BOOK TWO: Hermione Granger and the Power to O'erthrow Law

I

A Promise of Summer

Life at the Grangers' house was complicated. With the Dursleys things were simple: Get up, work, say nothing, go back to the cupboard. At Hogwarts everything revolved around a schedule: Meals were scheduled; lessons repeated their pattern every week; curfew fell the same time every night.

The Grangers took a more laid-back approach to life. The only schedules were Hermione's parents going to work, on rotas Harry could never quite figure out, and whatever plans Hermione was working to. Harry felt he was somewhat expected to manage his own time, yet no-one would call him up on it if he didn't, or notice if he didn't know how to. All of which let him not knowing what to do.

Dinnertime was when everyone generally agreed they felt hungry, which left Harry in the predicament of having to ask to be fed - which he never did. He just ate what he was given, when it appeared, and not for one moment all summer was he as hungry as on the best days at the Dursley house.

Curfew was apparently not a thing in their household. Hermione knew what a sensible time to be inside was, not that she went out much to begin with, and Harry pretty much just followed her lead. When she wasn't available, typically because she was buried in one book or another, he meandered through the house, absently tidying things away and twirling pens about in his fingers. The Grangers kept a lot of pens lying around.

Having so much free time was odd, and he was quickly finding he didn't much like it. Six indescribably long days into the summer, Hermione came to his rescue in the most Hermione way possible.

"Harry, would you stop pacing?" she shouted as he passed her bedroom door for the umpteenth time. "Or at least go for a walk outside!"

"Sorry," he mumbled.

The door opened to reveal the frustrated girl, her pen tucked in her wild hair and teeth worrying a badly chewed lip.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"Uh, nothing."

She crossed her arms. "I wasn't born yesterday you know. What is it?"

"What's up with you?" he deflected.

"I am trying, unsuccessfully, to solve a particularly challenging polynomial, and there is a very distracting creaking outside my door putting me off my concentration. Now, your turn."

Harry thought he ought to have known better than to try distracting her with an easy question; it took a real puzzle to grab her attention. His wandering mind wasn't really up to standard though.

"I, um, I don't… what's a polynomial?"

Hermione sighed disappointedly. "You're bored, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little?"

"Do we need to go hunt a basilisk, or are you itching to do something even more reckless?"

The remark hit home, mostly on account of how many times he had daydreamed about the house being attacked by all manner of magical creatures, and how he would fend them off. He had escape routes planned out, fallback positions for making valiant last stands, the works.

"I just need to do something!" he barked out.

"Right. Fine. Come in, get yourself comfy on the bed," she ordered, turning and marching back inside to her desk.

Harry lingered in the doorway. He was fairly certain being ordered into a girl's bed was the sort of thing Warren was always on about: The sort of thing he wasn't interested in, even if his teenage body had its own ideas, because he was far too young, it was far too intimate, and he didn't understand what it was Warren was talking about half the time anyway. That Hermione was the one giving the order was only adding to his state of confusion.

"Come on! On the bed, I've only got the one chair. Now, I can't exactly throw you in at the deep end with polynomials, but I have some simpler algebra I should probably revise, so we can work on that."

She turned back to face him with a braille print book in her arms and an expectantly tapping foot, and he felt like an idiot. A relieved idiot. He made his way over to the bed and carefully perched on the pristine purple sheets.

His next words came with some trepidation. "What's algebra again?"

"Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought," Hermione said, throwing herself into her chair and opening her book with relish, licking her lips as she determinedly skimmed to find the right page. She was enjoying herself already.

Harry gulped.

"You'd understand it much better if you just put in the effort!"

"I'm trying, Hermione; I just don't get it!"

"But you're so good at your arithmetic!" she cried, throwing her book onto her desk with surprising accuracy - it only knocked off one of many pots of stationary.

"That makes sense!"
"So does this! It's physics! It's literally making sense of the universe."

Her flailing demonstrative arms were dangerous to stand near, so he backed up out of her room completely.

"Well, I don't get it. Can't we just do something interesting today?"

"Harry Potter, are you suggesting orbital mechanics aren't interesting?"

The arms found homes on her hips and became even more deadly. But he was a Gryffindor, and his lion was far too happy to reply.

"Yes."

"You take that back!"

