So we get to find out what Hermione managed to do with those runes.
…
Hermione carefully tightened her scarf as she looked around the muggle neighbourhood; cautious about drawing too much attention to herself but also worried about not drawing enough. The residents of Privet Drive had to recognize her and be comfortable with her hanging around the children—she needed her name out there as a babysitter.
She delicately cleared her throat and then walked along the street with a bright smile. The few neighbours she'd already met when she moved in gave her their courteous nods, the others following their lead because they didn't want to look bad.
Hermione had never seen such a large group of posers in her life—and she'd met Blaise Zabini so that was saying something.
She took in a deep breath and let herself be introduced as the young college graduate who'd moved into the old house at the end of the street. Her cheeks felt sore as she carefully kept from grinning too slyly, too widely or too little. She had to be perfect.
She blushed and stammered when they asked her what she was doing with her life—carefully creating the persona of a shy woman who'd just started her own consulting business and was worried.
Several of the ladies who'd invited her for bridge (she'd demurred with the excuse that she had a lot of things to settle) gave soft sounds before assuring her that their husbands would be able to help. She'd helped those same ladies with their gardens yesterday while the movers were carrying in her heavy furniture (she hadn't wanted to be underfoot).
Hermione sighed as she reflected on the forced hospitality of the neighbourhood. She was almost glad Harry hadn't been raised properly here—he never would have done something just because it was the right thing to do. He would have been raised to believe everything was done to get something in return.
Hermione hoped she didn't become so catty and opportunistic.
She smiled shyly and shook some gentleman's hand, keeping her eye on the hunched figure of Mrs. Figg.
She had to think of a way to deal with the woman that babysat Harry. If Hermione was going to take her place there had to be good reason for it.
…
The next day Hermione was out examining the shape of her house—making a show of plotting her garden and walkway—as long as she stayed she might as well make a yard worthy of a good game of hide-and-go-seek, and a little secret nook where she could hide from all the neighbours.
How could so many old people be so nosey?
She stayed out there for around two hours before one of the neighbours dragged over a skinny woman with a pinched face.
Hermione blinked and dusted off her hands.
"Miss Granger!" she was hailed, the ladies shuffling quickly—never a run; a true lady never runs. "You haven't met Petunia Dursley."
"I'm afraid I haven't," she said politely, smiling carefully and reaching out her hand.
Petunia sniffed, eyeing her dirty nails before gingerly grasping her fingers. Hermione firmed her lips and gripped strongly, eyes flashing at the woman as she startled. Petunia would know she wasn't one to be messed with—immediately after that thought she plastered on her suburban smile.
With any luck Petunia would spend the rest of the conversation wondering why she had gotten that shiver down her spine. Certainly Hermione Granger was a charming young woman who presented no type of threat—in fact she was very open to doing favours for her neighbours.
'And Petunia Dursley had a little brat of a nephew she was beginning to suspect liked cats. She hated fur on her couches.'
Hermione closed her eyes to hide the triumph in her gaze, laughing at a pithy comment one of the women had said.
…
Hermione took careful note of the way the neighbours were slowly getting used to her morning jogs, waving with a bright smile as she ran from the neighbourhood to the park. They had started to wave back now—believing she was simply a health nut and actually kind of proud to have her for a neighbour. It reflected well on all of them for her to be so conscientious of everything.
She didn't mind helping them with their gardens or looking after their pet (seemingly mandatory, suburban, one pet per family). Her yard was well manicured and very fanciful, unique and yet seeming to blend into the neighbourhood's carefully constructed suburban quality.
She let out a careful breath as she neared the little park, surrounded by the fields. She carefully stretched and cooled down as she watched the children; very conscious of the adults and babysitters watching her. And it wasn't hard for her to smile and show how much she loved the kids. After the war it was such a delight to see children laughing and playing.
She smiled and laughed when two little girls waved at her from the swings, returning their greeting as she set off to jog back to her house. She cheerily waved to Mrs. Figg when she passed her in her raincoat; the little woman was stocking her cupboards by the look of her bags—quite a few tins of cat food included.
Hermione smiled slyly to herself as she ducked her head into the wind and jogged up her sidewalk. Mrs. Figg had grown on her—Hermione only hoped the older woman would take up her offer to help around the house. It was the perfect way to get closer to little Harry.
Petunia was still reluctant to let Hermione baby-sit—perhaps she had come on too strong.
Hermione sighed then turned and watched as the Dursleys made a show about preparing for a trip—little Harry (Hermione's heart broke as she saw his weedy frame and lost expression) quietly stood off to one side with garden shears in his hands.
Petunia looked up and smiled, hailing her.
Hermione quirked a brow and loped her way over.
Maybe she hadn't come on too strong after all.
…
As there were now arrangements for a guest in her house, Hermione moved up the timescale for her mission. This saw her bundled up all in black, charcoal around her eyes to darken the skin revealed by her mask. She had to do this tonight.
The old caretaker grumbled as his light swung, sporadically lighting up the path they both walked. Not that he knew she was there—she was cautious, and used a combination of magical and muggle techniques for sneaking.
Really, when one thought of it, the two worlds working in concert were ideal. Wizards had no clue about muggle tricks, and muggles had no clue about magic.
So with silencing runes on her feet, and a disillusionment array for good measure even in her dark clothes with the night around them, Hermione Jean Granger walked carefully in the man's steps and kept low to the ground. The old shack was right ahead, its lopsided and rundown architecture a silhouette looming against the stars and fog.
Hermione stopped, and the old man kept walking, the lamp creaking as it swung from the pole he used to keep it aloft. She waited until he finished his trek around the house and came back towards her, walking right by her. Then she waited some more, until his light showed he was back in the groundskeepers hutch.
Her feet were whispers in the grass with the hoots of the night birds and woosh of the bats' wings.
