Chapter 15: Return to Hogwarts
I haven't issued a disclaimer in a while, so as a reminder, I don't own Harry Potter.
Thank you again for reading and reviewing.
Thursday morning dawned just like any other at Hogwarts; students rose from their beds and began their daily routine of bathing and dressing for the day. Even before seven, a few of the earliest risers were already trickling into the Great Hall, where platters heaped with pale yellow scrambled eggs, piping hot bangers, and crispy roasted potatoes were beginning to pop into existence at each table. Toast racks, butter dishes, and pots of marmalade mingled with the occasional bowl of steaming porridge and jar of honey.
By half seven, the Great Hall was full and nearly every seat was taken at the Gryffindor table; there was room for only two more, and both of those empty spaces faced Ron Weasley. Ron's plate, once the home of several bangers, some bacon, and roasted potatoes, was still piled high with half-eaten eggs and buttered toast. The redhead watched the doors to the hall with ill-disguised concern even as he ate mechanically.
As they did every morning, owls began to fill the hall and drop letters and packages into the hands of waiting students and professors. At the staff table, Madam Pomfrey accepted an envelope from a post owl and looked it over curiously; while the letter was addressed to Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Mediwitch, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was no return address.
She peeled back the generic wax seal and pulled the slender piece of parchment from its envelope. She read the letter quickly, and then looked down the table toward the seat where Minerva McGonagall usually sat. Her face pale, she quickly excused herself from breakfast and hurried up to the hospital wing. If the students noticed, no one said anything, but Albus Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he, too, looked toward the empty chair reserved for the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
When breakfast concluded a few minutes later, Ron stood from the Gryffindor table and exchanged a look with Neville. The other boy shrugged helplessly, but followed the redhead to their first class. "D'you think Harry's in the hospital wing?" Neville asked as they exited the doors of the hall.
"Dunno. Lavender said Hermione didn't come back to the dorm last night either…"
Dumbledore exited the hall as well, and returned to his offices. The chair behind his desk became a highly cushioned, chintz-covered affair with a wave of his hand, and with a grumble he settled into it and steepled his hands before him. He waited like that, in a meditative state, for nearly two hours before the castle wards notified him of the change he had been expecting.
Across the castle, in Professor McGonagall's offices, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace. The professor and Hermione were both well away from the hearth, and the professor had apparently already vanished the soot from her robes, as well as Hermione's. Harry picked himself up and cleared his throat with some embarrassment; after so many years at Hogwarts and in the magical world in general, he still hated travelling via the Floo Network.
Professor McGonagall lifted her wand and cast a silent spell that swept away the ashes and soot from his robes as well. Harry nodded his thanks, and looked to Hermione, who was still, he thought, a touch too pale.
"Thank you, Professor, for taking so much time to accompany Harry and I," Hermione said into the quiet of the office.
The professor's lips twitched, and she nodded, briefly, as she stepped behind her desk. One hand swept up a short stack of parchment paper. "It is my duty as your Head of House to ensure that you are both safe, Hermione. I only wish that I had noticed much sooner that something was so very amiss." The words pitched higher as the sentence finished, and McGonagall gave Hermione what Harry thought was a rather guilty look.
"Madam Pomfrey didn't see anything either," Harry defended. "Deraga told us that it was hidden magic."
"Well, you may both be assured that I will be keeping a much closer eye on you for the remainder of your time here at Hogwarts, Harry. Healer Deraga and I agree that the risk to you both may still remain." McGonagall pursed her lips. "I truly am sorry that I did not see how you must have suffered, Hermione."
Before Hermione could reply, the door to the office swung open so quickly that it hit the nearest wall with a thunk, and Headmaster Dumbledore strode into the room without so much as a knock. Gone was the usual twinkle in his eyes, and Harry caught a brief glimpse of an enraged expression on his face before it was covered up by a more sombre mien. The rust red robes he wore, silken and covered in blackbirds, only added to the boy's impression of the Headmaster's mood.
"Professor McGonagall, Miss Granger, Harry," Dumbledore greeted. Harry straightened up, and his gaze went straight to Hermione.
"It's Lady Dagworth-Granger now, actually," Hermione murmured.
The Headmaster continued on as if Hermione hadn't spoken. "Professor McGonagall, we missed you at breakfast and I am told your first and second Transfiguration classes were cancelled. I hope you are not unwell?"
McGonagall reviewed the parchments in her hands and placed them back on the desk before responding. "I am not unwell, Headmaster," she replied formally, and calmly. "As is my duty as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, I accompanied Lady Dagworth-Granger and Lord Potter-Black to Gringotts to take care of a number of personal matters."
