Harry Potter and the Witch Queen
by TimeLoopedPowerGamer
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Summary: Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.
But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?
On Content: Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.
Chapter Four
The blond ponce had just barged into the compartment, exactly how Harry had remembered. At least some things didn't change.
Glancing around, Harry saw Ron getting ready to start shouting and Neville trying to hide by squirming deeper into his seat. Hermione was still pretending to read and had covered up both of their notepads, which Harry realized were now absolutely covered in horribly incriminating information.
Looking at Draco, it didn't seem like he'd noticed anything on them and the angle was wrong, so maybe they were safe for now. He'd have to work out a way to burn them or something before they got to the castle. Maybe get Hermione to work a fire spell; Incendio was a First Year spell and she'd already read the book, shouldn't be an issue. Get a bin and burn them in the bathroom or something. He'd have to ask Hermione about it after Draco left.
Blinking slowly, Harry realized that he'd left Draco with his hand hanging out for almost a minute now, just staring blankly at, or rather through, the increasingly red-faced boy. Harry had been thinking about other things and had just sat there with a blank look on his face this whole time. Draco's hand dropped to his side at last, both hands now clenched into fists.
"Well, that wasn't what I meant to do. But why not?" Harry thought, continuing to stare at a point slightly behind Draco's head. "I'm an adult this time – no reason to let this little shite try to intimidate me."
After a few more seconds, Draco cracked. "What's wrong with you, Potter? Are you totally mental or being intentionally insulting? How dare you sit there with blood traitors and mudbloods ignoring me, Draco Malfoy?" he demanded, red-faced and furious. Ron growled at this but still didn't say anything, also looking to see what Harry was doing. Draco's goons were just standing there, confused. Harry wasn't fighting back or even saying anything at all and they weren't trained on how to deal with this passive reaction.
Harry sat perfectly relaxed, still expressionless, still staring through the white-haired boy. Draco was having a very hard time working out what to do. "I don't have to put up with this, Potter. My father is a very important person and I will not be insulted and ignored! He will hear of this!" he said, stomping back into the passageway and slamming the compartment door closed.
"Woah," Ron whispered, "that was seriously cold, Harry. Awesome." The redhead's eyebrows were raised all the way and he looked at Harry like he was a strange new type of sandwich. Harry shrugged but still smiled a little.
"Not nice," Hermione scolded him with her Professor voice. "But, he was also being mean. That mud-word he used was extremely rude, I assume?" she asked, looking at Ron and Neville.
Neville looked really uncomfortable but didn't say anything, his face bright-red. Ron clenched his jaw but responded, glaring at his shoes. "Yeah, it's basically saying what it sounds like: your blood is bad. Stupid idiots think because your parents are muggles, they aren't much better than animals and neither are their kids. You're a witch, Hermione, simple as that. The rest doesn't matter, at least to people who aren't total gits."
Her Professor facade cracked a little, a tiny smile touched her lips and her eyes shined, then Hermione swallowed reflexively and put her cover persona back in place firmly.
"Thank you Ron, that was very informative," she said archly. Harry was still trying to stay out of it but couldn't help grinning. Neville looked relieved and Ron embarrassed but everyone was finally able to relax a bit.
Getting a ton of snacks from the cart lady later improved everyone's mood (well, not that much Hermione's – her parents being dentists had warped her irreversibly) and they spent a few minutes chatting about their families. As Harry knew now that simple charms kept magicals teeth perfect for life (and because he didn't care) he stuffed his face while they talked.
Mostly Ron and Hermione did the talking as Harry wouldn't say anything about the Dursleys except that they hated magic and were awful and Neville only talked about his Gran and didn't seem to want to bring up what Harry already knew about his parents. No one asked Harry about his parents, for obvious reasons. After a bit, Harry tried to change topics.
"Hey, Ron? Which House are you going to be in?" he asked the redhead.
"Gryffindor, of course!" Ron said. "All my brothers went there and it's a family tradition I guess. You'll end up there too, I'm sure," he said, not sounding entirely convinced. Harry frowned briefly, wondering if he and Hermione were giving off Ravenclaw vibes or something.
"Yeah, I think so," Harry said. "I heard...I heard my mom and dad were in Gryffindor. So I think that's where I want to go."
"This is it," he thought, feeding them the information to try and ensure his plan worked.
"I heard you can ask to go into a specific House when you're sorted," he said, casually, "and they usually let you. You have to be firm about it, because they might try to talk you into going somewhere else. I was just thinking it would be really great if we all ended up in the same House." All three of the others perked up at that, then looked thoughtful, still munching on snacks.
Later during the unending train ride, Neville and Ron were bravely trying to play another game of Exploding Snap while half-asleep when Harry once again nudged Hermione and showed her his notepad. He needed to make sure of this.
Hey, Hermione!
She quickly grabbed her notepad and wrote back:
Yes Harry?
He scribbled quickly and she read as he went:
I know you've read about the houses and I wanted to make sure you didn't think Ravenclaw was a better one. I need you near me, especially with this strange problem I'm having with my magic. If you were in another House, we'd only be able to meet in the library or in free time on the weekends and there would be a good chance we wouldn't be in the same classes.
Mind visibly racing, Hermione responded:
Well, I had thought about Ravenclaw. I hear they appreciate knowledge and learning more than the other Houses. Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, though, and he is a great wizard. I'd like to be like him some day.
Here, Hermione bit her lower lip and looked hesitant before continuing.
But most of all, I want to be in the same House as you, Harry. And I meant what I said. I do want to be your friend. I haven't had any friends before and you are the most interesting person I've ever met. Not like other kids my age.
Glaring briefly at Neville and especially Ron, she kept writing.
Which is something I was wandering about. Tell me, how old are you, really? What year were you in?
"Shit," Harry thought, "I hoped this wouldn't come up until later." He didn't want to discuss it but felt he had to now that she'd asked.
It is complicated. My sixth year was screwed up and I never really finished my last year of school, but I fought Voldemort for 15 years after that. I was just past my 31st birthday when I was sent back.
Hermione's eyes grew wide and she started to stare at him but quickly ducked her head when he looked over at her. She'd abandoned the notepad and was twisting her hands in her skirt, hiding her face behind her hair.
Looking over at the others, Harry saw both Neville and Ron almost nodding off, so he took a risk and reached over to gently shake her shoulder. She flinched a little but looked up again with scared eyes. He motioned to the door with his head then got up and quietly left the compartment. Ron and Neville didn't seem to notice. He waited in the hall until Hermione finally joined him, almost a minute later.
Glancing up and down the corridor, Harry checked to see if they were alone. With the noise of the train and the doors to all the other compartments closed, they should be private enough for a short conversation. Distracted for a second, Harry noticed again that Hermione was actually a little taller than he was at this age, something he'd almost forgotten. Still looking guiltily at the floor, she stood against the door to their compartment like she really didn't want to be there.
