  Without another word, he took her hand and bowed over it, the way he had at their first meeting, then turned on his heel and walked out the door.  Hermione stared after him for a moment, then turned and ran towards her Common Room.

It was until she was lying in bed, waiting for sleep to come, that Hermione remembered what had happened before the interruption.  As she thought about the look in Viktor’s eyes and felt, again, the brush of his fingertips against her skin, her heart began to beat just a bit faster.  Ever since their first meeting, Hermione had been nursing a crush on Viktor, but she had never once dared to think that he might have romantic feelings for her. 

As her eyes drifted shut, Hermione smiled. 

**

Hogwarts – The Headmaster’s Office

Thursday, Sept. 28

Patience is a virtue.  Albus Dumbledore had always believed this and had done his best to practice as he preached—in this respect, anyway.  However, there were times when one could not afford to be patient.  One had to act or risk losing everything.  Now was, he felt, one such time.

He hadn’t heard from Rita Skeeter since Sunday morning.

The moment Minerva had closed the door to his office after that disastrous meeting, Albus had activated the security wards to prevent the reporter from leaving the room, whether she was in human or beetle form.  It took him nearly twenty minutes of frantic searching to realize that she must have somehow managed to slip through his fingers.  His greatest fear was that she’d left with the Granger party and was now allied with them.  Impossible.  Albus consoled himself.  Rita was an intelligent woman and knew what the consequences of betrayal would be.  He’d seen that so-called ‘interview’ in Monday’s paper, of course, but he was certain that was not Rita’s work.  It lacked all of her usual innuendo and hyperbole.  Most likely, the interview had been conducted with someone else and the Prophet’s editors had slapped Rita’s name on to it to boost sales.

Albus and Rita had enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship for several years.  Neither was bothered by the fact that said relationship was founded on blackmail and both had a healthy respect for the lines that were never to be crossed.  So far, Rita hadn’t crossed any of those lines, but Albus suspected that it was only a matter of time.  Sooner or later, articles would start to appear in The Daily Prophet and people would start asking questions he couldn’t answer. 

Albus sighed.  People are already asking questions.  Perhaps he’d been a bit too aggressive in his efforts to invalidate House Pendragon’s petition to claim Harry Potter as a ward, or Sirius Black had somehow gotten word back to some of his friends in Britain about the I.C.W.’s ruling, or Hermione had talked to someone else about the Hogwarts Trust.  Whatever the reason, the wrong people were becoming suspicious and that simply wouldn’t do.  His plans had reached a critical stage and any interference now could potentially destroy everything he’d worked so long and so hard to achieve. 

In addition to his worries about Rita Skeeter, Albus now had another pressing concern; Amelia Bones had initiated proceedings to have the wills of James and Lily Potter unsealed.  He didn’t know why she’d taken such a step, but as Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she was within her rights to bring the matter up before the Wizengamot, if she could prove it pertained to an open investigation.  That would lead to a vote and, loath as he was to admit it, Albus did not currently have enough influence to ensure that her motion would be denied. 

Taking a deep, calming breath, Albus looked at the scroll in his hand and couldn’t help but feel smug.  The solution to all his problems was on this scroll.  It was, like all his best plans, elegant in its simplicity.  All that was required to set his world to rigghts again was a signature.  He smirked and glanced at Fawkes, who was staring at him, balefully.  The phoenix fairly glowed with disapproval and righteous indignation, but Albus didn’t really care.

“Elf!” He called.  A female house elf he didn’t recognize appeared almost instantly.

“How can Tinny be helping the Headmaster?” she asked, in a high squeaky voice.

“Take this to the home of Hermione Granger’s parents.” Albus instructed, thrusting the scroll towards her.  “Leave it somewhere where it will be seen…on the dining room table, perhaps.  If there are people there, wait until they are gone before you deliver it.  You are not to be seen.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, Headmaster.  Is Tinny to be waiting for an answer?”  Albus considered it for a moment, then shook his head.

“No, Minny.  That is not necessary.”  With a quick nod, Tinny took the scroll and disappeared.  Albus smiled.  Now all he had to do was wait.

**

Hogwarts – The Great Hall

Saturday, September 30

The Great Hall was abuzz with excitement.  In just a few hours, the Goblet of Fire would be lit, signaling the official opening of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  Speculation was running rampant; everywhere Draco turned, he could hear people wondering who was going to enter, who was going to be chosen as Champion, and who was going to win.  The Weasley Twins were running a betting pool that was staggering in both its complexity and in the amount of money it had amassed.

For once, Draco shared his classmates’ sense of anticipation, though his reasons for doing so were completely different than theirs. Tonight.  He couldn’t help but smirk as he studied the other Slytherins at the table.  By tomorrow morning, he—Draco Malfoy—would be back in his place as the leader of Slytherin House, and every single person who had ignored, mocked, or humiliated him since that disastrous House Meeting would pay.

Almost of its own accord, Draco’s hand fell to the pocket of his robes and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to pull out his father’s letter and read it again.  Professor Snape had delivered it to him this morning, along with a tedious lecture that Draco hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to.  When he’d finally been released, Draco had all but run to his dorm room to read the letter.

Draco,

I have succeeded in my efforts to convince Theodore Nott, Senior to furnish us with the information we require.  I have entrusted it to Tiberius Warrington, who will meet you and your companion this evening.  Tiberius is a trustworthy ally who has proved his loyalty to me on numerous occasions.  For the work you are to do, you may rely on him as you would on me.  I look forward to hearing of your success.

Your Father

PS – Burn this letter after you have read it.

Just thinking about the letter and the meaning behind his father’s words sent a thrill of excitement through Draco.  After tonight, things would return to the way they had been—the way they ought to be.  No one would dare belittle him or scream at him for losing House points again.  He’d show them all what happened to people who insulted the honor of the Malfoys….

“Next Saturday!”  Draco was jolted out of his pleasant daydreams by the abrupt arrival of Millicent Bulstrode.  She was talking to Daphne Greengrass as she dropped into the seat next to Draco.  As usual, both girls completely ignored his presence.  “I just talked to Hermione and the first meeting of the Club will be next Saturday.”

“Fantastic!”  Greengrass clapped her hands together in glee, then turned to Tracey Davis, who was sitting on her right.  “Will your Mum be able to get the books to us by then?”

“I don’t see why not.”  Davis, who was usually sulkier than a wet hen, was grinning ear to ear.  “I’ll send her an owl tonight, but I’m sure she’s already scoured our library and pulled out anything that might be useful.”

“Hermione’s talked to Madam Pince and she’s agreed to keep the books in a special case in the library, so that we can all have access to them.  She’ll also see to it that anything that gets borrowed, gets returned.”  Bulstrode said.  “Daph, we need to start spreading the word to the other Houses.  We need a good turnout if we’re going to make a good impression on Madam Tonks.”  Draco felt a slight stirring of unease in his stomach.  He knew that name, but he couldn’t remember why.

“Right.”  Greengrass nodded.  “Just the girls, or should we invite the boys as well?”

“Invite the boys.”  Blaise Zabini was sitting on the other side of Bulstrode and leaned forward, intently.  “Most of them won’t show, of course, but the smart ones will realize how important this is.”

“Where are we meeting?”  Astoria Greengrass was sitting next to her sister, looking as though Christmas had come early.

“Not sure, yet.”  Bulstrode began loading her plate.  “McGonagall suggested we use one of the old classrooms, but it depends on how many people are interested.”

“Wait…”  Draco didn’t remember seeing Pansy Parkinson arrive, but she was there now and she looked about as puzzled as he felt.  “What are we talking about?”  There was an uncomfortable pause as Draco’s year-mates gave each other a series of significant glances.  Unfortunately, Astoria Greengrass wasn’t privy to this silent silent conversation and chose to answer Pansy’s question when it became clear that no one else was going to.

“It’s the Social Club.” She declared, happily.  “Miss Granger’s Chaperone, Andromeda Tonks, is going to come in and teach us all about etiquette and…”

“WHAT?”  Draco and Pansy spoke in unison, though Pansy was currently shunning Draco, along with the rest of their house.

“You can’t be serious!”  Draco couldn’t decide whether Pansy looked as though someone had just used the Killing Curse on her beloved Pygmy Puff or told her that she’d have to live in the Muggle world for the next year.

“Tonks!”  Finally, Draco remembered why he knew that name.  “She’s a blood-traitor!”  There was a soft chime that nobody seemed to notice.

“What...?  Oh!”  Too late, Draco realized his mistake, as Zabini began to grin maliciously.  “She’s your aunt, isn’t she?”

“She is not!” Draco spat.  “She was disowned for marrying a mudblood…”  The chime rang again, louder this time.  Several of the older students glared at him, but Draco ignored them.

“Madam Tonks was, before she was married, Andromeda Black.”  It was obvious Zabini was taking a great deal of delight in sharing this information.  “She was one of the three famous Black sisters….you know, from that painting  ‘The Three Stars’?”

“Oh!”  Greengrass’ eyes widened in understanding.  “I’ve seen that one!”

“Impossible!” Draco scoffed.  “That painting was destroyed after the blood-traitor…” This chime was so loud that it caught the attention of everyone around them, including some Hufflepuffs who happened to be passing nearby.  Justinian Belby, a sixth-year who was sitting next to Draco, gave his ribs a none-too-gentle nudge with his elbow.  Though Draco chose to ignore the insult, it was enough to distract him so that Pansy spoke before he could.

“I’ve seen that picture, too.  Which one is Andromeda?”

“The one with the brown hair.”  Greengrass answered, promptly.  “The one with the dark, curly hair is Bellatrix, and the blonde is Narcissa.”  Zabini nodded.

“That’s right.”  He said.  “Andromeda married a muggleborn and was disowned….though, since it was done by Walburga Black, who wasn’t Head of the Family, there’s some debate on how legal that all was.  Whatever the case, Sirius Black officially restored her to his House and made her Miss Granger’s Chaperone.”

“Miss Granger is starting a club for those who are interested in learning about wizarding culture, manners, and etiquette.”  Greengrass said, though her remarks were aimed at some of the older students, rather than Pansy or Draco.  Pansy sniffed, disdainfully.

“Well, she certainly needs those lessons, but why are the rest of you so excited?  You’re purebloods!  You know all this already.”

“I don’t.”  Bulstrode shrugged.  “My mother’s dead, remember?  It’s just my Dad and older brothers.”  Pansy opened her mouth when Davis, of all people, cut her off.

“No one is making you go, Parkinson, but some of us want to hear what Madam Tonks has to say.  When I told my mother about the club, she was thrilled!  She says that standards at Hogwarts have been declining for years and that it has nothing to do with the muggleborns!”  Draco and Pansy stared at Davis with shock and even Greengrass, Bulstrode, and Zabini looked surprised.  Davis never spoke unless you talked to her first ad, even then, she was so quiet that you had to work to hear her.  Pansy opened her mouth, again, but Bulstrode gave her a hard look.

“She’s right, Parkinson.  No one is forcing you to join the club, but don’t even think about starting with your usual dragon-shite.”  Pansy looked like a drowning fish for a moment, then began serving herself, pointedly ignoring the rest of them.  Draco was about to say something, when he realized that Bulstrode was now glaring at him, as were Greengrass, Davis, and Zabini.  “That goes for you too, Malfoy.”  There was a dangerous glint in Bulstrode’s eye and Draco had to work hard not to gulp with terror.

He finished his lunch quickly and left before the others.  In the Entrance Hall, he heard someone calling his name. He had already stopped and turned before he realized that it was Cassius Warrington.

“What do you want, Warrington?”  Draco didn’t move quickly enough, so Warrington was able to grab him by the shoulder and pin him to the wall.

“I want to know why the hell you can’t learn to keep your mouth shut!”  Warrington brought his face close enough to Draco’s that the scent of peppermint on his breath—a sign of a recently applied Tooth Cleaning Charm—was quite noticeable.  “You just lost us sixty house points…and that’s not counting the forty you lost us this morning!”

“So?”  Draco did his best to sneer.  “Why should I care about stupid House Points?”

