Disclaimer: Spectemur Agendo
Speech, Speech
Vector was still frantically going over equations when Minerva arrived the next morning, having heard about Harry's display from her favorite student. The woman was at her wits end, none of it made any sense.
"Minerva?" Vector mumbled.
"Get any sleep at all last night, Septima?" McGonagall asked.
"It's morning?"
"Were you able to figure anything out, Septima?"
"Harry Potter shouldn't be alive after channeling that much magic," Vector replied. "Which leaves us with a couple possibilities: the first is that he's dead, the second is that the event didn't happen, the third is that he's special, and the fourth is that he didn't." She yawned. "There are several others, but those are the important ones for now. We can explore the rest later."
"Go on," Minerva prompted.
"I haven't spoken with Poppy, but I do not believe that Mr. Potter is dead, so until I learn differently I'm discarding that. There were a number of witnesses to the effect but it is possible that their memories were tampered with or there was some sort of illusion, so we'll place that in the maybe. It is conceivable that Mr. Potter is special in some way that gives him more magical power and more ability to channel it than anyone else, but again, without consulting Poppy . . ."
"Poppy says that Mr. Potter is a normal, if extraordinarily powerful, wizard," Minerva volunteered. "Too powerful to accurately measure with what we have available at Hogwarts but what can be measured is within the range of what's been recorded."
"So we'll put that in the maybe basket too since it's also possible that whatever it is that let him do what he did is something Poppy can't detect or measure," Septima agreed. "That leaves the last and in my opinion most likely answer. Mr. Potter did not channel the level of power conventional wisdom says is needed to lift a fifty ton chunk of mostly steel. So since he didn't do it, that of course leaves us with the obvious question."
"What did he do?"
"Something else," Septima shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he found a more efficient way to use his power, maybe there's something about the location, maybe there's something about the object, maybe Mr. Potter uses his magical power differently."
"What do you think?" Minerva asked.
"I think he's using his power differently than most magic users do or maybe he found a trick," Vector replied. "Maybe both? Failing that, I think that everything we think we know about magic is wrong." She shrugged. "In any case, I'm going to spend every waking moment of the next few months measuring and recording everything I can about the event. I'm going to write a friend at another institution that works in the High Energy Magic Department for his input. I'm going to ask Mr. Potter to try to replicate the event. But before I do all that, I'm going to get some sleep."
"Good night, Septima."
"Good morning, Minerva." The woman slumped forward and fell asleep on her desk.
IIIIIIIIII
The boy walked through the Slytherin Common room with his head held high and passed by the idiots without a second glance, purists a pox on society all of them. With only a quick glance around, he entered one of the private floo rooms, raised the wards, and then carefully cast a dozen well rehearsed privacy charms.
A pinch of powder went into the fire and an address was called out and he settled back into the plush provided chair to wait for an answer.
"What do you have for me, son?" the face in the fire asked. It was hard and drawn, a hooklike nose sat below two beady black eyes and above a cruel slit of a mouth.
"Greetings to you too, father," the boy said. "Why yes, I'm doing well in my studies, thank you for asking."
"Business before pleasure, I've told you that before." The man's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.
"You have, father, and I've always replied that a few social niceties will often lubricate the later business discussions."
"Fine. Your mother is doing well, your sister is excited about Hogwarts, and your elder brother is still a drunken wastrel and a disappointment to me and everyone else in the family. Now what have you got for me?"
"Granger and Longbottom have publicly claimed kinship. Seems that Granger is from the wealthy aristocratic class on her mother's side and the ultra wealthy on her father's," he said, making himself comfortable.
"Any chance you could get close enough to her to secure an alliance between our families?" his father asked, avarice and speculation lighting up the man's eyes.
"Not if you want me to try to seal it in the usual way," the boy said quickly, his life flashing before his eyes.
"Why not, I thought you had quite a bit of success with witches? Sides, she's a mudblood, isn't she? Just potion her if the little bint doesn't want to cooperate."
"She belongs to Potter. She's in his circle if she didn't," he explained. Meaning Potter would kill him if he so much as looked at her crosseyed.
"So?"
