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A/N:About Hedwig and Mail Wards. Quite a number of PMs and a couple reviews have commented/wondered/pondered/conjectured about the fact that Hedwig could get to Hermione at Number 4, Privet Drive despite the wards. I thought I could squeeze the explanation for that in this chapter, but in the end it didn't fit anywhere – hence this note.
I won't brave the dangerous territory labelled 'Blood Wards', for there be monsters (and spoilers!) but whether you believe in their existence or not, I hope you'll agree there's no way they could have anything to do with stopping mail. That just wouldn't make sense, IMHO.
The mail ward (which definitely exists otherwise Harry would have been swarmed by fan mail and hate mail long before fifth year) must have been raised by Dumbledore. Assuming this, I can imagine it as a sort of firewall: it filters all mail going to a specific area and stops all that is addressed to 'Harry Potter', unless the sender is, say, 'Hogwarts'. This also allows for some other senders being 'keyed into' the ward, so to speak, I would imagine with the kind of screening that only allows a message through if the owner of the mail account has contacted the sender first (or introduced them to Hedwig, as it were), which would explain Ron and Hermione, for instance, being able to correspond with Harry.
I would like to point out that, with these assumptions, the mail ward would stop and likely forward to Dumbledore every owl directed to 'Harry Potter'. But Harry didn't send Hedwig to 'Harry Potter', now did he? He sent her to Hermione. A nice, convenient way around the firewall.
This is also how spam mail can get to your account, by the way, or so I'm told at least.
A… Switched Chance
6. The rest of summer
Harry signed his latest letter to his best friend and leaned back in Hermione's desk chair.
This was it. Tomorrow was his – that is, Harry's – eleventh birthday. Tomorrow Hagrid would take him – that is, Hermione – school shopping.
Tomorrow – if everything went according to the plan – he would finally meet Hermione.
Who was currently inhabiting his own body. Huh, that was even stranger than him being in hers… He laughed lightly. He couldn't wait.
Hedwig flew in and perched on his/her shoulder and he petted her lovingly, sharing his impatience and excitement with soft spoken words.
He'd fallen back into the habit of telling her everything fairly quickly. It was just so good to have someone he could talk to freely, even if he had to be careful not to be overheard by Julia or David. Hedwig was as great a comfort as the correspondence with Hermione.
The beautiful owl looked quite happy and rather smug. The past three weeks had been filled with letters, not only to and from his Hermione, but exchanged with some of the other Muggleborns too. She'd flown in and out on a daily basis and she was clearly enjoying being so busy.
Harry had decided to try and grow the tentative friendships that had started on that day in Diagon Alley into something like the DA. Hermione had recommended going gradually and – surprise, surprise! – form a standard study group first.
He'd teased her as she deserved, but deep down he agreed wholeheartedly. Especially since, if he managed to create the study group before the Sorting, there would be one less barrier among the Houses.
So far, he thought he could talk three or four of them into it.
Lavender had demanded his/her phone number with her very first letter and now called much more often than Harry found sensible, especially since she seldom had any news, just more of the same useless gossip. She'd already insisted he call her 'Lav', and he was dreading the moment he'd become 'Herm'. She was, however, enthusiastic about getting support for her homework, so he counted her in.
Sally-Anne had apparently dropped off the face of the earth and Dean had written to everybody that his step-dad was taking the family to Greece and that he would see them on September 1st. Harry hoped to get to talk to him on the train.
Kevin didn't seem too inclined to hang out with a girl. Harry had received a reply that was so unfailingly polite and so awkwardly short, that in his mind's eye he could picture quite clearly Mrs Entwhistle looming sternly over Kevin, pressuring the boy to write to 'that sweet girl' (as Harry'd heard himself referred as). She looked remarkably like Hermione standing over him and Ron with a glare to make sure they did their Potion essay properly…
Still, Terry had mentioned in passing that he'd heard from Kevin a lot and even met him once so Harry felt like tentatively including him in the group.
Terry himself kept sending him kilometres of written eagerness about every 'discovery' and 'new theory' he was investigating thanks to his recently found magic books and previously consolidated scientific attitude.
Harry found he didn't mind.
He forwarded everything to Hermione, who enjoyed the intelligent ponderings immensely, and toned down drastically her replies before passing them on to Terry. He was sure the two of them would get along wonderfully.
He just hoped he wouldn't be excluded when he was no longer needed as mediator: he liked the debates much more than he would have suspected, even if he didn't feel up to contributing much.
As for Justin, he was enthusiastically trying to get them all together at least one more time before school started.
Harry was all for it, but he'd done his best to delay the actual date until August. He wanted his Hermione there and needed a convincing reason to introduce 'Harry' to the group.
Sending Hedwig off with a doting farewell, Harry gathered the last papers he'd received from his Hermione and put them in a certain unassuming box with all the others.
Said box was the indirect result of Hermione's extensive research on protective and secrecy spells in their previous life.
She'd sent him a very detailed explanation (complete with pictures!) on how to make the box both unremarkable (with a variation of the notice-me-not charm) and inaccessible by any other than him. She had her own, just waiting to be charmed the same way, and she'd made it a peremptory rule that everything to do with their past future had to be kept there.