She carefully walked as close as possible to the walls, hoping to avoid weak floors or unexpected noise. The shack wasn't as big as she feared, and she recalled something about a loose floor board hiding her goal. With a quick sweep of her eyes she checked for any obvious signs of wear on a floor joint, but it was too dark.
Quickly calculating the risk, she pulled out some chalk and crouched, one hand bracing on the floor while the other etched runes in dust and wood. The gate...then success...and maybe drawing an array for power...
With a quick whisper she channeled her magic into the rough constructs, watching it glow and then trace swirling patterns along the grain of the floor boards.
A soft breath of relief escaped her when the trails of magic stopped and circled one area just in the next room. Bracing and spreading her weight, she dared the open floor space; hoping that by testing each step, and following the brighter trails of her magic, she could avoid rotted floors and potential pitfalls.
She barely took breathes when she needed them, and carefully pried up the boards with a small knife. Under one, with no magic whatsoever to trap someone finding the small tainted treasure, a little sachet lay. Lifting it out with care she only dared to feel that the ring was inside, not opening it to inspect.
If this was the horcrux, and the deathly hallow, Hermione didn't trust it or want any more contact with it. She well remembered the locket, and the cold slimy feeling of it...
And the sachet itself tingled along her skin—dark magic still hid the ring from her.
So she resisted the temptation, tucked the sachet away into her belt pouch, and carefully set the board back down into place. Ensuring she retraced her steps exactly, she then swept some basic elemental magic to erase her tracks from the dust.
Little Hangleton never would know that a witch had been there that night, that something was missing from the old Gaunt Shack.
And that was exactly how she wanted it.
But there was someone she wanted to know about her quest, was an ally she wanted to entice. So the next day she freshened up and put on a simple but polished set of witch's robes over a muggle suit. It was hard to brave Diagon Alley with its crowds and noise and magic, but she managed to walk through the stone archway from the pub without garnering too much attention.
The Gringotts Bank with its imposing marble columns and armoured guards offered a relief to her from the press of paranoia and foreign wizards. Carefully flicking back her hood, shaking off the remnants of the light drizzle outside, she waited in queue.
"Business?"
Hermione squared her shoulders and discreetly fisted her hand over her heart. "I wish to make a deposit..."
The goblin sitting in front of her dropped his quill and looked up from his gem. His booth was abruptly covered with a "Closed" sign, he was off his stool, and a goblin guard was escorting them to the back halls.
It was such a good thing that the bank was rather slow today, and no one else had witnessed her unusual service. Because she was here on unusual business—and what other witch would know how to speak the Goblin's native tongue?
...
It took a bit of careful deciding, but Hermione figured that she would maintain her magical secrecy only until Harry demonstrated signs of his own magic.
She wouldn't let him think he was a freak.
With this in mind she went through her new house, carefully hiding obviously magical items while playing an interesting game of subterfuge with necessary but still magical items—the sneakoscope and other such paraphernalia that warned her of other magicals or threats. She could do nothing for the new runes and wards she'd carved into her doors and walls, but they could be written off as eccentric decorations. Some of the more mundane books on magic would remain on her shelf like a fairytale, and hopefully ease Harry into an understanding of the wizarding world.
She carefully prepared her spare room, right next to hers, so that a small child would be welcome. The bed was single, and closer to the ground, but covered in hand stitched quilts and soft cotton covers—two pillows were rather small compared to the large body pillow but would only add to Harry's comfort.
The brunette well knew just how wonderful the feeling of being ensconced in so many coverings felt.
She added a few games and puzzles to a miniature shelf by the wardrobe, and made certain to plug the nightlight in firmly before checking that the window was open to air out the room but not open enough to interfere with the curtains or create a chill.
Everything had to be perfect.
Finally satisfied after a few more tweaks to the bed sheets, Hermione left the room and made her way to the kitchen. While Molly had proclaimed Ginny hopeless in the kitchen, Hermione had fallen under her wing by some proxy to fill the daughter's role (Ginny had, despite being the first daughter of the line, taken after the sons in the family with more interest in sports than how the food ended up on the table).
Because of this, Hermione knew how well a lovingly made treat welcomed a child into a strange house. Harry would be arriving tonight, so the Dursleys could catch the red eye, and Hermione would welcome him in with the smell of her best chocolate chip cookies.
She went and retrieved the boy (and his single tiny bag) at the designated time, her heart clenching when his hands clenched around hers as if afraid she'd let go and drift away.
He kept his head down until they got to her garden, but he still refused to look at her even though he gazed around at all the strange greenery.
It wasn't until they were in the house and approaching the kitchen table that he offered her a tentative, hopeful smile and loosened his grip slightly.
She was right, the cookies worked their magic.
The next morning Harry quietly trailed after her in everything she did, until they emerged outside.
She cleared her throat as Harry wandered with her through the garden, the struggling sprouts mixed in with the transplanted shrubbery made for an interesting mix. And Hermione felt transplanted…felt that her garden was somehow symbolic of the new course for her life. This Harry would be sheltered in her boughs, nurtured amongst her alien roots. This Harry would be strong.
Hermione crouched down to right a seedling—it had been trampled by the neighbour's hellion of a cat. She glowered and muttered under her breath.
Harry let out a little sighing laugh, kneeling down next to her and threading his fingers into the soil.
Hermione laughed with him. "Here, you have to make sure the plants are straight and then pile the dirt around them to help them stand." She cupped his small hands in hers, helping him pat down the earth firmly.
She looked up through her lashes to smile at him—finding his expression of intense concentration adorable (tongue out and everything). His bright green eyes squinted as he carefully touched one of the small leaves.
She laughed and pulled him up, "Now, let's clean up. How does a glass of tea sound?"
"It sounds good," Harry murmured and grinned at her, grabbing her offered hand as she made her way into the patio doors.
He stayed for the whole ten days the Dursleys enjoyed themselves in Bermuda—he opened up to her, smiled more easily and didn't clutch desperately at her any more (though he was still very affectionate).
