"The thing about trains is it doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on." --'The Polar Express'
Chapter One: Gathering Courage
She stood nervously in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Inside the long sleeves of her periwinkle cloak, her hands plucked at each other as she tried to gather the shreds of her infamous Gryffindor courage. The waiting room was busy with patients of magical burns as it always was at this time of year. Unconsciously, she tugged the ambiguousness of her cloak's hood farther down her face, seeking to hide in its comforting shadows.
She knew why she formed the habit. Ever since Voldemort's defeat at the end of their seventh year, both Harry and Hermione had become heroes. There was nowhere they could go without hoards of witches and wizards surrounding them, wanting to hear the story of the Final Fall; or reporters out for an exclusive to make their careers. Complete strangers had proposed to her, wishing only to marry her name. Even time hadn't reduced the magical world's reaction. Hermione doubted that would change until all those who had been touched one way or another by Voldemort were gone.
A year after graduation, Harry gave up on his dream of a 'normal' life and became a recluse somewhere in the many isles surrounding Great Britain. The only time he left was for his obligatory appearance at the annual Rembrance Ball every fall. Hermione, meanwhile, became very proficient with glamours and collected numerous cloaks for the occasion that she couldn't wear the glamours. Still, there were times when both friends thought that maybe life would be better if they had been martyred along with (or perhaps instead of) Ron.
"Excuse me, dearie, but I must get through."
Hermione quickly stepped aside to allow the old woman passage. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the little girl that the woman had in tow. The child couldn't be more than seven judging by the high-pitched giggle erupting from her smiling, rosebud mouth. The odd thing, though, was the yellow feathers covering her downy cheeks. Wide, blue eyes tilted up at Hermione innocently. Recognition blossomed in those untainted eyes. The mouth split into an even wider grin. The girl looked so much like a young version of Marguerite it almost hurt.
"Canary Creams and Tickling Charms don't mix."
"Is that what happened?" Hermione asked, coming back to herself. At the other woman's nod, the Gryffindor made a mental note to talk to Fred and George the first chance she got about this side effect. Hermione planned out her advice as she watched the pair move off towards the stairs. Obviously, this wasn't the first time that this had happened. Just before she disappeared, the little girl turned back and waved at Hermione. It was just the reminder that she needed of why she had come. She took a deep breath and approached the information desk.
"Um, excuse me..." The Welcome Witch paused filing her nails to give Hermione a bored look. Hermione felt those shreds that she had to work so hard to gather struggling to escape. "I'm not quite sure where to go. Where would Specialty Magic be?"
The plump blonde set her emery board down sharply. Eyes highlighted with too much kohl glared at Hermione. It was simple to deduce that the other witch was angry, but Hermione couldn't fathom what had made her so. Hermione felt the familiar curiosity take a hold of her. As if to answer Hermione's unspoken question, the blonde snapped out a surly reply.
"Look, lady, no one will help you have Harry Potter's baby. So take your scam and scram."
"I'm not here for a scam," Hermione replied coolly. Very deliberately she placed her left hand on the desk. The overweight witch stared at the Arcanic Rune burned blackly on the back of her delicate-seeming hand. In the last twenty years, only four such markings had been burned into flesh and all of them were burned on the day of the Final Battle. Only two of those four still lived, still existed. "And I'll be sure to tell Harry that his honor is being well-guarded."
"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. Specialty Magic is on the fourth floor. I can get someone to show--"
"Thank you for your time."
-/--/--/--/--/-
It had started the summer between sixth and seventh year.
Harry had gone back to Private Drive to renew the wards one last time. Ron had gone with him for a few nights before going ahead to the Burrow to prepare for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Seeing a last chance to have a meaningful visit to her family, she had gone to her family's little house in a town about two hours north of London. When her visit was cut short by Death Eater, McGonagall gave her two choices: Hogwarts or the new Headquarters (an undisclosed location). Not wanting her little sister exposed to the War anymore than the child needed to be, Hermione opted for Hogwarts.
When the Ministry tried to take custody of Rity on the basis of Hermione's age, McGonagall had been a strong ally. Even so, the staunch Headmistress only managed to help Hermione gain temporary custody until the Ministry could locate their maternal grandmother. Harriette Cooper, or Naman as she was commonly known, had been traveling with the troop that year. It wasn't in a Gypsy's nature to have a schedule. The Ministry ended up closing the case and filing for custody of the remaining Granger minor. Hermione had to borrow Hedwig to get a letter to Naman. Her sister and she were just a much political pawns as Harry was, but Hermione was not going to let Rity be used that way.
But her letter to Naman was still four months away when she found the footnote. Hermione had taken advantage of the lessened security around the Restricted Section to do a bit of freelance research. Rity, who had clung like a leech the days they had spent at the Burrow after the attack, had long since discovered Hagrid and Fang. The half-giant and the six-year-old had instantly latched onto each other. Hermione could only hope Hagrid didn't show Rity anything too 'perfectly harmless'.
Harry and Ron would arrive in a couple of weeks to start their final year of schooling. It wasn't originally the plan, but as improvising go, it wasn't bad. It was just that it was as far as they could get. They had no plan now. They didn't know where the final Horcruxes were, let alone what was one. The Restricted Section had little on the subject. McGonagall wouldn't allow her access to Professor Snape's abandoned library. They were coming up with nothing.
But the footnote about the Runes had changed everything.
She could still remember the book she had found it in. The aging parchment had crinkled under her fingers as if it would turn to dust right then and there. The dried-out leather binding had sucked moisture from her hands like a vampire sucking blood. The topic of the book had been like many of the books in the Restricted Section: Dark. It had been about the magical practices of a species of magical non-humans called the Daemon.
"Fascinating reading, really," she would later tell Harry and Ron. "It's rare that an entire culture chooses to specialize in Dark Magic. I wonder if it's some kind of genetic thing--not a flaw, but a--"
"The Runes, 'Mione, what did it say about the Runes?"
She had recognized one of the many rituals outlined in the book from Harry's interview in the Quibbler. There had been an almost invisible mark at the end of the paragraph. Time had worn it away. The footnote was equally faded, just the barest hint of undoing the magic used to conjure Voldemort's new body and destroy any thing connected to soul within that body. That glimmer of hope had shaped the next year of the Trio's study efforts...and the rest of their lives.
And it was such a small thing.