.

So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Still aged only 8 and 9, Harry and Hermione have sneaked into Hogwarts during the summer holidays to search for information to help with their plans. Now read on...

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Chapter 24

Discovered!


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Unfinished Business

Pandora is going to die all over again. Hermione could not sleep for worrying about Luna's mother. Without Ravenclaw's Diadem, Mrs Lovegood, clever though she was, would not have the wisdom to create her new teaching magic correctly. The attempt would backfire and consume her life utterly.

The Mirror of Erised could read desires, the Room of Requirement went a step further and knew one's needs, and magical portraits provided a valid interaction with the knowledge and will of the subject painted. All incorporated the most advanced enchantment ever known: a magical representation of life itself. Oh, it was not a true life, Hermione knew, more akin to an interactive video game in the Muggle world. Nevertheless, animated magical energy could change real events in the world as surely as a living wizard might: witness the Sorting Hat. But Pandora's plan was to push magic in a new direction – as a teaching aid!

What a wonder! Hermione mused dozily, Imagine Professor Binns as conjured genie not confused ghost! Stuck in a rut no longer, but rising from a potion bottle to give us three wishes... Yes? Granger, isn't it? Yes sir! Might I have a library of my own? Certainly, Miss Granger! With every book ever written? There it is... And down the aisles strode many magical portraits of Madam Pince quite out of their painting – an army of them – and each eager to bring to life whichever book one wished: Robinson Crusoe: "It is an inexpressible joy to me, Miss Granger, to behold another living soul..." Here comes Darcy: "My Dear Miss Hermione, welcome to Pemberley!" ... Frankenstein's monster...

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE! WAKE UP! You're shouting!"

"Aaaah...!"

"Hermione!"

"Wha...?"

"Was it a dream?"

Hermione groaned as her eyes squinted open. "A nightmare. What time is it, Harry?"

"Nearly eight. Can you summon breakfast? There's no snacks or sandwiches left."

Hermione pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, sorry. Been waiting long?"

A water jug and bowl stood on a cabinet close at hand. She doused her face liberally.

"Harry?"

He was busying himself with feints using the adult wand.

"What time did you get up, Harry?"

"Just before seven."

"Oh, Harry, you needn't have waited so long to eat. You could have woken me."

Wandlessly a large pile of bacon sandwiches appeared and a pot of tea. Harry dived at them. "You were really tired out with worry last night. I didn't want to disturb you so early."

Hermione smiled, watching the boy devour the sandwiches. "Hopefully this will be our last day here, then you can get back to normal meals. I only have to search the Headmaster's office then I can help you find the map."

"What about Luna's mum?" He frowned at her accusingly over a big chunk of bread higher than his nose.

"I don't think arguing with Mrs Lovegood will help – I'm only a child after all. It would be impossible for me to persuade her to give up her dream. And she'll wonder how I know and why I'm concerned."

She sat down on her bunk again.

"But can't the gay lady in Ar'b–Ar'bania help her?"

Hermione snuffed. The former Riddle's guile had charmed the Grey Lady to reveal the whereabouts of the diadem, so had the older Harry's sincerity, but Hermione knew she herself lacked their charisma. "The Grey Lady's never told anyone but two handsome young men in a thousand years – and no one in this lifetime. She's not going to tell a little girl."

"Then think what she wants. Tell her it's to get a magic shield to protect her dad, like you said you'd tell your mum – she'll have to then. Anyone would if it were their dad."

Hermione gave a wry smile. "She's a ghost, Harry."

"A real ghost?" Harry paused in his chewing. "So what do ghosts want? Mum says they stay here because of unfinished business."

Hermione thought about that for a while. What did the Grey Lady want? What was her unfinished business? The girl lay back thinking while Harry watched.

"Why not just ask her what she wants?" said Harry, "that's what I'd do."

Hermione gave him a long stare then jumped up. "Stay here. I'll be back in less than say... twenty minutes or so."

"Are you going to see the gay lady?"

"Yes, Harry. ... I'm going to see the gay lady."

