The last week of June she knocked on Minerva McGonagall's office, or she was about to as the door opened. Instead of her Head of House she looked up to find Professor Severus Snape, the man she'd last seen in the spare potions lab after he helped her prepare the current batch of wolfsbane for transport. Hermione had been around him often enough, alone in the spare potions lab. She'd go so far as to say she enjoyed his acerbic comments, now she could sense the dark amusement and sarcasm in the magic often wafting from him.
Standing outside the Deputy Headmistress' office he looked far less satisfied than the last time she'd seen him. Hermione supposed chatting with your superiors could do that to a person. Just then he'd an especially dour face. His foreboding presence clung to the space around him, tendrils of his magic moving as immaterial extensions of his pitch black robes. He gave her one look then slowed his pace to hover above her.
"Finally turning it in Miss Granger?" Snape's drawled question lazy and reminiscent to Hermione of Crookshanks batting a toy.
Then she registered what he said. Her mouth went dry, nervous but not as fretful as she'd once been. It was more habit than anything at this point. About to be a moot point as he was correct, she'd soon be quit of this whole business. It's perhaps that trait which endeared her to the Head of Slytherin. She didn't care as much or try as hard unless it served an actual purpose.
"What Sir?"
"Oh nothing." He flicked his wand out. She flinched. He smirked, raised a brow to see if she'd draw her wand on a teacher who was about to point one at her. A test she realized. She stayed put, only raising her chin, recognizing it. The corner of his mouth quirked into the image she now knew was the closest thing he had to a smile. His wand pointed at the space between them just as silent as Sirius had done the motion. From it floated out a glowing set of numbers, lingering in the air in front of her for as long as he maintained the spell.
Her thoughts, whatever they were on Snape's reaction, didn't include him making that sound. She stared up at the man. If it wasn't him she'd say it was the same sound the twins might make when watching the effects of a long planned prank blow up in someone's face. If it weren't so deep and scratchy she'd call it something close to a snicker. Severus Snape of the dungeons had magic wafting off him so tainted and amused she wondered if he hadn't known this was going to happen for months. The sly man, oh he must have known.
Hermione however was a friend of the prankster kings, the twin devils, and she was now healthily aware that jokes could turn bad for her. She eyed the snickering Head of Slytherin with no small trepidation, waiting for his shoe to drop.
"Your classes next year, I do hope you won't find them too challenging."
She clamped her mouth shut. She was not talking about this right now. She'd had enough talk about classes, enough studying, just enough. Her blood pressure was rising. She tried to move by. He stepped to block her path.
"You might want to consider a tutor."
She moved to the other side. Again he stepped. Blocking her way.
"How will you ever find the time."
She kept her mouth clamped tight less she actually hex her teacher.
"Pardon me Miss Granger, I have a summer holiday to attend to. Surely you can understand, what with three years since your last one."
She looked up at him. Why were the people in her life always tall? She needed her equally short mother here for solidarity. Hermione wasn't sure if she could find his comment amusing yet, she still had the time turner and damn him if he wasn't right. She wanted a break from books like she'd never wanted one before.
With an inarticulate huff she stormed passed him. As Hermione moved through the door and around the bend into McGonagall's seating area she heard laughter following her. Snarky potions masters, damn men too smart for her own good, winding her up only to set her loose. Manipulative shit. It was an irked woman still-student who marched between the Deputy Headmistress' guest seats, around a display of knickknacks and Scottish pride memorabilia, and planted her feet shoulder width apart in front of the desk.
The older woman sat behind a pile of papers with her head bent over them, quill working through one form from a stack of many. The sight broke down some of her self-righteous fuming. Hermione felt a flash of pity for the woman who'd for years held two full-time jobs. The woman who'd reportedly been so close to Dumbledore since the early 1900s when Newt Scamander was just a school boy. Who still continued to be so helpful, going so far as to shoulder two full-time jobs when the man wouldn't hire an extra staff member to cover the spillover. Hermione wanted to ask why she'd never given one up. Being a full-time teacher and Head of House would surely take up most of any week. Adding on the additional bureaucratic duties of Deputy Headmistress must put a lot of strain on an already full schedule.
However, McGonagall wasn't too happy with her these days. Just then the magic wafting around the older woman held aggravation. To the point Hermione didn't dare bring up Flitwick's idea of graduating early. Technically she didn't need to ask the school administration to take the Ministry mandated tests, but at one point in time this woman had been her confidant. A relationship degrading with each school rule flaunted by Hermione and her friends. Some of them flaunted because this woman wouldn't listen when they'd childishly exclaimed someone was, "Stealing the Stone!" Or, "It's a basilisk I know it is!" To which McGonagall asked incredulously, "How do you think a basilisk is moving about this school unseen?" It was that very question which led to 13 year old Hermione researching late at night in the library, and right before she'd warned Penelope Clearwater to hurry and take out her makeup mirror. There were some bad feelings there, but this didn't mean Hermione wasn't sorry for them. Just not sorry enough to return to the rule espousing child she'd been.
"Miss Granger, thank you for coming. How did your extra classes go? I heard you received top marks in everything but Divination."
