Disclaimer: Fifty-five complaints against JK Rowling: I could probably think of that many if I had, but she still owns Harry Potter (and we thank her for sharing it).

Chapter 60

"Fifty-five complaints, Severus!" Minerva McGonagall ranted in the year-end staff meeting. "Most of them from a single class, and most of them going against any reasonable standards of teaching. Honestly, threatening to poison a student's pet?"

"I would not have done it if I thought the toad would not survive, Minerva," Snape replied coolly. "As for the rest, the potions lab is a dangerous place. If I have to be harsh in order to maintain discipline, then so be it."

"That's a load of hogwash, and you know it. If your accident rates were lower than Slughorn's, I'd believe it, but they're higher in the first two years' classes. You know Madam Pomfrey is required to keep a record of everyone she treats."

"Ahem," the Headmaster interrupted. "I believe it would be better to deal with this matter in a private consultation, Minerva." His tone made it very clear he wasn't going to back down. "Now, as for the rest of Miss Granger's complaints?"

"I've copied them out and given them to the offending staff members," she said. "We may want a private talk with you, Sibyll, and with you Hagrid. One thing that strikes me, though, is the complaint of disproportionate rewards and punishments. Perhaps it would be helpful to write a list of standard punishments for common offences such as tardiness." Snape didn't look like he liked that at all.

"An intriguing idea," Dumbledore agreed, stroking his beard. "I will leave it to the heads of house to write a proposal."

Once the meeting ended, the rest of the staff left, leaving only Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape in the room.

"Fifty-five, Severus," McGonagall repeated. "That's ten times as many as she gave any other teacher besides Binns, and don't get me started on our tenure system."

"Complaints from a student who is leaving the school and is clearly biased," Snape replied. "I hardly think this is worth such trouble."

"I have always found Miss Granger to possess the utmost integrity," she said. "She at least attempted to evaluate the rest of us fairly, and her complaints are no different from the ones I've been hearing about you for the past decade, only more systematised. Can you honestly say that you're a good teacher, Severus?"

"I do my job, Minerva. I do my duty to this school and the country."

McGonagall was about to reply when Dumbledore interrupted her: "Minerva, you know why Severus has remained on staff here, and why he must behave in a less than ideal manner and an instructor."

"As a spy, and to maintain his image as a friend to Slytherins and purebloods," McGonagall recited. "And 'less than ideal' may be the understatement of the year from you, Albus. I'd call it grossly unprofessional. In fact, Miss Granger used those exact words."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore replied, "but you are also aware of Sibyll's new prophecy. We may be at great risk within this next year, and here we stand with guests and special events in the coming year, as well. It is more vital than ever that we maintain our arrangement."

McGonagall sighed: "I accept that, Albus, reluctantly I might add, but honestly, would it hurt Severus's position so much if you were to announce that you're not going to give him so much leeway."

"I would not want to be so public. However, Severus, some of these complaints are very worrying," he added sharply. "I expect you to refrain from making overt insults or threats towards any students—or their pets. And I also reiterate that there is no need for you to be specially harsh towards Harry Potter over the other Gryffindors."

"I understand, sir," Snape grumbled. Whether he would act on the latter part remained to be seen.

"Alright, boy, get in the car," Uncle Vernon said. "Don't need you standing around here all day look abnormal."

"Excuse me, are you the Dursleys?" another voice said from nearby. They looked around and saw a man in very nice clothes, but with long, flowing locks of black hair that Vernon and Petunia didn't approve of in the least.

"Who wants to know?" Vernon said cagily.

Harry grinned and spoke up: "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, this is my godfather…Sirius Black."

"S-S-Sirius Black!" Vernon gasped, turning all sorts of unnatural colours. "He's…he's that murderer the news was talking about last year!"

"Oh, yeah, that," Harry said. "Turns out he was innocent. Who knew? Of course, spending twelve years in prison for a crime he didn't commit's left him a bit on edge…"

Sirius grinned evilly at the Dursleys, who took a step back.

"Wh-what do you want?" Aunt Petunia said, fear flashing across her face.

"What do I want?" Sirius said. "I'm just here to give you some good news."

