Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is borrowed from their proper owners with no intention of profit, just of having fun.
A/N: Long chapter – perhaps too long – but what can I say? Harry kept going off on unexpected tangents... There will be more Hermione in the next one.
A… Switched Chance
5. …a storm of meetings
Harry knew he was staring rather rudely, but couldn't really bring himself to care just now.
It truly was Professor McGonagall.
From the black hair in her usual tight bun to the very familiar emerald-green robes, she was looking down at him/her with the stern face Harry remembered from his Sorting day, when his very first thought about her had been that this was not someone to cross.
Having known her for years, though, he was now able to recognize the faint hint of a smile that indicated she was happy to be there and meet – Hermione. Fuck! Harry almost panicked at the realization. She was here to meet Hermione! This must be the routine 'no-it's-not-an-hoax-your-daughter-really-is-a-witch-and-yes-this-is-a-good-thing' visit to the first year Muggleborns!
What am I going to do now?
What would McGonagall say, what would she do, would she guess he wasn't Hermione, how would the Grangers take the news, would they go to Diagon Alley today, what was he to expect, what was he supposed to do,…?
The professor inquired briskly: "Miss Granger, I presume?"
Harry only managed to nod dumbly. So many things were probably about to go wrong... Luckily, he was rescued by his/her father coming to the door to see what was up.
"May I help you, Madam?", David Granger asked politely but with a frown. Harry supposed someone dressed like that wouldn't really inspire trust in the muggle world.
"Indeed you can, Mr. Granger", answered the witch smartly. "I am Professor McGonagall and I need to explain a few things about your daughter. May I come in?"
And Harry had followed them to the kitchen table with his heart pounding in his chest.
Four hours later, Harry had escaped to the nearest small park and was slowly getting over his bewilderment.
Objectively speaking, it hadn't been that bad. David and Julia had sure taken it well – better than him/her, he sheepishly admitted. But he'd been so confused! And worried she might suspect something! And, and, happy to see her, only not, because of what it meant. And panicked because his Hermione wasn't there and guilty that he hadn't contacted her and worried because he didn't know what to do and he didn't know what to expect… What would happen if McGonagall realized what they'd done? What if the Ministry found out? He was pretty sure it was illegal! And he still didn't know if it had worked properly – aside for the obvious screw up!
Really, was it any wonder if he'd been too out of sorts to react 'properly'?
Whatever a 'proper' reaction to finding out you could do magic was, anyway?
Hermione's parents, on the other hand, had been – relieved.
Harry was amazed. He knew they accepted Hermione, overall, but he had expected it to take longer for them to come to terms with it. Instead, they easily admitted to being aware of their daughter's 'special abilities', as well as being concerned at her apparent lack of control.
Apparently, they had discussed it a great deal between them, even if they had done their best to keep it from Hermione, in order not to scare her.
Yep, amazed pretty much covered it.
McGonagall had reassured them and patiently answered their questions – and Merlin were there questions! They wanted to know everything.
Harry realized that David's scientific mind was pleased to find a logical explanation for the puzzle that was his daughter, and that Julia was elated at the prospect of her little girl finally fitting in somewhere, as well as proud that Hermione was offered a place in 'the best magical school in Europe'.
Neither seemed worried in the least about her being... 'not normal'.
Had he mentioned how amazed he was?
At one point Harry had realized that they were both darting him/her concerned glances and forced himself to make an effort to look more like their brilliant, alert Hermione and less like an idiot in a stupor. Luckily he had several years in the wizarding world to rely on to come up with questions, otherwise he knew he wouldn't have been able to string three words together. As it was, he suspected that half his questions had been too stupid for Hermione and the other half too spot on for a supposedly clueless eleven year old, but all in all he'd lived through it with his secret still safe.
McGonagall had also invited them to go school shopping with the group of the other muggleborn first years, the coming Saturday.
Harry had barely refrained from scowling – if there was an organized shopping day for Muggleborns, why hadn't he been invited? They knew he was muggle raised!
But that was neither here nor there.
The Grangers had started declining, citing a holiday they were supposed to leave for on Friday (Harry wondered how he'd missed that bit of information) and McGonagall was already proposing other possible dates closer to September 1st, but Harry had shaken himself out of his bafflement enough to protest this.
Diagon Alley meant a wand. He needed his wand. The sooner the better!
David and Julia had been very surprised by his/her insistence, making Harry wonder if his Hermione had simply accepted their decision. Was that why she didn't know the other Muggleborns before the start of term? She'd been pretty isolated at the start...