"And why were two underage students permitted to stay in an undisclosed location overnight?"
Dumbledore's voice was still even, but Harry thought he detected an edge to it. "Hermione got sick and the goblins let us stay until she was feeling better," he interjected.
That made the headmaster's eyes widen fractionally, but the older wizard continued, "Students are not permitted to leave the school during term. And to allow them to stay somewhere without their guardian's permission overnight is quite unwise, Professor McGonagall."
The words caused Professor McGonagall to draw herself up to her full height. There was an angry glint in her eyes, and her brogue deepened as she spoke. "I hardly think that ensuring my niece is able to take on her responsibilities as the Head of House Dagworth-Granger is unwise, Headmaster. In fact, it is fortunate that we were visiting Gringotts yesterday, as the goblins were able to cure her where Madam Pomfrey failed."
Professor McGonagall had stepped closer to Hermione and her hand was on the girl's shoulder by the time she finished speaking. While Harry didn't have the faintest idea as to just when the professor had become his best friend's aunt, he just watched while Dumbledore's expression darkened.
"Be that as it may, Minerva, there are consequences when a professor disobeys a direct order from the Headmaster of this school," he said.
"Actually, Albus, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts is obligated to assist the scions and heads of Noble and Ancient Houses if they are required to leave the school to complete family business," McGonagall retorted. "I should think you would know that."
The room seemed to grow colder as the two professors glared at one another, and the absurdity of the situation made Harry's stomach churn. Dumbledore had been keeping things from him for months, perhaps years, and even now he seemed bent on haranguing Professor McGonagall rather than showing any concern for one of the students in his care.
"Did you know that Hermione was cursed?" Harry demanded before Dumbledore could respond to Professor McGonagall. "Healer Deraga said that if she wasn't such a strong witch she would be dead by now."
His words startled the headmaster, but the older man just raked his gaze over Harry before regaining his composure. "Of course not, Harry. And I am glad that Miss Granger is fully recovered. But as I said, there are consequences…"
"Yes, the consequence that Hermione might have died if the goblins hadn't helped us. Madam Pomfrey just kept dosing her with potions and Hermione never got better!"
Dumbledore's lips thinned, briefly, as he pressed them together. His momentary silence only made Harry angrier; the headmaster had expressed relief that Hermione wasn't sick, but it didn't sound entirely sincere.
"Did you know that my scar is a horcrux?" he demanded before Dumbledore could say anything else.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as they flicked up toward the lightning bolt scar in question. "I had my suspicions, Harry," he allowed, and hurried on before he could be interrupted. "There was a reason that I did not tell you of the prophecy until this past spring; I wanted you to experience childhood unburdened by what was only a suspicion on my part…"
Harry's right hand cut through the air in a sharp, dismissive gesture. "Bill Weasley knew what it was after looking at it for five minutes. You can't tell me you've had'suspicions' and never tried to verify them."
"Harry, I –"
"I've been walking around with a piece of Voldemort in my head and you never saw anything? None of you ever saw anything!?" Harry demanded as his voice rose to a shout. "Were you just going to let me go off to fight Voldemort and put me down after, like – like an old dog?"
Professor McGonagall looked stricken, and she didn't just have a hand on Hermione's shoulder, Harry noticed from the corner of his eye – the woman had an arm around his best friend, whose eyes were filling with tears.
"Of course not," Dumbledore finally managed to say, and some of the warmth returned to his eyes. "I wanted you to have a normal childhood, a normal time at school. How could I allow you to have the knowledge of such a terrible thing hanging over your head, Harry? Especially when there is no known means of fixing the problem…"
Harry shook his head violently. "Bill Weasley's already researching it. Have you even looked for a way to get rid of it?"
The older wizard's eyes widened again, before giving Harry a stern look. "The fact that there is a horcrux in your scar must be kept secret, Harry. There are some who would say it makes you much like Voldemort, yourself."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Gringotts is willing to help solve the problem for one of their biggest customers. Bill and his associates were sworn to secrecy," he said disdainfully. "That's something else you kept from me, Headmaster – until June I lived in Dudley's castoffs and thought there was just enough gold in my vault to pay for my Hogwarts' supplies.
"But it turns out my father was a Lord and so was Sirius, and now I'm a bloody Lord too – but you let me go on for five years not knowing that James Potter was a bloody Lord with a bloody seat in the Wizengamot!" He was panting by the time he finished, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He could see that the tears in Hermione's eyes had begun to spill over and make silvery tracks down her cheeks.
