While Harry, Hermione and Neville stuck mostly to their routine—Auror Room in the mornings, secret garden to do schoolwork after lunch, and spending time in the sitting room with Augusta, hearing stories about Harry's gran after dinner—Hermione could tell that Harry was more tense once the letter from Dumbledore arrived.
They spent countless hours going over their testimony, trying to remember every last detail, anything that could help Sirius out.
"You didn't see him, Hermione," Harry said late one night when they'd been sitting in front of the fireplace, Crookshanks curled up on her lap. Neville and Augusta had long since gone to bed.
"When Dumbledore told him what Alastor Moody said—when he told us that there would be an inquiry into Pettigrew and Sirius—it was like he had given up," Harry said, watching her hand as she pet Crookshanks. "It was like he didn't believe anything good could happen in his life anymore."
"He spent 12 years with the dementors, Harry," she answered. "I'd imagine it would take quite awhile to feel anything like hope again after that."
Harry looked troubled.
"But it'll happen," Hermione added emphatically, in what she thought was a very confident way. She took her hand from Crookshanks and patted Harry's knee comfortingly. Crookshanks seemed to take the hint because he crawled from her lap to Harry's, and Harry's fingers automatically stroked his fur.
"Eventually, Sirius will be able to start healing from everything that's happened. Besides, something good has happened to him since he got out of Azkaban," Hermione pointed out. "You."
Harry nodded, watching the flames. He didn't say anything, but she was relieved to see his shoulders relax—she'd at least gotten through a little bit. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and together, they watched the fire die out.
As confident as she tried to be for Harry, telling him that everything would work out, she got butterflies in her stomach every time she thought of testifying before the Ministry. She knew it would be a rather informal affair this time around—a few questioners in Madam Bones' office, and if the investigation found enough evidence to merit a hearing, she'd have to testify again in court later—but there was so much riding on this.
And she could be stubborn and dismissive of idiots—and the Ministry had certainly shown a lot of idiocy when it came to Sirius, not even giving him a trial the first time around—and, well, she didn't always make the best first impression, did she? Adults tended to like her better than her peers, but Sirius couldn't afford the Ministry dismissing her viewpoint because they found her unlikable.
She had to do her best for him and for Harry.
Before they knew it, Thursday had arrived. Diggy made them a big breakfast—which neither Harry nor Hermione could eat much of—and Neville wished them luck. Then Augusta Longbottom apparated Harry and Hermione to a rather shabby area of London.
Hermione came into London often with her parents—they didn't live too far out and her mum loved coming in for a show—but she'd never been here before. There were several rundown offices, an overflowing dumpster and a pub so grimy it made the Hog's Head look like the Queen's private residence.
Augusta Longbottom marched authoritatively toward an old red telephone box that looked like it had seen better days. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically.
"It's the visitor's entrance," Augusta explained, ushering them inside before folding herself in. Hermione was crammed up against the wall, Harry's elbow digging into her side.
"Sorry," he muttered in her ear, his whisper sending shivers down her spine. She was terrified and nervous and those rubbish butterflies were back. She couldn't fall apart on Sirius now.
Augusta picked up the broken receiver and began to dial.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a female voice called out. "Please state your name and business."
"Augusta Longbottom, here to escort Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to a meeting with Amelia Bones," Augusta Longbottom replied.
"Thank you," the voice said, as visitor's badges spit out of the coin slot. Harry was barely able to grab them before the floor shuddered and they sank into the ground. Hermione saw a bright glowing light and then the box opened and they were standing in a splendid peacock blue and gold hall lined with gilded fireplaces.
Augusta led them over toward a desk labeled security, but Hermione stopped short at the fountain in the middle of a hall. A statue of a witch and wizard were in the center, and a centaur, goblin and house elf were all gazing up at them adoringly.
Hermione frowned. If this was the sort of rubbish the Ministry of Magic had in its front hall, it's no wonder the wizarding community was so backwards.
She could feel the righteous anger flowing through her. Honestly, if Barty Crouch Sr. and Amos Diggory were any indication of the kind of narrow-minded, imbecilic dunderheads who worked at the Ministry of Magic, of course they would have something as offensive as this fountain at the entrance. Of course they would think centaurs and goblins and house elves admired and doted on wizards, thinking them superior. Had they ever even met a centaur? Or studied any of the dozens of goblin rebellions there had been over the years? Goblins were probably more likely to lock a wizard up with the dragons that reportedly guarded Gringott's than ever gaze up at one adoringly.
She felt Harry's presence at her side. "I know," he whispered.
"It's preposterous!" she exclaimed, turning to look at him, and her rant died on her lips. He looked more tense, more nervous than she had ever seen him, and she remembered why they were there.
Sirius first. Then house elves.
She nodded at him, understanding etched in her face, and they hurried after Mrs. Longbottom.
They made a quick stop at the security desk where their wands were checked—and the security guards gawked at Harry's scar—and then Augusta led them to the lifts.
They exited on level two—Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services—and walked straight into Mr. Weasley.
"Harry! Hermione!" He greeted them warmly. "I was hoping to run into you before your appointments. Got a lot to do today—meetings all afternoon—but I wanted to see you."
"Is Ron here?" Harry asked, looking around. They stepped to the side of the lift so as not to block traffic.
"No," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his head. "He's coming in tomorrow. I've got too many meetings today, and of course, minors can't be questioned without a parent or guardian."
Harry and Hermione exchanged quizzical glances.
"Er—we are," Harry pointed out.
Mr. Weasley smiled awkwardly. "Er—yes," he agreed. "There are some in the Ministry who believe muggles shouldn't have any say in wizarding business. And since your parents and guardians are muggles…"
He trailed off.
