The summer holidays set in in a series of long days spent lounging beneath the apple tree in her muggle backyard and practicing her Ogham and Futhark, paging through Gorlois grimmoires full of ancient rituals beneath the mighty cedars of Fort Stark with Mordred and swimming in the moat with her two magical brothers. After the stress and chaos of the failed revolution it was good to relax.
With the passing of days however, came something that Hermione had almost entirely forgotten about. There had been very little discussion of school and class work, perhaps because their little trio learned so much even without the assistance of a tutor, or because their matriarch wanted to give them the promised summer of relaxation.
She was at Sam's house, playing on their family's games console with his many brothers when the phone rang. Immediately, the baby woke and started screaming, Hermione's car crashed into the wall of the racetrack and Sam casually reached over and plucked the phone from it's cradle. A moment later he held it out to her and she exchanged it for her remote wordlessly.
'Hermione?' Her mother asked, sounding somewhat muffled. 'Could you come home? There's someone here to see you.'
The young witch agreed quickly, confused by the unusual turn of events. Gathering her shoe and bag she left her "boyfriend" playing with his brothers and walked as quickly as the sweltering heat allowed back to her house. There was no car in the driveway, but she could hear voices drifting through the open window. Their visitor was a woman, Scottish certainly by the accent and, most importantly, Hermione heard her say the word "Hogwarts."
Suddenly brimming with excitement she unlocked the door and practically skipped inside, turned into the living room and caught her first sight of a 20th century witch. She was seated primly on one of the comfortable floral couches, dressed in a long emerald cloak with a neckline that even Lady Grindelwald would call severe. Her hair was grey and swept into a tight bun and a delicate pair of golden spectacles rested on her sharp nose.
'Hermione, darling. This is professor McGonagall.' Her mother gestured to the witch and Hermione resisted the urge to curtesy. Until she knew this woman's station, she was determined not to make such a deferential move.
'Good morning, Professor.' Hermione greeted politely. McGonagall nodded, watching her with a strange intensity. Hermione glanced at her parents, noticing that they were very pale and that her father had a thick, parchment envelope clutched in his hand. She could guess that the revelation of her magical abilities had already been made. Hermione smoothly made her way to the wooden chair beside her parents and sat with all the elegance instilled in her by Lady Grindelwald's training.
'Are you, perhaps, from Hogwarts?' Hermione asked. A dumbstruck silence met her words.
'How do you know about that?' Her father finally spluttered, 'Professor McGonagall only just told us that this school existed and that you have... magic.'
Hermione crossed her hands deliberately on her lap, wind she hadn't already realised that she'd have to explain her relationship to the Grindelwald family eventually.
'Katerina Grindelwald, from Germany?' She looked to her parents, confirming that they remembered the name, 'She is a witch. It didn't take long for them to realise that I was as well.'
'I knew I recognised the name!' Her father declared triumphantly, brandishing the letter in her direction. Hermione's quick eyes caught a flash of the name it was addressed to; Miss Hermione Granger of Gorlois, Ward of House Grindelwald.
'I was told that in the magical world, I needed a magical guardian to stand in for me, as unfortunately non-magical parents have no real legal standing. She kindly agreed to fill the position.' Hermione explained, noticing the professor's brows drawing together as she spoke.
'And the other name? Gorlois?' Her mother demanded.
'They did a spell to follow my ancestry back until we found a magical ancestor. Lady Grindelwald suggested I take up the name because it would make my life easier if I wasn't the first in my family to have magic.' Hermione's parents shared a look, and the young witch waited patiently for their judgement to be meted out.
'This all sounds rather serious, Hermione. We understand why you felt like you couldn't tell us at the time, but we expect to be kept update from now on!' Her mother eventually said sternly.
'This is serious, not to mention highly irregular.' Professor McGonagall added. 'The Grindelwald name carries a heavy burden.'
'I understand.' Hermione said firmly. McGonagall pursed her lips but made no further objections.