"Make me," he challenged, pointlessly sticking his tongue out. "When would I use any of this stuff anyway?"

"This is going to be important for astronomy next year."
"And what's astronomy good for?"

"It, uh… Okay, granted, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't learn physics."

"I've been learning physics all day!"

"Then by all means go do whatever else it is you have to occupy yourself!" Hermione shouted, her riled up attitude suddenly not so tongue in cheek. "You're the one who wanted to join my summer learning schedule. I've put myself a long way behind helping you catch up."

"Maybe you shouldn't have."

"Maybe I shouldn't!" she agreed, reaching out and slamming the door in his face, leaving him stood on the landing wondering what just happened.

Just because he wanted to take a break after a week of six-hour days in the bedroom of endless knowledge. Just because years of deliberately putting himself below Dudley at school had left him behind where she thought he should be. It wasn't his fault, was it?

Leaving her to her stupid orbital-whatevers, he stomped down the stairs - taking great care to hit every creaking board on the way - and went straight to the fridge. He hadn't ever helped himself to anything from it before, but he was feeling vindictive and hungry, and the cheesecake Hermione had saved the night before was promising to be twice as delicious with a sprinkling of spite. Mrs -Michelle - Granger came into the kitchen just as his spoon cut into it.

"You've finally found the fridge I see," she quipped as she slid a mug under the coffee machine.

"Um, yeah."

"And the cheesecake."

Harry looked at his stolen prize guiltily. Suddenly it wasn't half as enticing.

"It's about time," Michelle remarked.

"What?"

"She's been saving you second helpings all week, and that's the first one she hasn't had to eat herself."

Harry felt the record scratch in his brain.

"She was saving it for me? You're sure? She never said…"

"My daughter has never, not once in her life, saved leftovers the way she does since you arrived. This Thursday gone was the first time I've seen her sad to be the one finishing up a trifle. And what's the rule about the fridge?"

"If it doesn't have a name on it, it's fair game," Harry recited.

"Bingo," she said, firing a finger gun at him. Michelle's coffee finished dripping and she took it away with a parting smile. "Enjoy the cheesecake. And don't forget to floss after!"

Harry sat heavily on a breakfast stool, thoughts of eating his prize forgotten even as he couldn't stop staring at it. Hermione had left it as a thought for him, and he was going to eat it to spite her… for what? Petty revenge over a pointless argument? Why had they been arguing anyway; she had been trying to help him. Was it her fault for expecting too much of him, or his for being too dense to understand?

Not like I can be blamed for not being as smart as Hermione Granger. She needs to realise us mere mortals can't keep up. And I'm a year younger than her!

Resolving that it must be her fault, somehow, because he couldn't see how it was his, he finally ate the cheesecake. Not spitefully, though; he wasn't mad at her anymore. He was only going to refrain from going up and sorting things out because she was no doubt busy with her own studies already and wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. He'd just leave it, and hope it would all be forgotten by the evening.

Hermione was still upstairs, and he was still sat in the kitchen for lack of anything better to do, when Mr Granger – Ian - came home early. Harry saw his wife pull him to one side and whisper something to him; by the man's glance it was about their summer lodger. Harry's concern was building as Ian entered the kitchen, a slightly strained smile on his face.

"Hey there champ. I finally managed to get an afternoon off, and was thinking we should go out and sort you a new wardrobe. Can't be wearing the couple of bits we got all summer, can you?"

"Uhm, no?" Harry guessed, slightly confused as that was exactly what he had been intending, and perfectly content, to do. The two pairs of jeans, three plain shirts and assortment of underwear was the most complete set of fitting clothes he had ever owned. Throw in two sets of robes and it was more than he'd used to get through a whole year at Hogwarts. He was still trying to convince them to let him pay them back for it all.

"Oh, also, one of those post owls accosted me on the drive. Insistent little thing, practically shoved this down my throat."

Ian handed him an envelope, addressed to Harry James Potter, The Granger Residence. He turned it over, noted the gold wax seal was strangely familiar, and opened it carefully. He read aloud:

'Dear Mr Potter,

I trust this correspondence finds you in good health. There is a matter which I feel we must discuss, in person and at your earliest convenience. Whilst it is entirely possible for me to come to you, I had the thought you might appreciate a trip to Diagon Alley, and would gladly meet you there. Please write a time, date and place on the reverse side of this parchment; I shall be there.