"Okay, what is it Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, startling her. She mumbled something he couldn't her over the train. He took her arm and pull her away from the door, further down the corridor.
"This should be fine, no one will hear us. What's the matter?" he asked.
"I didn't know," she whispered.
"Know what?"
"That you were actually an adult. I thought you were almost our age, like 15 or 16 maybe. That you'd gone back in time while you were at school," she whined.
"I don't understand, how does that matter?"
She looked at him like he was crazy. "You've an adult, Har- Mr. Potter. I'm just a kid and here I am acting like you're my age. If you were only a little older than me, that might work. But you're as old as teachers, as my parents. I can't believe I acted that way around you, Mr. Potter," she said, burying her face in her hands. "You must think I'm awful and disrespectful and a silly little girl now."
Finally understanding what was going on, Harry sighed deeply. "Hermione, no. Of course I don't think that. Look," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, "I knew you, back in my time, since this day, today." He frowned, realizing that didn't make any sense, and tried again.
"That was almost total twaddle, sorry. We were the same age. I went to Hogwarts with you. I grew up with you. I was a good friend of yours and I hope to be again. I didn't think of you like that before and I certainly don't now."
She looked up at him again, hope in her shining eyes. Smiling reassuringly, he gently squeezed her shoulder. "My first time at Hogwarts, I was a scared little kid and my life had been rather horrible up to that point. Now I have more...life experience than that young boy did. But I'm still excited to be going to Hogwarts, even though I know most of the lessons through Sixth Year – well, at least for my electives. I wasn't a model student back then, so I'm sure there are many more things for me to learn. But that isn't the real reason I'm looking forward to going to school again. What I'm really looking forward to at Hogwarts is a chance to see old friends and get to know them all over again."
She was still shaking a little but wasn't about to start crying now. He could see she was going to give him a ribs-crushing hug at any moment, so he simply gave in and let it happen. Stopping himself from frowning again, he wondered how much damage that friendless month had done to her during his previous life at Hogwarts. Holding an 11-year-old Hermione as she barely kept it together, he thought dark thoughts about preteens.
He knew it wasn't as bad, physically, as Harry had suffered at the hands of his cousin and so-called guardians, but the psychological torture must have been intense. This only reinforced Harry's long-held opinion that all little kids were crueler and more psychopathic than even Voldemort – strangely, an opinion which he had founded sort of backed up in scientific studies in some of the psychology books he'd read in the last month.
Finding himself unable to practice magic for a month until starting (again) at Hogwarts, Harry had sought out something useful he could do, something to help his old (and now new again) friends. Thinking back to how strange they had been when he'd met them, he realized that many of them and their parents had major psychological issues, some issues he later found out only soldiers and police usually had in the so-called civilized nations and refugees and child soldiers had in worse-off locations.
And why wouldn't they: parents dead or magically tortured into insanity, extended family killed or driven out of Great Britain, friends, loved ones, and strangers murdered in front of them in the streets of Diagon Alley; anyone would have unresolved issues after that.
He couldn't remember hearing of any of his friends ever getting psychological help – Harry certainly hadn't ever received such help himself at Hogwarts. Mind Healers were rare, even in this prewar period, and most were dedicated to curing magically induced mental issues, not "mere" childhood issues – something that was barely recognized in the wizarding world – let alone PTSD or other trauma-related syndromes.
After seeing how strongly Dumbledore had reacted to (he assumed) discovering Harry's abuse at the hands of his so-called guardians, Harry had thought it might be a higher priority to find some basic muggle books on the subject of both child abuse and the kind of trauma survivors of Death Eater attacks would have. Last time at Hogwarts, it seemed like Dumbledore had just shrugged off most of the issues Harry had. Maybe the old man hadn't realized the depths of the abuse he'd suffered or just assumed he was a drama queen, but this time the old wizard had seemed ready to kill his muggle relatives because of what he'd found out.
Perhaps Dumbledore had had more experience with this kind of abuse than Harry knew. He had only vague recollections of the old wizard's family from some research he'd done after the man's death; a long-dead sister, a father who'd died in Azkaban, and an estranged brother was all he'd found. For whatever reason, Dumbledore's reaction had seriously surprised Harry.
Before, he'd practically been told to "man up" and get over his issues by any adults he'd complained to. All the bullying his friends had suffered had gone practically unpunished. No one had even tried to comfort them, the victims. Remembering how badly his own teenage years had gone, the bursts of uncontrollable anger and the damage his Accidental Magic had done, Harry sarcastically thought to himself that that might have been the wrong approach. So he went looking in the muggle world for answers.
The librarians had looked at him a little strangely when he'd asked for their help finding the books, but assisted the mature-acting boy after he'd (honestly) said he was looking for books on the subject to help some of his friends. Normally, he knew such a flimsy excuse and the topic itself would draw more attention, but the Charms Dumbledore had placed on him seemed to make any and all muggle adults less likely to interact with Harry – most seemed to not notice him unless he directly asked something of them. His relatives had certainly ignored him like that. So his questions about books helping survivors of violence, death, and child abuse had gone relatively unnoticed.
The books he'd found had presented facts in such a way that even a non-professional like him would be able to understand. What he'd read suggested again that the issues both he and his friends and their families suffered from were worse than he'd originally thought. He concluded that the only real solution was professional help, from a combination of Mind Healers and muggle therapy.
This was a type of healing he'd seen regularly given to soldiers from the UN Expeditionary Forces, troops who had landed in mainland Europe late in the war after Voldemort had finally struck-out against countries like France, Belgium, and Germany, following his consolidation of power in Great Britain.
Harry had assisted in several missions, embedded as a native information source for forces attempting to retake the magically occupied island nation. He had seen that the Americans especially had ensured their fighting men and women were given the help they needed to deal with the worst battlefields humanity had ever encountered, magical and muggle weapons combining into horrors never before seen. That the UN forces had been fighting a losing battle from day one only increased the need for such help.
Both the muggle and magical elements, which had worked together openly after the shattering of the Statute of Secrecy on a global scale, had experienced grueling combat and come out the other side of those encounters with major mental issues. Horrible dreams, insomnia, flashbacks, panic attacks, paranoia, all were treated with both magical and muggle techniques to heal the mind.
The idea that many of his friends had been suffering from these same problems made him burn with anger. Someone should have helped them, he thought. Adults in the magical world had much to answer for. Maybe Harry could somehow get at least the children to muggle experts.
Which brought him back to his current situation, trying to comfort his new-again muggle raised friend. This was something a little less serious than witnessing murder at age six, but much more common. She'd been different and the demon-spawn known as normal children had mauled her for it, possibly driven to greater depths by some kind of "manaphobia." All muggle-born had to deal with this very specific way of being different, with no help from the magical world until 11. Almost forever as children saw such things.