"So you'd have to produce a new spare if I tried to do it in the usual way," the boy continued. "Even assuming they didn't detect the potion, Potter would suspect something." And then, if past behavior was any indication, the younger boy would then proceed to kill him and everyone that might be responsible. Say what you would about the boy-who-lived, his reputation was earned by shedding mass quantities of blood.
"So remove him." His father flicked his hand.
"The Dark Lord has tried several times, yet Potter is still around. Do you imagine that I'd have more success?" He knew that if he tried, Potter would kill him. He suspected that in the unlikely event he succeeded, Potter's allies would kill him. It was a scenario in which the only winning move was not to play.
"I've spent quite a bit of gold having you trained over the summer and-" the man tried to work himself into a tantrum.
"You have. Could my instructor beat Flitwick?" he interrupted. He knew that the only way he could continue staying above ground was to convince his idiot of a father that no amount of galleons was worth the risk.
"Your instructor managed to last five minutes more than ninety percent of your Professor's other competitors."
"How long did the duel last?"
"Five minutes," his father admitted.
"Potter sent Flitwick to the hospital wing. Took him down so fast I'm told Flitwick, the greatest dueling champion of all time, didn't even manage to get his wand out." It had taken quite a bit to get that piece of trivia. "Used an unknown hex to do it too. Still think I could take him on and win?" He tried to keep his face impassive.
"There's always outside contractors," his father muttered. "The best don't come cheap, but the payout would be worth it."
"Or we could wait and see if the Dark Lord prevails, he does we can reexamine the situation. But so long as Potter is around, so long as Potter could be around, I'm not even going to consider enriching our family by taking Granger. The risk is not worth the reward."
Even with Potter out of the picture, there were still Bones, the Longbottoms, the Weasleys, and the girl's own family to contend with. It wasn't just playing with fire, it was juggling bottles of unstable and highly explosive potion after covering your hands with butter. He wanted no part of it, no potential reward was worth that amount of risk. Why in the hell couldn't his father understand that no amount of wealth was worth the kind of risk they'd be courting? It wasn't like you could spend galleons after you were dead.
"Even as rich as you say her family is?" The man drooped, he could see the gold slipping through his fingers.
"All the money in the world means nothing if you're dead," the boy said simply, repeating his earlier thoughts. "We'll both be dead if we use the usual tactics." Likely along with the rest of the family. "We'd be stealing from a powerful wizard with no objections to taking the lives of those who stand against him." He rather respected that about the younger boy. "There is only one student in this school that has a body count, father. Potter. I do not have any desire to add to it."
"Quit using ten galleon words when two knut words will work just as well," his father grumbled. "You're sure he'd get violent?"
"Am I sure that Potter would . . . He's killed at least one teacher while he's been here and I suspect that he's killed at least two more!" the boy barked. "Aside from that, you're the one that paid my ten galleon word instructors. What's the use of all that gold if I don't use it? You're the one that taught me that all the learning in the world is no good if you don't use it."
"What about business relations of the less romantic sort?" his father persisted. "Do you think there's a chance we could pry a bit of gold loose by becoming business partners or something? Maybe tell them your younger sister needs money for education or medicine or something."
"I wouldn't suggest we risk it. A close relationship would give them a closer look at how we do things and something tells me that they would be less than enthused by what we consider normal business." And then Potter would kill him and his family for being what they were around the other boy's witches. It's what he would have done in the other boy's place anyway and he didn't imagine the younger boy was any less ruthless.
"Feh, weak," his father spat.
"Yet her fortune dwarfs ours," the boy replied, doing his best to hide the relief he felt at his father losing grip on his position. "Perhaps it's just that they've gotten to the point where it's more profitable to be respectable. Look how much the Malfoy family spends trying to buy respectability, there's got to be something there."
"Lucius is as dirty as he's ever been," his father spat.
"Yet he's spending heaps of gold to look clean," the boy replied. "Why?"
"Because Azkaban is a horrible place to spend a holiday."
"You'd know better than I would." The boy shrugged. He had no desire to find out for himself, his father's stories had been quite enough. "Just think about it, I will."
"Fine. Do you have any other targets lined up?"