And just like that he had the most perfect, logical reason to get them to go on Saturday. The moment he/she had buried his/her head in David's shoulder and blurted out that she wanted to meet 'kids like her' and 'maybe make friends' they had capitulated.
After McGonagall had left they had wanted to talk about it all. Then talk some more. They were very concerned about his/her reaction. They worried that 'she' had trouble accepting herself.
Harry couldn't help himself in front of their caring questions and asked why they were ok with this, didn't they think her... weird. He'd nearly used the word 'freakish' but even he knew, that was his loving relatives speaking.
They had both hastened to reassure him/her and it had evolved in a rather emotional discussion. Harry had felt his bitterness rising at the comparison between the Dursleys' behaviour, and that of proper parents like the Grangers. He wasn't one for tears, but his distress had been evident, even though Julia and David had believed its cause to be uneasiness with her/his status as a witch.
Julia had insisted on the fact that she would meet many others like her at this new school and painted a wonderful portrait of 'her' magical future. David had joked about 'superpowers' and assured him/her that he'd been looking for the X-Men school in his spare time, but this was much better as it was closer to home, right? Harry had wanted to laugh and cry and hug them tightly and scream at how unfair his previous life had been and most of all he'd wanted to get away, get some solitude.
Finally he couldn't take it anymore and he'd run away. He'd caught at the edge of his/her hearing David telling Julia to give 'her' some time alone to come to terms with everything and was deeply grateful.
Now he was at the park, hiding behind some bushes and pacing furiously.
As wonderful as it was for him to get a proper introduction to the wizarding world this time around, complete with support from loving adults, there was his Hermione to think about.
Hermione whose advice he needed rather desperately and, more importantly, Hermione who wouldn't get a proper introduction to magic – much less support of any kind. Contacting his best friend had just reached a whole new level on the priority list. He needed to talk to her now. He needed to get her out of the Dursleys' 'care'. He'd delayed long enough…
But how? How?
Then the answer hit him with all the forceful simplicity of a brick. Of course! Just because he was in the past (and in the wrong body) didn't mean he'd lost the knowledge he'd gained in his previous life! Nothing could stop him from doing now something he'd learned then… well, except the fact that it was illegal, but it hadn't stopped him and Ron from doing it all over the country anyway…
Cursing at his own idiocy for not realizing this possibility sooner (but then again, he always did think better under pressure), he apparated to Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey.
And landed painfully on a carpeted floor, feeling as if he had hit and bounced off a wall.
"Oh my!", a shocked voice sounded somewhere above him. He opened his/her eyes and blinked frantically to cover his surprise: leaning over him was the wrinkled face of Mrs. Figg.
What the hell…
Once again proving his worth in an emergency, he summoned all of his acting skills and looked feverishly around, stumbling on his feet: "Where… what… where are they? Where am I? What happened? Where did they go? Something squeezed me! What happened? Who are you?"
He congratulated himself for managing to sound increasingly hysterical, all the while trying desperately to figure out both the truth of what had actually happened and the lie he wanted to tell to the Squib, and keep both straight, at least in his head.
Ok, so he could, indeed, still apparate, he had felt the usual stomach-turning sensation of being squeezed through a tube, and he was in Surrey, clearly it had worked, good to know. What had gone wrong, though? Why had he ended up before Mrs. Figg's fireplace?
The old lady seemed rather out of sorts, but she was valiantly trying to cover it in the face of the obvious distress the young girl in front of her was displaying.
"It's all right, dear, I'm sure it'll be all right. Why don't you calm down and tell me what happened?"
"I don't know what happened!", cried Harry shrilly, mentally applauding his performance.
"Right, right, that's ok, we'll figure it out together dear, don't worry, why don't we sit down, hm?"
Mrs. Figg steered the girl to a sofa in the room next door. Harry noticed her discreetly stuffing what looked like a poker behind an armchair. Had the sweet old lady been ready to club the intruder? Ok that she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he wouldn't have thought she had it in her!
She coaxed her/him to sit and awkwardly patted her/his shoulder, while Harry kept up feigning distress and confusion. He tried his best to ignore the cats currently investigating his/her legs. He realized though that if he wanted to keep his cover (and blowing it at the moment looked like an awful idea) he needed to elaborate his/her story.
