A/N: As always, expect spelling and grammar nonsense. I'm a lazy editor! Sue me, this is a hobby! lol


October arrived with a flurry of cold weather. The trees of the Forbidden Forest creaked worryingly in high gales, scattering their rapidly darkening leaves onto the heads of those students studying Herbology and Care Of Magical Creatures on the blustery grounds nearby. The Lake was already turning the colour of chilled steel, its murky waves lapping angrily against slopes made treacherous by a series of heavy recent rainstorms.

Harry sat in the warmth of Gryffindor Tower and watched it all from the comfort of the Prefects Dorm. Hermione was out in that somewhere, planting some magical seeds that were part of a first term Potions project. Snape had set them the task of cultivating the ingredients for a Potion themselves, as his store cupboard wouldn't always been on hand to bail them out. Harry begrudgingly admitted this was a fair point, but he didn't really care, as he took specialist Potions tuition from Dumbledore these days and didn't have to get drenched in order to satiate Snape's cruel whimsy against his students.

Also, Hermione looked adorable when her hair was all over the place. And Harry would never complain about his girlfriend looking so heart-achingly cute.

He was trying very hard not to think about her. She was such a distraction, even when she wasn't with him. And he had to crack on with his Alchemy homework - a two-foot essay on the Nigredo Stage of the Work. It was all very interesting, but what with Hermione on his mind, and the new Weird Sisters hit song - Wicked Witch of the West - on the Wireless, Harry was getting very little done.

So it came as quite the relief when suddenly the fire burst to life and a scrap of parchment emerged from the flame. Harry went to grab it. But before he could even stand up, the parchment contorted into a vague mouth-shape and said, in Hermione's voice -

"Are you coming to lunch...or do I have to get another boyfriend to keep me company?"

Harry grinned as the parchment disintegrated into little specks of ash. He hauled himself up and made his way down to the Great Hall. Hermione was waiting for him just outside, drying her hair with her wand and looking very dishevelled.

"What are you smirking at?" Hermione said, crossly, as Harry approached. "It's a flaming storm out there!"

"Is it raining? I hadn't noticed," said Harry off-handedly, plucking a stray leaf from Hermione's mane. She scowled at him. "I could leave it there, if you'd prefer?"

"Just take me to lunch!"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry. He leant in close to whisper in Hermione's ear. "I do so love it when you get bossy, did you know?"

The corners of Hermione's lips curled into a shy smile, in spite of herself. "Shut up, Harry."

"There's my girl," Harry smiled back. "Shall I take your bag?"

"Gaaay. Whipped like a proper lame racehorse, eh Potter?"

Draco Malfoy was passing them on the way from the Hall. Harry clenched his jaw.

"I may be a horse, but at least it means I'm well hung," Harry volleyed back.

"Says who?" Malfoy sniped.

"Says me, obviously," Hermione crooned silkily.

Malfoy looked taken aback by Hermione's forthrightness, but she didn't back down, even as a series of hissing whispers broke out on tables nearby. She gave one, quite challenging look, at Malfoy, then guided Harry through the wall of gossip towards the Gryffindor table.

"We'll pay for that one," said Harry, nodding at the clustered heads looking in their direction. "How lewd do you reckon it will get?"

"Oh, let them hang," said Hermione, dismissively. "They can talk all they want. It's not as if they aren't talking already."

"But about that?" Harry asked, pointedly.

Hermione looked pityingly at him. "Oh, honey, most of the girls here have already talked about that. Especially yours."

Harry dribbled out his mouthful of pumpkin juice in surprise. "Th-they have?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, breezily. "Not just yours, of course, but as you're the biggest name here the girls often wonder if you are the biggest in other ways, too. It's a fairly natural thing to talk about, and I've probably done your reputation a favour. I'm surprised you didn't know. I bet you talk about girls' bits all the time."

That was true, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to admit it. He decided on a more tactful line. "I don't actually."

"Oh come on, Harry! I'm a modern girl, I know you talk with the other boys about us girls."

"Well..." Harry began cautiously. "Susan Bones has a great set of boobs...and Sally-Anne Perks' legs go on for ever!"

"What! You look at other girls!? How dare you!"

"You...you just said..." Harry began, fitfully afraid. "Modern girl...I thought you said."

Then Hermione burst out laughing. "Harry...I was joking! Honestly. I'd love Sally's legs, I wont lie. They're so silky and toned. But I quite like my boobs, I wouldn't swap them. Besides, Sue says hers give her chronic back pain."

"I like your boobs...and your legs," said Harry, quietly.

Hermione flushed crimson. "Thanks. I...I didn't know you'd looked..."