….
Entering the bank saw her with her now usual service, as soon as the teller realized it was her she was whisked to the back offices. She rather appreciated the Goblins' efficient system—and wondered how different her war would have been if they'd allied themselves with the proud Nation.
One just needed to know how to talk to them—and that wasn't just in what the wizards considered gobbledegook.
Goblins rather spoke a language of economics, of benefits and contracts and promises. Honour was in kept word and protected mutual interests...which is why Hermione had dared to approach. She had read every law book she could since her third year and the trial of BuckBeak. She knew exactly which laws to mention and flout.
And bringing them her treasure on her first visit; well, she had their attention.
Because it was illegal to store something considered living in a Goblin vault—it broke their most basic contract. A horcrux, an object imbued with a piece of a wizard soul, was considered something living. And Hermione had brought their attention to at least one more artefact they held that breeched the terms of the banking contract.
It was hard to say whether Malfoy Senior had kept the diary in his vault here, or hidden it in one of the many caches on his property. She was hoping that he hadn't kept it with this family treasures on his property, because it wasn't part of his family treasure but technically something in safekeeping for his master.
And usually, no one was allowed to search a family vault.
Unless, of course, the Goblins themselves suspected a breech in contract.
So between the Nation and Hermione Jean Granger, two horcruxes were safely confined to a maximum security vault under Director Ragnok's supervision. A third was potentially the result of today's visit, with careful combing of the several vaults tied to the Malfoy name.
Still, either way she knew who had possession of the diary. She knew where the locket was. She knew where the diadem was. They had the ring and the cup. And, wouldn't you know, the Goblins had a vast library that might yield better methods for disposing of Horcrux magic without destroying such priceless artefacts...and potentially help little Harry before Dumbledore continued with the fool notion that he had to die to win. Hermione didn't think she could see Harry die again, could feel that ice in her chest. This timeline was different too, what if he stayed down? Hopefully the Goblins and she came up with a better stratagem.
A frown twisted her brow—it was too bad that Nagini was a living and therefore mobile Horcrux. And on that matter hadn't she become a horcrux after Voldemort was ejected from Quirrel? Hermione was also sure there was mention of Albania, but she didn't want to risk a long term mission when little Harry was a guest in her house so often. She didn't want to miss a moment where she could be helping him now.
A goblin quickly and excitedly called out in his native tongue—with a rather fantastic list of happy creative curses for the Malfoy family.
Hermione laughed and wove her way through piles of artifacts and gold, delighting in the little black leather bound book the goblin was waving around. A feral grin displayed all her teeth, and she rose her fist up with all the other celebrating Goblins.
They emerged with military fanfare into the offices at the rear of the bank, approaching the Director in their exuberance. The old warrior took the book in his hands, turning it over an examining it. Then he looked up at Hermione and saluted with a proud chin.
Hermione fisted her hand over her heart and bowed, a feral grin still stretching her lips.
...
Hermione carefully drew the boy closer to her—little Harry came to her easily, grinning and laughing. So starved for attention he blindly accepted it from her though this was only the third time he'd been foisted off by his aunt.
The stinging in her eyes took a lot to hold back, but she did it. And the little guy was in her lap as she opened a book and started to read to him. She wondered if he was waiting for her to turn on him too—as she'd seen all the neighbours do, as she'd seen the children do.
As their friend would…wouldn't do.
A part of her hoped that Harry wasn't reaching for all he could get before it was all over.
Hermione firmed her lips as she breathed in deep through her nose, vowing to herself that she would show as much affection and love to Harry as she could, every day for as long as she was able.
She just wished that meant the rest of her life.
…
Hermione looked up from her book and laughed as a sheepish young Harry shuffled around in her boot room. The seven hear old was muddy and unkempt—but still so adorable with his large green eyes and hunched shoulders.
As if she could ever scold him!
Putting her book aside she calmly grabbed a towel and walked up to him. "It's raining pretty hard isn't it?"
He hummed happily as she ruffled his hair with the warm towel. "It's slippery," he whispered.
Hermione laughed and kissed his nose as she carefully helped him pull off his sodden sweatshirt. She tsked at his raggedy shirt (hung over his boney frame with those bruises that made her heart clench) and set it on the floor-vent while she wrapped the towel around him and pulled him into a hug.
Little Harry laughed as his shoes squelched.
Hermione grinned and helped him toe them off—his hands were trapped within the towel that was almost bigger than he was. Carefully she set him down and then escorted him and his muddy clothes (shoes as well) to the laundry room. There she supplied him with one of her large t-shirts to wear and waited for him to change so she could wash his clothes. They threw his shoes in the washing sink with water so they could soak off the mess.
Harry came to her when he was in a state; when he had an accident she was his refuge now. She'd help him and then he could go back to the Dursleys without them getting mad at him for making a mess or some other such nonsense. And Harry, sweet Harry, liked her home.
Harry, happy despite being slightly sniffly, came to her easily as she hoisted him onto the counter and went about making him some warm hot cocoa. He watched her carefully as she melted the chocolate and added the milk and chilli powder and freshly ground cinnamon.
They both hummed happily as the smell wafted into the kitchen.
Finally, it was ready and they settled into her cushy sofa, cuddling with their mugs of cocoa to watch the rain settle down on her blooming garden. She spun him stories about Goblins and elves, watching his delight as she wove in their elaborate cultures and practices to rather fanciful tales of heroism and strength.
It was a good night.
…
"Why do you read so much?"
Hermione's breath caught but she recovered with a little laugh. She knew she read a lot—and she'd been asked that question so many times…it was just…coming from little Harry's mouth this time. "I like to read," she replied simply.
Harry blinked his large emerald eyes up at her (from behind a new set of glasses she'd carefully manipulated the Dursleys into buying for him: she knew it was all worth it no matter how immoral she felt, the disgusting Dursleys deserved everything she could hand out, even though…). Hermione shook her head as Harry scrunched up his nose.