"No one worth more than a quick tumble," he said with a grin. "Do you know of any International prospects?" Hopefully ones that would take him far away from Britain and the war he knew was starting to heat up.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry was relaxing in his favorite chair and giving serious consideration to a quick nap when the portrait opened to admit his Head of House, dashing his plans for a nap.
"Professor." Harry nodded. It wasn't unusual to see their Head of House in the Common Room, what was unusual was her appearance when the other students were out as she liked to address them as a group.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said with a wide smile. "Just who I was looking for."
"What can I do for you, Professor?" he asked.
"I'm here to escort you to the Transfiguration Trade Show," McGonagall replied.
"I thought we were leaving in," Harry checked his new pocket watch. "An hour?"
"We are, I came early so I could get a chance to inspect your attire," Minerva explained. "We want to look our best, don't we?"
"School robes no good?" he asked.
"It requires something a bit more formal," Minerva agreed.
"Be right back," Harry said. He rose to his feet and darted up the stairs, coming down a few minutes later in a set of formal robes. "How's this?" he asked, fingering the rich blue silk.
"I don't know." The woman frowned. "It lacks a certain something, doesn't it? Don't forget, we are going to be representing Hogwarts while we're there."
"Should I add a school crest to the robes?" he suggested, fingering his wand.
"No . . . no I don't believe that will have the effect we're looking for," Minerva said slowly. "You do have other sets of formal clothing, do you not, Mr. Potter?"
"I do, Professor," Harry agreed.
"Why don't change into one of them," Minerva suggested.
"Yes, Professor."
Again Harry went up the stairs and again he came down in a set of robes which were again rejected by McGonagall. Over the next hour, Harry tried on four sets of formal robes, a tuxedo, and six business suits. Each in turn was given the thumbs down by his Head of House for one reason or another. None of them solid.
"Try again, Mr. Potter," Minerva ordered.
"I don't have any more sets of formal clothes," Harry said. "All I have is . . . is . . ." His eyes widened in alarm at the way his Professor's grin deepened. "Please, Professor, not that."
"I believe you said you had one thing left to try, didn't you, Mr. Potter?" Minerva asked, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
"But . . . but, Professor . . ."
"Let's have a look at it," she said firmly. "Who knows, it could have exactly the effect we're hoping to achieve."
"Yes, Professor." Harry's last trip up the stairs rather resembled a condemned man going to the gallows. He came down fifteen minutes later draped in the plaid of the great kilt she'd had him purchase earlier that year, a garment he'd rather hoped would never emerge from his trunk to see the light of day, at least not to adorn his body.
"Hmmm." McGonagall flicked her wand, causing the fabric to shift. "Much better, I think you've managed to find just the effect we were looking for. Good job, Mr. Potter, take twenty points to Gryffindor for good fashion sense."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry sighed, resigned to his fate. He should have known, he really should have known.
"Now come along, I appreciate the fact that you wish to present the best appearance but your fashion show means that we have to leave now if we do not wish to be late," McGonagall said, motioning for him to follow.
"Of course it does," Harry sighed. Why couldn't it have been something easy like a Death Eater attack? He knew how to deal with one of those. Well, he thought to himself, at least it gave him an excuse to carry a dirk, something he had an idea of how to use thanks to the tuition he'd received from the Granger staff. Never hurt to be armed with more than just a wand.
Hermione walked into the empty Common Room seconds after Harry and McGonagall vacated it and took a quick look around to ensure she was apparently alone.
"Did you get them?" she demanded. She'd have to remember to do something nice for her Head of House for telling her what she had planned.
"I think so," one of the corners replied. A hand appeared out of nowhere and pulled down the hood of an invisibility cloak to reveal Colin's smiling face. "Right angle to get some great shots, just have to develop them to be sure."
"Good." She grinned widely. "Just remember our deal."
"A galleon for every good photo, you get the only copies, anything you don't want gets destroyed, I don't get to keep copies, I break the deal and I'll be very very sorry because if need be you will make me very very very sorry," Colin repeated. "I do not want you to make me very very very sorry because you will be compelled to make an example of me that will ensure no one will ever want you to make them very very very sorry again because my suffering will be the stuff of legends whispered fearfully around campfires but that won't be my concern because I won't be around to hear any of them."