Hermione's empathy from earlier began to leech away.
Her Head of House continued, "I propose you drop that formally."
Hermione really thought she had dropped it, but perhaps people stormed out of Trelawney's classroom often enough to make that confusing.
"Yes Ma'am, I'd like to drop that and Muggle Studies, also to thank you for your willingness to let me try out all the electives."
"Yes I'm surprised you aren't more drained. Doing as you've done would have weakened most students. I trust you didn't abuse the privilege we gave you."
She felt something tick in her jaw. Drained? She had so many words to say on that. Hermione reigned them all in. With practice she hoped she'd become a natural at it, but moments like this she thought she was doomed to be running her mouth forever. Her words weren't entirely free of emotion when she finally clipped out, "I stayed true to the contract."
Hermione was certain she'd stayed well within the Department of Mysteries' contracted terms. The most they could do now was take the blasted thing back and give her a stern talking to. She was sure of it and even her Head of House's opinion on her loose interpretation of the stated rules no longer scared her. There was only so long a body could fear something before it ceased its hold. Compared to facing Madam Bones after kidnapping, the idea of facing McGonagall with blatant disregard of the woman's instructions, well the two didn't quite compare. Hermione was now simply ok with ignoring instructions which didn't make any sense. This woman knew she'd be exhausted and didn't step in or do anything. Ugh.
"Do you feel prepared for your exams?"
The rest of their conversation continued stiff and formal. The older woman, Hermione had to remind herself, wasn't a bad person. She had good intentions. It's only McGonagall wasn't necessarily on her side. Not on Harry's side, letting abuse and neglect continue. Not on Sirius' side, standing by with the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix and Supreme Mugwump while a man they'd known for years was thrown into Azkaban without a trial. McGonagall wasn't bad, but she wasn't great. She wasn't someone Hermione wanted watching her back and very possibly if she ever let down her guard it would turn poorly for her or hers. No, Hermione would play nice and be the upstanding student but that was all. No one was hurting the ones she loved. She wouldn't stand for it.
When Hermione handed over the chained turner she dropped it in the woman's hand with a sharp smile, "Thank you Ma'am. The lessons have been invaluable."
Minerva McGonagall stared stonily back. Her hackles rising in her magic just as it would the hair of her cat animagus. Hermione turned and when she shut the door it was careful and gentle. The door closed and the sunshine poured in from the large tower windows. It was summer. Classes were over. There was only one Hermione Granger and she was standing right there. She was free.
The sun hit her skin and soaked in. For the first time in weeks she realized she'd done it. She'd got the finished wolfsbane shrunk and sent to the Quality Commission. She'd convinced Fred and George to alter their business plans to earn some base startup funding. She'd gotten Neville an appointment at the wand shop. She'd gotten the trials. She'd gotten the rat. Harry Potter was still alive. The sun was shining and Hermione couldn't help raising her hands, spinning in the warmth, and singing, "I'm free!"
When she left the tower sans gold chain, the thing Hermione hadn't removed in three years even to shower, she felt incredibly light. Her Gladrag's skirt flew in the air as she twirled and hopped down the tower steps, through a maze of unused corridors George had shown her, and popping out like a giddy ball of sunshine into the hall of examination rooms. There a group of nervous students stood awaiting entry to the exams. When she hopped in with the widest smile they looked at each other and then back to her as if she were barmy. She didn't care.
The Hogwarts Express rolled to a stop, lurching with a creak of breaks, and shifting Hermione as she stood. Beside her Harry and Neville jostled around, removing the outer robes they'd left to the very last moment, and shoving the extra material in their hastily opened trunks. They'd all gotten used to wearing day clothes under the robes and revealing what each student wore gave an interesting view into their background. Harry's much too wide and now slightly short pants dangled uncomfortably around his ankles. Well above his beaten up and taped back together shoes.
"Harry, did Professor Dumbledore talk to you about moving away from Private Drive?"
He looked confused. This wasn't promising. She pushed on, "Or did he say he'd come check on you? As your default magical guardian he's supposed to." Should have been doing so for years.
"He said I have to stay there." A bitter thing twisted his mouth when he said, "They're my family."
"Well he can't stop you from going on holiday with me can he?"
Harry's face lit up at this reminder. They had plans. It may be the first time anyone made plans with him beforehand, instead of simply showing up to take him somewhere.
"We have things to do and you could sleep on our couch the week before if you'd want. My suburb is as boring as yours but there's a shopping mall. If you want new shoes," She waggled a brow, which didn't work, and ended up with both boys making fun of her.
Their ribbing and jostling continued out their compartment and all the way out of the train. Stepping through the heavy metal doors and getting a face full of smoke she wondered how many spells must be on this so the muggle Department of Environment, Food & Rural Affairs didn't catch on. To so clearly violate the UK National Air Pollution Control Programme, with the Hogwarts Express red and steaming from an 1800s coal engine and not at all discrete in design. A thing actively polluting the air from London to Scotland was a big no-no these last few decades. She wondered if the wizards saw the regulations and instead of working inside them simply spelled all their polluting invisible. What a hassle. Why not slap a rune series on the damn thing to filter the exhaust system?
