Hermione Granger and The Boy-Who-Lived

[Jackpot-kun]

Afternoon.

Saturday, Sept. 14


So far, Minerva McGonagall's weekend was proving to be irritating, and it had, of course, started with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger vanishing for the whole of Thursday night and half of Friday.

It was no secret in Hogwarts that the two first-year Gryffindors (who, in her opinion, were much too precocious for any pair of eleven-year-olds to be) were practically joined at the hip. Anyone who bothered to look in their direction was likely to find them either holding hands, sharing a look, a smile, a hug, or gazing into each other's eyes in that way that made Minerva uncomfortable the one time she witnessed it.

Honestly, if they were any older, N.E.W.T years maybe, there would likely already be a betting pool among the teachers for how soon after Hogwarts the two would tie the knot. Because of their ages however, most of the adults in the castle found themselves in this awkward position where, they were all thinking it, and they all knew they were thinking it, but nobody wanted to be the one who said it.

That was a big part of what had made Friday morning so frustrating.

Aurora Sinistra had mentioned to Minerva during breakfast that Friday morning that Harry and Hermione hadn't been at her class the night before.

More importantly, she also said that when she'd asked the Gryffindors present why those two were absent, they'd said they didn't know, because both had been missing since before dinner the previous day.

It was obvious what Aurora and half the faculty table—including Minerva herself—were thinking right then, but naturally, they all pretended they weren't.

Filius even hemmed and hawed about how strange it was, because "Miss Granger doesn't seem the sort to miss a class."

Minerva agreed, Miss Granger certainly wasn't the type to skip a class. Unfortunately, Miss Granger was also an almost twelve-year-old girl, and contrary to what the students thought, Minerva was that age once and very much remembered what it was like to be that age.

For her own first crush, she'd been barely eleven (just started at Hogwarts), and she had been utterly smitten with the Head Boy at the time, Silas Willows. Coming back for her second year to find him gone had been heartbreaking.

Minerva understood how much young girls like to feel grown-up, how intensely they can feel, and how much a bright-eyed boy like Harry can scramble their minds. She understood it all too well.

Not that Minerva thought that the eleven-year-olds had for sure been... you know, but it was still a possibility that was realer than she would have preferred.

Of course, the teachers had made an effort to look for the children, mostly by leaving word with some prefects and such, but no one really expected anything to come from that. Hogwarts was a huge castle, students went 'missing' in it all the time, especially when they didn't have anywhere they needed to be.

As expected, the two had shown up at lunch, and the only reason Minerva had even considered believing their story about practicing The Stunning Spell was because of how... normal they'd been.

Neither had acted off or strange in any way. In fact, if she hadn't known beforehand that they'd been together all night long, she wouldn't have looked at them twice.

So, true or not, Minerva had decided to accept their story, and (grudgingly) dropped her plans for punishment.

Thankfully, the rest of the day had been quiet enough, but Minerva's budding hope that the weekend would be peaceful was shattered when someone broadcasted a rooster's crow across the castle on Saturday morning.

A rooster that they stole from Hagrid she might add.

What she would do when she found the students responsible, the older witch thought to herself. They would never forget it.

Unfortunately, for her to mete out the appropriate punishment, the students would first need to be found, and that was starting to look like a pipedream.

The simple truth was that there was no way to know who did it, or even where they did it. Not without lining up all of the students and questioning them under veritaserum anyway. And, unfortunately, that was still illegal.

Minerva sighed and stared at the third-year papers she was supposed to be grading. She really wasn't in the right state of mind for this.

Maybe some fresh air would help clear her head, the aging professor decided, before walking out to the little balcony attached to her office.

Minerva's office was on the sixth floor of the west tower of Hogwarts.

Being this high up, the balcony gave her a wide view of the castle grounds, covering everything from parts of The Forbidden Forest to the quidditch pitch, and she often came out here on days like today when she needed to clear her head.

As it often did whenever she came out here, her gaze immediately went to the quidditch pitch, where she could see the far-off shapes of some students practicing drills on brooms.

Those were the Gryffindors, she knew. The new captain, Wood, had booked the pitch for the whole day, both to hold the tryouts and to begin training the new seeker, whomever they may be.

Minerva hoped it was someone good; Charlie Weasley had left some big shoes to fill.

For several minutes, Minerva watched her lions practice; long enough that her building irritation from dwelling on recent events had effectively evaporated.

The witch was just beginning to consider returning to her work when she noticed something.

Now, Minerva had always had good eyesight, ever since she was a child (and contrary to what many thought, it had everything to do with good genes and nothing to do with her animagus form), and that was the only reason why she noticed a certain ghost wailing and terrifying students in a second floor hallway in an entirely different wing of the castle from hers.

On another day, when Minerva wasn't still on edge from the tasteless prank of that morning, she might have ignored the scene, or, at the very least, gone back into her office and taken the long way around through the castle.

This was not such a day.

With a few flicks of her wand, the witch conjured a solid, stone staircase bridging her balcony with the large windows of the hallway. Windows whose glass turned to wisps of fading mist as the irate professor approached.

Maybe it was the suddenly transfigured glass that made the growing crowd of students notice her, or perhaps just the no-nonsense aura she carried, but they quickly parted, giving her room to walk through.

"Myrtle!" The professor shouted sternly at the ghost who, even now was still wailing: "They're dead! It killed them! They're dead!"

Minerva's voice caught the dead girl's attention, and the ghost turned to look at her.

"Oh, it's you," she said.

"What is the meaning of all this, Myrtle?" The witch questioned tersely.

The ghost smiled, it was a happy little smile that did not match the words that left her mouth next. "Oh, it's Harry and his little girlfriend. They're dead, you see. A giant snake killed them."

Minerva looked at the translucent girl floating before her with growing rage.

For the fifty-odd years Myrtle Warren had haunted Hogwarts, she had made no secret of how much she envied, and maybe even hated, the living students within its walls.

This though, was going too far.

Seeing the expression on the professor's face, the ghost harrumphed and folded her arms. "Don't believe me, do you? Okay then, go in and see for yourself," she said, gesturing at the bathroom that was her usual haunt.

Before Minerva could make a decision one way or the other, a student, an older Hufflepuff girl, stepped out from that very bathroom and saw her.

The girl looked taken aback by Minerva's presence for a moment before she shook it off and said: "Professor, there's some kind of pipe in here. It looks like it leads underground."

Minerva blinked. What?

Rushing into the bathroom, Minerva saw that it was true; hidden behind the sinks and mirror, which had all shifted to one side, was a huge pipe that descended deep down.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as, behind her, Myrtle giggled.

"Told you," the ghost said.

​

★★★​

Minerva froze for exactly four seconds, then the witch who had survived two wizarding wars kicked in, and she did something that she hadn't done since the spring of 1981 when You-Know-Who was at his most powerful.

"Albus. Albus. Albus," she said.

It took six seconds. Each one felt like a minute.

A bright, white light flashed before the witch, and as she blinked away the spots it caused in her vision, Albus Dumbledore stood there in baby pink robes blinking at her in surprise, confusion, and a little wariness.

All were warranted. What she'd just done was something they both understood was for the greatest emergencies only.

"Albus, I fear Harry and Hermione may be in danger," Minerva said, and Albus' gaze immediately sharpened.

"They went down there," Minerva continued, pointing at the pipe which Albus had appeared directly in front of so hadn't seen.

Apparently unable to keep her mouth shut, Myrtle added: "A giant snake killed them."

Albus' gaze snapped to the girl and then his face paled.

"Fawkes!" The old wizard called, and his phoenix instantly materialized in an explosion of red and gold flames.

"Find them! Hurry!" Albus commanded, and the firebird quickly zipped down the tube.

Holding his wand up to his throat, The Headmaster spoke, and his voice rang throughout the castle almost as powerfully as the cock's crow had that morning.

"All students, return to your dormitories this instant. There is potentially a very dangerous magical creature loose in the castle. Know that anyone who willfully disobeys this instruction may very well die a terrible death. Prefects and faculty, please see that no one is left behind."

Minerva was still puzzling over what she thought may be an overreaction, when Albus turned to the wide-eyed Hufflepuff girl who Minerva had forgotten was still in the bathroom with them.

"Miss Watson, you should return to your dormitory, now," Albus said gently. "Thank you for your help."

The girl looked surprised to be addressed, and looked like she would really rather stay and see what would happen next, but finally, she acquiesced and nodded.

"Um, okay, sir. I'll be going now."

Before the girl could turn however, Fawkes burst out of the pipe, carrying a blood-soaked Harry with one taloned foot and a barely clothed Hermione in his other.

Both children were unconscious, and when the phoenix set them down, they looked dead.

Minerva's heart jumped into her throat, while Myrtle, who had been quiet all this time, suddenly wailed very loudly and flew down a toilet with an explosive splash.

The room's occupants barely paid the odd ghost a second of attention before focusing back on the first-years.

"Are they alive?" The Headmaster asked Fawkes, kneeling next to the children, and the bird nodded. "The snake?" The old wizard asked next, and this time the bird shook his head.

Albus rose and cast his Patronus.

"Poppy, I fear Harry Potter and Miss Granger might be in dire need of your services," the wizard said, voice strained but still maintaining some measure of calm. "Please, prepare to receive them."

Message complete, the Patronus flew off.

"Fawkes, please get me Filius and Severus," Albus said, and after the phoenix disappeared in its customary swirl of flames, he turned to look at the Hufflepuff who was standing still watching the Gryffindors on the floor. "Miss Watson. To your dormitory. The rest of you too."

The girl nodded jerkily, then turned and fled, along with the several students who, instead of obeying The Headmaster's earlier announcement, had gathered at the door of the bathroom looking in.

Rapid flapping from the pipe caught the two professor's attention, and both already had their wands pointed at the object before they saw what it was.

It was Harry's owl.

The bird had a bloody, obviously broken wing that it was somehow forcing itself to fly with, albeit unsteadily.

It landed between the unconscious children, then reached out to press its face into Harry's neck, before turning and doing the same to Hermione.

Done, the owl folded it's wings as neatly as it was able and stood guard, ignoring both adults.

Fawkes returned, perched atop the shoulder of the Potions professor.

As quick as the phoenix appeared, he was gone again, no doubt to pick up his other charge.

The potions master took in the room and its occupants quickly, but his eyes stilled on the form of the children.

"Minerva, please take Harry and Miss Granger to our matron, if you would," Albus said. "Tell her they've both very likely been infected with basilisk venom, but have received phoenix tears."

The words basilisk venom caused Minerva's heart to still in her chest, but the witch didn't hesitate, and in the next moment she had both children floating behind her as she hurried away.

She did not notice Severus behind her looking like a man whose heart had died; she barely even noticed Harry's owl follow.

★★★​

Two hours later, with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger safe and asleep in the nurse's office, all of the students locked up tight in their dormitories, and Albus confident that there were no more basilisks, the Hogwarts staff congregated in the staffroom at The Headmaster's behest.

Albus explained everything as he understood it.

Apparently, the Chamber of Secrets was real, and Salazar Slytherin, madman that he was, had left a basilisk in the school.

It would also appear that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger had somehow learnt of the snake, and instead of alerting the staff as they should have, they'd decided to kill it themselves.

Of all the stupid, reckless things she'd ever heard, this easily took the biscuit.

Those two had better pray they never woke up, because if they did Minerva would have them in detention for so long that their children would need to finish it.

The worst part was, she knew that this hadn't just been an unfortunate accident. They hadn't just come across the snake by chance; if that was the case then they wouldn't have had a rooster with them. A rooster that, interestingly enough, was the only member of the group who got off without any injuries.

A rooster that was the same one that had been stolen from Hagrid; meaning that these same Gryffindors were also the ones responsible for what everyone had assumed was a nasty prank this morning.

Oh, they had better hope they never wake up.

While Minerva fumed, and some teachers stared slack jawed at what two first-years had managed right under everyone's noses, a certain professor trembled as his Lord raged within him.

This would not go unanswered.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Evening. Same Day.

Saturday, Sept. 14


The world came into focus for Hermione with sounds.

"Hermione, can you hear me?"

It sounded like Harry.

But that wasn't possible, the girl thought as her heart clenched. Harry was dead. The snake had killed him. It had killed her too.

...

But then how was she here? She wondered.

"Hermione? Wake up, please," Harry's voice said again.

"Don't rush her, Mr. Potter," a woman said gently. "Give the potion time to work."

Who was that woman? Hermione wondered. And what potion?

Curious for answers, the girl opened her eyes.

Harry's face hovered over hers. His dark hair was as disheveled as ever, with wild strands sticking out every which way, his brilliant green eyes were clouded by worry, and his lips were lacking their customary smile. It was the most beautiful thing Hermione had seen in her short life.

"Harry?" She asked, almost afraid to hope.

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, and then he smiled. It was small, hesitant almost, but it made Hermione reconsider her recent realisation, because this was the most beautiful thing the girl had ever seen.

"Are you okay?" Harry was asking. "You were—"

Hermione hugged him, as tight as she could. "You're okay," she said, tears rushing down her face. "You're okay."

Harry hugged her back, and his voice broke when he said: "I am."

Through her tears and her relief, Hermione finally noticed her surroundings, as well as its other occupants.

They were in the infirmary (Hermione had never been before, but the rows of small beds with crisp, white sheets was an obvious clue), and watching she and Harry, one with worry on her face, and the other with an unreadable gaze, were Madam Pomfrey and The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Seeing her staring at them, Dumbledore said: "I'm glad to see you're convalescing splendidly, Miss Granger, but I fear I may need to interrupt your rest; I have some questions I need you and Harry to answer, if you may."

"Albus, must you do this now," Madam Pomfrey asked. "The children need their rest."

"Thank you for your time, Poppy," Dumbledore said gently, but in clear dismissal. "If you could excuse us, please."

The matron looked very unhappy at being dismissed, but she obeyed all the same.

Harry had let go of Hermione by now, but they still clasped hands, and he sat with her on her narrow bed and they faced Dumbledore as a united front.

From the tiny nightstand by the bed, Hedwig let her voice be heard, and Hermione looked at her in surprise; she'd forgotten all about the owl.

The bird looked fine though, so Hermione didn't feel too guilty about her lapse.

Looking back at The Headmaster, Hermione made eye-contact with the old wizard before she remembered and quickly focused on something else. Like his pink robes, which were conspicuous enough to easily attract the young girl's eyes.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore sighed, and it sounded genuinely sad.