It seemed like muggle kids could sense magical kids, and usually reacted very poorly. Even without Accidental Magic to draw attention, they were able to see something was different with the young witches and wizards and shunned them, at best. Dudley leading his torture squad had only focused the bullying and driven off less dedicated harassment. Harry was sure others would have taken the fat boy's place, given the chance.
Harry could almost agree with Salazar on how harmful muggles were to young magicals, as all his muggle-born friends had similar stories to Harry's. Behind the pure-blood propaganda, what the "Dark" founder had wanted was no muggle raised magicals at all, with any muggle-born fostered with full or half-blood families and raised in the magical world instead of the muggle from birth.
His objection to those raised outside the magical world going to Hogwarts was obvious: until they were of school age, those children had to remain ignorant of magic along with their parents. Thus, they would enter the school at a serious disadvantage, taking up space that could have been used to educate those raised in the magical world, those who would almost always do better because of that advantage. This was in addition to the issues of keeping the magical world hidden with two muggles added to the secret per muggle-raised Hogwarts student and the issues those children would have from being forced to live in the muggle world for 11 years. Waiting until their Hogwarts letter arrived was pure torture for most of them and Hermione was certainly no exception.
His first time through, he'd been no help to her. He'd practically ignored Hermione's feelings until the troll incident and that entire time she must have been suffering. After joining a fantastic new world literally full of magic, something she'd taken as her last hope for happiness, she had still found no comfort. Brilliantly skillful in this new ability she was again shunned by her peers, her deeper problems again ignored by her teachers. She must have been so excited getting on the train and so disappointed when everyone at her new school treated her as bad or worse than before.
Grimly smiling, he gently hugged his old friend, young again, and helped her return to their compartment. They had much to discuss, he had magical knowledge to share and, most importantly, books with which to distract her. She would still be twitchy from previous bullying and related ostracization, but he'd do his damnedest to make sure she'd never be so alone again. She'd never be forgotten and left crying in a bathroom all afternoon and god help Ron if he so much as opened his fucking mouth this Halloween.
Being awake during the entirety of the Hogwarts Express train ride was a lot less boring than Harry had anticipated. Even though Neville and Ron quickly drifted off into serial naps, Hermione kept raiding his trunk for new books, flipping through them quickly one after another. She'd made it to the Third Year Charms book by the time they'd started to slow down for Hogsmeade station. Everyone rushed to put on their robes, with Hermione standing in the corridor while the others changed.
After putting Harry's books back into his trunk (Hermione had to take that over, using some secret female packing strategy to stuff it all back in) they found themselves some of the last to leave the train. The huge voice of the half-giant Hagrid (Harry had to remind himself that was again a secret now) called them to the boats with the rest of the first years. Seeing the castle whole again was almost as good as seeing it for the first time. The last time Harry had seen it, it was still burning with Fiendfyre after Voldemort's final attack, not a tower or wall still standing.
Now it was lit with joyful lights, waiting for them to arrive to start the feast. The four new friends found a boat of their own and the group started out to the castle. Hermione kept up a constant barrage of questions, whispered just over the sound of the boats gliding over the lake, directly into Harry ear. The topics covered the lake, the castle, Hogsmeade, Hagrid, and Harry himself. She was careful not to ask anything related to his future knowledge, but Ron and Neville still gave them strange looks at her questions and his whispered replies.
Piling out of the boats, the scared looking little kids were handed off to McGonagall, who lead them through the castle to just by the Great Hall. The Head of Gryffindor House briefly looked the young students over with a slightly sour look on her face. When her eyes met Harry's, she flinched slightly and quickly moved on, telling them to wait until she came back to lead them to the Sorting, the feast to follow immediately after.
"That was strange," he thought. "Wonder why she reacted that way. She obviously recognized me. Hard to miss the scar. But that wasn't her reaction last time."
Standing and waiting with his four friends for her to return, he saw Draco Malfoy and his goons (predictably) approaching again. He decided on the same strategy as before – no reason to change what was working. He whispered to Hermione, "Whatever he says, don't react. Let me try something. Pass it on to the others." She gave him an annoyed look but nudged Ron and started to whisper at him. Harry slide forward a little so he was slightly in front of his friends and waited, not yet looking directly at the blond idiot.
"Potter," Draco sneered at them, "seems you still have poor taste in your associates. I once again recommend you dump the penniless redhead, the mudblood wench, and the squib and consider an entirely better class of friends. People such as myself." He grinned as if he'd said something both brilliant and amusing.
Harry once again simply stared at Malfoy with a completely blank face. Behind him, Ron had started to say something but Hermione interrupted in a hurried whisper that shut him up again. Neville wouldn't have said anything anyway and was simply watching along with most of the waiting children.
"What is this? Are you both stupid and mute? Answer me when I talk to you!" Draco demanded, face growing redder by the second. Harry simple stared through the moron's head, face still expressionless, but body loose and ready in case the mouth-breather did something extra stupid.
His magic might be malfunctioning but, even with an 11-year-old's body, Harry could still take him easily. He'd hung out with US Special Forces troops for years and had picked up some basic moves in return for patching up their minor training scrapes with his semi-competent Healing magic. No pure-blood ever learned real, physical fighting techniques and, even at 11, constant chores had left Harry wiry and tough, if a little skinny from poor nourishment. Draco would be demolished in seconds.
Starting to open his mouth again, Malfoy was interrupted by McGonagall returning to take them to the Sorting. Whispering reminders to Neville and Ron to be calm and insist immediately they be put in Gryffindor, he followed the group from near the back. Briefly squeezing Hermione's hand, he smiled and repeated his advice, adding, "It'll be fine. Nothing to worry about, just make sure to ask for Gryffindor and we'll talk again after the feast."
The Great Hall was as impressive as he remembered, the ceiling a beautiful starry night sky. All the tables were full of older students, an uncomfortable number of which he remembered dying during the war. Many of those at the Slytherin table had joined the Death Eaters but older pure-blood students from all Houses joined what looked like the winning side eventually. Fewer Gryffindors than others, obviously, but Wormtail had a fair number of young imitators from the House of the Lion.
After the same strange song it had sung the first time, the Hat and McGonagall started the Sorting. All the first years looked so young and tiny to him now, even more so as they took their turn to sit on the stool and wear the Hat. Harry didn't remember all the assignments from last time, but everyone seemed to be getting sorted the same way. Made sense. He hadn't interacted with anyone but his old friends and they were all going into Gryffindor anyway, the same as last time.
He didn't exactly remember, but it seemed like Hermione spent a little longer under the Hat than she had the first time. Long enough that her Sorting had been the longest up to that point by far, but not long enough that people started whispering. She looked extremely pale and shaky as she took her seat at Gryffindor table to modest cheers from the Lions. He'd have to ask her about what had happened later.