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The Grey Lady's Dilemma

Searching for the Grey Lady was a mistake, Hermione quickly realised. Summoning the Horcrux books in Dumbledore's office first would have made more sense, then she could have taken Harry down to Filch's office and together they would have surely found the map this morning and used it to find the ghost. Without it, well, the castle was very large and she might be anywhere.

The invisible girl began with the larger halls because one sweep of the eyes took in a sizeable area and ghosts often met there, then decided to ascend the Ravenclaw Tower as a promising location to investigate. Luck was with her; within fifteen minutes a far-off glimpse of silvery movement caught her eye. How best to close in on the ghost? wondered Hermione. Helena was somewhat timid of company, so perhaps an honest, open visit was the best policy: Hermione cancelled the concealment spell.

"Who's there! What do you want!"

Hermione was not yet within thirty paces up the long corridor but called out, "Hello... erm... I want to help you."

"I need not your assistance. Leave!" The Grey Lady turned her back upon the intruder.

"Might I not at least explain myself, Lady Helena?" Hermione had halved the distance – then decided to remain at that non-threatening position.

The spectre whirled around. "How knowest thou my name?"

"I know a great deal," replied Hermione in a cautious tone. "Of your hopes and failures and... how you were slain."

Eyes flashed in the translucent face, then, as quickly, the brightness faded. "I am without hope. Leave me be."

"What is it you need?"

"That is none of your concern!" The Grey Lady turned again and glided further along the gloomy passageway where she paused and spoke over her shoulder, "How came you here? No students e'er remain through the long dreary summers." Facing Hermione once more, she added, "You lack enough years. Who are you? How did you get in and why?"

"I came to help you gain what is yours."

"I have naught to regain."

"Everyone has the right to peace of mind. Perhaps you've a debt to repay? Tell me what you need."

A frown creased the Grey Lady's brow and she drifted closer. "You pry into what you do not understand."

"I know what you took from your mother."

Shocked silence lasted a very long moment, then, with a shriek, Helena's icy form passed right through Hermione, and she flew back the way they'd come. "LEAVE ME NOW!"

Nor did the ghost halt when she reached the far wall, but continued through as if the stone were not solid. Lady Helena's astonishment was great when Hermione joined her in a group of chambers that appeared sealed off from the rest of the castle, for the only door was blocked in and barely visible. Though sunlight filtered dustily down through the ancient casement windows, bleak and cheerless was the atmosphere.

"What art thou!" frowned the apparition. "I have never seen your like."

As translucent and immaterial as the ghost herself, Hermione persisted. "I was right, wasn't I? A sense of guilt binds you? Is this where you try to hide from yourself?"

"I know you seek the diadem. You will not find it."

"I SEEK TO HELP YOU!" cried Hermione, certain now that she was on the most promising path, for the Grey Lady could find no further escape as she drifted from room to room pursued by the girl. Hermione observed the layout and an idea occurred to her.

"Were these your mother's chambers – when she resided at the school?"

"What of it?" Helena had given up on her flight, but remained defensive.

"She was devoted to Hogwarts. Was that why she created the diadem? To influence her decisions? Could her purpose have been for the school to be ever guided by wise choices?"

"Without knowing it, I destroyed her dream," said the ghost mournfully.

"Then to recover your happiness once more, you must return the diadem to the school."

"You know I have not the means. I am tied here within its boundaries."

"You have me," said Hermione quietly.

"None can be trusted with its knowledge! In time its power corrupts. It was ever so."

"It can be entrusted to you." Hermione watched Helena carefully. "You alone cannot be corrupted by it ever again."

The Grey lady laughed dryly. "Because I can no longer put to use any material device! A ghost is without power!"

"You're wrong. A ghost has the power to influence, to persuade, and, with my help, to control the use of the diadem."

"How?"

The Lady floated nearer, but Hermione could sense no chill.

"The diadem might be locked by an enchantment which will respond only to your presence. One hour in a year could it be used, and then only by your leave, after which the charm will reclaim it for when next it is needed."

Helena stared. "Is this possible?"

"It has come to my knowledge that there is one with the power to create such impressive magic. She seeks to magically assist and improve tuition at Hogwarts. That seems a worthy objective that your mother, Rowena Ravenclaw, would welcome. Perhaps in time it would repay your debt to her and ease the burden you have borne all these centuries."