"We have fewer rights?" Hermione finished for him.
"Oh, goodness, no," Mr. Weasley said. "You'll still have a representative there—Professor Dumbledore. But the ways the laws have been written—as the Ministry sees it, when your parents sent you to school, they agreed to the headmaster being a potential guardian for you. I don't agree with it, but—"
He glanced at Harry and grimaced. Mr. Weasley had met both the Grangers and the Dursleys, and had clearly formed the right opinion of the latter.
"Well, in this case, you're probably better off with Professor Dumbledore, Harry," he said.
Harry smiled slightly.
Mr. Weasley looked at Hermione. He had quite liked her parents and there was absolutely nothing wrong with them where they couldn't be here for her—unless, of course, you counted the fact that Hermione had always given them the short version of her adventures with Harry, ones that didn't involve brushes with death, so explaining about Sirius Black to them would be quite the awkward conversation indeed.
Mr. Weasley looked apologetic about the Ministry's opinion of her parents, but Hermione couldn't help but feel a helpless sort of anger anyway. It wasn't just foul idiots like Draco Malfoy calling her a mudblood—it was Ron telling her she just didn't understand wizarding ways when it came to house elves; it was the clerk in the store in Diagon Alley where she had bought her parchment who seemed so surprised that she got top marks, given that she was a muggleborn; it was the way Madam Hooch told her and Dean Thomas—in what she clearly thought was a comforting way—that they couldn't be expected to take to flying so easily back during one of their lessons first year, despite the fact that Harry had never been on a broom before either and it was Neville who went and broke his wrist on the first day; it was the Ministry telling her that her parents were less than in the government's eyes. There were a thousand different ways the wizarding world liked to remind her that she was a muggleborn, that she was different, that she couldn't possibly understand.
She was better than the whole lot of them when it came to actually doing magic, she thought irritably.
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.
She looked to Harry again, and they shared a commiserating look. He wasn't bothered by the Ministry's dismissal of the Dursleys at all—if he had it his way, he'd dismiss them all the time—but her parents were a different story altogether.
She instantly felt more centered, knowing she had a friend who understood—a friend who needed her right now. In this moment, all she should be concentrating on was Sirius and the gross miscarriage of justice he was facing. Sirius and Harry were counting on her to do her best.
Augusta Longbottom was watching her shrewdly, and then placed her hand on both of their shoulders. "We should be going," she said.
"Of course, of course," Mr. Weasley agreed. "Don't want to be late."
He smiled amiably again. "Good luck in there," he said.
Mrs. Longbottom led them down a long corridor and through a set of large oak doors, into an efficiently styled waiting room. Albus Dumbledore was sitting casually on one of the chairs.
"Good morning," he greeted them cheerfully. "All set for today?"
Harry and Hermione nodded. They'd been going over what happened for the past few days—and, of course, they and Ron had already had meetings with Dumbledore back at Hogwarts when they first realized the Ministry might call them in for questioning. They were to tell the whole truth up until the time-turner bit—and, if at all possible, they were to avoid any detailed descriptions of Sirius' animagus form. There was no getting around outing him as an animagus if their story was to be believed—and Professor Lupin would obviously be questioned about what form Sirius' animagus took—but there was no reason they had to be overly descriptive about it, in case things didn't go their way. Lupin could say that he was a dog, but Sirius only ever transformed in front of him after he'd turned into the wolf, and if Harry, Hermione and Ron didn't provide a lot of description, this at least offered Sirius some protection. There were quite a lot of dogs in the United Kingdom.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, looking at his watch. "I'm sure Madam Bones will be out any moment now. Have a seat."
Augusta Longbottom perched primly on an armchair, and Harry and Hermione took the sofa across from Dumbledore. Hermione felt Harry's leg bouncing next to her—he likely would have preferred pacing. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand, and felt Harry squeeze back, his leg falling still.
Hermione felt a small sliver of satisfaction, which helped to keep her own anxiety at bay. She'd never had to give official testimony before—and certainly never for anything as important as saving an innocent man's life.
"Once we do this, how long will the process take?" she asked Dumbledore, looking for something to pass the time more than anything.
"Well, I've already given my testimony," he said, "as has the Minister for Magic, Alastor Moody and Professor Snape. Mr. Weasley is meeting with Madam Bones tomorrow, and Remus Lupin is set to come in sometime next week. Then there will be the other Ministry officials who were on the scene when Sirius was arrested, and Winky. The Ministry will also want to question Mr. Crouch if he turns up, and anyone who could give evidence on why he didn't grant Sirius a full trial. And they'll try to turn up as many witnesses who can speak to Sirius Black's, Peter Pettigrew's or Lily and James Potter's movements and state of mind prior to that Halloween.
"And, of course, they'll try to find Sirius Black himself to testify," he added, his eyes twinkling. "Though I imagine they'll need quite a bit of luck finding him."
"In other words," Augusta said dryly, "Cornelius Fudge is going to drag this out as long as possible because he doesn't want to deal with the political fallout of everyone knowing he's the fool who gave the order to administer the dementor's kiss to an innocent man who was never given a trial."
"That is certainly a plausible interpretation," Dumbledore agreed affably.
Once Harry and Hermione had explained the whole situation to Neville's gran, she'd gotten on board with the idea of Sirius Black being innocent rather quickly. "I never met him myself," she had said, "but my Frank thought he was a good sort."
And, as far as she was concerned, that was all the evidence Sirius needed.
The office doors opened and a harried-looking witch exited.
"The panel will see Miss Granger now," she announced.
Dumbledore and Hermione stood. She turned back for one last look at Harry. He was giving her an encouraging smile, the kind she usually gave him before end-of-year exams, and just like that, something shifted in her. This wasn't something to fear, something to be worried about—there was no reason to be anxious about all the ways this could go wrong. This was just an oral exam.
