Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed. Your comments keep me inspired.

Chapter 3 - October 30th, 1985

Hermione glanced down at the crinkled pamphlet, wondering for the thousandth time if they were making the right choice. Outside, rain continued to fall, turning the dreary chill into something downright miserable to be out and about in.

She shivered, stuffing her hands into her parka as her breath fogged the glass.

"Where did you say we needed to turn?" Dad asked, glancing over at Mum and upsetting an oncoming cab as he drifted into the wrong lane. "Bollocks," he gasped, correcting his aim.

"Richard," Mum warned slowly.

"I know, I know, honeybun. Just, give me a break. We've had a rough go of it these past few days, yeah?"

Mum sighed. "I suppose. And you were supposed to turn back there at Euston Square."

"What?" he cried, swerving more violently this time and getting some angry retorts from neighboring vehicles. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did," Mum defended, grabbing the windowsill handle.

"Dad!" Hermione cried, falling over the back seat while searching for something to hold.

"No, you didn't," Dad argued.

The car adjacent to theirs laid on the horn, the driver flipping a rather rude gesture.

Eyes round, Hermione braced her feet on her Mum's backrest, wedging herself still.

"Hold on, tootsie roll," Dad cautioned before cranking down his window. "Let me over you pigheaded, stubborn marshmallow!"

"Yes, I did," Mum continued, as if apart from all the chaos happening, and calmly picking up the thread of conversation from earlier. "I said, 'Dear, our turn's coming up, just up there," and you said, 'That's nice, honeybun. Hey, tootsie roll, did you hear about the evil chicken? It laid deviled eggs.'"

Hermione momentarily forgot their mortal peril to cast her mum a drop-jawed look at how eerily well she'd mimicked the sole male in the car.

Dad leaned more into the role of a gaping fish, his mouth closing and opening as he spluttered out, "You should've warned me closer to the turn."

"When?" Mum regripped her hold, calm as a cucumber as the wieldy station wagon seemed to tilt on its axis. "It was the next street. Should I have screamed it at the top of my lungs right as we were passing it?"

"Sure, why not?" Dad laughed. "Okay, enough of this. Hold on to your bonnets, lassies!"

Hermione whimpered.

Their car made a daring cut between three lanes of traffic. Hermione closed her eyes, hearing the ominous sounds of horns blaring louder, but by some miracle, they made it.

Dad flipped on the blinker and merged calmly on the side road that would backtrack them to their destination. "So," he chirped. "Since we have some time to kill, let's talk more about how you thought you would disappoint us by helping out that little girl."

Hermione shifted in her seat.

"I agree," Mum chimed in. "Also, let's discuss how you were so amazed that you thought this place could 'fix' you as if you're a broken toy."

Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her jumper. "But you never liked it when I talked about ghosts. You were only happy when I kept them a secret."

Her parents shared a heavy look.

Dad let out a low-swooping whistle. "Oh boy, then. Emma, do you want to take first crack at this, or should I?"

"How about you focus on not killing us on the drive, dear, and I'll tap out if I need you to step in?"

He snorted. "See, I know you're being sarcastic here, but that sounds like a brilliant plan to me, so I'm going to keep my hands at ten and two and keep my mouth closed tighter than—"

Mum didn't wait for whatever outlandish metaphor Dad had brewing. "Hermione, we might have practiced caution in believing you, but we were never upset with you."

Tears stung her eyes. "That's not true! I quit telling you about them these past two weeks, and you took a full week off from your practice to spend time with me."

"The timing might be a little suspect, but your father and I discussed this time off in advance. Our practice is doing well, and we just hired two new dental assistants. We decided to treat our family. It wasn't a reward because you were pretending—"

"Don't say 'normal,'" Dad interrupted. "Even I can see the pitfalls of that implication."

"I wasn't," Mum replied with infinite patience.

Dad's ears tinged red. "Oh, right. Don't mind me. Carry on, then!"

"As I was saying, these trips to the zoo, going to the library, book shopping—those weren't because you were hiding your special ability from us. We would never want you to hide anything from us. Hermione, you're our only child. Nothing about you or anything you can do would make us disappointed in you."

"Short of murder, of course. Don't kill people, tootsie pants. It's not nice."

"Thanks, Dad. I knew that."

"Of course you did because you're an angel. Now, Emma," he made a scooting motion with his hands. "Get to the part about this…this place fixing her as if they know how to top perfection."