“You should care because Professor Snape has just made me personally responsible for making sure you follow the rules…all of them.”  Releasing Draco, Warrington took a step back, though Draco had a feeling that, if he tried to run he’d be pinned again.  “Here’s how I’m going to do that.  Starting now, for every point you lose, you will have an hour’s detention with me.  I’ve talked to Mr. Filch and he was happy to give me a list of really awful things that need to be done around here.  You will do them, by yourself, without magic.  Are we clear?”

“You can’t make me!”  Draco did his best not to let Warrington see or hear his fear.  The truth was, he was well aware that Warrington could make him do whatever he wanted. Warrington was bigger, stronger, and had a lot of friends he could call on for help, if needed. 

“Would you care to place a wager on that?”  Warrington’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “Don’t test me on this, Malfoy….and watch your mouth!”  Abruptly, Warrington turned on his heel and walked away, towards the dungeons.  Draco drew ina long shaky breath.

“Bastard!” he muttered.  “I’ll show him.”  A small smirk curved Draco’s lips as he remembered the letter in the pocket of his robes.  He wouldn’t have to put up with Warrington for long—as soon as he returned from his visit to the Granger home, he would show the older boy who was truly in charge.  Making a mental note to mention Cassius’ disrespect to his father, Draco set off for the Library.  It wasn’t until Madam Pince glared at him that he realized that he was whistling.

**

Hogwarts – A Corridor

Saturday, September 30

The Library had been a good distraction, but the time for another meeting of what Neville referred to as the “League Against Dumbledore” was drawing near and as Hermione walked towards the Durmstrang classrooms, she was consumed with worry. 

That evening, after dinner, the Goblet of Fire had been lit and the Tournament had been officially opened. From now until tomorrow night, those who wished to be selected as Champions for their school were to write their names on pieces of paper and drop them into the Goblet.  Dumbledore had made much about an ‘Age Line’ he had drawn, that was meant to prevent underage students from submitting their names, but he hadn’t mentioned the far more important fact that the Goblet was the physical manifestation of a magically binding contract.  If someone was chosen and either could not or would not compete, he or she would lose their magic and, in all likelihood, their life.

It seemed like a terrible idea to use such a powerful and dangerous artifact for a school competition, but Hermione was honest enough to admit that it really wouldn’t have troubled her too much if it hadn’t been for the fact that the Age Line seemed to be the only security measure surrounding the Goblet.  She’d researched Age Lines and could think of at least three ways to bypass them and, what was worse, nothing was being done to prevent adult witches and wizards from submitting the names of those who were underage.  As far as Hermione and the others were concerned, this was a recipe for disaster.

She had done everything she could think of to keep Harry Potter’s name out of the tournament.  First and foremost, she’d told Harry about her concerns.  Even now, she felt a small stirring of pride, as she thought of the mature way in which Harry had handled all the things life had thrown at him in the past two weeks.  He and Neville were both meeting regularly with Viktor and Petra, and the removal of the caps on their power was progressing at a slow, but steady, pace.  Harry had also really listened to her when she’d told him about her suspicions regarding Dumbledore’s direction of his life and, while she wasn’t quite sure h was taking the threat seriously enough, he hadn’t dismissed it—or her—entirely. More importantly, he’d agreed to go along with her plan. 

For the next 24 hours, Harry Potter was not going anywhere alone, save his own bed.  Professor Lupin—Remus—had the Cloak of Invisibility, so no one could accuse Harry of using it to sneak out, and Hermione had enlisted the help of the Weasleys and Neville to ensure that he would always be seen in the company of at least one other person all day tomorrow. Remus also had the Marauder’s Map and he and the older Weasleys were keeping a close eye on it to see who crossed the Age Line between now and the choosing of the Champions.  If Harry’s name did come out of the Goblet, they would have ample evidence to prove that he hadn’t put it in there.

That was important, because Ted Tonks had found a loophole in the otherwise airtight contract that governed the Goblet.  Though there was no external security to prevent someone from submitting another person’s name, the Goblet had its own method of ensuring such things didn’t happen.  After all, the ancient magical artifact hadn’t been made to choose contestants in a silly game.  It had originally been created to select rulers of magical communities.  Its creators had recognized that humans could be selfish and greedy and might try to influence or manipulate the Goblet, and had planned accordingly.

If Harry’s name came out of the Goblet, they (Hermione, Harry, Professor McGonagall, all those who had aligned themselves with House Pendragon and House Black, and the goblins) were prepared to force a public confrontation with Albus Dumbledore and the Ministry.  While no one really expected Dumbledore to give in to their demands, both Professors McGonagall and Snape were certain that Madam Maxine and High Master Karkaroff would bow to public pressure and withdraw their Champions.  The rules of the Tournament that had been submitted to the Goblet were clear: there were to be three Champions.  If two of the Champions were withdrawn within 24 hours of their selection, the third was not bound to compete.  It was a sound plan and Hermione could only hope that they had enough evidence to convince the heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to do the right thing.  Viktor had already promised that, if he was chosen, he would withdraw, but there was no guarantee he’d be chosen. 

Hermione was so absorbed by her thoughts that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until it was too late.

“Good evening, Miss Granger.”  Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the shadows.  Hermione stifled a squeak of surprise.

“Good evening, Headmaster.”  She made to hurry past him, but he reached out and seized her by the arm.

“My apologies, Miss Granger, but we really do need to talk….privately.”  Hermione glanced at the Headmaster’s free hand and saw that it was, thankfully, empty.

“Oh?”  Remembering what Petra had told her about Occlumency, she raised her eyes to look at Dumbledore, but kept her gaze focused on his right ear. “What about?”

“I took the liberty of speaking with your parents this afternoon.”  Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling so hard they were nearly throwing sparks.  “They have agreed that it would be best if I took charge of your upbringing until you turn 21.”

“What?”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed.  “What do you mean, ‘take charge of my upbringing?’  Legally speaking, I’m an adult…”

“Not in the Muggle world, you aren’t.”  Dumbledore said, his voice ringing with triumph.  “Your parents have signed a contract which gives me full custody of your person until you turn 21!”  Hermione stared at him, flabbergasted.  Finally, she managed to pull herself together enough to speak.

“I’d like to see that contract.”

“That is not necessary.”  Dumbledore said, airily.  “It is a legally binding and has been approved by all the relevant Muggle authorities.  That is all you need to know.”  Realization dawned on Hermione and she began to laugh.  This reaction startled Dumbledore and he let go of her arm.

“Miss Granger…?”

“You are a terrible liar!” She chortled, gasping for breath.  “Even if you did get my parents to sign such a thing, it’s not worth the parchment it’s printed on!”

“And why is that?”  Dumbledore wasn’t smiling now.  In fact, he looked rather offended.

“Muggles don’t just give their children away like Christmas crackers!”  Hermione huffed. “There is a whole process people have to go through to obtain legal custody of a minor and that simply cannot happen in one day.  Since you are not a close blood relation, my parents cannot simply grant you custody without getting approval from the proper government agency and they are not likely to allow an old man to take custody of a teenage girl, particularly when that man is Headmaster of her school!  That doesn’t even mention the parts where the legal age of adulthood in the U.K. is 18…”

“Very well!”  Dumbledore held up his hands to stop the flow of words.  “I take your point.  However, you would be wise to remember that Muggles have no defense against magic and these obstacles you mention would be fairly easy to overcome, should I wish to do so.”  Hermione briefly debated telling Dumbledore about computers, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

“What do you want?” Hermione asked, eager to finish this conversation.

“I want you to relinquish your legal claim on Harry Potter.” He said, sounding serious.  “You will do this and you will not attempt to interfere with his participation in the Tri-Wizard tournament.  Is that understood?”

“No.”  Hermione’s voice was flat.  “I will not allow you—or anyone—to use or hurt Harry.  Good evening, Headmaster.”  She stepped aside to allow him to pass her, unwilling to turn her back on the old man.  He sighed.

“I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”  To her horror, Hermione saw his wand in his hand.  “Stupefy! Legilimens!”

Chapter Text

“Hermione?  Hermione, wake up!”  Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes.  As the world swam into focus, she found that she was lying on her back, surrounded by people.  For a moment, her mind struggled against the fog and the pain in her head before she could recall how she’d ended up in this position.  She let out a gasp of horror.

“Professor Dumbledore…”

“It’s all right.”  Professor McGonagall said, in a soothing voice.  “Your house-elf arrived in time to prevent him from doing anything more serious than Stunning you.  Can you sit up?”  It took a few minutes and the effort made Hermione’s head swim, but, eventually, she sat with her back against the wall.  Slowly, so as not to reawaken the nausea, she cast her gaze along the corridor. 

The Headmaster lay in a crumpled heap against the opposite wall, as if he’d hit it at a great height, then slid down to the floor.  Her House-elf, Winky, was standing over him, looking as though she wanted to tear the old man limb from limb.  Viktor, Petra, and Professors McGonagall and Snape stood around her, their expressions all mingling concern and fury.

“Here.”  Professor Snape held out a phial.  “Drink this.  It will help.”  Hermione did as she was told and, almost immediately, the pain receded and her mind started to clear.

“Can you tell us what happened?”  Professor McGonagall asked, gently.

“I was on my way to our meeting when he caught me in the hall.”  Hermione quickly recounted the conversation she’d had with the Headmaster before everything went black.  “How did he know we were going to…”

“I will ask him.”  Viktor said, his mouth set in a grim line.  With his wand in his hand, he turned towards Dumbledore, but Professor Snape put a restraining arm on his hand.

“We need to make some decisions before we wake him up.” He said, quietly.  Viktor nodded, but looked unhappy.

“We need to get out of this hallway before anyone stumbles on us.”  Professor McGonagall said.  “Come on, Miss Granger, up you get.”  With Petra and Winky’s help, Hermione stood up.  Though the potion had dulled most of the pain in her head, she was still slightly unsteady on her feet.

“Where are we going?”

“Durmstrang classrooms.”  Viktor and Professor Snape spoke at the same time.  Viktor levitated the Headmaster and they all made their way down the corridor to the rooms in question.  Winky never left Hermione’s side and kept casting malicious glares in the direction of the unconscious Headmaster.  Once they were safely inside, Hermione sank into a seat, while Viktor dumped Dumbledore’s limp form into a corner of the room.

“Viktor, I will go.”  Petra said.  “If Karkaroff tries to search for you, I will distract him.”

“Thank you.”  Viktor gave her a small bow.  The others echoed his sentiments as Petra slipped out of the room.

“Winky, I think we could all do with some tea.”  Professor McGonagall said.  The house-elf looked unsure.  “I promise you that nothing will happen to your mistress while you are gone.”  Winky nodded, then disappeared.

“He was going to use Legilimancy on me…”  Hermione shuddered, remembering the cold light in Dumbledore’s eyes as he’d started casting spells.

“Winky stopped him before he could do anything.”  Professor McGonagall assured her.  “Petra checked and she says your defenses are holding up well.”

“He must be getting desperate.”  Professor Snape murmured.  “It is not like him to act so…rashly.”

“We should call the Aurors.”  Hermione said.

“That might not be…wise.”  Professor Snape wearily pinched the bridge of his nose and Hermione wondered if he, too, was in need of a headache potion.  “If Albus is sent to Azkaban—and he would be, no matter how much power he thinks he has—then Riddle and his followers would be free to move much more quickly and openly.  As loathe as I am to say it, we need Albus Dumbledore alive and free.”

“Well, he cannot be permitted to exercise his freedom here.”  Professor McGonagall snapped. 

“I agree, but the Board of Governors may have other ideas.”  Professor Snape sighed.  “You know that they’re all fanatically loyal to Dumbledore.”  Hermione frowned.

“They won’t have a choice.” She said.  The two Professors turned to stare at her as Winky reappeared, bearing a tea tray that had to be three times her size.

“What do you mean?”  Professor McGonagall asked, slowly.  “The Board of Governors has always been responsible for appointing and dismissing the Headmasters and –mistresses of Hogwarts…”

“Yes,” Hermione’s mind was racing now, pulling together strands of information and weaving them into a plan. “but the Hogwarts Charter expressly forbids Headmasters to abandon the school.”  Professor Snape was the first to understand.  His eyes widened and he turned to stare at Professor McGonagall.

