Harry Potter and the Witch Queen
by TimeLoopedPowerGamer
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
AUTHOR'S VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: Please be aware that this is the second new chapter for HP:WQ. Chapter 13 has been MASSIVELY reworked, with all new material and fewer flashbacks. If you had previously read it a while ago (*cough*) then please go back and read the revised Chapter 13 now or things will be very confusing! Thank you for reading.
*edit 2019-05-29: I've made some very minor but serious edits to this chapter. See the end notes for details.
*edit 2019-08-02: Added Harry reacting to the plot reveal from HBP. It is one sentence. See the end note for just that line.
Chapter Fourteen
"Alright Harry, m'lad?" arbitrarily-labeled-Fred asked. "In for some late-night larceny?"
"Where is your better half?" process-of-elimination-George added. "She feeling better? Poor lookout if she's here, eh?"
Harry froze in the middle of picking the lock of the school broom shed. It was guarded against simple opening charms, of course, but had a big, old padlock. He'd almost got the third tumbler set with his secret, Knockturn Alley shopping trip's illegal and very Muggle lockpick set. Not all magicals were completely without common sense.
Carefully holding the long, thin tension wrench tight (but not too tight), Harry looked around with a grimace. "Hey...gents. What will it cost me to have you take enough of your new experimental candies that you can't possibly be expected to remember this?"
"No, no," Fred said.
"This is priceless," George said, looking at his twin who stared back for a long beat.
They turned in sync to stare at him and both said, "We want in."
It took a minute longer to pick the lock and five frantic minutes more to explain and prepare for his plan. They'd been suspicious up to that point but instead of being more worried they relaxed. And grinned. And reached into their pockets.
It was a cold night. Harry hovered and shivered outside the office of the most powerful wizard in the world on a "borrowed" school broom of questionable quality, under a disillusionment charm of questionable quality (cast by the Twins), with a plan of equally questionable quality. Also, he had pocket-fulls of slightly illegal fireworks.
He guessed it was fifty-fifty that Dumbledore knew he was there but there was no way he was letting Hermione meet with him alone. That McGonagall was there was reassuring, but...better safe.
Sal had told him about Hermione's scheduled meeting, slithering through the wall passages formed for the relatively recent "modern" plumbing all the way from the hospital wing to his dorm where he'd been pacing nervously. As asked, Sal had kept an eye out—Hedwig was a little too noticeable.
That part had been easy. Interesting but little-known fact: snakes love to spy on people and whisper secrets into innocent ears. Worse than owls about it, really, as the birds preferred delivering intentional messages.
Once Harry know when it was going down, getting things together had been...difficult, but here he was. Right now Harry couldn't hear what was being said but knowing Hermione it looked like she was nervous, especially after that thing with-
A fast growing magical pressure hit him and he moved without thinking. The explosive paper disenchanting strips he'd placed on the window frame activated with a lightning fast tap of his wand and a simple spark spell. Instant activation, just as he'd requested.
Spinning upside-down on the broom to avoid spellfire, he entered the room at full acceleration, trailing a handful of firecrackers. The fiery bird was heading straight for her. Tiny explosions filled the air with magical sparks. Off the boom, wand in hand, knife from boot in other, kick her chair over backward with a precise strike here, intersect path of the hostile-
Who had already stopped inches from his outstretched knife, a disgruntled look on his fiery face.
A phoenix had tried to kill her.
As a sputtering McGonagall helped her up out of the overturned chair, Hermione's rational mind rejected that absurd feeling, recalling facts about no humans ever being reported injured by a phoenix and how she had zero personal experience to counter that established behavior. Magical fireworks, Harry's clever distraction, continued to send multi-colored jets through the air.
Her hands shook, though, as she shoved her wand firmly back into her sleeve holster. All of the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and her heart was beating a thousand times too fast. Fawkes took off again from hovering in midair with an impossibly light movement and gracefully zoomed around the room again, only to alight on a side table next to where she stood.
Hermione jumped back with a gasp, clutching her hands to avoid trying to draw her wand again. Harry interjected himself between them yet again, his knife hand held out point first and his wand close to his body. She kept repeating to herself that she was safe, she wasn't going to be hurt for any number of reasons, and even if this was to be the first phoenix-on-human attack in recorded history the headmaster and her head of house would surely not allow it.
"Fawkes!" the headmaster exclaimed, standing so quickly he almost knocked over his chair. With a casual wave of his hand the loud firework pops ceased and their source disappeared.
The gigantic bird leaned towards her and tilted its head to one side, glaring at her with one giant, black eye. She froze in place, not daring to move. Then Fawkes growled. The heat increased and her mind shut down in panic. She kept breathing, her heart kept beating, but her mind was empty and floaty. This was surely the wrong action to take in the face of immediate danger—where was the girl who faced down a troll without hesitation? But she didn't fight the feeling that nothing was exactly the right thing to do.
"What?" the headmaster asked softly, seeming to himself. She didn't dare to turn and look at his expression. "No. That is enough!" he shouted, and Fawkes finally broke eye contact and she resumed breathing again.
Holding out an arm, the headmaster looked all of a sudden tall and looming, filling up the room with his shining presence. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to ignore the sense that she could still see him through her eyelids—proud and fierce, haloed in burning white light. She opened her eyes as Fawkes turned and jumped into the air, wings flapping with strong beats that should still have been insufficient to move that quickly. Gracefully gliding around the room once, drawing everyone's eye and Harry's most of all, Fawkes finally landed on Dumbledore's arm. The old man held the large bird at eye level, seemingly without effort. A staring contest ensued between them. The bird blinked first, turning away and fluffing its wings.
Sitting down heavily in his chair, the headmaster seemed to deflate. No longer an agent of ancient magic, the old man leaned his other arm against the padded armrest, still considering his familiar. The large bird shook his feathered head and fluffed his chest feathers up, casually turning to look around the room. The phoenix avoided looking directly at her.
"Harry," the headmaster said simply. Harry started, then looked down at the steak knife he still held. He hesitantly placed it on the desk, then step back to stand beside her. The headmaster gestured casually at it and the knife disappeared.
Dispelled, she wondered? No, more likely a short-range switching spell with a known- No. He was speaking again, and she couldn't be distracted, not now at this critical juncture.
"I must apologize yet again, Miss Granger. And to you for the first time tonight, young Harry. Fawkes is a powerful creature of fire and has certain...ideas about people based on his own unique perceptions."
"Th-then...why...?" Hermione tried to choke out something like a reasonable question.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I will answer you questions in full, young lady, but first I would ask...have you ever experienced a strange fire? One that started without apparent cause, burned fast, and left nothing but ash?"