Neville also seemed to take a slightly longer time than the others, but was still sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy was, of course, almost instantly sorted into Slytherin. Soon they started the P's (Parkinson, Patil times two, Perks) and the room started getting much quieter, with almost no cheers between the Hat's pronouncements. Harry was a little more aware of his surroundings this time, being about 80% less terrified, and saw many older students trying to spot the famous Harry Potter among the Firsties, their necks craning to get a better view. The teachers at the main table had apparently already spotted him and their occasional quick glances at him were extremely unsettling.
McGonagall was prune-faced and still busy with the Sorting, her attention entirely on her job (as usual), but two of Heads of Houses had strange emotions cross their faces every time they looked at him, similar to McGonagall when she'd met them after the boat ride. Was it...sadness and pity? That was something else new. Last time, they had all been pleased and excited to see him. More changes because of Dumbledore, perhaps. The last Head of House, Snape, was the oddest. Instead of the sneers Harry remembered, his face was entirely blank and he simply stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, unmoving and stiff in his chair.
Seeing Quirrell sitting there fidgeting nervously with his tableware next to Snape made him quickly look away – Harry wasn't really looking forward to challenging his mental defenses against Voldemort's shade so soon, so he carefully avoided eye contact with either the front or back of his head. He'd take care of that snaky bastard soon enough.
And then it was suddenly Harry's turn. He realized he'd been standing there for several seconds after his name had been called and lurched into motion, recovering quickly and walking steadily toward the stool. McGonagall seemed to control her features carefully as he glanced back and up at her, only slightly twitching as she stood behind him and watched as he dropped the Hat onto his head.
"Oh ho, what do we have here?" Harry heard echoing through his mind. Taking a deep breath, he kept his cool and decided to test his luck a little.
"Uh, hello," he replied. "I've heard good things about Gryffindor, so I'd really like to go there with my friends."
"Yeah, yeah, we both know it won't be that straight forward," the Hat responded.
Harry's blood froze. Was this the Slytherin thing again? Was Voldemort's soul fragment in his head a more powerful factor with his own magic broken? He had expected the Hat to notice something strange about him, but if his Cursed Scar didn't twig it last time, what was happening this time? Maybe it was something else?
"We both know you've been sorted before." the Hat said next, Harry quietly panicking at the unexpected pronouncement. It was quiet for the longest time, then the Hat said, "Strange. You're not disguised or Polyjuiced or something like that, yet you have the mind of an adult. No childlike wonder or confusion here. I don't remember much about previous Sortings, but I would remember something like this happening before.
"Hmm. Yes, some hardening of the heart, maybe from the sad things that sometimes happen in the worst families. But so long ago, almost a forgotten memory despite the pain. The rest is more like a veteran warrior, used to death and loss. I've seen the worst damage caused by war to young kids in my days, some even in this year's Sorting, but nothing like this.
"But none of that really matters, because as I've said, you have already been Sorted."
Harry wasn't too proud to admit to himself that he totally panicked after hearing that. Trying to mount a defense, anything to keep this disaster from ruining his plans, he decided to just ask.
"I don't understand. Why do you think I've been Sorted?"
The Hat sighed in his mind. "Well this is all most unusual, so why not. I'll explain the secrets of the Sorting to you. I would ask that you not tell anyone else, but I'm sure you would anyway if it was to help you save lives. I can see that clearly enough. Just don't release this secret without good cause."
Harry quickly nodded his head. He realized this was really dragging on, students starting to look uneasy at the amount of time this was taking. He was well on his way to challenging the record for longest Sorting for the second time.
"Well, the first thing you should know, young Gryffindor – yes, I can tell that I where you were sorted, for reasons I'll soon explain – is that there are certain Laws, both magical and legal governing the creation and use of magical Artifacts that have both Sentience and Mental Magical abilities.
"First, the magical Law: no Sentient Artifact can possibly be made to act outside specific Rules, set when the Magic is laid down. If you could actually figure out what rules a human mind runs on, you could make a magical object indistinguishable from a human's mind. Otherwise, the magical object will be much more limited. I, for example, can only assist in Sorting students and advising those associated with Hogwarts in related student issues. Also, I have a second task which Godric himself secretly put into me shortly before his death. I will not discuss that second task for my own reasons, do not even ask.
"Second, the legal status of Mental Magic Artifacts: no such item is allowed to report results of it's Legilimency outside of registered uses. These legal limitations are strongly guarded – Hit Wizards responding to unregistered use of Mental Magic Artifacts tend to curse a lot first and ask questions of anything still capable of rational thought later.
"If I were to report thoughts of students or attempt to read and report thoughts at any time other than the Sorting, I would be destroyed, Founder's artifact or not, and anyone trying to use me for that purpose would end up in Azkaban for life. The use of such is also not allowed in trials or questioning suspects. It is too easy to influence most items that can read minds, changing their reported results – I am, of course, of such power as to be beyond any corruption." The Hat seemed more than a little smug at that statement.
This was all news to Harry. He'd never suspected anything like this before but it made sense. Why wouldn't everyone have magical, mind-reading hats otherwise? That second task sounded a lot like delivering Godric's sword to someone worthy, something that had saved Harry's life when he'd been fighting the basilisk.
"Oh Great Sorting Hat," Harry started.
The Hat interrupted him immediately, "Seriously?"
"Okay, fine. What you are trying to say is, you won't tell anyone about it if I tell you why I show up as already sorted?"
"Correct, child."
"Can't you simply read my mind and find out?" Harry asked.
"Nope, doesn't work that way. I can't actually read that kind of information, just general emotions and feelings and such, including emotional histories of people who wear me. You know, that touchy-feely kind of stuff that kids need help with and adults lie about," the Hat replied.
"Then how do you know I was sorted? Can you tell me?"
The hat sighed again in his mind. "Sure, why not. I put a magical mark on everyone I've ever sorted, indicating which House they were sorted into. It is only active and detectable when someone is inside Hogwarts, however, and most of the magic that was designed to take advantage of this mark has eroded or been lost over the years.
"Originally, the House dorms and some other locations and items were automatically set to work only for students belonging to the correct House. Now, the original locations are no longer used as dorms and the magic is replaced with spoken passwords and such. But the original magic is still applied to every student.
"Also, a minor mental compulsion is put on the child to keep details of the Sorting a secret and keep them from discussing it with anyone who hasn't gone to Hogwarts. The Sorting Song I sing is actually a cover for this Charm being cast over all the new first year students. It is also when I do the initial reading on new students, to determine where they see themselves going and how they feel about it. I count how many people have firm choices and which can be Sorted to fill quotas for House slots. But the secrecy charm is the most delicate part.
"This powerful and ancient magic, which is completely safe to use on children by the way, is effective even over the long-term. If someone tried to force a Hogwarts student to tell the secret it wouldn't protect it, but anything short of a life-and-death situation would find them choosing to simply not say anything about me. This is why one can't tell other people about how the Sorting works, at least the exact details, like what magical object is used. Otherwise, every student (except for the muggle-raised) would know how it works before their First Year. Every book on Hogwarts would have the details and people might try to manipulate me."