“How the hell did she end up in Gryffindor?”  Professor McGonagall’s only response was a smug smile.  Then she sighed.  “He’ll have to be kept somewhere beyond the wards.  Perhaps the Shrieking Shack?”

“Too obvious.”  Professor Snape shook his head.

“What about the Chamber of Secrets?”  Hermione suggested. “No, wait…we’d need Harry to get in there and I don’t want to involve him.”

“Nor do I.” Professor McGonagall nodded.  “I could stash him in my house in Hogsmeade…”

“Excuse me…”  Viktor looked totally lost. “but what is your plan?”

“The Hogwarts Charter was written at a time when nobles—of both the non-magical and magical varieties—had a distressing habit of attacking one another.”  Professor McGonagall explained.  “Hogwarts was not only built to educate children, but to defend them against all those who wished to do them harm.   The Charter states that the Headmaster has certain responsibilities to the school that he or she cannot delegate.  Chief among these is defense of the castle.  He cannot leave for a period of more than three days without informing the Deputy and activating certain protocols that will protect the school in his absence and notify him if there is trouble.  Albus has a habit of doing just that, but I have overlooked his transgressions in the past.”

“If we can keep Dumbledore unconscious and find somewhere to hide him for the next three days, then the Board will have no choice but to sack him.”  Hermione finished.  “The trouble is that we have to find someplace that is beyond the wards, and where the Aurors won’t find him.”

“You think it wise to involve the Aurors?”  Professor Snape asked, looking concerned.

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded.  “We call them and tell them I was attacked, but not by whom.”  Finally, she saw understanding light in Viktor’s eyes.

“They will want to speak to Dumbledore and when he is not where he is supposed to be, they will begin a search.”  He nodded.  “Perhaps we can put him on the Durmstrang boat?”

“Not a good idea.”  Professor Snape shook his head.  “Karkaroff might find him.”

“True.”  They all pondered the question for a moment, while sipping their tea.  Winky was hovering next to Hermione’s elbow, clearly determined that no one should get close enough to her mistress to hurt her again.  Hermione gave the elf a fond smile, then gasped.

“Winky!  Do you know someplace where we can hide Professor Dumbledore?”  Winky nodded eagerly, her little ears flapping.

“Oh yes, Miss.  Winky is knowing the perfect place.  It is being the ‘Come and Go Room.’”  To Hermione’s surprise, Professor McGonagall smacked her forehead and looked chagrinned.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”  She muttered.  “Winky is right.  It’s perfect!”

“The ‘Come and Go Room’?”  Professor Snape looked as confused as Hermione felt.

“It’s a….well, it’s hard to explain or describe.”  Professor McGonagall sounded hesitant.  “It’s in the castle, but is not a part of the castle, so it’s not technically inside the wards.  Think of it this way,” she hurried on, seeing Professor Snape’s look of impatience.  “Hogwarts has a room that functions much the same way as a multi-compartment trunk.  If you know the right way to access it, it will be whatever you need it to be.”

“And you are certain no one will find him there?”  Viktor asked.

“Not unless they know about the Room’s existence and know how to access the particular aspect of the Room in which he’s hidden.”  Professor McGonagall sounded very sure of herself, so Hermione had to believe she knew what she was talking about.

“I still want to know how he knew what we were planning.” She said.  The others agreed and Viktor moved towards Dumbledore’s still form.

“Wait…I shouldn’t be here for this.”  Professor Snape said.  “I also should not be told where this Room is.”  They waited for him to leave, then Viktor advanced on Dumbledore, muttering something in Bulgarian.  After a moment, the old man’s eyes opened, though Hermione saw that they lacked their usual twinkle.

The interview was brief and harsh.  It seemed that the Order of Walpurgis had a spell that had much the same effect as Veritaserum, though without the potion’s limited time span.  Dumbledore admitted to sending the contract—enhanced with several Compulsion charms—to Hermione’s parents.  He had ordered a House Elf to put it on the dining room table but, as yet, they hadn’t signed it.  When asked what he had expected to accomplish by such a move, Dumbledore admitted that, in addition to preventing Hermione from interfering with the selection of Champions for the tournament, he had planned to force her to swear vows and take potions that would, for all intents and purposes, have put her completely under his control.  Hermione shuddered at the thought.  When asked how he’d known of their plans to thwart his attempts to force Harry to compete in the Tournament, Dumbledore admitted that sources within the Ministry had alerted him to the fact that both Hermione and Ted Tonks had requested information on the Goblet of Fire and the rules concerning the selection of Champions.  With this information, he’d been able to make an educated guess as to their intentions.

The worst part came when Viktor asked Dumbledore why he wanted Harry to compete in the tournament at all.

“There is a ritual by which Voldemort can restore himself to full strength and power.”  Dumbledore’s voice as quiet, but firm.  “It requires the blood of an enemy.  He plans to kidnap Harry at some point during the tournament for use in this ritual.”

“And why would you want to allow this to happen?”  Hermione could see that Viktor was barely able to contain his fury.

“Harry is destined to defeat Voldemort.  He cannot do that if Voldemort is not restored.”  Abruptly, Viktor cancelled his spell and Dumbledore slumped back against the wall, unconscious once more.

“My apologies.”  Viktor growled.  “Dumbledore has his own mental defenses.  If I push any more, I risk activating those.  He is clever, this one.  Besides, I think that if I hear any more, he will not leave this room alive.”

“I sympathize.”  Professor McGonagall was nearly spitting with rage.  “I cannot believe I called that man a friend!”

“We need to get him into this ‘Come and Go Room’ and call the Aurors soon.”  Hermione said, quietly, forcing her mind back to the situation at hand.

“She’s right.”  Professor McGonagall sighed.  “Winky, can you please dispose of….that…for us?  Make sure he remains unconscious until I tell you it’s all right to wake him up.”  She waved her hand in Dumbledore’s direction.  The house-elf nodded.

“Is you wanting WInky to make the stupid Headmaster forget what has happened?” she asked.  Everyone stared at her in disbelief.

“You can do that?”  Hermione breathed.

“Can you do it and not get caught?” Viktor asked, at almost the same time.

“Oh yes.”  Winky nodded, happily.  “Winky is making stupid Headmaster forget that the Knight woke him up and asked him questions.  Winky is being careful and is not being caught.”

“Then do it.”  Hermione said.  Winky curtsied, then grabbed Dumbledore’s arm and disappeared with a small pop.  Professor McGonagall stood. 

“I’ll go call Amelia Bones and ask Poppy to come have a look at you.  You two stay here.  Miss Granger, if anyone asks, I gave you the headache potion.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Hermione nodded.  Once Professor McGonagall was gone, she turned to Viktor.  “Are you all right?”  He huffed in surprise, then chuckled.

“I believe it is I who should be asking that of you.”

“I’m….” Hermione shrugged.  “I’m not sure how I am, to be honest.  My head doesn’t hurt too badly, anymore, and I’m relieved that Dumbledore didn’t get any information out of my mind, but…”

“It is shock.”  Viktor declared, as he sat down beside her.  “Your mind is protecting you from becoming overwhelmed.”

“That sounds about right.”  Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair.  “I just wish I could understand why he’s doing all this.”

“Perhaps we will have another chance to ask him.”  Viktor mused.  There was a moment’s silence between them.

“Thank you.”  Hermione said, quietly, smiling at him.

“For what?”

“For coming to find me.  For protecting my mind until I can protect myself.”  Hermione noticed that Viktor’s hand was resting on top of hers.  She didn’t know when that had happened, but she wasn’t about to object.

“I will always protect you.” Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.  Viktor was gazing at her, his eyes fathomless depths of dark fire.  As he reached out and gently pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Hermione felt as though she was in the presence of a large predator.  Rather than being frightened, however, she felt oddly safe.  Cherished, even.  Slowly, she turned her hand, so that their palms were together, and laced her fingers through his.

“A true Knight.” She murmured.  He chuckled and some of the intensity left his eyes.  Picking up their interlocked hands, he turned them over and brushed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. 

“A true Lady.” He said, softly.  “My…” At that moment, they heard the distinctive sound of the door being opened.  Carefully, Viktor released her and by the time Professor McGonagall and madam Pomfrey were fully in the room, Hermione had managed to remember how to breathe.

**

Crawley – A suburb of London

Sunday, October 1

Jacob Astley was an Auror who lived alone in the quiet, suburban neighborhood of Crawley. Jacob’s mother had been a Muggle and his late wife had been a Muggleborn witch.  They had both been far more comfortable living among Muggles than with other magicals.  Consequently, Jacob and his wife had adopted certain ideas and customs into their home that were considered by most wizards to be, at the very least, eccentric.  One of those ideas was that every family ought to have a dog. 

Witches and wizards didn’t keep pets. To them, animals were either little more than servants, like post owls, or were familiars who willingly bound themselves to humans in a relationship that was meant to be mutually beneficial.  Conventional wisdom held that dogs were too stupid to be either, but Jacob didn’t believe it.

Though Boxer was a perfectly ordinary, non-magical Irish setter, Jacob had often believed that he and the dog shared a bond that was as deep and as real as any witch or wizard and their magically enhanced cat, toad, or owl. Boxer had a keen nose for trouble and a peculiar instinct for knowing whether his companion ought to be taken to or away from it.  Jacob liked to tell the story of how he had once intercepted a wizard who was trying to rob a Muggle house, after Boxer had suddenly stopped in the middle of their morning walk and refused to move a muscle.  The thief had literally run into them.  On the other side of the coin, Boxer had once refused to walk down a particular street.  Five minutes after Jacob had finally given up and turned towards home, a gas line had exploded, sending potentially lethal debris flying everywhere.  Over the course of several years, Jacob had come to trust Boxer’s impulses, even when he didn’t immediately see or understand the reason for them. 

When Boxer suddenly started whining to be let out, at a hellishly early hour on Sunday morning, Jacob knew that there was trouble, so he didn’t grumble…much.  The cause of Boxer’s distress was almost immediately apparent; it was a clear night and the Dark Mark hanging in the sky could be seen for miles around.  Cursing softly, Jacob pulled his badge out of his jacket pocket and tapped it with his wand.

“Headquarters.”  A sleepy voice said.

“Browntree?  This is Astley.  We have a Code Viper.  Repeat, a Code Viper!”

“Come off it, Astley.  Put down the firewhiskey and go back to bed.”  Jacob scowled.  Arlo Browntree was a pure-blood Auror, who looked down on Jacob (and most of his other colleagues) for being from ‘corrupted bloodlines.’  This bigotry, combined with extreme laziness, had marked him out as the worst Auror in the department.  Director Bones had attempted to sack him on more than one occasion, but his family was very well-connected.  They had convinced the Minister to override her decision every time; all the Director could do was minimize the potential for damage.  She’d done this by making Browntree the night-shift dispatch officer.

“I’m serious, Browntree.  I can see the Dark Mark.  You need to…”

“Bugger off!”  Browntree snarled, then cut the connection.  Boxer wats tugging hard at the leash, so Jacob allowed the dog to lead him onwards.  They turned a corner and Jacob let out a low moan.  He recognized the house that was now bathed in the sickly green light from the Mark hovering over it.  Pulling out his wand again, he drew a complex sign in the air and then tapped his badge.

“Bones.”  For a woman who had, presumably, been fast asleep just a moment ago, Amelia Bones sounded remarkably alert.

“Boss, it’s Astley.  We’ve got a Code Viper in Crawley—just outside of London.  The Dark Mark is hanging over the home of Hermione Granger’s parents.”  There was a pause, then Jacob learned several new and interesting curse words. 

“I’ll scramble a team and be there in five minutes.  Are the DE’s still there?”

“Unknown.”

“Stay where you are and we’ll come to you.  If you see hostiles, do not engage unless you are attacked.”  Since taking a curse to his wand arm two years ago, Jacob had been restricted to desk duty.  Though the physical damage from his injury had long since been healed, there had been some irreparable nerve damage and his reflexes had never fully recovered.  Though it irked him greatly, he knew he was no longer any good in a fight.