Yours dutifully, Minerva McGonagall.'

"McGonagall. That's one of your professors, isn't it?" Michelle asked.

"Our head of house."

"Sounds important," Ian said. "Why don't we swing by the wizarding side of London while we're out shopping?"

"Today? That's awfully short notice," Michelle contested.

"Earliest convenience. Yours dutifully. Let's see what the woman's word is worth, eh? We only trust our daughter to her most of the year. Besides, witches can teleport, can't they?"

"It's called apparition, dad," Hermione commented from halfway down the stairs. "But yes, it's functionally teleportation."

There she goes, correcting everyone. Harry thought, his earlier bitterness welling up out of nowhere. Just because she's right…

"Good afternoon to you too, princess. You know, most little girls give their dads hugs and kisses to welcome them home, not semantic ruminations."

"Most girls didn't have you for a dad," she snarked, stumbling on the bottom step before he gathered her up in a bear hug and swung her around in the narrow corridor. "Put me down!" she cried.

Her dad laughed and did as he was told, careful to release her facing away from any walls. She staggered so far she ended up standing next to Harry.

"So, will this professor of yours think two hours is long enough to teleport across the country?" Michelle asked. "Speaking of, where does she live? Does distance matter?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "but she'll get there."

"You sure, pumpkin?"

"She'll be there," Harry agreed. Of all the adult witches and wizards he'd met, she was top of the select few to prove themselves worth trusting.

"Well, best scribble out a reply then," Mr Granger suggested, producing a pen from his breast pocket.

Harry declined it, as he was already holding one, but he did write: 'The Leaky Cauldron, June 29th, 4pm'. The writing faded shortly after he finished, which he took to mean the magic had worked and his message was sent.

"Anyway, what's this about shopping?" Hermione asked warily.

"We're taking Harry out to expand his fashion knowledge," her mum explained, "and it looks like we'll be swinging by Diagon Alley too. Are you coming?"

"I have a lot of work to do… I haven't even started on chemistry yet…"

"We can go to a bookstore."

Hermione tried to pretend she wasn't sold, but the knowing look Harry shared with her parents was testament to her terrible acting skills.

"I could put some things off until after tea…"

"Fantastic!" Ian said with a clap of his hands. "Let me get out of these work clothes and we'll be off in five."

Getting muggles into the Leaky Cauldron was fun; assuming one redefined the word. The first time they approached the pub, they commented on how it looked abandoned and in need of a good condemning, no matter how strongly Hermione objected they had been there before. Then they remembered they had somewhere else to be and tried to herd Harry and Hermione back the way they had come. Michelle was utterly convinced she had left the oven on, with a tea-towel stuck in the door. Ian had a three o'clock appointment with a Bulgarian football player who had knocked three teeth out in a water-skiing accident.

The solution turned out to be Harry manhandling Michelle through the front door, despite her protests, whilst Hermione took advantage of the number the confundus ward was doing on her father to distract him. When she strategically allowed him to see his wife only in the moment she disappeared into a shady building, his desire to do something about it overcame the compulsion to leave.

Once inside they came to their senses immediately, blushing profusely as half the patrons in the busy pub eyed them. Harry felt for them, but Hermione was a girl on a mission, pressing him into guiding her through to the alley. She seemed equal parts irritated and excited; in other words, she was being herself, only more so.

They had decided to arrive early and get some magical shopping done before meeting McGonagall, but the woman in question was nursing a brandy at a table by the exit and caught their attention, inviting them to sit by conjuring up enough chairs for all of them with a flick of her wand. The casual ease of her transfiguration magic astounded Harry even more than it had when he first saw her animagus transformation; having tried magic for himself, his appreciation of the woman's skill had only grown.

"Professor McGonagall," he greeted her as he sat.

"Oh, none of that Harry; I am most definitely Minerva during the holidays." – Despite her kind words, there was something off with her mannerisms; not unlike when Petunia was hosting dinner parties for neighbours she despised – "Now, how are the two of you keeping?"

Harry tried to shrug off the uneasy feeling he got from the woman; he'd done enough rushing to conclusions for the day. "Brilliant."

"Reasonably well, thank you," Hermione answered.