Just then Harry shot off to say bye to Ron. It derailed her thoughts on pollution controls. Harry shouted over his shoulder to her, "I have your phone number, I'll sneak you a call!"
Her first friend was more excited than she'd ever seen him to be going home for the summer. Perhaps because he'd be spending hardly anytime at home if Hermione's parents had their way. Apparently when her father had shown up at Petunia and Vernon's door last week proposing a schedule for Harry which would fill the last three weeks of August they'd shoved "the boy" off onto the stranger. Sure, her dad looked affable and was affable, but they wouldn't have known that.
Neville laughed, "Please tell me you're actually going to buy him new shoes."
"And a basket full of clothes. My dad is going to go on a frenzy. My mum is already setting him up a closet."
"I'd like to meet them."
She grinned up at him, "Did you ask your gran?"
He nodded, "She wants to meet you. Come, if you have time now?"
His question came out half distracted as he searched the platform full of families. There in the middle she stood, solid and solemn. The platform held Augusta Longbottom's figure like a gracious statue in a town square and everyone seemed to space themselves around her.
Neville and Hermione saw her almost at once. Not hard considering the crowd gave ample space to the woman wearing a new hat. This one with a raven sat atop it in what Hermione had no doubt was fashionable for witches of that generation and with such prominent titled standing. Hermione could just imagine the titled Ladies meeting for tea or Wizengamot business, all wearing hats to brand themselves. A vulture or a raven screamed edgy. It probably was their version of sporty punk. A declaration this woman enjoyed spending time outdoors and possibly killing and stuffing the things she came across. It was a marvelous intimidation tactic. Hermione observed how other people reacted to Lady Augusta Longbottom's outfit and how quickly they stepped away from the woman wearing it. Interesting.
Neville grabbed her arm, placed Hermione's trunk on top of his, and hauled her over.
"Gran! I've missed you!"
Still holding onto Hermione he slung his now gangly arms around the severe woman, who seemed to melt against the embrace. Her face and posture as stoic as ever, but her arms moved and easily gripped him back. Hermione recalled what she'd read of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange's public trials. While she couldn't find Sirius', his obvious lack of documentation was almost made up in the sheer volume of files from his cousin's trial. The 3 Lestrange's and Crouch who'd gotten into Longbottom Manor and tortured Frank and Alice into near vegetative states. Again she wondered how terrible it must have been for this woman who'd walked in on the torture session. The woman who proved just because you were old didn't mean you couldn't raise your home's wards, lock four death eaters inside, and beat them bloody with mid-1850s dueling practices.
Augusta Longbottom hadn't been kind to the three death eaters standing over the void and blankly staring forms of her son and daughter in law. She'd stunned the branded boy crying in the corner and systematically ripped into the other three with antiquated and painful expulsions of their anatomy. She hadn't killed them, but left them barely breathing, their blood coating the floors and walls, and tied them up. The Aurors found her like this, standing watch over the gore and waiting to hand them off to the officials who'd finally arrived. The case files showed moving wizarding photos taken of the auror's memory, of her standing there livid and covered in blood. It was the baddest thing Hermione had ever seen. It also made a whole lot of sense why Neville had been terrified of his gran for much of his life.
Hermione, still attached to Neville's hand, shot a sheepish smile up at the woman. The Lady of his House looked between her grandson's grinning face and Hermione. She seemed to be cataloguing and calculating.
"Muggleborn yes?"
"That's right Ma'am."
"And you want to come stay with us for a week in August."
"If you'd like. I also extended an invitation for Neville to join my parents in France this summer. Harry and the Weasley twins have been invited too. My paternal grandparents would love to meet them and they have enough room to house us all." The old French barn had been retrofitted with bunks, so they'd be sleeping between the tools, but Augusta Longbottom probably didn't need to know that.
"You've done him some good. He's looking more like his father everyday." Something incredibly sad crept into the woman's voice. Her countenance remained calm and regal and Hermione now knew why she'd always thought this woman cold. It was far from the truth, but she managed to hold everything so well regardless of the tragedies littering her family's feet. The woman's gaze pierced her soul. It held for one moment, then two. Hermione held eye contact as she had with the Hippogryphs, knowing she was being weighed worthy.
The Lady gave a single sharp nod, "Neville you will owl a formal invitation and you will send her parents the best trimmings of the flowers to accept their offer." Her gaze softened upon the not-quite-boy, "Yours always were so much better than your father's. We have to show them off."
Hermione watched her friend light up, his posture straightening. This was the near man who stood at her back when someone was angry. He might be in someone's shadow, but like his plants he was being tended and he'd soon grow strong enough to be out of it. The old woman knew this too. Hermione was still watching the interaction and was close enough to see when the Lady's hand shot out. Her wand flicked out of a sleeve and silently scooted a reporter away, it flicked and snapped the man's lens cover shut before it could capture her family moment. The old woman didn't even look up, but the reporter squawked and shuffled fast backwards, eyes widening at the wand raising and following him as he went.
Yes, in Augusta Longbottom's case they seemed to get better with age.