Disclaimer: Harry Potter'll come a-waltzing Matilda with JK Rowling.
A/N: Well, it took a bit longer than I expected, but this is the end of Third Year for the Arithmancer. Fourth Year should go quicker. It definitely won't be as long as the book, anyway. Is Hermione doomed to be stuck at Beauxbatons? You'll find out soon.
I have a new one-shot story up this week, Heap Coals of Fire on His Head, showing just what lengths Hermione will go to if Voldemort scores a decisive win. Just be aware that it's darker and edgier than my usual fare.
Chapter 59
By the time Monday came around, somehow, Hermione was back on track studying for her exams, especially her Arithmancy O.W.L. She also took a little time to work on a paper for Annals of Arithmancy about her Laser Pointer Charm, which would hopefully be published around the time school started in the fall. Harry, in the meantime, checked with Professor Dumbledore for daily news on Sirius. He was informed that Sirius and Pettigrew were still being held at the Ministry pending trial, as verified by Amelia Bones and Dumbledore himself, and they were both being given long-needed Healers' care there. The trial should be coming before the end of term, Dumbledore said, and he said not to worry because after questioning both men, Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and several key Aurors were firmly on their side. Fudge was lying low, hoping the dementor incident would blow over by then.
O.W.L. exams were held over two weeks, with the second week being when the rest of the school was taking regular finals. Written exams were held in the mornings and practicals in the afternoon. For N.E.W.T.s, this pattern was reversed, so that the Ministry examiners, who administered the practicals, could do one of each every day. The exceptions were History and Muggle Studies, which were held on the same day because they had no practical component, along with Divination, which oddly had no theory component, which was paired with Ancient Runes, for which the theory was the practice.
One might have thought that Arithmancy would not have a practical exam, but simple spell detection, analysis, reversal, and modification were all part of the curriculum, and they required a practical application. (Free-form crafting was a little too advanced to test in the time available.) Hermione was very glad to have the use of her wand hand again in time to practice.
When the big day came, Hermione found the theory exam to be very easy, as usual. The maths was far beneath her, and even the magical elements she was asked to describe rarely challenged her. While she always had a little testing anxiety, she was confident that she had aced the written exam, and after pushing herself to invent new spells whilst facing certain death once or twice, she had high hopes for the practical as well.
The room for the practical exam was set up with a large standing blackboard at one end plus a number of items for testing spells: a side table with a lamp, another table with a portable stove top and some food and kitchenware, a dummy that looked rather like a life-sized rag doll, a small wardrobe filled with clothes, and a large potted plant. Enrolment in Arithmancy was small enough that three examiners were present, including Griselda Marchbanks, a tiny, white-haired witch of about a hundred and thirty who, rumour had it, had tested Dumbledore himself. The other two examiners were younger than she, but still ancient-looking, and all three looked very sceptical when Hermione entered the room. Despite the glowing reports they had heard from her professors, what they saw was a little third-year girl who had no business being in an O.W.L. Exam at all.
"Miss Granger?" Madam Marchbanks said. "Hermione Granger?"
"That's right, ma'am," Hermione replied, trying to mask her nervousness.
"Very good. Let's get started. The lamp on the side table has two charms placed on it to improve its function. Please determine what they are."
She nodded and approached the lamp, casting several analysis spells. Streaks of light occurred in various numbers, colours, and shapes that told her both qualitative and quantitative information about the magic on the lamp. She picked up a piece of chalk and noticed that a special Dictaquill sprang to life on Madam Marchbanks's desk, presumably copying down everything she wrote. Writing down the figures, she made short work of breaking down the results of her scans, which she interpreted as a combination of functions, into their basic arithmantic components. From there, it was simple to work out the two spells. She didn't even need to write that part out.
"There's a charm to keep the lampshade clean and prevent it from turning opaque over time, and the second charm keeps it from getting too hot to touch," she concluded. She noted that the man on the left raised his eyebrows in surprise. She guessed that she was writing out much less of her work on the board than most of the other students. The other two examiners, however, betrayed no emotion, and they began asking more questions in turn.