"Ah… someone is missing their magic, then?"

"Obviously," she huffed.

Harry was surprised how glum she was about it. He'd been missing access to his wand too, naturally, but it was nice to have a break from being required to use it. It wasn't like he needed magic for everyday life; he'd coped well enough without it for a decade before anyone told him he was a wizard. Well, coped might be a strong word… but that wasn't for lack of magic.

"Try not to waste your summer counting the days until it ends, Hermione. There is much more to life than wand-waving."

Hermione, the most eloquent teenager Harry knew, grunted by way of response.

"That being said, perhaps this will cheer you up," Minerva continued with a smug smile as she slid a paper package across the table. "With school out, Flitwick, Vector and myself have finally had time to dedicate to a little project."

Hermione perked up and tore the package open to reveal a pair of eagle feather quills and a thick square of crimson parchment.

"We adapted your transcribing quill and the charms used in howlers. The heavier of the two quills will trace the lettering on a page; the lighter will mimic its sister's movements to temporarily scribe onto the parchment, which speaks the words aloud - although much more calmly than a howler would. The ministry uses something similar, but adjusting the trigger condition was quite the arithmetic conundrum. We hope it helps in your endeavours to read your way through the entire library."

"That's… thank you so much. You didn't have to-" Hermione blushed.

Minerva deflected the gratitude; "It was our pleasure, and an interesting project in itself. Oh, but where are my manners; Mr and Mrs Granger, so good to make your acquaintance again. Would any of you care for a drink? My treat."

Two minutes of empty politeness and one round of drinks later, Minerva got down to business.

"Now, to the reason I asked you to meet." - Harry was intrigued, and slightly worried, by the way she snapped into her brusque professor mannerisms. - "I hope you are not offended that I have done much without your knowledge, but I did not wish to offer you false hope should things fall through…"

She produced a folder of documents, holding Harry on tenterhooks as she leafed through to find the one she wanted.

"What are those?" he blurted out.

Her hard stare made him wither, as he realised she was about to tell him anyway and he was foolishly jumping the gun. Is this what Hermione's stare would look like?

"These, Harry, are papers of change of guardianship. There are several forms of guardianship in wizarding Britain, mostly necessitated due to the statute of secrecy. For example, although Hermione has her parents, in emergencies and matters of a strictly magical nature, I, as her head of house, am authorised to act in their stead. Your case is something of an anomaly. Born to a wizarding family; orphaned; given to muggle relatives; and finally 'self-emancipated' – that is what the ministry likes to call running away. When you first came to Hogwarts you were without parental, legal, or magical guardian, and due to your parents' first and second choices of godparent being unavailable, there was no easy solution. For the past year Headmaster Dumbledore has been acting as your guardian in loco parentis."

"So what's gone wrong?" Harry asked, bracing himself for bad news. "He doesn't want me anymore?"

"Heavens no, child; he wants you alright. However, much as he is a great wizard and a generally exemplar headmaster, I fear he is not suited to caring for children on an individual level. The man has his failings. So, I have endeavoured to have your guardianship transferred into a more suitable and permanent arrangement, with someone you can trust to always put your interests at the fore."

"Who?"

"Perhaps you - or Hermione - would care to hazard a guess?"

The girl in question was practically vibrating in her seat. If they had been in a classroom, her hand would no doubt have been stretched to the rafters. Still, actually being acknowledged had her freeze under pressure for a moment before she sheepishly answered.

"Minerva McGonagall?"

"Correct, as always."

"You?"

"Yes, Harry, me."

It seemed too sudden, weird, and good to be true.
"Wait, but, you said students and teachers have rules and whatnot?"

"To be clear: I would become your magical guardian, much as I am for Hermione; also, your legal and financial advisor and representation, which is unrestricted in choice; and, as a result, the natural choice to act in loco parentis in all other matters. Officially, there would be no impropriety; functionally, I would be solely responsible for your wellbeing."

"And this is allowed?" Mr Granger interjected. "It sounds like the sort of loophole that shouldn't exist."

"Perhaps not in muggle law, but the ministry of magic is a much smaller body, overseeing a vastly lesser population. Without entire bodies of lawyers to close every avenue, the spirit of the law is what we seek to uphold. Our rules regarding teacher-student relations exist purely to protect children from harm and exploitation. They cannot be broken, of course, but bending them in order to better serve their purpose is allowed, and often encouraged."

