HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN

A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction

BY

Jayiin Mistaya

"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

...never tickle a sleeping dragon


COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.

More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.

Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Hermione

The silence in the Granger family car was a very stilted thing. Normally, Hermione's parents would be talking and bantering, asking her about school, but they were silent.

There wasn't anything left to say.

They knew how she felt about this. She knew how they felt about it.

They were almost to the hotel before anyone spoke. Hermione's mother, Jane, found her voice first. "We'll have to keep your Hogwarts things in our room, but when we get there you can take a few minutes to get anything you need out of it before we put it in the closet. We've got another trunk made up for you with books and things to make it look like you really go to Straghow."

Hermione forced herself to nod, not trusting herself to speak. She wasn't sure what she would say. Five years ago – even three years ago – she wouldn't have even dreamed of arguing with her mother. She'd been through a lot since then and she wasn't the same person anymore. Now, all she could do was force herself to smile and give the barest of nods.

"You'll be rooming with Rachel and Delilah, sweetie. They're a bit older than you, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

Hermione still didn't say anything. Her mother kept talking.

"I'm glad you're not putting up a fuss about all of this. Your father was very worried you wouldn't agree with us keeping your wand in your trunk."

Hermione looked up. "No. I'm keeping my wand."

"Hermione..." her mother's tone was warning.

"No, mother. I'm keeping my wand." How could she explain to her mother that she was worried about what might happen if she didn't have it with her? How could she explain to her mother she was a target in a war?

How can I not tell them? They're targets, too...

"Well, it's not like you're allowed to do much outside of school, are you? So what would you need it for?"

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to just listen to Crookshanks purr for a second before replying. "Part of the deal was I would be allowed to keep my wand. If you won't keep your side or things, then I'm leaving as soon as we get to the hotel."

Jane glared over the seat at her daughter. "And just how would you do that, young lady?"

Hermione looked up at met her mother's eyes. "I would take the bus to the Leaky Cauldron. From there, I would take the Floo to the Burrow. Or I would just summon the Knight Bus and go to the Burrow."

"Oh, fine! If you really need a safety blanket, you can keep your wand."

Hermione smiled thinly. She knew what her mother was trying to do, and she wasn't going to let it work. "Thank you, mother."

"There now, easily settled," Dan Granger, her father, interjected. "Jane, dear, we should keep our side of the bargain here as long as she does."

"But she doesn't even want to be here!" Jane said back.

Hermione stifled a groan. They were going to talk about her like she wasn't there again.

"She agreed to come, not to like it," Dan said calmly. "We can't ask her to do more than that."

Score one for Dad!

There was silence for the rest of the car ride.

- 0 -

Hermione Granger climbed out of the car, convinced this was going to be the worst summer of her life. She looked up at her Uncle's hotel; tall and imposing, it was a modern-day castle of steel and glass, crafted by the best companies, designed by the best architects. It was a marvel of money and a representation of the kind of service the rich and famous demanded from their travel accommodations.

It would be her home for the next two months.

Every summer, Hermione's mother's family had a reunion.

Usually, Hermione found a reason not to go. Her childhood memories of family reunions were somewhat like Harry's childhood memories of the Dursleys. A lot of people who didn't like her because she wasn't like them that she couldn't escape from; her cousins came from well off or affluent families and were usually decked out in the latest fashions, with the latest gadgets or backpacks or shoes. Hermione could have been just like them if she had wanted to, but her world had always consisted of books and poking her nose into thing the adults didn't want her to poke her nose into.

The last time she'd been to a reunion had been right before her third year.

This year, there was no way to avoid it. Just before she'd left for the Burrow to go see the Quidditch World Cup the summer before her fourth year, she and her mother had made a deal. And like most deals between Hermione and her mother, the deal was a written contract.

Hermione would go to the 'big' reunion held in London at her Uncle Richard's hotel the summer before she turned seventeen. She would try to get along with her cousins and try to make nice with her family.

She would try, even if they didn't.

In return, she got to go to the World Cup and she got to spend part of the last summer at Grimmauld Place. There were other parts of the agreement Hermione would hold her mother to – she would be allowed to Owl her friends, if she could find a way to do it without being seen. She would be allowed to keep her wand and she would be allowed to spend a goodly amount of money on books to keep her occupied during the times no one wanted her around.