"Good news?" Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Only good news would be if the boy didn't show up this year."

"Well, not quiet that good," Harry quipped, "but this year, we're only stuck with each other for two weeks."

The Dursleys perked up at that. "Only two weeks, you say?" Vernon said.

"That's right," Sirius chimed in. "After that, I'll be taking him with me."

"Well, that's something."

"Yes it is. Just remember…" He gave Vernon another evil, slightly deranged grin. "I'll be getting a full report from my godson when those two weeks are up."

The Dursleys nodded nervously before whisking Harry away, and Sirius went on to his meeting with the Grangers.

"I need another drink," said Dan Granger after Hermione and Professor Vector (though she wasn't involved this time), and, shockingly, Sirius Black met him and his wife at their third annual meeting at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yeah, me too," his daughter said.

"Hermione!" Emma scolded.

"What? It's just Butterbeer."

"So…just to review," Dan said slowly, "you, Mr. Black, the supposed mass murderer we were so worried about, were innocent, and your supposed victim faked his own death and framed you for it, but you never got a trial. Then, the vaunted Ministry security we put our faith in not only failed to stop you from getting into the castle twice—which you never told us about, Hermione—but also consisted mostly of soul-sucking demons that can't even tell the innocent from the guilty. And meanwhile, the real killer was in the castle the whole time disguised as your friend Ron's pet rat.

"And then, you, Mr. Black, sneaked onto the grounds whilst disguised as a dog and kidnapped Ron in order to catch the rat, and you, Hermione, followed him and found yourself cornered by a man you believed to be a mass murderer."

"I didn't know who the dog was," Hermione protested. "When I saw it was Sirius Black, I did the sensible thing and called Dobby for help."

"And he also failed to stop him."

"That wasn't his fault, Dad. It can't be more than one wizard in a hundred who knows all the house elves' tricks."

"It's true," Sirius agreed. "Only someone from a rich old family who actually bothered to pay attention to their elves would've known how to get out of that."

But Dan wasn't assuaged: "You then managed to capture the real killer, but you barely escaped from your Defence teacher, who was a werewolf, because it was the full moon, only to be set upon by the soul-sucking demons, and you only survived that encounter by sheer luck, getting a frostbitten hand in the process."

"It wasn't all luck," she said indignantly. "I worked hard to learn the Patronus Charm. I'd have been done for long before Professor Dumbledore showed up without it."

"And finally, the real murderer used his exploding spell to try to kill all of you, and you just barely stopped it by turning the shrapnel into mud, and then you hexed him in the face. Does that about cover it?"

"Yes, Dad, that covers it. But you know what, I'm not going to try to fight you this time. I'll go to Beauxbatons this fall. I can tell I'm not going to change your minds again. And honestly, it's a bit of a relief after almost getting Kissed by a dementor and seeing how deep the incompetence runs in the Ministry."

Dan fell silent, unsure of how to respond. The story was certainly horrifying enough. It had taken a painful conversation with Professor Vector, much like Hermione's back in February, to give him and Emma a full understanding of the dementors. Sirius had shuddered at the mere description, and Hermione would have too if she hadn't been caught by her mother in a rib-cracking hug.

"We're, um, glad you finally see things our way, dear," Emma said. "And it only took you four near-death experiences to figure it out."

"Well, statistically, it was still highly improbable based on past events at Hogwarts. It's still normally very safe. It's just that…"

"That when something does go wrong the place is a death trap?" Emma suggested. "No offence Professor."

Professor Vector did look a little offended, but she kept her comments to herself.

"So can we at least figure out what went wrong?" she pressed.

Vector sighed and muttered, "Where to start…?"

"Well, the first thing that went wrong," Sirius interrupted, "was that Barty Crouch Sr. threw me into Azkaban without a trial thirteen years ago. If he hadn't done that, everyone would've known about Wormtail, and none of this would've happened in the first place."

"Fair enough," Vector nodded. "Fortunately, Barty Crouch Sr. is no longer running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was moved over to the Department of International Magical Cooperation after that debacle with his son, and he'll have a hard time even keeping that job now. As for this year, the fault for the failure of security really lies with Mr. Lupin, I'm sorry to say. He told us after the fact that he felt guilty about betraying Professor Dumbledore's trust and roaming the forest as a werewolf when he was a student. Because of that, he never told the Headmaster about Mr. Black's animagus ability, and Mr. Black was able to slip past the guard."