"Why do you like to read?"
Hermione sighed lightly and smiled, putting aside her book to pull Harry into her lap.
Squealing, he flailed and laughed before settling and grinning up at her.
Hermione huffed out a laugh that made some of her stubborn curls fly up around her face. (Harry was always amused by this—either Harry…both Harrys.)
"Well, books are my friends." As she said this Harry's face screwed up and he looked as if he was trying his Merlin best to keep in a teary scowl. "Harry?"
The little boy huffed but remained quiet.
Hermione bit her lip and twisted a little so she could look into his face. Harry was a boy taught to hold in his emotions, shown that his anger just gave him punishment and his tears made him weak—so he held everything in until it exploded from him. Hermione had thought they'd worked that out.
He'd not be so caged around her.
Never.
"Harry?" she whispered again.
He shuffled in her lap a bit before scowling up at her. "I'm your friend."
Hermione blinked and felt her eyebrows lift on her face, a gently awed expression taking over her. She let out a large happy sigh, "Oh Harry James…", as she pulled him close to her and snuggled him. Sniffling, and a little choked, she resolved to explain her best. Because Harry, her sweet little Harry, didn't understand what she meant and felt that she didn't need him. She couldn't have that. She was his lifeline.
"I am," he said petulantly.
She kissed his vulnerable temple. "You are," she asserted.
Harry snuggled deeper into her, his little fingers almost painful in their grip on her arms.
She sniffed. "When I was little I didn't have many friends, and I tried so hard." His big green eyes looked up to her, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn't believe it. Hermione smiled and tweaked his nose. "And after a while of trying so hard to make them like me, helping them with tests and homework, I just felt more comfortable with the books than being hurt again."
Harry blinked his sad eyes and then buried his nose against her collarbone.
"And my parents had no idea what to do with me, so I was allowed to read and read and read." She smiled and pulled away slightly; trying to look into his face though he refused to release her and instead tilted his neck awkwardly to stare up into her eyes. "See Harry? Books have been my friends for a very long time, and they've never stopped. That's not to say you aren't my friend."
Harry half smiled.
Hermione grinned and leaned close to whisper, "And don't tell them, but I think you're my very best friend. You give much better hugs."
Harry grinned and hugged her tightly, his little arms not reaching all the way around her but still conveying that absolute sense of happy Harry that she teared up slightly and buried her face in his unkempt hair.
Her watery laugh echoed around his joyful shouts as they started a tickle war.
…
Knowing little Harry, having known his older self, it was a study of opposites. While both were quiet, there was this beaten down quality to little Harry that understated his silence. Older Harry had never been afraid to break out his more aggressive emotions, to rage or shout or laugh.
Hermione hoped little Harry James Potter would get there someday.
She didn't think she could stand it if she had to watch him suck in his tears after he came over bruised again. Hermione's eyes snapped open with a thought, her steps quiet as she gently pushed open the bedroom door to watch Harry sleep in her covers.
Leaning against the jamb, her eyes soft, the brunette came to a decision. While she was running a legitimate consulting business, and engaged in a few side projects...there was no need for her to delay the most important part of her plans.
It was time for war with the Dursleys.
Even sleeping Harry refused to roll onto his back, and ensconced as he was in one of her big old T-shirts she could see the marks from a belt.
If Hermione played her cards right she'd get him away from that hellhole—and no one would raise a question about it.
….
Slowly, so very slowly, Hermione had increased their trips to the park—letting Harry be more visible under her care. It only happened once where she was warned away by a well meaning neighbour (after that no one dared to trash talk Harry in their subtle suburban way). And showing her Harry off to the neighbourhood, laughing with him and playing with him, made them soften to his presence.
They weren't nice by any means, but he didn't get those looks (those spiteful nasty little looks that Malfoy had been so good at—the ones that constantly broadcasted their supposed superiority) and that was enough for Hermione.
For now.
…
Harry had an inscrutable look as he looked at his report card—his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows furrowed. Hermione grinned and abruptly pulled him into a big hug, startling him into a squeal as he rushed to cling to her for balance and his report card got crumpled between them.
He let out a laugh and kissed her cheek, grinning at her when he pulled back. Hermione smiled at him, proud and touched. Old Harry had always been so unsure with physical contact; her little Harry was welcoming it, initiating it. Hermione adored him even more for his intermittent and exuberant tries.
"Now what do we have here?" she inquired, lifting her eyebrows up and then darting her eyes to the wrinkled paper almost ready to fall out of little Harry's hand.
He hesitated before offering, "It's my report card."
"Well, that doesn't sound so fun."
An unsure smile was the response.
Concerned, Hermione set Harry straight on his feet and then looked him in the eyes. "Harry? Is everything okay?"
He sniffled.
Hermione's heart broke. Little Harry was so much more obviously sensitive than her Older Harry, she wondered how long it had taken him to learn to hold in hurts and dish them back out—she wondered if she was part of the reason Little Harry wasn't becoming like Old Harry…
She pulled him into another hug, gently leaning back until she could seat herself against the chesterfield's worn cushions. "Shall we have a look then?" she asked softly.
Without looking at her, Little Harry thrust the crumpled report to her and she carefully removed the paper from his tense fingers. She spread it out over the cushion beside her with one hand, the other occupied threading through Little Harry's hair.
Glancing over rather unconcernedly—more occupied with the flesh and blood snuggling as close to her as he could get—she absently noticed a rather steady streak of high B's. Only one low C there to worry over—and in maths, which wasn't very necessary in the wizarding world beyond the basic level.
"I think you did very well Harry," she said quietly.
"No," went Harry's simple reply.
"Math is troubling you then?"
"It's hard."
"Maybe we can fix that."
His head popped up to look at her with wide green eyes while his chin pressed against her chest. "What?"
"You're my Little Harry, and I want to help you in any way I can. Do you want to study at my house for your tests?"