But why would he be sad? Hermione thought. She expected him to be angry, after all, he was here because he'd learnt everything they'd been up to, right?

She looked to Harry to see if he had any answers; he didn't, but he did have some information to give.

"Dumbledore told me that he had some questions to ask me," Harry said, "but I told him that I wouldn't talk to him unless you were awake, so he asked Madam Pomfrey to wake you."

"That I did, Harry," Dumbledore said. "And I'm sure you already know what my questions are, so I won't waste any time with preamble.

"How did you know about the basilisk, Harry? How did you know about Slytherin's chamber?"

Hermione swallowed. This was bad. They'd already decided that they didn't want anyone to know about Harry's future knowledge, it was why they'd gone through all the trouble to do all of this themselves.

If Dumbledore was asking questions like this now, how much longer would it be until they let something slip or he figured it out himself.

Dumbledore was supposed to be more than just a powerful wizard, after all, he was supposed to also be very intelligent.

Harry either wasn't feeling the same worry Hermione was, or, more likely, he was great at hiding it, because he said: "How do you know it was me, though? I mean, for all you know it could have been Hermione who told me about the chamber and the snake."

Dumbledore sighed again, and it sounded even sadder than before.

"Why don't you trust me, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, and through his hand in hers, Hermione felt Harry still.

"Trust you?" Harry asked quietly. "Trust you? Do you have any idea what it was like growing up with the Dursleys? Oh, wait, you do. Ten years of hell, you said. Ten years of being told every day that my parents were good-for-nothing drunks who got themselves killed in a car accident. Ten years of being called a freak. Of being told I was unwanted.

"Do you know why the Dursleys stopped beating me? It was because Vernon got carried away once and broke my jaw; I had to go to hospital. They stopped because they were scared people would only believe I ran into a door so many times."

Harry was shaking, his hand in hers squeezing so tightly. He could barely speak.

So Hermione spoke for him.

"They starved him instead," she said, and despite knowing the risk it would expose her to, she looked Dumbledore in the eyes. Because she had to know, she had to know why Dumbledore would leave Harry with people who he knew would treat him the way the Dursleys did.

Dumbledore's eyes held sadness and great pain, probably more pain than Hermione could ever understand, and the girl found that she liked it. She liked knowing that she was hurting the old wizard even just a fraction of how much he hurt her friend.

"They locked him in a cupboard for days with nothing but water and some bread. Like a dog. Then they would make him cook and clean, and then they would eat while he watched.

"He cried himself to sleep so many times," Hermione said, feeling the pain like it was her own, and in a way, it was. She had seen it in Harry's memories; lived it. Felt his anger and sadness and loneliness.

It left a bad taste in her mouth, knowing that there was a lot more—a whole decade's worth—that Harry had had to live through alone.

"So, no, Dumbledore," Harry said, "I don't trust you. To be honest, I don't even like you. And I'm sure you had reasons for doing what you did, maybe even good ones, but I still don't trust you. And I still don't like you."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. "I understand that some of my decisions have been painful for you, Harry—"

Harry scoffed. "No shit," he muttered.

"—and I realise now that I will have to win your trust. But you must trust me when I say, Harry, that I will always fight The Dark, whatever form it may take.

"Please," the wizard said, his bright, blue eyes sincere, "let me help you."

Hermione looked at Harry. The boy looked conflicted. And Hermione realized in that moment that Harry was not in the right state of mind to make any important decisions. Neither was she, to be honest.

"Can we have some time to think about it?" She asked, and Harry quickly grabbed onto that.

"Yeah. After all, the snake's dead, right?" Harry asked, and Hermione blinked as she realized that she hadn't even considered whether the snake was alive or dead.

She'd just assumed that it was dead. After all, Dumbledore would hardly be here talking to them, if there was a giant, enraged basilisk loose in the castle.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said. "The snake is dead."

Harry shrugged. "Then we have time," he said.

Dumbledore considered that for several seconds, and Hermione was beginning to worry that the wizard might push, when he acquiesced.

"Very well then," Dumbledore said, then, after a pause, and with his eyes twinkling just a bit, added: "Unfortunately, there still remains the matter of your deaths to resolve."

Hermione blinked. "What?" She asked, while Harry made an inarticulate "huh?" sound.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, yes, if the rumours are to be believed, then, in one afternoon, the both of you have somehow managed to lose your lives to a Hungarian Horntail, a nest of acromantulas, and a gloom of dementors.

"Myself, I much prefer the version of events where Harry swooped down into the Chamber of Secrets on a phoenix and saved Miss Granger from a nest of fire-breathing basilisks."

"Uh huh," Harry intoned. "Did I also do it with my eyes closed and only using my bare knuckles? You know, to give them a fighting chance."

Dumbledore laughed again. It was a nice laugh.

When the mirth subsided, Dumbledore spoke: "Alas, there is no greater defence against falsehood than the truth; which is why I would ask you to come to dinner in The Great Hall. As soon as you've had a change of clothes, of course."

Hermione and Harry both looked down at the very unflattering hospital gowns they were wearing.

Oh.

"Your trunks have been brought down for you," Dumbledore said, gesturing at the objects where they laid some distance away.

The wizard looked at them then, deeply, and for a long time, before finally, he said: "And for whatever it may be worth to you; I am very proud of what you have accomplished. Both of you."

With that he left, and despite themselves, as the children got to dressing up, they were both left feeling a little better, a little warmer, for having received The Headmaster's praise.

★★★​

In the two weeks Hermione had spent at Hogwarts, there had been (way too) many times when the entirety of the student body had stared unabashedly at she and Harry while in The Great Hall.

Tonight became another one of those times.

Well, no actually. It was like none of those times.

As soon as Hermione and Harry stepped into the hall, conversations petered out, and all eyes turned to them, yes. This was expected.

What wasn't expected, was the mighty cheering that broke out a few seconds after that.

It started from the Gryffindor table, but quickly spread through the entire student body, bar Slytherin, most of who simply looked angry, wary, or annoyed.

What had started as a cheer quickly grew into a standing ovation, and it was so powerful now that even some of the teachers joined in, albeit in a much calmer fashion.

"What is happening right now?" Harry asked, needing to shout to be heard over the din.

"I don't know," Hermione shouted back.

Finally, the cheering died down, and Hermione and Harry were once again left standing there and being stared at by a silent hall.

Fortunately, Dumbledore came to their rescue this time.

"Be seated, everyone," the wizard said, as he rose.

Harry tugged Hermione, and the girl quickly followed.

They made their way over to their friends, a space already set out for them, and as soon as they sat, Dumbledore continued, which, luckily, kept anyone from asking them any questions just yet.

"There have been a lot of conjecture about the events of this afternoon involving Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. In light of that, I have come to put the matter to rest by giving you the truth of the events.

"Earlier today, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger came across Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, and while exploring it, as children are wont to do, they came across the chamber's protector, a thousand-year-old basilisk.

"The serpent attacked them, and the two Gryffindors fought and killed it. As we all can see, they are not dead, and whatever injuries they suffered, minimal as they were, have been promptly handled by our own Madam Pomfrey.

"A round of applause for our matron, everyone."

There was a small smattering of clapping hands.

Dumbledore continued: "Please, do not trouble them for more details, as it is unlikely that they will have any to give you.

"Now," and here Dumbledore smiled, "let us enjoy this bountiful feast that our kitchen staff has managed to scrounge for us on such short notice."

And with that, The Headmaster sat down.

For several seconds after, no one seemed to know how to react.

Then the whispering started.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, staring at Harry with wide eyes. "You really killed a giant basilisk, Harry?"

Even without looking, Hermione could tell the entirety of the Gryffindor table was straining to hear every word of Harry's reply.

"Uh, no, actually, I didn't," Harry said. "The snake swiped me into a wall," as he said that, Harry grimaced like the memory was coming back to him, much like it was for Hermione herself, at least until Harry continued, "I passed out after that. Hermione was the one who killed it."

All eyes immediately focused on her and Hermione quickly shook her head. "I didn't kill it, Harry. It dodged my spell."

Harry blinked at her. "Really?"

She nodded.

"Then who killed it?" The boy asked curiously.

Hermione didn't know. At first she'd just assumed that Dumbledore had shown up in the nick of time or something, but that was looking less and less likely now.

But then who had killed the snake? It'd been just the two of them there. Well, them and—

"Harry?" Hermione called, and when he looked at her, she led his line of sight with hers to Hedwig, who was giving them a look that virtually screamed 'who do you think?'

Harry looked at the owl, then at Hermione, at the owl, then back at Hermione again.

Don't do it, Harry.

He did. He really did.

"Wow, that's crazy," Harry said. "That chicken must have killed the basilisk."

The look Hedwig gave Harry in that moment should, by all logic, have knocked him dead, but Harry, of course, kept living.

Hermione was starting to suspect that it might be a superpower. That, and annoying people.

"A chicken killed the snake?" Parvati asked in complete confusion.

"Hm-mhm." Harry nodded. "Only thing that makes sense. Anyway, what's been going on with you guys?"

It was obvious everyone was waiting for more. For some grand story, perhaps?

Hermione thought that that might be it. They wanted to hear the swashbuckling tale of how the amazing Harry Potter and his friend slew the evil basilisk.

The thought hit her; they wanted to hear a bedtime story.

Something exciting and adventurous. Something fake.

They didn't want to hear the true story; the story of an unstoppable monster and two children who nearly died.

Hermione reached out for Harry's hand.

He took it, and she drew strength from the contact.

Harry had the right idea, Hermione thought.

They wanted a story, then there was their story; a chicken killed the basilisk.

A monster-slaying, karate chicken. Let them enjoy that story.

Seeing that neither Harry, nor Hermione, will be giving anything more, the table around them descended into awkward silence for a bit, before Lavender said: "Oh, right, Ron made seeker."

"You tried out?" Harry asked and Ron nodded.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, we could have come to cheer you on," Harry said.

"He didn't think he'd make the team," Dean supplied.

Ah. Ron had been rather skeptical about his chances back during Flying Lessons.

Harry scoffed and shook his head like Ron had been being silly. "Oh, well," he said, "better late than never, I guess." And Harry raised his cup of pumpkin juice up. "To Ron. Gryffindor's seeker."

Everyone cheered, even Hermione, and Ron blushed, though he looked happy.

"Wood says I still have a lot of work to do on my flying though," Ron said.

Harry waved that away. "Pish! He's the Captain. Training you is his job. Your job is to look cool."

"I thought his job was catching the snitch?" Hermione asked.

"While looking cool," Harry amended, and at her look said defensively: "Hermione, you can never overestimate the importance of looking cool."

Hermione just rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, yeah, Harry," Ron said suddenly, "you remember that spell you used to find Neville's toad back on the train?"

"Is Troy lost again?" Harry asked.

Hermione swatted him, knowing he'd gotten the name deliberately wrong. "It's Trevor."

"Right, sorry. Is Terror lost again?"

"No," Ron said, ignoring their byplay, "Scabbers is. I was wondering if you could find him."

Hermione froze.

"Scabbers is missing?" Harry confirmed.

"Yeah," the redhead answered easily, "I haven't seen him for hours now."

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, then, like a lightning bolt, Hermione realized something that her mind had probably deliberately ignored all this time out of relief; Quirrel was absent from the staff table.

He was never absent.

She and Harry had the same thought right then, 'this could not be a coincidence.'

And it was in that moment that a ghostly, silver hawk flew into The Great Hall and hovered before Dumbledore, and in a panicked, male voice, said: "Dumbledore, we need you! Death Eaters have set fiendfyre to Hogsmeade!"

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Afternoon.

Saturday, Sept. 14


Tom Marvolo Riddle hated many things; a pesky mudblood who wouldn't get out of his way when he had a baby to kill, chief among them.

Another thing Tom Riddle absolutely detested, was that nagging feeling you get in the back of your mind when there was something important you needed to remember but couldn't.

It was infuriating, and he'd been getting it all morning, ever since that blasted prank had woken him (and what he would do when he found the little shit responsible for that, he thought).

Worst of all, the feeling wasn't going away. Not even hours later, well into the afternoon.

If this were the old days, before said mudblood had ruined his life (with love, of all things), he would have found some particularly pathetic members of his following and made up some (flimsy) excuse to crucio them. For Riddle did his best thinking while torturing people.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the old days. Riddle only had one readily available servant right now (well, not quite, but that was a trump card he would like to leave up his sleeve), and seeing as he was currently trapped in the head of said follower, torture proved rather difficult.

Not impossible, mind you. Just difficult.

"ARRRGH!" The worm that called itself Quirinus Quirrel screamed as Riddle forced his left elbow to bend backwards until it popped out of its joint.

No, torturing Quirrel wasn't impossible. Not at all. It simply required some creative use of the complete control Riddle had over the pathetic wizard's body.

"M-my Lord," the wizard stuttered, the sudden, sharp pain causing him to not need to fake the speech impediment. "Why? Have I offended you?"

"Silence, worm," Riddle hissed in his sibilant voice. It was the one upside to his current state; his voice. Riddle liked it. He found it quite suiting.

With Quirinus temporarily quelled, and providing a lovely ambience with his pained whimpering as he cradled his broken arm, Riddle went back to his thinking.

Now, where was he?

Right, he was forgetting something. But what?

Unicorn's blood? No, it couldn't be; he still had a few more weeks before he needed that, and even then he knew exactly where to get it. Nothing had changed on that front.

Was it the stone then? Had he maybe heard or seen something important about it that he'd forgotten? Or maybe he'd planned to do something today and had forgotten about it? What even was today's date?

Being the dimwitted worm he was, Quirinus was naturally unable to follow a simple order for long and so tried to speak again: "M-my Lord, if I have offended you I swear I—"

Riddle dislocated his other elbow.

"ARRRRGH!" The wizard screamed, even louder this time, and Riddle idly thought that it was a fortunate thing they were currently in his servant's office. This would have been rather conspicuous otherwise.

Office or not though, the wizard's screaming was getting annoying. He had a high, unpleasant voice. Honestly, it was almost as bad as the rooster from that... morning.

The rooster from that morning; why was it so important?

It had been very annoying, true, and Riddle would like nothing more than to find and crucio the student who had done it, but why did it feel so important to him?

Did he have some sort of plan that involved roosters?

...

No, that was stupid.

But why then? What was so special about roosters that would make its crow stand out to—

It hit him like a lightning bolt.