Harry hadn't argued – it made far too much sense after all. He'd just checked her assumption on the Underage Magic rule being bent in the last month before Hogwarts, by way of casting a colour changing charm on her bedcovers and waiting for any reactions from the Ministry before attempting any spell work on the box.
The easiness with which the charm had come to him still made him beam. Even if he knew it was cheating.
He dropped carelessly on Hermione's bed and took out his new wand, stroking it absent-mindedly and idly twirling it in his hands.
Not altogether surprisingly, it wasn't his old one, the eleven inches, holly and phoenix down feather he had bonded to in his first life.
He'd been prepared to that, had steeled himself, while Mr. Ollivander was taking his/her measurements and then handing him/her wands to try, against the very real possibility of not getting 'his' wand, due to the Switch.
He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, though.
He was very fond of 'his' wand, had felt a strong attachment to it, and not even its relation to Voldemort's had perturbed him: it was simply something it couldn't help, much like his being related to Petunia Dursley.
Unfortunately, when after waving about what felt like every wand in the shop Ollivander had reluctantly handed him 'his' wand, the match hadn't worked.
Oh, he could feel a connection, he would probably be able to use it without problems, but it was far-off. Remote. He'd felt no warmth, only a distant echo of Fawkes' heartening and comforting song.
He'd concealed his sigh, and accepted what he'd feared already. 'His' wand was no longer his.
What he found surprising and worrisome was that the wand he was now stroking wasn't Hermione's ten and three quarters inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring wand either.
He'd come to know that one very well over the years and had always liked it; he'd grown very fond of it too, in the few days Hermione had had to share it with him after his own was broken in the Godric's Hollow debacle.
Using Hermione's wand wouldn't have bothered him in the least.
Yet, when it had been offered to him – one of the first ones – he'd felt little more than what he got from the dozens of other, unrelated wands. A vague sense of connection, but hampered and remote.
He hadn't worried much at the time. With Lavender sending bright sparks every which way (she'd found her ten and a half inches, willow and unicorn tail hair wand on her first try, much to her delight) and Kevin and Dean loudly arguing about whether the former's ash and unicorn hairs was as cool as the latter's pine and dragon heartstrings or not, not to mention Terry debating the traditional connotations of eucalyptus and Justin hopping in place, impatient for his turn… well worrying wasn't really an option. It took too much concentration not to laugh!
But later on he'd wondered… and questioned… and conjectured… Would Hermione get the holly and phoenix wand or not? What if she didn't? Could they face Voldemort without the advantage of the twin cores? Who else would get it? Why had he bonded to such a different wand? How much had the Switch effected? … So many questions, and not one answer in sight.
Eventually Ollivander had had to fetch out a dust covered chest, where – he explained – he kept the last of his grandfather's creations. "He was an unusual wandmaker, in that he was convinced that limiting oneself to only one wood was counterproductive, as a difference between shaft and handle or the presence of inlays would allow for more fine-tuned results…"
Harry had then easily found a beautiful maple wand heavily inlaid with elegant walnut spirals. The core was once more a phoenix feather. It was a thing of beauty.
It had felt wonderful as he waved it and after only three weeks, Harry could feel a deep connection, a sense of rightness and joy every time he wielded it.
He/she sighed. Whatever will be, will be, he thought.
He/she rolled off the bed and started a draft to convince Justin that the first Saturday of August was the perfect date for a get-together.
Hermione listened to the storming sea from her/his spot on the floor. The rough, dusty floor of a hut in the middle of nowhere, where that whale in his hysterics had dragged them all in this tempestuous night.
The sound of the crashing waves was almost enough to drown Ball of Lard's snores.
Despite the cold and the hunger, despite the hardness of her/his lying place, despite the nervousness not unlike that which she felt before an exam, she was smiling.
She was waiting for midnight, and a booming knock, and the Great Gentle Giant whisking her/him away to a world of Magic. She giggled quietly.
She/he rolled on her/his back and stared at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, the soft ticking of Harry's cousin's watch strangely clear over the roar of the sea and wind.
She knew what to expect. Harry had given her a fairly detailed idea of what would happen and how he himself had reacted. So far, she'd managed to stick to the script.
She smiled again, thinking of her best friend's lively letters. In the three weeks since he first made contact, Hedwig had dropped by everyday, occasionally even more than once a day. Sometimes she brought only a few affectionate lines, more often she went back and forth with pages and pages filled with writing.
She now thought back with shame to how she'd always dismissed Harry's reproach as childish when she and Ron didn't write much to him – especially before fifth year. She'd been so convinced he was just being silly.
In fact, even now she'd wanted him to stop writing her after the first letter, worried by the episode with Mrs Figg and Dumbledore.
Harry had paid her absolutely no mind, and she couldn't express how grateful she was for this.
His letters were like rays of light, like cherished smiles, like warm laughs she could share. They strengthened her, stimulated her, provided her with an escape she needed badly.
Never again would she think mail was silly or unimportant.