"No," he said lowly, resolutely.
Hermione gaped, startled for a moment before she hastily recovered herself. "No?" She blinked and leaned forward slightly to look into his eyes, "You don't want my help?"
Harry repeated himself, "No."
Hermione swallowed. "Oh."
Harry looked at her oddly as her weight shifted lower, her whole form depressed at this rejection. Maybe that's what old Harry had always been trying to say at Hogwarts? That he didn't want her help at all and didn't care? Maybe she really had been such a nuisance that Old Harry had only succumbed to her nagging to get her off his back.
"I'm your friend," he broke out loudly, looking at her with wide earnest eyes, "And you don't have to help me to be my friend!"
"Oh sweetheart," Hermione sighed out, smiling and pulling him back into her for a hug. "This is different. I am your friend, and I hate seeing you sad. You're not going to forget about me after the test is done right?"
"Never!"
She smiled wider, kissing his scar and then nuzzling her nose into his. "That's settled then, we'll be friends forever. And that means I can help you without getting hurt right?"
He grinned back and nodded his head, returning to their previous snuggling without making any more fuss. There was a comfortable silence around them, accepting each other and glad of it.
Then he said, quite petulantly, "Why am I Little Harry?"
Hermione threw her head back and laughed. Harry pouted up at her (he was far too cute to scowl) and attempted to cross his arms. Hers were in the way from their previous hug, so she snuggled him closer and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He blushed in embarrassment and looked to one side.
"You are absolutely adorable, Little Harry."
He sighed and looked up at her dolefully, "Not adorable either."
Hermione sighed and kissed his nose, he crossed his eyes but then went right back to giving her puppy eyes. "Well, I think you are." She smiled down at him as he sighed and rolled his eyes—a habit that amused her to no end. "I used to know another Harry." His eyes snapped up to her. "He was also quite like you—brave and caring and smart."
Harry pursed his lips, "but not me."
"No, but I started thinking of him as Old Harry, and you as Little Harry, just to make things easier sometimes."
"But I'm Harry, he can't be me!"
Hermione snickered, "Okay, well I can't call Older Harry anything else, what should I call you?"
"I'm Harry James Potter," he puffed up and pouted.
"Yes, you are, but I can't go calling you Harry James Potter all the time can I?"
Harry laughed at the absurd thought.
Then he started muttering to himself, and Hermione held in her snickers, hearing words like "Brave" and "Strong" as Harry tried to decide on his name.
"Oh, Harry James Potter, you are priceless!" She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.
Harry squealed and rubbed at his cheek, laughing up at her.
"Well, what's your whole name?"
"Mine?" She grinned. "It's Hermione Jean Granger."
"You have a J name too!"
"I do."
"But you don't have a P—the teacher said last names were important, and mine's from my Dad."
"Mine is as well," she said lowly, missing her parents. But she had decided not to go there, to not mess with that timeline more than she had to. And how would she meet herself? Wasn't that what all the wizards warned about with time travel? It didn't stop the ache in her chest, the longing to see her parents after the war and troubles. Then she had a thought, "JP."
"Huh?"
Hermione chuckled and looked down at her little friend. "JP, I can call you JP—it can be our special name for you. To remember that we are friends—the same J—and that I'm very thankful to your father for having you."
Harry screwed up his face—"Aunt Petunia says my parents were drunks who didn't care about me—she says I'm lucky I live with them instead."
"I'm sure that's not true—but if it is I can still be thankful that he had a delightful son."
Harry's green eyes looked up at her soberly, large and dark. "Ok."
"Good. Besides, calling you Little Harry all the time would have gotten tiring."
Harry laughed at her playfully frustrated expression and she joined in.
…
Harry laughed as he ran out of the school, flinging himself into her arms as she spun him around and gave a great big kiss to his cheek. Waiting on the school grounds today had been sobering, especially with the aches from her last endeavor, but little Harry was such a delight that she forgot all about the headmaster and the other parents who still tried their best to ignore Harry's worth as a person.
A little squeal sounded over her shoulder as she bent to sweep Harry upside down, his eyes bright as he laughed and his face reddened.
"And how was your day at school?" she asked while smiling, keeping him there as he gave up struggling.
"It was okay, we painted in art class and that math stuff you helped me with is easy!"
Hermione laughed and set Harry back on the ground. Picking up his fallen bag she took his hand and let him lead her home—away from the stares of so many adults—as he yammered about what had happened at playtime.
…
Hermione carefully let the curtain fall back into place, her gaze pondering but satisfied. The police were canvassing the neighbourhood. This was much too soon, but she might be able to work with it. There had been rumours that Mrs. Figg's property was being vandalized, but the old woman hadn't said anything directly to her.
And no one could blame this on Harry so there had to be an investigation.
She licked and then bit her bottom lip, leaning against the living room wall as she glanced about her house. There was no evidence of the supernatural on this floor, but there was evidence of Harry's frequent visits—that was okay, it's not like Harry carried around crowbars or spray paint so there was no way anything in her house would draw their attention.
She cleared her throat and tossed back her hair while she smoothed down her shirt, turning to the door at the crisp knocking.
The two policemen standing on her stoop startled at her appearance, one giving her a once over before he straightened.
Hermione blinked and raised a confused eyebrow before she turned to the other in inquiry.
"Miss Granger?" she nodded her head. "I'm Constable Browning and this is Constable Wright. We have some questions for you."
She smiled genially, "Certainly, would you like to come in?"
He glanced behind at her house, his eyes pausing on several areas (she refused to turn and look as well) before he quickly turned back to her. "No miss, there's no need for that."
"Well then, what seems to be the problem?"
Constable Wright cleared his throat softly and stammered slightly before managing, "Are you acquainted with a Mrs. Figg?"
"Oh yes, sweet old lady just three houses down. Has a lot of cats," she grinned impishly at her last sentence.
They both smiled and tipped their heads to her.