"My basilisk!"

And somehow, like he'd known, like he was mocking him, Dumbledore's voice rang out through the castle.

"All students, return to your dormitories this instant. There is potentially a very dangerous magical creature loose in the castle. Know that anyone who willfully disobeys this instruction may very well die a terrible death. Prefects and faculty, please see that no one is left behind."

"He knew!" Riddle raged. "He knew!"

Because really, what else could explain this?

"My Lord, what—" Quirinus began to ask, but all he did was remind Riddle that he had an easy target for his ire.

In an instant, Tom forced all twenty of Quirinus' digits the wrong way, finally forcing the hurting wizard into unconsciousness.

★★★​

Sitting there some hours later, listening as Dumbledore mocked him by admitting that he'd used Potter and his little mudblood harlot to kill his ancestor's familiar was the final straw.

This would not go unanswered, old man, Riddle decided.

Looks like it was time to use that trump card after all.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Evening.

Saturday, Sept 14


..."Dumbledore, we need you! Death Eaters have set fiendfyre to Hogsmeade!"

As soon as the message finished, the silver hawk disappeared, and The Great Hall rang with a silence that was reminiscent of the one that had welcomed Hermione and Harry not even ten minutes ago.

Then, of course, the whispering started.

—What was that?—

—What's going on?—

—Death Eaters!?—

—Hogsmeade's on fire!?—

—Was that a talking Patronus?—

Dozens of questions came from dozens of voices, all joining together to quickly make one barely comprehensible bubble of noise.

Through it all, Dumbledore was acting; the old wizard was on his feet, not a sign of weakness or frailty in him, and he was conversing with the teachers at a volume that Hermione couldn't pick up from her seat.

"Fawkes!" The Headmaster called out suddenly, and a small explosion erupted over his shoulder, drawing gasps, and even cries of terror, from some of the students.

Before anyone could begin to panic however, the flames resolved into the resplendent form of The Headmaster's phoenix.

"Students," the wizard called out calmly, and maybe a bit unnecessarily, seeing as he already had the attention of the entire room, "as you heard, my attention is currently needed in Hogsmeade. For those of us with family in the town, worry not, we will protect them to the best of our ability."

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick both reached out and held onto Dumbledore's robes then, and in a bright flash of red and golden flames, they disappeared.

Prof. Sprout and Snape rose almost simultaneously, but while Snape instantly made his way out of The Great Hall, Prof. Sprout addressed the students.

"As The Headmaster said, there is no need to worry. Remember, there is no safer place than Hogwarts. No one can harm you here."

Those words did not console Hermione in the least, and from the look on his face, Harry felt the same.

Prof. Sprout didn't seem to believe her own words either, because she continued: "That being said, on my authority as acting Headmistress, curfew is now in effect; begin heading to your dorms in an organized manner. Prefects, see to your houses."

It took a few seconds for the command to take effect, but slowly, and with rising speed, students began to rise, abandoning meals and picking up bags, for those who'd brought them.

"Where do you think Snape ran off to?" Harry whispered as Ron complained about having to leave his food when he hadn't even eaten anything (like he had room to talk; Hermione and Harry had literally just gotten there).

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "but I'm sure it has something to do with whatever's going on."

Harry scowled. "We've changed things," he said, and Hermione didn't need to ask to know what he meant.

While she was sure that she didn't have all the details of what had transpired in the books, Hermione had more than enough information to come to that conclusion herself; she and Harry had changed things. Maybe even drastically.

But then again, that had been the idea, hadn't it? To change things. To do them better...

That was the hope anyway, to do things better. Because with how everything seemed to be going today, Hermione wasn't so sure.

★★★​

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was blessedly uneventful, though there was a bit of excitement with The Fat Lady, Jolene.

"Harry! Hermione!" The woman called excitedly as soon as she spotted them. "Oh, thank goodness, you're alright. I've been hearing such terrible stories all evening."

"Hello/hey, Jolene," Hermione and Harry said, using the woman's name as they had gotten into the habit of doing.

"Yes, hello," the fretful woman said back, before asking: "You are okay, aren't you?" With her eyes running over them; looking for some sign of injury, Hermione guessed.

She wouldn't be finding any, the girl knew. Hermione had gone looking herself, naked and in front of a mirror, and she hadn't found so much as a single blemish to even hint at the ordeal she'd been through that afternoon.

She was still having trouble believing it to be honest. She still very much remembered what being bathed in basilisk venom had felt like.

The memory made her wince.

"Pish!" Harry said easily. "We're fine. The reports of our deaths were grossly exaggerated. Right, Hermione?"

"Yes." Hermione said. She tried to smile, but she didn't think she did a very good job.

Jolene didn't look convinced, but before she could say anything else, Harry said: "We should get going," and began to lead Hermione away.

The girl quickly followed.

"Goodnight, Jolene," both children said as they made their way into the common room, and to their friends in what was now known as the first-year corner.

They had some homework left to do, but for the first time in her life, Hermione found that she didn't want to do any kind of schoolwork, so she didn't bring it up.

Thankfully, no one else did, so she was able to just sit with Harry and watch the fire as her friend's conversations flowed around her.

For the next two hours, everything was normal. Hermione talked, she laughed, and she ignored the (thankfully) lessening stares from the older students.

By the end of it she was quite sleepy, and had leaned into Harry and was beginning to nod off.

That was when Hedwig suddenly glanced at the portrait, a bare second before it exploded inwards and Voldemort came striding into the Gryffindor common room.

★★★​

Interlude:: The Dark Lord [II]


It wasn't here, Riddle fumed. It had never been here.

He should have known. All those traps; the chess set, the flying key, the devil's snare, all of them had been designed to make him waste his time trying to reach an empty room.

The Philosopher's Stone wasn't here; it probably wasn't even in the castle, Riddle realized now. Dumbledore had simply used it to lure him in.

But if the stone had been bait, then where was the trap?

"Quirrel!" A familiar voice called behind his servant.

Only able to see through Quirinus' eyes due to that bloody turban the man wore, Riddle couldn't see who the new arrival was, but he knew the wizard all the same.

"Ah! Severus," Riddle said as Quirinus spun in shock.

The potions master stared at Riddle's puppet in confusion. It was understandable. To him Quirinus had just spoken in a strange voice without moving his mouth.

"My Lord?" Quirinus asked. "Are you sure—"

"Silence, worm!" Riddle ordered, and Snape blanched.

"Master?" The wizard asked, disbelieving.

Riddle laughed. "I told you I was immortal, Severus. Did you doubt?"

The potions master swallowed, and Riddle didn't miss how his wand twitched in his hand.

"Why, Severus?" Riddle said. "You don't seem happy to see your master."

Instantly, Severus Snape kneeled. "Forgive me, my Lord, your presence here took me by surprise."

"Yes, I'm sure it did," Riddle agreed easily. "Although, I must confess, your presence here takes me by surprise as well."

Severus looked up, his cold, dark eyes calculating.

"I don't understand, my Lord," Severus said, and Riddle did not miss that the wizard still had his wand.

"No," Riddle agreed once more, "I imagine you don't." Then The Dark Lord sighed. "In another place, at another time, I suppose I might have indulged you as I do so many others. I might have enjoyed watching you do my bidding, even as you hated me, all in the hope that someday you would somehow find a way to truly defeat me."

The traitor's lips pressed into a thin line; he knew what was coming. Good.

"But I am angry, Severus," The Dark Lord continued, and as he spoke he began to truly subsume his vessel.

His face on the back of Quirinus' head smoothed out, even as the wizard's own face began to morph.

Quirinus screamed, his agony ringing out as he died, but somehow, through it all, The Dark Lord kept talking.

"Dumbledore has insulted me—"

Quirinus' lips thinned, his nose shrunk.

"—humiliated me—"

His skin paled, eyes turned red, bones remoulded.

"And while—loath as I am to admit it—I am no match for him in my current state; someone must suffer for this."

The nostrils became slits, teeth sharpened, and Quirinus gasped his last as the turban fell.

"And who better than Potter and his little mudblood?" Lord Voldemort asked.

Just as he'd known it would, the boy's name sparked fury in the kneeling wizard, breaking their staredown.

For all Severus claimed to have hated James Potter, he had cared for Lily more.

Voldemort had always seen that weakness for what it was.

Severus attacked first; it changed nothing. For while the potions master was surely a powerful wizard, he was no Dumbledore. And while Voldemort's body was but a temporary shell that was already falling apart, his power was scarcely diminished by it.

In the end, Voldemort won, and his fury still burned bright. Bright enough that he didn't give Severus the mercy of a quick death.

No, he used something that would take minutes to kill the man.

Voldemort wanted him to have time to regret turning on him.

★★★​

The creature that walked into the Gryffindor common room did not look like a man.

It walked like one; with one in front of the other. Dressed like one; wearing dark red robes. But it looked nothing like one.

It stopped just past the entrance, eyes scanning the room and the terrified students.

It took Hermione a second to realize who this creature was and what it must have been looking for, and by then Harry was already screaming.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort reacted blindingly fast.

His wand twitched, and the green bolt of Harry's curse simply puffed away before reaching him.

Hermione felt a chill sink down to her bones as Voldemort laughed.

"Well, Potter," he said. "Excited to see me, are you? Very well then. No dallying." And Voldemort raised his wand.

"Stupefy!"

The red bolt flashed across the room and splashed harmlessly against Voldemort's shield.

All eyes turned to the witch who had cast the spell, a tall, black girl who Hermione was fairly certain was named Angelina.

She was shaking, pale, but her aim with her wand remained trained on Voldemort.

"I don't know who you are, you fucking freak," she said, "but you messed with the wrong house."

Voldemort stared at the third-year quietly.

"Avada Kedavra!" He screamed.

Right before the spell left the wand, Hedwig slammed into Voldemort's hand, throwing off his aim, and sending his curse blasting into a sofa.

The sofa exploded.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry screamed again, and the room descended into chaos.

Every Gryffindor grabbed their wand and shot off whatever spell they could.

"Incendio!" Hermione screamed.

"Stupefy!" Many more shouted.

"Petrificus Totalus!" A scared second-year added.

Over twenty students attacked in tandem, with more heading down the stairs, attracted by all the noise, and told by whoever was closest to help.

Over twenty students attacked a single wizard.

This was it, Hermione thought. This had to be it.

No one, not even Voldemort could overcome over twenty magicals working together.

This had to be it.

It wasn't.

Voldemort did something, and a powerful pulse erupted from his wand and blasted everyone away like ragdolls.

Hermione had just finished casting a spell before Voldemort retaliated, so she had the opportunity, and the presence of mind, to cast a Shield Charm before she was hit.

The charm was weak, flimsy, and it barely flickered for a second before it fell apart, but that second was all it took.

Voldemort's attack hit Hermione with significantly less force than it hit everyone else, but even so, it still knocked her on her back and sent her ears ringing.

With all his 'opponents' down for the count, Voldemort took his time walking over to Harry's struggling form.

"No," Hermione said as she dragged herself in front of Harry and pointed her wand at Voldemort.

With her sense of balance shot, her aim was less than steady, and she could barely even rise to her feet. Against a wizard of Voldemort's caliber, she was about as much protection for Harry as a sheet of paper is against a sword, but the girl held her ground, and Voldemort, interestingly enough, stopped.

"Leave him alone," Hermione said.

Voldemort stared at her with those red eyes. They reminded Hermione of an acromantula's.

"Why is it, Potter, that every time I try to kill you, a mudblood female always gets in my way?" The dark wizard mused, then "Crucio!" he screamed.

Barely nine hours ago, Hermione had experienced what it was like to bathe in acidic rain.

It had hurt. Terribly. So much so, in fact, that her mind had shut off from the pain within seconds.

The Cruciatus Curse hurt ten times worse. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that it forced her to remain lucid for every excruciating moment.

Hermione screamed.

Screaming too, but in rage instead of pain, Harry managed to get his wand up and cast "Avada Kedavra!" but, of course, Voldemort handled the spell the same way he handled all the others.

Thankfully though, handling Harry's spell meant he couldn't keep up the Cruciatus on Hermione, and the girl cried as she felt relief after four seconds of the worst pain anyone could ever experience.

"You don't learn, do you, Potter?" Voldemort asked. "You can't kill me. And your mother isn't here to die for you this time."

A recovering Gryffindor shot a blue spell at Voldemort from behind, but it just splashed harmlessly against his shield, and The Dark Lord distractedly blasted the student away with an explosive spell.

"It's just me and you now, Harry. Exactly how I've wanted it for a—"

Something white flashed past Hermione, and the girl felt something latch onto her shirt and, with a jerk, she was pulled off the ground and out the window.

It was Hedwig. Hedwig was flying away from Gryffindor Tower with she and Harry.

The owl's wings were beating rapidly, but even so, they were losing altitude quickly. Not so quick that they were in danger of dying when they fell, but fast enough that they would not be going very far.

It didn't matter though; they'd escaped.

Now they could run, hide. Maybe find someone to help—

A bolt of lightning struck Hedwig, and, against all logic, it ran through her feet gripping their shirts, and into the two children.

Hermione felt her muscles seize, and the world went dark.

Crack!

Hermione screamed awake in blinding pain.

Her arm was broken; one of the bones of her right forearm sticking out through her flesh.

The girl cradled her arm.

Where was Harry? She thought in panic. And Hedwig? Were they okay?

She spotted Harry not far away from her, struggling to sit up, and saw a small, white form that she hoped was an unconscious Hedwig.

Voldemort came in like a storm cloud then, wrapped in black, billowing smoke sparking with small arcs of static electricity.

The wizard touched down gently.

'Where's my wand!?' Hermione thought, only now realising that she didn't have it.

Meanwhile, Harry, who still had his, tried to use it, but the object simply flew out of his hand and into Voldemort's.

He could have done that the entire time, Hermione realized. Voldemort could have left them defenseless from the very beginning.

'He's just been playing with us.'

Voldemort took in the two of them, then he sighed joyously. "And here we are at last, Potter. Just you, me, and a mudblood."

Harry started to speak, but Voldemort waved his wand and Harry's voice disappeared.

When talking didn't work, Harry tried to stand, but he quickly collapsed and Hermione saw why, his leg was broken.

Voldemort laughed, like watching the boy struggle was the funniest thing ever.

"Ten years I've spent thinking about that day, Potter," Voldemort said. "Ten years thinking about the day you 'beat' me.