Mum didn't roll her eyes, but it seemed like a close thing. "Hermione, no outside force can fix people. That's an intrinsic matter. You're in charge of your life, and if you spend your time thinking you're a broken toy, even just joking around about it, then your perspective on things will be poisoned with that negativity. Instead of seeing a rainy day as a chance to stay curled up in front of the fire with a good book, you'll spend your time lamenting the loss of the sun. The mind is a truly powerful thing and our biggest asset. It's important to stay positive and always view situations and people in the best possible light.

"Even Ms. Walker?"

Mum closed her eyes, looking very much like she wanted to take her words back, but eventually, she nodded, albeit begrudgingly. "Yes, to some degree, even Ms. Walker."

"What she means by 'some degree,' tootsie pants, is don't let people just walk all over you," Dad inserted, pulling up to the parking kiosk on the perimeter of a nondescript ten-story building. "A wadded-up paper never smooths out its wrinkles of adversity, and neither should you ignore the scars people leave behind if they hurt you. Forgive maybe, but don't forget."

Dad ignored their stares as he provided the necessary credentials Ms. Walker shared with them over the phone and signed several forms. He ignored their stares as he navigated the high-security parking garage. It wasn't until he pulled into a spot and parked that he addressed them. "What?"

Something tickled in her vast mind, just beyond reach.

Hermione glanced at Mum, uncertain how to express her thoughts.

"Wrinkles of adversity?" Her mum licked her lips before asking, "Did you read that on a fortune cookie?"

He adopted a defensive look. "I can be wise, too."

Hermione snapped her fingers as her brain blinked with the answer. "Oh, that's why it sounded familiar. That was February's inspirational quote on the desk calendar in your office."

Her mum coughed but her lips were pursed like she was fighting off a smile.

Dad rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Oh, hush it, Emma."

Mum cleared her throat. "What were we saying?"

"You were monopolizing the corner on wisest of them all."

"Oh, right!" Mum turned around in her seat. "So, let's go in here with a positive outlook. We'll pretend the slate is clean, but we won't forget your father's wrinkled paper analogy—"

"Don't patronize me, honey bun."

Mum smiled. "And remember, Hermione, you're not coming here to get 'fixed.' We're here to learn more about your unique abilities because—"

"Knowledge is power, information is liberating, and education is the premise of progress," Hermione quoted. If their family had a shield or crest suited just for them, it'd have those words engraved on it. Hermione squared her shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this."

Ms. Walker met us when the elevator doors opened up on the second floor. "I'm so glad you showed an interest in our program."

"Does that mean we get to learn your real name?" Dad needeled.

Ms. Walker continued as if she hadn't heard, also ignoring his mumbled, "I'll take that as a no."

"Our operations here include the ten stories above ground, as well as a fair few subterranean levels—one of which will be our main destination today. We are aware that Hermione is only six years old, so we don't want to bombard her on her first day here. However, we do need to see if this is a good fit for her." Ms. Walker pressed a button in the elevator labeled B3. "So we'll get this test out of the way first before really giving you a comprehensive tour of the facility."

Hermione pulled her jumper down over her hands. "Test?"

"Yes," Ms. Walker dismissed the anxiety in her question. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll earn top marks if what you shared with the police is accurate."

Hermione exchanged a worried look with her mother.

What if she failed? Would her parents ever trust her again? Would they be taken in again for questioning over little Theresa Chapman's murder if they believed Hermione's story to be a hoax?

Hands fluttering with nerves, they stepped out into a stretching hall, lit by an unpleasant mixture of elongated fluorescent strips and sickly yellow incandescent bulbs. She blinked to adjust herself to the lack of natural sunlight.

"Sorry about the atmosphere. The place is a little run down."

Dad nodded sagely. "Was it ever a bookstore, or was that all a front?"

Ms. Walker's eyebrows jumped on her forehead. "My, my, someone did their research."

"When it involves our only child? Yes. And that was a perfectly roundabout non-answer."

Ms. Walker led them up to a metal door with a spray-painted label of Lab 5, taller than Hermione. Thick submarine bolts with heads the size of bottle caps reinforced the door. A full-size QWERTY keyboard had been installed flush into the wall where she typed in a long series of letters before the latch on the door released.

Despite the attitude in his question earlier, Dad let out a low whistle. "Fancy."

"We try to keep up to date with the latest technologies. We're an intelligence agency, after all. It's imperative to be versatile with what the bad guys are using." Ms. Walker led us inside. "And to answer your earlier question, yes, and no. Yes, this property was originally owned by a small publishing company under the owner George J. W. Pitman, though it was a quaint three-story structure back then. Later, when he retired, he sold it to a secondhand book business where they made a killing in profits. Eventually, though, the government got its hands on it after a property developer demolished the three-story building and rebuilt what you see today. It's only recently been taken over by MI5, but it's been in government sections for longer."