And one other, almost insignificant, concession on her mother's part; one Hermione knew would never come to pass, but she'd forced it through anyway.

She closed the car door and realized she already missed Hogwarts. She already missed Ron, Harry and Ginny. She would have been grateful for even Neville's company.

I'd even be glad to see Luna. She almost smiled at the thought. Everyone knew she wasn't Luna Lovegood's biggest fan, but after the DA and the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had warmed up to the unusual girl.

Her father helped her sort out her belongings between her two trunks. The new one was just that – new. It didn't look as well worn as her Hogwarts trunk. It was light blue, with gold trim and hinges. Just the sort of thing her mother liked. Hermione didn't say anything as she transferred her Muggle clothes, her diary (it looked Muggle, but was charmed with infinite pages), and the few photos she had of her friends that were suitable for her relatives to see. Colin Creevy had taken quite a few photos over the past four years and had given copies to her, Ron and Harry, but many of those photos were either moving wizarding photos or were of people in situations, clothes and places that clearly revealed the wizarding world. Those stayed in her Hogwarts trunk.

She saw her mother had bought her new clothes for the reunion, and Hermione devoutly hoped at least some of the new clothes were things she would at least be able to tolerate wearing. Usually, when her mother bought her clothes, they would be too formal or too much like what her cousins wore.

As they closed the new trunk, Dan laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's gonna be just fine, kiddo. I promise."

Hermione looked up at him. "I can't deal with this if it turns out like last time."

The last time had been the worst summer of her life – but she could feel it in her guts this one was going to be worse.

Trelawney would be proud. I'm seeing the bloody future.

Her father gave her a one-armed hug. "I know. I'll do what I can, but..."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Don't. It'll make it worse. I'll survive this. I've survived worse."

He gave her an unreadable look, and Hermione sighed. She wished she could tell her parents, she really did. But her mother was already so uncomfortable with her being a witch. How could she tell her what she'd been through? That her best friend was a target for a racist madman with dreams of world domination?

It was a strange thing. She wasn't the same girl she had been five years ago. She'd been attacked by a troll, almost eaten by a three-headed dog named Fluffy, played a life-size game of chess, transformed into an anthropomorphic cat, been petrified by a Basilisk, helped solve the murder of Harry's parents, helped Harry win the Triwizard Tournament and battled some of the most evil people alive. She lived in a castle straight out of a faerie tale and was counted amongst the best and brightest in the Wizarding world.

None of it mattered.

In just a few minutes, she would be with her mother's family. Aunts and Uncles and cousins and grandparents who thought she attended Straghow Preparatory School and considered her a silly, sheltered little girl.

Straghow. The idea of the place still made her smile. McGonagall had told her about it after her first year when she'd been given her final grades. It shouldn't have surprised her that Hogwarts had a cover story for their Muggle-born students to use on friends and family, but she had been. She'd been even more surprised to learn Straghow was well regarded in the academic community.

In a way, it just made dealing with her family even harder, because they had their own notions about the school.

She had known what this summer would bring. She'd known about the reunion for two years, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to talk about it, even with Harry and Ron. This was something they couldn't help her with.

Her father hefted her new trunk, she picked up Crookshanks and they walked into the hotel.

- 0 -

It started small.

Just a comment here and there. Whispers behind her back as she unpacked. A shove here; an elbow there; a pinch or a foot put in her way when none of the adults who would care were looking. Not that many of the adults paid attention to the 'cousins' –– as the eighteen or twenty 'kids' who were teenage or almost teenage were called. They were all crammed, three to a room, along the same hall as the 'little ones'. Ostensibly, so they could help the adults look after the rather large number of smaller children.

Realistically, it was going to be one big party. Which was one of the worst fates Hermione Granger could imagine – and Hermione had endured Snape's detentions for five years.

The comments the adults made amongst themselves, just loud enough that she could hear, were worse.

"So short and...well, she's just hasn't filled out..."

"Bookish and freaky, what with that face...I guess she never grew out of it..."

"Some girls grow up and some girls just never do..."