When do I stop looking? Harry thought desperately. Ever since he'd noticed it, Hermione's body had become a source of immense addiction to him, not that he could ever do it justice by explaining that to her.

"I've looked," he said, avoiding meeting her eye. "I didn't know you'd thought...about me, I mean...like that."

"Oh don't be so coy, Harry," said Hermione. "You've always been ridiculously fanciable. Every girl with a set of eyes knows that. And I've had more opportunity to look than any of them. But, now that I'm allowed to look more - ahem - intimately..."

Her voice tailed off, dreadfully embarrassed. They sat in silence and ate, both grinning madly at their own thoughts, dying to confess them to the other but mindful that this was about as wrong a place as they could imagine for such a discussion. Just then, their reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall at their table.

"Harry, Miss Granger," said McGonagall. "When you are done with lunch, please join me in my office."

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Harry, thrown by the gravity of McGonagall's tone.

"I am not sure yet," McGonagall replied. "But I have just received a message...from Gringotts."

"Is there a problem with the Estate?" asked Harry. He knew, as his Regent, McGonagall was now the first point of contact in such matters.

"No, at least not directly," said McGonagall. "But something has come up...and it involves the both of you."

"Me?" asked Hermione, a tremble in her voice. "How?"

"This I don't know. The Goblins were not specific. Just join me as soon as you can."

"I'm ready now," said Harry, leaping up.

"As am I," Hermione agreed. "I think I've lost my appetite."

"As you wish," said McGonagall. "Follow me."

Half an hour later and the three of them were sat in the plain, stone office of Harry's Personal Finance Goblin, who was called Arngor. The swarthy creature was more terse than usual, and for a goblin that was quite something. Harry braced himself for bad news.

"What is this about?" asked McGonagall presently. "You said it was urgent."

"And I meant my words," the goblin replied. He stood up, but was so small that it made little difference to his stature. "As you are no doubt aware, there are fundamental changes taking place here in White City."

"Of course," McGonagall replied. "But I was under the impression the bank was independent of the Government."

Arngor grimaced in toothy-grin sort of way. "Mrs McGonagall, Gringotts is the financial arm of the Government. We deliver the capital for all civil works, provide loans for various fields of research, are in charge of all the wages the Government pays its workers. In turn, the Government passes legislation which allows us to trade freely with an air of autonomy. It is a symbiotic relationship that has been mutually beneficial to both parties for centuries."

"Has been?" Harry queried, lowly.

"Has been," Arngor echoed. "Recent changes to the ruling powers threaten to undermine all that."

"Explain," said McGonagall.

"The bank trades not just in money...but in trust," said Arngor. "Our autonomy from Government control has always facilitated that. People trust us with their money, allowing us to invest and grow our institution around the world. However, this new coalition wants to do away with all our traditions. They want control of the bank, that is one of their many goals. And there are those at the bank who are keen to see it happen. They see great profits in the new regime...so are turning a blind eye to the other things being implemented in order to deliver such wealth."

"Like what?" asked Hermione.

Arngor considered her with grave seriousness. Harry shuddered at the sight, though he couldn't have said why. "Like the reason I have summoned you here today. A few days ago, an official from the GR - you know who they are - delivered a request for all the financial information on every magical citizen on record. They are compiling huge databases, one of which aims to catalogue all financial activity in magical Britain. They want to track where citizens get their money from, and where it goes.

"In particular, they are quite keen to learn all they can about the financial activity of Muggles that have children who have attended Hogwarts. They want to know account details of these children, how the Muggles came to learn about Gringotts, and all their transactions in the magical world. It seems they want to know if the Muggles are doing more than simply paying for school supplies."

Harry's jaw clenched hard as anger surged within him. "And why do they want to know all this?"

"I can only speculate," said Arngor. "But for a regime which seems fixated on Purebloods and Magic for Magicals, it strikes me that information on non-Magicals in our world could be...perverted...into a terrible weapon."

"Where does this concern my Ward and his girlfriend?" asked McGonagall, her face flushed with her own ire.

"Now we come to the point," said Arngor. "During the collation of this data, Miss Granger's family naturally came up. She is Muggleborn, after all. But there was a...well...a curiosity which arose during the course of the research."

"A curiosity?" asked Hermione, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"I was unsure myself," said Arngor. "But any mention of you, or your family, now automatically triggers a privacy threat on your joint account with Mr Potter. I took it upon myself to dig further into the protocol breach, and found some unusual references...to your parents."

Hermione gasped and sat up, alert. "My parents? But...they aren't magical...why would they flag up?"