Harry was stunned and confused. "This is a lot to take in, Hat." he finally thought. "Also, a little creepy. But sure, that makes sense."
"Well, while I'm sharing, did you know the Houses weren't originally anything but color-coded dorms?" the Hat said. Harry was getting tired of surprises and realized that his Sorting was really dragging on, but this information was literally priceless.
"No, Hat, I didn't. What exactly does that mean?" he replied.
"It's like this, Harry: the Founders didn't actually base the Houses on attributes they liked or animals representing them, or even their names. It was simply based on colors they all picked out: Red, Yellow, Blue, and Green. Not even their favorite colors. Those were the original names of the Houses, but soon after their deaths people started trying to associate attitudes and names with the Houses. First, the Founders' names replaced the colors as House names, then, a few hundred years later, the animals were added.
"It is rather sad, actually. The Founders knew that factionalization was dangerous, so the colors were simply ways to tell the Houses apart. Even Salazar agreed, at the time. They originally even shared a single, large set of common rooms as well has having separate, color-coded dorms. The only other things the colors were used for was the House points system, seating arrangements, a few enchanted items, and inner-house sports teams. Ever wonder why the current dorm locations are kind of strange, with two in towers, one in a subbasement and one in the dungeons? Those are not the original locations, which are much, much larger. They moved them sometime in the 1500s and again in the late 1700s. Current student populations are at an all time low, and they've only been shrinking for the last two hundred years or so.
"Harry, the very idea that young children should be split into groups based on how seemingly inquisitive or ambitious they are or could be is quite insane. I certainly can't tell the future and the concept that there will be even near an equal number of loyal or brave students ever year is absurd. I was originally enchanted simply to make sure friends and relations weren't split between Houses unnecessarily and that all the Houses ended up close to numerically equal. If you wanted into Red House and it wasn't full, I'd let you sort into it. If your childhood bully was in Blue, I wouldn't sort you into Blue House. Do you seriously think someone like Neville is a perfect Gryffindor, based on the traits ascribed to it? Consider that he might simply have wanted to be with you and his other friends!
"This original system was changed and corrupted when the Houses were renamed and reinvented as strange trait-based groups. I still ignore it, for the most part, but with the changes in student dorms and extreme factional violence, especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I have had to make sure someone won't get too badly bullied by their peers. A child who wasn't seen as brave enough would get bullied in Gryffindor, for example, but some families are now known for being in a certain House and would have even worse issues if they weren't sorted as tradition dictated. For example, putting a Weasley boy into Slytherin would be like throwing chum to the sharks, even if the child was, say, very ambitious. Not that I'm saying anything about a boy, specifically, not even one I'm about to sort. Just a hypothetical example. Makes it hard when I can't put many muggle-born or even half-bloods into Slytherin. More of them every year who can afford the tuition. So anyway, those House traits are a self-fulfilling and self-imposed structure, one the Founders never intended."
"Woah, wait a second," Harry said, mind churning, "does that mean Draco Malfoy wasn't put in Slytherin so quick because he's an evil git, but because you needed to fill the Green House quota of pure-bloods? And I guess because he really, really wanted to be sorted that way?"
"I can't comment on other student's Sorting results like that, but the situation you describe is certainly possible, even likely," the Hat replied evasively.
"But this is taking so long that people are starting to get worried. Why don't you tell me why you've already been sorted and then I can decide whether you are a threat to Hogwarts that needs to be magically restrained while the proper authorities are called," the Hat finished in a suddenly serious tone, obviously no longer playful or teasing.
Mouth dry, Harry quickly decided nothing short of the truth would work here. Licking his lips reflexively, he concentrated carefully on his mental link with the Hat. "Well, uh, yeah. So. There was this ritual and I went back in time and-" Harry started.
"Welp, that's enough for me, shut up now thanks," the Hat quickly interrupted.
Blinking slowly, Harry once again considered how surreal his life was.
"Wait, wait, wait. Seconds ago, you were threatening me with the Aurors to get me to tell you about why I'd already been sorted, but now you don't want to know anything?" he asked, incredulous.
"Harry, really not going to go into detail, but that's right. Magically messing around with time and then actually telling a creature of pure magic about it is a very, very bad idea. Worse than meeting yourself, which by the way you absolutely shouldn't try to do. And if it is possible that might happen, don't even think about trying to tell me about how you are keeping it from happening. Look, I'm going to sort you immediately, just saying where you've already been placed. Can't really do otherwise, at this point. So you go to Red-"
"No, no, wait! Please! I need to make sure you sort a Firstie next year, Luna Lovegood, into Gryffindor! She got horribly bullied in Ravenclaw last time and she is, was, argh...she's a good friend of mine! Just telling you about that should be enough to-"
"GREAT. FINE. SHUT UP. Merlin, I really hope you don't destroy all of...what did that one muggle-born kid call it? The theological physicalist or whatever? Blue House or Ravenclaw sorted, named...uhhh, Hawks? Went back to muggle college for his degree and post-grad stuff. Dumbledore was so proud of him. Then, just before the war, a Dark wizard cursed him, leaving him in one of those wheeliechairs, or whatever muggles call it. Has to talk with a muggle device now but still does such great work. Was the thing called...place-time? Everything, including yesterday's kitchen sink, boom. Saw stuff about it from that bushy...errr...one of the other students this year. She wouldn't shut up about it. Don't do it is my point. Anyway, have fun doing whatever and stay out of trouble in GRYFFINDOR."
Sweat was slick on Harry's forehead and his legs shook as he stood up and removed the Hat. McGonagall gingerly took it from Harry and turned it over and around in her hands, staring at it for a while. Harry stumbled to the Gryffindor table, taking a few steps before the Weasley twins, the first to recover, shouted, "WE GOT POTTER!" and the entire Gryffindor table exploded in cheers.
Hermione and Neville were saving him a sport between them which he dragged himself toward as the entire table stared at him and cheered. His two friends were near fainting with stress but were also absurdly relived looking. Hermione was also now just starting to appear annoyed at him, as if it was his fault he'd taken almost 10 minutes to be sorted. Neville just seemed glad it was over.
Hermione immediately started whispering questions into his ear again, which made some of the older students raise their eyebrows at the two Firsties apparently necking right in the middle of the Great Hall. Ron had been quickly sorted and was now sitting with the twins across from Harry, practically bouncing out of his seat with joy. Thankfully, the food appeared almost immediately after Dumbledore's strange speech, which Harry missed entirely this time because Hermione's superbrain could apparently whisper questions in his ear while also listening to the ancient wizard.
As good as his own cooking had been over the last month, nothing satisfied like a Hogwarts feast. Harry enjoyed himself while dodging or ignoring the more serious questions of his fellow Housemates, trying to keep in mind how little he should know about the wizarding world at this point. Attempting to be a little more sociable and a little less like the emotionally damaged boy he'd been during his first time through this year, he tried to engage in conversation with some of the older students he'd never interacted with previously. He had limited success but at least now they wouldn't think he was quietly plotting their doom or something.