Voldemort looked at Harry, then at Hermione. His eyes stayed on her.

"But we both know you didn't beat me, don't we, Harry?"

Voldemort looked back at Harry now. "This is what I should have done that day," he said, then he pointed his wand at her.

She was going to die, Hermione realized.

Weirdly enough, she felt... numb to that fact.

She was just so tired. And the pain, oh God, the pain.

The girl looked at Harry, he was crying.

Too bad that was the last of him she would ever see, she thought. She would have much preferred to see him smile.

"Imperio," Voldemort said, and all the pain and suffering in the world seized.

Hermione stood, happier than she'd ever been, and when Voldemort offered her Harry's wand, she took it calmly, and the thought of using it against him never even crossed her mind. Because why would it?

"Kill him," Voldemort commanded her, and she dutifully turned, pointed the wand at Harry, and—

And—

"Kill him!" Voldemort commanded again.

Hermione heard him, and she was perfectly happy to do as he said, but—

But—

"Obey me, you filthy mudblood! Kill him!"

—but Harry was crying.

She shouldn't kill him while he was crying, she should hug him instead and make him feel better.

Besides, why was she listening to Voldemort of all people?

(Because he makes you happy).

No, he didn't! Harry made her happy. She hated Voldemort!

She didn't want to do this anymore. She didn't want to listen anymore.

Hermione collapsed to her knees as the spell broke.

Voldemort was not happy.

With an inarticulate scream of rage, Voldemort raised his wand, the tip already glowing green.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The bolt of brilliant green magic slammed into Voldemort and he collapsed to the ground.

There was a figure in the direction the curse had come from some twenty feet away that Hermione couldn't make out in the low light.

Remembering that she still had a wand in hand, Hermione used it.

"Lumos Lumina Maxima."

The big, bright ball of light floated above her head and lit up their surroundings.

Hermione gasped.

Snape! The person who had just saved their lives was Snape.

He wasn't moving, simply standing there, his wand still outstretched, and his eyes moving from her to Harry and back again.

Then his face slackened, and his skin and then hair turned to stone.

Hermione stared at the Potions professor in a complex mix of emotions that she could barely even begin to unravel until Harry coughed.

"Harry?" She called, pushing through her pain to rush to him.

Collapsing beside him, she hugged him to her chest with her one good arm.

"Hermione," Harry said, "you're—"

Voldemort screamed.

Out of the corpse rose a smoky, evil-looking entity.

It had a face, similar to Voldemort's had been, but it looked even less human.

Without preamble, the thing rushed at them, and Hermione was still trying to lift Harry's wand with her tired arm when Hedwig slammed into it.

Wings beating furiously, the owl tore into the wraith with her claws, and Voldemort screeched in pain.

Hedwig didn't let up. She clawed, and ripped, and tore, until finally, some small, gross, gelatinous thing fell to the ground groaning weakly.

All three gathered around it.

Hermione could not, and didn't bother to try to suppress the disgust showing on her face.

"Look at you," Harry said, as the gross thing's one baleful eye stared at them. "You're pathetic."

"I'll... be back," the thing gasped weakly.

"No, you won't," Harry said, and Hermione added: "We won't let you."

With a long slow exhale, the thing faded into a black mist, and, the last of their strength leaving them, both children collapsed to the ground.

They were wounded, broken, bleeding, but they were alive.

Somehow.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Saturday, Sept. 14


Peter Pettigrew was a sad, pathetic man.

He was a coward. A traitor. And undoubtedly, he deserved to burn in the deepest depths of hell.

Two things he wasn't, however, were incompetent, and remorseful. For, you see, while Peter Pettigrew was unarguably the lowest form of scum, he was also a skilled and crafty wizard who was capable of the sort of casual acts of cruelty that would make many Nazis green with horror.

No one had ever realised this, of course. Not really. Not until he wanted them to. It was how he had gotten away with the seven years he spent in Hogwarts torturing his schoolmate's pets to death, and talking The Marauders into committing their worst offenses, while, as always, making James and Sirius think it was all their ideas.

No, no one had ever realized just what Peter was capable of, what he could do; because there was no one who did not underestimate him. And fortunately for Peter, he had realized, from a very young age, that the less people thought of you, the more you could get away with.

And he had gotten away with plenty, hadn't he? Turning on the Potters, escaping Sirius, and even fooling an entire magical family for ten years, simply by pretending to be a rat.

Honestly sometimes it was almost like things just couldn't go wrong for him.

...

Well, not true. As he'd realised just today when, for the first time in ten years, his Dark Mark had burned.

Peter had considered ignoring it. In fact, he would have ignored it, if not for one very simple thing; the location that he was being summoned to, was in Hogwarts.

The Dark Lord was back, and he had somehow made his way into Hogwarts undetected.

★★★​

The moment that Peter had decided to go turncoat during the war, was the first time he saw Voldemort fight.

The dark wizard had terrified him, and Peter had realised in that moment that he had two choices; leave Magical Britain and avoid the inevitable defeat on the horizon, or sign up with the winning team now, and build goodwill for himself while he had the chance.

He'd chosen the latter.

Fast forward to now, ten years and a resounding defeat at the hands of a child later, and when Peter met Voldemort again, he was terrified, sure, but it was nothing like before.

The Dark Lord was lacking something.

Well, obviously the dark wizard was lacking a lot of things, a body chief among them, but there was something else... a presence, an aura, if you will, that was missing, and it took Peter a few moments to realize what it was; Voldemort's aura of invincibility was broken.

The Dark Lord had gone from being the most feared dark wizard in all of the British Isles, to a repulsive face on the back of a no-name wizard's head. And, all of it, because he lost to a child.

Of course, Peter said none of this, and he bowed and trembled appropriately before his Lord. And when the dark wizard commanded him to set up a disaster in Hogsmeade to pull Dumbledore away so he could get the stone unchallenged, Peter rushed to obey, even going so far as to shoot up the Dark Mark, since, being a spy, he'd never had the opportunity to before.

But when that was done, and he was supposed to return to the castle to assist his Lord in whatever way he commanded next, Peter stayed outside and watched instead.

Watched as Harry Potter and his muggleborn girlfriend (or whatever their relationship actually was) made their desperate escape from The Gryffindor Tower with their owl; watched as they were struck down by Voldemort; watched as an eleven-year-old girl broke out of the dark wizard's Imperius Curse; and watched as The Dark Lord Voldemort lost once again to children.

Finally, using a Supersensory Charm, Peter heard their final conversation:

"Look at you," Harry said. "You're pathetic."

"I'll... be back," Voldemort gasped.

"No, you won't," Harry replied.

"We won't let you," Hermione said.

Voldemort had been terrifying and terrifyingly powerful once. He had seemed invincible to Peter.

He didn't anymore.

So when the weak, wounded piece of Voldemort's soul had somehow located Peter where he hid, and rushed into the wizard's body looking for another life force to leech off of, he found resistance that he had not expected and wasn't ready for.

In a fitting reversal of what he'd done to Quirinus, The Dark Lord's soul was drained of what little vitality it had left, until it was nothing but a mere husk clinging to an idea of life because his many horcruxes would not let him pass on.

It changed little though, because for all intents and purposes, that piece of The Dark Lord was dead.

Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, had never felt more alive.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Evening.

Saturday, Sept. 14


To be a centaur is to never know silence. This is a simple truth of life.

The concept, in fact, is so alien to them that no centaur language has a word for it, because how can there be no sound when the stars are always singing?

How can there be... silence, when the very world thrummed and resonated with a melody as surreal as it was familiar?

What would such a world even be like?

Arden did not know the answers to any of those questions, but on nights like these when the stars hummed louder than usual with the weight of destiny, she wondered.

"Mars is bright tonight," Firenze said as he walked over to join her, his hooves silent in the soft forest soil.

At his words, a human would be likely to seek out the red planet in the night sky to see if it glowed any brighter tonight than it usually did, but Arden was not human.

"Burning its last," she agreed.

There was quiet between the two for a time, as they watched the wizards in their half-burnt village far away from their perch at the top of a large hill.

The cursed fire had been restrained and extinguished long ago, but the scar of its gluttony remained.

Arden suspected it would mark the land for a long time.

"It is a remarkable thing," Firenze said.

Despite that his eyes were trained on the human village far away, Arden knew he spoke of something else.

"The Song, changed," Firenze continued, seeming unable to find the words with which to express the awe he felt.

Finally, the centaur asked, "What are they like?"

Arden barely managed to restrain herself from sighing. She'd known this was inevitable.

"They are children," Arden said.

"Children for whom The Song has changed," Firenze countered, and Arden barely succeeded in holding back her sigh a second time.

This was why the Herd-mother had banned Firenze from seeking out the children again.

"Your adoration of humans is unbecoming, Firenze," Bane groused, coming to stand by Arden's other side, and the centauride failed to hold back her sigh this time.

Perfect, yet another debate that would likely see her playing moderator before long.

Firenze's reply to Bane was prompt and calm as always; "And your blind hatred of them is short-sighted, Bane."

Bane scoffed. "There is nothing blind about my observations, Firenze," Bane said, then pointed at the human village below. "My eyes see just fine."

Firenze did not back down. "I have never said that they are without flaws," he said, and Bane snorted, "simply that we should not let ourselves look past their positives for them.

"They are gifted, Bane."

Bane let out a mirthless laugh. "Hearing broken pieces of The Song that they can barely comprehend is not a gift, brother."

"And we are any better?" Firenze queried, and to that Bane had no rebuttal, because the red-haired centaur was right; yes, centaurs, all of them, possessed the ability to hear The Song of the Stars better than the most gifted human "seer", but it was one thing to perceive a thing, and another entirely to comprehend it.

Oftentimes, Arden knew, centaurs were just as lost to the messages of The Song as any human. Not until they came to pass.

In the lull in the argument, Bane must have thought up some other point to make, but as he began to speak The Song crescendoed.

All three centaurs looked up.

"Mars is dead," Firenze said.

"Good riddance," Bane spat.

"Saturn may be worse," Arden pointed out, and Bane's lips curled in disgust.

"Humans," he muttered, the word coming out like a vile curse.

Firenze, of course, could not let that go, and just like that the well-worn argument between Firenze and Bane continued as the stars quieted, but never stopped singing, about Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

On the 24th of July, 1991, many things changed. For the centaurs, it was The Song, for Harry Potter, it was his life as he knew it, and for Hedwig, it was her very being.

In a single moment, Hedwig had gone from a simple, if admittedly beautiful and intelligent, owl, to something else, something so much more, and, in that moment, she had felt so much smaller than she ever had, even as a hatchling, because in that moment, the world had gotten so much bigger.

Much like Harry, Hedwig's transformation had come with a message; a thought, not her own but originating within her mind all the same.

Hey, Hedwig. Big fan.

Hope you like the upgrades. I'll be rooting for ya.

Hedwig had no idea who, or what, this... being was, and she didn't know why they'd called her Hedwig, or why (or how) they'd given her the new abilities she somehow knew herself to now possess. It terrified her.

She'd considered running. Where, she did not know, but she could fly so much faster now, and she was smarter, and her talons could do so much more damage; she would be safe, she knew.

But, as much as she wanted to, and as appealing as the idea sometimes was, Hedwig didn't run. Something told her not to, that it would be better to wait. And when, five days later she met a green-eyed boy who peered at her closely and asked uncertainly, "Hedwig?" The owl was glad she'd listened.

★★★​

Her time in the nest of the fat man, the horse-faced woman, and the blubber boy was, to put it mildly, a challenge, but she persevered for the sake of the boy who she had come to care a surprising deal for in the little time she'd known him (especially considering how infuriating he could often be).

Truth be told though, Hedwig's reasoning for sticking with Harry were manyfold. She cared for him true, but her primary reason for her decision (especially before she got to know him) was because Harry knew things. And while Hedwig had never quite grasped the mechanics of how he knew the things he did, the fact remained that the young wizard was a wellspring of knowledge. Knowledge that he was only too eager to share.

In those weeks they spent at Privet Drive, Hedwig was the only one Harry had to talk to, and talk he did, about everything and nothing, even long before he realized that she could truly understand him.

It was during this time that the name Hermione Granger first came up.

It was... interesting, watching Harry talk circles around himself as he tried to argue both for and against why his absence from Hogwarts would result in her grisly demise.

Hedwig hadn't really cared. Maybe it was the bird of prey in her, but despite how much Harry had gone on about how amazing the girl supposedly was, the owl just couldn't bring herself to feel anything for some young witch she would probably never meet.

In the end (as she had suspected he would), Harry had decided to go to Hogwarts, stating that it was better to be safe than sorry. And then, after all of that, when the object of his 'mission' had walked into his compartment on The Hogwarts Express and introduced herself, he'd tried to keep her at arm's length.

Like Hedwig would let that happen.

★★★​

Hermione was good for Harry.

She was a friend to Harry in ways that Hedwig herself simply couldn't match; anything that the owl could do for the boy the girl could do better.

It stung, but Hedwig understood. More importantly, she approved, Harry needed all the friends he could get. Besides, now Hedwig could focus more on what she realized would be her responsibility; protecting Harry. And Hermione.

At least, that was what she'd told herself. But when it came time to put action to words, she had failed.

Even with all her newfound power she'd been little more than an annoyance to the snake, and not even that to Voldemort.

As Hedwig watched her charges sleep in the infirmary crowded with wounded Gryffindors, she found herself feeling quite small once again.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

The Next Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


Hermione Granger woke from a restful, dreamless sleep, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's potions, to find that she really needed to pee.

The eleven-year-old sat up on the narrow but comfortable infirmary bed she was on, and immediately looked to her left where she knew Harry laid, to find the boy curled up into a little ball and fast asleep under a blanket.

He looked peaceful, unbothered by nightmares and nasty memories, and the girl smiled at the image.

At the foot of Harry's bed perched Hedwig. Both of the owl's eyes were closed, and Hermione thought that she too was also asleep, until the bird popped one eye open to peer at Hermione and let out a low hoot in greeting, before closing it again.

Apparently not, Hermione thought.

Her eyes went back to Harry. He looked... clean. And healthy. A marked improvement from how he'd looked when they'd first been brought to the crowded infirmary by Prof. Sprout.

Not that Hermione herself had looked much better, she thought, as she marveled once again at her unblemished right forearm which had had a bone sticking out through it just minutes before she'd been put to bed the night before.