"My question exactly," said the goblin. "So, invoking the Trust Clause I have access to as your Account Goblin, I looked into your family background. I found the name Granger in reference to something called Project Horizon. Your grandfather was called Nicholas Granger, wasn't he? And your grandmother was Elizabeth Granger?"

"Yes...that's right," Hermione mumbled in shock.

"Her unmarried name was Morris, and this was also a name associated with Project Horizon."

"How do you know her unmarried name?" asked Hermione, suspiciously.

"They are both recorded...on the birth records from St Mungo's," said Arngor bluntly.

This time, Harry gasped out loud. "St Mungo's...but...wouldn't that mean...?"

"They were both born at the hospital...but both were born Squibs," Arngor explained. "I tried looking into this Project Horizon, but it has been classified as Above Top Secret...and, whatever it is, it was conducted by a very secretive division of the Department of Mysteries. There is a paper trail of salary cheques paid to workers on the Project, but no invoices or any documentation that might hint at what was going on there.

"In my experience - which is vast - operations conducted in such secrecy, with the Project being open and shut down without many people knowing an iota about it, very rarely turn out to be good things."

Hermione was stupefied. She had gone very pale and seemed to be struggling to process the information.

"Why are you telling us this?" asked McGonagall.

"For the simple reason of client security," said Arngor. "There are shady wizards looking into the history of Miss Granger's family, and it suggests a history that might make her - and her parents - very interesting to the Grey Robes. I would advise getting her parents to safety as a matter of urgency...if that blatantly obvious necessity hasn't occurred to you already, of course."

"Meaning what?" Harry spat angrily.

Arngor, to his immense credit, ignored Harry's petulance. "The Goblins will remain neutral in all that is to come. We will not involve ourselves in Wizarding affairs beyond our current role. But it is clear, even to the blindest of us, that soon some magicals will be deemed more equal than others...and those that aren't face a very dangerous future."

Harry gulped hard at the starkness of Arngor's words. He took Hermione's hand and helped her up. They would head to straight to her parents, Harry wouldn't rest until they were safe.


Hermione sat in the dimly lit kitchen and watched Harry work away. He was flitting around lighting candles and trying to make the place tidy, as Dobby battled hard to set fire to the damp logs in the hearth. The other, decrepit house-elf, stood in a shadowy corner and rocked on the balls of his ancient feet, muttering to himself and fiddling with the ridiculously heavy locket-type pendant that hung at his neck.

"Kreacher, you could help if you wanted!" Harry hissed.

"Harry...be kind," said Hermione. "Remember what Dumbledore said..."

"Don't, Hermione," said Harry, warningly. "I know what you are going to say and just...just don't."

Hermione held her tongue in spite of herself. She knew Harry was still incredibly raw about Sirius, and placed much of the blame at Kreacher's hairy, wrinkled feet. It took time to get over things sometimes, Hermione was cognizant of that. It wasn't wise to press Harry while he was so strung out as this.

The fact that Harry was so fraught over the fate of her parents...well, that swirled intense things in Hermione's heart. She wanted to tell him so, to kiss him and hug him and elucidate all that his actions meant to her, but was afraid she might melt if she did.

For she was all sorts of anguished herself. Not to mention confused. The contents of the meeting at Gringotts had been replayed so many times in her head by now that she almost knew it by heart. Not that it made even a shred of sense to her, something that Hermione Granger simply wasn't used to in any area of her mind. She knew her life, her background...or so she'd thought.

To find out that there were secrets in her past, or that of her parents and grandparents, was threatening to shake her very core.

Which is why she was so keen to stay close to Harry, to cling to the blinding beacon of strength he had become in her life. It was good to see him at purpose, set to task. The fact that his efforts and sacrifices were all for her simply multiplied her gratitude and love by a factor of degrees. It satisfied her, and shied her, and humbled her. She doubted if she was worth it, thanked Merlin that she and Harry and found each other in the first place and developed this immovable bond between them.

It made her feel like an extremely blessed young witch.

"Harry...is there anything I can do?" asked Hermione, keen to help.

"No, just let me," Harry replied. "This is my house, if you like, so it should be my job to keep it in decent condition. Just in case."

No matter how much I hate coming here, Hermione thought he might have added. She knew that this, above all else, was the hardest thing for him. The memories of Sirius, his incarceration, the place where the last lie about him had been told...it brought back such pain. Hermione could see it etched into the lines of his face. But he was insistent.

Hermione's parents needed to be put somewhere safe...and Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was as good a spot as could be hoped for.

"You know, I think we should commission a portrait of Sirius," Harry blurted out suddenly. "Maybe two. One could stay here and we could take the other to Hogwarts. That way, he could take messages to your parents when we needed him to."