So he sent a mental prayer for good luck to smile upon him and haltingly started, sniffling here and there for good measure: "I was… I was just… they were chasing me, they always do… Malcom and the others, they think it's fun you know… to, to hold me down and mock me and… and stuff… and so I was running away and I was so scared, 'cos, 'cos I took a wrong turn and I knew there wasn't a way out from that alley and, and, and they were coming, I could hear them, and, and I t-tried t-to run f-faster and, and…"
Mrs. Figg had made sympathetic sounds during the recount, and now she asked leadingly: "What happened then, dear?"
"I don't know!", wailed Harry. "Something squeezed me! I w-was… it was so scary! I couldn't b-breath! And t-then I was here! I don't understand!", he/she sobbed, hoping against hope that the story was believable. He had relied heavily on his own experience of ending up on the school rooftop, but it was also significantly different.
Mrs. Figg however 'aahed' in sudden understanding. 'Accidental apparition', Harry heard her muttering, 'without a wand, no less, amazing.'
Harry almost gave himself away then. Without a wand – of course he' done it without a wand, he didn't have a wand. So he'd apparated without. Obviously. Except that, as he only now recalled, apparating without a wand was impossible. Huh.
He absently scratched the nearest cat's head, drawing a purr from the furry thing. How stupid was he, to forget that he needed a wand to apparate? And how had he done it anyway?
He snapped his attention back to the old lady when she started matronly: "Well dear, I think I can explain. It's nothing to worry about, really", she said reassuringly. Harry feigned utmost interest.
"Dear, do you believe in magic?" Harry thought fast, what should he do? Play clueless, admit to being a wiz- a witch? He decided to play it safe and stick with exactly what younger Hermione would have known at this point in her life.
"You mean… like that Professor McGonagall said? From the magical school Hogwarts? She came to talk to my parents and said I am a- a witch!", he hoped he was appearing both excited and scared.
Mrs. Figg looked relieved. "Oh, Minerva has contacted you already, thank Merlin. Well, you are indeed a witch, dear, and you just did magic."
"But how?", interrupted Harry, and knew the question was more genuine than anything else he'd said so far. "How can I do magic without knowing, Professor McGonagall said it's very difficult, and you need a wand and incantations and proper movements and, and… don't you need all that? Are you a witch?", he/she asked avidly. It was a bit mean, perhaps, knowing what he did, but also a perfectly reasonable question under the circumstances.
Mrs. Figg looked flustered. "Goddness, dear, no, I'm a squib."
"A what?", he feigned curiosity.
"A squib, dear, is someone without magic born in a magical family."
"Oh!", Harry acted as if he didn't know what to think of this – and it was less of an act than he would have liked. He didn't think he was prejudiced, but squibs were an uncomfortable subject even if he didn't like to admit it.
Mrs. Figg, though, seemed to regain composure as her young guest lost it, and smiled kindly. "It's quite all right, dear. I don't mind – I have a foot in both world this way, see?"
Harry had to smile at that.
"Anyway, dear, yes, you need a wand to do magic, but sometimes children do it accidentally, when they are very angry or very scared. It's called accidental magic. Don't worry about it, it's perfectly normal".
"Oh, ok… but… hm, how do I get back home? I don't know how I did it… I don't even know where I am…"
It was a jovial voice that shocked her to the core that answered from the door: "Not to worry, my dear child! I think I can help you in this quandary."
Harry gasped loudly as he caught sight of Albus Dumbledore, silver beard and absurd purple robes with flapping ducklings (of all things!) embroidered on them included.
His/her jaw dropped – when had he arrived? – but in the back of his mind a connection was suddenly made: the wards!
Not that it explained anything, since he didn't know how they worked besides the basics, but on another level, it explained everything.
The thought was quickly ignored, though, in the face of the unexpected, obvious threat: Legilimency. He closed his/her eyes in resignation, knowing the charade was up and their secret was about to be discovered and have consequences.
To his astonishment though, Dumbledore didn't seem to know anything else than what Harry had told Mrs. Figg, nor was he investigating more.
"I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and if I'm not mistaken, you'll soon be one of my students, dear child, won't you?"
"Oh, y-yes sir…", his mind whirling, Harry decided the safest course of action was to go with the flow. "My name's Hermione Granger, sir", he/she added and sketched a sort-of-curtsy that he hoped would be passed off as a muggle habit because he knew it looked nothing like the graceful ones pureblood witches used.
The old lady and the Headmaster exchanged a significant look, then she cajoled Harry into getting something-or-other from the kitchen. Harry politely refrained from snorting. Sure, let's play the get-the-child-out-of-earshot game. Could they be any more obvious?