Five minutes to midnight.
They'd decided, after much discussing, to try and stick as close to Harry's memories as possible for now, in the hope of being able to arrange a 'chance meeting' that would represent a suitable 'alibi' for their friendship.
Harry had written as detailed an account of his receiving the invitation to Hogwarts as he was able. That had actually been a bit of a sore point, because Hermione had figured out seven different ways to handle the entire situation better than how Harry had, without much effort. Harry had been rather mortified.
He'd insisted she stick to his own actions and reactions, though, even if she found them daft. Any change, even little, could hopelessly mess up any chance of a working plan they might have.
She'd replied it wasn't much of an issue, considering all the changes he had already made – she didn't tell him outright, since they were almost-fighting, but she was in awe at how much he'd accomplished and thrilled at the possibility of an inter-House core group of friends and later on, possibly comrades in arms; she still thought it was hypocritical of him to talk about preserving the timeline, however.
That had sparked a lively and unpredictably rewarding discussion of the Chaos Theory. She'd been delighted to find him both interested and sharp and wondered why he'd never shown any curiosity for her intellectual pursuits before now.
The debate had eventually been concluded by Harry pointing out that since they clearly had no way of killing off all those pesky butterflies that kept causing storms all over, they might as well resign themselves to their unpredictable presence and just hope for the best. She was still laughing.
Two minutes to midnight.
Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? But it did not sound like the spray from the high waves splattering the walls of the hut, nor like the fierce wind that had been rattling the filthy windows all night long…
And (one minute to go) was that funny crunching noise the clatter of boots stepping on the rock?
Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine – a quick prayer for everything to go as expected – three… two… one…
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and she/he sat bolt upright, staring at the door with a smile threatening to split her/his face. Hagrid had come.
Hermione woke early the next morning, to the sound of a loud tapping noise. Tap. Tap. Tap.
She/he sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him/her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.
Everything had gone smoothly the night before. Up to and including Ball of Lard getting a much deserved pigtail. She felt like bouncing with giddiness. A few more hours and she would see her Harry!
She/he jerked the window open and laughed delightedly when the owl, after dropping the newspaper on top of the still snoring Hagrid, fluttered onto the floor and began to attack the half-giant's coat.
She/he woke Hagrid and played clueless in front of the handful of coins he showed her/him, managed to pull off Harry's line about not having any money, thus reminding Hagrid their first stop needed to be Gringotts, and celebrated the start of this gloriously sunny day with squashed birthday cake and cold sausages for breakfast.
Oddly enough, she'd never particularly liked sausages but… well, either these were the best sausages ever, or her time with those three had taught her to appreciate a broader range of tastes. They were delicious.
She wondered how those three would get back to shore when Hagrid took the boat without a qualm, but dismissed the worry quickly. Served them right, anyway.
She concentrated instead on keeping a lively conversation going with Hagrid, hoping to secure his friendship like Harry had done before – getting him to talk about dragons and other magical creatures worked like a charm.
She felt her joy bubbling up inside her the whole way and tried hard to stifle her/his chuckles at the stares Hagrid garnered as they walked, because of his size and his silly wonder at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and his knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent on the train to London.
She felt the familiar wonder as they passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas. Were there really piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks just round the corner?
And then, finally, the long awaited rush of excitement when she spotted the memorable, grubby-looking pub just as Hagrid said: "This is it, the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."
Ready as she thought she'd been to face what Harry had grandiosely described as his 'First, Frightening Face-off with Fickle Fame', Hermione exited the dark and shabby pub thoroughly upset.
The Leaky Cauldron had gone completely still and silent when the few patrons recognized 'Harry Potter'. Then there had been a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, she/he found himself shaking hands with everyone, and trying to come up with polite responses to the various 'what an honour' and 'welcome back' and 'can't believe I'm meeting you at last'.
She felt sick at all the delighted faces, when in the back of her mind she could hear echoes of the Daily Prophet's 'unbalanced', 'deluded', 'attention-seeking' comments – likely repeated and spread by those same adoring fans now fawning over him/her.
She was disgusted to realize the one meeting that had perturbed her less was with Professor Quirrell – and that, knowing what he was!
'Quirrelmort' was another thing she and Harry had decided to leave be for the moment. Any of the plans they had discussed – at length – in their letters was deemed too risky for too little gain.
Exposing him now was impossible, the lack of turban proved he wasn't already being possessed, merely in league with the Dark Lord. There was no point in stopping the futile robbing of Gringotts. Taking the Stone from Hagrid now – which would have been shameful but easy – in the hope of keeping it safe, would simply alert and alarm Dumbledore, who was bound to check on it and would certainly recognize any fake. Plus there was no guarantee that Voldemort would not find a different, unpredictable way to infiltrate Hogwarts if they neutralized Quirrel so soon.
So they had to ignore the whole mess – for now.