All the blood drained out of her face and her body felt numb as she collapsed into the chair McGonagall had just righted with a flick of her wand. She could feel Harry at her side, still ready to interpose himself between her and the phoenix. McGonagall was taking deep breaths but hadn't said anything yet. Her hand rested on Hermione's shoulder as a gentle comfort.
The headmaster was looking directly at her now, his eyes sharp and clear. "I ask because early accidental magic is often an indication of one's natural magical affinity. Usually, such things don't fully manifest until the mid twenties, which is why it is not heavily covered at Hogwarts, but there are early indications. Such preferences for specific kinds of magic run in bloodlines." He gestured to himself with his free hand. "The Dumbledore family is known for non-conjured transfigurations, and some of the more...esoteric uncast mental abilities. My brother gained great skill in private study of transfigurations, my father in certain mental magics; though from another line, albeit one distantly related, my mother could make an entire room's worth of furniture dance to a tune, and my... all of my family had such talents to various levels."
Harry finally spoke. "I Apperated to my school's roof and turned my teacher's hair a weird color."
"Hmm. Air, as suggested by motion related magics, and perhaps certain types of Charms seen as the winds of change," the headmaster said.
Hermione gasped. "Oh! And I..."
"Yes, my guess is that you are quite powerfully aligned with fire magic, even if the first of your lineage. I have some skill in it, more since I bonded with Fawkes. This would help explain your ability to handle a surge of wild, fire-attuned magic that might have done you great harm otherwise. Fawkes could sense another creature of fire in the room and was…eager to investigate."
Ideas slipped into her mind and Hermione blurted them out without thinking. "Sir, what are phoenixes?" She blushed and covered her rebellious mouth with both hands, but the headmaster merely smiled and leaned back in his chair, petting Fawkes in his lap.
"They are beings of pure justice and truth. We humans are complicated creatures, conflicted and troubled. Phoenixes never are. All falseness, doubt, and worry burns away with their physical bodies every time they rejuvenate themselves in self-immolating flames. In their own way, they are much wiser than we. But only in that way. In others," he glanced down in his lap, "they are capricious and willful birds, minding not other's privacy or opinion, misunderstanding complex things as simple because of this nature. They are also very territorial creatures of fire, and you will never find two in close proximity for long."
"Oh," she said quietly, mind spinning. "So it saw I was like it, strongly fire aligned. Then she-" She blinked. "Is Fawkes a she? I read that phoenixes do not reproduce sexually, and all hatch from fire itself, not the egg it presents…"
"I call Fawkes a 'he', and he has not corrected me yet. But I am male, and thus might projecting my own default concepts and those of society onto the situation. Fawkes has also not confirmed my assumption. It could be that he thinks of himself as male, or that he simply doesn't care if I am wrong."
"Fascinating," Hermione said, lost in thought. She shook her head and tried to return to the subject. "So what was Fawkes doing?"
"Trying to read your intentions," the headmaster said sadly. "First with what I believe to be a threat display. Then by reading your thoughts—how well an ancient bird can understand human ideas is unknown to me, however."
"My thoughts...my mind!" she said, shocked. "He was trying to read...my mind? That...that simply isn't right! That's a violation of...of privacy, possibly of the law, though I have read up on that part of wizarding law, so maybe an entity classed as an animal-"
"Yes, Miss Granger, it was wrong of him," the headmaster interrupted gently. "However, he does not care for human laws when it comes to his own opinions of the correct course of action. But in this case...I somehow feel he was unsuccessful. I assume this has to do with more of that...extracurricular study you've had with Mr. Potter?"
She nodded slowly, biting her lip. Despite earlier, she felt sure that any minute now he'd forbid her, demand her books, or get angry that she'd dare to study something not on the course lists.
"Hmm. Which book are you working from, Miss Granger?"
She swallowed. "Uh, Sir James Heatherton's translation of Guarded Thoughts."
"Ah, yes. A good if obscure introduction to the subject. It has the advantage of technically being legal to possess privately in magical Britain, if not to sell." He looked appraisingly at her and Harry over his glasses. "I did some similar line of study myself as a young man. Useful in certain...unique situations, but be sure you do not push yourselves too hard. It is unlikely that either of you young people will injure yourselves, but any headaches lasting longer than an hour should be cause for immediate trips to Madam Pomfrey. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir, but-" was she really going to argue this after he was apparently fine letting her go with a health and safety warning? Was her middle name "Jean"?
"Yes, but why? Isn't it dangerous?"
The headmaster nodded. "But only if one is foolish and unable to follow direction. And no more so than many charms we regularly teach. There is very little chance of long-term injury, even with improper technique. For the most part, nothing is accomplished by failure at all, and failure is the most likely results in early study."
Hermione blinked slowly, mind spinning, then nodded. "Oh. Thank you, sir. We will be careful."
"Alchemy is much more dangerous, in fact," he added, as if an afterthought. "Though perhaps there is a way you can safely continue to practice. Otherwise, I fear I must forbid your pursuit of such knowledge."
Hermione winced. The headmaster sat quietly in thought, rubbing the top of Fawkes' head. Taking the chance to turn over the conversation in her head once more, Hermione slowly and intentionally relaxed her body. Knots of tension fell away and her thoughts grew still and soft. Harry licked his lips and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, still staying silent as if afraid to interrupt her meeting even after bursting through the (still smoking) window which Dumbledore also continued to ignore along with the scorched spots on the rug.
"What do you think, Fawkes?" the headmaster asked of his familiar. The large bird hunched his shoulders. "It will mean some amount of time around her, yes. But disregarding that, what is your opinion of the young lady?" Fawkes opened his beak and a torrent of sound poured out.
It was clearly music, not just a bird call, and sounded almost classical. It rose slowly, then started skipping along in broad strokes and big staccato hops. It was brassy and clear, but had an oddly complicated counterpoint. Fawkes glowed as he sang, red highlights licking softly along his feathers. The performance lasted less than a minute, but moved her in a way that she knew she would remember her entire life.
"Well, that decides it." Dumbledore said finally. Fawkes huffed softly, then jumped into the air and flapped over to his perch. Dumbledore stood and shook out his sleeves. "I will find a way to help you, Miss Granger. I have one in mind already but I will need to confirm a few things first."
He smiled gently at Harry and Hermione, who both stood instinctively. "We will work this out. No one should be afraid of their own magic, much less told not to study with such innocent passion."