The meal went by in a joyful flash, but when dessert was about to be served Harry's Teacher Sense started tingling. Sure enough, McGonagall was just about to sneak up behind him and grumble something. Harry turned and smiled at her and she paused, a worried look crossing her face, then continued walking over to Harry's place at the table.
"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster wishes to meet with you immediately after the feast is over. Please wait for me outside the Great Hall once everyone is dismissed and I will take you to his office. I have already informed your House's Prefects of this so they know not to expect you until later."
"Got it, Professor. I'll wait for you there," Harry chirped. Nodding once, she turned and quickly walked back to the teachers' table. Trying to avoid the Headmaster's gaze, she sat and stared at her folded hands.
"Minerva? How...how did he seem?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Clenching fingers together until her knuckles turned white, she quietly growled back, "He seemed well, Albus. Better than we could possible deserve."
Sitting in Dumbledore's office again was both familiar and strangely different. Harry was in a large, overstuffed chair with his feet swinging, staring at all the strange clicking, swinging, blooping, glowing, and humming devices that covered the Headmaster's office. McGonagall had given no hint about the topic of the meeting as she led him to the gargoyles (password for the day: "sweetroll") and the Headmaster hadn't looked up from his paperwork until Harry was seated along with McGonagall. When he did, it was without his usual twinkle; instead he appeared to have rings under his eyes and a sad smile on his face.
"Mr. Potter, welcome to Hogwarts," he said gently.
Slightly unnerved, Harry gulped and tried to remember to talk like an 11-year-old. "T-thank you Headmaster. I'm, uh, very glad to be here." Harry replied, uneasily.
The Headmaster peered at him owlishly for a few seconds, then relaxed visibly. "Good, good. Well young Harry – may I call you Harry?" he asked.
"Yes, of course Headmaster," he quickly replied.
"Please Harry, at least call me Professor Dumbledore. I fondly remember my days as a teacher and would rather be reminded of that than the paperwork that currently collects on my desk as Headmaster."
"I understand, Professor," Harry said with a grin.
"It is getting late, Harry," Dumbledore said, a small twinkle returning to his eyes. "I will be brief so that all the old people can get to bed on time. What the young people decide to do is, of course, between them and their Heads of House." McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, glaring at Dumbledore.
"Ah, yes, quite right," he said, smiling quietly now. "Harry, I am sure you enjoyed your time in the hospital wing as much as any of our students but it is necessary for you to receive the next in a series of checkups with our Healer. Tomorrow after classes, we will need you to see Madam Pomfrey for an extensive series of medical tests. This will be entirely painless but does involve an overnight stay."
Harry's mind spun. There was something obviously wrong with his magic. Trying that simple spell had left him incredibly tired and he was only now recovering. It hadn't even worked and he still felt a little light headed. Maybe a visit to the hospital wing would come up with some answers.
"Okay, Professor. I'll check in with her right after classes," Harry said, then almost slapped himself for forgetting he wasn't supposed to know his way around. "I, uhh, think I remember where it is from last time."
Dumbledore smiled at him. "I'm sure, Harry, but make sure to ask a Prefect if you get lost. Though getting lost will certainly be a major pastime for first year students this year, as is usual, it wouldn't do to keep Madam Pomfrey waiting."
"Well," Dumbledore said, slightly more tense than before, "one last thing young Harry: this Wednesday after classes there will be a different sort of Healer in the hospital wing, one I hope you'll agree to talk to. Her name is Doctor Tonks and she is a Mind Healer."
Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at some spinny thing on a corner of his desk. "Allow me to explain. As a Healer like Madam Pomfrey works on the wounds of the body, a Mind Healer works on the wounds of the soul. Usually, she heals the damage done by magical spells that target one's mind or soul, but sometimes...sometimes bad things happen, events that are entirely mundane, that cause similar injuries.
"Words have Power, Harry, and she is skilled at listening to the words people use. Understanding comes from this and Doctor Tonks uses her skills and this greater understanding to help people and heal such hurts."
Turning back to Harry with a sad look in his eyes, Dumbledore continued, "I would like you to spend some time talking with her this Wednesday after classes, and for the next few days after that. If you feel uncomfortable talking to Doctor Tonks, you do not have to continue seeing her. But I would like you to consider at least giving what she has to offer a chance, even if it only turns out to be a kind ear to talk to about your classes or your favorite type of sandwich meat.
"Her specialty is listening, after all, and we need to make sure she feels appreciated." Here the corners of his mouth turned up, but he didn't really smile.
This was exactly what his friends needed, Harry realized. He had no illusions about his screwed up psyche being fixed this way, but maybe he could wrangle it into sessions for Neville or Hermione. Some of the older students he knew less well were missing parents or other relatives and most of the adults had seen some awful stuff.
Maybe he could somehow "fake" getting better. Having the Boy-Who-Lived helped this way by a Mind Healer might make it a more popular treatment option. Harry realized what the Daily Prophet would likely do once it got out that he was being treated for "madness" with a Mind Healer. The headlines almost wrote themselves. No matter, it was worth it for his friends. Not trusting his voice, Harry simply nodded slowly.
In a split second decision, Harry decided to share his latest magical health incident. "Professor Dumbledore, I...I had another episode on the train."
Instantly looking worried, Dumbledore's face fell. McGonagall leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, looking worried.
"I am so sorry to hear that, Harry," Dumbledore quickly said. "Could you tell us what happened?"
"Y-yes, Professor," Harry said. "Uh, I was trying to do a Levitation Charm to show my friends how it worked. And I did everything right but...the sock only twitched and then I felt really weak and sick and fell down. Uh, Hermione took care of making sure I didn't hurt myself but I couldn't get up for several minutes. I didn't pass out or, uhh, throw up like the other time and I was feeling a lot better by the time we got to the castle." He shifted uncomfortable in the chair, something about huge looming adults making his tiny child brain way more nervous than he really should be.
"I'm sorry, I really am," he continued. "I, err, didn't say anything before and maybe I should have but everything was so busy and exciting...but then you said I'd be going to the hospital wing and that reminded me, so..." He ran out of things to safely say, hoping that was enough and not too much at the same time. McGonagall was patting his arm comfortingly, her face scrunched up and lips pursed, obviously holding back some kind of scolding. Dumbledore nodded silently and relaxed slightly after listening to his explanation.
"I see, I see," Dumbledore said, nodding wisely. "Thank you for telling us, Harry. You are certainly not in any trouble. As I remember, I ran through the entire First Year Charms textbook on my first train ride to Hogwarts, casting one spell after another. This left me so entirely exhausted that I fell asleep in the clotted cream tureen during dessert at the Gryffindor table. My classmates teased me about that until Fourth Year, if I recall." Dumbledore seemed to realize he'd gotten off track and coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry would swear that McGonagall rolled her eyes.