Hagrid roused from her thoughts exclaiming: "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"
Hermione twirled, delighted and enchanted as she'd been her first time in this long cobbled street packed with the most fascinating wizarding shops in the world. Diagon Alley was so very different than the grey, depressed road the war had turned it into.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop; Eeylops Owl Emporium was the source of a familiar soft hooting; several boys of about her age had their noses pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies – she thought she recognized Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff who'd been (would be?) in her Arithmancy class – whispering about some broom or other.
The windows were glittering with displays of telescopes and strange silver instruments, tottering piles of spell books and barrels of eels' eyes, potion bottles and globes of the moon…
And the people!
Witches up for a day's shopping, happily gossiping and complaining about the price of dragon liver; venerable-looking elders arguing over a case of mismanagement at St. Mungo's that seemed to be on every newspaper; clusters of loud children running around; patrons showing one another their purchases or discussing their news under the brightly colored umbrellas outside cafes…
No one had the harried, anxious look that had been so common in her last couple of years, no one had qualms in stopping to talk or straying from their groups, no one was afraid.
Hermione was overjoyed.
She followed Hagrid into the bank with a light heart. The half-giant produced Harry's tiny golden key (as well as a handful of other knickknacks) and the expected letter from Dumbledore about the Stone and the goblin teller deemed both to be in order. What little nervousness she'd had about maybe having troubles at the bank because of the Switch faded. Clearly the goblins had no way to tell who she was or wasn't and only cared about her having the right key.
She didn't pay any attention to the narrow stone tunnels and tight corners they hurtled round, or the underground ravine they went rattling over, and she didn't bother feigning interest in the grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper that Hagrid took from vault seven hundred and thirteen. There was no point – and she wasn't curious, after all, she already knew.
She was, however, shocked by the small fortune Harry seemed to have: inside his vault were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, heaps of little bronze Knuts.
"All yours", said Hagrid smiling.
She/he bit his/her lip, feeling guilty about taking any of that, even if she knew it was silly: she/he needed the money for school shopping and besides, she knew very well that Harry would share everything without a second thought – he'd probably be completely incredulous that she even had any scruples, he wouldn't see the point at all. Still…
Out in the sunlight again, Hermione insisted she wanted her books first and Hagrid, as expected, slipped off 'fer a pick-me-up' leaving her to rejoice by herself.
It was time to 'stumble on' her past and future best friend.
Flourish and Blotts was exactly as she remembered it. The shelves she'd perused eagerly time and again were as always stacked to the ceiling with books large and small, leather-bound and in covers of silk, full of peculiar symbols or apparently with nothing in them at all.
As per their agreement, she found a girl with lots of bushy brown hair perusing Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
She took a moment to observe her own body from the outside. She pursed her lips. Her hair was truly a fright!
It was so strange to be watching 'herself'; a more powerful effect than seeing one's younger self in a photograph: the same feeling of recognizing the once familiar look yet not.
She looked so young. So different from what she had grown used to see in the mirror. So different from how she'd come to think of herself. A child still, hinting at but not yet showing the woman Hermione knew she had been at eighteen.
It hit her hard, however, that the strongest difference was in the way Harry carried himself in her body. Never had she looked so confident in her previous life – certainly not at that age! – so relaxed and self-assured. Bossy, yes, overbearing often, always determined, yet carrying despite herself a deep rooted insecurity and fear of rejection that Harry seemed to lack completely.
She tried to remember if he'd been this confident at eleven; she suspected not, as she vaguely remembered him as timid, but she was too used to Harry as the strong leader of the last two years – albeit an unwilling, often oblivious and even more often unreasonably stubborn leader.
It was that leader she could see shining through her own body now, moving with a poise that caught the eye without effort and made people want to draw closer.
She/he smiled a bit, then put their plan into motion, 'accidentally on purpose' shoving her best-friend from behind, knocking him/her to her knees. Books from the shelves she/he grabbed to break her/his fall spilt over the floor haphazardly, and the bushy haired girl's indignant shout mingled with the dark haired boy's apologies.
They both scrabbled at the fallen books, pulling them frantically into their arms. Hermione came up with Viridian's book held in her hands, intently scrutinizing it; then he/she lifted his/her green eyes to meet the ones that had once belonged to her.
"Curses and Countercurses… Any chance there's something in there about how to curse an annoying bully of a cousin?", he/she asked in a mock-hopeful tone.
She knew her eyes were twinkling with merriment: they had decided not to arrange their conversation, instead trying to 'surprise' each other. By the sparkling in Harry's now-brown eyes, he was more than up to the challenge.
Hermione watched in amusement as she/he drew herself to her full height, exclaiming in mock-indignation: "You can't go around cursing your cousin, not even if he's a bully!" – my, her front teeth had been really large once upon a time! – "First of all it's against the law to use magic outside of school and I don't think Hogwarts would stand for you cursing your own relative anyway and besides, it's really dangerous to cast curses without experience, it could turn out badly and you shouldn't try it for silly reasons!" – was she really in the habit of talking so fast? From the outside it was rather impressive… - "Especially since you wouldn't be able to reverse it if it went wrong! You could even be killed!", the girl concluded sniffing, "Or worse, expelled!"
Hermione's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe Harry had just used her own line against her! And Merlin, but it sounded ridiculous now that she was hearing it!