Hermione smiled sadly. She knew how much harry would like that, but it would never be a replacement for the real thing.

"Do you really think he'd like that, being a portrait here?" asked Hermione. "He never cared for the place. And, once it's safe for my parents again, he would be all alone here."

Harry's expression took on a pained hue. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But I intend to get the place liveable. Get rid of all the Dark stuff and trolls legs and elf heads. New furniture, bright paint, that sort of thing. It...it might be alright..."

Harry looked around forlornly, doubting his own words as he said them. Hermione rose and slipped her arms around his middle from behind, resting her forehead against the rise and fall of his shoulder blades.

"It's worth a try," she whispered supportively. "Anything has to be an improvement, hasn't it?"

Harry turned around and snaked his arms around Hermione's shoulders, pulling her tight to him. "This wont be forever," he hushed into her hair. "We'll make it safe somehow. I'll start working on Dumbledore to be more active, we'll do something to slow this horror. Then all will be well. I promise."

"Promise?" Hermione parroted, snuggling into the crook of Harry's neck.

"Ahem," came a cough from the doorway. "Forgive me for interrupting. May we enter?"

Dumbledore's voice, spoken through Fawkes - who had appeared in the kitchen - disturbed Harry and Hermione's moment. Sighing, they broke apart reluctantly.

"Of course, Sir," said Harry. "Dobby, would you get the door, please? And conduct magical verification on all of them before you let them over the threshold."

"Including Miss Minnie's parents?" asked Dobby.

Harry guffawed at that as Hermione tutted next to him. "Yes, especially them. Make sure they are safe before they enter."

And with that, Dobby popped away. Hermione slipped her arms from Harry's waist and looked at him with a cute frown. "And you...don't get any ideas about calling me Miss Minnie any time soon, or I'll hex you all the way to your N.E.W.T's."

"Always the violent road with you these days, isn't it!" Harry chuckled. "I don't know where the love went, I really don't..."

Then he snapped his mouth shut quickly, as though he'd said the wrong thing. They looked away from each other, fitfully embarrassed, just as Dumbledore led Professor McGonagall and David and Catrin Granger into the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"Mum! Dad!" cried Hermione, running up and hugging her parents deeply. Over her shoulder, she could see Harry approaching Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Sir," she heard him whisper. "Thank you for bring them here safely. I was so worried for them..."

"As well you should have been," Dumbledore replied. "But they are safe now."

Harry turned to face the Granger party and cleared his throat. "I...I know it isn't much. But it's safe, that's the main thing. My house-elf, Dobby, and I will get it clean and in better condition as soon as we can. Sorry till then...I - I fear I've rather neglected the place..."

Hermione felt her heart break at the blatant shame in Harry's voice. She just had to stand up for him. "This house belonged to Harry's Godfather. We...lost him...just last year. I think I told you..."

"You did," said Catrin, sympathetically. "Thank you, Harry. This is extraordinarily kind of you."

"It's the least I can do," Harry replied quietly. "I wish I could do more..."

"This will do for now," said Hermione firmly. "Now...let's get to why you have to be protected in the first place. Project Horizon..."

Both Catrin and David shifted at the mention of the Project. Hermione wasn't enthused by their response.

"You've heard of it, at least then," she fumed. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"We didn't ever really know what to say," David Granger offered. "We know only the basics ourselves."

"And what are they?" Hermione demanded, tapping her foot in her impatience.

Catrin and David exchanged glances. It was Catrin who took the gauntlet first.

"We didn't know much," she began. "Only that our Grandparents had been...different...and that their children hadn't been."

Hermione gasped in shock. "You mean...both your sets of parents were...were Squibs?"

Catrin and David nodded in affirmation. Hermione whined at the declaration.

"Look, sweetheart," said Catrin, desperately. "The anger and frustration you're feeling...we felt it too, when we found out. To know that both my parents and David's were magic-less witch and wizard couples...it shook both our worlds to their very foundations. Equally as much as our finding out that you were a witch. We've had enough shocks to last multiple lifetimes!"

Hermione was dazed by the declaration. "So...you knew about magic? You knew that I could be a witch?"

"We suspected," David confessed. "When odd things happened to you as a girl, we wondered...what if? But we could never be sure. Neither of our own parents went into much detail. I hardly need explain why."

"As Squibs they were shunned by magical kind," Dumbledore growled. "A failing in our society that we still struggle with."

"Exactly," Catrin agreed. "And not only that...this Project they were part of...it affected them on a fundamental level. They were never comfortable talking about it. That's why we never see them these days."