It was even harder to ignore those comments, because most of them were true. Both Rachel and Delilah were tall and willowy and brunette, their straight hair falling over their shoulders in soft waves. Hermione was still short and built very petite.

Unfortunately, none of her cousins wanted to share their space with her any more than she wanted to share her space with them. Why would they want to associate with her, let alone be friends? She didn't knowanything. She'd never heard of the popular bands, or movies or movie stars, or TV shows – to say nothing of her atrocious fashion sense. Everything she wore was woefully dated or worse – like the dreadful knitted sweaters she packed in her trunk.

Her cousins, like Hermione, came from well off or affluent families, but unlike Hermione, were usually decked out in the latest fashions, with the latest gadgets or backpacks or shoes. Hermione could have been just like them if she had wanted to, but her world had always consisted of books and poking her nose into thing the adults didn't want her to poke her nose into.

And it seemed her cousins were determined not to let Hermione forget she didn't fit in.

The first serious 'incident' was while Hermione, Rachel and Delilah were getting moved into their hotel room and ready for dinner. Rachel 'accidentally' spilled Delilah's purple nail polish on Hermione's only Muggle-safe photo of her, Ron and Harry.

Her mother had just patted her on the shoulder, smiled patronizingly, and said: "Well, then, you shouldn't have left it out where it could get ruined. And I trust you will graciously accept Rachel's apology for the accident. These people are your family and you will assume the best about them. You will be an understanding and gracious young lady. Am I understood?"

Hermione had said nothing. Her mother interpreted silence for acquiescence.

As they got in the car to go to dinner, Jane was gushing. "Can you believe it, Hermione? This is the largest reunion in years! In London, no less! And just think! You'll finally get to spend some time with your cousins, longer than that few weeks before your third year!"

Hermione tried to muster enthusiasm, if only for her mother's sake. But she was emotionally exhausted; she couldn't get it out of her head how she had failed at the Department of Mysteries. Or what was facing the people she had come to love as a family over the past five years. What was facing the world she had chosen as her own.

In the end, she just nodded again, unable to make herself say anything that wouldn't have come out sounding sarcastic.

The restaurant her uncle Richard had chosen was both elegant and expensive. Hermione was sure the food was good, but she didn't recognize most of what was on the menu, though she seemed to be the only one who didn't. She sat staring at the menu, and tentatively ordered one of the few things she recognized.

Her Uncle had her seated between her cousin Blake and his sister Rachel, across from Delilah.

Willowy and tall and brunette, both Rachel and Delilah made hushed comments to Hermione.

"Oh, dear, you don't want to eat that. It's dreadfully fattening. Haven't you read a book or two on that?"

Delilah nodded her agreement, and whispered: "You shouldn't eat so much of that. It does such horrid things to your complexion. Really, you should pay more attention in health class. That is where you'd learn about such things, isn't it?"

Hermione noticed she was the only one of the cousins over the age of thirteen who didn't accept – or ask for – a glass of wine with dinner. She contented herself with water and quietly missed butterbeer and pumpkin juice.

That didn't stop her cousin Blake from accidentally spilling most of a bottle of red wine on her only formal dress – a pale beige and crème colored silk her mother had bought for her after seeing pictures of her from the Yule Ball.

"What? No class in table manners, cousin? How awful for you. I suppose you should buy yourself a book on it. I hear Eating for Dummies is all the rage for people who don't get out much."

To Hermione's surprise, her mother blamed her. "Hermione! I thought you'd grown out of all that clumsiness! Didn't anything you learned as a little girl stick? All that money on dance and etiquette and you don't bother to use any of it!"

Hermione just bit her lower lip and looked away from her mother, blinking furiously at the hot tears. I thought I was over this. I thought I'd accepted that I'll never make her proud of me. No matter what I do or what I become, it won't matter. She can't be proud of a witch.

Hermione forced the lump in the back of her throat down with a swallow of water and tried to ignore the ache her mother's words caused. Her father looked at her sympathetically, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't ever contradict Jane in front of people, least of all her family.

She passed on desert; she wasn't hungry anymore. But her Aunt Elizabeth nodded in approval. "Wise, Hermione, wise. With your figure, I wouldn't be eating much desert either."

