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So far... The reborn Hermione finally contrived to contact Harry by sending him a junior wand for Christmas. Impressed, the Blacks invited Hermione to visit regularly both for play and to share Harry's home classes. Now read on...

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Chapter 6

A Very Cross Examination


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Attending

And so the first weeks of 1987 rolled in with happy days for Harry and Hermione. They chatted for hours, and Hermione began to tentatively share more of her secrets with him – but only him. That the Harry she had known formerly was trustworthy she already knew, but she was more cautious with this six-year-old's innocence.

"Hermione, you're talking grownup again," he observed one day as they sat alone in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. "Sometimes you're quite old-sounding for a small girl. You know things. And do things."

"Best not mention any of that, Harry," she advised him. Wandlessly, she stirred the dozily-glowing coals in the fireplace till they crackled and sparked into new life. "My lisp comes and goes but it's useful to make me sound younger so people don't realise my magic is quite mature. That gives me an edge. You know what an edge is, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "An advantage."

"That's right. And it's the same for you. What if... say one day a friend gave you an invisibility cloak? Bad wizards wouldn't even know you were hiding nearby; they'd go away. But what if they knew you could be invisible?"

His eyes darted around the room as if imagining himself hiding in the shadows behind chairs and cabinets. "They'd search harder. Perhaps try to steal my cloak."

"That's right. Keep your extra magical preparation to yourself. Don't show off when you get to Hogwarts, and that will make your parents – all of them – proud instead. Anyway, we'll protect each other without giving too much away, won't we, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "You meant my first parents, even though they've passed on, didn't you? I can sometimes tell you mean things. Yes, I would like to make them proud one day. I only wish I could sort of... see it in their eyes and hear them say it."

Pressing her lips tightly together, Hermione rubbed her hand through the colourful tufts of the hearth rug where they were sitting together. She thought hard for a few moments. "Harry..."

He gazed at her. His best friend held his attention so easily once she'd said his name.

"Harry, there's something perhaps I should tell you..."

Again she hesitated; his eager expression tugging at her heart. "There is another secret; something only you should know. Only you."

Harry waited.

"In time, your present mum and dad will know but don't tell them till then or they'll wonder how you could possibly know beforehand."

"I won't tell. You know I won't tell!"

Slowly Hermione nodded as she came to a decision. The girl took a deep breath. "When you're eleven you'll be eligible to receive the key to your Potter family vault."

Harry's shoulders dipped a little but he grinned. "Is that all? I already know. That's no secret. Dad told me. He's holding the key for me till then."

"Yes, but when your new mum and dad take you there, you'll find a great heap of gold Galleons and other coins."

Harry smiled. "Dad thought there probably was. He said it's likely the vault holds the Potter family 'heritance. But until I'm seventeen, I can only take out enough for 'sen... umm..."

"...essentials," coached Hermione.

"Yes, like extra books and gifts for friends and sweets and, you know, pocket money to see me through at Hogwarts."

"That's right. But those only scratch the surface of the pile. You can fill a modest bag from the edge of that mound every year – every term even – but there'll still be a big heap left behind."

Harry nodded wistfully. "I'd rather have my first parents though than all the money in the world; Dad tells me about them a lot."

"And that's the big secret," whispered Hermione.

"What is?" Harry said softly.

Hermione's voice was now so low that Harry could scarcely hear her. "If you only take a small amount of gold from the pile each year, you won't discover what lies beneath for a very long time."

Harry stared at his friend's face lit from the side by the flickering firelight.

"Your first parents – Lily and James, that is – had miniature portraits painted of themselves on enamel. They are exquisite in detail and colour, about so high." She held up her hands a few inches apart. "They're in a little box of personal effects in the vault but because nothing has been take out for years, Gringotts' interest simply built up and buried it.

"Why would the goblins be interested in hiding the box?"