"I don't understand," said Hermione, who had never understood why all four of her Grandparents had shunned her for her entire life.

"They were afraid for you...and for themselves," David continued. "It is no coincidence that two sets of Squibs found love and married. Especially as all four had been 'Horizon Children', as they became known. Whatever happened to them...it was profound...and likely horrific."

"Do you know what it was?" Harry asked.

"Only on a very basic level," Catrin replied. "They were children born to magic...but without it. It made them curiosities, odd children that were worthy of study, in the eyes of magical science, to explain their deficiency."

Harry swore out loud. "It's more sodding Blood Purity crap, isn't it? More fucking magical eugenics Hippogriff-bollocks?"

"Harry! Language!" Hermione admonished. "My parents..!"

"Don't care a jot if your boyfriend swears in front of us," David cried, cutting Hermione off at a stroke. "Your passion is admirable, Harry. Never lose it...especially if it makes you animated in defence of my girl."

"I'd kick a hole in the sky for her, Sir," Harry retorted, fiercely. "Then duel the cosmic rays that dared to break through and threaten her!"

Hermione felt her heart skip at Harry's passionate words. She wanted to kiss him so badly in that moment.

"I'm glad to hear it," David smirked. "But, back to the topic at hand...my parents were Squibs, Catrin's folks the same...the chances of that seemed remote. And then we got married, despite a ton of protests."

"Protests?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, and very suspicious they were, too," said Catrin. "My parents loved David when we were dating...but as soon as I said we were engaged they just...changed."

"It was the same for my mum and dad," said David. "They seemed to think that a marriage between us would be a terrible thing."

"Naturally, we ignored them," Catrin continued. "It was all fine for a while...until I fell pregnant."

"That was when the distancing really started," said David. "We know, now, that they must have sensed something in you, Hermione. But they refused to tell us what. But not one of them wanted anything to do with you. Within six months of you being born, both sets of your Grandparents had emigrated. We only had one letter each to say they were safe, and that was it. We've not had any contact with either sets of our parents since."

"But why?" asked Harry, looking desperately pityingly at Hermione. "What did they know?"

"They never said, and we've never known who to ask," said Catrin. "It isn't the sort of thing one brings up in polite conversation."

Harry scoffed at that. "Dumbledore...you must have some idea about this?"

The wizened Headmaster sighed heavily. He took off his half-moon spectacles to clean as he thought how to respond.

"Yes, Harry...yes I do."

His tone was so heavy that Hermione knew this would be a difficult admission to hear.

"Just tell us what you know, Sir," Harry pressed in a gentle tone. "Hermione and her parents deserve to know...whatever it is."

"They do, indeed," Dumbledore agreed, smiling respectfully at Harry, which warmed Hermione's heart to see. "But...where to begin?"

"The beginning is always the best place," Hermione cajoled. "Just tell us the truth, Headmaster."

"You are quite right," said Dumbledore. "Project Horizon...was a well-intentioned initiative, at least to begin with."

"To begin with?" asked Catrin.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "It was designed to understand how the magical gene was rendered dormant in some children of otherwise magical birth. There was no understanding of the phenomenon when this research started. The problems began with the magical scientists assigned to the programme. They were, as Harry stated, magical eugenicists. They approached the problem as just that...a problem. A defect. Something to be fixed and cured. Not simply a natural outcome.

"They treated the subject as some abnormality. In much the same way as Harry's non-Magical family viewed his magical heritage. Bigotry is a disease that, unfortunately, infects all worlds."

"So, what were their aims?" asked Hermione.

"Primarily, as I understand it, to isolate the cause for magical failure in children of magical parentage," said Dumbledore. "They wanted to understand how a child of a witch and a wizard could be devoid of magical power...especially when magical children were regularly born to Muggle parents or mixed-heritage couples. They felt this was something genetic, a defect that could be identified and perhaps even suppressed in magical couples.

"So, they needed subjects for analysis and experimentation. Squibs were highly prized. In an act that shames our society, Squibs were outcast and ostracised by their own families, far more so than magical children of non-Magical or mixed parentage could ever claim to be. Squibs were treated like lepers and half-lives, condemned to a wretched existence for the most part.

"Project Horizon offered a hope, albeit a shrouded one. They invited donations, even paid for, Squib children for their research. They dressed it up as these Squibs having a use to science and society, even going so far as to suggest they could be cured and be taught to use low-level magic."

"Like QuikSpell," said Harry, feeling an odd surge of pity for Argus Filch.

"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed. "But this was a fallacy, impossible to deliver. If there was a way to artificially boost magical power it would have been exploited a long, long time ago. As it is, such a thing does not exist."