Hermione smiled thinly, and forced words of thanks out. Her aunt and her mother both beamed at what a polite, well-mannered girl she was being.

Derek, tall and broad shouldered and athletic, tripped on his way out the door and caught himself on Hermione's only purse. The strap caught on her shoulder and tore the leather; she was knocked over into a puddle just outside the door, soaking her shoes and her dress.

Her mother turned away in shame, and the laughter and comments she heard as she stood up, wiping her scratched hands on her ruined dress. She tucked her purse under arm, and swallowed a bit of blood from where she'd bit her lip when she fell.

She turned away from all of them to compose herself, reaching into her purse to make sure her wand wasn't broken. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she realized it wasn't.

I guess I'm not a Muggle anymore. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

- 0 -

When people with even a moderate amount of money visited London, they went shopping wherever there was shopping to be had. Such was the second day of the reunion.

Her mother made the outing even worse. As they wandered from shop to shop, her mother handed her a credit card. "Hermione, everyone's going swimming at the hotel later tonight. Why don't you buy yourself a new swimsuit?" Her mother had paused, and patted her on the shoulder. "And some new clothes...something a bit more fetching than what you have?"

She wasn't sure if it was the pleading look in her mother's eyes or the snickers of her cousins that stung worse.

Rachel, Delilah, Blake and Derek were all too glad to help. And laugh as she turned bright red at their loud comments.

Delilah's 'help' was invaluably amusing to the two boys manning the sales counter.

"Oh, Hermi, are you sure you read those numbers right? This isn't math class...these numbers mean something. Maybe try something a few sizes bigger?"

Derek's sage wisdom was such that Hermione found she was unable to speak.

"With your figure, a two piece wouldn't be a smart, I don't think."

That's right. You don't. Hermione almost snapped back, but she bit her tongue instead.

Blake just sneered as she looked through the racks. "What, couldn't find a book to read about swimsuits before you came shopping? Sorry, cousin, not everything comes with an instruction manual."

Hermione hadn't roomed with Lavender and Parvati for five years without learning something. In a fit of pique, she picked a suit off the rack that she would never honestly consider wearing, but by picking it she could prove what they said didn't matter.

Only, while she was in the changing room, Blake and Rachel burst in and ran off with her clothes. Luckily, one of the boys at the sales counter took pity on her and retrieved her clothes – and wouldn't let her cousins back in.

Out of gratitude, Hermione bought several new outfits (of a much more daring style than she would have thought of wearing before) and the swimsuit from him, just to make sure he got a good commission.

She stopped at a few more shops and bought more clothes and jewelry to replace what had gone 'missing' before she finally caught up with the bulk of her family.

And just to avoid having to deal with her cousins again, Hermione Granger did what she never thought she would ever do. She volunteered to take care of the little ones, if only because her cousins wouldn't go anywhere near them.

This, at least, had the benefit of her mother's wholehearted support. Hermione could watch the little ones – all the little ones – while the adults spent money. She found herself wiping runny noses, changing diapers, kissing skinned knees, and mediating sibling spats while carrying a baby in one arm and pushing a stroller with the other. Of course, this left her open for a whole new range of insults – mostly about her 'practicing' for her future career as a single mother.

She missed Ron and Harry with a constant ache that wouldn't go away; she knew her 'boys' (as her mother called them) would have jumped to her defense against even the slightest of the barbs thrown her way – and would have been willing to fight over some of the worst. The twins would have shown her cousins what practical jokes really were – to say nothing of what Ginny would have wreaked upon them. She missed the quiet camaraderie of the Gryffindor common room; of curling up with a book in one of the cushy armchairs next to the fire while Ginny watched Ron trounce Harry at game after game of Wizard Chess. She missed shopping in Hogsmeade and in Diagon Alley.

Every time she took the children into a toy store or candy store, she thought of Zonko's and the Weasley twins, and Honeyduke's. She wanted Ron to be pointing out every variety of sweet to her, asking her to try a bit of this or a bit of that.

She smiled to herself at the thought. Even when he was mad at her (discounting their major spat third year) Ron was always attentive, even if it was just to pick at her. There was a childish part of her who wanted to scream at her cousins 'leave me alone or my friends will come beat you up!'...and there was another part of her that didn't know why she couldn't stop thinking of Ronald Weasley.