Magic really was amazing.

The girl didn't know much about muggle medicine, but she knew enough to know that if that was all she had access to, then she would have had to wear a cast for weeks, at the very least.

Thank goodness for magic. Taking notes in class would have been a nightmare otherwise.

With a stab of pain, Hermione's bladder reminded her of why she'd woken up in the first place, and the girl rose.

Taking one last glance at Harry, Hermione slid the privacy curtains around she and Harry's beds open, and stepped out.

Almost instantly, Hermione spotted two older Gryffindor girls who had been talking not far away with their own curtains open go silent as they looked at her.

Feeling a little awkward, Hermione waved at them. One of the girls waved back. And before Hermione had even fully turned to head to the loo, their whispering had resumed, seemingly more intense than before.

Several minutes later, Hermione returned to the infirmary to find more students awake, and Madam Pomfrey making rounds.

It wasn't the most surprising thing, considering it was well into morning now and, on a normal day, students would have been getting out of bed by now.

As Hermione headed back for her bed, someone said to her: "Hullo, Girl H. Where's Boy H?" and she turned, completely unsurprised to see the Weasley twins, Fred and George, smiling at her, seeing as they were the only people who referred to her and Harry as Girl H and Boy H.

"Fred, George, I didn't know you were here," Hermione said, walking over to their beds. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Not really," one twin said, and as Hermione was learning to do, since she still couldn't tell them apart and had given up on trying, she mentally dubbed him Twin one. "Actually we've suffered worse during quidditch practice, but, of course, Madam Pomfrey—"

"In her infinite wisdom," Twin two interjected.

"In her infinite wisdom," Twin one agreed, "—made us stay."

Hermione suspected that the matron may have been trying to take the opportunity to keep an eye on the two well known troublemakers, or perhaps keep them out of the way, but, all the same— "I'm glad you're okay," she said.

"Of course we're okay," Twin two said with exaggerated pomp. "We're Gryffindors, fair lady, our courage is unattainable."

"I believe you mean unassailable, brother," Twin one pointed out.

"Precisely, other brother," Twin two agreed.

Hermione began to roll her eyes at their antics when she finally saw it. It was a lot of things really. A lot of little things that she'd missed, up until she caught that one in that moment and the rest all became obvious in hindsight; little things like the slight tremors in the twins' voices, the odd shifts their eyes made, the inarticulable quirks in their gestures.

The twins were scared. They were just acting like they weren't.

Contrary to what her peers, especially before she came to Hogwarts, thought of her, Hermione Granger was actually not a know-it-all.

...

Okay, she totally was, but it wasn't because she thought everyone else was stupid, no, she just really enjoyed sharing (accurate) knowledge with people.

It wasn't her fault that most children her age, and even many older ones, just couldn't keep up with her when she really got going, oftentimes leaving her the smartest person (or at least child) in the room.

In truth, Hermione was a rather insecure girl. The kind of girl who was more likely to keep shut in a situation like this simply because she had no idea what to say, despite how much she wanted to help.

And Hermione did want to help, if for no other reason than because this was her fault, hers and Harry's. If it hadn't been for them changing things then Voldemort would not have attacked Gryffindor Tower last night. Their housemates wouldn't be hurt, and the twins would not be scared.

But was keeping shut such a bad idea? After all, the twins clearly didn't want her to know that they were afraid. And Hermione had learnt over the course of her, admittedly short, life that saying the wrong thing at a time like this could easily make the person you're trying to help angry. And it had always seemed to her that, whenever she opened her mouth in situations like these, only the wrong thing ever came out.

Not like Harry. Harry always seemed to know what to say to people.

Thinking of Harry brought to mind a conversation she'd shared with the boy some time ago.

Hermione didn't remember what had started the conversation, but she could clearly recall Harry saying: "...getting people to talk about themselves is easy, just tell them something about yourself first. Not that you'd need to do that with Draco though, considering he only has like two brain cells."

Oh, right, Hermione remembered what had led to it now. Harry had been joking about how it would be fun to get Draco to tell them his most embarrassing secrets, so he and her could then announce it to everyone in school.

At least Hermione hoped Harry had been joking.

"Granger," Twin two called, pulling the girl from her thoughts. "You okay there?"

"Yeah, you look like a nargle ran off with your thoughts," Twin one said, and both boys giggled like he'd just made some sort of joke.

"I'm..." Hermione was just about to tell them that she was fine when she reconsidered. "I don't think I'm okay," she said honestly. "Last night was horrible."

The twins' expressions turned grim almost immediately.

"True that," Twin one agreed.

"Guess we finally know why mom and dad don't like talking about the war so much," the other twin said.

"Yeah. Imagine being worried everyday that some creepy Death Eater will come blasting into your home at any moment," Twin one commented, and both boys shuddered.

Hermione was temporarily confused by the creepy Death Eater comment, until she remembered that no one knew that the wizard from last night had been Voldemort. Everyone seemed to assume that he had just been, as the twins said, some creepy Death Eater.

Hermione considered telling the boys, but quickly changed her mind. It wouldn't do any good, and besides, she and Harry hadn't yet discussed if they wanted to tell people.

"How's Harry, by the way? Is he okay?" Twin two asked and Hermione nodded.

"He's asleep," she said.

They lapsed into silence then, and Hermione realized that, while she didn't feel like she'd done much to help them, there wasn't really anything else she could do for the twins right now, so with that, she said her goodbyes and returned to her bed.

On getting there, Hermione got a surprise in the form of The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall.

The aging witch looked tired, but her eyes were as sharp as ever and her attire immaculate.

"Professor, you're—" Hermione broke off as she finally noticed Harry sitting up in bed. Awake. "Harry!" She cried and rushed to him.

McGonagall politely stood by silently while Hermione rushed to Harry and they caught up. Which didn't take long at all because there wasn't actually anything to catch up on.

Finally, McGonagall cleared her throat gently. "I take it you're feeling well, Miss Granger?" she asked.

"Yes, professor. Thank you," Hermione answered, then Harry said, "Dumbledore wants to talk to us."

"Indeed, Miss Granger," Prof. McGonagall said. "In his office. If you will come with me."

Hermione looked at Harry, they'd both known this was coming, and they'd both also known that they couldn't avoid it.

Not forever.

Hermione just hoped that everything would work out.

Though, at this point, the girl wasn't exactly sure what 'working out' even entailed.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


"If you will come with me," Prof. McGonagall said, and Hermione looked at Harry.

The boy shrugged; they'd both known this was coming, maybe not quite like this, but the point remained.

Looking back at Prof. McGonagall, Hermione nodded and spoke for the both of them: "Okay."

Prof. McGonagall started to speak, but before she could say anything though, Harry cut in. "Can I use the loo before we go?"

Prof. McGonagall blinked at the interruption, mouth hanging open rather comically for a second, then she collected herself. "May I use the loo, Mr. Potter. And yes, you may," she said, waving him off.

Harry rolled his eyes at the professor's correction, but he got up and left without saying anything.

All three females watched the boy leave, Hedwig looking, Hermione thought, like she was considering following him. To be honest, Hermione felt the same, just a little, like Voldemort (or some other dangerous entity) might burst out of a toilet stall to attack Harry while she wasn't there to protect him.

Hermione shook off the feeling. She was being silly, she told herself. Harry was perfectly safe.

'Like he'd been in the common room, last night?' A treacherous part of her mind queried, and the girl did her best to quieten it.

In an attempt to distract herself, Hermione latched onto the only available conversant in the room and asked the first question that came to mind. A question which, though she only now realized as she asked it, she was actually quite curious about.

"Professor, what happened in Hogsmeade? Is everyone okay?"

Prof. McGonagall gave Hermione a calculating look, like she was considering how much to tell the young Gryffindor. Finally though, the witch just closed her eyes and sighed tiredly.

"Thirteen people died, Miss Granger," the Transfiguration professor admitted, and Hermione's heart seized in her chest. "Dozens more were injured. And all of it in a dastardly attempt to lure The Headmaster from the castle, so that Death Eater could attack you and Mr. P—Harry, unopposed."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry," she said, downcast eyes stinging with unshed tears. "If it wasn't for us this wouldn't have—"

"What? No, Hermione, you are not to blame for this," Prof. McGonagall said, coming to kneel before the girl so as to be level with her. "You nor Harry. The blame rests at the feet of the vile men who did this, no one else's.

"Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, because she did understand; it was Prof. McGonagall who didn't.

Prof. McGonagall, clearly not an affectionate woman by any margin, settled for nodding and giving Hermione a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before she rose and pulled back.

Hedwig came in then and pressed her warm fluff into Hermione's side. The girl petted the owl in appreciation.

After how the last attempt at conversation turned out, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the two witches to not try again. And they probably would not have if Prof. McGonagall hadn't remembered something important.

"Oh, yes," the older witch said, reaching into her robes and pulling out a wand. Hermione's wand. "I believe this is yours?"

"You found it!" Hermione exclaimed, reaching for the object. As soon as her fingers came into contact with it, a pleasant and familiar warmth ran from the wand up her arm.

"The Aurors did actually," Prof. McGonagall informed her. "It was hidden in the grass where you and Mr. Potter fell last night."

Well, that didn't really surprise Hermione, she'd suspected that that was where the wand was all along.

All the same, it was nice to have it back; there was a part of her that had worried that she would never see it again. Or, worse, that she would, but the wand would be irreparably broken.

"Thank you," Hermione said, and Prof. McGonagall nodded quietly.

Rising from Harry's bed, Hermione reached for the small nightstand next to her own bed, where she had placed her wand holster the night before.

Somehow, almost miraculously, the little, leather accessory had survived all the events of the day before with little more to show for the ordeal than a few scratches.

Hermione strapped the item to her wrist, then pushed her wand into the short, slim tube that logic demanded was much too small to fit the entire length of her wand.

Her wand, of course, fit perfectly, because magic just does not give a damn about what logic thinks.

"You have a wand holster," Prof. McGonagall stated, an unreadable tone in her voice.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Harry gave it to me," she said, then, because McGonagall's eyebrow had ticked up a bit at the mention of Harry, she asked with some confusion: "Is that a problem?"

The older witch shook her head. "No," she said, "simply atypical. I've never seen anyone but Aurors and Hit wizards use them before.

"Certainly not first-years," she added, in a lower, but catchable, tone.

Oh, right. Harry had told her the woman he bought them from had said the same thing.

Silence settled between the two witches again, and when it was just starting to get awkward enough, for Hermione at least, that the girl began to feel the need to say anything, Harry returned.

The boy looked fresh-faced and bright-eyed, and there was some dampness in his hair that suggested that Harry may have stuck his head under a running tap.

Seeing Harry unharmed before her again caused a knot in her stomach that Hermione had forgotten was there to loosen, but the boy's first words caused a completely different one to tighten.

"Did you know Parvati's here?" he asked.

Hermione had not, but that was only to be expected; when Prof. Sprout had brought them to the infirmary yesterday, Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at the state they were in and sequestered them to these two beds, then forbidden everyone else from even thinking about approaching them.

"No, I didn't," Hermione said. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know," Harry said, face marred with a worried frown. "Fred and George told me that she hit her head on a stool yesterday. They say there was a lot of blood."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror, but before the chill running down her spine could even finish its journey, Madam Pomfrey interrupted, the portly matron having somehow approached without them noticing.

"Miss Patil is just fine, Mr. Potter," the matron said. "She woke a few minutes ago. Though she's still quite groggy."

"Good morning, Poppy," Prof. McGonagall said placidly.

To Hermione's surprise, Madam Pomfrey's lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure as she looked at The Deputy Headmistress. But then, after a few seconds, she sighed and said: "You're here for them then." It wasn't a question.

McGonagall nodded.

Madam Pomfrey sighed again, then she waved her wand in intricate patterns over Harry's head silently, causing the poor boy to flinch, before heading over to Hermione and doing the same over the confused young witch's head.

As the matron worked, she muttered, seemingly to herself but, Hermione suspected, deliberately loudly enough that everyone present could hear. "An eleven-year-old girl dealing with basilisk venom and The Cruciatus Curse in one day, and they won't even let her rest. Really, what is The Headmaster thinking?"

If anyone had been looking at Harry in that moment, they would have seen the look of gut-wrenching guilt that etched itself onto his face at Madam Pomfrey's words, but no one was, so they missed it, and by the time anyone looked, it was gone.

"You can go," Madam Pomfrey said, finishing whatever spellwork she'd been performing. "But do be careful, you two; this is the second time you've been here in less than a day, and that's the second most hospital visits I've had from any student in the twenty-four years I've worked here."

It took Hermione a moment to process that. "Second most?" she asked.

"How many times is number one?" Harry wondered.

"Four," Madam Pomfrey replied.

Hermione blanched. How careless could a person be that they would need to go to the infirmary four times in one day?

"Who was this?" Hermione asked, and Madam Pomfrey gestured to Harry as she said, "James Potter. His father."

Harry blinked. "Really? Huh."

The boy seemed at a loss for words, at least until his expression turned thoughtful. "You know, they do say that the son shall surpass the father, so, I don't know, Madam Pomfrey, but I think I may be on to something here."

With deadly calm, Madam Pomfrey replied, "Mr. Potter, if you so much as step one foot in here for the next month, I will chain you to a bed."

Then she left.

"Love you too, Madam Pomfrey," Harry called after the departing matron, and Hermione rolled her eyes at the boy's antics.

Prof. McGonagall spoke then: "Come with me, children," she said, making her own prompt exit too.

The older witch led them out of the infirmary, though, before they left, they took a moment to say hello to Parvati, who was awake but a little groggy just as Madam Pomfrey had said.

Hermione was glad the girl was okay, she didn't know what she would have done if Parvati had been injured worse.

Even just seeing the girl awake with bandages wrapped around her head had been awful. It made Hermione glad that no other of their friends were here.

When they were finally on their way to what Hermione assumed would be The Headmaster's office, Prof. McGonagall said; "It was your mother who sent him there, Mr. Potter."

"Professor?" Harry asked, before the words registered. "Wait, my mum sent my dad to the infirmary, four times in one day," he said slowly, and when Prof. McGonagall nodded, he looked at Hermione.

The girl had no idea what to tell him.

"Valentine's Day, 1975," Prof. McGonagall said. "Your father sent your mother a pranked Valentine's card; covered her and half her friends in pink, sticky foam."

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry's dad had been a troublemaker!? she thought in surprise.