"Right you are, Colin," Hermione said brightly. "I also want a chance to poke through all the photos you took in the past and right of refusal over any photos you take in the future," Hermione added. "Same deal as these ones."
"I think we can do that," Colin agreed.
"I'd also suggest that you give Harry a chance to go through them and tell you the ones he'd rather be destroyed," Hermione continued. "Agree to that and I'll talk to him about not having all of them destroyed."
"You'd do that for me?" Colin asked brightly.
"I would," Hermione agreed.
"Thanks, Hermione. Do you want to look over them before or after Harry does?"
"Oh, Colin," Hermione laughed. "Before of course."
"Of course," he sighed. She'd want copies of the ones Harry wanted gone too as well he supposed. Ah well, he supposed it was still a better deal than what he already had.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry rather enjoyed the Transfiguration Trade Show, it was surprisingly interesting and filled with the most . . . ah . . . unique people. Chief among them was his Head of House, who showed a very different side of herself when dealing with some of her colleagues.
"Ogden," she said with a grin. "So good of you to see you here. To be honest, I'd rather thought you wouldn't have the nerve to show up. Just goes to show that not all Frenchmen are cheese eating surrender monkeys, I guess, just most of them." She turned to Harry. "That's why it's important to take people as individuals, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, Professor," Harry agreed, jaw dropped in stupefied shock at how the woman was treating her colleague.
"Minerva," he said tightly. "Congratulations on you and your student here taking this years medal. Just goes to show that a good student can flourish even under an average-"
"What was that?" McGonagall interrupted, cupping a hand behind her ear. "Did you say that one of my protégés is rewriting the way we understand Transfiguration while you're still stuck at a second rate institution? Perhaps you should think about taking a step up the career ladder and get a job slopping pigs."
"I've never-" the Frenchman sputtered.
"Maybe you should try," Minerva goaded.
"You . . . you . . . you . . ." the man was overcome with rage.
"Suck it, halfwit!" McGonagall barked. "I believe you owe me something?"
"Fifty galleons and a public admission that the Hogwarts Transfiguration program is superior in every way to the one at Beauxbatons," he sighed in defeat. "It will appear on the third page of La Merveilleux Diplomatique within the week."
"Front page," Minerva growled. "That was the deal."
"But . . ." He withered under her glare.
"Front page," he agreed.
"Pleasure doing business with you, sucker," Minerva sneered.
"You haven't had the last laugh, Minerva!" Ogden growled. He glanced over his shoulder at his coterie of anonymous grad students. "Shake your fists at her."
"Yes, Professor Wernstrom," the students agreed, hastening to comply with his order.
His glare deepened. "Harder!" he ordered, setting the example. "Damn you, Minerva McGonagall, Damn You!"
She glanced around. "Come along, Mr. Potter, I think I see Tsveta Dimitrova from Durmstrang trying to hide from us in that corner over there."
"Coming, Professor," Harry agreed.
By the end of the day, they'd had several 'conversations' with Minerva's colleagues which, if Harry's calculations were correct, had netted the woman at least fifteen thousand Galleons in goods, gold, and services. He couldn't help but think that he'd managed to get a glimpse of the real McGonagall rather than the professional mask she showed most of the world while at Hogwarts. He wondered if he'd have a chance to meet the real her after graduation, he hoped so, she seemed like she'd be an absolutely fascinating woman.
The room went quiet and the lights dimmed. A spotlight lit up the stage and the president of the prize committee took his place.
"Gentle-beings, it is my great pleasure to announce the winner of this year's Puddocky Transfiguration Prize, a young man who's contributed much to our art despite his young age, a young man who's service to our society and magic as a whole can not be overstated." The President took a deep breath. "I doubt that I'm surprising anyone when I announce that this years prize goes to . . . Harry James Potter of Hogwarts."
"Get up there and take your prize, Mr. Potter," Minerva ordered, punctuating it with a gentle nudge with her elbow to the center of his back.
Harry took the stage and walked to the podium. "Thank you." The boy took the medal from the smiling President. "I couldn't have done it without Professor McGonagall."