Hermione giggled. "It's just a banking word. Interest means that the goblins charge to lend customers money and some of that goes to encourage others to save with them. It magically sprinkles on top. In your case, the pile is big enough that more interest is added than the tiny amount that you'll take out while at Hogwarts."

"So the goblins won't mind me finding the box?"

"Not at all!" laughed Hermione. "It's yours, not theirs!"

"And, the portraits... they're... magical?"

"Yes. But I should warn you that Lily and James will discourage you from erm... chattiness."

"Why? I want to talk to them!"

"They're portraits, Harry. They only represent your parents' appearance, speech, and... their will. They wouldn't want you to become too attached to pictures, but use them in remembrance of your real mum and dad."

Harry thought about this. His puzzled frown was slowly replaced with a nod. "Yes, that's what I want too."

"A wise man once said, 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.' "

"Who told you that?"

"You did! Uuh... I mean, you probably would tell me if... erm... I hadn't just told you. See?"

Harry laughed long and hard at the silliness of it and not caring that he didn't understand. Hermione joined in.

"So, when you go to Gringotts," gasped Hermione eventually, wiping her eyes, "examine the pile of Galleons as if you're delighted and fascinated with it, but scoop deep with your hands for the real treasure. Oh, yes and act surprised when you find it else Sirius and Hestia will–"

"–know we have secrets," Harry finished for her.

In time, the bond they had begun to form with each other convinced Hermione that he took seriously the need to keep quiet about her abilities, even though he only knew a tiny fraction of what she was truly capable of. So, she spoon-fed him a little knowledge at a time, gauging what and when he ought to know. Excluded from this private knowledge, however, were his parents and tutor.

Madam Gawtley – formerly Harry's nanny but now his teacher and protector – was a small, grey-haired old lady, round and pleasant. Unlike most home tutors of young children, she had reduced the subjects of the lessons to their essentials, and stayed with them one-on-one until they were absorbed, remembered, and understood. It helped a lot that every topic was relevant to magical living in general and she explained that relevance.

"Are we ready, children?"

"Yes, Madam Gawtley."

"Yes, Nan."

Although there was nothing new in the lessons for Hermione, Madam Gawtley had vastly expanded the Black library with both magical and Muggle reference categories providing a wealth of interest for the young girl. Hermione liked the teacher, and Harry was devoted to her.

"While Harry practises his reading, I'll concentrate on the spell I began teaching you yesterday, Hermione," the old lady said.

The girl carefully took up the stance she had been taught then drew out her training wand and pointed it at the collection of books and papers on the desk on the other side of the drawing room.

Madam Gawtley nodded approvingly. "Let us try for more accuracy today and forget about weight – that will come later. For now, see if you can reach out to the blank parchment of the three you see there, and perhaps stir it a little. Let the wand do the controlling - that's what junior trainers are for. Try to feel that in your magic."

Hermione deliberately focused on all the papers. She made sure her first swishes achieved nothing, then she generated the tiniest flutter – but of the whole pile. She sighed her fake disappointment.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Hermione, it takes time to get it right. Fix your mind on the blankness of that one parchment, that's what makes it different. And don't try to move it away – you won't have the control yet to do that except by accident, so the wand won't let you. What you are doing now is developing the sensation of your magic being directed through the wand. Keep practising."

The old witch turned her attention back to Harry who was softly uttering the text from a teaching manual. Misread and mispronounced words were highlighting themselves on the page in red ink as he spoke.

"That's excellent, Harry. Now let's go over again the words that are wrong before they fade."

"How does it find my mistakes, Nan?"

"Nobody knows. A very clever witch named Pandora loaned me this and she is working to make it even better. It's very powerful magic, Harry."

"But–"

"Later, Harry; we must continue the lesson before the reddening charm expends itself. So... how do you pronounce this word?"

Harry frowned. "Show... lar?"

"Scholar," the teacher patiently corrected.

Hermione smiled, reminded of her own brief career at Hogwarts where, over a six-year period, she had taught Potions, Ancient Runes, and even stood in for Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts for a short time. Emptiness had drawn her there, and emptiness had driven her away in the end.