Thank goodness she knew a good comeback…
"Girl", she said in perfect seriousness, only belied by her mischievous eyes, "you need to sort out your priorities."
A heartbeat.
Then they both collapsed in hysterical laughter.
Once they got their breath back, the smiling girl grabbed her new/old friend and started dragging him/her towards a stack that was partially hiding two very familiar figures.
Hermione had but one moment to steel herself before facing something she had both longed for and dreaded for months: meeting her parents again.
From the minute she'd obliviated their memories and sent them away from the war that was claiming her life, she'd tried in vain to ignore the fear of this inevitable moment: the moment when she would meet them again and find no recognition in their eyes.
She'd thought she was ready for it. In truth, it was harder than she could have imagined.
Raising her now-green eyes to look at them, knowing she – he, Harry – meant nothing to them … it hurt.
The Grangers were not particularly impressed with this strange boy, that much was apparent.
Hermione didn't blame them, though she inevitably felt hurt. The awful rags and the 'starved urchin' look were hardly good recommendation. Plus, she was sure they'd been keeping an eye on their daughter: they'd seen how this suspicious-looking boy had purposely bumped into their Hermione after watching her intently for a while, she guessed they'd been all set to rush to their daughter's aid, to save her from more bullying, but they were both very intelligent and had likely soon realized that he'd just wanted to meet her, to befriend her.
As a consequence, their gazes held a mix of distrust and hope when they looked at her – at Harry, that is: they weren't exceptionally happy with him but they also weren't about to ruin another chance for the acceptance and friendship their daughter had longed for for years. They'd keep watch, but they would give Harry – give her – a chance to prove himself. She nodded to herself. She could gain their respect and trust, if nothing else.
Still, it hurt. She was grateful that Harry was chatting away a mile a minute, holding most of their attention, because her/his throat was constricted and her/his heart was thundering in her ears. She didn't think she was up to conversation. Especially not easy-going, relaxed chitchat as the situation was calling for – and as Harry seemed to have no trouble providing.
She bit his lower lip ferociously in an attempt to stem the sudden surge of jealousy.
He – she – looked so comfortable with them! Playful, at ease… so, so belonging. Hermione could barely stand it.
She hadn't thought much about this aspect of the situation before, but now she was suddenly realizing that somewhere in the back of her mind she'd subconsciously expected her parents to notice. To somehow know that the girl in their house wasn't their daughter. Weren't parents supposed to just know this kind of things? To sense that something wasn't right with their child, despite the lack of signs?
Apparently not.
Harder still to take were their smiles. There wasn't only affection on their faces, there was pride. Admiration even. She had only gained that relieved and proud expression after her third year, after her friendships had survived a huge row, giving her a new self-reliance, and the time-turner had taught her the value of a balanced rhythm in her life. They'd perceived that she was stronger and more serene, matured perhaps.
But Harry was already all that, wasn't he? He'd already gained that respect she had cherished from her beloved parents.
And it was hard to remain detached enough to remember that no matter how young he/she looked, he was really a few years older than she'd been after third year and his comparable maturity was both natural and logical.
Hermione squeezed his/her eyes tightly and forced herself to put all those distressing thoughts and uncharitable feelings aside. She instead let herself be dragged all over the bookshop by an hyperactive bushy-head and indulged in buying more books than she probably should have, with Harry's cheering approval.
Still, it was hard to watch Harry shamelessly make puppy-dog eyes at her father, earning his familiar laugh. It took all her self control not to just blurt out everything, the whole insane story, and damn the consequences, just so she could claim the hug she had not before realized she missed and craved so badly.
On top of everything she was irritated at herself for the awful impression she was surely giving to her parents, so out of sorts she was.
By the time Hagrid returned, however, she was mostly back to herself and alert enough to catch the worried glances under Harry's exuberance and try to reassure him/her. It's not like it was any fault of his, after all.
Hagrid's kind nature and Harry's absolute delight in seeing his old friend again meant that the two hit it off right away and the half-giant had no objections whatsoever to the nice girl and her family joining them in their shopping trip.
The Grangers for their part were glad to meet someone else from Hogwarts and get a chance to ask more questions about their daughter's mysterious school.
So they made the round of the shops as a lively group.
Harry and Hermione took advantage of every chance to talk without being overheard, be it 'getting lost' while exploring the smelly confusion of the Apothecary, with all its barrels of slimy stuff, jars of herbs and bright powders and strings of fangs and snarled claws hanging from the ceiling, or letting the loud crowd taking advantage of the trunks shop sales give them cover; then had fun acting silly over colour-changing inks, self-stirring cauldrons and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes whenever the grown-ups paid them any attention.
It didn't take long before the familiar pleasure of spending time with her best friend cheered Hermione up considerably – and Harry relaxed in response.
Finally Hagrid declared everything on 'Harry's' list bought except for robes and wand.
Harry and Hermione shared a hushed laugh over her avoiding the encounter with Malfoy junior at Madam Malkin's and Hermione reassured her friend that she would leave robes as the last item of the day, that way he could skip the stop he clearly had no interest whatsoever in. And, she privately added, she could see to it that 'Harry Potter' had a proper wardrobe this time around.