He/she smiled graciously and left the room, straining his/her ears to catch a bit of the hurried conversation he was leaving behind.
"…no, no… quite sure… scanned her while you were getting her story… no trace of compulsions or anything… really confused… genuine, she doesn't know how… nothing to worry about. A mere coincidence…"
Harry's eyes widened dramatically. Scanned? When…? How…? Coincidence… they must mean getting so close to- well, him… Harry… but what…?
He bit his/her lips. Forget that. The important thing was that Dumbledore seemed to be buying his little lie. Good. Inexplicable, but very, very good. As long as his cover held, he could figure out the details later…
Now, what was it old Figg wanted, again? He frowned, Merlin he was an idiot. Why hadn't he paid attention? Oh well… here goes nothing…
"Mrs. Figg, I can't find it!", she/he called out in the best sweet-amiable-girl voice he/she could manage.
"Oh, never mind, dear, I'll handle it!"
"Yes, I'm afraid we need to leave immediately. I shall accompany you home, Miss Granger, if you will accept me as chaperon?"
His blue eyes were twinkling just like Harry remembered and for a moment the time traveller didn't know whether to yell to the bastard who'd left him alone with his monumental task or hug his lost and greatly missed mentor for dear life.
Since he couldn't do either, though, the point was moot and he quickly reminded himself to stay focused on the part he had to play, inquiring eagerly about magical means of transportation, bidding farewell to Mrs. Figg with many thanks, letting Dumbledore apparate her/him 'home'… and nothing else.
Later, much later, Harry was trying with all his might to apparate across Hermione's bedroom.
He wasn't having any success. This was so frustrating!
How, how had he apparated without a wand? And why the hell couldn't he do it anymore? He refused to believe it a case of accidental magic. It had been intentional. He had wanted to apparate and had ended up exactly were he wanted. Well, nearly, but that was something he'd already decided to leave for Hermione to investigate. Even if it looked like that would have to wait longer than he was comfortable with… he couldn't risk being found there again. Explaining away the one time had been a lucky fluke, having to justify a second time would be far too suspicious.
In the meanwhile, he was trying to figure out at least part of what had happened.
He tried once more, in vain, and sat heavily on Hermione's bed. He could feel a headache forming.
David coughed politely from the door. "What's wrong, Princess?"
He/she raised his/her eyes and debated whether or not to answer. Hermione's parents had been completely bewildered by Dumbledore's eccentricity; then, after they'd gotten the story from her (the official version, of course), they became worried that she might have ended up in an even worse spot and furious about this 'bullies business', promising to look into it. Maybe he could be honest with them – well, as much as possible, at any rate. Trusting adults was a novel experience, but one he found he didn't dislike.
"I was trying to do it again. The apparating thing, you know. If I did it once, I should be able to do it again, right?"
"I thought that Headmaster of yours said you can't do it without a wand?", asked the man in confusion.
"But I did do it!", exclaimed Harry, frustrated.
"Ah, but you didn't know you couldn't back then."
"Huh?"
"The first rule to be able to do something impossible is to not know that it is impossible, Princess."
Harry stared at him incredulously, then collapsed back on the bed, and stared at the stars on the ceiling.
When Saturday finally (finally!) came, both Harry and the Grangers were excited and eager.
They were the last to arrive, because even in Miss Planner's body Harry remained a last-minute-kind of guy.
He spotted Dean Thomas first; the fun-loving black boy he'd shared a dorm with for six years was already the tallest of their little group and had a smile a mile wide. A tall black woman with a fall of African braids had a hand on his shoulder: Harry guessed this was his mother.
He felt a pang: last time Harry'd seen him, Dean was on the run from the Muggleborn Registration Commission with two other wizards and a couple goblins; he wasn't smiling then.
He/she waved a little at him, making a mental note to ask something about football to break the ice if needed, and got a half-surprised smile in return.
Looking around at the other children gathered, Harry recognized Terry Boot, a brown-haired Ravenclaw who had been in the D.A., who was talking with a black haired kid Harry only vaguely remembered as another Raven, apparently in his year. Both were accompanied by their parents and one of the mothers held a fussing toddler in a frilly yellow dress. They were holding a rather tentative conversation.
Off to the side, a wide-eyed and impeccably dressed Justin Finch-Fletchley was bouncing in his place next to a sour looking woman who looked straight out of one of the fashion magazines Aunt Petunia read so avidly. She appeared to be mightily displeased at her location and company and had a sneer worthy of a Malfoy on her face.