Browning continued, "Recently she's been going to the city for extended hospital visits and comes back to a vandalized yard…"
Hermione gasped—"Mrs. Figg is ill?"
The two policemen glanced between each other before Browning cleared his throat—"I'm sorry if this comes as a shock."
Hermione clasped her hands together and looked down the street with worry, wondering if this illness was the reason why she got to babysit so much and why the Mrs. Figg of her original time hadn't taken such great care of her Harry.
"Miss Granger?"
She came back to herself with a shake, blinking at the constables before managing a smile. "I'm sorry. We're not very close but she is very sweet to me."
Browning nodded, "Do you have any idea who would vandalize her property?"
She shook her head, "No, as I said she's sweet. It's her cats that annoy the neighbours by ignoring their litter box—but that would be far too petty a reason. And I haven't even noticed any damage to her house."
"Does she come into a lot of contact with the children on the street?"
Hermione jerked her head to one side, wide eyed at the two of them as she tried to figure out why they asked this question. "I…she used to look after Harry when his relatives were away but…I don't think anyone else visits her often."
"So she doesn't play Aunty Figgy to the neighbourhood children?"
"What? No!" She huffed and set her hips while glaring at them—"What exactly is going on? If she did indeed 'play Aunty Figgy' there wouldn't be a vandalizing problem."
Wright cleared his throat and shifted his weight. Browning gave him a sidelong look before he sighed. "There have been some cases of child mistreatment around the block; we're just doing a general inquiry until more concrete accusations come up."
Hermione felt her hair frizz with ire. "Mrs. Figg is a lonely old woman who couldn't hurt a fly—she babies her cats for company and takes daily walks to the grocers so she can get her exercise and mingle with people. There is no way a woman that lonely would ever do something as vile as bruise a child."
The brown eyes of Wright were wide beneath the brim of his cap, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, forcing her hands to unclench and settle on her biceps. Browning's moustache twitched in amusement before he smiled fully.
"I'm sorry Miss."
"What for?" she growled out lowly.
He tipped his cap, "For making you so angry with us. We've heard you moved here recently and we'd hate to leave a bad impression."
Hermione huffed but visibly softened, her arms held looser and her spine relaxed. "You're just doing your job, and that's based off information you get from other people. I can't fault you for that."
"Well, thank you, miss."
She snorted and offered them a lazy smile. "Do you have any other questions that don't relate to the preposterous idea that old Mrs. Figg is a child abuser?"
Wright turned away briefly, when he turned back there was a twinkle in his eye. "Only that you might be the one hurting the kids."
"What?" Hermione drew back with real hurt as one hand grasped at the door jamb.
Browning cleared his throat loudly and gave his partner a dirty look—"Miss it was just a suggestion by one of the couples down the street and we can tell very easily that you would never harm a child. You defended Mrs. Figg and quite clearly put out your views on child abuse, and your house has definite signs of a happy child." He nodded his head behind her and a confused Hermione gave in and turned to look.
Her breath caught as she saw her house through a stranger's eyes. Harry's jacket was thrown haphazardly over her coat rack; his shoes, the ones she'd cleaned of mud, were sitting on her welcome mat; the pictures he had taken to drawing for her during art class were very bright and visible on her fridge; a yo-yo was tangled in one of her bigger house plants (Hermione laughed a little, as she and JP had one bugger of a time looking for that the day before); and her couch had mussed up blankets and a teddy bear.
She sniffed back some tears and turned back to the constables.
Wright shuffled guiltily and offered, "It was only a suggestion since you are fairly new to the neighbourhood and they needed someone to blame. I didn't mean to cause you any distress—I actually found it quite absurd."
Hermione sucked in a breath and nodded. "I babysit Harry Potter, he's over a lot," she offered for her explanation to her strong reaction.
Browning nodded and saluted, "Thank you for your time, we'll let you get back to your business Miss Granger."
"No, thank you for your time. And keep up your good work. It's nice to know the neighbourhood is so protected." That was as far as she could hint at a need for a more in depth canvassing—her mind was so muddled right now she didn't think she could manage anything more telling without losing some subtlety.
Both policemen regarded her before smiling politely and taking their leave from her stoop.
Hermione watched them close her front gate before she closed her door and went to the window to push aside a curtain just so. The two constables took out their clipboards and pens and crossed out some words while writing new ones. As they tucked away their materials they examined the street, discussing something before Wright glanced back and made some comment.
She pulled the curtain tighter, just in case.
Browning smirked at his young partner and then socked him in the shoulder while shaking his head, gesturing down the street (towards number three) and waiting for his friend to precede him.
Hermione let out a breath and turned back to her house interior. Her worries drifted away when she spotted the same things Browning had pointed out—very real signs that Harry had been making her house his home. A brilliant smile lit her face as she slid to the rug, happy tears making her eyes sting as she bit her bottom lip.
Somehow, seeing Harry's presence in her home, it made it more real for her. She was changing Harry's life. The old Harry was now her young Harry James Potter, her JP.
A great sigh left her as she closed her eyes and she let her head tilt back to rest on the wall, staring up at the soft light that came through her gauzy curtains.
…
Hermione, wide eyed, sat as primly as she'd ever sat. The balding principle looked at her and the Dursleys over interlaced fingers—"I am glad you three could make the meeting."
"What seems to be the problem?" Vernon simpered.
Hermione held in a sneer as her lip twitched, she hated that man who took belts to her Harry and locked him in a cupboard. And now he was worried about his little whale—and she hoped it was Dudley that had a problem. But then she wouldn't be here if that was the situation.
Her heart clenched at the possibilities. "Is Harry okay?" she asked softly.
The stoic man cleared his throat—"He is fine, actually better than he's ever been. I have been appointed to talk to you of a possible arrangement."
"Oh?" Petunia intoned almost shrilly.
Hermione's eyes flashed to her.