"Determine which of the items in the wardrobe are charmed."
"The spell to automatically water the plant has been misapplied. Find the error and fix it."
"The kitchenware is jinxed to sabotage anyone trying to cook with it. Please remove the jinxes."
Hermione thought she was doing pretty well. She had a couple of hiccoughs, but she quickly corrected them, and more importantly, they never made whatever the problem was worse, which was a critical skill for more advanced things like cursebreaking. Both of the men openly praised her when she found and removed not two, but three jinxes from the kitchenware. Madam Marchbanks didn't say it, but she also looked impressed.
"Final question, Miss Granger…" Madam Marchbanks said. The final and most difficult task in the exam was actual spell design. She paused and thought for a minute, as if making up a question on the spot. "Modify Tarantallegra to make the target dance a waltz."
Hermione was ready. Finally, she thought, it was time to give them a real show. She could afford to get it wrong once, but it was a simple enough jinx, and part of the standard spell analysis curriculum, so she was pretty sure she could do it in one go. She closed her eyes, and the arithmantic elements of the spell played across her mind. She broke it down into its basic elements, added and subtracted the necessary terms to adjust the spell's effect, calculated the new wand motion and rhythm, and considered what to use for the new incantation. Then, she smirked to herself when she realised her luck: there was an English-language phrase that fit the required meter and syllable structure perfectly.
She opened her eyes and pointed her wand at the rag doll dummy. Waving it in the correct motion, she cried out, "Waltzing Matilda!" Immediately, the dummy leapt to its feet and began waltzing around the room. To prove the accuracy of her spell, she took the dummy by the hand and danced with it for a few bars. She had to lead, but it kept dancing flawlessly, ending with a spin and a flourish.
All three examiners were visibly astonished. It took them a minute to respond. Finally, Madam Marchbanks said, "Miss Granger, what was that?"
Without a word, Hermione quickly wrote out the arithmantic expansion on the board. It may have sounded like a completely different spell, but it was a straightforward modification in the maths.
The examiners looked at each other in surprise. This girl wasn't just good; she raised spellcrafting to an art form, and did it in her head, and she did it in English. Lucky break or not, most students would never even think to do that.
"Now that is impressive," Madam Marchbanks said. "It's been a long time since I've seen anyone do something like that. Thank you. You may go, Miss Granger."
Hermione was beaming as she left the room. From what she had heard, Griselda Marchbanks was not an easy woman to impress.
Harry was glad to be done with his own exams. He wasn't a genius like Hermione, and he was also having to worry about the fate of his godfather the whole time, which made things difficult, but eventually, they were over. His final one, Defence, had gone pretty well. It was an obstacle course filled with many of the creatures they had studied that year. (Hermione was going on about how glad she was that she'd taken the extra chance to face a boggart earlier in the year.)
The next day, Harry was surprised when Professor Dumbledore called him up to his office, but his surprise turned to elation when he saw who else was there.
"Sirius!" he cried, running to his godfather's arms. Sirius Black was cleaned up, now, his hair and beard were trimmed, and he was wearing not just clean clothes, but very nice ones. He was still thin, and his face bore the lines of years of hardship, but he had a smile on his face.
"It's over then?" Harry said hopefully. "You're free?"
"I'm a free man, Harry," Sirius said gleefully, his dark eyes glinting in the torchlight. "We had both trials yesterday. I was cleared of all charges—well, I had to pay a fine for being an unregistered animagus—but the Rat's being held at the Ministry until they can rig up a cell in Azkaban with no holes big enough for him to crawl out of. There was a bit of a hiccough over the whole breaking out of Azkaban thing, but Dumbledore strenuously argued that law that prescribes the Dementor's Kiss penalty specifically says, 'a criminal sentenced to Azkaban who has shown by escaping that no prison can hold him', and I was never actually sentenced to Azkaban, and I told them how I escaped, so it could hold me, now, Merlin forbid it needed to, so that law shouldn't apply."