'Very well.' The witch straightened and gestured for Hermione to open her letter. She did so, breaking the seal and pulling out two sheets of parchment. The first was a booklist; she recognised none of the titles, but one was written by Bathilda Bagshot whom she knew to be Lady Grindelwald's sister-in-law. In contrast to Gellert, she would not need a staff and her uniform sounded rather drab and black, but otherwise the lists were rather similar. She skimmed through the second page quickly - that was the actual letter, but was unremarkable other than the list of accolades following the headmaster's name. How on earth did he manage to hold down all of those positions at once?
She passed the letter to her parents to read, and McGonagall waited until they had finished before speaking again.
'You will find all of this may be purchased in the secret wizarding district of Diagon Alley. I would greatly appreciate it if we could visit today; I have many students to visit this week.'
Her parents shared a look, then shrugged.
'We may as well. Will the shops be open on a Saturday?' Her father asked. McGonagall nodded and they all stood.
'I shall meet you at this address at two.' Professor McGonagall produced a slip of parchment from her voluminous sleeves and handed it to her father. He read it with raised eyebrows, then nodded and passed it to her mother, leading McGonagall from the room.
They had to leave almost immediately to reach the address in time. Hermione changed quickly into more appropriate clothing; a summer dress that fell just below her knees and a pair of ribbons to go in her hair. Clutching both ribbons and hairbrush, she met her parents by the car and they all clambered in.
'We'll have to withdraw your scholarship to St. Mary's.' Hermione's mother commented vaguely as they pulled onto the motorway. The trip had passed mostly in silence up until then with Hermione braiding her hair and her mother focusing on the map.
'I've heard Hogwarts is one of the best schools in the world.' The young witch mentioned. Her mother had been overjoyed when Hermione had received a scholarship to the exclusive boarding school, and had shared the news with every single one of their neighbours. Hermione was ready to bet she was rather upset that Hermione wouldn't be attending anymore.
'Really? I don't suppose you'll get O-levels in wand waving and potion making?' Her father asked, looking back at her in the rear view mirror. He sounded sceptical, like he half believed that this was just some massive practical joke.
'It's GCSEs now, dad, but I think they call them OWLs in wizard school.' Hermione replied quickly.
'So? What subjects will you learn?' Her father pressed and Hermione hesitated. She knew what Hogwarts didn't teach because everyone in Germany was always talking about it, but she didn't know what they did teach to fill the gaps.
'Well, Gellert goes to Durmstrang, he learns basic spellcasting, duelling, magizoology, potions, ancient magic and ethics and there's loads of electives for him to choose from next year.' She began, unfolding her booklist again, 'I think they don't learn duelling at Hogwarts, but we must have some kind of magical history lessons - that one's definitely a history book and herbology, there's one here about plants...' she trailed off, still looking at the letter.
'There must be broomstick flying too, or they wouldn't specifically ban it in first year.' Her mother added, turning to take the letter off Hermione. 'Look, there's one here for changing things, thats what transfiguration means? It certainly sounds like it does.'
Speculation over her lessons changed to discussions over pets - Hermione was adamant that she would need an owl to send post. Her parents were more than a little sceptical, and eventually compromised by agreeing to check whether McGonagall said that she needed one. Then they discussed her uniform, and wondered what exactly she was meant to wear underneath it - miniskirts and fishnets, like a fancy dress witch, or floor length dresses like McGonagall. Hermione just smiled and described the Durmstrang girl's uniform, which consisted of a red skirt, brown shirt and fur cloak.
They had to park a reasonable distance away from the address McGonagall had given them, and they bought ice creams as they walked, eating quickly as the summer sun did it's best to melt the cold treats. The witch had changed since they last saw her, and she was now dressed in a long tartan skirt and black shirt, which looked unusually heavy for the warm weather, but certainly drew less stares than the cloak would have. She was standing with a snooty looking family in business suits, a boy with dark, curly brown hair bounced excitedly on his heels as they hurried over.