"We'll have her up here after you give us a few words," the President prompted.
"Uh . . ."
"Or perhaps you'd rather give a small demonstration," the President continued, hoping to put the young man at ease. "It need not be complex."
"Right," Harry agreed. He drew his wand, eyes flicking around to find a target before settling on the medal in his hand. A swish and a flick caused the medal to twist into a golden gryphon for a few seconds before the gryphon twisted itself back into the medal.
Silence hit the chamber like a train hitting pigeon. Harry looked up to see that nearly every jaw in the room had dropped and every eye focused with laser like intensity on the medal in his hand. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, knowing that he'd just done something that would stir up the professors and researchers yet again.
"I . . ." Harry stammered.
"That medal is solid gold," the President gasped, locking eyes with Harry. "You've just broken the third law of transfiguration." The President's eyes swept the room. "I trust . . . I trust that there are no more naysayers? I trust that no one doubts that this prize was given to Mr. Potter based on talent and not based on his fame? Mr. Potter, let me be the first to congratulate you for winning this years prize and please also permit me to offer my congratulations for your win next year as well, but, if you'll do me a small favor?"
"Yes?"
"Do not strain yourself to think of a way to top what you just showed us on stage, I do not believe my poor heart could take it. I believe a round of applause is in order and after that, if Professor Minerva McGonagall would consent to give us a few words?"
A red faced Harry left the stage to the sound of thunderous applause as a stern faced McGonagall took his place.
Minerva's scowl turned into a grin as she stepped behind the podium. "Thank you for allowing me this opportunity, I promise that I'll be brief." She cleared her throat. "I saw him first yeh bloody baboons, he's mine!" The old woman was glowing. "MINE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MINE ALL MINE HAHAHAHAHA!" she began dancing a jig while making vulgar gestures at several prominent individuals in the crowd.
"And in conclusion I'd like to say, Suck it Wernstrum! Thalla's cagainn bruis! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
IIIIIIIIII
Harry was fairly sure that he was going into a state of shock as he watched his Professor give her speech. By the time she'd finished, he'd nearly managed to convince himself that it was all just a bizarre hallucination.
"Close your mouth, Mr. Potter, it's not polite to stand there gaping at people," McGonagall chided as she walked up to him.
"Yes, Professor," he agreed dumbly.
"Come along, Mr. Potter, I know how tempting it is to stay at the reception to." The old woman smirked. "Converse with our valued colleagues, but I know you have an event to go to with Misses Granger and Lovegood tomorrow and I think it best that we get you back so that we can retire at a reasonable hour."
"Yes, Professor," he replied automatically, trying to process the woman's sudden change from one persona to another.
IIIIIIIIII
Hermione woke up early the next morning and rushed to the Great Hall to rejoin the other girls at breakfast.
"Did you get them?" Hannah asked eagerly the second Hermione joined them. The other two girls nodded in anticipation.
"Of course," Hermione agreed with a faint blush. "I said I would, didn't I?"
"Only after we twisted your arm," Hannah laughed.
"Let's see," Susan demanded.
Hermione spread the photos on the table as the other three girls clustered around to get a better look at what she'd brought.
"I'm quite glad that you changed your mind about this, Hermione," Luna said, a dreamy look on her face.
"Mum sent me a letter," Hermione mumbled, her blush deepening.
"We'll have to remember to send her a nice thank you note," Susan decided.
"Along with copies of the photos," Hermione added. "She insisted."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry awoke with a faint feeling of dread. Something had just tripped his finely honed danger senses and not in the usual way.
"Ron must have eaten something really foul last night," Harry decided. A quick flick put up a bubblehead charm and Harry was ready to get dressed and face the day.
He found the girls studying together in the Common Room, raising a brief eyebrow at the way Hermione had trampled tradition once again to bring her friends from other houses into what was supposed to be the heart of Gryffindor territory.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," Harry mumbled to himself. Despite her supposed love of following the rules, Hermione had never paid them much mind when they got in the way of doing something she wanted to do.
"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked glancing up from the book the girls were clustered around. A light blush dusting her cheeks as she hastily closed the book and Handed it to Luna to conceal. "Did you say something?"