"The other parents have told me about how much better Miss Granger keeps Harry in control. In fact there have been fewer incidents reported than when he was assigned the Education Assistant to monitor his behaviour."
Hermione hid her glower behind her arm as she pushed her hair behind her ear, clearing her face of the anger as she revealed it. The neighbours, upon hearing so many times that Harry was a problem child, had taken to blaming him for the slightest incident while he was out of sight.
Taking him out more into public had taken away that avenue of shifting blame from their little children.
"Well that's wonderful." Vernon had a red face and his voice gurgled, Hermione smiled.
The headmaster smiled with his lips closed, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, it is; which is why the school board investigated and decided to suggest some changes."
The Dursleys shifted.
"We are aware that your nephew is not with you legally, as the will stated he would go to a Mr. Longbottom should his godfather be unavailable. But in the absence of both these men you were forced to take him in." (Hermione bit her cheek and tried not to cry out—Harry could have been brothers with Neville? With that ballsy old woman instead of this ugly family?) "You've told us as much when you had to enrol him. In light of that it is our suggestion that Miss Granger adopt Harry legally."
The room was silent.
Slowly Petunia's choked noises escalated into a shrill "What?!"
"It appears Miss Granger has a very robust portfolio of assets that would allow Child Services to overlook her lack of marital status. She could easily support the child and he would still be close enough for you to visit."
Hermione's shock was overcome by a deep and feral flash of emotion—the Dursleys would get near her child no longer.
…
Gringotts felt like where she actually worked, but she was coming today with sadder news than another Horcrux clue. She was pretty sure she'd never pinpoint Nagini at this point-to prevent her becoming a horcrux. Hermione wasn't even certain that she wanted to do that-because then Voldemort would change his plans and she would have lost an edge on him.
The diadem was lost to her until she had good reason to visit Hogwarts-she didn't want to risk the wards and halls without her wand magic and without a certain map. Harry would be free of his curse as soon as the Goblins and her could discover that as of yet elusive answer. The locket—well just how much she would change and how obviously would affect if she ever had personal access to that little trinket. She half thought to approach Kreacher, but knew that as a mudblood she couldn't approach without raising alarms. At this point in time Griummauld Place was protected by family magic-which might prove more dangerous than anything the Order had put in place. She was still contemplating which potential ally she could approach to speed up her plans—but she would be freeing Sirius Orion Black when the time was right. Hermione had such a busy schedule…
But now Harry would be hers.
SteelClaw walked up to her excitedly, jabbering in native Goblinese. But some of Hermione's subdued manner translated to him and he petered off to march silently beside her as they made their way to the Director's office.
Ragnok looked up with a feral satisfied Goblin grin, but then his own eyes narrowed and he straightened in his chair. "Well met, Lady Granger," he spoke cautiously.
Hermione frowned and growled at him before replying in Goblinese. "Don't disrespect me so! I have earned my right to speak in the Nation!"
"So you have," he conceded with a nod of his head, inviting her to sit with a sweeping gesture of his arms. "Then what troubles you that you come to my office."
"I am adopting a young man to be my...younger brother of sorts. I will no longer be able to delve the archives or visit so often. He will be my focus now."
"A young man? A brother, congratulations. Children are a blessing in any manner."
"But I will be breaking the terms of my contract, please forgive me. I had thought I could wait another month or two and finish our deal—but I have discovered more treachery behind the family that keeps him now. I will see him safe as soon as I am able."
"He is in danger."
"He is grossly neglected."
Ragnok growled and stood. Rubbing his chin he turned and slowly paced back in froth behind his desk. "You have brought great honour upon yourself and the Nation, we have been able to alert our worldwide branches to our discoveries and a steady searching of vaults has uncovered more loathsome breeches in contracts. Your direction and cunning have also been noted in the catacombs during the purgings. I will not see our terms sundered because you are gaining the honour of a new family member."
Hermione sat and watched the warrior ponder, barely daring to hope that she wouldn't have to break her contract. As a muggleborn, getting such a deal for her vault was unheard of and only possible due to her mission. Because it coincided with the Goblin aims and dealings with the wizards. If she broke her contract early her slow accumulation to help in whatever war efforts were needed this time (and she desperately hoped it was a much shorter and simpler war than hers was) would be lost.
"Let us renegotiate. I can have you work from a home office for most of your research, only coming in...twice a week. No, a total of ten hours a week to confirm and compare notes with our Goblins. You will still receive the same contract for your personal vault, as we've settled before. But in return..."
Hermione leaned forward.
Ragnok seated himself and folded his hands together, a sly gleam in his eyes. "We will hear how you found out of these Horcruxes in the first place..."
She gasped and leaned back. With a rueful shake of her head she denied, "I wish I could share the whole sordid story with you—it would be lovely to get it off my chest. But I can't. At least not yet. As of now I know—know things—and I wouldn't want to give information that would prove false in the future. My honour demands I keep my story hidden, and our contact forthright."
Ragnok's dark goblin eyes gleamed at her. "So you hold this boy in much higher regard than your wealth in our vaults?"
She stiffened and stuck out her chin, her eyes blanking and her hand flicking as if she still had a wand to use. The Goblins had noticed her lack of it, naturally, but had never commented. And Ragnok's eyes flicked to the telling movement now. "I mean no insult. I will die again and again for this boy—no worth in any vault will sway me."
Goblin laughter was a grating loud terrifying sound—and it filled the grand office Hermione sat in attendance. Ragnok got himself under control, turning his head back to her with glittering eyes and a fang filled smile. "So you uphold your honour still. Well met, Witch. We will maintain your vaults—you will protect your boy. When the time is right you will come to us to participate in this war you wage."
Her breath caught and her eyes widened.
Ragnok nodded. "And then I will have your story. I have never met a Warrior Witch. If your actions prove so honourable you will be remembered in our histories. Consider your honour so far kept, and our deal unchanged." Then he smirked and chuckled, far less terrifyingly than his previous laughter for the sound mostly stayed in his chest. "And consider your new brother your highest priority—the Nation looks forward to meeting him."