The two families introduced themselves to each other, and Hermione learned that the boy was called Justin, and had had his name down for Eton. His father was as eager as hers but his mother was awfully reluctant to let him attend, and she kept casting worried looks over at him. He was an eager, exuberant boy and Hermione found him almost jarring after the refined intelligence of the boys she regularly surrounded herself with. As such, she was rather quiet as Justin talked at her. They walked a little further down the street, then McGonagall pointed out a dingy looking pub. All four parents were baffled as they were led by their confident wixen children into what apparently, according to Justin's mother, an empty shop.
They emerged into a welcoming bar; it was worn but not grubby and the furnishings lent themselves to darkness as if to spite the whitewashed walls and large skylight. The end result was somewhere that was an odd contrast of brightly lit tables and dark corners. The patrons were mostly of wixen, but there was one man, huddled in a cloak in the back corner who might have been a vampire.
Tom, the barkeeper, greeted them all cheerily and promised that they'd always be able to get a good meal after shopping in his pub - Hermione looked dubiously as the filthy rag he'd just been using to clean the glasses and decided that there were certainly other places she'd rather eat.
Then they all crammed into the back, pressing up against the stinking rubbish bins as McGonagall pulled out her wand and started tapping bricks in a seemingly random order. With a grating, clinking noise, the bricks reshuffled, twisting and sliding before their awestruck faces to form an archway into a bustling street.
It was everything and nothing like the Unterhalb at the same time - it was bright, the street was narrow and crowded with wares spilling out to hinder the already congested alleyway. There were no aurors patrolling the streets and nothing like the disparity in wealth that stained the German magical centre.
'Welcome to Diagon Alley.' Professor McGonagall announced, spreading her arms wide as she led them into the bustling crowd. 'Our first stop will be Gringotts; the wizarding bank.'
With that, they merged with the crowd, fighting after McGonagall with her distinctively severe bun and tall stature.
Fashion had changed, and certainly not in a bad way. The women in the crowd wore long, flowing robes, which was a departure from the outdated, but still essentially muggle clothing that her friends in the 19th century favoured. There were no stupid bustles, crinolines or petticoats. In fact, Anneken would fit perfectly into this modern fashion; so perfectly that it could have been based off her. The men wore similar cloaks, like someone had taken Gellert's usual jacket and crossed it with Elrond.
They arrived at Gringotts, a towering building of white marble that soared above the leaning shop fronts that lead up to it. The crowd thinned suddenly, splitting down two alleys either side of the bank whilst a steady stream of people hurried up the staircase and through polished doors. The two families followed McGonagall up the staircase, passing between pairs of creatures in uniforms.
The bank was huge, packed with families conducting business with rows of goblins perched on tall benches. In a display of wealth, the massive floor consisted of a single slab of polished marble and a massive crystal chandelier hung so low that it almost brushed the pointed hat of the tall, blond wizard that stood beneath it. At the far end of the room was a set of massive golden doors, thrown open to allow the distant sound of rattling carts and screams to form a steady undertone to the clinking of coins and gemstones. Hermione wandered over to one of the guards whilst her parents exchanged money, took a deep breath, then said one of the phrases she was beginning to learn in gobbledegook.
The goblin grinned savagely and bowed to her, replying in kind. She then introduced herself, using her two family names and earning an even deeper bow - although she didn't know which name earned it.
'We have heard of your coming, High Priestess, many years ago. King Ragnuk the Seventh would speak with you, at your earliest convenience.' The guard informed her, switching back to English as Hermione stumbled over the tricky language. At least, she thought, her efforts had been appreciated.
'I am still barely a witchling, but Ragnuk is welcome to owl me.' She told the goblin. It bared its teeth in the approximation of a smile.
'I was a gobbelet when magic cried of your coming and the ancient powers of Gorlois awoke from their slumber. Our nation will rejoice to hear that you have agreed to speak with us.'