- 0 -

The third day, Hermione and her mother were standing outside, so Jane could lecture her daughter out of the public eye, when Hedwig landed next to them.

Jane glared at Hermione. "Hermione! Get the letter off that owl and send it on its way! It can't be seen! We don't have the answers to give them!"

Gritting her teeth, Hermione took the letter from Hedwig.

As she ran her hand over the owl's head and back, she found herself blinking back tears. Hedwig was the only creature from the wizarding world she'd laid eyes on all summer, and Harry's normally rather stand-offish owl was surprisingly affectionate, pressing against her hand and nipping at her.

When Hermione stopped to look at the letter and saw it was from Ron – he must have borrowed Hedwig from Harry...I wonder why he didn't use Pig? -Her mother rushed over and shooed Hedwig away with her pruse.

"Mother!" Hermione stared at her mother with an incredulous expression, but Jane Granger folded her arms across her chest and sighed.

"Hermione, we can't let them know anything about who you really are."

Hermione bit her tongue again. No, we wouldn't want that, now would we?

- 0 -

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't able to read Ron's letter.

She had to go swimming with the little ones. In the afternoon after shopping and sightseeing, the family gathered at the hotel to go swimming. The first day, she wore a dark t-shirt and shorts over her new bikini, but after an evening of mocking catcalls and comments like 'well, I wouldn't want to show that body in a swimsuit, either', Hermione changed her mind.

After all, most of her female relatives, from her cousins to her aunts and her mother's cousins wore swimsuits that were just shy of being indecent – and more than a few of the women from the Continent had to be reminded to wear bathing tops.

The second afternoon they went swimming, Hermione forewent the shirt and shorts.

The neon blue bikini was nearly indecent; the top was just two small triangles of cloth and a few loops of string; the bottom wasn't much better.

She knew she was blushing brightly as she led the little ones out to the shallow end of the pool, but she would show them who them who was afraid!

The immediate gaping mouths and stunned shock on the faces of every male above the age of twelve and below the age of thirty sent a thrill of satisfaction through her. As if she weren't being watched by almost everyone there, she got the little ones smeared with sunscreen (she'd done herself back at the house) and into their various flotation devices, passed out the pool toys, and lowered herself into the water to sit on the steps and keep vigil over her charges.

She'd been there less than a minute when strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her painfully to her feet.

"Hermione Jane Granger, just what to you think you are doing wearing that?"

She heard snickering behind her; all of her cousins – in fact, most everyone at the pool – had stopped to witness Hermione's mother dress her down.

"It's a bathing suit, mother. I bought it a few days ago." Her voice was cold, with a snide edge she never would have thought about using on her mother just a few days before.

Her mother pulled her close, her fingers digging into her arm whispering: "What in the blazes is wrong with you, Hermione?"

"Nothing, obviously." Hermione spoke loudly enough everyone could hear. "No one seems to have a problem with what they're seeing but you."

She saw a few of the older men cough and turn away.

"How dare you act like such...such a..."

"Normal girl?" Hermione interrupted her mother. "What I'm wearing is a good bit more decent than some of my beloved cousins and a few women more than twice my age."

Her mother practically dragged her back into the hotel lobby. "All right, daughter-mine. I know enough about psychology to know a cry for attention when I hear one. I know we haven't gotten to spend much quality time together, but this is the first time I've ever been able to host a reunion..."

Hermione's glare cut her mother's stream of patronizing platitudes off.

"A cry for attention?" Her voice was icily incredulous. "Is that what you think? No mother, I have had entirely too much attention. This," she gestured to her swimsuit, "is an attempt to change the nature of that attention. A surprise change in my behavior to cause them to shut up for a few minutes while they try to kick-start their pedestrian minds into coming up with some new material."

Hermione's mother took a deep breath and glared daggers at her daughter. "Now you listen here, young lady. Those people are your relatives, and I will not tolerate you speaking of them that way."

"No." Hermione swallowed a thick lump in the back of her throat, and tried desperately not to cry. "You will just tolerate them speaking of your daughter any way they please."