Hermione left the offices almost understanding Goblin humour for the first time.
...
Hermione, strangely experiencing her thoughts as echoes as she watched the Dursleys shift, found her cynical mind roaring with laughter.
After the meeting with the headmaster Hermione had time to ruminate on the course of things and found her dominant moral conscience screaming. But that was okay, they'd all used each other in that meeting.
Hermione wasn't stupid enough to not notice the worried way the balding man behind the large oak desk had avoided ranting about legalities—Hermione had watched enough to know there was greater interest in Harry now that everyone wasn't convinced of what a little hellion he was. He wasn't under the radar anymore; he couldn't be ignored in this prissy neighbourhood. The headmaster had been using his 'new' good behaviour as a crutch to make Harry's life and presence in the school legal. (And to keep the police from finding out where the money in his pockets was coming from. They were sniffing around after all.)
Hermione grimly smiled as she folded her hands primly in her lap, hating the poncy print of the Dursley's sofa and delighting in the stifling silence of the elders.
The neighbours were starting to wonder, at least, if they didn't know how to control children. They were starting to turn a jaundiced eye on 'Duddy-kins'. So the Dursleys were using her to get rid of their blight on the family name.
Hermione felt a feral satisfaction in the fact that she was using this and all of them to get her way as well. She felt somehow vindicated.
JP was hers now.
All she had to do was wait for the children to come home from the field trip they'd taken as part of the school curriculum (and as testament to Harry's new life he'd actually been made to go because it wouldn't do for people to notice exactly how he was treated—if only it meant she didn't have to wait to hold him in her arms and offer him her home).
The uneasiness of both Dursleys was a very delightful bonus.
So Hermione sat there as prim and proper as her mother had raised her, with the manners bitter Ms. Banks had instilled in her. Petunia fluttered her hands about and shrilled her versions of polite conversation, her eyes darting about as if the ghost of her dead and very much forgotten sister would pop out and scream at her for so readily disposing of her only child.
Briefly, Hermione had the thought to conjure up the spectre of Lily, but thought it would be a slight to her sacrifice and Harry's suffering. She didn't want to throw that in their face.
Finally the sound of little stomping feet entered, the front door slamming shut.
Her smile was a tad feral behind her tea cup as the Dursleys jumped and Dudley came charging in. He jabbered excitedly about his day until he caught sight of her.
Truth was Hermione knew she freaked the beejabers out of him. It hadn't been because of a conscious effort on her part, but she'd pulled him off some little kids before and seemed to be the only adult willing to threaten discipline.
Harry, mute as he usually was in the presence of the Dursleys despite the excitement she could see brimming in his eyes, was the exact opposite. As soon as he saw her he was jabbering away and rushing to her for a hug. Everything faded from her mind as she grinned at her boy and listened to the tale of the field trip to the museum.
Harry was so excited, gesturing with his hands wildly while her arms rested loosely around his shoulders. Seated on the couch as she was he was just tall enough to look her in the face and share his day with her.
"—and then there was this big cat! It had huge teeth and its paws were as big as my head!"
Hermione laughed, "That was a sabre-toothed tiger. Pretty wicked aren't they?"
Harry looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, entranced by her because she was so willing to tell him things.
Vernon sputtered and Petunia cleared her throat.
Hermione's eyes flashed to them and she abruptly came back to herself—she was still in the Dursley's living room.
She nodded to them and then proceeded to turn back to Harry, set on ignoring them. Harry was more important. "JP?" she said seriously.
Her little green eyed boy abruptly gave her his attention, turning from his relatives to stare intently at her. He was so adorable…always fixed on her and willing to love her with that childish adoration that made her want to cuddle him and kiss his forehead until everything that hurt him was nothing more than a memory.
She smiled a little. "I was wondering if you wanted …" she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. She shook her hair back with a wider smile. "Here's the truth: you were supposed to be given to another family when your parents died, but they couldn't be found. Technically you aren't legally staying here with your aunt and uncle. Now there have been some things that came up and I offered to adopt you. Would you like to come live with me? Let me be your family?"
The Dursleys drew in a loud collective breath and stared at her with wide eyes. She pursed her lips and waited through Harry's silence. It would stand to reason they'd never thought of telling their nephew the truth and she wanted to be the first adult he trusted to always be honest with him. If he wanted to know more she'd tell him, and if she didn't know she'd do her best to help him find out.
Finally Harry made a choking sound.
Hermione leaned forward and smoothed back his hair, kissing his scar before trying to pull away. His little arms, strong from doing so many chores, refused to let her go as he started crying into her shoulder, wetting her hair where it was trapped against her neck.
"JP?" she exclaimed worriedly, managing to pry him far enough that she could look into his eyes. The desperate hope that brightened them made her heart squeeze, "Oh Harry."
Her arms wrapped around him and pulled him into her lap, a watery smile taking over her face as she let out a gurgling laugh. This child was hers now—she'd do Lily proud and raise him as well as she could.
She stood, letting her boy cling to her as she wrapped an arm under his rump and hefted him up. She tossed her hair back and gave the Dursleys a suitably proud and haughty look.
"I'll have the papers finalized tomorrow," she stated self-righteously. Then she took her precious bundle and walked out the doors.
Harry didn't need anything from this well disguised hell-hole. He'd have a new life with her—a good life where he didn't have to worry and she'd do her Merlin best to make sure no one else ever even thought of making her Harry feel like he didn't have anything in the world.
She kissed his forehead as she stepped into her yard, smiling as the welcoming garden shielded her from the neighbours' prying eyes. Under her care, and with the aid of the learning Harry, her transplanted shrubs and their sheltered seedlings had grown into an ensconcing wall of privacy, created a little world where she and Harry were just that—she and Harry.
And now it was all permanent.
….