The goblin bowed to her again, and she bowed back. Then, before the adults could notice that she was missing, she hurried back over to their group. The money had been exchanged, and they headed for clothes shop as McGonagall explained how sickles, knuts and galleons exchanged.
They went to a shop called Madam Malkins. It was nothing special; there were a couple of dress robes on display and an equally small selection of everyday robes. There was, she noted, some variation in the black school robes on display. There were different fabric qualities, cuts and styles even if they all looked identical at a distance. Each one had the Hogwarts crest on the right breast and the skirts and ties were all trimmed in deep purple. Hermione stood on a stool as she was fitted with a floorlength black robe and cloak, then she had to pick out shirts and knee length skirts, knitted jumpers and a very plain, brimless pointed hat. None of it was particularly exciting and she decided immediately that she preferred the Durmstrang uniform. She could see a single rack of it near the back of the shop, and she looked over it quickly. The girl's skirts were different now; short red where they had previously been floorlength and the half-cloak seemed to have been exchanged red for brown as well. She picked out two sets of casual robes to wear over the weekends, one in dark blue and one in misty grey because, despite McGonagall's assurances that she'd fit in even in muggle clothes, Hermione knew the power of appearance.
The next stop was the apothecary and here, Hermione insisted she be allowed the time to pick only the best of the beginner potions ingredients on offer. Justin's father agreed with her with considerable bluster, although he was less keen to look too closely at toad spleens and hippogriff dung to actually do the selecting. With Justin and her father's help, and under the approving eye of the shopkeeper, Hermione selected their potion's ingredients. She wondered if it was an intentional thing, to carry such a terrible standard stock so that all but the fussiest and best potion makers would find pre-made potions better. She could see the price tags on some of the bottles from where she chose her spider legs and she marvelled that anyone would buy a single dose of calming draught for (and here she ran a quick conversion in her head) 7 Hodd.
Then came the bookshop, which was even more glorious than the ones in the Unterhalb because almost all of the texts were in her language. Professor McGonagall was only too happy to point out some good volumes to get her up to date with British wizarding history and two more that would make good additional reading. She let her parents pick out her textbooks whilst she browsed the other volumes, eventually coming upon a very familiar title; "Hogwarts: A History", the book that had been gifted to her on her first Yule with Gellert. Her copy was a first edition, hand bound and printed on thick parchment and signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself. It was nothing like this slim, duplicated version of the book. She brushed her finger down the spine, then skipped on to the next book on the shelf; "Salazar Slytherin: Mastermind and master fiend." She opened it up, discovering a comprehensive biography of Slytherin's research and added that to her pile instead.
Finally, they moved on to wands. Hermione trailed behind everyone, unwilling to admit that she already had a wand. How would she explain such a personal item as something sent through the mail. It was highly likely that the wandmaker wouldn't recognise just how customised her particular wand was.
When Hermione had gotten her wand, it had been a custom made one. She'd visited Gregorovitch's workshop, rather than the shop where he sold premade wands to the general public. It was much darker in this shop, and shelves were laden with long, thin cardboard boxes, all covered in a thick layer of dust. An ancient man with Einstein-like wispy hair sat at the desk, scratching at a ledger with a long, pale quill. He looked up when they entered, standing with surprising smoothness and lifting a coiled silver tape measure from his desk.
'Two more for Hogwarts, Minerva?' The wandmaker asked, peering at them.
'Only one more group after this one, Garrick.' The teacher assured him. 'This is Hermione Granger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.'
Hermione remained silent as her measurements were taken, then the same ones were taken for Justin. As the measurements were taken as Ollivander pulled boxes from the shelves. She allowed Justin to try his first. It was a destructive process, and fascinating to watch from a magical point of view. The wand was a distinct magical object, buzzing with life and when Justin waved it, it lit up with magical power only to violently misdirect, sending shelves exploding and lights smashing. Ollivander cheerfully repaired each incident until eventually, Justin stumbled across the right one. Immediately, Hermione could see why having a custom made wand was better. The magic worked through the wand Justin now held, but it certainly didn't flow in quite the same way as it did through her own. It felt jerky and awkward - perhaps if they kept at it, Justin might even come across a better suited one, but nobody seemed to even notice. They all applauded and Justin's father grinned proudly, clapping his son firmly on the back.