"Then, this Project was a waste of time?" asked David. "But...our parents said they suffered."

Dumbledore's expression darkened. "Oh...I am quite sure they did. The tests and experiments on them would have been...horrendous. I have heard tales of flesh being magically burned, to test recovery rates; of twins being used...to compare the reaction of identical genetic bodies to...magical stimulus; there are stories of new potions and spells being tested on these poor souls...many of whom did not survive the ordeal, which didn't end with their deaths. Even their corpses were used in experiments of a Necromantic nature..."

Hermione fell into a nearby chair, a vile sickness rising in her throat. Harry was suddenly at her side, his fingers digging angrily into her shoulder. He was borderline hurting her, but she wanted to feel him, whatever form that took. Harry's protective touch was all that Hermione was certain of in her ever-changing world.

"But, none of this explains why our parents fled in such terror," said Catrin, who was very pale. "What was the reason for that?"

Dumbledore gripped a chair, the very notion in his mind causing such anger that pots rattled on a nearby shelf.

"One of the main areas of interest for these disturbed wizards was the outcome of procreation," said Dumbledore. "Remember, if you will, that Squibs are the non-Magical offspring of a witch and wizard - an anomaly this Project sought to explain. So, one aspect that fascinated them was the magical potential of the union of two Squibs. Magic had not flourished in them...but what would happen if they had children of their own?"

Hermione yelped at Dumbledore's words and Harry dug into her shoulder deeper still.

"Initially, they experimented with artificially breeding offspring," said Dumbledore. "But even at the embryo stage the wizards could detect no magical signature. These embryos were then...disposed of. The theory went that the birth had to be natural...whatever warped definition that was. So...they put in place plans to force the Squib subjects to...essentially...mate."

"Oh my sweet Merlin!" Harry cried.

"Was...was this how we came to be born?" asked David, gesturing between himself and Catrin.

"Alas, no," said Dumbledore. "At least, not in the way that was intended. The Project was exposed and shut down before it reached that stage. However, the poor Squibs involved in it somehow gravitated towards one another in later life. Few in our society could understand what they had suffered, so they found solace in each other.

"And, in the case of Miss Granger's Grandparents, they found love and marriage."

Hermione swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "I...I think I get it."

"Get what, sweetheart?" asked Catrin.

"Nanna and Bampi...both lots...they knew they had magical ancestry," Hermione began. Thoughts were racing fast, tumbling over each other to get out. "They had heard the theory about what their own children might be like...they might be magical...and they were afraid. Because, if that turned out to be true, it might validate all the research..."

"Oh..." said Harry, the dark horror of comprehension in his voice. "And if that was the case...all the studies would start up again! They'd want to experiment on their kids...to see how they had become magical from two Squibs!"

"Exactly," Hermione moaned. "And, as Mum and Dad were both born from Squib couples...but weren't magic themselves...then I turned out to be a witch..."

"That would make you even more unique!" Harry cried. "They'd want to cut you up and analyse you! Well, fuck that! They will have to get through me first, and Merlin help them if they try!"

Hermione was utterly terrified by the revelation, but Harry's staunch defence of her was comforting. She squeezed his hand on her shoulder, the knuckles of which were white in his rage.

"No-one will harm Miss Granger on my watch," said Dumbledore, his tone so fierce that Hermione wanted to hug him in thanks, her doubts about Harry's mentor forgotten a moment.

"And her parents are safe here," said McGonagall. "As of this moment, only the people in this room know about this place. Dumbledore has invoked a Privacy Renewal on his Fidelius Charm. Anyone that did know about the house has now forgotten all about it."

"And I can keep my secrets," said Dumbledore, stoutly. "I promise you both...you could not be safer."

"Thank you," said David, warmly. "I thank all of you. What you've done for us..."

"There is one thing we haven't done," said Harry, suddenly. "And that's to make you a pot of tea! Dobby! I need your help."

Hermione smiled at that, allowing her mind to relax a little. It needed to, for it was in danger of imploding if she didn't inject some normality into it.

And a pot of tea was as normal a start point as any.


After such a hectic day putting Hermione's parents into the relative safety of Grimmauld Place, Harry was quite keen for a downturn in his stress levels. He caught himself oddly longing for extensive homework assignments, for tricky classes to occupy his thoughts, for hallway gossip about him and Hermione to diffuse in his spare time. Hell, he would even have taken an adolescent spat with Ron at this point. Anything to remind him that there was a world beyond Voldemort's subtle take-over the magical Britain. Something even remotely normal.

But Harry's life wouldn't be what it was if it had any of those things.