The Grey Lady's mouth fell open but she did not answer. Instead, she glided to the casement to gaze upon the waters of the lake. She blended into the scene, thought Hermione, as though standing there so often through the centuries had fixed her tenuous image within a living photograph.

"There – you see I can be of use." Hermione had cleansed the panes with a scouring charm. "Perhaps now you can see more clearly."

Helena nodded. "I do. And for the first time in a great many years."

Perhaps it was the sunlight passing through her expression, but there was a warmth that had not been there before. No one else could overhear her, yet she leaned forward and began to whisper into Hermione's ear.

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While the Cat's Away

A shock awaited Hermione on her return to the Room of Requirement: Harry was gone. She knew at once, of course, where he must be. No use employing her Galleon to call him back, for the greatest danger was walking the passages where he might run into McGonagall or Dumbledore.

Invisibly she ran as lightly as possible down the stairs by the route that passed the deputy Headmistress's office. With relief she saw McGonagall stretched out in cat form, soaking up the warm sun upon the window sill in the outer corridor. The castle did have a tendency to cling to the cool night air for most of the morning.

On went Hermione towards the marble staircase, then she stopped and looked back. A sickening feeling spread roots through her stomach. That was not McGonagall! There was only one other cat it could be!

The warmth of her charmed Galleon was sensed just in time before she became immaterial once more. Down she sped.

Hermione could hear Filch ranting even before she swept through the wall.

"I know you're here! Come on out, you nasty little gremlin!"

The contents of the office were somewhat turned about, with papers scattered, the desk turned from its wall, and a chair upset. The door to Filch's bunk room was open and so was the big cupboard door. Was Harry cowering behind it or in the bedroom?

"I'll have you!" Filch cried gleefully, his jowls unpleasantly aquiver, "Wait and see if I don't! Mrs Norris will sniff you out!" He strode through the open door – but not far; Hermione could hear him right outside. "Mrs Norris! Come, my sweet! There's work to be done!"

Without delay, Hermione leaned through the cupboard door, saw Harry crunched up so tightly in the corner he almost merged with the peeling paintwork, moved fully through, materialised, seized Harry invisibly much to his shock, then swept him up into the empty classroom above – and all in the blink of an eye.

He was shaking. "Hermione?"

She rendered herself visible once more and said stiffly, "Yes!"

The sound of Filch's voice could still be heard coming distantly up the stair. "Mrs Norris will find you Peeves. I'll have you thrown out for sure this time!"

"He supposes it must have been Peeves." Hermione relaxed a little, then stiffened again to address Harry. "What were you thinking?"

Harry winced under her baleful glare. "I only did what we normally do!"

"Normally I see you safely through the passageways! What if you'd ran into Peeves? I told you about him. He'd have reported you for sure."

"Well I was careful," said Harry, sullenly.

Hermione released her breath, wondering how to soften the blow. "Oh well... find anything?"

A shake of the head was the only response.

"We're in a fix now. It's not safe for you to go there again. I'll have to do it."

Harry trudged off to the farthest side of the room and stared at the wall, breathlessly muttering, "Not m-my f-fault can't be 'visible..."

With a faint sigh, Hermione decided to give him some space while she did some thinking. Albania, the Grey Lady had confirmed. When would Hermione ever find time to visit Albania? And how? There was no way to Apparate to somewhere she'd never been because of the three Dees: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. Determination was strong enough but no wizard could deliberate and focus on a destination they'd never experienced; not even a photograph was good enough. In addition, she'd never mastered the Portus spell because it was likely one needed some measure of Ministry magic her level of employment there had not attained.

That left the Headmaster's office. No sooner had the thought entered her head than she heard his familiar voice far off:

"What is it, Argus?"

"Peeves, sir."

The voices were fading so Hermione opened the classroom door a crack.

"Been in my cupboard, Headmaster. Door was open."

"What has been taken?"

"Nothing taken, sir, but–"

"Argus, the crime of opening one cupboard door hardly justifies the removal of our colourful poltergeist from Hogwarts. You were called in for one day to attend to a tiny leak in the basement. In the circumstances, do you not think that–?"