This was just another test—and no one was better at tests than Hermione Granger.
Madam Bones was a severe looking woman with short gray hair and a monocle. She was seated on one side of a conference table, along with half a dozen other witches and wizards—including Cornelius Fudge. The harried-looking witch took her seat at the end of the table; she was clearly there to take notes.
Dumbledore sat on the empty side of the table, and Hermione sat next to him, looking up and down the row of questioners. They looked fairly forbidding.
"Good Morning," Madam Bones said, once Hermione had taken her seat. "I'm Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and this is my staff." She gestured to the witches and wizards beside her.
"And," she added, frowning a bit, "this is the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge."
"Hello," Hermione greeted them all politely.
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said amiably, "I had no idea you'd be here today."
Fudge straightened stiffly. "Well, as Minister, I'm well within my rights to sit in on a hearing about something as important as Sirius Black," he said pompously.
But while both Dumbledore and Madam Bones had perfectly impassive faces, Hermione got the sense from both of them that it was very unusual indeed for him to be here.
"Very well," Madam Bones said. "We shall proceed. Miss Granger, please tell us about the events of June 6 last year."
"My friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and I went down to Hagrid's place of residence after dinner," she said.
"Hagrid?" Madam Bones asked sharply. "Not Professor Hagrid?"
"He's a quite informal teacher," Hermione explained. "And since we all knew him from before he was a professor, he's never seemed to mind it."
Madam Bones nodded.
"We went down to Hagrid's because one of his hippogriff's, Buckbeak, had been sentenced to be executed, and we wanted to show him our support," Hermione added.
"That's a bit odd, isn't it?" Fudge asked. "Comforting a grown man over a dangerous creature like that."
"Not really," Hermione answered severely, admonishing herself to rein in her temper. "I'd been helping Hagrid with his appeals for Buckbeak all year, and—"
"Why on earth?" one of the wizards to Madam Bones' right asked. He had protruding green eyes, blonde hair and a rather large mustache. "I've read the reports on that creature. It was clearly deranged."
"I don't see how," Hermione answered, feeling her anger rising. If the Ministry had bothered to question students in that case the way it was doing in this one, Buckbeak would have been cleared. "Hagrid clearly told us in class that day that hippogriffs were proud creatures and you should never insult one. It's not Buckbeak's fault that Draco Malfoy didn't listen and called him an ugly great brute. And, if Buckbeak was so deranged, how was Harry able to ride him?"
She looked defiantly at the man with the large mustache.
"Harry Potter rode the hippogriff?" the man asked. This was clearly news to him. Hermione felt her stomach sink—she knew Hagrid got tongue-tied when it came to official proceedings, but surely he must've told the Ministry that information at least?
"Yes," Hermione said pleasantly, contorting her face into a perfectly passive mask. "Harry practiced with Buckbeak first and flew him all around the paddock. You can ask him about it if you want—or Ron Weasley or Neville Longbottom or Parvati Patil or Lavender Brown." She had a sick feeling that naming her pureblood classmates would carry more weight.
The witches and wizards in front of her were murmuring, and Fudge fidgeted uncomfortably.
"We're here to discuss Sirius Black, not hippogriffs," he blustered.
"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed with Fudge, though there was a tint of humor to his voice. He nodded to Hermione.
"Of course," Hermione said, and told them about leaving Hagrid's, Scabbers running off, and Crookshanks and Ron running after him.
"That's not so unusual, a cat chasing a mouse," Madam Bones said reasonably, and despite the circumstances and how utterly unimportant it was at the moment, Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit validated—it was entirely irrational in the current situation, but she hoped Madam Bones said the same thing to Ron.
"Well, my cat is part kneazle," Hermione added. "He'd disliked Scabbers from the start. Crookshanks kept trying to attack him all year—and when we confronted Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack, Crookshanks kept trying to protect him."
"Where did you purchase this animal?" Madam Bones asked with interest. "They can attest that your cat is part kneazle?"
"Of course. Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley," Hermione answered.
"Why are we still talking about ruddy animals?" Fudge asked rather rudely.
"We're talking about an animal that is known to be an excellent judge of character," Madam Bones said coolly. She turned to Hermione. "I assume there are others who can testify to your cat's behavior?"
Hermione grinned. She'd hated Ron last year when he constantly sniped at her, accusing Crookshanks of murder, reducing her to tears on numerous occasions. But now? There wasn't a single Gryffindor in Gryffindor Tower who couldn't testify to Crookshank's behavior thanks to Ron's lamenting.
"Ask any of the Gryffindors," she said. "Especially the boys who lived in Ron's dorm. Crookshanks absolutely terrorized Scabbers."
She knew this was just adding to the list of potential witnesses—which Fudge would just use to delay justice for Sirius—but if more evidence meant his eventual freedom, then it was worth it.
"What happened next?" Madam Bones asked.
"Ron grabbed Scabbers, and was attacked by some sort of animal," she said.
"What kind of animal?" Fudge asked eagerly.
"I'm not sure," Hermione lied, furrowing her brow. "It was big, I think—it must've been big. Ron's not overweight by any means—he's quite lanky—but he's the tallest boy in our year, even back then. But it was dark out, and if I'm being honest, I was more worried about Ron—the animal was dragging him away like a rag doll, and his head kept bouncing against the ground. And then Harry and I were attacked by the Whomping Willow, and honestly, I was just trying not to get killed myself."
She started off slow, as if she were thinking hard about what type of animal Sirius could be, but gained steam as she was talking, and by the time she was done, she'd said most of that very fast.