Dumbledore's face took on a sorrowful mien. "Harry, I never wanted to hurt you. Taking on the role of Head of a magical House is an enormous responsibility, and with the many other challenges you are facing I thought that such a burden could wait until you graduated from Hogwarts…"
"The Potter line might have been dead by then," Harry snapped.
Dumbledore's eyes met Harry's, and he nodded his head gravely. "You are entirely right, Harry. I should have told you about your role as Lord Potter. But you must forgive an old man his mistakes – I only ever wanted to protect you."
Harry shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and the fingertips of his left hand bumped up against the silver pectoral he'd found for Ron in the Potter vault. He'd forgotten all about it. "We both want the same thing, Headmaster. I want Voldemort dead too, after all he's done. But you keep leaving me in the dark. I'm tired of being treated like a – like a chess piece!" he exclaimed.
"Harry, my boy, you're not a chess piece." His voice had turned kind and grandfatherly, and the thrumming of Harry's heartbeat in his ears slowed as some of his ire started to wane.
"You could have fooled me. You've kept me ignorant of the prophecy, about why Voldemort's after me, about my family – and now about the fact that I might have to die to make sure he stays dead!"
"Harry, we can talk about this…" Dumbledore's voice almost sounded pleading.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Harry dipped his head. "Yeah – we'll talk, Headmaster." But then his attention turned back to Hermione for a second, and he thought she looked rather pale, even with Healer Deraga's work and the sleep they'd both gotten while deep under the bank. He shook himself. "Hermione still needs rest, though. It will have to wait," he said, and to Harry's surprise, his tone was more akin to the noble he'd suddenly become than the schoolboy who had left Hogwarts the previous afternoon.
His words must have stirred McGonagall to action, as she let her arm fall from its place around Hermione's shoulder. "Indeed, Albus. Hermione needs to see Madam Pomfrey to discuss her ongoing care. I am certain we can all continue this conversation later. If you will excuse us, Harry and I will escort Hermione to the Hospital Wing."
Harry thought that the headmaster looked rather gobsmacked at the fact that Professor McGonagall had pushed back. Or perhaps it was the fact that Harry had told him off. Whatever it was, the headmaster wordlessly allowed the three of them past. Harry caught him staring into the fireplace before he swept out of the deputy headmistress' office and hurried in the opposite direction in a flurry of red velvet.
When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey greeted them with a sort of enthusiastic urgency that took Harry quite by surprise. "Miss Granger, Mister Potter. Please, have a seat. Professor McGonagall, I'm so glad you're here," she said as she bustled closer.
Harry exchanged a confused look with Hermione, but before either could ask just why the mediwitch was practically excited to see them, Professor McGonagall pulled a document from the pocket of her robes. "Poppy, why don't we all sit? Hermione has had a rather…exciting twenty-four hours," she said.
When both students and faculty members were seated, Madam Pomfrey looked over Hermione and her wand moved quickly as she cast a set of diagnostic charms. "You're looking much better. When I received that letter this morning, I looked for all three of you, but you were nowhere to be found!"
Seeing the expressions of confusion on their faces, Madam Pomfrey cast a silent accio and a piece of parchment sailed across the infirmary to settle in her hand. "It was sent anonymously. I didn't know what to make of it, but it might explain some of Miss Granger's symptoms," she explained as McGonagall read the letter with pursed lips before passing it to Harry and Hermione.
Madam Pomfrey:
I have reason to believe that Harry Potter may have been given inexpertly-prepared potions. I have found evidence of a love potion in my home, as well as recipes for additional potions and instructions for casting several unpleasant-sounding spells. It is possible that Hermione Granger has been similarly affected.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Parent
Harry looked up from the letter. "When did you receive this? Only – we've just come back from Gringotts, and a healer there cleansed Hermione and I of a few different things. But they were spells, not potions."
Madam Pomfrey frowned and cast several nonverbal charms at Harry as well. "An owl delivered it at breakfast just this morning. You were treated by a Gringotts healer?" she asked, and exchanged a significant look with Professor McGonagall. "They don't usually treat wizards."
It took the better part of an hour for Harry, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall to explain what the last day had been like, and how Hermione – and Harry – had come to be treated by a goblin healer. By silent agreement they did not mention the horcrux, but Harry shared in scathing tones his opinion of the fact that no one had found the magical block or the other spells afflicting Hermione.