No one mentioned the part about Crookshanks helping him out.

"But that was a lucky break for me, so I'd say it all worked out," Sirius said.

"It's too bad," Hermione said. "Professor Lupin was a really good teacher."

"Yes, his skills were better than most of our Defence Professors," Vector agreed. "Very unfortunate. And of course, the last problem was Fudge placing all those dementors around the school, a decision that was strenuously protested by the entire staff, I might add, but he overruled us. While I couldn't condone it professionally—"

"I can," Sirius quipped.

"—a lot of us wouldn't have minded hexing him in the face for that. Unfortunately, it'll take a lot more than that to get him to lose his job."

"Hence why were glad Hermione's leaving," Dan said frankly. "We're sorry to have to break you up, but—"

"No, I understand perfectly, Mr. Granger. I've already spoken with Dumbledore at length about the school's security, and I've even asked my nephew to reconsider where to send his daughter this fall. I doubt he will, but after three years in a row of this, I can't shake the feeling that someone's got it in for Hogwarts. I'll need to keep a close eye on her."

"Hmm, I sure hope not," Sirius said. "Harry's still going back there."

"Well, if I may say so, Mr. Black, maybe you should reconsider, too," Dan said.

"It's…er, not quite that simple for Harry," he said softly, hoping they wouldn't press on the details.

"And Hermione, you still haven't answered why you didn't tell us he broke in," Emma said. "You knew how dangerous he was supposed to be."

"Because I knew you'd pull me out as soon as you could," she said. "I was hoping they'd catch him before the school year was up, and then we wouldn't have to worry about it. And I thought I could call Dobby in an emergency, which I did."

"And we see how that turned out…We'll discuss this further when we get home."

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, try not to go too hard on your daughter," Sirius said. "She is one of the bravest and most brilliant witches I've ever met. I saw her duel a supposed murderer, solve a mystery in seconds, invent a new spell in minutes in her head, and cast a corporeal Patronus, something a lot of adult wizards can't do. And let's not forget she literally saved my soul. You have an extraordinary daughter."

"Yes we do," Dan replied, "but I think she'll be a lot better off being extraordinary somewhere else."

"I'm still going to visit my friends," Hermione said defiantly.

"Yes, we know, dear," Emma said. "You can always visit during holidays. We're not going to stop you. We don't want to separate you from your friends, but we do hope you'll make some new ones at Beauxbatons, too."

Hermione nodded.

"Well, we'd better get going," Dan said, rising from his seat and shaking their hands. "Thank you for meeting with us again. Good luck with the next school year."

"Thank you," Vector said. "We may need it."

Hermione stepped forward and hugged Vector: "I'm going to miss you, Professor."

Vector smiled sadly and patted her on the back. "Hermione, you're not my student anymore," she said, "and honestly, you're a lot closer to my equal than your mere educational attainment would suggest. I think it would be entirely appropriate if you would call me Septima."

Hermione grinned: "Thank you…Septima."

They went their separate ways, the Grangers back to the muggle world and Sirius and Vector back to the magical one.

"And Hermione?" Dan said on the way out to the car park.

"Yes, I know, I know, I'm grounded."

"Yes, you are. And so's Dobby. He should've told us what was happening. So, um, so you have to make dinner for the next two weeks, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "I've taught you too well, haven't I?" she said.

Her father just looked at her smugly and said, "You had to get your brains from somewhere, dear."

"Alright," she groaned. "I'll make dinner, too—if you can stand my cooking."

Hermione was grounded for two weeks, which seemed fitting because that's how long Harry was de facto grounded whilst being stuck with the Dursleys. She spent that time practising left-handed wand movements, writing a shopping list, wrapping up her non-Euclidean geometry work, and attempting to cook. She was more disappointed than ever that she couldn't use magic at home. She couldn't practice the Patronus Charm. (She had kept trying at school, but she still wasn't at the point where she could consistently produce an otter.) And she couldn't maintain the charms on her hair. Her hair snapped back from straight to stringy within two days, and it slowly started to fray after that. She couldn't start her summer homework either because she was waiting for the mail order to arrive with her French textbooks.