“Ma’am, someone should contact the Muggle authorities.  You can see the Mark for miles!”  Jacob learned two more new words before his boss cut the connection.  He put the badge away and looked down at his dog.  Boxer was sitting on the sidewalk, looking up at him and whining softly.  Jacob knelt and rubbed his head, blinking hard to clear the moisture out of his eyes.

Jacob and his wife, Ria, had met Hermione Granger on her fourth birthday.  Ria was a member of the Obliviator squad and had been summoned to the house in Crawley when, in a burst of accidental magic, little Hermione had Summoned a book that an older cousin had taken away from her.  Ria had been over the moon about having a new witch living nearby and had insisted that Jacob join her in her efforts to befriend the girl’s family.  Before they could really begin their campaign, however, Ria was killed.  Jacob was so preoccupied with his grief and the need to look after his children that he just hadn’t had it in him to pay any attention to Hermione Granger and her family.

Four years ago, he’d been out walking Boxer when he’d met Minerva McGonagall as she was coming out of the Granger’s house.  Suddenly, Jacob remembered the little girl Ria had been so excited about and he’d made the connection with the ugly gossip he’d heard about her parents.  According to Mrs. Humphrey from next door, the mother was a shameless social climber, while the father was a penny-pinching bigot.  Jacob had considered approaching the family, now that they knew about magic, but had decided against it.  After all, he knew what Muggles thought about middle-aged men who suddenly expressed interest in young girls.  But he’d remembered the name and had been quite pleased when the Prophet had reported that Hermione was top of her year at Hogwarts three years running.  When he’d seen the news about her elevation, Jacob had broken down in tears, wishing Ria was still alive to see such a thing.

The crack of Apparition alerted him to the arrival of Amelia Bones and her team of Aurors.  They all stood in the street, staring in horror at the Mark hovering in the sky. 

“Astley.”  Amelia caught sight of him.  He joined her and they both turned back to the house.  “Report.”

“No sign of the perps, ma’am.” He said, quietly.  “I think they’ve been and gone.”  Amelia nodded.  Waving her wand at the house, she muttered several incantations.

“They’re gone.”  She confirmed.  “Farrell!  I want pictures.  Start with that.”  She waved at the Mark.  “The sooner we can take it down, the better.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Auror Farrell took a camera out of the pocket of her robes, tapped it to return it to its proper size and got to work.

“Tarley!  Bannister!”  Two more Aurors stepped forward.  “Take up positions at either end of the street.  Make sure there are no looky-loos.  Muggle civilians are to be politely moved along.  Police officers and other emergency workers are to be vetted.  If they’re in the know, bring them to me.  If they’re not, obliviate them.  Wizards are to be detained for questioning.  Reporters….” She paused, grinning wolfishly.

“Stunned on sight.  Got it, boss.”  They sprinted in opposite directions. 

“Alcott, set up anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards.  I don’t want any surprises.”

“Yes, boss.” 

“Morningstar, I want you to do a complete circuit of the property, inside and out.  Scan for any magical signatures and check and see if anyone is alive in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  When the last Auror had departed, Bones waved her wand several more times, frowning slightly.   “Where are the wards?” she asked.  It was Jacob’s turn to swear, as he cast a few charms of his own.  Hogwarts students who lived in the Muggle world were required to have their homes warded.  They were charged a special one-time fee, but most paid it willingly since the basic wards allowed them to use owl-post.  For a bit more, the Muggles could get wards that protected their homes against fire and theft.  There were no wards on the Granger house and there was no indication that there had ever been any. 

“I don’t know, ma’am.” Jacob’s voice was tight.  “I never checked to see if they were put up.”

“No reason you should have to.”  Amelia told him.  “Who is on dispatch?”

“Browntree.”  Bones looked at him.  “I called him before I called you.”

“I wondered.”  She murmured.  “Give me your badge.”  Wordlessly, Jacob handed it to her.  She tapped it with her wand and Jacob heard the recording of his conversation with Browntree.  Amelia’s frown grew, if possible, even deeper.  Handing Jacob’s badge back to him, she tapped her own.  “Browntree!”

“Yeah, what?”

“Excuse me?”  Astley winced at the ice dripping from the boss’ words. 

“Uh…who is this?”

“Browntree, so help me….”  Amelia paused and took a deep breath.  “This is Director Bones.  I want to see you in my office at nine o’clock sharp.  You obviously need a refresher course on dispatch protocol.  Right now, I need you to get the file containing records of ward installations.  You’ll need the records going back to…” she glanced at Astley.

“1990.” He supplied.

“1990.  I’ll wait.”

“Boss…” Browntree sounded nervous.  “I’ll…ah….have to get back to you about that in a few minutes.”

“Why?  It’s the middle of the night – I’m sure there are plenty of elves to fetch and carry.”

“Uh…..I….uh….  Just give me a few minutes.”  Astley saw his suspicion mirrored in the Boss’ eyes.

“Browntree.”  Amelia Bones’ voice was deceptively quiet.  “Where are you right now?  Before you answer, bear in mind that I’ve got the Truth charm activated on my badge.”  There was silence.  Amelia cut the connection and tapped her badge again.

“Marshbill!  This is Bones.”

“Ma’am!”  A young woman’s crisp, clear tones rang out.

“Where are you?”

“At my desk, ma’am.”  Marigold Marshbill was one of the newest recruits to the Auror office and, thus, had also drawn the graveyard shift.

“Good. I want you to go to the office door and hold your badge up to the plaque with the oath.  Let me know when you’re ready.”   There was a pause and then Marshbill announced her arrival.  “Now hold your badge against the plaque and hold still for a moment.  You can move once the light show is over.”  Astley watched as his boss waved her wand several times over her badge, muttering.  Light from her wand streamed into the badge.  After a moment, the light stopped.  “Marshbill?  You still there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I expect Auror Browntree will be arriving shortly.  I’ve locked him out of the office.  Don’t let him in and don’t leave the office to speak with him.  Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Astley was astonished at how very perky the young witch sounded.

“Good.  Now, summon an elf and request the ward installation records from 1990 onwards.  I’ll wait.”  While they were waiting, Alcott returned and indicated that the anti-App and –Portkey wards had been established.

“I have the files, ma’am.”  Marshbill said, after only a minute or two.

“I want you to find the record for the Granger home in Crawley.  They’re Muggles and their daughter received her Hogwarts letter in 1990.  Check all records up to the present.  Let me know when you’re done.  Bones out.”  As she cut the connection, Morningstar rejoined the group.

“No one is alive in there.  There are two bodies and both were clearly tortured—both with magic and without.” He said, grimly.  “Boss, we’ve got some serious problems.”

“Other than the Dark Mark hanging in the sky and Muggles being tortured?”  Amelia sighed.  “What is it?”

“There are three magical signatures.  One belongs to a foreign national.”

“Shit.”

“One comes from a wand that still has the Trace.  That wand is the one that cast the Dark Mark and it belongs to Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

“Double shit.”

“The third….?”  Morningstar shrugged.  “it’s an English wand, but I’ll need to do a comparison before I can identify it.  Then….there’s this.”  He held out a scroll.  “I had to strip three different Compulsion Charms off of it before I could touch it.  You….you should read it, Ma’am.”  Arching an eyebrow, Madam Bones took the scroll and scanned it quickly, her frown growing deeper by the second.  When she was finished, she rolled the scroll up and put it in the pocket of her robes. 

“I want a record of those Compulsion Charms,” She ordered.  “and your memory of finding this scroll and removing the charm.  After you’ve done that, start tracking down who those signatures belong to.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”  After Morningstar departed, Amelia turned to Jacob.

“Good work, Astley.” She said.  “Go on home and get some sleep.  As of right now, I’m reassigning you to a special task force that is a joint operation between the MLE and the DoM.”  Jacob’s heart lept.  Everyone in the department knew about the task force and it was considered a plum assignment.  “Be in the office no later than seven.  I’ll brief you on your new duties and then we’re going to Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts, ma’am?”

“We’ve got to inform a fifteen-year old girl that her parents are dead and then we’re going to talk to Albus Dumbledore.”

**

The Ministry of Magic – DMLE Holding Cells

Monday, October 2

Until now, being punched in the face by Hermione Granger was just about the worst thing that had ever happened to Draco Malfoy.  Compared to his last 24 hours, that was nothing but a minor jolt in an otherwise smooth broom flight.   As he paced the length and width of the small cell into which he’d been thrown (five paces by five paces), Draco argued with himself about which was worse, his memories of the past few day or his visions of what the future might hold for him.  Every time he’d decided on one, the other would rear its ugly head and the debate would start all over again.

Over the course of his life, Draco had seen five people die.  The first three had been quiet and rather unremarkable.  His grandfather had breathed his last at the ripe old age of 136, surrounded by his family.  Draco remembered thinking that the old man had gone to sleep; it was only when his father ordered the elf to bring them the finest bottle of elf-wine in the cellar that he realized the truth.  The two Muggles who had trespassed on Malfoy lands last summer had been killed with Killing Curses.  One moment they were alive and the next they were dead.  It was quick, clean and, to tell the truth, unmemorable.

The deaths of the Grangers had been neither quick nor clean, and he was certain he would remember them until his dying day.

Draco started as the door to his cell was flung open.

“Visitors.”  The guard grunted.  Gathering his dignity about him like a cloak, Draco stepped out into the hallway.  Though his insides were churning with fear, he refused to allow anyone to see this.  He was, after all, a Malfoy and his father—who was surely the visitor in question—would expect him to act like one.  Silently, Draco followed the guard down a long corridor and through a door at the end. 

“You!” he gasped, once he caught sight of the room’s occupants.

“Us.”  Professor Snape gave a curt nod to the guard.  “Thank you.  Please inform Madam Bones that we will be ready in fifteen minutes.”  Without a word, the guard left, closing the door behind him.  “Sit down.”  Snape pointed to the unoccupied chair.  Doing his best to collect his wits, Draco did as he was told.  He was distressed to find that the chair was held to the floor by a Sticking Charm, which meant he could not move away from ex-Professor Lupin.

“What is he doing here?” he asked Snape, refusing to acknowledge the werewolf directly.

“Mr. Lupin is here in his capacity as factotum for the House of Black.”  Snape replied, seating himself across the small table from Draco.  Drawing his wand, he flicked it and muttered something that Draco didn’t quite catch.  “There.  Now we are assured of privacy.  Mr. Lupin is here to share some information with you and to advise you of your options.  I strongly suggest that you to keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”

“Why are you here?”  Draco asked.  “Where is Father?”

“I am here because you are underage and, in the absence of the Headmaster, it is my responsibility to act as your advocate and legal proxy when your parents are unable to do so.  As for your father…”  Snape’s glance flicked towards Lupin, who gave a slight nod.  “he is dead.  The Dark Lord killed him yesterday morning.”

 “I realize this is a shock, Mr. Malfoy.”  Lupin said.  “But you will have ample time to grieve later.  Right now, you have a decision to make and not very much time in which to make it.”

“Decision?”  Draco’s brain had stopped working.  All he could think about was the fact that his father was dead.

“Yes.”  Lupin nodded.  “Before we come to that, however, I need to bring you up to speed on certain events.  Tiberius Warrington and Theodore Nott, Senior are both dead.  Warrington was killed when he attacked the Aurors sent to arrest him, and the goblins executed Nott when they discovered his role in your…escapade.” He grimaced “Igor Karkaroff is alive and still at liberty, but only because he is hiding on the Durmstrang ship.  That is technically Bulgarian soil so the Aurors cannot board it without permission from their Ministry.  As we speak, a representative from the Department of International Magical Cooperation is in Bulgaria, attempting to resolve the situation.  We expect that Karkaroff will be extradited back to his homeland within the next 24 hours.”