The headmaster then shut the still open window with a wave of his hand and walked back behind his desk. His wand was again carefully tucked back into the sleeve of his robe. Harry, clearly sensing events coming to a head, rocked from foot to foot, flexing his fingers nervously. Hermione know that this was the part where adults usually inflicted their punishments.
The headmaster clapped his hands and gathered their attention with his eyes. "Now that everyone is in from the cold, we can head down to dinner. Unless there is something else either of you wanted to tell me?
It seemed so casual, but his eyes were focused on Harry. And he was no longer smiling with them. He seemed almost...sad.
Harry looked at her. Time seemed to stand still. There was a pinching feeling from inside her mind and Hermione remembered everything again, her Occlumency shields falling away. The half thoughts she'd had became whole again.
Taking a deep breath in her shock, Hermione quickly reviewed everything she had seen and heard and felt during the last fifteen minutes. She put those in a pile. Then over here was the risk profile for just the event that had happened to Harry this year. The lack of progress in getting his godfather freed from Azkaban. The even greater dangers they faced against Voldemort. The danger in the school currently. The tools Dumbledore could bring to the fight.
She compared the piles of thoughts has her blood seemed to grow hot in her veins. The picture in her mind of Dumbledore became a puppet, dancing as she tested one idea after another. Hermione winced, holding her hand across her eyes as the pressure built and built.
"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Professor McGonagall asked.
Hermione gasped again and sank back in her chair. "Harry," she said, straining to raise her eyes to his. He looked frightened, then his eyes narrowed and he nodded slowly.
"Professors," Harry said hands clenched at his sides. "I've...I've something to tell you."
Both adults looked puzzled. Dumbledore settled back in his chair again. "We are all listening Mr. Potter."
"This whole thing is my fault," Harry blurted out.
McGonagall's eyes lifted to the ceiling and Dumbledore's crinkled again in a smile. "We can hardly blame you for your overreaction-"
"No, it's that-, I-" Hermione tapped him twice on the leg with her finger. The second plan. No time travel mentions. Harry continued in a rush. "I knew the troll was going to get in on All Hallows' Eve. I tried to avoid it but...it didn't work. I've had these, these memories ever since I got my wand. When I fainted, I..."
Hermione's hand found his. It was all now half act, true, but he did seem to need it now. Harry lifted his eyes to Dumbledore's. "The last few months, I've had these memories of the future. Not everything seems to fit but so much of it does. Hermione going to Hogwarts with me, the teachers, the Sorting Hat, even some of the class lessons. I remembered things them before they happened. Years of memories. Like they'd already happened to me before."
Confusion reigned in a sort of bookish, restrained way. McGonagall was trying to piece together her first words in what was sure to be an epic tirade about something, Harry stood shaking, one hand clenched around Hermione's and staring at the floor, but Dumbledore simply held up one hand and everyone stilled and looked to him as he spoke.
"Well, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, "Such visions are not...unheard of. Though I am sure we are all interested in one thing above all others: what did you see that would cause you to both keep this a secret and to tell us of it now?"
Harry said one word. "Voldemort."
McGonagall's face was snow white, drained of blood. Dumbledore seemed almost...resigned.
"I wasn't sure before," Harry said. "I mean, I didn't know if you would believe me. If you would help or just...but avoiding things didn't seem to be working. So," he looked to Hermione again. "I saw. You talked to Hermione like she was an adult. You listened. Maybe. Maybe you'll believe me, believe us now?"
Dumbledore nodded, pushing his glasses back up his noise.
"I am sure it was his servant that let the troll into the castle," Harry said. "And that servant is Professor Quirinus Quirrell. That's what I saw happen in my visions."
McGonagall was making huffing noises again, but he talked over whatever she was trying to say. "The turban on his head hides the marks from where Voldemort has directly possessed him. Soon, if not already, Quirrell will hunt unicorns for their blood, to keep himself alive a little longer...until together they can steal the Philosopher's Stone from the third floor, the one you warned everyone against and have trapped."
Dumbledore sat silently now, hands folded in front of him but eyes locked to Harry's. McGonagall had given up on trying to interrupt and now slumped in her chair, clutching a broach she'd taken from under her blouse.
Harry continued relentlessly, his voice now firm and unwavering. "Is the Mirror of Erised in place yet beyond the other traps, Professor, or is it still in that abandoned classroom you set up to test to see if I was being possessed by Voldemort? That is why you made the protections for the Stone so easy at first, correct sir? Because you thought it might be either me possessed or at least...influenced by Voldemort, or that it would be someone like Quirrell after the stone but using students as either bait or pawns to bypass the traps?
"At Christmas break, you'll discover that I am affected by the Mirror quite strongly, but also that I only see my parents in it. That makes it perfect to trap me if Voldemort takes over my mind or Imperiouses me or another student into getting it for him."
Nodding to himself, Dumbledore gestured as if to request the rest of Harry's story.
"I have...after everything that happened with me collapsing, I'm not sure what else changed sir. I wasn't attacked in a bathroom...twice. That didn't happen in my visions. Were...were you still planning on giving me my father's invisibility cloak for Christmas?"
A drawer opened in Dumbledore's desk seemingly by itself. With a flick of the old wizard's hand, a silvery bundle flew across the room and into Harry's hands.
"No one now alive knows I had that, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and strong. "I think all together your claims hold up. And given what has happened to you so far at Hogwarts, I think maybe it would be safest to deliver this to you now rather than later."
Harry took the floating cloak and squeezed it between his shaking hands.
"Though," Dumbledore added, hand raised once more, "I never thought you were possessed by Voldemort. The Mirror of Erised is being stored in an empty classroom that should have been locked, though I do see the 'test' you described as being something I might do—including placing a charm on the room to encourage you to investigate it during a long and boring holiday break."
"And V-Vol- You Know Who? Is he really back?" Professor McGonagall asked, voice quavering.
"He did not die that night ten years ago," Dumbledore said. "What Mr. Potter has said tonight is just the last in a line of evidence I have collected over the years."
McGonagall's frown deepened. "And Mr. Potter's visions? You know what I think of Divination, prophesies, and such."
At the word prophecy, Harry and Dumbledore looked at each other again. "Yes sir. I know it. The full thing."
Dumbledore seemed to deflate. "And with Miss Granger's help I'm sure you have analyzed it front to back, and likely come to the correct conclusions. I had hoped to save you that, Mr. Potter."
"It didn't work last time," Harry said, his voice hard. "You only even started telling me about what Voldemort had done by my sixth year. The last year I had at school." Harry's jaw clenched. "The year you died."