Dobby was very unhappy because he wasn't allowed to cook for two weeks to impress upon him just how serious his and Hermione's breach of trust had been. It was harder than he expected. He could handle physical abuse from his old masters, but they would never have put in the effort to take away his work. He was also given a new set of orders: "If Hermione is in a dangerous environment, you will tell us as soon as possible so long as your presence is not needed there to protect her. If you find out that she's in immediate danger, you will help her get out of it if you can. And if you find out she's doing something unhealthy like shutting herself up in that hidden room again—" (For that, too, had been part of her story that she'd been forced to reveal.) "—you will ask her head of house or whatever the equivalent is at Beauxbatons to intervene."

Harry was having an even worse time with the Dursleys, but the odd thing was that they weren't being unbearable towards him. Instead, Dudley was finding for the first time in his life, aside from a brief incident involving Harry's Hogwarts letters, that his temper tantrums had stopped working. He was going on a diet. Oh, the arguments shook the house day after day, but Aunt Petunia finally seemed to have grown a spine when it came to her son. She wouldn't budge. Of course, she made the entire family follow the diet, too, but Harry wouldn't starve in two weeks.

It still seemed too good to be true, though. Harry had a godfather—one who wasn't a murderer or a fugitive. He had a family who actually cared about him and was finally going to get him out of this place. Part of him didn't want to believe it—didn't want to get his hopes up—and he made only a halfhearted effort to pack before Sirius arrived, but sure enough, Sirius arrived bright and early on Saturday morning—right in the middle of breakfast.

"Oh, it's you, then," Uncle Vernon said, trying to act like he was the one in control of the situation. "We've got the boy right here, all in one piece, like you wanted—Boy, get out here!"

Harry bounded to the door, when he immediately hugged his godfather. "Sirius, it's so good to see you," he said.

"You too, Pup," Sirius said, ruffling his hair. "You all set to go? I've got our flat in some semblance of livable—and what on Earth are you wearing?" he added when he saw Harry wearing clothes that were faded and patched and only approximately fit him, being far too long, for one.

"Oh, they're some of Ron's old ones," Harry replied. "The only other ones I have are Dudley's." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and glared at Uncle Vernon, easily putting together that story. Then he leaned over and peered past him into the kitchen, where Dudley was busy consuming both Vernon's and Harry's grapefruit quarters. "Is he the big one?" he asked Harry.

"Which big one?" Harry grinned in reply.

Uncle Vernon turned puce, but he was bright enough not to say anything in front of the wizards.

"Right, new plan: get your things, and I'm buying you a new wardrobe—godfather's prerogative."

"Can we get breakfast first?" Harry asked. "All we have here is grapefruit."

Sirius barked with laughter: "We can get anything you want, Harry."

Harry didn't hear the words that were exchanged between Sirius and his relatives while he finished packing up his trunk. Perhaps no words needed to be said at all. But by the time he left all three Dursleys were looking paler and more frightened than he had seen them since Hagrid had first barged in on them on that fateful July night.

Thanks to Harry's mum's influence and his own rebellious teenager phase that never really ended, Sirius knew his way around a muggle department store, and being an average male, his patience for shopping was limited, both of which made buying an entire wardrobe much more bearable for Harry. He was glad to finally have muggle clothes that fit. After a few hours of that, they took a break for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron.

The nice thing about the wizarding world being so small was that over half of the traffic came through one, single set of doors, so you were always bound to run into someone you knew. In this case, that someone was…

"Hermione!" Harry called. He rose from his seat to greet the Grangers. Hermione rushed forward and hugged him.

"Harry. Are you all right? How were the Dursleys? Have you moved out yet—"

"Breathe, Hermione," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Sorry," she squeaked. But even so, he noticed that Hermione was smiling—smiling very broadly and looking a little dazed. He thought she looked like he felt after he won the Quidditch Cup for the first time. She was also, puzzlingly for summer, wearing a long, patterned leather coat that nearly reached the ground.