He blinked, shocked, at the sight of Lavender Brown. Six years in the same House and he'd never realized she was Muggleborn! Or... was she? The elderly lady beside her looked enough like her to be her grandmother and she was most definitely holding a wand, albeit discreetly. He didn't have time to ponder though, because the moment she spotted him/her, Lavender squealed loudly and flung herself at him/her.
"Oh my God! Oh – my – God – this is fantastic! I was so scared for a moment, I was starting to think I was the only girl! Wouldn't that have been horrid? But you're here! It's fantastic! Thank God, we're so going to be great friends, I just know it! Aren't you excited? I am! Everything's so fantastic! And now you're here and I'm not the only girl and it's going to be perfect! I'm Lavender! What's your name?"
She rattled all this with great enthusiasm and after hugging him/her she hung onto his/her arm; she didn't look like she would let go anytime soon either.
Not a little overwhelmed, Harry none the less caught the subtle judging gaze with which the exuberant girl had efficiently scanned her 'new friend's' appearance, lingering dismissively on the bushy hair and the plain clothes, that looked positively out of date next to her trendy, perfectly colour-coordinated ones. Harry bristled. He might be used to such looks of contempt for his appearance, but he didn't want them directed to his Hermione!
Lavender was still talking a mile a minute, introducing her 'Grandmamma', who cautiously approached Julia and David. Luckily, the girl also carelessly provided some of the answers Harry had been curious about (and quite a few he wasn't interested in...).
"I absolutely couldn't believe it when that Professor came to tell us I was a witch, I mean sure I've changed the colours of things a lot but I didn't think much of it, you know? And I thought she was saying I was evil, I was quite offended at first, especially since she looked so weird, besides green really isn't her colour, God I hope our uniforms aren't like that, that would be horrid! Don't you agree? But anyway, Mum said it was all right, and she looked so weird, all sad and proud at the same time, and then when the Professor went away, can you guess? She told Dad that she already knew of magic because – you'll never believe this – Grandmamma is a witch! Only Mum isn't and they thought I wouldn't be either, or Robbie, that's my brother by the way, but instead I am! I couldn't believe Grandmamma was a witch, it's so weird! But she came over and turned the clock in a rabbit, it was so lovely! All fluffy, did you know rabbits are really intelligent? Mice too, but those are horrible. God, I hope we won't be using mice for practice, that would be horrid! Do you know if we will? Grandmamma hasn't told me much, she says it's best if I learn with the others who didn't know about magic before, but I was so nervous! What if there wasn't another girl? I'm just so happy you're here!"
Professor McGonagall chose that moment to emerge from the Leaky Cauldron, closely followed by a frightened looking girl Harry didn't remember at all; Harry had never been so glad to see her, Lavender's unstoppable chatter was slowly but surely overwhelming him.
McGonagall called roll, letting Harry know that the black-haired kid was Kevin Entwhistle and the scared girl Sally-Anne Perks, then she led them all inside and through: "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"
Harry didn't join in the delighted oohs and aahs that erupted from everyone, children and adults alike. He didn't share in the wide-eyed wonder nor add to the thrilled exclaiming.
He stood, rooted to the spot, not two steps beyond the hidden entrance. Waves of nausea assailed him as he tried to fight back the memories.
The bright, colourful Alley, bustling with activity and noise, kept swimming in and out of focus, blending into the grey, tense atmosphere of the last time he'd been here. Shady looking vendors selling fake amulets and big, dull ministerial posters were intermittingly replacing the glittering display windows in front of which happy looking witches gossiping about the price of newt eyes and so-and-so's daughter. Anxious looking wizards hurrying to do their business, wary of being out in the open too long, in his mind's eye shared the street with the jovial patrons calling out cheerfully to a friend passing by.
For the first time since he'd come back, he was forcefully reminded of the war – and it brought up a mixed feeling of desperation and determination.
It didn't help that right at that moment a haughty looking robed figure passed him/her by, sneering and muttering about 'mudbloods'. Harry clenched his fists: he probably wouldn't have noticed normally, but he'd instantly recognized Avery, one of the too many Death Eaters who'd been allowed to go free with a slap on the wrist after the first war. Hard to forget a face he'd tortured through Voldemort's mind – more than once.
It brought home like nothing else could have that Death Eaters were all around them. That his mind was more right than his senses and the war was closer than what the cheerful atmosphere would suggest – it was already here, upon them. They might have a bit of time, but they couldn't afford to waste it.