So it really should have come as little surprise as, barely three days later, Harry found himself in animosity once again. This time it happened in the Courtyard outside the first-floor Ancient Runes classrooms. He and Hermione had just left their morning period class and were debating just which of the Runes most resembled Harry's scar. It was a straight toss-up between Hagalaz (which Hermione favoured) and Sowilo and neither Harry nor Hermione were prepared to concede in the argument, with both firmly adamant that they were right.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sight which greeted them in the Courtyard. The mood darkened as they clocked eyes on at least a dozen grey-robed students huddled around the plinth at the centre of the square. Harry noticed Ginny Weasley's ruler-straight, rusty hair amongst the number, worryingly close to the ice-blonde locks of Draco Malfoy. The rest were a blend of Slytherins and Ravenclaws, a mix that caused Harry unexpected disquiet.

Malfoy happened to look up just then. He caught Harry's eye with a malicious look. "Oh, Potter. Come here. You might appreciate this."

"I doubt it," Harry growled, unable to resist the obvious bait. Hermione went with him, tucked in close at his side. Harry noticed Hermione's other hand slip into her robe, and Harry would have bet his left nut that it was unsheathing her wrist-holstered wand. It didn't fill him with optimism.

"No, you'll like this," Malfoy sneered. He flicked a snarl at Hermione. "So will you, Muggle-blood."

"Watch your mouth, you inbred, bigoted little shit," Harry hissed acidly. "Mummy and Daddy aren't here to protect that little ferret-hide of yours."

Malfoy coloured slightly. "I haven't forgotten that bloody stunt, by the way, poor little Orphan-Boy. Just remember that."

"I'm so scared," Harry mocked. "Hermione, can you tell how scared I am?"

Hermione nodded. "Yep. I can practically smell you crapping yourself. Or maybe that's just Malfoy's Death Eater perfume. Eau de Arsehole."

Malfoy made half a move towards Hermione. Harry stepped across him and blocked his path, eye-balling him practically forehead-to-forehead. He could see those grey eyes vibrating they were so close. The courtyard had fallen silent, the tension palpable.

"Try it," Harry breathed. "I'll snap your neck before you even get close. I wont even need my wand. But...just in case..."

Harry jabbed his Holly and Phoenix Feather weapon into Malfoy's abdomen, where it had rested after Harry snapped it into action. His rage pulsed around them like an electric storm front, even ruffling the trees nearby. Malfoy physically shook in fear, which made Harry's smirk even wider.

"Back up, you racist filth," Harry spat, his magic building like a cyclone. "Before I eject your spleen all over those pretty new robes of yours."

"Who knew Mudbloods would make you so hot, Harry! If only I'd known...I'd have bought a costume..."

Harry went to react, but Hermione beat him to it. Her wand was out in such a speedy flash that even Harry nodded in appreciation. Hermione flicked a spell at Ginny, that produced a zipper across her mouth. Ginny, incensed, tried to open it, but Hermione cast again, replacing the zipper with a solid metal brace. Ginny struggled against it, but it wouldn't budge.

"There, that's so much better!" Hermione exclaimed. "Have I ever told you how utterly annoying your voice is? This is quite the improvement."

Ginny cursed and swore, but they were all confined to her throat. Harry let out a barking laugh as he watched her struggle against the powerful restriction of Hermione's magic.

"I don't think I've ever been quite as hot for you as I am now," Harry let himself say, shattering the unspoken barrier he and Hermione had erected to such talk. It just seemed the moment.

"Me too," Hermione swooned. "After this is done, I think we should take a bath. Clothing optional."

Ginny's muffled curses became even more vitriolic. Harry just laughed even louder.

"Deal. We might even let that pervy mermaid watch," said Harry, curtailing his mirth. "But first of all, this piece of blood-supremacist dragon shit was going to show me something. Lead on, Miss Malfoy."

Malfoy snarled again, regaining some of his ire. "I wasn't kidding, Potter, you will love this. Take a look."

Harry, morbidly curious, looked down at the plinth. There, standing quite innocuously, was a thick sheet of pale mauve crystal, about as big as your average pillow. It wasn't doing anything, but Harry could feel a low intensity throb of energy coming from it. For a reason he couldn't fathom, Harry found it unsettling. It was as though the frequency of the vibration was reaching right into his brain.

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione cried. She sounded frightened. "Whatever that is, I don't like it."

"As well you shouldn't," Malfoy sneered, his old swagger returning now Harry's wand was out of his flesh. "My Aunt Bella made this...and you aren't exactly the target audience."

"What is it?" asked Harry, though most of his sense didn't want to know.