She looked around at them earnestly, and saw she had struck a cord. Many of her questioners had attended Hogwarts after the Whomping Willow was installed and knew quite well what happened when you got too close to it. Her not being able to identify the animal in the dark—when that ridiculous tree was attacking her—didn't seem that odd to them.
She told them about following Crookshanks into the tunnel, about finding Ron and a transformed Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, and about Professor Lupin turning up.
"Professor Lupin had figured it out," Hermione said, explaining to them about the Marauder's Map and how he had seen Peter Pettigrew's name on there, and then how he had explained to them that James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had become unregistered animagi.
"And that's when Professor Snape revealed that he was in the room," Hermione continued. "He was under Harry's invisibility cloak."
"Yes, Severus Snape has already given testimony that you were all under the Confundus Charm and attacked him," Madam Bones said.
Hermione frowned. "We haven't studied the Confundus Charm in class yet," she said, "but all of the research I've done on it says the person who has been confounded is confused. Do I sound confused? Or like I can't quite recall what happened, and someone else has to fill in the blanks for me?"
She looked around at the witches and wizards. "Besides, if anyone really believed that last June, why didn't they check our wands to see the spells that were last done?"
"Why did you attack your professor then, Miss Granger?" Madam Bones asked.
"Because he bound Professor Lupin and threatened to kill Sirius Black," she answered. "And when I pointed out to him that it couldn't hurt to hear Sirius Black out—to get the truth, whatever it was—he told me I was a stupid girl and to keep quiet. He clearly wasn't interested in justice—only revenge."
"Conjecture," Fudge practically shouted, puffing up.
"Well, it's true that he never said the words revenge," Hermione admitted. "When he pointed his wand at Black's face, his exact words were 'Vengeance is sweet.' He had apparently had a rivalry with Black, Professor Lupin and James Potter back in his school days—they told us all about it."
Madam Bones turned to Dumbledore, who nodded. "Indeed," he said. "I can testify to that if you'd like, though their heads of houses, Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn, would likely know more about any specific incidents."
"Sirius Black offered to go up to the castle quietly—as long as the rat came, too—but Professor Snape said he'd just call one of the dementors to the tree once we'd gone through the passageway," Hermione continued, looking directly into Madam Bones' eyes. "We had to stop him, you see. If he was willing to give a man the dementor's kiss, knowing Sirius Black had evidence that could clear him—well, that's the mark of a man who's quite unbalanced."
"That's your opinion of Severus Snape that night, then?" Madam Bones asked.
"Well, that's how the Minister described him," Hermione offered, turning to Fudge with what she hoped was an innocent expression on her face. "That's what you said about him, wasn't it? After Professor Snape accused Harry of freeing Black just minutes after Professor Dumbledore locked us in the hospital wing?"
Fudge's face had turned red and Dumbledore was watching him with a half-smile, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Miss Granger has near-perfect recall," Dumbledore explained to the panel. "All of her teachers say so."
"Was that your opinion that night?" Madam Bones asked Fudge sharply. "That's not what you said to this panel last week."
"I might have said something to that effect then," Fudge said grudgingly, shooting daggers at Hermione and Dumbledore. "But he was clearly just upset by the turn of events—such a dangerous criminal getting away."
The man with the blonde mustache turned to Hermione. "He accused Harry Potter of freeing Black?" he asked askance.
"Oh, he accuses Harry quite a lot," Hermione explained. "Why, just a couple of months ago, he accused Harry of stealing boomslang skin from his private stores—and we all know how that turned out."
She looked around the table, and saw the witches and wizards glancing at each other uncomfortably. No one seemed to want to believe the words of a man who held a grudge against The Boy Who Lived, it seems. They had no problem with Snape being a Death Eater—but badmouthing Harry, that was beyond the pale.
"What happened after you attacked Snape?" Fudge asked, clearly trying to get the hearing back on track.
"Sirius told us how he figured out Scabbers was Pettigrew," Hermione said, looking at Madam Bones. "The Minister for Magic had given him a newspaper on his visit to Azkaban, and a photo of the Weasley family was on the front page."
Madam Bones' head swiveled to Fudge.
"That did happen," Fudge answered grudgingly.
"The picture showed Scabbers on Ron's shoulder," Hermione said. "He's missing a toe."
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore has already offered us the photos he procured from the Weasley family," Madam Bones confirmed.
"And then Professor Lupin and Sirius Black pointed wands at Scabbers, and a shot of blue-white light erupted, and Scabbers transformed into a man," Hermione said. "He transformed into Peter Pettigrew."
"And how would you know what he looks like?" the blonde man asked, though it was more in an interested way, and not accusing.
"I've read just about every book there is on You-Know-Who's downfall," she answered. "And I've seen Harry's parents' wedding photos. Both he and Black attended.
"Pettigrew admitted to everything—to spying for You-Know-Who for a year," Hermione said quietly. Except for her voice, there was complete silence in the room, everyone focused on her. "He said 'What was there to be gained by refusing him? He would've killed me.' He betrayed Lily and James Potter to save his own skin.
"And then we went up to the castle, but it was a full moon," she added. "And when Professor Snape came down to the Shrieking Shack, he neglected to bring the Wolfsbane Potion that had been in his hand when he went to Professor Lupin's office and saw him on the map. Professor Lupin transformed, Pettigrew escaped and the dementors attacked. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital wing."
The panel was silent for a long time.
"Alastor Moody has alleged that Pettigrew was working with Barty Crouch Jr. this year," Madam Bones finally said. "In your dealings with Crouch, did he mention anything to that effect?"
"No," Hermione said, "but by the time I broke free from the Imperius Curse—"
"You broke an Imperius?" Madam Bones asked sharply, peering at Hermione through her monocle. "How?"