“What all this means for you, Mr. Malfoy, is that there is no one left to share the blame for your actions.” Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at Snape’s words.  “And, believe me when I say that everyone is against you in this.  The Minister is falling all over himself in his attempts to use this tragedy to bolster his own image and power base, the public is howling for your blood, and Voldemort is more than happy to give it to them.”

“What….?”  Draco’s head was spinning, not only from the information that was being thrown at him, but from the fact that Snape was openly speaking about the Dark Lord.  Snape apparently read his mind, for a faint, cold smile touched his lips.  It was completely devoid of any warmth of humor.

“Your idiocy did have one….interesting consequence that I do not believe you either anticipated or intended.  By casting the Dark Mark, you not only alerted the Ministry to the Dark Lord’s return, but you implied that your actions were sanctioned by him.  Aurors and Hit-wizards have been looking for him day and night and they have raided the homes of several of his most prominent supporters, including Malfoy Manor.  To avoid capture, the Dark Lord performed a ritual which gave him a new body and restored him to his former strength and power.”  Draco gasped.  He cast a frantic glance at Lupin, who did not seem at all surprised by the news.

“This is not a secret.”  The werewolf said.  “Several of those who witnessed the ritual have given statements and provided memories to the DMLE.  I expect that it will be front page news by tomorrow night, at the latest.”

“Those same witnesses have testified that the Dark Lord killed your father as punishment for his role in this affair.”  Snape added.

“Certain evidence has come to light that proves that the Minister either knew or should have known that Voldemort wasn’t dead.”  Lupin went on.  “That, along with his very public association with your father, has put him in a very difficult position.  He is desperate to draw attention away from his own incompetence.”  Draco felt his heart lurch.  He held no illusions on exactly what—or who—Fudge intended to use to suit his purposes.

“Fortunately for you, Madam Bones received a visit this morning from a representative of the I.C.W.”  Snape said.  “I will spare you the details, but it is enough to say that Sirius Black’s innocence is now public knowledge—within the Ministry, at least—and the I.C.W. has informed both the Minister and Madam Bones that it will not tolerate any more ‘mistakes’ of that kind.”

“So….so Fudge can’t do anything to me?”  Draco was nearly dizzy with relief. 

“Don’t be stupid, boy!”  Snape snapped.  “There is still a great deal that he can and will do to ensure that you receive a very public trial and execution.  The I.C.W. will watch what he does carefully, of course, and I have no doubt that Madam Bones will act with the utmost honesty and integrity, but we both know that there is a great deal that Fudge can do without attracting the I.C.W.’s wrath.”

“I want to make something absolutely clear to you, Mr. Malfoy.”  Lupin said.  “You have no friends or allies on whom you can depend.  With your father’s death, you are now Head of House Malfoy, but that title is all but worthless.  The Ministry has seized all your father’s assets and his debt to House Black has now passed to you.  If the debt is not repaid by Yule, the goblins will demand satisfaction.”  Draco shuddered.  “The Minister wants to give you a very public trial with a predetermined outcome, followed by an equally public execution.  He will do whatever he feels he has to in order to achieve that end.”

“Professor Dumbledore…”  Draco stammered.

“Is missing.”  Snape said, quietly.  “The Aurors have determined that he is alive and hale, but he has disappeared.  If and when he does return, he will be facing his own investigation.”

“You...you said something about decisions?”  For the first time, Draco looked directly at Lupin.  As repulsive as he found the idea of treating with a Dark Creature, Lupin was factotum for the House of Black.  Surely, he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t going to help.

“Yes.  As you know, your mother sought and was granted the protection of House Black.  Since your father died before their divorce could be finalized, your status within the House of Black is….uncertain.  When she requested the divorce, your mother asked Sirius to adopt you into his House.”  Lupin gave Draco a piercing look.  “Two days ago, Sirius would have done so willingly.  You would have been a full Scion, with all the rights and privileges due to one of your station.  Sirius was prepared to grant you a substantial allowance for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts, and to assist you in establishing yourself after graduation.  That is no longer the case.”

“What?  Why?”  Draco was bewildered.  His mother had never mentioned her cousin before and he certainly hadn’t met the man.  Why would someone he didn’t know have reason to dislike him?

“Sirius Black feels indebted to Hermione Granger.”  Snape replied.  His face was curiously blank.  Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Snape held up a hand.  “Do not speak!  We still have much to discuss and not much time.  What I have said is the truth and it would be wise for you to accept it as such.”

“Very well.”  Draco huffed.  “So, because of that bint, Granger, he’s not going to help me at all?”  Lupin opened his mouth to say something, but Snape beat him to the punch.

“That is not what was said, you little fool!” he hissed.  “Now be silent, or I will Silence you.  Both Lupin and I promised your mother that you would be given this choice, but we are running out of time.”

“Thank you, Severus.”  Lupin said, mildly.  “As I was saying, Sirius is no longer willing to provide you with all the benefits of being a Scion of House Black.  However, your mother has convinced him—at great risk to her ow position—that he has a duty to offer his protection to you.  He has decided to give you a choice between two options.  Both of these options are contingent on your agreement to the following conditions:  One, that you fully cooperate with the DMLE’s investigations into this affair and Voldemort’s plans and activities.  Two, that you renounce the name and title of Malfoy.”

“Silencio!” Snape snapped and no noise came out of Draco’s open mouth.  “Go on, Lupin.”

“Three, that you swear Unbreakable Vows to never serve, aid, or assist the Dark Lord and to never harm or allow harm to come to Hermione Granger or Harry Potter.”

“Black is Potter’s godfather.”  Snape explained, obviously sensing Draco’s confusion.

“Four, that for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts, you are to obey any order given to you by Professor Severus Snape without hesitation or objection.  If you are willing to accept these conditions, Lord Black will legally adopt you into his House and will forgive the debt House Malfoy owes to House Black.  He will provide you with enough funds to pay for the remainder of your education, including tuition and supplies, and you will have the legal protection of House Black.”  He paused for a moment and Snape gave him an impatient scowl.

“Get on with it, Lupin.”

“Sirius is also willing to forgive the debt, pay for your education, and grant you legal protection, while allowing you to retain the name and title of House Malfoy, provided you agree to the conditions I’ve already stated and swear an Unbreakable Vow, here and now, that you will pledge yourself as Vassal to House Pendragon on your seventeenth birthday.”  Draco’s jaw fell open.  There was a moment of heavy silence before Snape spoke again.

“I am going to lift the Silencing charm in a minute, but before I do, I wish to explain something to you, Mr. Malfoy.  Sirius Black is furious.  The only reason his offer is so generous—and, make no mistake, he is being generous—is because your mother pled your case.  We will speak more on this, later, but for now I need only repeat what Lupin said before; she risked her own position within House Black to try to save your worthless hide.  If you decline this offer, I can assure you that it will not be made again.”

“I would also like to add that there is no room for negotiation.”  Lupin’s voice was quiet, but firm.  “You either accept one of the options on offer, with all the conditions, or you decline.”

“There is one final point that needs to be stated.”  Snape paused, glancing at Lupin, then seemed to make up his mind about something.  “You are still a child.  You’ve demonstrated an appalling lack of intelligence, decency, and judgement, but if you can demonstrate the ability to grow and learn from this experience, you may still be able to earn Black’s respect. Now, Madam Bones is going to be here in just a few minutes and Mr. Lupin needs your decision before she arrives.  I suggest you think carefully before you answer.  Finite.”  He waved his wand and Draco felt the magic lift from him.

While one part of Draco’s mind railed against the injustice of his situation, the rest of him set about considering his options.  If he rejected Black’s offer, his life was over.  If the goblins didn’t come after him for the money owed, Fudge and his allies would find some way to trick him into breaking the law or would simply frame him for something he didn’t do.  Without any money, friends, or family, Draco knew he would be dead or in Azkaban before he finished Hogwarts.

He was going to have to accept Black’s offer and all the conditions that went with it.  The only choice now was whether to retain the name of Malfoy, knowing that he would have to become Hermione Granger’s vassal, or renounce his father and retain some semblance of freedom.  As far as Draco was concerned, there wasn’t really a choice to be made.  There was one consolation, at least.  If he understood what Professor Snape was implying, then there was a chance he could gain Black’s favor.  One day, if he played his cards right, he might be able to supplant Granger as his cousin’s heir.

“Very well.” Draco was proud at how cool and even his voice was.  “I gratefully accept my cousin’s offer of adoption.”

**

Hogsmeade – Minerva McGonagall’s House

Tuesday, October 3

An owl swooped in through the enchanted window, dropped a letter and a small box onto Andromeda Tonks’ lap, then left the way it had come.  Hermione watched as her Chaperone placed the box on the table and tapped it with her wand.  Once the Shrinking charm had been removed, the box grew and, recognizing it, Hermione sighed.

“Winky!” she called.  The elf appeared, wearing a neat blue dress with the Pendragon phoenix picked out in gold thread on her chest.

“Yes, Miss?” Since Winky had saved her from Dumbledore, Hermione had become keenly aware of the thread of magic that bound the two of them together.  Winky was very smart and seemed to have an instinctive understanding and sympathy for the fact that Hermione was navigating uncharted—and very dangerous—waters.  She was always ready with helpful advice and encouragement, something Hermione appreciated a great deal, and was happy to talk at length about House Elf history, culture, and the bond between elves and wizards.

“Here are some more flowers.” Hermione indicated the box.  “Please find somewhere to put them.”  Nodding so hard her little ears flapped, Winky picked up the box and disappeared.  Flowers were all being takento the Pendragon house in Hogsmeade because the Deputy Headmistress had terrible allergies.

“These are from Edmund and Eudora Parkinson.”  Andromeda informed her, after a cursory glance at the letter.  As she read further, the elegant witch made what Hermione could only describe as the politest noise of disgust she’d ever heard.  “They both with to extend their deepest condolences and Madam Parkinson wishes to ask if there is anything that the Crossed Wand Society can do to assist its newest prospective Board Member.  She also adds a reminder that her daughter, Pansy will be more than pleased to provide any help you might require, while you are both at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, honestly!”  Hermione scowled.  “Doesn’t she talk to her daughter?  Pansy can’t stand me and I can assure you that the feeling is mutual!”

“Eudora Parkinson is the worst sort of social climber.”  Andromeda gave a delicate sniff as she placed the letter on top of the pile that had been growing steadily all morning.  “She thinks her husband’s money excuses her complete lack of tact.  I have no doubt that the arrangement they sent will be far larger and gaudier than any of the others.”

“How long do I have before people will start expecting ‘thank you’ notes?”  Hermione asked, eyeing the letters warily.  It was a small matter, she knew, but she had been worrying it, like a dog with a bone.  It distracted her from thinking about everything else.

“You will not be expected to respond to….”  Andromeda paused as two more owls flew through the window, deposited their offerings and left again.  “Oh dear.” She sighed as she enlarged two more florist’s boxes.  “I don’t think there is going to be enough room for all these at the house.”

“What about donating them to St. Mungo’s?”  Hermione suggested.  “That’s what Muggles do sometimes—they donate flowers to hospitals so that the patients have something pretty to look at.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work.”  Andromeda said, as she peeked inside one of the boxes.  “These arrangements are all made up of white carnations.  Any witch or wizard who sees them will associate them with Death—hardly something that will bring cheer to a person who is ill or injured.”

“No, I suppose not.”  Hermione agreed.  “Is there any reason we need to unshrink them?  The only people in the house right now are Bill and Percy and they’re not going to care.”

“I suppose you’re right.”  Andromeda said.  “As to the letters, people will not expect a response for at least a month—and since you are still at Hogwarts, you can get away with waiting to deal with them until the Christmas holidays.  You are not, however, expected to respond to every letter.  You should read them all and can, of course, respond to any that you find particularly touching, but only the Ancient and Most Noble Houses will expect personal responses from you.  I will draft a letter expressing thanks that we can send to everyone else.  I believe the Muggles call it a form letter.”

“I see.”  Hermione nodded.  The pair descended into a reasonably comfortable silence and, inevitably, Hermione’s thoughts returned to the reason she was sitting in Professor McGonagall’s living room, rather than the Gryffindor Common room or her cozy study. 