So, Hermione took his place, apprehension heavy in her chest. She selected the first wand from the pile, knowing immediately that it was wrong but unable to figure out how to make it demonstrate how wrong it was. Should she try to make it blow something up?
She was relieved when Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hand, muttering and shoved the next one at her. Like before, her magic didn't connect and Ollivander snatched it away with a grumble. She went though the entire pile of wands without even a spark, her own wand feeling like it was burning a hole in the bag slung across her body. Ollivander seemed baffled and her parents were sharing concerned looks.
'Mr Ollivander?' She finally asked quietly. Silver eyes snapped up to meet hers. 'I think I can feel something, like its calling to me from the back somewhere.' She lied. Ollivander gazed at her suspiciously, then nodded sharply, beckoning her to follow.
Within seconds they were deep within the gloomy shelves at the back of the shop, a strangely artificial silence deadening their footsteps.
'Now, what is it you wish to tell me Miss Granger?' Ollivander finally asked, perhaps judging that they were out of earshot. Without a moment of hesitation Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her wand. 'Ah, I see. A Gregorovitch custom creation if I'm not mistaken. Vine wood, unusual colour certainly and not a design I would have chosen, not one of the cores I usually use either, but dragon heartstring certainly.'
'Nidhogg.' Hermione supplied.
'Curious, very curious. Are you aware that the last recorded sighting of a Nidhogg was in 1920? Their parts became unobtainable decades ago.'
'Oh.' Hermione replied stupidly. That was rather hard to explain.
'My father told me of a time when there was a great awakening of ancient magic, about a century ago. He spoke of fire and wind, light and heat. If I were to give that description life, I would say that you are the one he spoke of.' Ollivander held up a hand quickly to stop her speaking. 'It is not my place to know; when ancient magic stirs, strange and mysterious things happen. Yours will be a most interesting career, I am certain.'
Without any further words, Ollivander plucked a particularly dusty box from the shelf and emptied the wand out of it, nestling her own in it's place. She trailed him back the front of the shop, playing along as he presented her wand to her with great ceremony. She flicked it, the wood feeling warm beneath her fingers and gold sparks fountained from the top. Ollivander gave some spiel to her parents, imparting knowledge that seemed a little pointless about the characteristics of her wand - it was hers, who cared how swishy or long it was?
Finally they left the wand shop and McGonagall lost herself several points in Hermione's standings when she told Hermione's parents that she probably didn't need an owl in her first year and to perhaps reconsider next year. Still grumpy, Hermione trailed their group around the wizarding equipment shop as they bought the rest of the equipment on her list.
When she got home, she opened her purchases, pulling out the first of the history books. She opened it to the index and ran her fingers down the page until she reached a Grindelwald, Gellert. There was a list of pages several inches long that held reference to him and it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that she turned to the first.
Five minutes later, she felt like she was about to be sick.
There had to be something wrong, she was certain of it. Gellert was none of these things, he couldn't possibly commit the acts detailed in these pages! He was kind and wonderful with a deep respect for life and magic, he didn't love muggles but he certainly didn't mean to kill them. He spoke of equality and helping them, not subjugating them.
Her Gellert was the furthest thing from this horrible dark wizard, the man who had terrorised millions, killed hundreds and jeopardised their entire society and way of life. There was some mistake, some case of mistaken identity. And where was she in this? Was she dead, was she no longer visiting? Where were Berg and Anneken? Why was neither name mentioned and what had happened to his mother? Lady Grindelwald would never have stood for any of the events in the book. Confused and afraid, Hermione took a long time to fall asleep, the book clutched in her arms.