Briefly looking at one of the strange spinning devices, Dumbledore smiled suddenly. "Good, good. Thank you for your time, Harry. We all have so little of it but it is always good to share it with a fine young man such as yourself. Well, you should hurry over to the hospital wing now. Madam Pomfrey would be quite upset with me if I made you wait until your scheduled checkup tomorrow after falling ill earlier. I certainly do not expect any problems so this is just to make sure. Minerva will escort you there and then back to your common room where I am sure your new Housemates are waiting to talk with you before heading off to bed."
"That was a strange thing to say," Harry thought. "How could he-"
Glancing at the odd nicknacks around the office, Harry realized that some of them must be monitoring student locations around the castle. Of course! If some bratty 16-year-olds could make a live map of Hogwarts in their spare time, of course the Headmaster would have something as good or better. That would explain how the Heads of House always seemed to be able to find misbehaving students, but only if it mattered enough for Dumbledore to be involved. Must not cover the Chamber or the Room of Requirements, though, same as the map. And it seemed, from what he said, that Hermione must be waiting for him in the Gryff's common room.
"Well then, Professor, I shouldn't keep them waiting. I'm sure everything is fine. I feel much better already," Harry said, getting up to follow McGonagall out of the Headmaster's office, a smile pasted on his face.
"If Dumbledore had something as good as the Marauder's Map, what about voice monitoring?" Harry thought, "Magical image recording? Spell monitoring or even mind reading devices?"
Walking to the magical spiral staircase, he realized he was hitting some kind of paranoia event horizon and seemed to be getting relentlessly sucked in. It was clear that either talking with Hermione in the common room or sneaking off with her weren't safe ways to discuss things. He couldn't even try for the Room of Requirements until he was sure he wasn't being watched.
He'd have to figure something else out, some way to safely answer her questions. And soon. She would not be pleased if they had to wait until this weekend or even a minute longer than necessary, and he knew he would suffer if he failed her.
His medical checkup had been inconclusive (as he expected) and he had simply been given a couple of nasty potions (also as he expected) and told in no uncertain terms to not cast any spells unless a teacher was present until tomorrow's more extensive exam.
McGonagall led him to the Gryffindor entrance, opened it (password: "courage and truth"), and gently pointed out the First Year boy's rooms. Waiting nervously until she left to move further into the room, he quickly became confused. He had expected the questions to start moments after he entered the common room. The lack of bushy-haired ambushers...worried him. There were a couple of older students taking advantage of their later curfews to catch up, snog quietly in a corner, or (for one studious Seventh Year) getting some early studying in, but otherwise the common room was quiet. What had Dumbledore seen? Maybe she had gotten tired of waiting.
Shrugging and thanking his lucky stars for the delay in his interrogation, Harry went up to the dorm rooms he so fondly remembered and got ready for bed. Seeing his roommates were already all asleep, he quietly closed his curtains, carefully adjusted his wand holster under his pajamas so it wouldn't pinch, and tried to drift off to sleep.
What seemed like ten seconds later, his bed shifted suddenly. He quietly inched his wand down his arm and cursed his inability to set up proper wards. He couldn't risk passing out and spending the next day in the hospital wing. Harry carefully kept his eyes closed and continued to pretend to sleep. Who could be after him now? Draco couldn't get in here – not yet anyway. He had avoided even looking at Quirrell at the feast earlier. Could he even get one spell off before whatever was wrong with him made him throw up?
"I can see you're awake, you know – one's breathing pattern changes slightly at arousal," the bushy-haired one whispered directly into his ear. Harry barely avoided screaming like a little girl and instead squeaked quietly.
"Interesting point not mentioned in Hogwarts, a History," she continued, speaking in one continuous stream without breathing, "one which I just found out from a Prefect today, is that while the girl's dorm stairs are warded against males entering (an alarm sounds in the Head of House's office and bedroom and the trespasser is physically thrown out, I am told) the boy's dorm has no such alarm, which is totally sexist if you ask me but I'm sure it was designed by someone who thought that equality was a couple of horizontal lines used in 'maths' and not something that women either had or deserved and based on what I've seen so far the entire wizarding world is in sore need of some woman's suffrage, which I don't know if it even happened in the wizarding world as apparently no one votes for the Minister for Magic, which is not a viable system of-" She was suddenly cut off as Harry put a hand over her mouth, opening his eyes with a wince. She was glaring at him already but wasn't struggling. Still, not a good sign.
Hermione had crawled onto his bed and was currently on all fours, leaning over next to his head, whispering up several doctoral theses into his ear. Her hair was now tickling his noise. "Hermione," he asked in a whisper, still covering her mouth, "what are you doing?" He took his hand away. She glared at him for a second before continuing.
"Oh, getting more information from you, of course," she said, looking incensed at his stupid question. "I assumed that common areas might be monitored by either teachers or Prefects, so meeting you here was the obvious solution."
"So, you don't see anything...improper about being in the boys dorm after curfew?" he asked with a grin, wondering where the rules lawyer he knew had gone. She was still self-aware enough to blush a little, it seemed.
"Harry! We're eleven. At least physically. Don't be obscene," she said, looking disappointed in him, still leaning on her elbows next to him and whispering inches away. "Anyway, it only says students have to be in bed in the dorms, not in their own, specific beds. Just 'in bed'. Maybe they later clarify what is expected for older students, but in the mean time: I am in the dorms. In. A bed. So hush." Harrumphing, she glared at him again.
"Okay, wow. So. How did you do it?" he asked.
"I bored them into inattention," she said, obviously proud of herself, "After you didn't show up after a while, I went to my room. And then I came back to the common room, wandered around some, and asked someone where I could get a glass of water. Then I came back again asked where the bathrooms were. Then again, and asked if there were extra pillows. By that point, all of the older students were annoyed with me and either pretending to be busy or had simply left. So the last time I just wandered around some and then hid behind a chair in the corner and waited. I saw you arrive and snuck up here after waiting long enough for you to get ready for bed. Figured someone might detect it if I tried any spells, so I didn't even try." She looked extremely pleased with herself, grinning widely at him.
"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, "But what about monitoring for voices in here?"
"Ah, glad you asked," she said, "Magical monitoring either works based on remote access to the audio in a room, in which case muffling the noise enough should work, or direct magical interaction with the people in the room. The second case would require a strong ward or privacy charm to defeat if it was targeted on a specific person, but I do not believe that kind of spell would be used on a school child for no reason." Here she paused.
"You didn't do anything to draw attention to you like that, did you Harry?" she asked crossly.
"No, nothing like that. It was just a meeting about my, err, health issues."