Her mother blanched as Hermione's words struck home. "Hermione, they're younger than you and..."

Hermione shook her head. "Mother, more than half of them are my age or older."

Dr Granger looked pleadingly at her daughter. "Can't you at leasttry to get along with them, be a little like them? You're not going to live at that school forever, and you'll need friends to fall back on when you go to college and start your own family."

Hermione stared at her mother in stunned disbelief. How can she think I want to live in the Muggle world? My life is based around the study of magic...my life is magical.

She didn't even try to stop the tears this time.

"Fine." Her mother sighed. "If you're going to be a big baby about it, then I'll just have to send you home. Wait right here, little girl. Don't you move." Her mother's voice was icy and stern, but Hermione couldn't have moved if she wanted to.

Hermione was still frozen in place when her mother stormed back inside and thrust Hermione's backpack at her.

"Your father and I have been discussing this since the family arrived and you started acting like such a brat. You are not going back to that school. We are going to enroll you in a proper school. This witch and wizard bit may be very, very real, Hermione, but you were born into a world where none of that exists, and it's time you started living in it."

She paused, as if to give Hermione a chance to argue.

"Now, you have the credit card your father and I gave you for emergencies in there, as well as all the cash we had between us. Go upstairs, get dressed, and go buy yourself a decent swimsuit."

Hermione didn't say anything; she just slung her backpack over her shoulder.

"Once you have a decent swimsuit, I expect to see you back here by dinner to help with the little ones. Get lunch while you're out. No one wants you or your attitude spoiling our meal."

Hermione gave her mother a forced smile. Of course you don't want me. I'm not like them. Or you.

- 0 -

Hermione wished she'd possessed the good sense to at least wrap herself in a towel when she'd stormed through the hotel lobby.

At first, she'd been too angry to think about what she was doing, but by the time she was nearly to the elevators (meaning she had walked past the small café and coffee shop, the main restaurant and the business area) she realized that all she was wearing was a skimpy swimsuit and a backpack.

She had never been so embarrassed in her life.

No matter how much she missed them, she was glad 'her boys' weren't there with her.

If they'd been here I wouldn't have ever done something so stupid!

Though there was a small voice in the back of her mind that wondered what Ron would say if he saw her in the bikini.

He'd probably be mad at me for wearing it... For some reason, the thought of Ron not wanting her to flaunt herself was both comforting and bothersome.

Tears stung her eyes, but she would not cry or acknowledge her furious blush to the cabbie. She was Gryffindor, damn it, and she would brave this the same way she braved Death Eaters.

It was the longest elevator ride of Hermione Granger's life.

By the time she reached her room, she was sure she would die of mortification. She quickly dashed down the hall, intending to change, grab a couple of books, and spend the day on the roof, reading.

Her determination faded as she slid the card key into the door.

Fine. They win. I'll be the quiet, mousy little bookworm babysitter and let them mock me. If my own mother thinks so little of me, of who and what I am, then what's the point in trying?

She closed and locked the door behind her and rested her forehead against the door.

What was I thinking? No matter what I do, I'll never be one of them. I'll never be anything to anyone except Hermione the insufferable know-it-all.

All I have to do is survive this reunion and then find a way back to the wizarding world.

She knew all she had to do was wait until September, when she turned seventeen. She'd call the Knight Bus and go to the Burrow. Molly and Arthur Weasley would help her get back to Hogwarts. She'd be late, of course, but she could make up the coursework.

Tears ran down her face. She was having to choose between her friends, he world – almost everything that mattered, that made her who she was – and her family. Somehow, she knew if she went back to Hogwarts, she would never be welcome at home again. I'll find a way to manage. At least at Hogwarts I won't be alone.

"Ahem."

Hermione jumped and made an undignified squeak as she put her back to the door, grabbing her wand from her backpack.

And to her eternal mortification, met the bemused faces of her Headmaster and Head of House.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said amicably. "Once you have decided not to hex or otherwise bespell us, Professor McGonagall and I would like to speak with you." His blue eyes twinkled brightly. "We can, of course, wait while you change into something less suited for aquatic adventure."

Hermione lowered her head and closed her eyes. This was going to be a long day.

End Chapter

Revised 12-25-07