Then the girl took a moment to reconsider the boy in question.

Okay, she could see it.

"In retaliation," Prof. McGonagall continued, "Lily spent the entire day hexing James in admittedly creative ways whenever she saw him."

Hermione suppressed a giggle, while Harry smiled.

Prof. McGonagall was smiling too. A very small thing. Barely there.

"I had to give Lily detention, of course, but, I must admit, it wasn't unpleasant to see James on the receiving end for once."

Hermione giggled again, then asked: "So, Harry's parents didn't like each other while they were in school?"

"Well, Lily certainly had no love for James," the professor replied. "It came as quite the surprise to everyone when in their seventh year... well, things changed."

Huh.

It was strange, learning things about Harry like this (that is from someone else), but then again, Harry rarely spoke of his parents, and Hermione would have felt bad to make him.

Lost in thought as the girl was, she almost missed Harry's quiet words.

"They were stupid," the boy said.

Hermione looked at him. What? Who was stupid?

Prof. McGonagall must have heard Harry too, because she asked; "Beg your pardon, Mr. Potter?"

"They were stupid," Harry said a little louder, his eyes brimming with tears. "If they hadn't wasted all those years, then they would have had more time together."

Professor McGonagall looked physically pained by Harry's words, while with a "oh, Harry," Hermione, and Hedwig who was already perched on the boy's shoulder, hugged him as best as they were able, and for a time, all that could be heard were Harry's sniffles echoing in the empty halls.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


Harry's sniffles lasted barely a minute, and when he got them under control, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and gave Hermione a shaky smile.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thanks."

Prof. McGonagall looked like she wanted to say something to the boy, but, finally, the witch simply nodded and carried on leading the way.

For the next few minutes, the group walked on silently, and Harry's expression soon went from one of repressed sadness to one of deep thought.

The kind of expression he usually sported whenever he was contemplating something important.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry glanced at McGonagall first, then, after confirming that the professor was suitably occupied with watching where she was heading, he leaned over to Hermione and tried to whisper whatever his answer was in her ear, only to have the girl giggle and squirm away because of how ticklish it felt.

Harry blinked in surprise at her reaction, then his expression turned to one of fiendish glee.

"Ah, so you're ticklish, huh?" the boy asked, holding up and wriggling his fingers suggestively.

Hermione backed farther away from the grinning boy. "Don't you touch me, Harry Potter," she warned, but without any real heat.

Knowing what was coming, Hedwig flew off of Harry's shoulder right before he pounced after Hermione.

Interestingly, and completely unnoticed by the squealing girl and—for some reason—cackling boy, the owl chose the shoulder of the staring Transfiguration professor as her new perch.

McGonagall eyed the owl, utterly unamused, and the owl ignored her, utterly unfazed.

The professor inhaled, counted to three, then let it out. "That's enough, both of you," she said.

Both children froze at her words, seemingly only recalling her presence after she'd spoken, and Hermione, flushed from play (and embarrassment), quickly tried to stammer out an apology.

An apology that was not the least bit interrupted even as she swatted away Harry's hand when he tried to sneak in one last tickle.

McGonagall gave the children one last look that suggested a much depleted store of patience, then she turned and walked away in a manner that heavily suggested that she expected them to follow.

They did.

"Looks like Hedwig has joined the dark side," Harry whispered as they walked and Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

Although, the girl was willing to admit that having Hedwig on her shoulder seemed to give the transfiguration professor an even more domineering presence than before. Hermione found this odd; she would have assumed that having a bird on her shoulder would make the older witch appear silly if anything, but apparently not.

The journey continued, and almost two minutes of walking past empty halls and rooms elapsed before Hermione remembered that the tickle chase had started with Harry trying to whisper something to her.

"Harry, what were you going to tell me earlier?" the girl whispered.

"Oh, right," Harry said, then leaned in, whispering into her hair instead of her ear this time around.

Even so, Hermione still squirmed. Just a little. Though that ceased as soon as Harry spoke.

"I'm going to tell Dumbledore," Harry whispered.

Hermione looked at the boy in surprise. "About..." she said, not needing to finish.

Harry nodded, then leaned in again. "Not everything. Just... follow my lead. Okay?"

Hermione wanted to know more. But McGonagall was right there, talking was too risky.

Finally, she nodded, finding herself wishing that they'd made enough progress with legilimency to use it for nonverbal communication.

Although, that was theoretical at this point, wasn't it? It wasn't really something that they'd tried out, or even knew could be done, just an idea that Harry had had and then shared with her.

Then again, why wouldn't it work? Sure, it would require some skill with legilimency (and occlumency too now that she thought about it) but if you—

"Here we are," Prof. McGonagall said, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts, and back to the here and now.

The supposed entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore's office was blocked by a gargoyle, and Hermione was just beginning to wonder how they were going to get past it, when Prof. McGonagall spoke some nonsense sounding word that Hermione was fairly certain was made up, and the statue leapt aside.

Hermione screamed and grabbed Harry's arm in shock.

At everyone's stares, the girl went red with embarrassment. "I didn't expect it to move," she said, before swatting at a chuckling Harry.

They filed into the spiral staircase the gargoyle had guarded, and luckily, when this too started to move, slowly taking them upwards, Hermione handled it better.

Getting to the top took little time, and outside the heavy wooden doors to The Headmaster's office, Hermione heard muffled voices from within the room.

Prof. McGonagall pushed open the door and walked in, and Hermione and Harry followed, their hands finding each other's reflexively.

Fours pairs of eyes trained on the new arrivals as they walked in, Prof. McGonagall drawing quite a bit of attention at first thanks to the owl still perched on her shoulder, before that attention inevitably moved on to the children behind her.

Of the four people in the room, three were men, and the only one Hermione recognized was Albus Dumbledore.

The other two men were a short and portly wizard in a light-green pinstriped suit and a bowler hat (a choice of attire which stood out starkly to Hermione, because it made him one of the very few people in The Wizarding World she'd seen who were not wearing robes), and a heavily scarred man with a huge blue eye that spun around wildly in his head.

Hermione would bet her favourite book that the latter was Mad-eye Moody, the scarred Auror Harry had once told her about.

The fourth occupant of the room, and the only witch before their group had come in, was a bushy-browed, square-jawed woman with a monocle on one eye.

The witch and the suited wizard were seated across from The Headmaster at his desk, while Mad-eye was perched by the door to the office's sizable balcony.

"Ah, Minerva, I see you've brought the children," Dumbledore began, but before he'd even finished, the suited wizard had rushed over to Harry.

"Harry! My boy! The hero of the hour," the man exclaimed, grabbing and shaking Harry's hand exuberantly. "Wonderful to meet you, young man. Simply wonderful."

Harry weathered the man's handshake with the same kind of bright smile he'd given to Rita Skeeter.

"Minister Fudge, I presume?" Harry asked, and Hermione's eyes widened a bit.

This was the Minister of Magic?

"Cornelius, dear boy. Call me Cornelius. Anyone who can kill a basilisk and a death eater in one day has more than earned the right to be on first name basis with the Minister, wouldn't you say?" Minister Fudge asked, smacking Harry on the shoulder like they were old buddies.

Harry weathered that too, smiling all the while. "Well, I can't take full credit for either of them, sir. I wouldn't have made it out without Hermione."

And just like that, for the first time, the man's focus moved to her.

"Ah, yes. The girl," Minister Fudge said. "Granger, yes?"

"Yes, sir. Hermione Granger," she concurred, and took his hand when he offered her a thankfully much less excited handshake.

The Minister's hand was soft. And rather clammy.

"Yes, yes," The Minister continued. "Heroes, both of you. Dare I say some Orders of Merlin are in your futures. Second class, at the very least."

Hermione blinked. They were going to get medals?

It was at this point that Dumbledore cut back in.

"Cornelius, perhaps it would be better if you returned to the ministry now," The Headmaster said. "It would be good to show yourself at the helm after a crisis such as last night's."

"Not unless you want your subordinates coming to look for you in Dumbledore's office," Moody growled in a rough voice.

Minister Fudge's eyes widened for a second, before he said, "Yes, um, that sounds like a fine idea."

Turning back to Harry, the wizard said, "Well, Harry, best be off. Duty calls."

"It was nice meeting you, Minister," Harry said.

"Cornelius, my boy. Cornelius," Minister Fudge said, then he walked over to the fireplace.

Taking some powder from a dish on the mantel, Fudge threw it into the smouldering flames, and after they flared a brilliant green, he walked in, said "Ministry of Magic" and in a blaze of green, he was gone.

Hermione's eyes widened. That was amazing.

"Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore called, getting her attention. "Please sit."

At Dumbledore's request, the vacant seat Minister Fudge had vacated split into two.

Hermione and Harry stared at each other; the moment of truth. They stepped forward.

As soon as the children sat, Dumbledore began introductions.

"Harry, Hermione, these are Madam Amelia Bones and Alastor Moody. Madam Bones here is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she has some questions for you."

Hermione and Harry turned to look at the woman only to find her focus on Dumbledore.

"First, Albus, I would really like to know why you failed to inform me that there was a basilisk in Hogwarts," the witch said, speaking for the first time.

Dumbledore looked like he was trying to hold back a sigh. "As I've said already, Amelia, by the time I became aware of the snake it had already been slain by—"

"The children, yes, you mentioned," Amelia Bones cut in. "What you still haven't told me is why you didn't then report the incident to me, thereby endangering the entire school in the event that there was another basilisk."

"I assure you, Amelia, that I and my staff immediately took great lengths to ensure that there were no other basilisks," Dumbledore said. "And I was going to contact you after the students had had their dinners and returned to their dormitories. I thought it would be best if whatever team you sent had the space to do their work."

Madam Bones didn't seem particularly satisfied with Dumbledore's answer, but before she could say anything else, Harry spoke.

"If it helps, I don't think there are any other basilisks."

All eyes turned to him.

"And how would you know this, Mr. Potter?" Amelia Bones asked.

Harry looked at Hermione before he answered, and as the girl looked in his eyes, she found that she had never before wished for anything as strongly as she wished in that moment that his mind was open to her.

Harry took her hand, and she squeezed gently; she didn't know what his plan was, but she would see it through with him all the same.

Harry turned back to the adults in the room.

"I know because Voldemort knew," he said.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


"I know because Voldemort knew."

Harry's words elicited different reactions from the adult members of the room, Hermione noticed.

Madam Bones and Prof. McGonagall both looked confused at what he meant, while The Headmaster peered at the boy intently over his half-moon glasses like he was trying to see right into his soul.

Moody meanwhile, simply said; "Be careful how you use that name, lass."

Harry scoffed. "Or what?" he asked. "The bastard will send me a strongly worded letter?"

Harry frowned then.

"And you do know I'm a boy, right?" he asked the scarred Auror.

The wizard's only response was to scratch his badly scarred nose.

There was a huge chunk of it missing.

"Harry," Dumbledore called softly, pulling both children's attentions back to him, "what do mean when you say that you know because Voldemort knew?"

Harry took a deep breath, then scratched his head, figuring out how to best word his reply.

The adults let him, keeping quiet while he thought.

Finally, Harry spoke.

"That Halloween night, when Voldemort tried to kill me, something went wrong.

"Whatever it was caused us to be... connected somehow."

Harry paused, briefly.

Everyone in the room was spellbound, hanging on to his every word. Even Hermione was hooked, despite knowing that he wasn't being truthful.

It was quite impressive actually.

"Connected in what way, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I know things," Harry said. "Things that Voldemort knew. It actually took me a long time to realize that I wasn't just crazy. That these were someone's memories in my head."

"And that's how you knew of the basilisk," Madam Bones said.

It hadn't been a question, but Harry nodded all the same.

"Yeah. Voldemort found it when he was a student here," Harry said. "He opened the chamber and used the snake to kill Myrtle.

"That was also when he made his first horcrux."

It took a second, but as comprehension of Harry's words sank in, the members of the room all reacted in their own ways.

Dumbledore's jaws clenched, Madam Bones paled, Prof. McGonagall looked confused, The Sorting Hat (who Hermione hadn't even noticed till now) sighed, Mad-eye Moody muttered a "bugger", and a general aura of unease rippled through the past Heads in the paintings on the walls.

Hermione and Harry blinked at the reaction of the room.

"Okay," Harry said. "Apparently that's a lot worse than I thought it was."

"You said that was when he made his first horcrux, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry nodded. "Do you know how many others he made?"

"Well," Harry said, then began to count out on his fingers, "there was the diary, which was the first.

"I don't really know the order in which he made the others, but there's also the diadem, the cup, the locket, and the ring."

With each new item Harry listed, Hermione could see as the room grew tenser and tenser, so much so, that, by the time the boy was done, no one spoke or moved for several seconds.

Finally, Madam Bones broke the silence.

"He made five horcruxes?" the witch asked, and while it sounded like she was asking for confirmation, it also seemed to Hermione like the woman was hoping Harry would suddenly go: "psych! Got you!" And reveal everything he'd said to be one big, naughty prank.

Harry instead simply nodded.

"Do you know where they are?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Yep," Harry said, nodding confidently, then he paused thought about it for a few seconds. "Sort of," he amended, making a so-so gesture.

"Sort of?" Madam Bones asked.

"Yeah, he gave the goblet and the diary to two of his Death Eaters; Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy.

"He didn't tell them what they were. And I know he told Bellatrix to keep the cup in her Gringotts' vault, but she may have moved it without telling him."

The adults took some time to ruminate on that information, after which Dumbledore spoke.

"And the others, Harry?" the grey wizard asked.

"Well, Voldemort hid the ring in a shack that belonged to his mother's family, the Gaunts. The locket is being protected by inferi in a cave that's near where he grew up. I think. And he stashed the diadem here in Hogwarts."

Eyes widened around the room.

"Do you know where?" Dumbledore asked Harry.

"It's in the Room of Requirement," Harry said, then quickly continued before anyone else could speak. "But Hermione and I already found it. We destroyed it."

Madam Bones looked taken aback. "How?" the witch asked.

Harry shrugged. "I used The Killing Curse," he said simply.

Dumbledore sighed and Madam Bones scowled.

"You are aware," the monocled witch said sternly, "that simply knowing the incantation for that spell is enough to see you serving time in level three of Azkaban, correct?"

Harry, and Hermione too, bristled at the perceived threat.

Before either of them could say anything however, The Headmaster stepped in.