"Oookay…? And Fudge was no trouble?" Harry said.
"Well, I wouldn't go quite that far. He's in trouble. He was there when I was sent to prison, and he's got egg on his face for that, so he doesn't like me. But he was trying to save face, so he didn't make trouble."
"That's great," Harry said. "That's really great."
"Yes, I am very happy to see this family reunited, such as it is," Professor Dumbledore said. "Now, I have called you here to enquire about your arrangements for the summer, Harry."
"I'll be taking him, of course," Sirius said at once. "Honestly, you sent him to live with Lily's sister, Albus? I know what she's like. I can't imagine it was very pleasant for you, Harry."
"Well, they're tolerable if someone checks in on them once a week, but yeah, I'd rather go just about anywhere but back there for the summer," Harry said.
"That is perfectly understandable, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall has informed me in great detail about the conditions in your home. I do regret that it has been so difficult for you there. And Sirius, you are perfectly within your rights to take him. However, there is something that you do not yet know."
"What?" Harry and Sirius both said, Sirius with a menacing edge in his voice.
"I've never told you Harry why I sent you to live with your relatives—relatives whom I knew had a strong dislike of magic. You will recall how two years ago, the magical protection of your mother's sacrifice shielded you from Voldemort's attack when he possessed Professor Quirrell."
"What?!" Sirius yelped. "What was that about Voldemort?"
"Long story," Harry said. "I'll tell you all about it later."
"You'd better."
Dumbledore went on with that old twinkle in his eye: "There is another way in which that protection can act—a protection through a blood relative. With a—immodestly do I say—very complicated charm, powerful wards may be erected with that same protective magic in the presence of a blood relative of the victim—a blood relative of your mother, Harry. And however grudging they are to accept you, the only such relatives you have are your aunt and cousin. So long as you live in their home, no wizard wishing you harm may enter the property. This protection will last until your seventeenth birthday."
"Blood wards, then," Sirius said. "You have blood wards protecting his relatives' house? And I suppose you want him to go back there because of that?"
"I don't get it, Professor," Harry said quickly. "You've let me leave Privett Drive before."
Dumbledore smiled kindly at him. "I did, Harry," he said, "but only after your presence there had renewed their strength. You must return there once a year for a time to maintain the wards. After that, they are merely a fall-back. In the case of an emergency—should Voldemort himself return in the flesh, for example, we could send you to your relatives' house, and you would be protected."
"So you only want him to go back to recharge the wards?" Sirius asked, giving the old man a warning look.
"Correct."
"And how long will that take?"
"Two weeks. Two weeks with minimal time outside the property line, unfortunately, but I suspect that will be of little trouble for Harry."
Sirius wasn't happy, but he didn't shoot the idea down outright now that he understood. Dumbledore was right that it could be useful if, Merlin forbid, Voldemort did come back. "What do you think, Harry?" he asked.
"I'd still rather not. Do I really need them, Professor? I mean, I'll have Sirius with me now."
Sirius beamed, but Dumbledore remained solemn: "As talented as Sirius is, you have seen for yourself on more than one occasion that Death Eaters are still active in this country, and in light of Professor Trelawney's recent prophecy, I fear the danger is growing."
That probably didn't have the desired effect: it just got Sirius's Gryffindor bravado going: "Danger I can handle, Albus. If Harry wants to find another way, we will."
"Obviously, I have no power to stop you," Dumbledore answered. "But may I ask you, where will you be staying this summer?"
"Well, I figured I'd just find a flat someplace in London. I'm sure my family home is a death trap by now."
"And do you have a flat?" the Headmaster said evenly. "And can you furnish and stock it in the next week?"
Sirius thought a moment and hung his head. He'd only just got out of custody. He was barely thinking about those other things.
"If I may offer my advice, let Harry go to his relatives' house, and use those two weeks to find a place and truly make it livable for your godson for the remaining eight weeks of summer."