"So the Dursleys weren't any trouble, except Dudley's on a diet, so everybody had to be," Harry said. "I moved out this morning, and Sirius insisted on getting me a new wardrobe, and here we are."

"Yes, and we've got a busy day ahead," Sirius added. "This Ministry still feels guilty about locking me up, so they gave me two tickets to the Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup tonight."

"Holy cricket!" Hermione said, wide-eyed. "That's sure to be a lot of fun. I've really got into Quidditch over the past year through with the stats. I gave Fred and George my bracket on the train."

"Oh, who's your pick to win?" Sirius asked.

"I'd put a slight edge on Ireland, but Uganda, Bulgaria, and Peru look pretty good, too."

"Hmm. All good teams, from what I've read."

"Well, have fun tonight, Harry."

"Thanks. So what about you? I thought you were grounded."

Somehow, Hermione's smile split her face even wider. "I'm ungrounded," she said. "After the mail came this morning, Mum and Dad said I could buy all the stuff on my wish list."

"Two weeks after term ended," Sirius said. "O.W.L.s results, I'm guessing? I'm sure you got an O."

"Not exactly…" she replied, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Not exactly?" Harry frowned. "What else could you have got?"

"See for yourself." She handed over an official-looking letter. Harry opened it and began to read:

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades Fail Grades

Outstanding (O) Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

Hermione Jean Granger has achieved:

Arithmancy O*

"O-star?" Sirius said. "I've never even heard of that. Is it new?"

But his question was answered by the letter that was attached to the grade sheet:

Dear Miss Granger,

The only reason that you received an O on your Arithmancy exam was because there was no higher grade available. An I for Incredible or a U for Unbelievable might have been more appropriate. You received the highest score on record since the current version of the exam was implemented in 1950. Only twice before in my century of examining young witches and wizards have I seen a student who excelled so greatly in any subject. The first was Albus Dumbledore, although the second is no longer well-known by name. I congratulate you for a truly extraordinary performance.

I believe that you could, if you so choose, pass your N.E.W.T. in Arithmancy now with an A. While I am sure you will continue in your studies, you may wish to consider doing so, given your stated intention to withdraw from Hogwarts, since a further qualification may prove helpful to your efforts.

Sincerely,

Griselda Marchbanks

Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority

"The highest grade in forty years!" Sirius exclaimed. "That's incredible and unbelievable. I knew you were a smart one, but that's off the charts."

"That's great news," Harry agreed. "So are you gonna take the N.E.W.T.?

"Thank you," Hermione said, "and no, I'll just take the French qualification, or see if I can take the N.E.W.T. as a standalone in two years. It's actually not as impressive as it sounds. Given the average size of an Arithmancy class, it's barely the best of a thousand, and I was routinely testing higher than that in maths in primary school."

"But the best of a thousand two years early," Sirius reminded her.

"True…But that was…" She started to turn pink. "That wasn't the only letter I got this morning."

"It wasn't?" Harry said. He had no idea what other kind of letter Hermione could have gotten. Maybe her new paper got accepted to Annals of Arithmancy, but that turned out not to be the case—not today, anyway. She handed over a second letter, this one clearly more travelled, with heavy postage and parchment that was a bit faded and dirty. To his amazement, the postmark was from India. He opened it and read:

Dear Miss Granger,

You do not know me, but I am a cursebreaker working for Gringotts in my native India, opening ancient tombs to access the treasure inside. Several months ago, I happened upon your paper in Magizoology Monthly, "A Method to Block the Harmful Effects of the Gaze of a Basilisk in Direct Line of Sight." In case you were not aware, your paper was reprinted in the cursebreakers' circulars in December because of its relevance to our line of work. I thought that your method was very innovative, and I was surprised that you had had cause to test it.

I don't know how much you know about cursebreaking, but it is a dangerous profession, requiring intimate knowledge not only of magic, but of other methods of defence. Tombs are often protected by guardians, be they beings, beasts, or spirits, in addition to spells.

And now, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, because your work has saved my life, and the life of my partner. About a month ago, we were opening a tomb near Haryana, and we found some indications that a basilisk was present. This is more common in India than elsewhere and is one of the most dangerous protections found in such tombs. We normally proceed in such situations by taking a rooster into the tomb so that its crowing can kill the basilisk quickly, but I suggested that we should also apply your technique of blue glasses.