"This is too much!" McGonagall said with a gasp. "No child should have to know these things. Why would this have happened? Most Seers only get glimpses of the future. Most don't remember anything they see and only spout out nonsense riddles."
Everyone but McGonagall twitched at that last word.
"That is what it was. Riddle's fault. It was the wands." Hermione broke her silence, drawing everyone's attention. "Harry's wand. And Tom Riddle's. They are a matched pair. Twin core wands. Brother wands. Each with a feather from the same phoenix, Fawkes. When they faced each other strange things happened." She focused on McGonagall. "Yes. That Tom Riddle, the Head Boy your first year."
"That was him...goodness," McGonagall said faintly. "I attended between 1943 and 1950. Tom was Head Boy '43 and '44. He was so handsome and charming..."
Hermione nodded at the information, but McGonagall didn't seem to notice while lost in her memories. "He...he was the one who got poor Hagrid in trouble." McGonagall glared at Dumbledore. "There was more to that, you said."
"That is what I believed at the time and I still do," Dumbledore said. "That is why I convinced Armando to employ Rubeus. This hint of odd reactions due to the wands is interesting, and might indeed be the source of these odd visions, but I would like to return to that later. I assume you two know more of what Tom was responsible for in his school days?"
"Myrtle Warren was killed by Tom Riddle," Harry said, still clutching the cloak to his chest. "He woke Slytherin's monster, a basilisk. Then he controlled it to attack students. Maybe he didn't know about the protections Hogwarts gives them, as he was mostly unsuccessful. Then he caught Myrtle while the basilisk was still in the hidden tunnels to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. I assume that was technically not 'Hogwarts grounds' so the snake killed Myrtle. You can ask her. She loves to tell the story."
Dumbledore looked confused. McGonagall's face was in her hands. "There is a ghost in a girl's bathroom named Myrtle. I never put the two together..."
"Nor did I," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "I did not even know that ghost's name. After her death, and Hagrid's arrest, the attacks stopped—so no official investigation ever went further. I was concerned with Hagrid's defense and did not even think to look into possible witnesses from behind the grave."
"Well, the same thing would happen again in our second year," Hermione added. "Muggle-born targeted, again. I...I would have been one of the petrified victims. Ginny Weasley would almost die when Tom's diary tried to drain the life out of her and return his shade to life. I think you know what that diary was, sir."
At this point McGonagall was turning green and fanning herself with one hand. A whiskey tumbler with something brown in it appeared from thin air, floating in front of her and she reached for it blindly. Dumbledore himself looked quite pale.
"Perhaps we should make a list," he suggested, pulling a quill out from mid air. "Please, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. Do continue."
An hour later, everyone in the headmaster's office was exhausted. Some from memories of what was to come, some from past regrets.
"Corruption in government will be my primary area to cover during the rest of this year and into the next," Dumbledore said, still making notes on a dozenth piece of paper on his desk. "Voldemort's return means, paradoxically, that we can not move on his known soul pieces too early. We should know their locations before we act, so that must wait. Mr. Black's horrible situation will be tricky but I think with your help Harry, and a certain rat, we can make it a politically advantageous undertaking for the Ministry. Bartemius Crouch Jr. will be part of that suggested crackdown on past law enforcement failures. The Chamber will keep for now, as we do not know how the basilisk is awoken or even whether it can be safely handled at all, but I want it dealt with before the new year. I will also find time in the next year to speak to Garrick about Harry's and...Tom's wands. As for the other...items."
Dumbledore looked over his glasses at McGonagall and the two young students. "I will begin the hunt immediately. I don't have to tell anyone here that secrecy is of paramount importance. This will go from hard to nearly impossible if Voldemort discovers our task too early."
Harry and Hermione hadn't used the term Horcrux. McGonagall didn't know it and Dumbledore seemed to avoid it as well.
"We suspected a huge snake Riddle had was another soul piece container," Harry added. "But like I said, we don't know what or where that is now. It's likely he only made that one after he regained a body. I'm not sure he can make one while just a spirit."
"It is a shame we only have the diary and the ring...but it was to be six of them."
"Yes, six plus his original body," Harry said, slumped and emotionally drained. "Now that part is resting on the back of Quirrell's head."
Another piercing glance from Dumbledore. "And as I stated, something for me to deal with tonight. Minerva, I will ask you to look after the students while I do this. Do a head count and ensure they are all at dinner. Then lock the doors and activate the safe room wards."
She nodded wobbily, still in shock.
"What else," Dumbledore said, tapping his finger against the quill pen, reviewing the list he'd made. "Oh, I will need to retrieve Severus' old potions book. No reason to leave that lying around full of dark spells. And he will be glad to have it back, I am sure."
Harry twitched but didn't otherwise react to that minor revelation.
"How about me," Hermione said at a bare whisper.
"Hmm?" Dumbledore looked up from his notes. "What was that Miss Granger?"
"How about the part where in Harry's visions I go mad with power and destroy all of England in a magical apocalypse?"
Harry winced and looked sick. They hadn't skipped over that bit even though it had been in the original plan. Hermione had insisted. Mentions of sacrificing someone and sending him back in time were skipped, however, as was most of Harry's post-England personal life.
"Oh, from what you said most of that was Voldemort's doing," Dumbledore said. "In any case, does that seem likely to happen now that you know what you know?"
Everyone stared at him in shock.
"No?" He asked, eyes crinkled. "Well, then I wouldn't worry about it."
"And the dark powers from the lost Fae bargained for with blood and secrets?" Harry asked with a sigh. They had also mentioned things like the fae shapeshifter assassins and the house elves being freed to horrible results.
"That does seem like quite a bad idea," Dumbledore said. "If the destruction of the British royal line along with the entire Wizengamot was a prerequisite for it being possible at all then, well, we should be safe from someone trying that for now."
"And...and my murdering people?" Hermione asked in a whisper.
"That was done by someone who will never come to be," Dumbledore said, tapping his desk hard with an index finger to punctuate his words. "That someone Harry saw: she was not you. And you will never be her. You know the mistakes made and I dare say this will derail any events already in motion that would lead to such a future."
Hermione stared at her lap, jaw clenched, but didn't argue further.
"Now," Dumbledore said. "I believe we have the matter of the upcoming holidays. I will be sending all of the students home as that will be the perfect time to deal with the Chamber and the monster. The same as with Voldemort's shade in our Defense professor, I will not abide them remaining a threat even a day longer than necessary."
Harry and Hermione both started to speak, but Dumbledore interrupted. "It will be a dangerous ordeal in which students will not be involved. There are other Parselmouths than Mr. Potter in England."