"Good. In any case, do you know how the laundry is done around here?" she asked. Harry blankly shook his head to that non sequitur. "Well, the clothes and sheets are magically cleaned. Like with non-magical laundry, this leaves a noticeable residue on the sheets and blankets. For places where medical magic is practiced, such as the hospital wing, everything is actually washed by hand to avoid this, it seems.
"I talked to a very helpful 5th year Prefect and a pair of red-headed twins – Ron's brothers, I think. Anyway, they seemed very interested in the questions and provided some very useful information on what that kind of magical residue might do to monitoring charms." Harry continued to look at her blankly. Hermione waited with bated breath.
"So?" he said, eventually. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "So, get under the magic-soaked covers so we can have an eavesdropper free conversation, Harry."
Both of them crawled under the blankets (amazing how many are needed when you are in a dank castle), Hermione lit the end of her wand with a quick spell, and they huddled up again. It was stuffy with Hermione's face inches from his and she had peppermint breath.
Harry immediately started explaining the year's known dangers to her before she tried to start a magicals radical privacy organization (first thought on horrible names in his head, Wizards/Witches Helping Improve Privacy Screens, or W.H.I.P.S. – he carefully didn't mentally explore why Hermione and whips seemed to spring to mind together so quickly).
Topics he covered included Quirrell and Voldemort's shade, teachers with mind-reading abilities, potions class and Snape, Blood Purists and bullies, dragon eggs, and what was really behind the third floor door.
Harry carefully explained how he thought they should just leave it alone because it seemed like it was designed to avoid hurting any students Quirrell might use to try and trip the traps, not actually keep him out, and the final Mirror of Erised had been working when he interrupted the first time around and was likely the final piece of the trap. He very carefully didn't explain how final trap worked, and Hermione seemed to notice this and avoided asking questions.
By the end of it, Hermione was having to physically keep her mouth closed with one hand and was vibrating enough to shake the bed. "Harry!" she quietly squealed, "This is the best school year ever! We're going to have so much fun." Her eyes were shining and she was grinning ear to ear. "Well, so long as you don't do anything stupid, that is, like try to fight an adult Dark wizard at 11," she amended, staring hard at him.
"No, no," he quickly said, "my plan there is to expose him when Dumbledore is around to take him down. Somewhere away from students and innocent bystanders."
"You'll let me know what you are planning and when," she didn't ask.
"Yes, fine, okay."
"And you'll let me help plan stuff."
"...fine."
"And, and you'll be my best friend," she said quietly, not looking at him and picking at a fuzzball on the underside of the covers.
"Deal," Harry said, sticking out his hand, still under the stuffy, heavy blankets. Hermione stifled another laugh and used his offered hand to drag him into another crushing hug, the two of them making a blanket-ghosts-hugging shape under the covers.
Out of breath from silent laughing, Hermione finally released him and reviewed. "Well, let me see: no looking teachers in the eyes, no responding to bullies in the halls, watch out for Snape and don't engage him, no battling ghostly Dark Lords at age 11, no pity-parties in the bathrooms. I think I've got it. What about your magic being messed up? Did Madam Pomfrey say anything about that?"
"Err, well," he started weakly.
"Spit it out, Harry," she said briskly.
"No one really knows anything yet," he said, sighing. "It seems like it is some kind of magical exhaustion type of thing, but it is like my magical core is permanently 99% empty or something. I can't really cast any spells and it hasn't gotten much better in the last month. But they're going to do some more in-depth tests tomorrow after class. I'm sure it will be fine once they figure out how to treat it. The only thing they were really worried about was me being a squib or somehow losing my magic entirely."
Hermione looked worried at this, but he quickly tried to divert her attention. "Look, Hermione," he said, "I'll keep you informed on my treatment and in the mean time, I'll just have to depend on you as a sort of Seeing Eye Witch, like with the helper dogs for the blind. You can cast all my spells for me, do my classwork when I'm called on, do my homework for me because I'm too weak to lift my quill-" Here Hermione interrupted him by slapping him on the arm and glaring at him.
"Okay, fine, fine. But I'll still need your help, you brilliant young witch you," he said, causing Hermione to bush again. "Whatever happens next, we'll work it out together." She smiled and took a deep breath, then seemed to suddenly wilt with sleepiness. Hermione must have been running on pure adrenaline all evening, he realized, and now she was crashing.
"That's everything, then?" she asked, holding back a yawn.
Harry looked nervously guilty, he couldn't help it. Hermione entirely failed to not notice. "Mr. Potter. What. Are. You. Hiding," she demanded, her face still inches from his and not missing his flinching.
"Well, it is the reason Voldemort is still alive," Harry said, causing Hermione to gasp. "Basically, his spirit can't pass on while pieces of his soul are still stuck in some enchanted items. Each one was formed with a Dark ritual that involved a murder. And there are a lot of them hidden away, more than four I think. Maybe as many as six or even twelve. Dumbledore started searching for them and gave me some of the details. After...things got bad and I was on my own, I was searching for them with...with some friends but we didn't have very good leads.
"We were looking for them but we never figured out where they were, which is one of the reasons why...why we couldn't win against him. Wouldn't matter if you killed his body, he'd just come back again as a spirit and make a new one, or possess someone like our current DADA teacher. They could even try to possess someone themselves, then you'd end up with another copy of Voldemort who'd try to gather up his disembodied spirit and absorb it into the copy."
Hermione was somber at this revelation, thinking silently. "But they can be destroyed, right?"
"Right: really high-level Demon Fire spells, basilisk venom, possibly some very rare enchanted weapons, possibly the Killing Curse on living containers, but making those would be stupid," Harry replied.
"So it seems simple," she said. "Get the information about the ones you know to Dumbledore early along with how he was searching for them last time. He's a powerful wizard and, if given extra time, should be able to do more than you were able last time. There is no reason an 11-year-old should have to solve that problem. If it involves wandering all over the UK looking for hidden objects, adults really need to be in charge of it. Say you're having dreams about them or whatever. Even the third-year Divination stuff I was reading about seems kind of hard to prove one way or another, so you could claim prophetic dreams, I guess."
"I had a similar idea, Hermione. Might work," he said. "I'm going to wait a bit until things calm down, though. See if I can get a reputation as reliable and not entirely insane so maybe someone will listen to me."
"Hmm, yes," she said, smirking at him. "Sanity was the first attribute of yours I noted. That and your extreme height. They both make for a strong first impression."
"Haha, funny, Hermione," he sighed. "But it is time for all good super-genius witches and broken, time traveling wizards to get some sleep." He had to endure an extremely toothy grin in return, followed by a tongue maturely being stuck out at him.
"Sleep tight," Harry said in a sing-song voice. "Don't let the giant basilisk in the ancient Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts bite."
Hermione paused while crawling backwards out from under the covers and gave him a questioning look. Harry looked back at her with a straight face. Eventually she shook her head and grinned, obviously thinking he was taking the piss.
"Yep," Harry thought, "this is going to be the best school year ever."