When we entered the tomb, the basilisk was alerted to our presence by our scent, and the rooster immediately proved to be ineffective. The beast had evidently been rendered deaf. It surprised us by slithering out from its den, and we were both exposed to its gaze, but while it caused us a blinding headache, we both remained alive and conscious. The basilisk was a very large specimen, over thirty feet long, but we were eventually able to kill it using a combination of curses and conjured pikes, and its hide made an excellent addition to our commission.

We cannot repay you enough for what your research has done for us, but we hope that you will accept, as a token of our gratitude, a fine snakeskin coat, made from the hide of the beast that attacked us. It is as tough as dragon hide and more valuable, and it may be adjusted to fit by any competent magical tailor. I wish you good luck in all of your future endeavours.

Namaste,

Ashoka Narahari

Harry looked up in awe at Hermione and took a closer look at her new coat. It looked much nicer than he would have expected for something made out of the ugly monster he had seen in the Chamber of Secrets. It was a stylish dark forest green with subtle brown spots that matched her hair and had apparently been cured to bring out the patterns in the scales, looking like an enormous python.

"Wow," Harry said. "That's amazing. And the coat looks really nice."

"More than nice," Sirius agreed. "I'd say hot once you get that fitted properly." Hermione blushed, and Mr. Granger gave Sirius a menacing look. "What?" he added. "I was young once. Boys like the tough woman look. Right, Harry?" he nudged Harry with his elbow.

"Please leave me out of this," his godson said.

"Er, thank you," Hermione said. "It's not even about the coat so much. It's just wonderful to see that my work is doing some real good in the world."

"You mean besides all those times you saved me?" Harry said.

"Well, that too."

"Say, whatever happened to the basilisk we killed?" Harry asked.

"What?!" Sirius said.

"Oh, sorry, I guess you haven't heard the full story."

"No, I guess not," he growled.

"It's a good question, though," Hermione said. "As far as I know, it's still down in the Chamber of Secrets. It's probably technically school property, but it would've been nice to get compensation for almost being eaten by it. With as much trouble as you get in, Harry, you could use a basilisk-skin coat."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked a little green at their daughter's attitude. "Anyway," Mr. Granger said uneasily, "we're heading over to Diagon Alley to have the coat fitted and then to do some shopping."

"We'll come with you," Sirius said. "Harry needs some new robes for day wear—and maybe a dragon-hide coat, too. That's just about as good. And on the way, you can tell me all about how you killed a freaking basilisk."

Harry cracked an uneasy half-smile, and Hermione shot him an apologetic look.

After an unsettling time recounting the highlights of their adventure at the end of second year, and finishing their shopping at Madam Malkins and then Twilfitt and Tattings for the fancier stuff, the Grangers and Sirius and Harry went their separate ways. They left Hermione's coat to pick up in a few days, and for Hermione, the next order of business was to restock her potions kit, along with a few extra supplies for toy wands, so they made a beeline for the apothecary.

"We should get some rune blocks, too, in case we want to brew something over the summer," she told her parents. The runic circles that she and Ron had devised in their first year, carved into blocks of wood and charged with spells from a wand, were selling well in the apothecary to muggle-born families. This was unsurprising, since they allowed wizards and muggles alike to brew simple potions without the use of a wand.

"Do you think this is enough?" she asked when they took their purchases up to the clerk.

"Well, that depends on what you want to brew, don't it?" the clerk replied.

The question hadn't really been meant for him, but Hermione let it slide. "I know," she said. "Every potion's different, but given the average spell requirements, this should be good for a few."

"Your mum and dad ever used these runes before, kid?" the clerk asked.

"Yes. Yes they have," Hermione said with an edge.

"Alright, then. Just wanted to be sure. We've been getting complaints from parents who aren't careful and have accidents."

"Well, we know how to use them quite well. These runes happen to be based on my paper in The Practical Potioneer."

At that, the clerk suddenly paled a little. "Y-your paper?" he said.

"Yes."

"Um, you didn't patent that by any chance, did you?"