There was a pause, and Hermione leaned out into the corridor, straining to hear more.

"Just opened a door, is all?" Dumbledore was saying. "That's hardly Peeves' style. Perhaps I had better take a look."

Hermione ducked back into the classroom. "Quickly, Harry, another urgent mission for you! We have to work together on this one."

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Head's Down

She ran over to him. His face was brightening already. She swept him outside and up the outer wall of the tallest tower before he could draw breath. Hovering outside the Headmaster's office window, she cautioned him. "There are portraits in there, Harry. We must remain invisible and only whisper if essential. And we have to be solid to handle papers, so take great care not to make any sound. I know I can trust you."

He nodded excitedly then, remembering his invisibility, whispered, "Yes, I can do it!" Hermione fancied he'd raised an exultant fist but she couldn't be sure.

Once inside, she cast a remote charm beyond the door to give her some warning should Dumbledore return, then nonverbally she summoned anything to do with Horcruxes. She cursed immediately. Numerous papers fluttered towards her and two books thumped softly on the carpet, one slightly tilted up oddly against her invisible foot. She froze.

"Mmm... Dumbledore? Is that you?"

Hermione looked around then and noticed all the portraits were empty, save one: it was Dippet. He appeared preoccupied because Hermione could see the top of a quill moving back and forth as if the former headmaster was writing on a parchment slightly out of view. Hopefully, all the other pictures were on holiday elsewhere in the castle or in their family homes.

After a few more moments she moved her foot and began wondering where all the other Horcrux books were and where Harry was. She reached out and her fingertips brushed his arm.

"Harry," she whispered as quietly as she could into where she judged his ear to be, "search the papers for anything with uumm... 'library' or 'Riddle' on it."

Hermione glanced instinctively at her invisible watch then, with a muted "humph!" at one of the several clocks in the room; there would not be much time – perhaps only two or three minutes. Carefully she retrieved the book near the edge of her shoe then began examining it for any clue as to why Riddle might not have read it.

Occasionally she heard a faint rustle from Harry with the papers but otherwise the only sounds were the ticking of the clocks and other magical apparatus in the room. Another soft noise alerted her to the presence of Fawkes – she'd forgotten about the phoenix – but he seemed to be dozing with his head under one wing.

Apart from an irrelevant scribble on the inside cover, she discovered nothing. After a little more thought she vaguely remembered the book itself; it was unimportant, with only a passing reference to an ancient use of a Horcrux and nothing more. She began to flip through to make sure – only then might she eliminate it as a prospect.

A tickle on her nose alerted her that Dumbledore was returning. Damn! She'd been foolish to risk this, and for nothing: there'd been insufficient time for Harry to read anything more than one or two of the sheets of the paperwork they'd retrieved. She hurriedly banished all of them back to where they belonged and her book too. Where was the other book? Somehow it had moved onto a cabinet. Dumbledore would walk in through the door at any second...

"Harry?" she breathed desperately.

The book moved silently towards her, she seized it, banished it away, and grabbed out for Harry's arm... the door opened...

"Most odd..." muttered the Headmaster as he shuffled towards his desk.

"What's that, Dumbledore?" yawned Dippet, looking up.

"Nothing of consequence, I don't suppose, Armando. "I believe a student has forgotten a hungry pet – perhaps a Kneazle. Quite clever they are you know. I laid a trap should it return, but more likely we'll find the poor thing coughing up dung bombs in one of the passageways."

Hermione and Harry listened carefully outside the window, then drifted away, heading towards a window on the seventh floor.

"A trap?" whispered Harry.

"We need to be very, very careful, Harry..."

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The Bookmark

Hermione sat on her bunk staring morosely at the floor. "I should have waited," she muttered to herself. "Now we can't do anything for a while. Goodness knows when we'll get another chance."

"Hermione..."

"Let the dust settle for a while. One more day then you must be back home in case your parents return early. I'll have to come here again another – Heavens! When can I fit it in now?"

"Hermione..."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry. I just seized the moment. One could wait for weeks to catch the Headmaster out of his office except – except at mealtimes! Of course! Listen, Harry..."