As the Grangers and Minerva launched into a debate over legalities - one which went completely over his head - Harry ruminated. The shock was wearing off, but he couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't right; someone would be upset or angry or try to take this away from him. Hermione scooted slightly closer as though she could sense his unease, and he summoned the courage to speak up before she felt the need to hug him.

"What about Dumbledore?" he said into the middle of Michelle speaking. "Won't I need his permission, if he's my guardian? Will he be angry I don't want him?"

"His permission is not required," Minerva explained, "neither legally nor morally. He is only guardian in loco parentis, meaning until such a time as a better option comes forward."

"But he won't be angry?"

"We have had a long discussion about your future, and he has come to see the truth of several matters. He will not be causing further issues." Minerva said coldly.

"Harry, does this mean you want this?" Michelle asked, looking him in the eye with uncomfortable intensity. "You would be giving her a lot of power over you; you're certain you trust her?"

"Better question," her husband said, "is there any adult you trust more?"

That was an easy question. "No. I trust her."

Hemione's parents shared a look.

"You've only known her a year, and only as a teacher… no offense, ma'am."

"None taken. I understand your concerns and admire your desire to protect Harry. And, though I am reluctant, should Harry feel it necessary then I am prepared to swear an unbreakable vow."

"An unbreakable vow?" Hermione asked, confusion showing.

Wow… Any magic Hermione hasn't even heard of must be something really rare.

"To break such a vow is to forfeit one's life, struck dead by your own magic."

The table was left in resonant silence at the weight of her words and offer.

"Why?" Harry finally asked. "Why would you risk your life like that?"

"I must confess, Harry, there is something you should know before you agree to any of this. A blot on my past which I regret dearly, and for which I can only beg a forgiveness I do not deserve. On the night your parents were killed, when Dumbledore dropped you on your Aunt's doorstep, I was party to the decision. At the time I thought it inadvisable, knowing a little of Lily's sister's penchant for unkindness, but the headmaster had his reasons and I allowed myself to agree with them. For a shameful decade I continued to go along with his plan to protect you, despite my suspicions your life was not as peaceful as he assumed. I did not understand the truth of my inaction until last summer. My only excuse is that I did not know, yet I acknowledge that I could have. I should have."

Harry focused a very hard stare on her chin, which helped with the feeling the whole room was spinning as his understanding of the world turned on its head. He would have looked her in the eye, but she averted hers.

"You l-left me," he stammered. "With them."
"I did."
"You knew what Petunia was like," he accused.

"Your mother had spoken of her views on occasion."

Harry felt his blood starting to boil. "Why them? Why not someone else? Anyone else?!"

"There are powerful wards on that house; blood wards, fuelled by your mother's sacrifice. Though You-Know-Who was suspected to be gone, his followers remained at large."

Harry didn't know much about wards, save that they existed and protected things; made them safe. But he hadn't felt safe with the Dursleys. Not once.

"My parents can't have wanted me to go there."
"Your father's will stipulated that you be given to Frank and Alice Longbottom – yes, Neville's parents. My arguments against Dumbledore's decision were strong at first, but when the Longbottoms were savagely attacked only a week after the Potters, I mistook serendipity for genius on Albus' part and fell in line."

"And then you left me there."

"I did. I raised concerns several times over the years, but Dumbledore" – the hatred in the way she says his name; how did I not notice earlier? – "always assured me you were in the safest place possible."

"Well I wasn't."

She hung her head like a scolded dog. "No. No, you were not."

Harry looked to the Granger family for some idea of what to do next, and found all three of them sharing jaws set so firmly they might crack a tooth. It was easy to see where his best friend got her determination from, and Harry was very glad to have the three of them on side. Or at least, he thought they were on his side. He would have said the same about McGonagall only an hour ago…

Was she on his side now? She had been the reason he ended up with the Dursleys, the reason for almost all the suffering in his life, along with Dumbledore. Granted it had mostly been Dumbledore, which was a revelation all in itself he would have to unpack later; and she had apparently raised concerns from the outset; and now she was freely admitting to it and asking the chance to make it up to him, which she didn't have to do; and she had been so good to him the past year, so it seemed from her actions that she meant it; and there were so few others looking out for him in life; and she'd offered to make an unbreakable vow.