"Amelia," he cautioned gently, then looked to Harry.

"Harry, I presume you know The Killing Curse in the same way you know about Voldemort's horcruxes, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Do you know any other dark spells?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry's answer was a simple shrug.

"Regardless," Dumbledore continued after Harry's nonresponse, "you should never use them."

"I had a horcrux to destroy," Harry pointed out. "What was I supposed to do, ask the basilisk for help?"

"No," Madam Bones said, "you were supposed to alert the proper authorities. And don't think we're not aware that that isn't the only time you've used that spell; based on the account of your dormmates, you cast it repeatedly last night."

"Yes, because a psycho killer came bursting into our common room," Harry argued, and Hermione concurred.

"He was only trying to protect himself," she said.

"I know," Dumbledore agreed, cutting in before Madam Bones could speak. "However, while that is admirable, one should never do so with dark magic."

"Why?" Harry asked. He didn't sound petulant, he sounded genuinely curious, and, to be honest, Hermione was a little curious too.

After all, sure it was called dark magic, but what was so dark about it?

It wasn't as though regular magic couldn't be all kinds of nasty too. For example, there was a potion in the fourth year potions book that causes skin to fall off. Literally fall off. And yet it wasn't considered dark magic.

So what exactly made dark magic... dark?

Surprisingly, it was Moody who answered.

"It's a slippery slope, lass," the wizard said, lips curled, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was because he was annoyed now, or that was just his resting expression.

Moody continued.

"Felt the power, didn't you? The ease."

Harry frowned, but he nodded.

It made sense that he would. He had admitted the same thing to her when she'd asked him what it was like to use the spell, after she'd watched him destroy the horcrux with it.

He'd said the spell had felt good. That he'd felt power. Like, all he had to do was follow it, and it would give him power over all his enemies.

Hermione didn't remember feeling anything like that the one time she'd used the spell, but, then again, she hadn't been in the best state of mind at the time, considering she thought she'd just watched her best friend get killed.

Also, the snake had dodged. So, the girl wasn't even sure if that one time did count.

Moody grunted, looking unsurprised at Harry's nod.

"Thought you did," the wizard said. "But, mark my words; it gets easier."

"It does," Dumbledore agreed. "And without vigilance, it will consume you."

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody barked suddenly, and Hermione jumped, immediately reaching for her wand within her sleeve.

Harry already had his out, though he'd aborted the motion to point it at the scarred wizard halfway.

For his part, Moody remained against the wall, his gaze trained on the children, his magical eye, for once, perfectly still.

He smiled.

Hermione shuddered.

A tawny owl flew into the office then, drawing all attention to itself and freeing Hermione from the horror that was Moody's smile.

The owl perched on Dumbledore's table, right in front of Harry.

Everyone stared at Harry. Harry stared at the owl.

"I do believe that owl is here for you, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry looked at Hermione; who would send him a letter?

Hermione shrugged; she had no idea.

Finally, Harry pulled out the letter from the bird's pouch, and Hermione leaned in as he opened it.

The name of the sender stood out in her mind like a neon sign.

Rita Skeeter.

Harry sighed.

"Bad news?" Dumbledore asked.

"Worse," Harry replied. "Rita Skeeter."

The Headmaster gave an amused smile at Harry's joke.

"She's wanting an interview, I suppose?" Madam Bones asked.

The question had been directed at Harry, but it was Hermione who answered.

She had already skimmed the letter as they spoke, and while it said a bunch of things, in the end, what Skeeter wanted was clear as day.

Rita Skeeter wanted an interview.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


"I think we should do it," Hermione said.

"I agree," Harry said. "After all, let's be honest, if we don't, then she's most likely just going to print whatever the hell she wants."

"That she will," Dumbledore agreed.

Hermione agreed too, but that didn't mean that she wanted a situation like the first time they'd met Skeeter, when the woman had basically ambushed them while they were alone, so she said; "Headmaster, can we have the interview here?"

Harry looked at her, then hummed thoughtfully at the suggestion. "That's not a bad idea actually. Maybe you could help us ensure that she actually prints what we say this time, instead of whatever that her weird quill comes up with," he said to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster gave a small shrug. "Very well," he said. "If you wish. Although, in that case, I believe it will be best for me to send the reply. Make her think that I'm making an attempt to control the narrative, as it were."

"But won't that make her mad at you," Hermione said. "Harry has told me about how nasty she can be to people she doesn't like."

Dumbledore smiled, then said; "That ship, I'm afraid to say, has long since sailed."

The old wizard drew his wand then, and, with a casual flick, a piece of parchment appeared on the table in front of him.

Before Hermione's eyes, words in green ink appeared on the page, as though being written by an invisible quill.

When the message was complete, Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, and the parchment neatly folded itself up then flew and slotted itself into the owl's pouch.

"Take that to Ms. Skeeter, please," Dumbledore told the owl, and the bird quickly flew off.

Hermione had seen more than her fair share of amazing displays of magic in her time at Hogwarts, but, somehow, it was always the casual uses of the art, like Dumbledore had just done, that truly amazed her.

"And with that, I do believe your plan has been set in motion," Dumbledore said as they watched the owl go.

"Yes, and that's all well and good," Madam Bones said, not sounding at all like she cared much. "But if we could return to the matter of the madman who's spread five horcruxes around the country now, that would be ideal."

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore said, looking tired all of a sudden.

"The hardest ones to get will be the one in Gringotts and the one with Malfoy's dad," Hermione said immediately, having already considered it multiple times before now.

"The lass is right," Moody said in his gravelly voice. "Malfoy will never admit to having something of You-Know-Who's, and Gringotts' an authority unto itself, those little shites won't give a damn about how many fancy titles the both of you have put together."

"Damn goblins," Madam Bones muttered.

"Can't we just steal them?" Hermione asked.

"Easier said than done," Moody answered again. "Malfoy may be an idiot, but his home's locked tighter than a merman's arse, and, while the goblins may be full of shite saying their bank's impregnable, that doesn't mean it's a cakewalk either."

"Okay," Hermione said, "but what if you make up an excuse to search his home?"

The girl looked at Madam Bones. "Professor Dumbledore said you're the head of law enforcement, can't you demand to search his home and find the diary that way?"

"It might be doable," Madam Bones hedged. "But you must understand, Lucius Malfoy is a very powerful man with many friends in the Wizengamot. It will be difficult to get the permission to act on anything short of ironclad."

What the witch didn't say, and didn't need to, was that Harry's 'memories' were not ironclad.

"What do you need permission for?" Harry asked. "Just kick down his door. In fact, why even go to his home at all; Draco's right here in Hogwarts. I say we hold him hostage until Malfoy cracks and gives us the book."

"We will not be holding anyone hostage, Harry," Dumbledore said, even as Moody hummed thoughtfully at the idea. "Certainly not young Mr. Malfoy."

"Are you serious right now?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely confused. "It's Draco, for God's sake. He's a piece of shit."

Dumbledore's tone was firm as he responded: "Whatever your opinion of Mr. Malfoy may be, Harry, we will not be abducting him.

"There are lines we simply should not cross," the old wizard added.

"Lines not to cross?" Harry asked, voice steady with faux calm.

"You know this is why you would have lost, right? Because you would have.

"If Voldemort hadn't gotten his idiot self blown up while trying to kill me, you would have lost. You know why? Because, for some reason, you somehow believe, that Draco's comfort is more important than stopping a madman."

"Mr. Potter—" Madam Bones began.

"Don't Mr. Potter me!" Harry said.

"Hermione almost died last night. She was tortured. And now you're telling me that what? Draco's comfort somehow trump's that?"

Harry's fists were clenched, his whole body vibrating with trapped rage.

Hermione had never seen him like this before, not even with Snape.

With Snape he'd been furious and eager to do harm, but here? Yes, there was the anger and eagerness to harm too, but mostly, to Hermione he just looked helpless and frustrated.

She took his hand.

"It's okay, Harry," she said. "I'm sure we'll figure out something."

Harry let out a breath, seeming to deflate with it.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure we will."

The boy didn't sound like he meant it.

An awkward silence followed Harry's outburst, but before anyone could move to smooth over it, a voice came from Dumbledore's fireplace.

"Dumbledore, it's Rita Skeeter. Can I come through?"

"Ah, yes. Come in, Ms. Skeeter," The Headmaster called amicably, all signs of the tenseness from a few seconds ago absent.

The fireplace flared green, and out walked Rita Skeeter, her hair done, her face heavily made up, and her robes as gaudy as they could get.

The journalist took one look at all the adults in the room and scowled.

"Of course," she muttered.

★★★​

Hours later, after the interview, and after Harry had written down all the information he had on the horcruxes, and they'd delivered the diadem they had destroyed to the capable hands of the adults, Hermione and Harry sat together at a window in one of Hogwarts many empty classrooms.

They'd been headed to Gryffindor Tower initially, but had both decided to detour here, since neither was really up for the many questions they knew awaited them. Not after the arduous morning they'd just had.

An arduous morning whose effect was only compounded by the stress of the night before it, as well as the afternoon even before that.

Dear God, this weekend had been nothing but a series of insane, life threatening adventures.

Well, to be fair, there had only been two insane, life threatening adventures, but considering that both of those had happened within hours of each other, on the same day, in a school that they'd only just completed their second week in, well, it felt more like a novel length story than anything else.

Thinking of the wild, magical events of her time so far in Hogwarts in the terms of a story, made Hermione remember something Harry had told her... just a week ago, actually.

About how he was a sort of amalgamation of two people, one of them being from a future world who'd read books about his own life...

Wow, odd how once, not long ago, Hermione had thought that that was the strangest her life could ever get.

Anyway, thinking about it made Hermione consider something that, surprisingly enough, she'd never considered before.

"Harry?" she called softly to the boy beside her. "What if our life is a story too?"

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"Well, you know how you read the books about us? What if we're a book too?" the girl tried to explain.

Harry frowned. "Like fanfiction?" he asked.

He had explained those to her once, and she'd thought it was rather strange, rewriting someone else's story.

But then again, wasn't the original author themselves also just writing someone else's story?

... It all got rather difficult to wrap her mind around pretty quickly, to be honest.

Despite Hermione not giving a response, Harry continued: "Well, if our life's fanfiction, then I guess I'm just happy that it's not a Drarry fic.

"Although I definitely wouldn't have minded one of those OP Lord Potter types, to be honest," he added with a wistful sigh.

After a few seconds, Harry sighed again, and this time, there was nothing wistful about it, only sad.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I came here to save you," Harry said, looking out the window. "Do you remember when I told you that?"

Hermione nodded.

Of course, she remembered. Harry had told her that the only reason he came to Hogwarts was because a troll had almost killed her in the books, so he'd come to Hogwarts to ensure that that didn't happen.

Harry looked at her now.

"You almost died yesterday," he said. "Multiple times. Two weeks into school, and you almost died. And it's all because of me."

"Harry, you can't—"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that it wasn't because of me," Harry said, cutting off her protest.

She looked in his eyes.

Hermione saw the pain and fear in them. The guilt.

She could lie to him, she knew. But she also knew that he would know if she did.

So, Hermione Granger told the truth instead.

"I don't care," she said.

Harry blinked. "Hermione, you—"

"I don't care," she repeated, cutting him off like he'd done to her just a few seconds earlier.

"Harry, you're..." Hermione's words petered out.

The girl knew what she wanted to say, she just didn't know how to phrase the words.

And that's when she got an idea.

Reaching into Harry's left sleeve, Hermione pulled out his wand, then pushed it into his right hand, forcing his fingers to wrap around it.

"Hermione, what are you—"

"Cast legilimens on me," she said, cutting him off again.

"What?"

"Just do it, Harry."

The boy stared at her, then he sighed.

"Legilimens," he cast, and Hermione's mind sucked him in.

She poured forth everything. Every iota of emotion that she felt for him and that he made her feel; trust, joy, fondness and fond exasperation, mirth, tranquility, safety, and, among many more, love.

Harry's breath caught, the boy nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions gushing forth.

"This is how you make me feel, Harry," Hermione said, and in that moment, neither could have said if the words had come from her lips, or her heart.

"So, no, I don't care about Voldemort. Or about basilisks, or anything else.

"I love you, Harry."

Harry sniffed, a single tear tracking down his cheek.

"I love you too, Hermione," he said, before hugging her.

Harry had told Hermione once that he would kill anyone who ever hurt her. At the time, his declaration had shocked (and scared) the girl so much, that she'd refused to even think about it since then.

In this moment though, Hermione thought about it, and she made a declaration of her own; if someone ever hurt Harry, while she may not kill them, she would do her absolute best to hurt them ten times worse.

---

A/N: and that's it, you're all caught up.

Thanks for sticking with the story so far; I know many didn't (if the significant dip in likes since the first chapter is any indication).

The next chapter should be out in a couple days latest, but if you're too eager (or simply have money to throw my way) then know that I have four chapters ahead on my Patreon.

Again, thank you for reading.

See ya.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: guess I finished the newest chapter much sooner than I thought I would.

---

That Afternoon.

Sunday, Sept. 15


"I'm hungry," Harry said a few minutes later, and the boy's words caused Hermione to realise that she was hungry too.

Quite so, in fact. Which, frankly, was only to be expected, considering that she'd barely eaten anything the night before and had skipped breakfast this morning. And that was before taking into consideration the substantial of physical activity that she'd engaged in over the last several hours.

Honestly, Hermione was more than just hungry at this point, she was ravenous, and oddly enough, she'd only just noticed.

"Come on," Harry said as he stood, then held out his hand for her to take, "let's go get some food."

Hedwig flew to them, perching on Hermione's shoulder, and together, they made their way to The Great Hall.

The Great Hall was sparsely populated when Hermione and Harry got there, but there were still covered trays full of food present.

This was only possible because it was the weekend, Hermione knew, as while Hogwarts had strict mealtimes on weekdays (probably to discourage students from loitering, the girl suspected), with all the food but water and drinks disappearing on the dot, things were more... fluid on the weekends, allowing anyone to come in at almost any time for a meal.

The two first-years headed for the Gryffindor table, which was virtually empty, but for a handful of sixth or seventh-years at the far end.

Even with the few people present, Hermione and Harry still drew stares and whispers as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table.

Both children ignored it easily, barely even noticing.

They served themselves, their hunger driving them to load up plates with more food than they could probably finish.

Hedwig joined them, and for a few minutes, they ate silently.