Before anything could be decided upon though the Grangers started saying it was time to go home. All Harry could do – chocolate brown, soulful puppy-eyes notwithstanding – was to talk them and Hagrid into buying ice-creams at Fortescue's before they left.
While the adults conversed a little more among themselves, the two time travellers whispered conspiratorially over their ice-creams (which had them both frowning, for Harry had chosen his usual chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts and found he didn't much care for it, and Hermione, who'd always disliked raspberry, was instead glad to swap her suddenly not so inviting vanilla and peppermint with it).
Changes in tastes aside, however, Hermione knew this was the perfect opportunity to discuss a rather… sensitive topic, which she had no idea how Harry would react to. She suspected he would not like it one bit.
"Harry…", she started a bit hesitantly. "Harry, in our letters we haven't talked about… well, about what went wrong. You know, with- with the ritual and… the Switch."
The girl toyed with her spoon and regarded her/him soberly, then nodded in encouragement.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Harry, I have no idea what went wrong."
The ringing silence between them seemed to expand, cancelling the animated background sounds of the Alley.
Hermione worried her bottom lip nervously as she waited for her friend to answer. Then she realized Harry was looking at her funny.
"What?" she asked self-consciously.
The girl in front of him/her snorted, bemused. "It's just weird, to see my own body bite his bottom lip the exact same way you always do when you're worried", he explained with laughter in his voice.
Hermione rolled her/his eyes good-naturedly.
"Ok, look", said Harry shaking her head as if to clear it. "What, exactly, is this about? I mean, why is you not knowing – yet, I might add – so important that you're… fearful… about telling me? I feel like I'm missing something, here…"
Hermione bowed her head. "Harry, don't you understand? If I don't know what I did wrong, I cannot fix it!"
"Yet", asserted Harry.
Hermione shook his head in muted denial.
"Hermione", her friend insisted, "you – we – don't know how to fix things yet. That's ok. We need research, that's all. Not exactly unexpected!"
"Oh, but, don't you see! We need research, you say. Well how are we going to do it?", she/he cried softly.
The brown-haired girl frowned. "What do you mean…"
"Harry! The book I used was from the Black Library! There's no way to get it before the Order is reformed, it's not something you can find in a shop! It might even take longer, Mrs. Weasley made sure I couldn't get anywhere near the darker books until after Bill and Fleur's wedding!"
Her agitation was growing and Harry shushed her hastily, glancing around at the too-many people within earshot. Covertly, only the barest tip of his/her wand peeking from his/her sleeve, he/she cast a quick Muffliato.
"Be careful! Ok, so we don't have the right book. No need to panic", he said with forceful calm.
Hermione was incredulous. "No need…"
"Hermione, we're going to Hogwarts. Greatest magical library in Europe, does that ring a bell?" he/she was half-smiling again and Hermione felt her anger spark.
"Oh, and do you think they'll just let us stroll through the Restricted Section, looking for a Forbidden Art no less, with no questions asked? Two firsties? One of whom is Harry bloody Potter?" she hissed.
Harry faltered for a moment, then rallied. "I'm… that is, you are getting my father's invisibility cloak for Christmas. Then we can peruse the Restricted Section", he said defiantly.
Hermione made an exasperated gesture and Harry grabbed her hand, staring intently in the troubled green orbs, so similar to those of his mother.
"It's just a few months."
"And Merlin knows how long after that before I find the answer!" exclaimed Hermione with anguish.
Harry nodded, sadly. "But they're also months we can put to good use. You won't have to go back to the Dursleys, that much I promise you."
Hermione started. She actually hadn't thought of that. "I don't…"
"The idea was to come back and prepare the wizarding world for what is to come", Harry went on earnestly. "We can still do that. We can do everything we set out to do, no matter when we switch back. Or even if."
Hermione fidgeted. She was unwilling to voice what she really thought. Yet that last comment made her wince and her own eyes were looking at her with such trusting sincerity that she knew she had to point out her greatest fear.
"Can we?" she whispered. "Can we, Harry? Voldemort is already on the move."
Her friend frowned again. "I know", he/she said, puzzled. "So what?"
"Harry, I'm not you. I can't… I can't face Him! Not on my own!" There. She'd said it. Following Harry into the depths of Hell? Without hesitation. Leading the way there? No. She just couldn't.
Harry however didn't seem to understand the huge, colossal problem. "Hermione, you're talking nonsense. I'll be there. I'll be with you every step of the way, you won't ever have to face anything alone. We're in this together!"
"You can't promise that!" she exclaimed, distressed.
"Yes, I can." Patient, unruffled. She fought the urge to grab him/her and shake him/her.
"Harry…"
"You were with me every step of the way, Hermione. Always at my side."