He expected Madam Pomfrey to bristle and become angry with him at the way he practically insulted her skills, but Harry hardly knew what to do when instead the mediwitch's face crumpled into a look of utter devastation.
"Oh, I knew something was wrong, Miss Granger, but none of my diagnostic charms showed a thing," Madam Pomfrey said rather tearfully, and in fact she conjured a handkerchief with which to dab at her eyes. "After the last time that you came to see me, I consulted with an expert at St Mungo's and they promised to research your symptoms."
Hermione offered a small, reassuring smile to the mediwitch. "I know you believed me, Madam Pomfrey. Healer Deraga said that some of the spells were cast by a very strong wizard," she said.
At that, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall shared a significant look, but then Madam Pomfrey smiled at Hermione and patted her hand lightly. "I'm just so glad that you're well again. I'll have these new potions ready for you this evening – I'll send a house elf to you so that you don't have to come all the way to the hospital wing again," she explained.
Hermione's smile turned tense at that, but she nodded her agreement. "Thank you, Madam," she murmured.
"Indeed, thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Professor McGonagall repeated. "Now, Harry, why don't you escort Hermione back to the Gryffindor tower?"
When Hermione began to protest, Madam Pomfrey added, "I'm sure you still need your rest, Miss Granger. Your core still needs to heal, and sleep will only help. I am excusing you both from classes for the remainder of the day."
Harry acquiesced without much protest – he hadn't been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts, despite it having been his favourite subject in years past. He offered his hand to Hermione and with a repetition of the thanks they had already offered to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, they left the hospital wing and walked back to the Gryffindor Common Room.
With classes in session, the halls were practically deserted, and they didn't run into a single student on the slow walk to their house. Harry didn't mind at all that Hermione let him hold her hand the entire way there. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the portrait's eyes narrowed and a disapproving frown marred her face.
"Out of class, I see. Oh very well, I suppose you look rather peaky, young lady," she announced. "Password?"
Harry pursed his lips at the Fat Lady's comment. "Snargaluff," he announced, and the portrait nodded regally before swinging open to reveal the common room.
The red and gold-hued room was as deserted as the halls, and Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief that he wouldn't need to explain where they'd been – at least not just yet. Instead, the portrait swung shut once more to seal them in the blissful quiet.
They stood in silence for a long moment, until finally Hermione cleared her throat. "Well…I'm going to get some more sleep, like Madam Pomfrey said. We can visit the library later and research the…well, the you-know-what," she said, and looked up at Harry. He tried not to sigh at the way her cinnamon-hued eyes made his heart tumble over a few times, and instead reluctantly let go of her hand.
"Sleep well, Hermione. I'm – I'm just glad you're feeling better. We can go to the library whenever you're ready," he replied.
Hermione smiled up at him, and then leaned in close. Harry gulped, but all she did was brush her lips, feather-light, against his cheek before leaving his side to climb the stairs to the girls' dorms. "Thank you, Harry," she called when her feet found the top step.
Harry watched her until she disappeared behind the door into the dormitories. With a gusty sigh, he made his way up the stairs to the boys' dormitories to put away his things and find something to occupy his time until Hermione woke up.
He'd settled on completing his Charms and Transfiguration homework – he would rather have gone flying, but didn't want to leave Hermione alone in the dorms – and Harry spent several hours tucked in a corner of the common room. Several of his housemates came and went, but none were sixth years no one paid much attention to his presence.
He was just putting the finishing touches on his Transfiguration essay when Hermione found him. She'd changed into one of her muggle dresses. This one was dark blue, with a high neckline that skimmed her collarbone and a band of scrunched fabric that wrapped around her waist. The fabric looked soft enough to touch, and Harry swallowed, hard, at the way it clung to her. The dress ended well below her knees, but he could still see her ankles and calves, stocking-covered though they were.
"Alright, Harry?"
He shook himself, and smiled up at her. "Yeah," he said, and meant it. "Ready to go to the library? I've just got to put these scrolls away."
Hermione shoved her hair behind her left ear and peered down at the scrolls as Harry stood. "Are those essays? Were you…completing your homework early?"
Harry could feel himself blushing, and he picked up the scrolls quickly. "I thought I'd get caught up, since we'll probably need to make up today's classes, and we can't all be the brightest witch at Hogwarts." He ended on a teasing note, and watched as Hermione's cheeks filled with colour.
"Oh, well…" Hermione ducked her head. "We should get to the library before classes are over and the tables are all full."