Sirius gave his godson an uncomfortable look. "It up to you, Harry," he said. "You can take the hit for the two weeks, or you can come with me, and we'll figure something out."
Harry thought about this. The spectre of Voldemort still being out there did worry him, even if he didn't want to admit it. All things considered, it didn't seem like that bad a deal. He desperately wanted to spend time with Sirius—one of the few links he had with his parents—but after three years, Hermione's message was starting to come through. She'd saved his life ten times already, and she wasn't the only one who had done that. Maybe he should start being more careful. "Well, it is only two weeks," he said. "I guess I can live with that."
Sirius reluctantly agreed, and they exited the Headmaster's office a few minutes later, and they were surprised to find Hermione standing there.
"So how did it go?" she asked.
"Huh? How did what go?" Harry said in confusion.
"Your meeting. What did you talk about? Do you know what you're doing this summer?"
"Oh, that. Yeah, I'm stuck with the Dursleys for two weeks to recharge the wards or something, and then I'm going to Sirius's flat."
"His flat? He has a flat already?"
"Er, no," Sirius said.
"Oh, right. Well, that's still a lot better than last year."
"I'll say."
"Well, if you need anything, Harry, please write to me. I may not be here, but I'll do everything I can to help you if you need it, especially if you need a new spell."
"Thanks, Hermione. I'm glad I have a friend like you. I…I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life so many times, so…thanks."
"You're welcome, Harry. Just try to stay alive from now on. Excuse me, Sirius, could I have a word with you in private, please?"
Harry and Sirius looked at each other in confusion, but they quickly said their goodbyes, and Sirius followed Hermione to the nearest empty classroom.
"So I don't know what you're thinking, but you know I'm old enough to be your father," Sirius said dryly.
"What?! Augh, Marauders. You're worse than Fred and George," she griped. Sirius grinned. "I wanted to talk to you about Harry."
"Oh? What about him."
"Well, the short version is that Harry's had a hard life. His relatives are more than just unpleasant. They kept the fact that he was a wizard from him until his eleventh birthday. That should give you a clue. They only started treating him decently because I told Professor McGonagall to check up on him. He told me a little while ago that his greatest wish was for a long-lost relative to come and take him away from that place."
"Damn," Sirius muttered. "The sad part is I believe it. Lily told me enough about her sister that I can guess a lot of what went on there."
"Maybe so," Hermione said. She recited the speech she had spent some time preparing from memory. "The important thing is, what Harry needs is a family. He lost his parents; his relatives are worse than useless; he never had any friends. He never had anyone to stick up for him until he came to Hogwarts. Ron's family has tried to step in since, and a couple of our teachers, and my parents and me. I like to think we've done a good job. But we can't be what I hope you can. Harry's turned out to be an amazingly good person after all he's been through, and he deserves a real family of his own."
"I could tell that that night in the Shack," he agreed. "He's lucky to have friends like you, too. And believe me, after losing the last twelve years, I'm gonna do everything in my power to be the best damn godfather anyone's ever had."
She stared at him, keeping up the pressure: "Those are some good words. I hope you can live up to them. Certain aspects of your life—I know you're an innocent man, but I've been talking to Professor Lupin over the past year, and he did say you were known for some particular nasty pranks when you were in school. Is it true that you nearly killed someone with one of them?"
Sirius frowned and paled a bit. "Oh…that," he said. "Well—I'd appreciate if you kept this under your hat—that was the end result of a long argument between me and Severus Snape. Dumbledore made sure I learnt my lesson quick after that. And to be honest, that was when James started growing up, too. I'm not the same person I was when I was sixteen."
Hermione nodded: "That's good to hear. I just want to make sure we see eye to eye. You saw how I handled Pettigrew back in the Shrieking Shack, right?"
"Yeah?" he replied, a bit confused.
"That was after just three years of Arithmancy. I intend to get a mastery before I graduate. Can you imagine what I could do after four more years of that?"