"Hermione, this note was sticking out of the book that was on the floor."

"We'll keep watch invisibly near the Great Hall then – sorry, what?"

"This was marking a place in that book."

Hermione took the note from Harry, then examined closely the script which was so faded it seemed to belong to another age. The message was written in a neat hand, but tiny and cramped as though the words had been put down under great tension – or perhaps furtively:

Albus, these are the only two left on the library shelves but I do not consider them dangerous as were the others that Miss Pince accidentally vanished two years ago. That makes sense or else Riddle would no doubt have borrowed these too.

You recall that when you asked me to inform you of any especially dark books that Tom borrowed, I advised you topics and titles are not particularly scrutinised until they are returned. At that time, I, or my assistant, naturally must look at the subject matter and title in order to put them on the correct shelves. The only other occasion might be if books are not received back by the due date. I believe we are most fortunate that young Irma eliminated those books because otherwise we might not have become aware of his having accessed them until two weeks later. What might he have learned in that time!

I must add that I was greatly saddened by the loss of Irma's best friends, Myrtle and ... Olive, I believe – oh, I'm embarrassed to admit I can't recall her well at all. Have you heard anything more?

Maureen Dodderidge

"What's it mean, Hermione?"

She stared at the message as in a daze. "It means, Harry, that you are totally brilliant, we have been greatly blessed, and I, myself must speak to yet another ghost."

Hermione gave Harry a big hug.

"I'll stay here, I promise," Harry said earnestly.

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The Interesting Ghost

Hermione ran her finger over the image scratched into the copper of the bathroom tap; it was the snake graffiti to which Ron had spoken when they passed through here to destroy the Hufflepuff Cup. What was different now was that somewhere below was still the living Basilisk. With luck it would remain sealed in the Chamber of Secrets forever.

She sighed and looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. "Do come out, Myrtle, I haven't got all day. I know you're there."

She glanced in the mirror – ghosts had been known to hide in reflective surfaces on occasion. Nothing. It was a shock then to turn back and find herself face to face with the one she sought.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

"Oh, hello, Myrtle, I'm on a parental visit and got bored without anyone to talk to. One of the other ghosts told me you were agreeable company."

"They were making fun of me," said Myrtle, silver tears suddenly welling up in her small, see-through eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure not."

"D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"Well, if anything then," replied Hermione, "I suppose they were making fun of me – they do that you know."

"Really?"

"There are not many I can call true friends – what about you?"

"Friends? Oh, like that horrible... 'livia whatever-she-called-herself. Always teasing me about my glasses."

"Olive Hornby? What happened to her?"

"Happened? How should I know! Probably wandered into the Forest, I should think – and good riddance."

"She disappeared?"

"Who?"

"Olive, of course."

"Oh, yes, I think she did..."

"You think...?"

"Well, I don't remember, do I! It was a long time ago."

"But she was your best friend!"

"Who?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. "What about Irma? What was she like?"

"HER! Irma Crump was the nastiest, most bitter, selfish person I ever met! Pretended to be my friend then turned me away!"

"How so?"

"How? She was clever at tests – I'm sure she cheated – so they moved her up a year, to my year. That's when I met her, and for months she pretended to be kind to me. She transfigured this butterfly brooch for me." Myrtle pushed out her chest to display the ornament, and Hermione examined it closely.

"Soon after," Myrtle continued, "she refused to speak to me again – said I was always complaining. I ask you! Me? Complain?"

"Then why did she make you the gift? It's very lifelike."

"It should be. She copied a real butterfly that had flown in the window. I expect she hoped the pin would scratch me – but now it can't!" Myrtle screeched with laughter.

"Was that the day Tom Riddle's books were vanished?"

Myrtle's jaw gaped wide. "How...?"

"I heard the story," Hermione added in a hurry. "You're quite famous around the school, you know – among the ghosts and uumm, they tell the students the most interesting stories about the erm... most interesting ghosts, naturally."

Myrtle frowned at her. "She killed it. Can you imagine killing such a beautiful butterfly? That murderous..."

"Irma?"

