Hermione left Gringotts feeling like she'd been duped somehow by the goblins, though she had no idea how. She contented herself that whatever the goblins had pulled over on her, it clearly didn't hurt her or her finances, and she was going to be able to keep her sword, which was an unexpected plus, so whatever it was, it couldn't be too bad overall, right?

When she got home and told her parents that she had commissioned a sword, her father lit up with excitement while her mother groaned.

"Of course you can just commission a magical sword in the magical world," her mother despaired, holding her head in her hands. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"This is excellent," her father told her, eyes dancing. "A custom-made enchanted sword for you is always going to be better than any ratty old sword you find."

"…you do realize I'm not really an adventurer, Dad?" Hermione ventured.

Her father waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still – a sword! How much gold did it cost?"

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and Hermione faltered.

"Err," she said. "I… I don't think it cost me anything."

Her father's eyes dimmed.

"What?"

"I… we were arguing over ownership," Hermione said, wracking her brains. "The contract said so long as I let the goblins keep loaning money out from my bank account, they would make me a sword and let me keep it."

Her father blinked.

"Is that not typical?" he asked.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "I set up a contract with the goblins, letting them loan money out from my account and splitting the interest with them. They didn't have any system like that before."

Her father started to laugh.

"Trust my daughter to try and reform a strange financial institution in her spare time," he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder proudly. "Well, so long as you don't think they're going to betray you..."

Nothing gave Hermione any indication that a goblin would ever break their word. Even in Binns' lectures about the rebellions, no goblin had ever told a direct lie.

"I think I'll be okay," she told him.

"My daughter, making friends with the goblins," her mother moaned, holding her head in her hands theatrically. "Not that the goblins are impolite, but they're threatening. Oh, Hermione, couldn't you do business some other way?"

"You're being overdramatic, Jean," her father chided.

"I'm allowed to be overdramatic," her mother sniffed. "My daughter is commissioning a legitimate medieval weapon. If this isn't the time to be melodramatic about it, when is?"

"And I am doing business another way," Hermione butted in. "What do you think all the Avon forms I send you are about, hmm?"

"That's true," her mother conceded, a small smile coming to her face. "You've been very successful with that so far, and dutiful about paying me back. I'm proud of you."

Hermione glowed at the praise, before something occurred to her.

"Oh," she said. "I got a new order in. But Mum, Dad – do either you know anything about dyslexia?"

"The reading disability?" Her father frowned. "Only a little."

Hermione explained what Susan Bones had told her on the train, describing her symptoms to them both. When she finished, they were both frowning thoughtfully.

"That doesn't sound like dyslexia, Hermione," her mother said. "Honestly, it sounds like something neurological."

"Like something wrong with her brain?" Hermione said, alarmed. "Like a tumor?"

"Something small, if so," her mother assured her. "I'm sure you don't need to worry your friend has a brain tumor."

"I'll ask around," her father said, frowning. "I have a few friends in medicine and pediatrics who know about different learning disabilities. I'll see what I can find."

Hermione smiled up at her father. "Thanks. It would really help, if she could figure out how to treat this— this whatever-it-is."

"We'll do our best, dear," her mother assured her. "Now, come and set the table for dinner."

Christmas Eve, Hermione awoke to the sound of owls tapping at her bedroom window. She groggily got out of bed and let them in, taking their letters and feeding them treats before the owls flew away. She didn't know what all the fuss was – she'd sent her gifts off the day before, but surely no one was so uncouth as to open them early and send a thank you note before the holiday had actually occurred.

Hermione got dressed and stumbled down the stairs, mumbling a good morning to her parents as she puttered around, getting some toast and jam and sitting down to eat before finally examining her mail. If she wasn't mistaken in recognizing the handwriting, one letter was from Harry, and the other looked to be from Ron.

Biting into her toast and holding it in her mouth, she tore open Harry's letter.

Dear Hermione,

You were right. Not that you're not usually right, but you were really right this time – the Ministry came for Hagrid.

It was mad. The Minister showed up with a bunch of Aurors right in the middle of lunch yesterday, demanding a meeting with Dumbledore. Dumbledore went with them and took them to his office, but everyone saw them go down to Hagrid's hut shortly after, and everyone heard the yells when they didn't find him.

Hagrid escaped, Hermione. He'd be locked up in Azkaban if it wasn't for you telling him to be ready to run.

I know we tease you for being a cunning Slytherin, but honestly, I am so grateful that you are.

Have a happy Christmas,

Harry

Hermione's breath caught.

Hagrid. They'd gone after Hagrid.

She'd warned Hagrid they might, but even as she'd said it, it had been a detached possibility, an analytical outcome to prepare for. Even as she knew it was likely, she hadn't really thought…

She reached for the next letter, ripping open Ron's.

Hermione,

Fudge came to take arrest Hagrid and throw him in Azkaban. Hagrid must have legged it the second he saw Fudge with the Aurors at the gates. They found his hut door open with the place ransacked and everything.

Even if he just ran with Fang into the forest, he's better off than he would have been if he hadn't planned to run as soon as they came. Pretty sure if you hadn't warned him, he'd be locked up in Azkaban now for who knows how long until they caught the real Heir.

You might be a Slytherin, but you're the best scheming Slytherin around.

Thanks,

Ron

Hermione wondered if that was the nicest thing Ron had ever told her. The only other 'kind' words she could remember from him was him announcing to Ginny that she was the nicest evil person around.

Ron's letter reminded her, though—the Heir was still out there.

Hermione had been so fixated on the monster with all her parents' fussing lately that she'd forgotten – she had a new clue into who the Heir really was.

Lilian Travers had been the one attacked, which meant the Heir was someone in Gryffindor – Gryffindor had been the only house that had heard rumors discrediting her heritage. The other two houses had heard rumors about two others.

So, Hermione mused, a Gryffindor, and a girl, probably third year or under. There were roughly half a dozen girls per house each year, so that was between 15-20 suspects, if she included the few older girls that were very short.

Now she just needed to figure out how many of them had dark hair to exclude them and narrow it down even further. She doubted that'd be more than half, though, so after that, she suspected she'd need to come up with a new plan. Confronting ten people with aggressive hissing wasn't going to be a great way to get a result.

Gryffindor, though. It seemed odd – Hermione hadn't forgotten that Lucius Malfoy was still somehow the one behind it all, and Gryffindor seemed like the house least likely to have anyone in contact with Lucius Malfoy.

He'll be manipulating them somehow, Hermione reminded herself. Whoever it is probably doesn't know Lucius Malfoy is somehow behind it all.

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how Lucius Malfoy had somehow planned all this to the extent that his House Elf knew he was up to nefarious dealings, but his son somehow had not.

Then again…

It was likely Draco had probably tried to avoid his father as much as possible over the summer. Especially given that he was beating him.

Hermione sighed.

If Hermione caught the Heir, the attacks would stop, but the Heir of Slytherin was a person, able to hide amongst other people. It would be hard to prove who they were. It would be much easier to catch a monster – a giant snake was bound to be more obvious, and Hermione should be able to hear its hissing now to track it, so long as she wasn't sleeping again. She probably would want a sword, though – she didn't exactly know magic violent enough to take out a giant snake. She'd barely managed a troll.

"I can always go to a teacher for help if I need it," she told herself, setting the letters aside. "And I can always bring Lockhart along to get hit first."