"Barty Crouch Jr. was attacking Harry. Harry's wand had rolled out of his reach and I knew that if I didn't do something… I had to help Harry and then suddenly I was free of Crouch's control," she said, looking around the table beseechingly.
Madam Bones was watching her shrewdly, sizing her up.
"Harry Potter is my best friend," Hermione declared. "And Sirius Black is his godfather. I know very well that if Black goes free, he'll have access to Harry. And if I thought for a second that this man would hurt Harry…"
She shook her head. "I broke an Imperius for Harry," she stressed. "I wouldn't—couldn't—do anything that would hurt him. I would never testify on Sirius' behalf if there was a chance he was a threat to Harry. When Sirius told us that he would have died before he betrayed James and Lily Potter, I believed him. If any of you had heard him, if any of you have ever had a friend you would never betray, you would know he was telling the truth. You would recognize yourself in him."
She looked around the table. The entire panel was watching her with interest. Madam Bones gave no indication as to her true feelings, but, Hermione thought, perhaps, at least some of them might believe her.
"Thank you for your time, Miss Granger," Madam Bones finally said. "You may go."
Hermione looked uncertainly at Dumbledore, and they left the room.
"I think that went quite well," Dumbledore whispered to her as soon as the door had shut.
"Do you think they'll let Sirius go free?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"I think Augusta Longbottom was right that Fudge will try to slow the proceedings down," Dumbledore said. "But I think Madam Bones believed you. Witches with the strength of character to overthrow Imperiuses aren't likely to still be Confounded a year after the charm was cast. Had that happened, you still wouldn't remember what had happened that night—but you'd be questioning it quite a bit more.
"And the kneazle bit was also quite helpful—I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to examine your cat," he added.
"And Professor Snape?" she asked carefully.
"Oh, I'd say they'll have quite a few follow-ups for him," Dumbledore answered, and his smile confused her. He clearly knew Snape had been in the wrong here—clearly believed every word she'd said about how Snape had acted—and yet, he still kept him on as a teacher.
"Sir?" Hermione asked timidly. "May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore replied.
"You seem to agree that Professor Snape has behaved a bit…illogically when it comes to Sirius Black," she said. "And his own past isn't exactly spotless."
Dumbledore nodded. "I assume there's a question that follows that statement?" he prodded.
"Well," Hermione said, "he was a Death Eater. And he still seems to have those old grudges against people who fought Death Eaters. So how… does he work at Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore did not seem at all surprised that she knew he was a Death Eater. He considered his words carefully. "People are not always just one thing," he finally said. "And they are capable of change."
"But how can you know he's changed?" she pressed.
Dumbledore offered her a half-smile. "I'm afraid that knowledge is something I've promised not to reveal," he said. "But Severus Snape has not been involved in any dark activities since before the end of the war."
It wasn't a satisfactory answer—she wanted to know more—but they'd arrived back in the waiting room with Harry and Mrs. Longbottom. Harry was pacing around anxiously, his hair sticking up even more messily than it usually did. He'd been running his hands through it.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Really good," Hermione answered. "I think most of them believed me. But Harry—Fudge is in there too, and he's clearly not happy about any of this."
Harry nodded, and began to pat his hair down nervously.
"Don't," Augusta reprimanded, and stood up so she could fluff Harry's messy hair up, getting it out of the way of his scar.
"You want them to be looking at that when you're testifying," she said, pointing to his scar. "You want them remembering exactly who you are when you speak."
Harry grimaced—he hated being a spectacle and being treated like he was something special. She could see the indecision in his eyes. Nothing in him wanted to trade on The Boy Who Lived label, and yet, this was for Sirius.
The witch who had been taking notes came through the doors and looked to Harry.
"They're ready for you now," she said, her eyes never leaving his scar.
Harry looked to Hermione again, and she smiled encouragingly at him, impulsively hugging him. "Good luck!" she whispered, and she felt his hands grip her a little tighter before he followed Dumbledore down the hall.
Hermione and Augusta sat in armchairs opposite each other while they waited for Harry's questioning to be done.
"That boy was a bundle of nervous energy," Augusta observed, watching Hermione carefully.
"Harry's more of a do-er," she explained, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "He doesn't like when things are in other people's hands."
Augusta snorted. "He's reckless and impulsive you mean," she said. At Hermione's look, she added, "Neville tells me what he's gotten up to at school—stealing philosoper's stones and slaying basilisks. And this nonsense, going down into the Whomping Willow himself instead of finding a teacher."
Hermione frowned. She thought Augusta liked people like Harry.
"I raised a boy like that," Augusta informed Hermione, smiling fondly. "My Frank was brash and brave and never hesitated for a second. Alice, on the other hand—she was just as brave, but she always looked before she leaped."
Hermione read sadness in Augusta's eyes, and even the lines in her face seemed more pronounced. "My point is wizards like my Frank, like Harry, need someone a little more cautious looking out for them. They're always going to be the hero," she said.
Hermione tried to hide her surprise—she never thought she'd hear Augusta Longbottom critiquing her son. Of course, even as she was pointing out Frank's flaw, she still seemed to be proud of it. He was a hero, after all.
"I'm an old woman," Augusta added. "I can read the signs. We're going to go to war eventually and that boy will be at the center of it. Fighting a war isn't the same as what you two have faced before. It's not enough to just be smart. You have to know how to use it."
Hermione didn't know if she should be flattered or offended. Just what did Mrs. Longbottom think she'd been doing all of these years?
Hermione bit her lip. Personally, she thought she'd always used her intelligence quite effectively. But when it came to saving Harry's life, she supposed there were always ways to improve, ways she could be better.