"And she vanished the books too! How vindictive is that!"

"Tom's books? Wasn't that an accident?"

"She vanished the butterfly on top of the books! What else did she expect would happen! Let her rot in the library! Serve her right!"

"You mean Irma Crump died there too! Her ghost is still in the library?"

Myrtle looked at Hermione as if she had taken leave of all her senses, then a kind of malicious glee spread across her face. "Of course not! Irma is the librarian now. She hates it. She hates children! She hates everything! Tom said she needed more time to think about her evil ways – and she got what she deserved – Purgatory!"

Screeching with laughter, Moaning Myrtle shot up to the ceiling, skimmed along it then dove directly into one of the cubicles from which came a huge splash.

Hermione's head was reeling. Irma Crump was now Madam Pince? While still a girl, Irma had saved the world from Lord Voldemort by vanishing his Horcrux books? As she wandered back to the Room of Requirement, Hermione could not help but think she ought to completely revise her opinion of the Hogwarts librarian.

Dangerous Objects

An inspection of the dungeon passage floor the next morning revealed it to be dry, and there was no sign of Filch or his cat anywhere near his office. Trusting that he'd resumed his holiday, she and Harry hurried to finish searching.

"Wait, Harry!" Hermione held Harry back at the doorway while she tested for enchantment traps. Satisfied, she let him fully inside with her. "Dumbledore has jinxed the food cupboard, so keep well away."

Harry nodded and together they soon finished hunting through the final cabinet.

"This makes no sense," said Hermione. "I can't believe Filch would have reason to take a blank parchment elsewhere because it'll definitely be here in a few months when the Weasley twins will find it." She paused. "I wonder how they came across it last time? It couldn't have been an accident, surely?"

"What if Mr Filch thought it was dangerous?" said Harry, hungrily eyeing the other confiscation drawer. "–Even if it's not!" he added hastily when he saw that Hermione was shaking her head. "Fred and George live for danger!"

"Well... better stand back then."

Hermione drew Harry further away before casting a spell to open the drawer. Nothing nasty crawled out, so cautiously they approached and peered in. There were no folders or partitions. The drawer was an open vessel three-quarters full of a wide variety of objects: a packet of whine gums was wedged up against a hairgrip that had refused to yield its hold on some poor witch's tresses, a poxy raisin was stuck on what looked like a troll's toenail, and rather fearsome teeth were biting on the cork of an apparently empty bottle labelled invisible ink.

"P'uh! They're not really dangerous, are they!" cried Harry, reaching for a long stick.

"NO, HARRY!" Hermione knocked it out of his hand onto the floor.

"It's walking!" goggled Harry, "It's walking on its own."

"Of course; it's a walking stick."

"But why would anyone think it was dangerous?"

"Untrained walking sticks won't let go. A wizard from Aberdeen nearly died of blisters by the time his had dragged him through London – it was running him round the deck of a Channel ferry before he was rescued. Not pretty. If this one nuzzles up to you for a walkies, just ignore it. We'll have to grab it and stuff it back in the drawer before we go."

After watching the stick tip-tapping back and forth a few times, Harry's attention quickly drifted back to the drawer contents. "Tongue trapper ... game of draughts ... exploding chalk ... what are these ones marked in red over here, Hermione?"

"Erm... ignore those, Harry. They're only for uuh... grownups."

"Why, what do they do? 'Hitching powder'?"

"Leave it there, Harry. It's uumm... for someone who wants to erm... get hitched – you know, married."

"What about..." Harry picked up a large potion bottle and struggled to pronounce the wording on the label. " 'Am... Amort... entia Concentrate?"

Hermione gasped in horror. "Put it back, Harry. It's completely illegal outside of an authorised apothecary, not to mention lethal if you drink more than a drop or two."

"But what's it do?"

"Uumm... hot – yes, it makes you hot and excited... erm – I mean quite happy because they're ... and... that's it really. It makes people happy by warming them up if they're uuh... cold."

"These are boring. I mean, that tiny coughing coffin isn't doing anything – it's not even scary."

"Not from the outside, Harry," Hermione said mysteriously. "Pushing the tombstone down expands the grave to full size and it would swallow you whole."