"Patent? Er, no, I never thought of it…I wouldn't have thought it was patentable. It's not very original."

He laughed uneasily: "Well, if it were that unoriginal, we would've been selling them sooner, wouldn't we? You have everything you need?"

"Yes, I think so," Hermione said idly as she organised the runes into stacks of like spells. "Not a very efficient system," she muttered to herself. "Or the safest. It'd be better if they came in a…" she trailed off as an idea hit her and eyed the clerk warily.

"Come again?" he said.

"Nothing, nothing." A grin crossed her face. I think I have a letter to write when we get home, she thought.

Hermione refused to tell her parents what she was thinking until they got home, only saying, "I think I found a way to make a bit of money on the side." In the meantime, they went to Flourish and Blotts, where she bought the left-handed editions of The Standard Book of Spells, Grades 1 through 4, much to the clerk's confusion, along with a couple of books on French magic and Beauxbatons in particular. She then paid a surprisingly large amount of money in the junk shop for a single broken real wand, and then, they went to her last stop of the day, Ollivander's.

Mr. Ollivander was the same as always: an old man with wild, white hair like Einstein's and piercing silver eyes like Luna Lovegood's. He had a strange and slightly creepy air about him, but no one disputed that he was good at what he did, and as a result, he sold most of the wands in Britain.

Mr. Ollivander was seated at workbench looking intently at a wand through a magnifier when the Grangers walked in, using a tool that Hermione now recognised as one to carve the tiny runes into the wood. He looked up when the bell over the door rang.

"Ah, Hermione Granger," he said. He claimed to have a photographic memory, and Hermione believed him. "What a surprise. I've followed your exploits, Miss Granger. Very impressive. No trouble with your wand, I hope? Vine wood and dragon heartstring—ten and three quarter inches—a combination with a lot of potential."

"It's served me very well, Mr. Ollivander," she said happily.

"Ah, excellent. I knew when that wand chose you that you were a young woman who could see the world in ways that no one else could."

"Oh, she's certainly that," Emma said, "and it's caused a lot of trouble over the past three years."

"All the best children do, Mrs. Granger," Mr. Ollivander said with a smile. "So how may I help you?"

"Well, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione said, "I was hoping you could take a look at a couple of other wands for me."

"Oh? Other wands? Well, I suppose I could. Let's see, then."

Hermione didn't bother with the broken wand. That wasn't why she was here. However, with Fred's and George's help, she had prepared two other wands while they were still at school that she wanted to have closely inspected now that she had the chance. She handed Mr. Ollivander the first one, the one with the plant-based core.

"Alright, this is…well, this is just a toy, Miss Granger," he said, looking a bit offended at the trick.

"Not exactly, Mr. Ollivander. You see, I made it."

His eyebrows disappeared into his wild hair. "You made this?" he repeated.

"Yes. Well, a couple of friends and I did. We took apart a toy to see how it was made and copied it."

"Well, in that case, this is some impressive work. It's equal to one you could buy in a shop for a few sickles."

"Thank you. I was hoping that. Here's the second one."

Ollivander took a quick look and then handled this wand much more thoughtfully. "Hmm…Mm-hmm…" he said. "Birch wood…and…hippogriff hair, I believe. Neither one I use myself…good workmanship, as far as it goes. No runes, of course, but…Miss Granger, do you have an interest in wandcraft?"

"Somewhat. I was actually mostly interested in the fact that toy wands were allowed under the Restriction on Underage Sorcery, and I was wondering if I could make something more powerful that would still be allowed. But I don't know if that one will set off the Trace. I was hoping you could tell me?"

Ollivander stared at her disconcertingly with those strange eyes of his. He seemed to think it over for a minute, and then he answered, "I will tell you, Miss Granger, since you could easily enough work it out for yourself: the Trace, which is carved into the rune stone network of the country, can distinguish four kinds of magic: human, that is, accidental magic; non-human magic, that is, house elves, magical creatures, and the like; wanded magic; and magical artifacts. Of course, a wand is an artifact—a very complex artifact with a subtle will of its own, but an artifact nonetheless. In order to solve this problem, the Ministry tunes the Trace to a very specific signature of an artifact that produced magic from a part of a magical creature. This only applies to true wands and a handful of other powerful artifacts that you must be of age to buy."