She was still mulling it over when Harry and Dumbledore exited the office nearly an hour later. She stood anxiously, and then Harry grinned at her—clearly, it had gone well. She couldn't wait to talk it over with him—to dissect every moment like she liked to do with exams—but Mrs. Longbottom insisted on stopping by the Wizarding Examinations Authority to say hello to her friend, Griselda Marchbanks.
It said a lot that Hermione had absolutely no interest in being there—normally, she would have peppered Madam Marchbanks with questions—but now all she wanted was to be back at Wiggentree Manor, peppering Harry with questions.
Finally, they returned home to find Diggy and Neville hard at work in the kitchen, making every sort of dessert imaginable.
"I didn't know which way it would go," Neville said, "but I figured biscuits could be celebratory or comforting."
Harry grabbed three chocolates and a shortbread. "I think it went well," he said. And he, too, was happy to dissect every last detail with Hermione, with Neville hanging on their every word.
"They asked me loads of questions about Snape," Harry said. "They didn't seem to like him very much."
Hermione grinned impishly. "Well, I may have used Fudge's words that night against him," she said, laughing, and Harry's face lit up. "And they didn't seem pleased when they learned he had accused you of freeing Sirius—or stealing that boomslang skin."
"So that's why they asked me a hundred questions about times Snape has accused me of things," Harry mused.
"What'd you tell them?" Neville asked.
"I told them that it all started in our very first class first year—when he didn't even know me yet—and he accused me of letting you add the porcupine quills at the wrong time just to make myself look better," Harry answered sheepishly, but Neville didn't seem offended.
"Brilliant!" he declared.
"Madam Bones seemed quite interested in Crookshanks, don't you think?" Hermione added.
Harry nodded. "And my sneakoscope," he said.
"Right!" Neville said excitedly, turning to Hermione. "That thing kept going off until Harry finally stuffed it in his sock."
"And it hasn't gone off at all this year," Harry said, "so it can't be that it's rubbish."
"And Ron did say that it did all sorts of weird things in Egypt," Hermione recalled. "I bet he can testify to that too."
"Madam Bones asked me to give it to Dumbledore so they can inspect it," Harry said.
"Well, if they're looking for corroborating evidence, they must believe you, right?" Neville said, looking between them both.
"Dumbledore said he thinks Madam Bones does believe us," Harry said, "but without Pettigrew, it's still a hard sell."
They sat in silence considering that.
"Well," Neville said, "the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement believing you is a lot better off than Sirius was yesterday, isn't it?"
Harry smiled and grabbed another biscuit.
The next day, Neville and his gran went to the hospital to visit his parents. He'd been a mixture of sad and excited before he left—they didn't recognize him, but Neville liked talking to them anyway. Augusta made Harry and Hermione promise not to use the Auror Room while she was gone—no dueling without adult supervision was apparently a rule, despite the fact that she'd been nowhere near the Auror Room during any of their training sessions—and so Harry and Hermione found themselves wandering around the house after breakfast.
Their schoolwork was done, and after the excitement of the day before, she didn't have the heart to suggest they study any more theory for the spells they were working on. Harry had mastered more than a dozen new spells this visit, and she thought he deserved a bit of a break. Besides, when the Longbottoms returned, they could always go in the Auror Room then.
"We can go by the portrait gallery again," Harry suggested as they ambled down a deserted corridor. "Maybe they'd be more willing to talk about house elves."
"Maybe," Hermione said, "though the last time I was there, Diggy got really offended."
"She likes you," Harry said.
"More than most house elves, maybe," Hermione agreed. "She always has nice things to say about me when it comes to Neville. But when I tried to talk to her the other day, she sniffed at me that she heard the nonsense debates I had with her mistress and I was a silly girl."
"Maybe it's best to just let Neville talk to her about her rights then," Harry suggested.
Neville. Luna. Harry. Everyone seemed to know how to talk to house elves but Hermione.
"What's wrong with me?" she blurted out, and she must have looked quite nutters, because Harry appeared a bit frightful.
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"You talk to Dobby once and he becomes your best friend," Hermione explained, "and Luna paints them some pictures and they love her. And Neville—they all like him, too. But me? I'm just that unlikable shrew."
She could hear the envy in her voice, and she didn't like it.
"You're not unlikable and you're not a shrew," Harry said.
"No, just overbearing and bossy and—"
"And some of us wouldn't be alive if you were any other way," Harry pointed out quietly, gently touching her arm to keep her from continuing their walk. They were standing in front of the Auror Room. "If you recall, I didn't exactly appreciate it at first, either. But now? The house elves will come around, too."
Hermione bit her lip, considering what he said seriously. "So what? You don't think I'll ever be able to talk to house elves? You don't think I'm capable of change?" she asked.
"I think you're probably capable of anything you set your mind to," Harry shrugged. "But you've got friends who can do that bit with the house elves for you, and I like you exactly as you are, so there's really no need for you to change, is there?"
He smiled at her and then continued to walk down the hall. Hermione stared after him, a bit stunned. She knew Neville liked the bossy side of her—that was the side that kept him alive in Potions—but she had always assumed Harry and Ron only liked her in spite of that. They'd fought a troll together, and that had cemented a bond—but while she knew they liked her very much and cared about her, she figured neither of them was overly fond of her bossy side. They had always grumbled when she set up study schedules for them or referred to her appeals to their safety as "lectures."
But here Harry was, telling her he liked every aspect of her—even the flaws. And, well, when she thought about it, he hadn't exactly minded her study schedules this break, had he?
She hurried to catch up with him, but Harry was standing in front of the door Neville always hurried past, studying it closely.
"What do you suppose is in there?" he asked.