"Oh, yeah…", she went off bitterly. "Except when I stayed behind and you went on through the fire alone. And when I was petrified and you went down in the Chamber alone. And when I remained hidden and you faced the Dementors alone. And when I was left in the stands and you went to that graveyard alone. And when I was knocked out and you went on with the prophecy sphere alone." Her/his voice was harsh and steadily rising. "And when I couldn't even keep watch for you and you were with Dumbledore alone. And when Umbridge trapped me with her horrid Commission and you had to search the Ministry alone. And when I stayed downstairs and you fought that snake alone!" By now, she/he was breathing coarsely.
Harry grabbed his/her shoulders firmly and looked her/him straight in the eyes.
"You will not be alone. We know what to expect. Forewarned is forearmed. I will not leave you alone. I promise, Hermione. I won't."
She stared into chocolate brown irises and found the breathtaking intensity she was used to see shining from emerald ones.
It was mesmerizing. And she believed him.
Their behaviour had attracted the attention of their party, however, and the Grangers and Hagrid were now coming over with concerned expressions.
"What's wrong, Princess?" asked her father.
They both jumped back blushing and Hermione cast around for an answer before remembering that he wasn't addressing her – him.
Harry quickly came up with something: "I was trying to get him to come on Saturday, I could introduce him to the others and everything, but he says his relatives…", he trailed off.
Hermione mentally applauded him. Hagrid mumbled something about 'Muggle gits' and the Grangers shared a worried glance, then tentatively asked: "Will your relatives object to you going out for a day?"
Hermione blushed again and muttered: "They'll object to anything. They… aren't very fond of me." Harry flinched imperceptibly and Hagrid growled menacingly under his breath.
This time the look the two dentists exchanged was both knowing and dark.
"Well, I think we could easily come and pick you up for the day next Saturday. I'm sure we can convince your relatives to entrust you to our care."
Hermione's head shot up and she looked at her father amazed.
Her mum then concluded with a tone of polished steel: "Just give me your phone number, Harry, I will call them myself to arrange everything."
She/he caught Harry's delighted smile and found it contagious.
Hermione kept her eyes fixated on the retreating forms of her parents and best friend as long as she could, then she/he slumped in the chair, staring unseeingly at the last, melting vestiges of her ice-cream.
Hagrid patted her/his shoulder awkwardly. "Ah, now, Harry… Don' you worry. It's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the stupidest Muggles I ever laid eyes on but you'll be just fine. That little witch there, she's one of a kind, I tell yeh. Yeh two, yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact. An' her parents are a good sort. They'll pick yeh up no problem. I know it's hard. But, yeh have any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter an' I come an' give 'em a piece of my mind!"
He/she raised shining green eyes to him and smiled a bit. Hagrid smiled widely back.
"Just yer wand and robes left now — A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."
She/he started, feeling himself go red once more. "You don't have to —"
"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, yeh go get yer robes an' I'll get… yeh'll see wha' I get yer!" He winked.
Hermione's smile grew a little wider, her spirits lifted by the undemanding kindness. "Ok."
About an hour later she/he left Madam Malkin's with a considerably worsened mood.
The Madam had been positively ecstatic when she'd found out Harry Potter was in her shop – wanting an entire wardrobe, no less! The squealing assistants she had gathered to 'help' (read, 'play dressing doll with him/her') had spent the entire time commenting and speculating on 'Harry's' appearance, likes, dislikes, personal life and whatnot – and they hadn't even bothered to be discreet about it. Some of the questions he/she had been bombarded with were outright rude.
The whole time, she/he had felt torn between annoyance at the blatant staring and embarrassed at the undeserved awe she/he was the target of. She didn't feel up to shouldering Harry's task and their admiration made her feel like a cheat.
When she/he managed to escape with her purchases, however, she found Hagrid patiently waiting for her/him with… a medium-sized gray-brown owl streaked with white horizontal barring on the chest and vertical barring on the belly.
"'Tis a Barred Owl", he explained proudly. "Not very common 'round here, they're American mostly. I figur'd, all the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin', thought yeh might like him."
Hermione admired the creature in wonder, from the yellow beak almost covered by feathers to the long tail crossed with seven sharply defined bands of pale brown.
She/he could find no words to thank the half-giant, so on an impulse, he/she threw her/his arms around him, reaching as far as he/she could, and buried his/her face in the peculiar coat.
Hagrid just gave a rumbling laugh and hugged him/her back.
"What say yeh we go fer yer wand now?" he asked.
Hermione's head shot up. "Oh, yes!"
While she/he waved around just about every wand in the tiny and shabby shop, filled right up to the ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes, Hermione found that the atmosphere was making the back of his/her neck prickle and it wasn't helping any in keeping the calm.
She wondered how she could have missed before the way the very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
The old man with wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop only added to the creepiness, with the way his silvery eyes seemed to never blink and how he spoke non-stop in a misty tone, of Harry's parents and of his own craft.
She'd been disquieted when she'd been handed her wand - ten and three quarters inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring. She'd assumed Harry had it already. Had he been chosen by his own then? Why hadn't he said anything? It was bound to attract attention to 'Hermione'.
But 'her' wand had barely responded to her, so maybe Harry had a different one entirely? What would that mean for their task?