Hermione had always known that witches and wizards were seriously lacking in logic.  She was now learning that there were some who were also lacking any sense of morals or common decency.  After informing Hermione of her parents’ deaths on Sunday morning, Madam Bones had warned Professor McGonagall that the Minister of Magic and members of his entourage (including at least one reporter) were planning to descend on Hogwarts later that day to “pay their respects.”  On hearing this, Hermione had become almost hysterical, prompting her Mentor to declare that she had the right to grieve in private for a few days, at least.  Within an hour of hearing the news, Hermione had decamped to the Professor’s house in Hogsmeade.   Andromeda Tonks had joined her there and Molly Weasley was a frequent visitor.  As far as Hermione knew, they were the only people who knew where she was. 

As for Professor McGonagall, she was still at the castle.  Though she made a point of coming to check on her guests several times a day, her time was limited. 

Since the Headmaster’s contract had been found and at least one student had been involved in the attack on Hermione’s parents, several Aurors were now camped out at the school, conducting a thorough investigation.  Winky had moved Dumbledore’s body….somewhere…and he was due to wake up some time tomorrow.  Winky had kept his new location a secret, but had assured all and sundry that he was someplace he could not escape without attracting attention.  With luck, he would be tied up with the DMLE long enough to allow Professor McGonagall to convene a meeting of the Board of Directors.   Meanwhile, she was required to be on hand to ensure that the school didn’t descend into total chaos.

Really, Hermione thought that the timing of Dumbledore’s attack simply could not have been worse. Monday morning’s special edition of The Daily Prophet was still lying on the sofa, along with several other publications.

“HE’S BACK!!!” The headline took up most of the front page, along with a photo of a man Hermione had never seen before.  He was tall and handsome, in an old-fashioned movie-star kind of way, but his expression was cold and his eyes were red.  The paper identified him as Lord Voldemort.  The article below the picture gave a detailed account of a Dark ritual that restored him to power; one that had taken place shortly after the murder of Hermione’s parents.  Despite the salacious nature of the subject, the article was remarkably straight-forward and lacked the Prophet’s usual embellishment and innuendo.  Of course, the story had no need of embellishment—there wasn’t really anything the Prophet could add to make it any more sensational or terrifying than it already was.

According to Mrs. Weasley, news of the attack on the Grangers and the return of Voldemort had come close to bringing the castle down around everyone’s ears.  Several students had been taken to the Ministry for interrogation and more were being questioned at the school.  In the Headmaster’s absence, Madam Bones had decided to do a thorough inspection of the school ‘for security purposes’ and someone had discovered that Dark magic had been used on the Goblet of Fire.  An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries had been called in and the flames had been doused, so the future of the Tournament was now uncertain, which only added to the confusion.  On top of all that, Professor Moody had vanished.

So—no.  Hermione knew that there was no way Professor McGonagall could spare the time to help her deal with her grief.  Still, she was grateful for the consideration that her Mentor had shown her.  She was excused from her tutorials for the week and Professor McGonagall had been instrumental in arranging her travel to London, where she would meet with the police and her parents' solicitors, then attend her parents’ funerals.  Best of all, the professor had put her foot down with both the Ministry and the Muggle government and insisted that Hermione wasn’t taking any meetings with anyone—even the Queen—until after the funerals.  The Queen’s secretary had accepted this decision with good grace but, according to Mrs. Weasley, Minister Fudge and his entourage had already made an unscheduled trip to the Burrow in the hopes of finding Hermione there.

The telephone rang in the kitchen and Hermione saw Andromeda start slightly.  Thankfully, she didn’t shriek and draw her wand the way she had last time.

“What is that thing?” she asked, glancing nervously towards the kitchen.

“It’s a telephone.”  Hermione explained.  “It’s a device that allows Muggles to talk to one another across great distances.”

“But…what is it doing here?  In a witch’s house?”

“Professor McGonagall keeps it so that the parents and guardians of Muggleborn students can reach her if there’s an emergency.”  Hermione said.  “She’s trained Tofty to answer the phone and to either take a message or to fetch her if the matter is urgent.” 

As if summoned by their conversation, the Deputy Headmistress suddenly appeared in the fireplace and strode quickly from the room.  Though Hermione could only catch snatches of her Mentor’s side of the conversation, it soon became clear she was speaking to the Grangers’ solicitor.  This was confirmed a moment later, when the professor returned to the living room.

“Hermione, that was Mr. Briggs’ secretary.  She’s confirmed that he’s made all the arrangements and that you’ll be meeting with the police at his office at 9:00 tomorrow morning.”  Professor McGonagall sank into a chair.  “She asked about your lodgings and I’ve told her you’re staying with the parents of one of your school friends.  I’ve talked to Dean Thomas’ mother and she’s agreed to allow me to give him her phone number.”

“That was really nice of her.”  Hermione said, softly.  She’d never met Dean’s mum, but had heard all about her from her adoring son.

“I’ve told Mrs. Thomas and you and Madam Tonks will be staying at the Leaky Cauldron and she wanted me to tell you that if you want a home-cooked meal, she’ll be happy to have you over.”  Professor McGonagall sighed as she took off her glasses and rubbed the spot between her eyes.

 “Has anyone heard from Dumbledore?”  Andromeda asked.

“No.”  McGonagall scowled.  “Terlee tells me these trips of his never last more than five days.  He left just after dinner on Saturday, so he should be back by Thursday night, at the latest.”  Hermione was impressed with Professor McGonagall’s acting.

 “How could he be gone that long without anyone noticing?”  Andromeda looked baffled.

“How often did the Headmaster take meals in the Great Hall when you were at school?”  Hermione asked.  “Except for feasts, I can only remember a handful of times I’ve seen him eat with the rest of us.  He doesn’t wander the halls and Harry is the only student I know who has ever been to his office.”

“She’s right.”  Minerva nodded.  “Since the Headmaster doesn’t interact with most of the rest of the school, we can go for days without seeing, hearing, or even thinking about him.”  She frowned.  “Now that I say that out loud….”

“It doesn’t sound very good.  For Dumbledore or Hogwarts.”  Andromeda finished her thought.

“Indeed.”  McGonagall drew in a deep breath and put her glasses back on.  “I have to go back up to the castle in a moment, but I wanted to let you know that Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy returned a little while ago.”  Hermione felt all the breath go out of her lungs as she was plunged right back into the nightmare in which she’d been living since yesterday morning.  Draco had been one of the students taken to the Ministry for questioning.  Mrs. Weasley had hinted, several times, that he might have been directly involved in the attack. 

“Cassius Warrington and Theodore Nott have also been released from Ministry custody, though Mr. Nott will not be returning to Hogwarts.”  Professor McGonagall’s lips were pressed together in a thin line.  “While he did not participate in the attack, it seems that he was aware of Lucius Malfoy’s plot and chose not to tell anyone.  His mother has decided to take him to the Continent.”

“And Cassius Warrington?”  Andromeda asked.  “His mother and I were roommates when I was at Hogwarts and I’ve known Cassius since he was a baby.  I still can’t believe he had anything to do with this…”

“He didn’t.”  Professor McGonagall assured her.  “While Professor Snape will be able to provide you with more details, he did tell me that Madam Bones has determined that Mr. Warrington had no knowledge of his father’s participation in this foul plot, and that he, himself, had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s a relief.”  Hermione murmured.

“Do you know Cassius?”  Andromeda asked.

“No, and that’s why it’s a relief.”  Hermione said, quietly.  “Malfoy and Nott…they’re in my year.  I can accept the idea that they hate me and….and would do something about it.  But, Warrington?  I don’t think we’ve ever actually met….”  Her voice caught on the lump in her throat.

“We understand.”  Professor McGonagall said, gently.  “As you know, Cassius has also lost his father.  His mother passed away a few years ago and he has two younger sisters.  I have permitted him to remain at home with them for a few days, so he can make arrangements for their care.  I expect to see both of you back in the castle on Saturday morning.”  Hermione nodded.  Her parents’ funeral was to be on Friday afternoon and she couldn’t think of any reason why she’d want to stay in London after that.

“What about Malfoy?” she asked.

“Mr. Malfoy has been cleared of all charges by the Ministry, save that of violating the laws regarding the use of underage magic.”  Professor McGonagall’s jaw twitched slightly as she said this.

“But….but he…my mother…” Hermione spluttered.

“I know.” Professor McGonagall gave her a look filled with sympathy.  “Unfortunately, this situation is all too common in the magical world.  Though the Ministry is supposed to uphold all Muggle laws, they sometimes refuse to prosecute those crimes that are not done with magic…especially when the perpetrator is from an important or influential family.”

“So, that’s it?  He just gets to go on with his life as if nothing happened?”  Hermione felt as though she was going to be sick to her stomach.

“Mr. Malfoy may not spend any time in Azkaban,” Andromeda said, thoughtfully, “but I do not believe he will be allowed to resume his former life.  His father is dead and his mother has fled the country.  All the adults who helped to engineer and execute this plot are either dead or in hiding.  All the blame for this will fall squarely on his shoulders.  People will be outraged and terrified—after all, it could just have easily been their families that were targeted—and they will want some form of vengeance.  Since Draco is still a child, and a penniless child, at that, I think it very unlikely that You-Know-Who will render him any assistance.  No, I imagine that his life will be quite difficult from now on.”

“Indeed.”  Professor McGonagall.  “Speaking of vengeance….I have spoken to the Gryffindors and to your friends, in particular, Hermione.  I am now going to tell you the same thing I told them.  No matter what you may think of Mr. Malfoy, personally, he is still a Hogwarts student and subject to the school’s rules and regulations, as are you all.  Though I can sympathize with your desire to do so, I will not tolerate any harassment or assaults on Mr. Malfoy’s person.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Hermione murmured.

 With a reluctant sigh, Professor McGonagall stood and adjusted her hat.  “I’m afraid I must be off.  Mr. Potter, the twins, Ginevra, and your other year-mates asked me to pass on their love.”  She said.  “They were all quite anxious to come and see you, but I’m afraid that the rules do not permit underage students to leave the castle during term except for regular Hogsmeade weekends.  Mr. Krum also sends his regards.”  Despite everything, Hermione felt her cheeks warm a bit at that news.

“Thank you.  Please give my love to everyone and tell them….” She paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to express the gratitude she felt in knowing that she had so many people who cared about her.  “Tell them I said thanks.”

“I certainly will.  I’ll come back during lunch, if I can get away, but Professor Snape should be here some time later this morning.  Good bye.”  She Flooed away and those left behind descended into silence once again.  One thing Hermione really liked about Andromeda Tonks was that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty chatter.  She only spoke when she had something to say.  They spent the next several hours peacefully.  Hermione read a bit, but mostly spent the time trying to process and come to terms with her loss and her anger, while Andromeda went through all the correspondence and made copious notes on a piece of parchment.  Only the occasional owl delivery interrupted the silence. 

That lasted until the raven flew in through the enchanted window and landed on the table in front of Hermione.   It held a scroll in its beak.  Andromeda automatically reached for the scroll, but the raven shied away, keeping its gaze fixed steadily on Hermione.   Tentatively, she reached out to take the scroll, but Andromeda grabbed her wrist.

“Wait, Hermione.” she said. “Let us make sure it isn’t cursed before you take it.”

“Right.”  Hermione withdrew her hand, blushing.  “I forgot.  Winky!”  The little house elf appeared almost instantly.  “We need you to check this scroll and the bird for any bad spells they might have on them.”    Winky nodded vigorously and began waving her hands around.  Hermione could see the sparks of magical energy on her fingertips.  After a moment, Winky put her hands down and the magic that had surrounded the bird dissipated.

“The only spell on the scroll is being a Notification charm like the goblins is using.”  Bill had told Hermione about those charms—they were intended to notify the sender when a recipient opened a letter, and had been invented to prevent witches and wizards from claiming they hadn’t received important messages from the bank.  “The birdie is having very powerful spells on it but Winky is not knowing what they is for. “ Both Hermione and Andromeda frowned.

“Winky, all my mail is still being directed to Madam Tonks, isn’t it?”  Hermione asked.