"A new invention," Malfoy simpered. "You see, my lovely Aunt Bella has been put in charge of a new branch of the Ministry - the Department of Public Information. And she's decided to redress a missing link in magical media - visual communication. Wizarding Wireless is all very well, but seeing is believing, as they say. So my Aunt has commissioned this. A visual broadcasting device that can reach right into people's homes...and beyond. They call it Spell-O-Vision. Ingenious, no?"

"So, that crazily insane Aunt of yours has, basically, stolen another invention from the Muggle World!" Hermione taunted, angrily. "How progressive of her! What's next? Fast Food? Mobile Phones? The Wheel? Fire...?"

"Shut your dirty mouth!" Malfoy yelled. "You'll be sorry! Soon, there will be Spell-O-Vision sets in every home, then the likes of you will be finished!"

Harry wanted to laugh it off, but there was such dark sincerity to Malfoy's words that Harry stumbled a moment. He was hinting...Harry was sensible of that. But of what?

"Finished?" Harry taunted. "You and what army?"

"We won't need an army, Potter," Malfoy snickered. "That's the beauty of it. The crystals are quartz, you see. Great memory properties. They remember where they come from. My Aunt has a Master Crystal, which she can programme. It will send out information about the purity of our Master Race, the defects and pollution of the Muggle and Muggleborn. The disgust we all feel about the Mudblood Agenda. Parents will be turning their own kids over in shame, neighbours will rat out their neighbours. It will be beautiful.

"And at the end, the Pureblood Elite will stand proud, leading the way into the new world. All isn't lost for you, Potter. There is still time for redemption. You will be welcomed into the New Order, our Lord Voldemort will pardon your transgressions. You come from firm stock...and you wont be the only Wizard tempted by the promise of a bit of filthy Muggle pussy. It's easy tail to chase. Though you could have picked one that actually pretended to be a girl..."

Harry could take no more. He didn't even know what spell he cast, but Draco Malfoy was suddenly not standing before him. His prostrate form was slumped twenty feet away, having been slammed with considerable force into a brick wall nearby. For a moment, no-one moved.

Then chaos erupted.

Screams and shouts rented the air. Wands flashed into view all around, and Harry didn't need to know if they were aimed at him or Hermione. They had been drawn in anger in Hermione's general vicinity, that was all that mattered. Harry stopped, drew breath, and considered the options

And not for nothing was Harry taking Duelling classes with ex-World Champion Filius Flitwick and Albus Dumbledore himself.

Harry Potter was well known at Hogwarts for many things. Recovering the Philosophers Stone and killing Professor Quirrell? Check. Slaying a thirty-foot Basilisk? Check. Winning the Triwizard Tournament and matching Lord Voldemort in a Duel in the same night? Double check.

Now he would also be known for hospitalising ten Grey Robe Students with a single volley of spells.

For not a single one of the little bastards even managed to get a Charm off. Not one. Not even a bit of one. For the very act of reacting to a threat, against the girl he loved most in the universe, meant that Harry ventured onto a different plateau of magical potency. He cast so fast, and so viciously, that his wand was a mere blur. Later, Hermione would tell him that she was convinced he had cast non-verbally without instruction, which was obscene in its level of unheard-of-ness in her estimation.

And that was quite something.

But one member of the crowd had managed to escape Harry's unstoppable fury. Somehow, Ginny had broken free of Hermione's bind. She pulled her wand and raised it half an arm in Harry's direction. But not without merit was Hermione Granger viewed as the most powerful witch of her peer group, perhaps even the world-age in general.

And on no account would a vacuous little tramp like Ginny Weasley get the jump on said witch's boyfriend.

Hermione flashed a Cutting Curse at Ginny, carving a nice groove from her lip to earlobe. Ginny screeched out in high-pitched agony as Hermione's spell sliced through her flesh. Blood gushed freely from the wound and Ginny dropped her wand to clutch at her scored cheek. The look she gave Hermione was one of pure loathing.

"You've gone too far this time, you dirty-blooded bitch," Ginny yelped, tears streaming from her eyes. "You wait...I've seen the Re-Education Camps. I've seen little Muggleborn girls like you, ones who might have come to Hogwarts next year...little girls with stupid hair like yours...hair that gets cut off and tested on. I will make sure you join them, you mark my words. I'll make your filthy Muggle mother braid your hair, put all her love into making it pretty, then I'll slice it off myself with a blunt knife, make it hurt as much as I can. I'll put that loving little pigtail in with all the rest...make your mother watch as your worthless life is ended at a Burning Stake. You're finished, Granger, you hear me...finished!"

And with that, Ginny ran off, hurling yet more curses in her wake.