He scowled.
"Is something wrong, Miss Granger?". The voice of Professor McGonagall startled him and he/she pivoted around to face the teacher. "Not that it is important, but it is the first time the sight of the Alley is met with a scowl..."
Harry knew he should pretend. He knew he should laugh it off and act excited and awed and reassure the adults that everything was right, that everything was wonderful.
But something had stirred inside him and images of the war he'd just left behind swam in his mind, haunting, lingering – Cedric's lifeless eyes, Bellatrix's mad cackle, Hannah's face after her mother was killed, Umbridge behind her horrid Patronus, Remus telling him about Fortescue and Ollivander, the picture of the Order Moody showed him, Neville pocketing a gum wrapping, Tonks pale and bloodied at the Ministry, the headlines about Greyback's attacks, Molly's boggart, the pale terrified face of Mary Cattermole...
Brusquely, he/she asked: "What does 'mudblood' mean?"
McGonagall gasped, gobsmacked, her eyes widening: "W-What?"
Harry repeated the question, in a louder, clearer voice, attracting the attention of the rest of the group: "What does 'mudblood' mean?"
Lavender's grandmother gasped too and shared a worried glance with McGonagall.
"Where... where did you hear that?", asked the Professor, flustered.
Harry took a deep breath. "That man, the one who just passed by, he called me a 'mudblood' and said I should learn not to step in the way of 'my betters'", he lied frostily. He briefly wondered when he'd started lying with such natural ease... oh, right. When he woke up in his best-friend's body after going back in time. He hoped that counted as extenuating circumstances.
He watched coldly as McGonagall grasped for an answer to his question, in his mind daring her to lie. He would call her on it. The war was coming, pretending things were fine would only kill them all!
McGonagall had regained her composure and her 'teaching tone'. "I am sorry you were treated to such a rude display of bad-manners, Miss Granger. The term you mentioned is a derogative form of 'Muggleborn' and is not accepted in polite company. Do not take it personally, only ignorant fools use it", she said with a definitive tone.
Harry scowled again, but to his surprise, he needn't insist on the topic, because Dean did it for him.
"Derogative, that means like an insult, right?", he was frowning too. "Like calling a black person a 'nigger'?"
It was Lavender's grandmother who answered. "Something like that, yes. Some people think having muggle relatives makes a witch or wizard... lesser, than those who come from all-magical families", she was reluctantly honest, Harry noticed, and McGonagall didn't look happy.
"There is no need to take this so seriously...", she tried, and Harry exploded.
"You lied!"
McGonagall gasped, outraged. "What?"
"You told me it made no difference! You told me being Muggleborn wasn't important! You said- "
"Because it is no different!", shouted McGonagall.
"Maybe it isn't, but it does make a difference, doesn't it?", asked Terry quietly, his eyes darkened with seriousness.
Justin, Lavender and Kevin looked confused, but Dean had a grim smile as he added: "We're always going to be discriminated, aren't we? Even those who claim they don't care will feel the need to point out that they don't. Nobody will just accept us without question, will they?"
Harry was surprised. He wouldn't have been able to put it this well, and he was six years older than the other boy. He wondered if Dean had already faced prejudice in the muggle world.
McGonagall looked floored and unable to come up with an answer and Harry decided to nail her coffin. She had no right deluding kids, in his opinion.
"I suppose it is nice of you to want to protect us, Professor", his voice was dripping sarcasm, "but it would have been nice, too, to be warned that we would have to face prejudice and scorn on a regular basis", he sniffed at the shocked expression on the Professor's face and asked bluntly: "Will they try and harm us too?"
Lavender gave a little dismayed cry.
McGonagall was a rather formidable woman though and didn't let the unwelcome topic get on her nerves any longer then this.
"What would being warned do for you, Miss Granger? You can't change those bigots' minds by force, after all, nor can you prevent criminals from committing acts of evil. What then? Will you give up, renounce your powers, so that you are not faced with, as you so aptly put it, prejudice and scorn? Despite the fact that most wizards and witches are nothing like that? Despite the fact that you could be discriminated in the muggle world too?"
The coldness Harry had felt so far suddenly burned with hot, bright fury. "Renounce! Never in a million years!", he shouted forcefully. Everybody looked shocked, especially Julia and David, but he didn't notice. He'd forgotten that he was a young girl now and he spoke as the young man who'd faced evil and worse and led his friends into battle. "If you think I'll ever let those scum's opinion bother me, or stop me from living my life to the fullest, than you're as delusional as them! I won't let them win!"