Mr. Ollivander kept flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the lone spindly chair, but the more wands were pulled from the shelves, the happier the creepy wandmaker seemed to become.
Then Hermione held her breath sharply, because Ollivander had taken out Harry's wand. "Yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple…"
He/she bit her lip, dreading the response she might get from it. Yes, this wand was important, they needed it, but some part of her didn't want it, and more importantly, didn't want the responsibility that came with it.
But she needn't have worried after all. The wand gave her a faint impression of warmth and laughter, but didn't react to her waving at all.
Ollivander seemed disappointed. Instead of snatching it away immediately, he waited as if to see if it would change its mind and choose this wizard after all. Hermione didn't stop her/his scowl. The damn geezer! The wand chooses the wizard indeed! Here was the proof that he at least attempted to rig the results!
No sparks were forthcoming, though, and with an unstoppable sense of relief Hermione handed the powerful wand back.
Mr. Ollivander fixed him/her with his pale stare for a long time, making him/her fidget and swallow.
Then he sighed and disappeared into the back. She thought she heard him mutter '…forgotten for decades, and now twice in a month…' She wondered what that was about, and if the 'other time' was Harry's, three weeks prior.
The old man came back with a chest of unusual wands, which all seemed to be made of at least two woods.
Hermione knew what her new wand would be the very moment she/he laid eyes on the deep rich reddish brown shaft, contrasting beautifully with the whitish, elegantly carved handle.
"Cherry and dragon heartstring, rigid, with engraved birch handle, ten inches. A difficult yet reliable wand."
Hermione smiled and slashed it downwards in a cascade of golden sparks. She wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much, but she/he paid for his wand full of gratitude. It felt brilliant.
The Grangers were true to their word and put the Dursleys into a corner, forcing them to let 'Harry' visit with their 'daughter'.
Harry stared wide-eyed at the nice clothes Hermione had bought in his size when they met, and mock-threatened to shave his/her hair off in retaliation for the outrageous pink shirt the green-eyed boy was wearing. Hermione laughingly changed it back to its more sensible forest green and sternly warned her best friend off her hair.
Justin's party was a great success. The group accepted 'Harry' without question and if Lavender's Grandmother choked a bit when introduced, no one paid it too much mind. Mr. Finch-Fletchley turned out to be much nicer than his wife and made them all welcome in his 'humble abode' – a stately country house that was anything but.
They had fun discussing their own very peculiar ideas of magic and playing hide'n'seek in Justin's 'garden' (which would be best described as a park, as it was the grounds of the Finch-Fletchleys' old manor).
Tentative plans were made for an outing or two more before September came.
Harry and Hermione, sitting side by side in Justin's patio, watching the golden sunset among their 'new' friends, shared a smile.
For the moment, all was well.
A/N 2: for those who are interested, I have chosen the woods for the wands on the basis of the following meanings, which I took in part from "Le voci del bosco" by Mauro Corona (he's a writer from the mountainous area my mum was born in) and in part from a booklet on Celtic lore:
Willow is a woman self-sufficient and secluded by her own choice; it is a tree of emotion, sentiment, love, intuition, and poetic inspiration; it is associated with visions that bring a clearer understanding of the world; it carries the quality of flexibility, in both its meanings of adaptability and capriciousness.
Ash is a politician of the woods; it is a tree of determination and social skills; it carries the qualities of ambition, trustworthiness, faithfulness; it enhances peace of mind and promotes good health.
Pine is a family man, humble and unassuming; it is a tree of peace and tranquillity; it represents a vulnerable but gentle helper that carries the strength of family bonds and the serenity of quiet.
Eucalyptus is a sage of great wisdom and erudition; it is one of the strongest healing woods known and has been used for medicines for centuries; it carries the qualities of goodness and purity, its energy is clean like the earth from which it is born: it is a wood highly recommended for any purpose combating illness or promoting good health.
Walnut is a clear-headed and farsighted leader; it is a wood of clarity and focus, that helps in using mental gifts wisely and putting intelligence to the best use; it holds the powers of teleportation, astral travel, and inspiration and is a symbol of confidence and mental wisdom.
Maple is a warm-hearted, compassionate and resilient rebel; it is the tree of offering and sacrifice, of giving of one's self so that others may benefit; it holds the qualities of creation, communication, revolution, rebirth, healing, and abundance; full of imagination and originality, Maple is a traveller's wood: it enhances intellectual pursuits and learning and is suited to those who are always on the move and changing.
Cherry is a loving woman, partner, sister, mother, nurturer; it is the tree of the heart, of will and desire, of relating to others in a compassionate manner, of beauty; it is imbued with the powers of making and doing, achievement, self-assertion over obstacles and critics; it has often been used for beds and cradles and is associated with true-dreaming and visionary art.
Birch is a queen of the woods, not only because of her perfect elegance and sophisticated gracefulness, but also for the tenacity hidden behind her appearance of fragility, the strong will and unsuspected resilience that let her bare immense weight and face hardships of life that break trees which at a glance seem much more robust, and instead make her stronger; it is associated with the search for truth as well as with discipline and the administration of justice.