“Oh yes, Miss.”  Winky’s ears flapped as she nodded.

“Then, do you know how this bird found me?” Hermione gestured towards the raven, which was standing remarkably still while it waited for her to take the scroll.

“Winky is not certain, Miss, but Winky thinks that the birdie be cursed with Dark Magic.”

“Take the scroll, Hermione.”  Andromeda said, softly.  “The sooner that…thing is out of here, the happier I’ll be.”  Gingerly, Hermione took the scroll.  Almost immediately, the raven took wing and soared out of the window.  Hermione examined the scroll carefully.  The parchment was quite fine, but the crest impressed into the wax—a goblet and a pair of crossed wands surrounded by an ouroboros—was completely unfamiliar.  Carefully, she broke the seal.

“What does it say?”  Andromeda asked.

My dear Lady Pendragon—Hermione read

Allow me to express my deepest sympathies on the loss of your parents.  I grew up as an orphan and am well aware of how difficult that road is to travel.  I would not wish such troubles on any witch or wizard. 

As you have no doubt heard, the so-called ‘Dark Mark’ was seen in the sky over your parents’ house.  In the past, this mark has been attributed to me, but I want to assure you that I had nothing to do with this heinous attack.  Lucius Malfoy has been executed for his audacity and should any of the other perpetrators come into my custody, I will ensure that they receive the full measure of punishment they so richly deserve.

If there is anything I can do for you during this most difficult time, please do not hesitate to ask.  I suggest that any further communication between us be sent with a house-elf so as not to arouse undue suspicion.

Your obedient servant,

Lord Voldemort

As she read the letter, Hermione’s eyes grew wider and wider.  When she was finished, she looked around to see that both Winky and Madam Tonks looked as shocked as she felt.

“This is a joke, isn’t it?” Hermione said, finally.  “That has to be it….this is someone’s idea of a really, really stupid, cruel joke.”

“I don’t think so.”  Andromeda said, slowly.  “Someone went to a great deal of trouble to get that letter directly to you, without going through me, first.  It would simply be too much effort for a prank.”

“I….”  Hermione was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.  Winky disappeared instantly—they had decided it was best to keep the fact that Hermione had a personal elf a secret from the rest of the school—and a moment later, Professor Snape walked into the room. 

Hermione was shocked by the Potions Master’s appearance.  Snape would never win Witch Weekly’s award for “Most Charming Smile,” nor would he ever be asked to pose on the cover of Playwitch, but he was always scrupulously clean and neat.  Now, however, he looked like he’d slept in his clothes (which, she guessed, he probably had—if he’d slept at all).  There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was tousled and….was that five o’clock shadow on his chin?  In short, he looked like hell.

“What’s happened?”  No matter how tired he looked, it was clear Professor Snape’s intellect and observational skills hadn’t suffered any from his obvious lack of rest.  Wordlessly, Hermione handed him the letter.  He read it, then read it again, his eyebrows rising higher and higher with each line.  “This….is unexpected.” He murmured at last.

“I thought it might be a joke.  Do you think Riddle really wrote it?” Hermione asked.

“I do.”  Snape said, after a moment’s consideration.  “It would appear that the Dark Lord has decided to take a more…direct approach to recruiting you.”

“Ah.”  Andromeda breathed, understanding dawning on her face.  “I was wondering why it felt so…familiar.  He sent something similar to my sister, Bellatrix, after our father died.”

“Indeed.”  Snape nodded, gravely.  Seeing Hermione’s confused look, he explained.  “Riddle’s first followers were people he knew personally—people he went to school with, like Abraxas Malfoy and Walburga Black.  However, after he began gaining some power, he generally delegated the task of recruiting new Death Eaters to others.  On occasion, however, he would find someone he felt had a great deal of….” Here, his lip curled “potential and he would exert himself to ensure that they were loyal to him and him alone.  Those people generally tended to be his most faithful followers and they are all now dead or in Azkaban because they persisted in their allegiance to him, rather than claiming to have been under the Imperius curse as so many others did.”

“And…and that’s what you think he wants with me?”  Hermione was unsuccessful in her efforts to keep her voice from shaking.

“Believe it or not, Miss Granger, this is a good thing.”  Snape said, gently. 

“He’s right.”  Andromeda agreed.  “Riddle began his pursuit of my older sister, Bellatrix, during the summer between her fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts.  He…..well, there’s no other way to put this….he courted her.  He worked very slowly and carefully and was extremely patient.  It took him nearly two years to win my sister’s dubious affections, despite the facts that she already agreed with many of his…opinions and my Aunt Walburga was one of his strongest advocates.”

“I daresay that, provided you do not do anything to overtly refuse him, he will be willing to wait even longer for you.”  Snape said.  “You cannot take the Mark before you leave Hogwarts and, thanks to your Gringotts vaults, your House ring and Winky’s excellent services, you are far less likely to be susceptible to influence by bribery, spells or potions than others, so Riddle will only be able to rely on his powers of persuasion….unless, of course, you provide him with blackmail material.”  Andromeda glared at the Potions Master for daring to suggest her charge would do any such thing, while Hermione merely rolled her eyes. 

“Riddle knows that, unlike Bellatrix, you are adamantly opposed to his views on everything from blood purity to Quidditch.”  Snape went on, ignoring them.  “If he’s chosen to ‘court’ you, as Madam Tonks so eloquently put it, then he’s willing to be extremely patient and to chip away at your resistance bit by bit.  So long as he believes it is possible to win you over, he will go out of his way to avoid antagonizing you.  That means that you and, I daresay, the Weasley and the Tonks families, will be off limits to his Death Eaters.”

“What about Harry?”  Hermione asked.

“I do not know what Riddle’s plans are concerning Mr. Potter.”  Snape admitted.  “His….resurrection seems to have restored at least some of his sanity, so it is my hope that he will leave the boy alone, at least for a little while.  I will attempt to impress on him that attacking Potter would almost certainly destroy any chance he has of recruiting you.”

“So….as long as I don’t spit in his face, literally or metaphorically speaking, you think Riddle will leave us all alone?”  Hermione’s mind raced with the implications of this statement.  Turning to Andromeda, she asked “How do I respond to this?”  She pointed to the letter, which was still in Snape’s hand.

“You don’t.”  Andromeda had a rather wicked smile on her face.  “Consider this your first lesson on playing hard to get!”  To Hermione’s great surprise, Severus Snape began to laugh.  After a moment, despite her best intentions, Hermione began to giggle as well.  A part of her knew that she shouldn’t be laughing—her parents were dead, after all—but a part of her recognized that she was probably having a bit of an hysterical reaction to everything that had happened and that laughing about it was better than screaming.  It took a few moments for the three of them to compose themselves.

“Miss Granger, as Minerva no doubt told you, I have been at the Ministry with my students since they were brought in for questioning.”  Hermione nodded.

“She said that Nott is not coming back to Hogwarts and that Warrington had nothing to do with this.  She said that Draco Malfoy….”  The bile rose in Hermione’s throat.

“Yes.  Remus Lupin was supposed to be here to tell you all this, but he had to stay at the Ministry.”  Professor Snape sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.  “Mr. Malfoy is not being prosecuted because Sirius Black has granted him the protection of House Black.”

“He did what?” Hermione felt her eyes sting at this new betrayal.

“Why?”  Andromeda’s voice was sharp.  “I thought he wanted to restore our family name…”

“As much as it pains me to do so, I feel that I must explain—and defend—Black’s decision.”  Snape looked around the room.  “Is there tea?  I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in quite a while…”  Andromeda took on the role of hostess, summoning Tofty and obtaining tea and biscuits for them all.

“All right.”  She said, once they were settled.  “What reason could my cousin possibly have for doing something so….foolish?”

“Narcissa asked him to do it, after reminding him of his own…lapse in judgement.”  Andromeda’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh.” She whispered.  “I see.”

“I don’t.”  Hermione felt rather cross.  Clearly, there was some important piece of information she didn’t have.

“When Sirius was in school, he…well, he was something of a bully.”  Andromeda said, slowly.  “He and his friends enjoyed playing pranks on other students, particularly the Slytherins, and those pranks often crossed the line into cruelty.”  Professor Snape snorted, but Andromeda ignored him.  “There was one student that he particularly despised…I never knew why…”

“He hated me because I was friends with Lily.”  Snape said, gruffly.  “Lily Evans was a Muggleborn student in my year.  We grew up in the same town and met several years before we got our Hogwarts letters.  When we arrived at school, she was sorted into Gryffindor and I was sent to Slytherin.  Lily refused to drop me and that greatly irritated Black and his friends.”

“Oh.”  Hermione’s eyes widened as she recalled the story Snape had told her weeks ago.

“Yes, well….As you know, Remus Lupin was also a classmate of ours.  Dumbledore took great pains to keep his condition a secret, but it wasn’t terribly difficult to work out why he was ill every month.”  Snape ran his fingers through his hair.  “I suspected the truth and was desperate to obtain proof so that I could get him expelled.  In fairness, he was the least loathsome of the lot, but at that time, I didn’t really care.  Anyway, Black decided to play a prank on me.  He staged a conversation where he knew I would hear it and led me to believe that Lupin was being given a potion very similar to Wolfsbane.  They talked about how to access the Shrieking Shack and I….well, I fell for it.  I managed to hit the knot on the Whomping Willow with a stone, and got into the tunnel.  I had almost made it to the Shack when…another friend of Black’s showed up.  Black had told him about the prank and he’d come to rescue me.”

“There wasn’t a potion, was there?”  Hermione asked, desperately trying to control the trembling in her hands.

“Actually, there was.  However, it could only be obtained through the Ministry and Lupin’s father didn’t want his name on the Werewolf Registry.”

“So, Sirius sent you in there with the intention of letting Remus eat you?”

“I thought so, at the time.”  Snape replied.  “Now, however, I am convinced that Black wanted to give me a good scare.  He knew I was suspicious about Lupin and thought that, if I was faced with an actual werewolf, I might back off.  It’s ridiculous, I know, but I don’t think he gave a thought to the potential consequences of his little ‘joke.’  If Po…that other friend of his hadn’t come and dragged me out of the tunnel, I would have been killed or turned and Lupin would have been blamed.  I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what would have happened to him.”  Hermione shuddered and shook her head.

“What does this have to do with Draco?” She asked.

“I’m coming to that.”  Snape assured her.  “We were all caught—Black, myself, and the third boy—and taken to the Headmaster, who got the whole story out of us.  Black had clearly violated Article 11 of the school charter and he should have been expelled on the spot.  However, expelling Black would have meant exposing Lupin’s secret.  Even as angry and frightened as I was, I could understand that logic.”  Snape looked a bit sour.  “Despite what everyone chose to believe, I never blamed Lupin for his role in the affair.”  He shook his head, as if to clear it.

“However, Dumbledore had other motives that were far less altruistic.  Voldemort was waging war on wizarding Britain and several members of the Black family were in his inner circle.  Dumbledore was grooming Sirius to be a spy and he didn’t want to risk losing such an asset.  To keep Black’s loyalty, the Headmaster gave him a token punishment of a week’s detention.”

“That’s it?”  Hermione’s jaw fell.

“That’s it.”  Snape nodded.  “I was told not to say anything about the incident.  Though he never openly threatened me, Dumbledore implied that if I told my tale to anyone, he would see to it that I was removed from Hogwarts.”

“Since the punishment didn’t suit the severity of his crime, Sirius did not learn or grow from the experience.”  Andromeda added.  “He is not a bad person, Hermione, but before he went to Azkaban, Sirius could be rather cavalier about the way in which his decisions might affect others.”

“Draco’s mother reminded him of this incident.”  Snape said.  “And she pointed out that Sirius had been given the opportunity to repent and make amends.  He outgrew the pranks and the bullying, but as a young adult, he was reckless, insensitive, and irresponsible.”

“It’s not the same!”  Hermione could feel the tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t care.  “Draco went to my parents’ house to kill them.” 