Hermione had a feeling he had someone in mind. Odd, that wasn't part of Harry's memories.
"That does leave a problem with Mr. Potter's situation," Dumbledore said. "I do not wish to return him to his relatives until further security measures have taken place. Therefore...Miss Granger?"
Blinking, Hermione looked up. "Yes Headmaster?"
"How do you think your parents would feel about having Harry over for the holidays?"
"Umm...well? They've actually asked after him in letters and are interested to meet him, but..."
"Then it is decided," Dumbledore said, standing and pressing his hands into the desk. "Miss Granger, thank you for your assistance and insights. I will be owling your parents tomorrow for holiday plans. Mr. Potter, please leave the broom here. I will have it returned to the school shed after dinner."
The door opened in front of them and the headmaster shooed them through, his Deputy going first. Part way down the automatically moving stairway, the headmaster coughed behind them and they looked back and up, barely able to make out his face in the flickering light from glowing magical torches.
"Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, as these events are quite outside the realm of Hogwarts academics, I can not in good conscience award points. However, twenty points each to Gryffindor for how you handled last night's events. In addition to your honestly tonight, that was very brave of you both. I have great hopes for your futures."
"Sir, I didn't actually-" Harry started to say.
The headmaster interrupted him, but without raising his voice. "I speak here of the way you handled yourselves, both before and after the sudden and most scary portions of your ordeal. Sometimes, dealing with the shock and the aftermath is the hardest part. Helping each other get through such things is hard and takes true bravery. Just do your very best to avoid such situations in the future, and do not let what has happened in the past, or what you think may come in the future, overshadow your present. For now at least, leave the future to the adults who are meant to prepare it for your eventual arrival."
They stepped off the last step as it magically disappeared into the floor. Dumbledore looked down at his students with a smile while an increasingly annoyed Scottish woman glared at him. "Know that you have both impressed me with your intelligence and maturity. I will, of course, wish to speak with you again soon. I will see you again at dinner, I expect, but for now I have an...exit interview to hold with a certain member of my staff. Now, run along."
It wasn't clear if that last was directed at the students or the still silent Deputy Headmistress. They nevertheless parted ways at the base of the rotating stairs—the headmaster heading off one way and Hermione and Harry, led by their Head of House, stumbling dazed and confused towards the Great Hall.
Harry had expected explosions, for the castle to shake, for a running battle in the hallways. There was just dinner. The headmaster joined them halfway through, but only stayed for a cup of tea and a biscuit.
The next morning, Professor Quirrell was announced as unexpectedly missing and his classes canceled for the week. According to the rumor mill, Aurors were seen in the hallway to his office later that day, but of the professor himself there was no sign.
Dumbledore opened several creaking drawers of his huge desk one after the other looking for something. Several times, he reached down up to his shoulder, much deeper than the apparent physical depth of the wooden compartments.
Hermione was back in the headmaster's office after classes Thursday, this time without Harry's heroics or the need of a chaperon. Fawkes was also conspicuously absent.
Finally, and with a pleased humph, Dumbledore pulled out a rolled up bit of yellowed parchment and spread it open on his desk.
"Thank you for your patience, Miss Granger. I believe this is the answer to our problem."
"What is it?" she asked, jumping off her chair and leaning over the old wizard's desk. She started reading it upside down as the headmaster responded.
"Well, you'll have to discuss this with your parents, but in essence it is-"
"Perfect!" Hermione shouted in surprise, small hands pressing into the desk, pushing her closer to read the upside-down fine print. "Thank you so much, Professor."
Then she blinked and slid back off the desk to stand on the floor again, head lowered and hands clasped demurely in front of her. "Sorry, Professor."
"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger," he said, smiling back. "Now, some of the magics we will study are technically highly licensed and controlled. Allowing you to self-study is simply not safe or legal, however-"
The headmaster took out a book, then another, then another. Hermione continued to listen but her mind was already between the musty old pages in front of her.
Hermione burst through the folded-space tunnel leading from the magical extra-dimension of Platform 9 ¾ to the mundane Kings Cross station at a run, pushing her trunk on a rickety trolley at a quite frankly reckless speed. Spotting her mother waiting nearby, talking to a tall woman with long, light brown hair, she skidded to a halt. Abandoning her trolley, she dashed into her mother's arms.
"Mum! I'm fine and I'm back!" Hermione shouted, squeezing her mother in a crushing hug. Dr. Tonks—the tall, beautiful young woman standing with her mother in the mundane-styled (if a little subdued) skirt and blouse—smiled and moved away to give them space for their reunion.
"Welcome back, dear," her mother said, returning the hug. "It's so good to have you back with us again. We're fine as well." She ran her hands over Hermione's once-again bushy brown hair and then stroked her shoulders.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, realizing she'd been a little rude. "And hello, Dr. Tonks."
"Hello, Miss Granger," Dr. Tonks replied, smiling but still standing slightly apart from them. The distance meant something—everything the Hogwarts Slytherin house alumni Dr. Tonks did meant something—but Hermione didn't care to decipher it this time. Something about emotional and physical space and her reunion with her mum. It didn't really matter right now.
Ron finally made it through the barrier, his trolley almost colliding with Hermione's abandoned one. "Hey, Hermione! You left your..." he started to say, then trailed off as he saw mother and daughter, still locked in a close embrace.
Turning around in her mother's arms, Hermione waved Ron over. "Mum, this is Ron Weasley, one of my classmates. He's also in Gryffindor and a new friend of mine. Ron, meet my mum, Rose Granger."
The gawky red-headed boy had slowed his trolley to a stop, staring between her and her mother with an open mouth. Rose Granger stood just under five and a half feet tall, and had a beautiful mess of dark brown, shoulder-length hair. It was thick and tightly curled, even more so than her daughter's, and framed the narrow, delicate face of a model—striking almond-shaped eyes with huge, long lashes; high, sharp cheekbones; and plump, emotive lips.
Hermione was used to anything male having a similar reaction to her mother, but there was still a small, uncertain, hard feeling growing in her chest. Glancing down at her mum's hands where they rested on her shoulders, their milk-chocolate color contrasting against the pale skin of her neck, Hermione started to frown, the old familiar fear surfacing once again.
"Hermione, your mum...she's..." Ron stammered, searching for the words, his face growing redder by the second. The other Weasley kids started filing through the barrier, gathering behind the youngest son.
"Yes, what about my mother, Ron?" Hermione asked, her voice colder than the chill December air of the station. The twins were eyeing her mother as well, and their eyebrows rose at Hermione's tone.