"Hell yeah!", "Right!", shouted Kevin and Justin, caught up in his/her enthusiasm.
"We'll show them we're as good as they are!", vowed Terry, with his quiet intensity.
"Better then them!", reiterated Dean.
Even Lavender looked serious and determined like Harry had very rarely seen her.
He stared at them in amazement, noticing how they all stood a little straighter, a little closer to each other, a little stronger. It reminded him strongly of the DA's secret meetings. He had no idea that they were unconsciously imitating him/her, nor that the adults were taking note of this and were just as amazed as he.
All he could think was that maybe, maybe it didn't matter that they were just eleven-year-olds in the hands of too blind adults. Maybe he could really make a difference. Maybe he had just started; now he only had to keep up the good job once in Hogwarts
Maybe this time, when the war broke out, his age-mates at least would be ready.
His smile was grim yet filled with hope.
The rest of the morning had been largely unremarkable.
McGonagall led a group of parents to Gringotts while the kids were being fitted for uniforms at Madam Malkin's.
The boys chorused their protests when Lavender tried to talk everybody into buying a wizarding wardrobe – she certainly bought more clothes than Harry reckoned she'd ever have time to wear.
Julia took advantage of Lavender's squealing enthusiasm to bully her 'daughter' into getting a few outfits too. Harry wisely chose the line of least resistance and merely made sure there was no pink involved.
Justin got thrown out of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary for overturning a barrel of live woodlice ('Accidentally!').
Dean and Kevin came to blows over their favourite teams (West Ham vs Manchester United) and were silenced by McGonagall explaining in great detail how Quidditch was so much better than football, to Harry's great delight.
Inside Amanuensis Quills' Mrs. Finch-Fletchley threw a tantrum (Harry had never before seen a grown-up throwing a tantrum) over making them use 'ridiculous surpassed feathers instead of proper fountain pens'.
Little Beatrix, Kevin's baby sister, floated in mid-air, happily giggling, after grabbing and promptly putting in her mouth some colourful beans from Sugarplum's Sweets Shop's display stall, to her mother's everlasting horror and everybody else's amusement.
Finally they went to Flourish & Blotts and Terry made a valiant effort to try and buy their entire catalogue, reminding Harry of his Hermione's book-grabbing tendencies and prompting him to select more books than he'd read in his entire previous lifetime.
David and Julia however set their foot down and allowed 'only' ten books besides the school list. Harry made a point to share a commiserating look with Terry, who was being similarly restricted by his 'completely unreasonable' parents. Justin joined the bonding moment by very sensibly suggesting they choose different books and then share, making Terry perk up considerably at the idea.
In the end, Harry put together a selection all oriented to Defensive and Combat Magic, which had McGonagall rise her eyebrows in surprise and worry; Terry bought every book on Magical Theory he got his hands on and dragged his future classmates into a debate about the Scientific Method and its applications to Magic that – to his everlasting shock – Harry found quite interesting; Kevin found a section on Magical Mysteries he wouldn't get out of anymore; Dean proclaimed them all barmy; Justin looked very proud of himself but didn't even touch a book; a very bored Lavender pestered her Grandmamma for hair-styling charms; and Sally-Anne Perks acted as if she was mute, kept out of the way and froze if one of the others so much as looked at her.
Last stop before lunch was Eeylops Owl Emporium.
The Grangers had already discussed and dismissed the possibility of a pet, but Harry remembered rather fondly the dark shop full of low, soft hooting, rustling and the flickering of jewel-bright eyes, so he followed Terry and Justin, who'd both talked their parents into buying them owls.
The moment he entered, he saw her.
She was so gorgeous, her white feathers almost gleaming in the semi-darkness, her amber eyes gleaming beautifully. As striking as the first time he'd seen her, a month from now so long a go. Alive.
Harry's eyes filled with tears.
"Hedwig", he breathed.
Without conscious thought, he extended his/her arm to accept her weight, forgetting he/she looked different now and that Hedwig wouldn't know him yet even if he was himself…
But maybe she did recognize him, because she soared with a soft hoot and landed easily on his/her arm, talons digging into the skin without bothering Harry in the least. He could count on one hand the times he'd been so happy.
He stroked her softly, crooning compliments in mid-voice, awed at having his old companion close once more. She preened under his attention and nibbled at his fingers gently.