“No, he didn’t.”  Snape’s voice was terribly gentle.  “I was there when he was questioned, under Veritaserum.  The plan was to coerce your parents into signing a magically binding marriage contract between yourself and Draco.  They were going to execute the contract as soon as Draco turned sixteen.  Tiberius Warrington began acting aggressively towards your mother and your father tried to fend him off with a kitchen knife.  In the ensuing scuffle, Warrington was cut and he lost all sense of restraint.  He and Karkaroff then exerted pressure on Draco to…er…join in.”  Hermione was shaking so badly that she didn’t feel it when Andromeda took the teacup from her hands.  “I will not excuse or apologize for his behavior, nor will I say that he had no desire to harm your parents, but their deaths were unplanned and unintended.”

 “So, what?  Sirius thinks that because he didn’t get punished, Draco shouldn’t either?”

“Hardly.”  Snape’s eyes glittered.  “He does, however, believe that Draco’s punishment should not be left in the hands of self-serving idiots like Fudge or Dumbledore.  Both he and Narcissa feel that it is necessary for Draco to feel the full weight of his decisions.”

“How?”  Andromeda asked.

“Sirius has adopted Draco, thereby providing him the protection of House Black.  However, Draco is not being given the status of a full Sion of the House.  Sirius is only providing the boy with the bare necessities.  He will pay for tuition and school supplies, so that Draco can finish Hogwarts, but beyond that, Draco is expected to make his own way in the world.  He will use his influence to protect Draco from unreasonable Ministerial persecution, but that is all.”

“But…but…”  Hermione was incoherent with anger.

“Hermione, I realize that this doesn’t sound very harsh,” Leaning forward, Andromeda took Hermione’s hands in her own.  “but I promise you that it is the surest way for Sirius to accomplish his aims.  I do not know Draco, but everything I’ve seen and heard tells me that he’s spent his whole life relying on his father’s influence and money.  He’s never had to work for anything and he’s never been told he can’t have what he wants.  That will all change now.”

“Indeed.” Snape nodded.  “Even as we speak, Mr. Malfoy is bearing the brunt of his classmates’ scorn and anger.  While Minerva will not permit the other students to harm him physically, he is being subjected to the type of treatment he is accustomed to heaping on others.  From now on, he will have no choice but to bear the consequences of his actions, be they good or ill, because he can no longer rely on his father’s name and reputation to protect him.  I will no longer shelter him, as I have in the past, nor will the rest of the staff tolerate his outbursts because they fear his father.  Black has also made it clear that he has no intention of providing Mr. Malfoy with any financial support beyond Hogwarts.  One of the many differences between the Muggle and magical worlds is the degree to which money, reputation, and influence play a part in a person’s ability to find suitable employment after graduation.”   

 “And people will remember this, Hermione.”  Andromeda said.  “Draco will not be able to get anything but the lowest-paying, filthiest jobs without going abroad and, without financial support from his family, that won’t really be an option for him.”

“What about his mother?”  Hermione challenged.  “You told me that Sirius has given her a generous allowance.”

“He has.”  Snape conceded.  “However, Narcissa has another child on the way and…”

“What?”  Andromeda was so startled she nearly dropped her biscuit.  “Narcissa is pregnant? I thought she and Lucius couldn’t have any more children.”

“It was not widely known, but the blame for their difficulties lay entirely with Lucius.  They had to undergo a ritual in order to have Draco.  While I have not, thankfully, been made privy to all the details, I gather that, some time ago, Cissy became fed up with Lucius’ philandering and decided to indulge in an affair of her own.  When the Dark Lord returned, her lover helped her plan her escape.  And no, I do not know who he is.”  Snape gave them a wry smile.  “My point is this.  The stipend is meant to support both Narcissa and the new baby.”

“Ah.”  Andromeda chuckled.  “You have not met my sister, Hermione, but she is a woman who likes her comforts.  As generous as I’m sure Sirius has been with her, Draco will find that his mother does not have a penny to spare for him.”

“Even if she did, Sirius has told her that she may not render Draco any assistance.”  Professor Snape added.  “She risked her position once for her son, but she will not do so again.”

“I suppose I don’t really have a choice about this, do I?”  Hermione muttered.

 “I’m afraid not.”  Professor Snape shook his head.  “However, you should know that Black laid several conditions on his agreement to adopt Mr Malfoy…excuse me, Mr. Black.  The ones that are most relevant to you are that he has relinquished the name of Malfoy and has sworn an Unbreakable Vow not to do you or Potter harm or allow harm to come to you, if he can prevent it.  I have advised him to leave you both alone, but I do not know if he will abide by my wishes.  Also, though he will not be punished by the Ministry, Mr. Black broke a number of school rules when he left the castle without permission.  In her role as Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall has decreed that he will serve detention with me every Saturday until the end of the school year.  He is also on academic probation.  If he does not earn at least an ‘A’ in five of his classes, he will not be invited to come back next year and Black and his mother have already made it clear that they will not pay for tutors.”

 Hermione had to take a few slow breaths to steady her stomach.

“Are you all right, Hermione?”  Andromeda asked, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“No!”  Hermione said, through gritted teeth.  “I am not all right!  My parents are dead and the arrogant son of a bitch who did God knows what to them gets detention?”

“I understand your frustration, Miss Granger.”  To his credit, Professor Snape didn’t flinch at her glare.  “Truly, I do.  However, as loathe as I am to admit it, this really is the best way.  Sirius Black’s’ protection keeps Mr. Malfoy…damn…Black out of the hands of Fudge and Dumbledore, who would twist this situation to suit their own purposes.  Though Mr. Black is unaware of this fact, Minister Fudge still does not know the extent of the debt Lucius Malfoy owed to House Black.  He still thinks that the coffers are full and is anxious for Draco pick up where his father left off.  If Draco could pay, Fudge would happily ignore his guilt, just as he has chosen to ignore the fact that Mr. Warrington is innocent.”

“He…what?”  Hermione blinked as her mental train went off the rails.

“The Minister has ordered Gringotts to freeze the Warrington vaults.  He did this after he learned that Tiberius Warringotn was dead and that Cassius had been cleared of any involvement in the attack on your parents.”  Seeing Hermione’s blank look, Professor Snape explained.  “Azkaban is not a large prison, Miss Granger.  Only those who are guilty of the most serious crimes are sent there.  All other convicted criminals are ordered to pay fines—usually a percentage of the total amount in their vaults.  As there is often a good deal of time between an arrest and trial, the Ministry will ask Gringotts to freeze a person’s vaults so that they cannot withdraw or transfer funds out of their vaults in order to avoid paying a hefty sum.”

“By ordering the goblins to freeze the Warrington vaults, the Minister has given the impression that young Cassius has been arrested and will be tried.”  Andromeda Tonks was frowning.  “I sense Merton Selwyn’s hand in this.”

“Indeed.”  Severus nodded.  “Since Draco cannot replace his father as Fudge’s patron, the Minister looks to Selwyn to fill that role.”

“Hang on, who is Merton Selwyn?”  Hermione was thoroughly confused now, but she had the strong impression that she was really not going to like what she was about to hear.

“Merton Selwyn is Cassius Warrington’s maternal uncle.”  Andromeda explained.  “He is a very rich man, but he has no political influence to speak of.  He is his father’s fourth child and all his older siblings have children of their own, so it is highly unlikely that he will ever become Head of the Mst Noble House Selwyn.  Ever since his sister, Alissa, married Tiberius Warrington—Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Warrington—Merton has been doing everything in his power to gain control of the Warrington family seat on the Wizengamot.”

“So….he’s what?  Got the Minister to freeze the vaults so he can commit extortion?”  Hermione was aghast.

“That is, unfortunately, exactly what he has done.”  Snape said.  “Were Cassius on his own, I believe he could withstand the pressure his uncle is bringing to bear on him.  He has some money from his mother that resides in a separate vault, so he is not without some means to support himself while he finishes Hogwarts and builds his career.  Unfortunately, Cassius has two younger sisters and, with the vault seizures, they are now completely financially dependent on the Selwyns.  Though nothing has been said yet, Cassius is certain that if he does not comply with his uncle’s wishes, they will be cast out and left to fend for themselves.  Even with his trust vault, Cassius cannot afford to care for both of them, let alone pay their Hogwarts tuition….”

“Why?”  Hermione was having a great deal of difficulty controlling her anger.  “Why is Fudge allowing this to happen?  Why is he actually helping Selwyn?”

“Minister Fudge enjoys a certain lifestyle.”  Andromeda said, her voice dry as Melba toast.  “Living the life he feels he is entitled to live takes money—money he does not have, despite the fact that the Wizengamot has voted to give him a raise three times since he took office.  While he has never been so crass or foolish as to accept money for specific services, he has always had ‘friends’ who are willing make ‘presents’ of cash and luxuries.  Merton Selwyn is one of those ‘friends.’”

“It would appear that whatever qualms he had about accepting cash payments for favors disappeared the moment Selwyn offered him a rather large number of Galleons in exchange for his cooperation.” Snape snorted.

Growling in frustration, Hermione stood up and began pacing around the room.  Her mind whirled with everything she’d seen and heard since that fateful day Minerva McGonagall had turned up on her doorstep to tell her she was a witch.  Half-remembered bits of conversation came back to her and fit themselves together, just like the pieces of a puzzle.  A pattern was emerging and she didn’t like what she saw.  There was silence for several minutes until she finally stopped and faced the others.

“I want to be absolutely sure I understand what I am being told.” She said, keeping an iron control over her voice and her anger.  “The Minister of Magic—the most powerful political figure in magical Britain—is thoroughly corrupt and will gladly sell his Ministry to the highest bidder.  Is that correct?”

“It is both correct and a remarkably succinct description of the situation.”  Snape replied.

“The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot—who also happens to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts—is just as bad.  He might not sell his vote to the highest bidder, but he is using his positions to pursue his own agenda and to justify doing completely despicable things to children, and he doesn’t give a damn who he has to hurt along the way.”

“Again, both accurate and succinct.”  Snape said, quietly.  Hermione stared from one pale face to the other and came to her decision.

“Right.”  Hermione sighed.  “So, the government of magical Britain is rotten.  The society and economy are…” she waved her hands around, searching for the right world “practically medieval and is run by a few families who are determined to keep as much of the money and power to themselves as possible.  Crimes committed against muggles aren’t really crimes and the justice system is broken beyond repair.  There’s a so-called ‘Dark Lord’ running around who wants to become…what?  King?  Emperor?”

“I think he fancies himself a god.”  Snape answered.  “I should also mention that he wants to dominate the Muggles as well and has aspirations of expanding his dominion beyond our shores.”

“Better and better.”  Hermione muttered.  “So, to sum up, the British Wizarding world is a mess and the average witch or wizard can’t or won’t do anything to fix it.  Is that right?”  Neither adult said anything, but their silence answered Hermione’s question.

“But then there’s me.” She continued.  “I’m not the average witch or wizard, am I?  I’m Head of an Ancient and Most Royal House.  I have a seat on the Wizengamot and more money than I can ever possibly spend in ten lifetimes.  I can do something about all this, can’t I?”

“You can.”  Andromeda nodded.  “I daresay you can do quite a lot.”

“I will also add that you are not alone.”  Snape leaned forward, his dark eyes sparking in a way that Hermione had never seen before.  “You already have many friends…true friends…in the castle and you seem to be gaining more every day.  Furthermore, you can authorize people to act on your behalf in areas where they have more knowledge or experience than you, or talents that are more suited to the situation than yours.  All you have to do is ask and it will be done.”

 “That’s….frightening.”  Hermione admitted.

“Good.”  Snape’s gaze pierced her and Hermione had the feeling he was trying to see into her soul.  “Such power should not be taken lightly—it is far too easy to abuse.  Dumbledore and Fudge are proof of that.  But ignoring it would be even worse.”

“I know.”  Hermione nodded.  Slowly, she made her way back to her seat.  “So, the question is how do I use it to help?”

“I do not know how you can fix the Wizarding world….” Andromeda said, slowly “but I think I know how you can help Cassius Warrington.”

“It’s a start.”  Hermione nodded.

**

END PART 1