Minerva was definitely on his side, he decided. The question was if he wanted her there.

"How can I trust you?"

"That is not for me to say. To whom one gives their trust is their own prerogative, and I understand I have done plenty to lose yours. However… do you perchance have the envelope I gave you with you?"

His hand went reflexively to the pocket where it sat, crumpled up but never having left his person for more than a moment. Shameful as he felt for planning the eventuality, if the Grangers got tired of his presence and threw him out, it wouldn't do not to have it to hand.

"The one I'm not to open?"

"Yes," she confirmed, following his hand with her gaze. "You may wish to open it now."

Harry did as she said. The parchment inside was blank but for one line:

'Speak, friend, and enter.'

"What?" Harry muttered, and the ink swirled away to the edges of the page, then back to form a longer passage: An address, he assumed by the way it was laid out, and then several different ways, both magical and muggle, to reach it. As he was reading, a spectral silver cat tore free from the page and darted off to rest in Minerva's lap before dissipating into nothing.

"That is my home address. The contingency plan was to have you come to stay with me."

"You said you couldn't do that," Harry said, heart sinking further as he noted another lie she had told him. Why she thought that would make him trust her-?

She shook her head as she spoke. "I told you I, as a teacher, could not house a student. What I did not tell you is that, sitting in my desk draw, I have a pre-written letter of resignation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, made ready for such an eventuality."

Why is that the first revelation to draw a gasp? Harry wondered dryly as Hermione did exactly that, hands to her mouth. Then his brain caught up with his sarcastic wit and he gasped himself.

"Resignation?" Hermione sputtered. "But you love teaching!"

"Indeed, I do… but I have found recently there are more important things in my life."
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Harry asked, amazed at how vehemently he wanted to believe it was true. He wanted Minerva McGonagall to be the woman he had thought her to be.

"Mr Potter, I am quite literally offering to swear on my life," she answered with a tight-lipped smile and a sip of brandy which might have been casual had her hand not shaken so much.

"I think," Michelle interjected, speaking slowly, "this is the sort of decision which warrants sleeping on."

"I quite agree," Minerva said, rising with the haste of someone who desperately, instinctively, wanted to be anywhere else in the world right then. "I have taken enough of your time, and I do apologise if I have put a dampener on an otherwise enjoyable outing."

She drained the rest of her drink in one go, then looked forlornly into the glass as she rested it on the table.

"Whatever you may decide, know that you will have my support, however it may be required."

"Thank you, professor," Harry mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Do not thank me for doing only what I should have a long time ago."

"Well, it was… enlightening to see you, professor," Ian remarked as he stood and offered a reluctant hand, "but we have quite the schedule to keep today. Harry is in need of many things, and no doubt our daughter will have us in every bookstore along the way."

"No doubt," McGonagall agreed. "Speaking of books, she may wish to obtain for herself a copy of 'Hunters and Handlers' by Enid Brocklehurst. Chapter six makes for highly recommended reading. A good day to you all, and do get in touch should you need anything." - She looked Harry in the eye, finally. - "Anything at all."

When all that remained of the professor's presence was an empty glass and a myriad of conflicting emotions tumbling around Harry's head, Hermione's head fell into her hands with a low groan.

"Sweetie, are you alright? Is your scar hurting again?" Michelle fussed over her.

"No. I just… I put her on such a pedestal! After everything, she was one of the good ones. She was… why are adults so, so… argh!"

Harry didn't think he could have put it better himself.

Ian decided it would cheer the kids up to drag them into the Magical Menagerie, to coo over the cute animals. Hermione begrudgingly admitted, only to herself, that he was probably right assuming there wasn't a no-petting rule, and so she only put up a token effort for appearance's sake when he took her hand and led her inside. It wasn't him she was angry with.

Harry took himself off to the vivarium with hardly a by-your-leave, but Hermione had no desire to go anywhere near any snake she didn't control. She knew far too well what they could do, and didn't trust wizarding sensibilities to prevent them selling venomous breeds. If Harry weren't a parselmouth she might have accompanied him to keep him safe. Instead, she wandered over to where a few owls were hooting, which turned out to be behind the counter as she bumped into it.