"Focus, Hermione!"

"Yesth, Madam Gawtley."

As soon as the teacher had turned back to Harry, Hermione wandlessly summoned the huge geology book she had stashed on the desk earlier and let it flop open on the table beside her. While swishing away blankly in the direction of the desk, her attention was really on the pages of the book, finally coming to rest on the Velencei Mountains in Hungary. But nothing could she find about the area she knew as Redöi where, perhaps two billion years before, the granite had been rucked and folded back on itself so violently that thousands of vast air pockets had been trapped within the hard stone and isolated many miles below the surface.

Hermione was not surprised there was no mention in this twentieth-century edition of The Geology of Central Europe – the caverns would not be detected for another fifty or sixty years – but she'd had to be sure. Advancing technology and pure chance had made the discovery possible way in the future. Even then, the caves had remained unreachable and soon forgotten by fragmented societies more preoccupied with surviving than investigating unprofitable scientific curiosities. Only two people had ever visited any of the cavernous bubbles in the rock. The butcher Macnair, who, driven mad by solitude, had bashed out his brains on those satanic walls – he was one. The other, the sole person with both the Muggle knowledge and the magical experience to pass through solid granite to an unvisited location, was...

"Hermione Granger! Pay attention or you'll never master the reaching charm! It will form the basis of moving charms that summon and hover when you go to Hogwarts, and make them much easier to grasp."

"Thsorry, Madam."

After fifteen minutes, Hermione yielded to boredom and fluttered the blank parchment an inch or so, and slightly turned it on the desk surface. "Yesth!"

"Very good, Hermione," said Madam Gawtley.

But there had been an odd note to her praise. So much so that after they were dismissed and Harry was ahead of her hurrying downstairs for lunch, Hermione slipped back invisibly along the dark landing and poked her head through the drawing room wall for a few seconds. Madam Gawtley was flipping through the pages of the geology book with a deep frown on her face.

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The Triapetit

But Hermione's visits were not all work and no play. After most mornings' lessons, she and Harry played and chatted in his room most of the afternoon. As he leaned forward excitedly to consider sending a chess piece on the attack, Hermione feathered aside the front of his hair with her fingers. It was the first opportunity she'd had to closely examine the scar on his forehead. A curious sense of loss arose within her. Gone was the blazing lightning bolt to which she had been so accustomed; this mark was no more than a faintly curving tendril.

Harry seemed not to notice her interest. "Bishop to Queen Five!" he nodded triumphantly.

Hermione's attention was drawn back to their game. "That's totally barbaric!" she cried.

Using his crook, Harry's bishop had pulled off the head of Hermione's cowering pawn, and flung it aside.

"It's wizard chess!" said Harry, gleefully rubbing his hands together.

"But the pieces look so cold and remote with – why are they all wearing those strange visors?"

"Uncle Regulus gave them to me on my fifth birthday. He didn't come at all last year," he added. A sad tone had crept into his voice. "Daddy told him to stay away."

Hermione hid her surprise, and was helped by the sound of raised voices downstairs.

"Daddy and Mummy don't love each other, you know," said Harry, mournfully.

Hermione became quite still. Her expression had risen to astonishment. "Of course they do! Why would you think that? Many people argue now and again. I'm sure it's not important."

"Daddy only needed a mummy for me."

Hermione gasped.

"And Mummy only wanted Daddy and me because she can't have her own babies."

In the ensuing silence, the chess pieces fidgeted about on the board where it lay on the hearthrug between the two children who were now looking closely at each other. The damaged pawn was crawling across the carpet, blindly groping for its head.

"Is that what they argue about?" Hermione said finally, gently teasing the missing head in the pawn's direction with the tip of her finger.

Harry nodded.

"Well then, that proves they care about each other," said Hermione, firmly.

"Why does it, Hermione?"