A loud, chattering group barged into the hall then, and Hermione looked at them reflexively; it was Draco and his ilk.

Hermione nearly sighed.

Draco glanced at the Gryffindor table distractedly, and Hermione saw the boy's eyes widen when he spotted her and Harry.

The Slytherin paused in whatever he was saying, and his entourage behind him (Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and a boy whose name Hermione didn't know) followed his line of sight to the Gryffindor table, and their eyes too widened at the sight of Hermione and Harry.

Parkinson whispered something to Draco, and the boy scowled, then said something back with a sneer. Draco's eyes met Hermione's then, and he began to make his way toward her and Harry.

In that moment, Hermione immediately decided that after everything she'd been through within the last twenty-four hours, she would not be dealing with Draco's nonsense too.

Not today, and, if she could help it, never again.

"Stop," she said, pointing at Draco. "Go to your table. Now."

The blond Slytherin did stop, but he looked confused, like he was wondering if Hermione was talking to him.

"Yes, Draco, I'm talking to you. Go to your table. Right now."

The boy blinked, then he scowled and began to open his mouth, but Hermione had had enough.

"For God's sake, Draco," she barked angrily, making the blonde and his group jump. "I said, go away."

The entire hall was staring now, and Draco had gone red, though whether from anger or from embarrassment Hermione didn't know, and to be honest, she didn't care.

Thankfully though, whatever Draco was feeling didn't make him feel like confronting her, so with a huff and a sneer, the Slytherin marched off to his table, his entourage following behind.

Hermione let out a breath, the simple action helping to calm her.

"Huh," Harry intoned. "So that's all it takes to get rid of him." The boy clicked his tongue in a disappointed manner. "Too bad. I was hoping I would get to hex him a few times."

"Don't go starting fights, Harry," Hermione chided gently.

"Why would I need to?" Harry asked. "He'll be back. He's too stupid to know better."

And with that, Hermione had to agree, Draco really was too stupid to know better.

When they were done with their breakfast/lunch, Hermione and Harry headed for Gryffindor Tower.

It was about time, really; they couldn't put it off forever. Also, neither tween had bathed today, and both were still in their clothes from the day before; freshening up was needed, and Gryffindor Tower was where the showers were.

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower went smoothly, but when Hermione and Harry got to the entrance, they stopped in confusion.

"Uh, who are you?" Harry asked the mustachioed wizard whose painting was covering the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

"Sir Reginald Montgomery," the man answered simply. "Who are you?"

Harry didn't answer, instead he and Hermione stared at one another, a growing fear mirrored in each other's gazes.

"What happened to Jolene?" Hermione asked, not wanting to hear the answer she already knew she would receive.

She'd forgotten in all the excitement since, but Voldemort had blasted his way into the common room last night, and the only reason he would have needed to do that, was to get through the painting blocking the entryway.

Sir Reginald's lips curled down slightly. "Alas, her damage was too severe," the wizard said. "She could not be saved."

Hermione's heart clenched at the news, and her eyes stung.

Harry took her hand in his.

The boy's eyes were brimmed with unshed tears and a deep rage, but his squeeze on her hand was gentle.

Hermione squeezed back.

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she asked Sir Reginald; "Is there a new password? Or are we still using the one from yesterday?"

"The very same," Sir Reginald replied.

"Okay then, fillyfops," Hermione said, and the portrait slid aside to permit them entry.

"I'm Harry, by the way," Harry said. "Harry Potter."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione added, then they walked through.

Being a Sunday, the common room was sparsely populated, most students taking the opportunity that the weekend presented to spend their time outdoors, instead of staying cooped up in their dorms.

Since their fellow first-years were absent from the dorm when they came in (apparently having joined the great migration to the alluring outdoors), Hermione and Harry were able to immediately head to their bathrooms to see to their personal hygiene, after which they sat together in the common room, talking about nothing and everything.

In time, the first-years began to return from wherever they'd been, and the sight of each one, safe and sound, soothed an ache that Hermione hadn't realised she was carrying.

Even Parvati, who had been badly wounded the night before, showed up eventually, fully healed and free of the bandages that had been wrapped around her head that morning.

Every new arrival joined Hermione and Harry, and naturally, they all wanted to know what had happened with them the night before, after Hedwig flew them away from Gryffindor Tower.

It was tedious, and rather irritating, having to repeat the same story, over and over, for each new arrival to the group, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to complain.

She was just glad that they were still here to ask.

★★★​

Dumbledore made an announcement at dinner that night.

Well, it was less an announcement, and more a recounting of events as he understood them.

The evening edition of the Prophet, which featured Skeeter's interview of Hermione and Harry on the front-page, landed scant minutes after, but thankfully, it had none of the woman's usual embellishments, so it neatly corroborated Dumbledore's account.

After that, dinner passed without fanfare, and the students enjoyed their meals.

Back up at the Gryffindor common room though, Harry did something that even Hermione found surprising.

The common room was quite full, the students in no hurry to run off to bed despite the next day being Monday, since Dumbledore had announced at dinner that classes were cancelled for tomorrow.

The Gryffindors were spread out across the room in little groups, talking, playing, laughing, and even reading, when Harry rose and raised his wand.

His wand let out a soft, chiming sound, and the boy called out: "Everyone. Excuse me. Can I get your attention, please?"

It took some time, but slowly, and surely, everyone looked at the boy.

Harry looked around the room too, his green eyes heavy with emotion.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke, then, without preamble, Harry began: "Last night, a madman came in here to kill me.

"None of you had to help me. I didn't even ask any of you to. But you helped me all the same. Even at great personal risk. And now, because of you, I'm alive today. And so is Hermione."

Harry bowed his head.

"Thank you."

For several seconds, all was quiet, Harry's impromptu speech having taken everyone by surprise, but then Angelina Johnson, the first person who'd attacked Voldemort the night before, besides Harry, spoke: "Of course we helped you, Potter. You thought we would just let some noseless bastard attack one of us without giving him what for? Effing no."

Harry laughed. "Gryffindor!" he screamed, and others took up the cry.

Someone started singing the Gryffindor anthem then, and slowly, everyone took it up.

Unfortunately, only a handful of people seemed to know the words, while some even seemed to be deliberately changing the lines into silly jokes.

It was the most discordant bout of group singing that Hermione had ever been a part of, but, somehow, it was also the most enjoyable.

★★★​

When they finally went up to bed that night, Harry contacted Hermione with the notebooks that they'd enchanted about a week back to communicate with each other almost immediately, and seeing it reminded the girl of an idea she'd had.

Quickly, she tore out two small pieces of parchment and enchanted them with The Telephone Spell (the spell they'd used to transmit the rooster's crow across Hogwarts just yesterday).

Using The Notebook, she told Harry to send Hedwig over, and had her deliver one of the pieces of parchment to Harry.

Not even half a minute later, Harry's voice came from the little piece of parchment in her hand, as clear as if he was right next to her: "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you," she replied.

They talked about nothing for a few minutes, and when they ran out of things to say, they simply listened to each other breathe.

It made the distance between them feel less.

Sleep came not long after, and for both, it was peaceful.

---

A/N: thanks for reading.
Next chapter will be out pretty soon, but you can always step over to my Patreon if you're feeling eager. It'll really help me.

Regardless, take care, and see you.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

The Matron

Night.

Saturday, Sept. 14


Poppy Pomfrey generally liked her job, stressful as it could sometimes be. Children could be quite... dumb, you see, and in the twenty-four years that the witch had worked at Hogwarts, she had become all too familiar with that headache-inducing (and oftentimes, rather amusing) truth.

Every week, there was at least one potential recipient of the Darwin Award walking into her infirmary looking shifty-eyed, and sporting some sort of self-inflicted magical malady or other effect.

More aggravating, were the ones who abstained from coming to her by themselves for whatever reason, hoping that whatever was wrong would simply fix itself, while the absolute worst were those who tried to fix the problem by themselves. Emphasis on tried.

One such student, a third-year Gryffindor boy, had come in a few years ago, his tongue a wriggling, two-foot long tentacle sticking out of his mouth, and his nose missing.

Apparently, he'd tried to transfigure his tongue for some sort of prank, but had botched the spell terribly. Then, despite that his transfiguration skills were wholly lacking even when his tongue was fully functional, he'd tried to fix it himself, only to end up cursing his nose off too.

Fortunately, whether from accidental magic or just accidental luck, something he did caused him to start breathing with his ears instead, saving the poor fool from suffocating.

And that was simply one of many such occurrences that Poppy had had to suffer through over the years.

As bad as the ones who were victims of their own stupidity were however, nothing beat the ones who were simply victims, and, paradoxically enough, they were also the ones who made Poppy like her job the most.

In the twenty-four years that Poppy Pomfrey had worked at Hogwarts, there had only ever been five incidents that counted as a medical emergency, and two of them had happened within the last twenty-four hours, with, amazingly enough, the same two students at its epicenter; first-years, Hermione Granger, and the boy-who-lived, Harry Potter.

When Minerva had brought the two in earlier in the day, after their ill-fated battle with the basilisk (and was the revelation that there had been one of those things sitting under the castle for centuries not simply terrifying?), Poppy had run some preliminary diagnosis of the two and shuddered.

There had been the clear signs of phoenix tears having been used as a first response treatment, and while it was a wondrous substance, as well as the only reason the children were still alive, there wasn't enough phoenix tears in the world to mask the leftover traces of the litany of injuries both had suffered from Poppy's skilled eyes.

Shattered bones, pulverized organs, extreme blood loss, shards of the skull embedded an inch deep into a swollen brain, and that was just for the boy; Poppy had found such high concentrations of inert basilisk venom in the girl that it was like someone had hosed her down with the stuff.

Simply put, it was bad, but thanks to the phoenix tears they'd received, it was (relatively) easy to fix, especially in Miss Granger's case.

So, she'd fixed them. Patched them back up, good as new, thankful that the excitement for the day had passed.

Then night had come, and with it the worst attack on Wizarding Britain in recent memory, and as Poppy Pomfrey stared at the same two first-years being carried back into her infirmary, again with grievous wounds, she remembered why she liked her job; it was because of the good she could do.

Poppy Pomfrey just wished that the world would stop giving her opportunities to do good.

---

The Auror

Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15


Barely anyone remembered it now, but once, not too long ago, the brilliant, paranoid, and scarred man now known to the world today as Mad-eye Moody, was a brilliant, cocky, and—dare I say—good-looking boy called Alastor Moody.

Alastor Moody (Al to his friends) had graduated from Hogwarts like most of his peers, at eighteen. Unlike most of his peers however, Alastor had registered for the Auror Academy entrance exam right away.

He'd passed with flying colours on the first try, and been accepted into the Auror Academy, an undertaking which took three years, and this was the first step on the journey of a thousand miles that led to the man named Mad-eye Moody.

Three years passed, and Alastor came out of the academy not the cocky boy that had gone in, but a confident man. A leader.

Soon he'd won the respect of his colleagues, the admiration of his subordinates, and the love of a beautiful witch he'd had every intention of spending the rest of his life with.

Then his friends began to die.

They'd been told the risks of the job back at the academy, made aware of them; but it was one thing to know that you might have to watch your friends die, and it was something entirely different to live it.

Fifteen years into his career as an Auror, Alastor was the last of his graduating class. His love was long gone by then, and somewhere along the way, he'd lost an eye, a leg, and much of the man that he'd been.

He could have stopped then. He should have stopped then. But it was the only thing he had left. And he was very, very good at it.

So Moody kept fighting. Through Voldemort's war as it came and went, and for a decade after it, he fought.

He fought and fought, until one day, he saw the witch who he'd wanted to spend his life with all those years ago, shopping for school supplies with her thirteen-year-old in Diagon Alley, and suddenly, Moody had realized just how tired he was.

That was one month ago, in August. And it was the day that he'd made the decision to retire.

Being the wizard that he was though, Moody could not just bring himself to get up and leave the Auror Corps, so the decision was made that he would stay the remainder of the year, and come January, for the first time in some three decades, he would be an unemployed man.

So, naturally, here he was in Albus' office not even one full month later, on the morning after Death Eaters set Hogsmeade on fiendfyre, successfully burning down half the village.

It was a disaster.

Thirteen dead and fifty-four injured, eight of whom were in critical condition at St. Mungo's.

Moody had seen many terrible things over the years, and while some of them trumped this in ghastliness, few could compete with the sheer scale of this disaster.

In fact, the only one in recent memory that he could recall would be Sirius Black's decimation of that muggle street the night he killed Pettigrew.

Moody's lips involuntarily curled with distaste from the memory, then it curled even further from the incessant rambling of the Minister.

God, the man was an incompetent idiot. One who, like any proper idiot, seemed completely incapable of seeing that he was in fact an idiot. Actually even going so far as to consider himself some sort of savvy diplomat.

Ironically enough, Moody knew that this was the only reason why the Wizengamot had assigned Cornelius Fudge the position of Minister in the first place, and why his assignment as Minister has been the only unanimous one in... probably a century; the man was an idiot. More importantly, the man was a pliable idiot. And everyone but him knew it.

Fortunately, Moody could see the kids of the hour ascending up to Dumbledore's office then, so he knew he wouldn't have to put up with Fudge for much longer.

Before today, Moody had never given the Potter boy much thought. Sure, the events of that Halloween night were remarkable enough, but the scarred Auror had been fully aware that the boy had been a toddler at the time.

Consequently, if the tyke had had anything to do with that night's events, then it had been completely accidental, and no one deserved praise for something they accomplished accidentally, in Moody's opinion. Not even when it's offing a Dark Lord.

So Moody observed the boy, and his friend, the Granger girl, when they came up into the office, and while they weren't the only reason, they were a not insubstantial part of why, when, after the kids had left, Dumbledore suggested he take the newly open position of Defense professor, Moody didn't immediately blow off the old wizard.

---

A/N: so, as you may have noticed if you've been here since the start, this story has now been moved to the sfw section, and since then, the viewership has, simply put, tanked.

This is because, despite what anyone wants to say, the fact remains that for most of QQ's audience, the sfw section is an afterthought at best, and a non-entity at worst.

Seeing this, I have hereby decided to stop posting this story here, just like I did at ff.net when the stress of posting outweighed the return in viewership.

Therefore, if you would like to continue reading this story from when next I post, click on this link. And if you would like to read more right now, then here's my Patreon to read four chapters ahead.

Thank you, and take care.