"Nothing important," Harry said. "How is everyone doing this morning?"
"Very well," Susan said brightly, trying to keep the boy's attention off their new photo album. "How are you doing, Harry?"
"Bit drowsy but okay aside from that," Harry admitted. "Thanks." He turned towards his best friend. "Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?" the girl replied.
"I . . ." Nothing to do but come out and say it he supposed. "Let's see what you have on under those robes," Harry sighed.
"Harry! Here? In front of everyone?" Hermione gasped, turning a deep scarlet, he was being much too forward.
"You did remember that you have that speech to give today, didn't you?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Oh." She deflated a bit and Harry half thought that he saw a brief look of disappointment on Hannah's face. "Right."
"Your da sent me a letter asking me to make sure that you wore something nice," Harry continued. "He also wanted me to point out that he made sure the maids packed you something nice to wear so you don't have any excuses. Your mum added that she wants you to wear the blue dress, that you know she expects you to wear the blue dress because she said so in her last letter to you, and that there will be a photographer at the event with instructions to get at least two dozen shots of you. I would like to add that this event is for the people that are going to work in your new playground and it's just good manners to show up in something formal."
"Alright, Harry," Hermione agreed.
"What about us?" Susan asked.
"If you want to come with us, you are of course welcome to," Harry agreed. "Though your outfits don't have to be quite as formal as Hermione's since none of you are expected to take the stage or give any sort of speech. Tell me if you don't have something suitable and I'll see if I can arrange something in the time we have."
"We'll be fine, thank you, Harry," Hannah said.
IIIIIIIIII
The event was more interesting than he'd thought it would be, meaning that it was merely mind numbingly boring so Harry amused himself by watching the crowd. In the front row sat an assortment of local notables, each secure in the fact that they were big fish in the very small pond that the depressed economic area had become. In the second sat an old man with his family, glowing as he whispered about his time in the mines. In the third, he found something interesting.
Harry walked up to the nearest security person and tapped her on the shoulder.
"What's up?" the woman asked.
"Third row aisle," Harry replied. "Wand concealed in the small of the back, another on his left ankle, and I don't recognize him."
"Give me a second," the woman said.
"Alright," Harry agreed. He glanced at his companion and received an answering nod. "Thank you for your time."
"Ah . . ." the woman cocked her head as she listened to her earpiece. "Understood."
"Well?" Harry prompted.
"Gringotts' internal security, not sure why he's here," she replied.
"I think we're about to find out," Harry said.
"Hmmm?" She glanced up to see that the wizard in question had stood up slowly and had begun walking towards them, hands clearly visible with his palms out.
"Noticed you looking and I thought I might come over to set some minds at ease," the wizard offered calmly.
"Just wondering what interest Gringotts has in this," Harry said, eyes flicking over the rest of the crowd.
"I have absolutely no idea," the mystery wizard admitted. "I'm here so I can give a report on what I saw later."
"They sent someone from their internal security division to give a report?" Harry's companion asked skeptically.
"They sent the nearest muggle-born," the mystery wizard corrected. "Internal security means just that; internal."
"What do you do for Gringotts?" Harry asked.
"Goblins are a clan based society to some extent. One goblin watching another from the same clan may overlook the actions of their clan member and one from a different clan has the possibility of starting a feud. Humans allow management to sidestep those issues since humans aren't part of any clan," he explained. "Any other questions?"
"What do you plan to do if something happens?" Harry's companion asked.
"Kiss the ground and let you lot take care of it. None of you know me well enough for anything else to work," he replied.
"That sounds reasonable," Harry agreed, he glanced at his companion and received a nod. "Thank you for your time."
"Not at all," the man said, turning to leave. "It was a pleasure to meet the infamous Harry Potter in person."
The crowd erupted into applause as Hermione's speech concluded. The girl had chosen to hit upon a number of themes in her talk; the return of a small piece Great Britain's rich industrial heritage, the educational possibilities presented by a working Victorian era coal mine, and most importantly the promise of a number of jobs for the local people.
The crowd's reaction seemed to take the girl by surprise. Red faced, she stammered her thanks and fled the stage and into the waiting arms of her friends. An action which drew an even greater response from the crowd.