"She's...bloody beautiful," Ron finally stumbled out.
Hermione relaxed and sighed. "Yes, Ron. I know."
"I mean, she's got the same hair as you-"
"Where do you think I got it from?" Hermione asked with growing annoyance.
"Sure, but she's also really pretty-"
"Yes, Ronald, I know." she hissed. Not being that stupid, Ronald shut his flapping mouth with a snap.
"Smooth, Ronniekins," a Weasley twin said, rolling his eyes as they both pushed their single shared trolleys past the group, moving towards the exits. Percy followed, shaking his head at the scene the youngest son was making. Hermione knew from asking earlier that the Weasleys were, as usual, going to find a quiet spot outside to call the Knights Bus for the trip home.
"A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Weasley," Hermione's perfect mother said with a patient smile. A small, red-headed girl, Ginny if Hermione remembered correctly, was peaking out from behind the newly arrived Mrs. Weasley with a wide-eyed, confused look on her face. She seemed to be searching for something. When her mother spotted Ron, the girl frowned. She let herself to be lead along behind her mother and away from the Platform 9 ¾ entrance with obvious reluctance. The entire way across the station Ginny was still craning her neck looking around.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley said with a growl, hustling up behind the so-named young man. "Are you bothering these poor Muggles?"
Both Grangers, mother and daughter, winced. Dr. Tonks continued to watch everything silently, eyes subtly scanning the station as the two females met and made brief but awkward small talk about their families. Mrs. Weasley was expansive and gushing and Hermione's mother was, as always, smooth and refined, but they had little in common to talk about. Though Rose Granger knew little of the practice of jam making (let alone magical jam making—though whether it was the jam or the process itself that was magical...), she accepted a jar. And the magical matron knew probably less than nothing of mathematical analysis (Mrs. Granger's hobby), so her mother clearly couldn't share that and simply inquired after how many redheads had been added to the total world population by one woman. The answer shocked her mother, but she gracefully (of course) didn't show it.
"Your children appear to be alive and not at all dying of any plague," one mother didn't quite say to the other.
"Oh my yes, that seldom if ever happens in my family," the other basically responded. "Your young lady is not at all suffering from fatal diseases and seems quite smart, compared to my cultural standards of not teaching calculus at all, and the basics of algebra only to late teens, with no formal post-secondary education to speak of." And blah, blah, blah.
It wasn't at all interesting to Hermione, just the usual social fluff. Mind wandering to other, more important things, like magic and homework—or, best of all, magical homework—Hermione tried to ignore how Ginny was interspersing looking around the station with suspicious glances at her. Hermione felt she almost knew what the girl was looking for, but it seemed to be held just out of her mental reach for some reason. Either the situation of half-remembering or the fact itself unknowingly impinging on her emotions made her frown at the little girl.
After escaping from the friendly Weasley matron and her brood—who went off to hail a simply impossible sounding magical bus which Hermione just had to see for herself one day—Hermione, her mother, and Dr. Tonks (non-magically) waved down a perfectly normal cab. She tried not to look disappointed. After throwing open the cab door with uncharacteristic childish abandon, she moved to the back and helped put her trunk in the boot. Hermione then jumped in the cab and sat in the middle and her mum squeezed in on her left, leaving the seat on her right empty while the doctor rode in the front.
Chatting away a thousand words a minute, asking about all the things that had happened in the neighborhood and at home while she was away, Hermione casually slipped her hand into her mum's and started tapping out a confirmation to her earlier "all safe" code word, this time in more detail using Morse code. Which she'd known since she was nine, because really, it was a very simple character sequence and took no time at all to memorize. Hermione was, of course, able to both carry on the verbal conversation and tap out her code at the same time.
Her parents hadn't been very happy with the idea of their only daughter going to a boarding school; they'd been even less happy after a few extra books she'd purchased along with her assigned school books had hinted at various magical threats. Normal people being targets of dark magic, something used by the magical government that erased memories of mundanes called a Memory Charm, and magicals using charms to look like other people was only the known tip of the iceberg, they'd decided. Taking basic precautions (at least, for her family they were basic), the Grangers had made the words "fine" and "back" a code on her returning from Hogwarts to mean their daughter was herself and under no duress. That also was the same all-safe return code from her parents if used similarly (but not exactly the same) in sentences in the reply.
Straightforward, really.
If, however, she was (grammatically questionably) "doing good" and "safe home again," then she was in danger or being coerced somehow. In that case, her mum would have been covertly alerted to the situation and then have used some plan (that Hermione was purposefully not informed of) to get them both away. If Hermione had not given any codes, either she was being a silly little girl and had forgotten (not likely, as they knew) or the girl her mum was talking to wasn't really Hermione Granger in control of her own body and mind. Either an impostor or her suffering from a mind control curse—or, she now knew, collateral damage from a mind wipe.
As for the other side of the spy game they were only half-playing (one her parents wouldn't forget, Hermione had been sure), her mum seriously flubbing the code exchange would have resulted in a very scary flight from someone perhaps only looking like her mum. This was something Hermione had approached in a similar way to Harry's paranoid plans to escape from Hogwarts in the case of various dangers.
Her wand was tightly strapped to her arm under her loose sleeved blouse. There was a traveling cloak, a small bag of coins, a small wad of bills, a large bottle of water, and a thoroughly squished sack meal in the book bag over her shoulder. She was all ready for possible needs while making her way through the mundane world to a currently off-season, magical-run hotel resort in Brighton. Harry had told her about it, so her destination was unknown to both her parents and the theoretical non-parental person who was wearing their face and trying to pick her up at the train station. A location where she'd be able to hide and maybe have a mental breakdown for a bit, if it came to that.
A silly little game compared to what real spies did but good enough for her family's piece of mind. It was turning out to be only partially successful at that for Hermione.
She had been so stressed out over everything all day that she hadn't been able to stay still on the train, only taking her seat when Neville had threatened (uncharacteristically forcefully) to use the Body Bind curse she'd just taught him to get her to stop pacing and wringing her hands. Then she'd almost immediately fallen into an exhausted sleep.
It had all been sort of fun in abstract before leaving for Hogwarts, talking and planning with her family, but was terrifying now that she'd been dragged into the reality of things. The magical world was dangerous. She had almost been killed once already; and her best friend had scored twice that just so far this year. To add to that, now Hermione knew about the extent of magical mind affecting magic, so she realized her family's precautions were almost worthless—she knew about them, so anyone who read her mind would, as would anyone reading her parents' minds, and paranoid etc, etc. Given time to consider what it would mean for her mum or dad to fail to give the correct response had been worrying enough. Knowing they could have been under the Imperius curse and she'd never even know had resulted in several sleepless nights before the winter holiday break.