"But why would it cough?"

"It doesn't. You do," she solemnly replied, quickly hiding the coffin below a tightly-ribboned sickening scroll.

"Oh, look, Hermione – something moved under where that scroll was!"

"Just leave everything, Harry. You don't appreciate just how–"

"No, look! Is that the map?"

Hermione squinted where Harry was pointing at a small area of parchment that was just visible between a bar of black soap and a sickly, rubbery blob; an ink mark could be seen moving across the parchment. She grabbed an edge of the document and carefully pulled it out.

A breathy whistle escaped her lips. "You're right, Harry! Filch must be really thick not to see how he could use this to catch every student out of bounds and out of curfew! Take it, you have more right than anyone..."

Harry gratefully accepted the parchment from Hermione and stared wide-eyed. Thin ink lines were spread across it like a spider's web. They criss-crossed and fanned into every corner of the parchment to form a complete map of Hogwarts.

"There's us!" cried Harry, excitedly stabbing his finger at Filch's office. "But it's got my name wrong!" The boy's enthusiasm deflated somewhat. "It says I'm a Black..."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a while, considering how this could be. She sensed Harry's anxious eyes watching her expression closely.

"That's old magic, Harry. The map is probably based on the Founders' magic still at work in the castle, and your original name would have been in the Book of Admittance. I think the entry must have been altered by the Quill of Acceptance when you were adopted. That ancient magic does not know of the later Ministry legislation concerning optional name constancy. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find the general day-to-day records will have you down as a Potter."

"But where is the Book, Hermione?"

"Oh, it's in an old locked room up in one of the towers. Few ever go there and no students ever have. Nobody will see it. You'll be fine – Mr Potter forever."

Harry smiled. He loved his new mum and dad but they'd taught him to be proud of his real name – and he was.

.

—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Chapter 23 guest reviewer Skye asked: Dumbledore says that they both know what Pandora is after 'up there', but why would he worry if [the diadem] was in Albania? The answer is that he doesn't know that – nobody does except Helena Ravenclaw, Hermione Granger (from Harry reminiscing later in her former life,) and probably the Bloody Baron assumes it must still be somewhere in Albania because after Helena stole it, he followed her there and killed her. But he doesn't know exactly where, nor did Hermione (she does now.) So, knowing that Helena's mother Rowena Ravenclaw devoted her life to the school and rarely left it, Dumbledore, like everyone else who'd searched for the diadem over the centuries, would assume it was somewhere in the school and probably in Ravenclaw Tower which Rowena frequented.

A couple of good points were raised by guest reviewer, Lordlyhou for Chapter 7. Firstly, that Tasmania is not beyond Australia but is part of it and not beyond the continents because Antarctica is beyond that:

My answer is that yes, I do know that but you are taking Hermione's instruction to Farrimond too strictly as separate nation states. The word 'continent' has several meanings. Wikipedia gives: "The narrowest meaning of continent is that of a continuous area of land or mainland – In this sense ... Australia may refer to the mainland of Australia, excluding Tasmania and New Guinea." To the simple mind of an owl (in my fic), continents are huge land masses. They know nothing of Antarctica but only the two Americas, Africa, Eurasia, and Australia. The phrase 'beyond the continents' is poetic, being more akin to 'at the edge of the world' than any literal meaning. It was intended to signify immensity and almost unimaginable distances to a creature only used to flying a few miles across London suburbs.

The other point raised by Lordlyhour is that goblins would be angry about anyone melting down Galleons and you'd imagine they'd have magic in place to prevent it. My answer is, yes, you would, but they haven't. Not in canon anyway. I gave enormous consideration to this fun method of raising funds (especially the economic and moral side.) In this fiction, to goblins, gold is a conveniently cheap material for making tokens as IOUs, rather like our paper money. Goblins don't need to magically protect the material or the relatively trivial cost of manufacturing Galleons. Goblins consider that true wealth resides in exquisitely-created art items rather than the material from which they are wrought. Now dwarves... that's a different story. They value and love even raw gold because they have to labour for it. Don't ever melt down dwarven gold or you'll be sorry. ;)

Thanks 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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