"I see. That makes sense…Except aren't some true wands plant-based?"

"Ah, so you've done your research. Very good. A few true wands are plant-based, most commonly dittany. However, they require certain additional runes that mimic the magical behaviour of animal fibres in order to work properly, so they are still detected by the Trace that way. And to the point, I am afraid that your hippogriff wand will set off the Trace. But it is an admirable first try," he added. "What do you know about wandmaking, Miss Granger?"

"Not much besides what we learnt from our experiments, Mr. Ollivander. Wands have a magical core placed between two pieces of high-quality wood, sealed with a magical glue, varnished, and of course, true wands have runes carved into them."

Ollivander nodded. "A good start," he said. "A very good start. There are a few more steps to the process, but if you wish to improve upon your work here, you face one fundamental problem…" He held the wand out between his fingers. "This is not magical wood."

"Not magical wood?" she said in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"Every part of a true wand must be magical, Miss Granger. And just as only a small fraction of humans are magical, so only a small fraction of trees are magical. Even if this wand were properly carved with runes, the wood could never hold up to a lifetime of use, though it is otherwise of good quality. It would crack or burn long before the core did."

Hermione's eyes widened: "Of course; I think I understand, now. We tested some of our wands to failure. With a good quality store-bought toy, the core burned out first, but with the ones we made, the wood shattered. That was because it wasn't magical wood."

"Yes, I suspect so. The better toys use wood with some degree of magic."

"Okay, so how do you figure out which trees are magical."

"Oh, for toys, a simple magic-detection spell is good enough, but a good wandmaker can feel much more keenly by his senses which trees are the best."

Hermione smiled a little. "I'm sure you have a lot of tricks like that. I'm guessing you have your own recipes for the glue and varnish, and so on."

"Naturally—and more than that. Wandmaking a very complex art. Every wandmaker worth his magic has his own recipes and can adjust them with the type of the materials, to help them bind better. A good wand requires at least four potions. I will explain the process in overview. First, a suitable wood and core must of sufficient quality must be selected—ones which will bind together well. The wood must then be treated with a potion—sometimes more than one—to preserve it and make it more resilient to magic. At the same time, the core must be treated with another potion or potions. The wood and core are bound together using a magical glue, and then runes are carved—runes that must in part be specific to the wand for best results. Finally, the wand it coated with a Self-Repairing Varnish some that small nicks and scratches can be removed with a simple polishing."

Hermione's head was spinning. There was so much more to wandmaking than she realised, but in a way, it made sense. One of Ollivander's wands had to hold up to ten thousand times as much use as the best toys, or more, so it was only natural that every part of the process was optimised for the best possible quality. That she and Fred and George had managed a five-fold improvement over that was quite an achievement in itself, but only a start on a long path. The real question was how much she could improve the plant-based wands without setting off the Trace.

"Wow. Well…thank you, Mr. Ollivander. That's a lot to think about. I think I'll have to do some more experiments," she said. Her parents looked at each other uneasily.

Ollivander smiled. "Do come back if you have more questions," he said. "It's not often I meet a talented self-study in my line of work. And I still hold to what I said three years ago: someone with your unique perspective on the world will do great things."

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?" Emma asked as her daughter twirled a homemade plant-based toy wand in her hand. "I know the runes don't set off the Trace, but an actual wand is different."

"Mr. Ollivander said it should be fine," Hermione replied. "And even if it's not, I should only get a warning letter." She pointed the toy at one of their potted plants and incanted, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Half an hour later, no letter had arrived from the Ministr, and it was clear that her theory was correct. They wouldn't send one for a mere toy as long as she didn't attract attention with it.

"Great," she said. "Now I can show you the spells I invented. I've been waiting to show you this one," she told her parents with a grin. She pointed the toy at the floor and cast, "Lux Cohaerens."

"You invented a magical laser?" Dan said in surprise as Crookshanks started chasing the red dot. "That's amazing. I mean, if what we've read in your textbooks is any indication, that could be revolutionary in the magical world."

"Thank you, Dad. I'm glad someone understands that."