Even thinking about it now ran shivers down her spine. She could only hope that Dr. Tonks would successfully run the scans required to detect that sort of thing. And, she reminded herself, Imperiused people required very exact orders, precise goals or actions, and could take only one at a time.
Someone didn't wander around all the time under active control, only after the curse triggered. The power requirements went up the longer the task would take and the longer a sleeper agent might have to wait. Subduing someone once triggered would simply allow the spell to run out, eventually freeing the target. So it wasn't like her mum would be lost forever if she was under a dark mental control curse. The situation was recoverable. Hermione tried not to hyperventilate. She'd only been in the car for three minutes and was already a mess.
After her mum tapped out another response message ("fine dear love you back"), which meant very little really but was the correct counter-sign, Hermione tried to enjoy the rest of the ride. Helping to point out interesting London landmarks and other places their family had visited to an attentive Dr. Tonks helped distract Hermione, and all were safe subjects around the mundane cab driver.
"Do you have any children attending my daughter's school, or perhaps starting soon?" Rose Granger asked Dr. Tonks.
The young woman smiled back. "Actually, my daughter, our only child, is just starting on her training as an Au-" the doctor caught herself, "-err, in law enforcement. Um, MDP. Just completed her, uh, A Levels this last year? Did quite well. We're very proud."
Everyone, including the taxi driver, turned to stare at Dr. Tonks, who appeared maybe in her late twenties at the oldest, not a mother with a daughter who was already a young adult. "I am older than I might appear," she added, answering their surprise with another smile.
The cab pulled up to the Granger's address after what was (for that part of London) a relatively short ride. Everyone piled out, Dr. Tonks helping Hermione grab the trunk. Once inside the spacious ground floor of the London terrace house, Hermione turned to the doctor with an expectant look on her face.
Drawing a long wand made of some dark, almost black wood, the older witch started muttering under her breath, occasionally thrusting the wand in some apparently random direction, sometimes pointing at both of the other women and a space beside them. Both Grangers watched the magical display, her mother in some interest as this was only the second (or was it now third?) time she'd ever seen magic done—the first being Professor McGonagall's visit on her birthday, of course.
"And now the one from earlier, yet again?" the doctor asked, looking at Rose Granger expectantly. Her mother nodded and squared her shoulders. Dr. Tonks muttered a couple of long, guttural words that sounded like German, swishing her wand in large motions in front of her, then the black wand was suddenly pointed at her mum. It twisted and dipped just so, then stilled. Hermione counted in her head wand held in her hand next to her leg, her knuckles turning white. Everything was silent for almost three minutes.
Both women gasped and the magical tension in the room that Hermione hadn't even noticed eased significantly. Dr. Tonks nodded once, then continued with another long series of spells aimed at the local area.
After several more minutes of work, Dr. Tonks finally finished and tucked her wand back into her sleeve and addressed Rose Granger. "I have informed the Ministry department monitoring underage magic that, for this school break, they are to ignore any magic performed at this location that does not directly threaten the Statutes. This is allowed as it may be required for a student to use some minor spells for medical reasons while under my supervision. If Miss Granger's...agreement with Headmaster Dumbledore is filed with the Ministry before next summer, that will provide similar exceptions for underage magic use, provided it is not performed around any Muggles other than immediate family.
"Also, at this time, your house is clear of detectable magical traces of spells, other than some vague, months-old evidence that Hermione, a magical person, has lived here. This happens even without fully expressed accidental magic. As for the rest, Headmaster Dumbledore checked me himself before I took his Portkey to meet Mrs. Granger at this house. All of us are free of surveillance charms or...other unexpected charms."
One of her mother's eyebrows quirked and she stared down at Hermione, who winced and started to examine her feet. "I'll explain everything, mum. I promise."
Grinning dangerously, the elder Granger nodded in agreement. "Yes, you will. But as we seem to be safe and sound now, I suggest you introduce me to your new celebrity boyfriend."
Knowledge tightly wrapped unfurled in a mind suddenly much more expansive. She remembered once again and Hermione's heart skipped a beat as-
Harry whipped off his father's invisibility cloak. Hermione gasped, did a double-take, then took a deep breath and started whining at her mother's teasing. He started folding the cloak into a neat and impossibly thin bundle before shoving it into a pocket in his oversized, second-hand trousers and addressing his hostess.
"Hello, Mrs. Granger. Thank you for having me over."
"Welcome, Mr. Potter," she said, smiling brightly.
They shook hands, Mrs. Granger accepting his perhaps overly adult gesture without blinking. Harry then looked around, feeling as awkward as Hermione now appeared to be.
"You, uh, you have a beautiful home. I'm sorry about all the nonsense getting over here. We're still not sure who's been attacking me, so it seemed like a good idea."
"I understand, Mr. Potter, and it was no imposition," she said, looking closely at him as he fidgeted in the entryway.
He was embarrassed by his clothes and unkempt hair, especially compared to Mrs. Granger's natural, casual-looking beauty. The elder Granger had a very familiar and unnerving way of stripping him to the bone and measuring him up with a single glance. He'd never actually met Rose Granger before, but his little-kid instincts were now making him very nervous as he wondered what she thought of him and how shabby he looked.
Despite having clearly seen him for what he was, Mrs. Granger smiled at him again. She then offered to take their coats, not exactly a clear answer to his fears. After leading them all down the hall and into a richly decorated sitting room, she offered them seats. "We've heard a great deal about you from Hermione's letters. It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded and tried to smile, but missed that expression and sort of grimaced instead. He then gave up after realizing his face's failure and sat down on the couch.
"Good to meet you, too, Mrs. Granger. And thanks for helping out, Dr. Tonks," he added to the tall, quiet woman, who was sitting off one side.
"You are most welcome, Harry. And please, as I've said before, call me Andromeda."
Mrs. Granger was still standing by the doorway with her daughter. She gave Hermione a quick hug then pulled back again, hands rubbing fondly up and down her daughter's arms. "Hermione, dear, do you want to show Mr. Potter your room while I sit and have a quick talk with Dr. Tonks? We can all have some tea after. You can both unpack later."
Hopping in place with a tiny squeal, Hermione quickly grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him to his feet. Leaving her trunk behind, packed with both her and Harry's stuff, she raced them out of the sitting room, back down the hall, through a door, and had started pulling him down some stairs before he was properly able to react.