"Because both must be denying each other's accusations."

Harry considered that for a while. He thought about it until the door was suddenly flung open with a crash. Sirius stood there, white-faced, staring at them both.

"Could y-you... would you come downstairs please, children?" He was shaking.

"We didn't mean any harm, Daddy!" wailed Harry. "We were only talking."

Sirius looked puzzled for a moment but he shook it off. "Harry, you've not done anything wrong. Come along ... both of you. ... Don't be afraid," he added.

His last admonition only made Harry more nervous, and Hermione also felt a growing anxiety as they walked down the stairs. She braced herself.

Kreacher was waiting in the main hall against the open doorway to the front room. "Come along, if you please, Master Harry. Let us see who is out and about in the square this afternoon; you like to look out the window."

Harry twisted back and forth. "I want to go with Hermione!"

"Stay with Kreacher, Harry," said Sirius, firmly, "we won't be long."

The worried-looking man took Hermione's hand – gripping it rather firmly, she noticed – and led her down to the basement kitchen. The thought crossed her mind there were no windows and no other exits except the one door – through which she now saw were Mrs Black and...

"Madam Gawtley, It'sth you! I thought you'd left for the day."

The teacher did not smile as Hermione entered. The kettle was seething viciously for attention on the hob; the long table was bare and unwelcoming. The sound of Sirius locking them in did not comfort Hermione in the slightest, but it did warn her to quickly dematerialise.

"Stupefy."

Gawtley had barely whispered the spell but its effect was immediate; Hermione let herself appear to fall to the cold, stone floor where she solidified once more. Nobody had noticed that the charm had passed harmlessly through her. So, it begins again... she heard herself thinking, after all these decades...

"Ingrith!" shrieked Mrs Black, running to the child. "There was no need for that!"

"Oh, Merlin, what have you done!" Sirius joined his wife and they laid Hermione on a bench nearer the warmth of the open hearth. He pointed his wand at the girl.

"Don't revive her yet! We have to be certain who she is first!" said Gawtley, drawing out a small bottle from the pocket of her robes.

"How are we going to explain this to the Grangers!" Sirius ran his hands wildly through his hair. "You've stunned their daughter!"

Hestia snapped, "Ingrith! You can't use that stuff on her; she's just a small kid."

"Is she?" Gawtley held up the vial and shook it eagerly. "This will make sure."

"We have no right to invade her privacy just because of your suspicions!" snarled Sirius.

"My old Auror instincts have kept me alive all these years – and Harry too. That's why you pay me, isn't it?"

Hermione had her own instincts, and she followed them now – but care and subtlety were needed. It helped that Mrs Black was convinced the little girl lying on the long seat was unconscious, so the woman was not expecting a gentle Legilimensic suggestion...

Hestia frowned. An unusual thought had suddenly occurred to her. "The Triapetit then – that's fair."

"What?" said Sirius.

"That's not been used for centuries, I shouldn't think!" said Gawtley.

"What hasn't? What?" repeated Sirius.

The old teacher explained. "Hestia means only three questions are allowed and they must be agreed first. More than three can be proposed but only the agreed three can be put to the accused under the effects of the truth potion."

Sirius frowned. "But surely, nobody would come to any agreement?"

"Then the default three apply as I recall," said Hestia thoughtfully. "Refusing all proposed questions tends to be self-condemning anyway, and the other questions can still be put without the potion. The restriction was to prevent the accused being forced to answer private or embarrassing questions that might not be relevant."

She pointed her wand at Hermione but Gawtley was faster.

"Incarcerous!"

"Rennervate!"

Ropes coiled around Hermione as she pretended to awaken. "Wha...? Isth thisth...? Where'sth Mummy?"

Hestia crouched beside the long wooden seating and took Hermione's hand. "It's alright, darling, we're just going to ask you some questions."

"I want my Mummy!" wailed Hermione, laying it on thick.