Sirius's pulse quickened as a strange sense of dread came over him—a sense of dread that he had felt before, but usually associated with the father of a fourteen-year-old girl, not the innocent-looking fourteen-year-old girl herself.
She stepped closer to him, looking him in the eye with a harsh stare. He was a head taller than her, but even looking up at him, he could see the fire in her eyes. "Harry's the best friend I've ever had," she said. "In a lot of ways, he's like a little brother to me—most notably in how I always have to nag him to do his homework and in how he gets in an astonishing amount of trouble, and more often than not, I have to be the one to bail him out. What hurts me most is that I won't be here to help him next year. But let me tell you right now: I don't care if I'm living in France. If you hurt Harry, even going back to Azkaban won't save you."
Sirius stared at her like a deer in headlamps for a minute, trying to think of a comeback. Eventually, he gave up and said, "You are one scary lady; you know that?"
She smiled sweetly: "That's what your persona on the Marauders Map said."
Sirius barked with laughter.
"I suppose you're wondering why I've called you here," Professor Lupin said as he paced in front of three of his students.
"It did cross my mind, Professor," Hermione said from where she stood between Fred and George. They didn't associated that much in public, and they certainly hadn't pulled any pranks together, so it was odd that he called them together.
"Today is my last day at Hogwarts," Lupin explained. "I resigned this morning so as not to suffer the indignity of being fired. As such, I am no longer a teacher, and so I need not feel guilty giving this back to you." He handed over…
"The Marauder's Map! Awesome!" Fred and George said together.
"Thank you, ex-Professor," Fred continued.
"We were just about to recruit Hermione here to help us make a new one," George said.
Lupin laughed: "Well, if anyone can do it, I'm sure she can."
"Although…this is technically an heirloom from Harry's dad. Perhaps it would be more fitting to pass it on to him," George added.
"Yes, that it might, brother," Fred answered. "And I supposed we have done well enough without it these past few weeks. We've memorised the castle, and we know the prefects' and teachers' rounds. I suppose we can do without it."
"I think James would appreciate that," Lupin agreed. "Now, Hermione, I asked you to come because, since I am no longer your teacher, you need not fear explaining to me how on earth you got hold of Veritaserum."
"Oh, that? Back in second year, I thought Draco Malfoy was trying to kill me, so I brewed it in Myrtle's bathroom so I could use it to get him to fess up. These two helped."
Lupin stared and then laughed even harder. "And if that came from anybody but you, I'd never believe it. If magical Britain knew what she was losing…Well, I wish all three of you luck in the future," he said. "I think you'll go far together."
"Good luck to you, too, sir," she replied. Fred and George echoed her and left the room, but she paused at the door. "By the way, sir," she said, "would you mind telling me how you actually made that map?"
"Oh no, Hermione, it doesn't work like that. You don't get Marauder secrets just by asking. You have to figure them out on your own."
Hermione had one other thing to do on the last day of the term after saying goodbye to the house elves and to Professor Vector. "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall?" she called.
"Yes, Miss Granger."
Hermione had come up hurriedly to her Head of House, carrying a sizable bundle of parchment. It was lucky she packed early enough in the day, or she might have left it entirely. "I meant to give this to you before, ma'am. I was going to make a real push at it, too, but with the excitement with Sirius Black and all, I forgot. I know I'm leaving now, but I still wanted to file it so maybe something could be done for my friends."
"But what is it?" McGonagall asked.
"Well…ma'am…" Gryffindor courage, Hermione reminded herself. "I have compiled fifty-five complaints against Professor Snape from this past year."
"Fifty-five! We get complaints against Professor Snape every year, but never so many at once!"
"I wanted to make a good case, so I started documenting everything," she explained, opening the folder. "That's how it's done in the muggle world. I know it sounds like a lot, but frankly, everyone knows how poor a teacher he is."