"Wha-," Harry started to say.
"My room is in the basement," she said excitedly, then she jerked to a halt as Harry stopped dead, halfway down the stairway's carpeted steps.
"They...they have this huge, lovely house, and they're making you stay in the basement?" he said slowly, his hand starting to grip hers tighter.
Hermione looked surprised for a second, then she took a slow, deep breath, and unexpectedly smiled. Standing on the stair under his, turning to look up into his eyes, she clasped his hand in both of hers and hugged it to her chest.
"Thank you Harry," she said softly, still smiling, "It isn't what you think. But it makes me so happy that you'd feel that way, if it were."
Then, to his immense surprise, she pecked his knuckles with a quick kiss, turned, and started dragging him down the stairs again. Too shocked to resist, he let Hermione lead them around a curved bit at the bottom. He then skidded to a halt again, staring around the airy, open space with confusion. Hermione left him there and started buzzing around the room, talking rapidly while running her hands over the spines of various books, seemingly choosing them from the room's numerous shelves at random.
"...and these are my mystery novels. I love this room. My parents wanted something unique, so they built this and the bedrooms as an addition to the small garden flat, which they also purchased. It's a terraced house, obviously, and we've got the ground floor and now full basement, while the neighbors have the second and third floors. It's built out under the garden, not just right under the house, so it can get some direct sun. Isn't it nice?"
Harry was gawking at the walls, which were covered in bookshelves, and at the pair of soft, squishy looking overstuffed reading chairs. There was a thick carpet covering the floor and everything seemed very cozy. Looking up, he saw a huge skylight spanning almost the whole ceiling. It let in the afternoon winter sun, painting the room in a bright, cheery light.
Hermione was standing with her hands clasped behind her back, grinning at him. "My parents have a problem around magic—which I'm leaking out all the time it seems. Thanks to you Harry we've now been informed why. But they haven't exactly shoved me into a dank, manky old hole in the ground, have they?"
He silently shook his head, still feeling a little dazed.
"What do you think, Sal?" she said, moving to an expensive looking corner table that was covered in neatly stacked books. The long, sleek black and silver adder crawled out of her right sleeve and onto the stacked books.
"Very nice," Sal said with a hiss. "Lotsss of booksss. Lotsss of interesssting shadowsss."
Hermione didn't look to Harry for a translation, apparently happy with what her growing familiar link told her. "Well, Hedwig should be along tonight Sal. She is quite beautiful but far too obviously a link to Harry. Keep an eye out for her, would you?"
Walking over to a tall shelf built into the wall, Hermione put a hand up and pushed, effortlessly swinging it inward like a door. She looked over her shoulder and grinned madly at him. "Look! A hidden passage, Harry! It's just like Hogwarts, isn't it? Come on, my room is just through here."
It was obviously a girl's room, but it was still all Hermione. More bookshelves (of course), a bed covered in decorative pillows, and what he eventually figured out was a slightly scruffy gray plush otter. The walls were covered in posters—but this was Hermione's room, so instead of boy bands, they were of things like the periodic table and the constellations. There was one of the solar system, a huge color print of that brilliant shot from the Apollo missions of the Earth from space, one of the Earth rising over the Lunar surface, a labeled diagram of the human brain, a blown-up picture of a microprocessor, and the famous da Vinci piece of the human body inside a square and circle, along with other of his detailing human anatomy and strange machines; overall, it still looked like a princess's bedroom. Assuming the princess was also a tenured professor with eclectic interests.
Hermione flopped down on the bed on her back, spreading her arms wide and letting out a long sigh.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever make it back," she whispered.
Harry wasn't sure she knew his keen ears would catch that, so he pretended not to hear. He looked around at some of the titles on her extensive shelves. Most were on scientific topics, of course, but there were also a lot of science fiction and fantasy novels. They looked well read.
"I want you there," Hermione said, sitting up suddenly.
"Wha?" he said, not understanding.
"I want you to be there with me when I explain everything to mum and dad."
"Oh. Okay, sure."
Relaxing the death grip she'd had on her skirt, she took a deep breath, then let it out and smiled. A warm breeze ruffled his hair, but when he looked around, he saw there wasn't actually a window in her room. Instead, she had an odd, bright hole over the secret door entrance and some low air vents on the walls.
Seeing him looking at it, she said, "A mirrored light tube to the skylight in the other room. Provides natural lighting and wakes me up when I oversleep during summer hols. Oh, and I was trying to clear my mind. Sorry about the draft—magical expulsion reaction, you see."
"No, that's okay. It's been a long day. I'm just glad you have a chance to relax."
Hermione fidgeted some. "You know, I really am going to tell them everything. Except for your...I'm telling them you have visions. About the future. I know you wanted that information to be limited..."
Harry sighed and sat on the bed next to his best friend. The bed was huge and there was plenty of room. "I told you before, I'm fine with that. They are your parents, Hermione. They deserve to know. And Dr. Tonks knows anyway. Professor Dumbledore insisted."
"Okay. Good. Well. I just wasn't-"
Harry put a hand on hers, where it was starting to clutch at her skirt once again. "Hermione, you're getting worked up for nothing. Your parents will understand and everything will be fine. I'm sure of it. It'll be fine."
She snorted, but also started smiling again. "You always say that, Harry."
"Well, it was last time, if you remember."
Hermione stared back at him incredulously. "No one died, but it was almost a complete disaster. Things with the headmaster could have gone very, very wrong. We got lucky."
"You make your own luck, Hermione. I thought you'd know that, being a genius and all."
His surprised shriek when she playfully shoved him off the bed wasn't at all high-pitched and girlish.
Author's note The Second: This chapter is almost too cute. That could totally be the happy end to this story, right?
Aheh. Heh heh heh. AHAHAHAHAHA!
No.
We've got at least three long, dark chapters left to go in just year one. For those in the know creative-writing-wise, we're passing the bottom of the story circle. You know what comes next, right?
I'm going to enjoy this.
*edit 2019-05-29: Removed mention of the locket, as this was never discovered in the dark timeline. I meant to have this be the ring but wrote it on autopilot I guess? Now mentions the ring and the rat, as I meant it to. That was it for the edits.
*edit 2019-08-02: Added this line after Dumbledore's casual reveal:
"What else," Dumbledore said, tapping his finger against the quill pen, reviewing the list he'd made. "Oh, I will need to retrieve Severus' old potions book. No reason to leave that lying around full of dark spells. And he will be glad to have it back, I am sure."
Harry twitched but didn't otherwise react to that minor revelation.