They waited while Hestia comforted the child. Gawtley shook her head doubtfully. Sirius frowned. There'd be hell to pay if Gawtley was wrong, and worse still if she was right...

"Hermione, we'll take you home to your mum, but can you first tell us something?" he said.

The bound child nodded sullenly but before Sirius could open his mouth again, Gawtley strode forward, "Who or what are you!"

Hermione cringed her head away as the professor unstoppered the vial.

"Ingrith, please!" cried Hestia. She turned back to Hermione. "It's just so you tell the truth, darling, is that alright?"

"Don't want it!"

"We'll only ask three questions. Can we do that?"

Hermione said, "Which questionsth? I've not done anything."

Hestia looked at Gawtley who directed her words at Hermione, "Identify yourself. Do you mean to kidnap or harm Harry? Any of us? Tell us why you're really here! What are your plans. Do you mean to–?"

"That's enough!" snapped Sirius. "It's sufficient to ask if she means to do us harm or if she has any other motive for being here."

"And identity. We must make certain she is not an adult Metamorphmagus or someone drinking Polyjuice. For all we know she could be a demon straight from hell!" insisted Gawtley.

Hestia shook her head. "Whoever heard of a demon taking human form! They are blind evil and destruction driven by suffering, not stealthy assassins. Anyway, we've known Hermione since Christmas, and everyone knows that demons can only be summoned for a few hours or days – weeks at most – before their master demands they return to Hades for retribution!"

"We still need to ensure Hermione is who she appears to be," said Gawtley.

"Very well," said Sirius. "Will you answer those questions for us, Hermione? Who you are? Why you are here? Do you wish to harm us?"

"Only thosthe three?"

"Yes."

"Promisthe?"

"I give you my word as Lord Black. Do you agree to tell us?"

"Yesth, my name isth Hermione Granger and I live at–"

"First a taste of this..."

Gawtley leaned over. Hermione winced, but then opened her mouth and the teacher let a couple of drops fall onto her tongue. There was no way to break its effects without the antidote, but Hermione had spent almost a year studying how to bend the answers if the questions were not put most carefully, and she was the expert here.

The teacher examined Hermione's eyes closely for a few seconds. "She's ready."

"Hermione, are you...? Who and what, are you?" said Sirius.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a witch. I'm seven years old. I live in Elmbridge with my parents who are Muggles."

"She's not lisping!" cried Gawtley. "I told you she was playacting!"

Through a deep haze, Hermione heard the teacher's voice and realised she was right. Despite her research, she had forgotten that imbibing Veritaserum also ensured speaking itself was without false accents or other deception.

Sirius was waving off Gawtley as he pressed on, "Do you mean any of us harm, especially Harry, and by harm I also mean kidnap, manipulate, corrupt, or change him against his or our wishes?"

"Never! I wish none of you any harm and especially not Harry," said Hermione.

"Then why are you here!" demanded Gawtley, her eyes blazing.

"Please, Ingrith! I'll–" began Sirius, but Hermione had already been compelled to answer.

"I'm here to protect Harry Potter, to shelter him from the dark, to die for him if necessary."

There was a stunned silence.

"WHY!" cried Gawtley, now quite confused.

"Enough! She's had her three!" said Sirius, putting his fingers to Hermione's lips, but the girl was already whispering.

"What did she say?" asked Gawtley.

Sirius shook his head. "Leave her be until the serum wears off."

"What did she say, Siri?" Hestia said softly. "Why is she willing to die for Harry? Why would she even think she might need to?"

He looked into his wife's eyes for several seconds but did not reply to the question. "She's answered her three..."

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Double Subterfuge

For the next hour, a slightly more relaxed but awkward exchange prevailed. Hermione oozed remorse, and so did the Blacks. Madam Gawtley remained rather distant and more than a little embarrassed. Sirius had finally rounded on her, demanding she apologise to Hermione and implying that her employment might be close to termination.