"Unfortunately, I'm well aware of that, Miss Granger, and I'm sure some of them are legitimate, but I doubt so many of them could be. That's more than one per week."
"I know, ma'am, but I tried to be objective about it. I didn't want to include anything frivolous or spurious. I included witness statements of each individual incident. All of them either I personally witnessed, or they were well-circulated in the school and easy to back up, and all of them are clear violations of professional standards or ethics—admittedly by muggle standards." She started leafing through the pages. "I broke them down by category and date: Neglectful teaching style, lax safety standards, lack of concern for student welfare, disproportional awards and punishments, especially in house points, punishments for no offences, and grossly unprofessional behaviour including insulting students and, in one case, threatening to poison a student's pet." She handed over the folder.
"My goodness," McGonagall muttered as she looked it over. "This is very thorough, but even I never realised the sheer number without it laid out like this…But what is that second folder, Miss Granger?" she eyed another, thinner folder in her charge's hands.
"I wanted to be fair, Professor, so I wrote down any complaints that came up about all the other teachers, by the same standard."
"Oh?" she replied nervously, "and what did you find?"
"Well, obviously, Professor Binns is the same every day: boring, unresponsive to students, and can't remember our names. But I also have a few against Hagrid for lack of safety precautions with dangerous creatures, several against Professor Trelawney for spuriously predicting the death of a student, and, excuse me, ma'am, but a couple against you for disproportionately harsh punishments against Gryffindors."
"I see." It wasn't as bad as it might have been, McGonagall thought to herself, which of course made it all the worse for Severus, and she had a feeling Albus would press hard to protect his top "asset". Although if she took this directly to the Board…"I do endeavour to be fair, Miss Granger, but I admit I have made mistakes. Thank you for bringing these issues to my attention. I will take them up with both the Headmaster and the Board to ensure they are dealt with thoroughly."
"Thank you, Professor. That's good to hear." Hermione didn't mention that she had quickly duplicated the set of complaints for Professor Vector to hold in reserve, just in case. Maybe she was still paranoid from the Philosopher's Stone debacle two years ago, but she really didn't want to leave it solely in Professor McGonagall's hands.
When Hermione got to King's Cross, she had already done her crying. She'd come to terms with her fate, and now it was time to level with her parents. Her parents were acting a tad odd, when she first saw them. They just looked past her on the train platform as she approached them. But then, her mother did a double-take as she caught her eye.
"Hermione?" she gasped. "Is that you?"
"Yes, mum," Hermione said in confusion. "Who else would it be?"
"Well, no one, but…your hair."
"My hair? Oh, right," she said, remembering that her hair was still magically straightened and de-frizzed. "I saving that as a surprise, but I forgot."
"You forgot?" Dad said. "We barely even recognised you."
"Yes, Hermione, I'm not sure your hair has ever looked that good," Mum said. "You've never wanted to treat it or anything. How did you do it?"
"Magic, of course. I invented some spells that take care of it. Honestly, I think it's a little too flat, though. I might work out a spell to put a bit of curl back into it."
"Ah, Hermione, there you are." Professor Vector walked up to the family. Beside her was a handsome man with long, dark hair.
"Hello Professor," Dad said. "We see Hermione's been doing well at making spells."
"Yes, very," Vector confirmed. "And I'm told that she pulled off a feat on her O.W.L. exam that I've never seen before at that level. But anyway, I understand you would like to have another discussion regarding this past year."
"Yes, we would," Mum said sternly.
"Very good. I wasn't there for the final incident myself, so I brought along someone who was. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I would like to introduce you to the recently exonerated Sirius Black."
Mum's and Dad's eyes widened, and they absently shook Sirius's hand.
"Thank you for coming, then, Mr. Black," Mum said. "We would indeed like a thorough explanation of how our daughter managed to almost die again."
Hermione bit her lip. "Well…" she said, "that kind of depends on how you define 'die'…"
A/N: Waltzing Matilda: Australian slang for walking with one's belongings on one's back, but here refers to the dance.