He wasn't paying attention to anything around him and missed the half-exasperated discussion between David – who wanted his baby girl to look that happy more often and was all for buying the pretty owl – and Julia – who stuck with the no-pets rule – entirely. He wouldn't have cared anyway. Hedwig was here and he wasn't about to let her go!
Out in the sun again, the children showed off their new pets and chitchatted while the adults decided on the next stop.
Everybody agreed on lunch before the last and most coveted stop of the day – the wandmaker.
That is, the grown-ups agreed on lunch. The kids had become so impatient they would have gladly given up lunch for a week, just to get their wands sooner! They were placated though, by McGonagall's shrewd offer of sundaes at Fortescue's. Ice-cream was ice-cream after all.
They all gathered at the parlour's outdoor tables, the children around one and the adults at another, all chatting away animatedly.
Harry, still petting Hedwig's soft feathers, was struck by an idea and excused himself to 'the ladies' room' (he had to stifle the giggles at saying that).
Once safely out of sight, he whipped out quill and parchment and with growing excitement penned a quick letter to his Hermione. He hastily sketched the basis of what had happened since he woke up in the past, especially the apparition fiasco, explained he couldn't get to her and briefly warned her about Hagrid's visit and the Dursleys' reaction.
Then he paused, wondering how to justify to the others Hadwig's departure. Abruptly, the memory of 'the DA moment' earlier in the day came to him. He wanted to encourage that at Hogwarts… why not sooner as well? This could work.
He jotted down two lines to each of the kids he'd befriended today and then very seriously explained to Hedwig the order in which she should deliver them – leaving Hermione's as last and recommending her to keep out of sight if at all possible, very thankful that his owl companion was and had always been smarter than most.
Then he went back to his ice-cream, vivaciously telling to the others that he'd sent Hedwig out with letters to all of them, 'to see if it really works' (that drew a snort from both McGonagall and Lavender's grandmother) and 'so they could keep in contact'. They were ecstatic, and Harry found himself smiling and laughing a lot.
Hermione had managed to keep herself from doing anything that would give her away so far, but only barely.
She hadn't heard from her Harry.
She hadn't heard from Hogwarts.
And her/his aunt was being particularly vicious after some other lady of the neighbourhood had thrown a garden party that obscured Petunia's own and she was taking it out on her 'nephew'.
She'd come to rationalize the lack of contact from the wizarding world at least. She knew there were seven Muggleborns in her year, counting herself, it was likely McGonagall only saw one or two a day, considering the Q&A sessions that were likely to be needed, so it wasn't unreasonable to think Harry's turn hadn't come yet.
She would give it until next Sunday. If nothing happened by then, she would steal that whale's wallet (which made her uncomfortable, but it was an emergency, after all) and take a train to her parents' place.
If worse came to worse (if, that is, her younger self was just that, and not her best friend) she would go up to Arabella Figg and ask to contact Dumbledore.
And face whatever consequences would come of it.
In the meanwhile, she needed to keep herself occupied and distracted, which meant either research, or a Human Rights Project of sorts.
The latter she gave a start to when she stumbled – literally – on camera of Dudley's that was, well not in good condition, but easily repairable. A thorough documentation of Harry's living condition would probably do no good in the immediate future, but once the Blood Wards were no longer needed… those three were in for it. She would make sure of it!
As for the former… she didn't have the means or occasion for much really, but dwelling upon the approaching return to the wizarding world had reminded her of the problem posed by Legilimency.
Now, she'd never found a book on Occlumency (and considering she'd gotten her hands on something like Secrets of the Darkest Arts, no matter the attenuating circumstances, she was inclined to think there was no Occlumency book to be found); but she'd listened to Harry's rants enough to guess that maybe some form of meditation would be a good first step. And she had a lot of time to practice, in a quiet dark place, since she was regularly locked in the cupboard…
Thus occupied, the days went slowly by. She was still antsy, though, and nearing the point when she'd go and do something drastic.
It was therefore an enormous relief to spot the almost glowing white of Hedwig's feathers in the twilight when she brought out the garbage Saturday evening.
A/N 2: Before any of you asks, no, Hedwig hasn't come back in time or anything of the sort – she was dead already when they did the ritual. I don't have any experience with owls, but most animals are very sensitive to those around them. Hedwig is reacting to Harry's behaviour, his clear invitation and love, much as I imagine she did with Hagrid in canon – and Harry's reading too much into it because he misses her.