Hermione absorbed every word like a sponge. The place had been a bookstore? And before that, a book factory? It was if she could feel the echoes of literature mixing with the air.

Mum's eyebrows shot up. "Richard wasn't the only one that did his homework."

Ms. Walker waved her off. "It's my job to uncover information and build a big picture. Now, enough for now. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione, I'd like you to meet two of our lab rats, Dr. Roger Hampton and his assistant, Mr. Charles Saxon. They're going to be the ones conducting your test today while your parents and I watch from the observation room."

Dad stepped forward and shook their hands, but once the obligatory formalities were all check-marked, he propped his hands on his hips and said, "You're tall for being rats. Should we be concerned about you slipping our Hermione any chemical concoctions that'll make her sprout up forty feet in the air? Because I have to say, that would be very off-putting for me as her father. I'm already height challenged."

Hermione groaned. "Da-ad."

"What, munchkin? Your mom's short, too. That was the only thing I was banking on to keep you from outgrowing your old man one day."

Mum stepped forward, introducing herself as well. "Forgive my husband. He fancies himself a comedian. A pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"The pleasure is mine. I hear you both hold a medical doctorate as well, Doctors." Dr. Hampton replied, a small man with gray hair and a way of speaking that invited you to slow down and listen to what had to be spades of wisdom if his wrinkles were any indication. "That's quite impressive for a woman."

Dad elbowed Hermione, and they shared a secret smile as Mum's smile strained.

"Really?" she asked. "I thought it was more impressive that my husband managed to stick his nose to the grind long enough to obtain his degree. Mine seemed like a foregone conclusion."

"Hey, don't throw me under the bus," Dad objected.

"Oh, dear, I didn't mean to offend," Dr. Hampton backtracked. He glanced at his young lab assistant. "Well, I've gone and put my foot in it again, Charles. I dare say keeping me in line was one of my unofficial duties for you that we discussed when we hired you."

"There are only so many hours in the day, doc," Mr. Saxon quipped, shaking Mum's hand. "And it's Charlie, if you will."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Charlie?"

All the adults startled apart from Dad who'd also fixed a stink-eye on the young man.

"Yes. And you must be Miss Granger."

"Hermione, and charmed, I'm sure. Pardon, but you're the lab assistant at one of the most clandestine, esteemed intelligence agencies our great country has. Presumably, even though Ms. Walker made it a point to introduce you as mister, I would assume such a coveted, scarce position means you beat out a lot of competition."

The assistant blinked, his jaw unhinged for a moment.

She prodded him, wondering how intelligent he could possibly be. "Correct?"

"I—er—yes. Are you sure you're six?."

"I'm well read and fully awake—not like I was at the police station, but that's beside the matter. You would've had to at least be pursuing further education to beat out the other contenders."

"Er, yeah. I'm working on my doctorate at UCL."

"As I thought. It's just ridiculous and highly unprofessional for a person of your title to shorten a perfectly respectable name to something so silly and asinine as Charlie."

Since she'd arrived at her point, she let her argument sink in.

Dr. Hampton chuckled, stooping down painfully slowly to get on her height. "Oh, you seem like a firecracker for sure. I do hope you'll pass this test and join us. I quite look forward to working with you. Between you and me," he faux whispered, though it was arguably louder than when he'd been talking in a normal voice. "I've always hated the bastardizing nickname. Now, let's get this show on the road. The test is simple and quite painless. If you'll follow Charles and me, Ms. Walker can show your parents to the observation deck."

Hermione's forgotten nerves reared their ugly head with vengeance. She rushed to give her parents a fierce hug while fighting down tears.

"It'll be okay, dead," Mum soothed. "Remember, you have already been dealing with this for years. You are strong and certainly not broken. This is just for extra information."

Hermione nodded, absorbing every word into the armor she used to protect herself whenever her peers at school started name calling, and oh—

She glanced at the assistant, realizing she'd been acting like an uppity know-it-all again. She'd need to apologize.

Just… not right now. There were more pressing matters on her plate at the moment.

"Right," Dad added. "And no matter what the test concludes, we know you were telling the truth about that girl in your room. I mean, how else could you have drawn such a—oomph. Emma!"

"Let's go, Richard. She needs to concentrate."

Ms. Walker stopped in the doorway. "Your parents and I will be right in here, Hermione."

"Bye," Hermione whispered, though only she would've been able to hear it. The door shut behind them, and she turned to face her own door looming ahead.

There was no turning back now.