Harry hurried up the stairs to the boys' dorms and put his scrolls away; when he got back downstairs, Hermione was still waiting.
By unspoken consent they took their time walking through the castle despite Hermione's concern about the tables being full. When they finally made it to the library, the sun was high in the sky, and its rays were turning the wooden tables a nearly tangerine hue where the light shone in from the windows. Hermione waved Harry off to one such table while she hurried straight toward the card catalogue; when she came back, Harry saw, there were four books in her arms and she was nearly staggering under their weight. He stood to help her, but she just dropped all four on the tables between them.
"The Responsibilities of Power?" Harry asked, reading the first books title. "I thought we were going to look for information on the…well, you know," he finished, waving a hand up towards his scar.
"Well get to that later," Hermione proclaimed. "Professor McGonagall hasn't given me a pass to the Restricted Section yet. But if you don't want any more…undue influence in your life, Harry, you'll need to understand your rights as Lord Potter-Black."
Harry nodded, and watched while Hermione took the second book in the pile; that one was called Estate Planning for the Modern Noble Wizard. "So…Lady Dagworth-Granger, I imagine these will be helpful to you as well. I thought you said you didn't have any magical relatives."
Hermione blanched, and opened the book to review its table of contents. "I thought I didn't either. But my dad – he's not a muggle, Harry. He's a squib. My Grandpa Ollie is actually Oliver Dagworth-Granger, Vida Dagworth-Granger's brother, but he was a squib too. And when Vida died, and didn't have any children, Gringotts went looking for a magical relative. And they found one: me," she explained.
Harry scratched the back of his head, still looking at Hermione. "So you really are related to Hector Dagworth-Granger," he said, with a little grin. "Won't that entertain Slughorn?"
"Professor Slughorn, Harry. And yes – I'm his great-granddaughter. That's not the only thing, though. I'm not nearly as wealthy as you, but…when I put on the Dagworth-Granger ring, I became Baroness Dagworth-Granger. Gringotts turned over the vault to me, and the deed to a manor. Harry, she had house elves." Her voice rose, shrilly, on the last two words, resulting in a few dirty looks from a pair of Hufflepuffs two tables over. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she ducked her head.
Harry reached over and rubbed Hermione's arm. His heart flip-flopped and he cleared his throat to hide the way touching her skin made his heart start to race. There were no more tingles; he wondered if that had been the aversion charm. "You'd be a lot nicer to them than most wizards with house elves, you know," he said. "And if you're Lady Dagworth-Granger, you can change things, can't you? Like you told me I could." He watched conflicting emotions play out over her face; she looked angry, which didn't surprise him, but speculative as well.
"It's the principle of the thing, Harry. But Belrig – I have an account manager now, if you can believe it – Belrig did say that they'd die without a bond. He thinks there are two, up at the manor. It's probably beautiful," Hermione mused. "It's up by Cheltenham, in the Cotswolds."
Harry offered a nod. "There aren't any Potter elves left. Ripnok and Archin think that Dumbledore must have arranged for them to bond with other families, after my parents died." He frowned. "Not that he was supposed to…but better that than the alternative I guess." He shook himself a little, and returned his attention to Hermione. "Are you going to go see it?"
"I think so, although I'll have to convince my parents…" Hermione sighed, and straightened up in her chair. "I have to tell my parents about all of this. Professor McGonagall said that back before the Second World War – the muggle one – the old families used to obliviate squibs and then set them up as muggles. Grandpa Ollie and Grandma Isla – really, Isla Urquart – are both squibs. Grandma Isla is Elphinstone Urquart's sister, and he was married to Professor McGonagall."
Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "Is that why McGonagall called you her niece?" he asked.
She looked at him again from over the top of the book. "She's technically my great-aunt-in-law, I suppose, but I think she told Headmaster Dumbledore to protect herself – and me." Hermione paused, and her expression turned more serious. "Harry, Ron had such a…reaction when you told him about everything last month. I think I'd like to keep this quiet for a little while, just until I've had some time to get used to it."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "But isn't Ron your…?"
"Please?"
At Hermione's look of desperation, his hand slid down to rest over hers, and he nodded. "I won't say anything to him, Hermione. But you will have to tell him before he finds out from anyone else – it's only a matter of time before it becomes public. And you know how Ron will be if he finds out from someone else."
Hermione murmured her agreement and turned her hand to clasp his more fully. Harry squeezed her hand tightly. They stayed like that, each reading in silence, until the sun was low in the sky and Madam Pince came to chase them out of the library ahead of supper.