"You did great, Hermione!" Susan cheered.
"I quite liked the part about industrial heritage," Luna said, eyes shining. "Do you think we should set up a large steam engine to help run the mines?"
Hermione just gave a shy nod in reply, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by her first public speaking engagement.
"Think the one they used to use is still around," an old man announced as he tottered up to the group. "Least I'm fairly sure, it was when I worked in the mines."
"Really?" Hermione's eyes were sparkling.
"From '33 till I got conscripted and then again from '48 to '77 when I managed to break my leg," the old man said proudly.
"Do you want a job?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Not sure how much use I'd be underground anymore," the old man chuckled. "But thank you for asking, lass."
"Not that," Hermione giggled back. "Telling people what it was like and giving tours. Oh, and I absolutely must have you sit down with someone to get an account of what it was like working in the mines and how things changed over the years. Please. Part of the reason we're reopening is so that stories like yours are preserved for future generations."
At Harry's nod, one of the close security men handed the old man a business card.
"Think it over and call the number on the card if you decide you want the job or have any questions," Harry advised.
"I will," the old man said brightly. He turned back to Hermione. "Bless you for bringing the mines back, young lady, bless you."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry collapsed onto one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room immediately after they'd all gotten back. He'd had no idea the event would be so tiring, no idea how stressful it was to try to keep an eye on so many people at once. It gave him a new found sympathy for Tonks and her people. 'Poor bastards must be made of iron to be able to do it day after day.'
Hermione, Susan, and Hannah took the couch facing his while Luna bounced up and down on the springiest chair.
"Dobby'll bring our meals up here, we've got the weekend to recover." Harry shot a look at Luna. "Those of us that need it, and McGonagall told me to tell you that there'll be three extra beds in Hermione's dorm tonight if you're not feeling up to going back to your own."
"Thank you for relaying the offer, Harry," Susan said with a wide smile. "I believe we'll take her up on that."
"Quite considerate of her," Hannah agreed.
"Wake me when the food gets here," Hermione mumbled, cozying up to one of the other girls and falling asleep.
AN: Some references above, some omake below.
Omake By xelan_metallium
We have to remember that Hermione was the only Gryffindor of their group of girls. I can just imagine how it went down:
"Please... Come on Hermione. You know you want to." Hannah Abbott cajoled.
Hermione's stern, disapproving look, the one she'd spent weeks copying from McGonagall, slipped as Susan joined Hannah with big puppy dog eyes.
"Yeah, Hermione. It would be such a shame to miss such a wonderful opportunity. Besides, I-" *sniff* "-I could use a little reminder that Harry's keeping my Aunt safe."
Hermione felt her stern, slightly less disapproving grimace twitch slightly. Susan was being deliberately ridiculous and Hermione had to struggle not to giggle. Besides, she'd need to have Colin doing the picture taking and none of them could cast the magic necessary to hide him so he would need an invisibility cloak. It would be too suspicious to ask Harry to borrow his so...
Luna chirped in. "And Susan would be more than happy to lend Colin the invisibility cloak her Aunt gave her, I'm sure. Right Susan?"
Susan rapidly nodded her head, the curly red hair bounced attractively. "Oh absolutely. Just so long as I get it back after. I'm sure my Aunt would approve.
Hermione looked at Luna, slightly surprised. 'Et tu, Luna?' she thought.
Luna just smiled. "I'm sure pictures of Harry would help keep the Rotfang away."
Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose. She loved the girl... but sometimes... She let out a sigh. "All right." She looked away, unable to meet their eyes. "I'll get him set up, but I see the pictures first and Harry gets final veto rights."
Hannah, looking surprisingly shrewd asked, "But you're keeping any photos from your first veto, am I right?"
Hermione face flushed red. "That would be a safe assumption..."
Omake by davidthe4th
"Right," Hermione said brightly. "I also want a chance to poke through all the photos you took in the past and right of refusal over any you take in the future," Hermione added.
"But-but, that wasn't part of our bargain!" Collin whined.
"I have altered our bargain, pray I don't alter it further!" Hermione said, a dark light in her eyes.