"Ooh, y'alright there miss?" the elderly man keeping the shop asked.

"Fine, thank you. I've taken harder knocks."

"Aye lass. Right y'are. I'd ask if ya see any what take ya likin', but…"

"Just listening for now, thank you," she said, avoiding the insinuation as best she could.

"Very good. Do let me know if any o' the blighters is bein' rude t'ya. Wouldn't wan'- Hey, no!"

There was very suddenly a weight crashing into her arm, sending her staggering as a dozen needle sharp fangs bit into her skin. She yelped and flailed but her attacker was latched on in a death-grip.

"Crookshanks, gerroff 'er! Tha's no way ta greet customers!"

Wishing she had her wand, Hermione grabbed at her attacker; expecting hard scales, she lost her hand in a sea of luscious fur and radiating warmth. Just a cat.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry miss, he's such a menace, I'll just-"

"Leave it," she said hurriedly, not wanting to find out how deep those claws would go if the cat was torn away unwillingly. "I'll get him off myself."

Crookshanks had other ideas as he crawled up her arm and batted at her blindfold, threatening to tear it away completely. She harshly slapped his little paw away and pointed a finger at where she assumed his face was.

"No! Leave alone."

The paw withdrew, and was shortly replaced by a head nuzzling into her finger, demanding a scratch behind one ear. She was all too happy to oblige if it kept the cat away from her face. It also helped to calm her racing heart.

"Well I ne'er," the shopkeep muttered in awe. "Shanks, what's got into ya, eh? Ain't ne'er seen him snuggle up like that."

"Found a friend, sweetie?" Michelle asked as she came up behind. "Is that… are you bleeding?"

Now someone mentioned it, there were a few light trickles of warmth starting to run down her arm where Crookshanks was clinging on.

"It's alright mum. I'll be fine. I'm sure Crookshanks didn't mean to, did you little fella?"

Crookshanks purred approvingly and nuzzled up into her neck, his claws retracting slightly as he found better purchase on her shoulder. Something in his movements felt like an apology, not merely the opportunistic warmth-stealing of a regular cat.

"You're lucky I don't mind a little blood, you rascal," she said as she petted her new 'friend'. "If this was my favourite shirt you'd be in a lot of trouble."

Crookshanks responded by crawling across her chest to settle into the arms she brought up to support him, audibly tearing her blouse in several places as he moved without cutting her again.

"Oh sweetie, look at your arm," Michelle gasped, touching it gingerly. "And your top is ruined, oh are you really ok, you don't need to put on a brave face, tell me if it hurts."

"Of course it hurts, but really, I'm fine." Hermione almost regretted not telling her parents about the basilisk, what with the way her mum still babied her – "Although, I should probably get someone to heal it over."

It wouldn't do to let the blood drip down onto her jeans; she liked this pair. They were easy to get on and she could pick them out easily by the double button on the front, unlike the others which all seemed the same to her.

"Here, allow me," the shopkeeper offered.

Hermione presented her scratched arm, shifting Crookshanks away protectively in case the magic upset him, and the man fixed her up with a single episkey. She had enough knowledge and skill to heal the wound herself, if only she was allowed her wand.

"Good as new. Use that spell a lot working with animals, as ya might understand. Even easier when there ain't fur in the way. Say, uh, if there be anything ya want in the store, it's on us. As an apology, like."

Hermione wasn't really listening. Crookshanks had rolled over in her arms and was purring contentedly as she scratched his exposed belly, an activity which demanded her complete attention. She didn't begrudge him the attack; he'd just wanted a cuddle. It wasn't such a bad thing he'd misjudged the impact; how many times had she done the same before accepting that the running bear hugs she loved to give were a thing of the past? She nuzzled her face into his, and he left her blindfold alone like the good little kitty he was.

"Ah," her mother sighed. "I don't suppose the cat is actually not for sale?" she ventured hopefully.

"Shank's? He's up for bleeding adoption if ya wanting him. Been tryna shift the brute fer years."

"I was afraid you'd say that…" she muttered, before calling out: "Honey, it looks like we're getting a cat!"

A/N

Book Two begins!

I thought a few weeks of not uploading would give me the chance to get well ahead on writing. Turns out what it actually did was give me time to rewrite a bunch of the planning I had done, hopefully for the better. Oops?