"I don't know," Hermione said quietly. She could tell Harry was itching to open the door—she was too, if she was being honest—but neither of them let their curiosity win over Neville's need for privacy. He'd tell them about it when he was ready.
"Come on," Harry murmured. "Let's go to the Secret Garden."
Hermione grinned at the nickname, and followed him outside, into the greenhouse and through the secret door. Harry turned and his face lit up as she entered.
"You really like it here, too, huh?" she asked, absentmindedly touching a nearby rose.
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
"It's just so peaceful isn't it?" Hermione asked, as they walked down the winding path. She could feel Harry's eyes on her.
"Yeah," he agreed, and they walked in companionable silence.
"What's up with the Girding Potion?" Harry asked.
"Oh, that," Hermione cried. She'd completely forgotten about her silent promise to Harry to explain that later. "Well, we know the wizarding world doesn't exactly care about Snape being a former Death Eater—but what if we could prove he's a bad teacher?"
"How do you mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed.
"Well, you gave me the idea, really," she said, "before we saw Moody outside Snape's office. You said that all Snape does is write the instructions that are already in the book on the board, and flap about the classroom insulting us. And, well, you were right."
She turned toward Harry and gave him a little grin.
"So I figured, what if I could prove he's not a good teacher," she explained. "Snape always makes Neville so nervous, so if we could see what Neville's potion looks like when he's not around, and compare it to when Snape is around—"
"We can see how much Snape affects Neville," Harry finished.
"Yes, exactly!" Hermione beamed. "But I didn't want Neville to know what I was doing because that might've made him nervous and affected the results. So you can't tell him until after we make that potion in class!"
She turned toward Harry, giving him a bossy sort of look, and Harry held up his hands in agreement.
"That's brilliant," Harry grinned, but then his smile faded.
Do you think that'll be enough?" he asked skeptically. "One potion from one student?"
"Probably not," Hermione admitted. "But it's a start, isn't it? I'm sure there are loads of ways to prove Snape is a bad teacher. And Potions is a necessary class for a lot of good jobs. If we can prove that pureblood kids are missing out on cushy jobs, parents might care about that, even if they don't care he was a Death Eater."
She scowled a bit, thinking about the hypocrisy of the wizarding world, and Harry's face faltered. She could see him tensing up.
"What?" she asked.
Harry was silent for a moment before admitting, "I don't like talking about Snape here."
Hermione nodded. She understood completely—there was something so serene, so calming about this garden. Snape had no place here. They walked in silence a bit more.
"How do you think Ron's hearing is going?" Harry asked suddenly.
"Good, I'm sure," Hermione answered as confidently as she could. "You know he'll have loads to say about Crookshanks and Scabbers.
"And, I mean, Pettigrew slept in his bed," she added, shuddering at the thought. "The panel will have to know you can't fake that sort of revulsion."
She frowned inwardly. She didn't really want to talk about Pettigrew in here either. "I'm sure Sirius will be free in no time," she declared. "And then you can go and live with him."
How she wished Harry would never have to spend another second in the Dursleys' company.
Harry stiffened beside her. "He was really mad at me," he finally said, "for what happened with Crouch."
Hermione felt offended on Harry's behalf. "But that wasn't your fault," she practically exploded. "We tried to do the right thing and go to Dumbledore!"
"He wasn't mad about that," Harry said. "He was mad at how I reacted to the Killing Curse."
Hermione's heart clenched and she inhaled sharply. They still hadn't talked about this—not really. And she wasn't sure if it was because Harry assumed she knew exactly why he'd done what he'd done or because he didn't want to talk about it. She'd gone over it and over it in her mind—but still couldn't come to any conclusions except that she'd felt both honored and terrified by his willingness to die for her.
"What did you tell him?" she asked.
Harry shrugged. "That I thought you were in trouble and I reacted," he said.
Hermione grazed her hand over the passing flowers, looking at them intently, studiously avoiding Harry's gaze. She wanted to see every little reaction, but she knew it would be easier for him to talk about if she wasn't watching his every move.
"Well sure," she said, trying—and failing—for nonchalant. "You would've tried to help anyone, wouldn't you?"
She could feel Harry studying her. "If you're asking if I'd do that for anyone, I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know how I'd react if it was a stranger or a friend or what. I don't think you can know until you're in that moment. But I know what I'd do if it were you."
"That you were willing to do that for me, that you cared that much—it meant a lot," she said carefully.
"You've done the same for me loads of times," Harry said uncomfortably.
She turned to look at him incredulously, stilling the both of them. "The Killing Curse is different," she insisted. "You know it is."
Harry was silent.
"As much as I appreciate what you did, you can't go around putting yourself in danger like that," she said, and to her chagrin, it even sounded a bit like a lecture. She'd just wanted to tell him that she cared too, but instead, she sounded like Professor McGonagall docking points.
She sighed. "I just mean—I don't want anything to happen to you, Harry!" she blurted.
It wasn't the most elegant sentence, but it was a whole lot better than a lecture.
She searched his eyes, and saw understanding there.
"You sound like Sirius. He made me promise not to do anything like that again. He said that if he had it his way, I would be focused on school and snogging," Harry said, smiling a bit, trying to lighten the mood.
Well. Hermione was fine with the school part, but she felt great displeasure at the thought of Harry snogging some faceless girl.
"Well, good," she said awkwardly, nodding a bit, and continued on their path. Harry fell into step with her. "I'm glad we're in agreement then."
"Course, when we were in that cave, I promised him I'd keep my head down at Hogwarts—and that didn't exactly happnen," Harry added.