"No, she mustn't leave!" cried Hermione, no longer pretending to baby lisp. "This is all my fault. Madam Gawtley was right to suspect me. I wanted so much to help protect Harry."

"Hermione," said Madam Gawtley, and her tone had softened a little, "you didn't do very well at it, did you? Did you suppose a competent teacher couldn't tell when you were holding back? It's obvious you have been practising magic for some time."

Hestia said, "Ingrith, the Grangers only gave Hermione that wand at Christmas."

Gawtley kept her gaze firmly on Hermione. "Did they?"

Hermione shook her head and lowered it to scuff at her heel with her other toe as she whispered, "No... we bought it a while ago. I've been learning from books – potions and charms and useful spells. I can summon things!"

"Like that geology book?" said Gawtley.

"I got bored pretending..." whimpered Hermione.

Sirius said, "You prefer reading about stuffy old rocks? But why hide your talent? Squeezing a summoning charm out of a junior wand at your age is astonishing."

"I wanted to be more like Harry but I'm nearly a year older and I'm studying Hogwarts first and second year books – even some third and fourth year ones! Mum says I'm very advanced for my years. I thought you might think I was too old to be Harry's friend." She made her tone sound as mournful as possible. "Please don't send me away."

Hestia gasped. "Nobody's sending you away, Hermione. Your heart's in the right place, and that's what really counts. But no more baby acting, okay? Be yourself, darling."

"I do lisp sometimes when I'm nervous," said Hermione defensively. "It can't be helped. Dad says I'll grow out of it." The young girl didn't mention she could choose when to sound nervous. That control would be a useful misdirection as needed. No one would suspect a simpering baby of being a lethal weapon. "I was hoping one day that magic might heal it."

"Hermione," said Sirius, hesitantly, "we've been wondering – Hestia and I – how did you learn about magic? How could you have found out about the magical community that is hidden within British society?"

For a few moments the young girl studied the expressions on the other three. "Will you keep a secret? Something I don't like to tell anyone?"

"Of course!" said Hestia. "But you don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

Again, Hermione hesitated. "I see things..."

Eyes widened. Sirius frowned. "What sort of things?"

Out from her pocket, Hermione drew a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes. "Things that haven't happened."

"You're a Perceptive!" cried Hestia. "That's no cause for shame! Such insights are harmless – sometimes useful in fact."

"Mostly useless and uninteresting. But one day I saw how to get into Diagon Alley. At last, I learned that the mysteries that had happened around me were my own accidental magic. And I discovered enchantments, other witches and wizards, books! I read about Harry Potter and... how his first mum and dad were killed. But most of my glimpses are no more than daydreams so I like to keep them to myself. "

Hestia nodded. "That's probably wise. Your secret is safe with us."

The situation itself, Hermione felt, was under reasonable control. She successfully persuaded Sirius not to inform her parents of what had transpired, and she returned home on the Knight Bus at teatime as usual with nothing more eventful taking place than the triggering of the Hansons' Peugeot car alarm – much to their annoyance.

After giving her a kiss and a hug, Mrs Granger asked, "Well, how'd it go? Did your plan work?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I deliberately gave Harry's teacher a few hints that I was faking it and she told his dad. I've convinced them all of my loyalty now, and they see me as moderately knowledgeable but naive with a gift for insights, exactly as I wanted. Being an obsessive bookworm is the perfect cover – a non-threatening know-it-all! I've set the stage ready for Hogwarts and my other plans."

Her mother sighed. "I wish you didn't have to."

"So do I, Mum, so do I, but if my real abilities were widely known then I'd be suspected when... anything unusual happened."

"Unusual?"

"Mum, I've already told you, I have dreadful things to do but they are necessary. I have seen that every other road leads to disaster for the world. I must not shirk my duty no matter how distasteful."

Mrs Granger was quietly crying as she embraced her daughter again. "I know, darling, I know. We'll support you, you know that."

And, only a few days later, Hermione began the first of her more unpleasant assignments...

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

- Hippothestrowl

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