Hermione looked up at him sharply. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I made the promise because… Sirius was beating himself up over everything," Harry explained, kicking at a stray rock. "He didn't say it in so many words, but he told me how he felt like he'd let my parents down, not being around all these years. And it felt different, having an adult who actually cared. So if making the promise gave him a little peace of mind… He's living in a cave for me. He's risking the dementor's kiss every second he stays in this country—for me. And we didn't know about Moody and Pettigrew then—that promise was the only thing I could do to help him."
Harry's face had turned a bit red and he wasn't exactly looking at Hermione. He wasn't someone who usually talked about his feelings or his problems—Harry was more likely to stick with sarcastic comments—so the fact that he'd opened up to her this much, trusted her with it, she knew what that meant for him.
Harry shook his head. "But do you honestly think if we were in the same situation again, I wouldn't try to save you?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't you?"
Of course she would try to save him. Obviously, she would.
"I would," she agreed, and Harry smiled with relief, glad she understood.
Right, she thought. She and Harry were both giant Gryffindor idiots who would risk death to protect each other—so it was up to her to make sure they never found themselves in that situation ever again.
Harry walked over to the Wiggentree and sat on the swing. Hermione sat beside him, and they rocked in companionable silence, watching the breeze sway the visage of pink, white and orange flowers in front of them.
There weren't many people she was comfortable sitting in silence with like this—but she and Harry didn't always need words to communicate.
After a time, he broke their silence.
"It'd be nice, wouldn't it?" he mused. "Getting to live with Sirius. Somewhere totally open, somewhere with lots of land, where he'd never have to feel like he's in a cage again."
Where neither of them would feel like they were in a cage again, she thought, but wisely kept that to herself.
"You could have a Quidditch pitch," Hermione offered.
"We could have three," Harry laughed. "And a dozen bedrooms—plus one for Crookshanks, of course."
"Oh, am I invited to spend the summer then?" Hermione asked.
"Well, Crookshanks is," Harry teased, and he grinned at her.
It wasn't often that Harry daydreamed. It wasn't often that he looked as light as he did now, and it completely transformed his face. His eyes were brighter, and she found herself drawn to the carefree curve of his lips—he really did have quite a nice smile.
Harry shifted in the seat and his forearm brushed against hers—and to Hermione's surprise, electricity shot straight from her arm to her stomach, which became a mess of rampaging butterflies.
Oh god, she thought. Was this what Ginny had meant when she talked about meeting a bloke and a zing going through you?
But it couldn't be. This was Harry. She had been his friend for years—surely, if she fancied him, she would have noticed before now?
She looked at Harry again. His smile was gone, she realized, feeling a sense of loss. He was studying her quizzically since she'd gone silent, and the intent look in his eyes made her stomach flip yet again.
"You alright, Hermione?" he asked.
"Yeah," she practically wheezed. "Just thinking about what Hedwig would think about Crookshanks getting his own room."
"Oh, well, Hedwig will have the entire top floor as an owlery," Harry explained, grinning again. He had a faint freckle right above his upper lip that she'd never noticed before.
"Naturally," Hermione said faintly, looking anywhere but at that freckle.
This was Harry.
But, the rational side of her thought, why shouldn't she fancy Harry? He was kind and smart and funny and brave and he'd proven a thousand times over how much he cared about her—and it wasn't just the Killing Curse. He'd danced with her at the Yule Ball even though he hated dancing, hadn't he? And he'd visited her in the hospital wing and hexed Malfoy for insulting her. And he'd searched her out, bringing her cloak to her, when she'd been walking outside the castle in the middle of February, freezing without one. She was the person he'd sorely miss. And he'd told Ron he had to treat her better, risking his friendship with his first friend. She and Harry had been friends forever, had been through so much together, and all this year, he'd made it a point to put her first.
He was the sort of person to care about house elves and who would always protect his friends—he liked Luna even though everyone else thought she was a bit odd, and he gave Neville confidence, and he had unshakeable faith in Hermione—and, honestly, you'd have to be a bit of an idiot not to fancy him, wouldn't you?
Hermione glanced over at Harry again, feeling unsettled. What on earth was she supposed to do now? He was sitting there, thinking that he was spending time with his best friend, and all she could do was look at that freckle above his lip and wonder what it would be like to snog him.
What would happen if she just did it? She was a Gryffindor, wasn't she? She could be just as impulsive as the rest.
But something held her back—what if he didn't feel the same way? He'd never given her any indication—though Angelina had said Fred thought Harry had been flirting with her at the ball, and Fred knew Harry just about as well as most anyone did aside from her.
Of course, she knew it was nonsense. Harry still liked Cho then.
But just because he'd never given any indication he fancied her didn't mean he couldn't. She hadn't exactly given him any indication of interest, and here she was, staring at his lips like they were a library full of new books for her to read.
Maybe it was possible.
But maybe it wasn't.
She watched his profile, took in the way his hair fluttered in the breeze, the way his fingers drummed absently on the armrest. She was a little surprised at the way her mind shifted so easily to this new reality of fancying Harry, but, at the same time, it felt a little inevitable, didn't it? He was the friend who knew her best, the friend who liked her as she was, the friend she would do anything for.
It's not that she was worried something would happen to their friendship if he didn't feel the same way. He'd been willing to take a Killing Curse for her—a silly little crush wouldn't break them. But she couldn't help thinking about the fact that You-Know-Who was still out there and he could still have a plan in play for the third task—she had to keep Harry safe and they couldn't afford any distractions, whether those distractions were short-term awkwardness after he rejected her or snogging sessions in some broom closet.
She blushed furiously at the very thought.
Their lives were complicated, but she felt her resolve building. She'd help get Harry through this blasted tournament, and once that was over, she'd rally her inner Gryffindor and take the direct approach.
Save Harry, Snog Harry—it was as good a plan as any.