Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 18

A/N: Another chapter! And, cue Hogwarts Professor, stage left!

April 18th, 1992

Hermione took two steps before pausing. She'd been lured to danger once before by something strange. Had she really not learned her lesson?

She switched to metavision, seeing the playful swirling patterns of energy surrounding the normally inanimate object. And yes, it wasn't a magical book. Like all books, it lacked an intrinsic value of energy that even normal people and animals possessed.

The dancing had to come from the spell woven around it. When the book started moving away, disappearing into the furthest room, she finally noticed that the jaunty design of energy led back to the puppeteer, a short, stout figure.

In her sight, she could easily see that this being possessed a core like hers, but what caught her attention was the thing it was waving in its hand. The long stick-like object glowed blindingly bright with power, seeming to filter and amplify the energy from the being—for they were too short to be human, unless there were a midget.

Hermione paused as her fast mind caught on the descriptor "stick," unable to help but draw a parallel to the wand on the required supply list from the Hogwarts letter.

Her heart thumped loudly, and she threw caution to the wind—well, mostly to the wind. She drew up some of the shields she'd been practicing, her features glowing with the soft sapphire blue reflected off of them as she approached the room.

Just outside the door, she took one more breath, ended her metavision, and whispered to herself, "You've learned nothing, Hermione Jean Granger."

"Please, come in, Miss Granger. You're a difficult witch to get alone, you know," a squeaky voice called.

Hermione blinked, startled out of her metavision, though she kept her grasp on the shields. Trainer Hart would be proud of that much at least.

Well, it, no, he spoke the human tongue as Erl would say, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Knowing she was being inconceivably dimwitted, she pushed through the door anyway.

Inside stood a man, not a beast, for he wore wire-rimmed glasses and a waistcoat with neat tawny hair and a perfectly trimmed mustache. He had a small, welcoming grin on his face, but his eyes faltered and traveled to the glow in her hands. "I… Miss Granger? Are you performing nonverbal wandless magic?"

Hermione figured the question answered itself since she held no wand and had spoken no words. "Who are you? How do you know my name? Are you from Hogwarts?"

She wanted to curse herself as soon as the last question had slipped loose. It would've been nice to have him confirm it on his own rather than her giving him the opportunity to jump on board with her assumptions.

The short man nodded, though his eyes held on her hands as she maintained the shields. "How terribly rude of me. My name is Filius Flitwick. I am the Charms professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

She was somewhat mollified by the fact that he'd provided the rest of the title, but who knew how popular this school was in their world. So he could still be a kidnapper.

But he knew your name, her logic argued back.

Deciding to trust him for now, Hermione straightened her stance and lowered her hands, allowing the energy to dissipate.

"Professor Flitwick, you say?"

Professor Flitwick blinked and gathered himself, glancing up at her. "I—yes, though you may call me Filius for the time being. I'm not your professor yet." He casually raised his hand with the thin piece of wood, nearly half as long as he was tall, and ended whatever enchantment he'd woven on the old tome.

His wand.

She also noted that he'd used "nonverbal" magic to do his bidding, something he'd sounded impressed that she was able to do. He was powerful.

He paused for a long moment, staring at her with dark eyes before he shook his head and swirled his wand around his head, sending lights to the fixtures in the room—another nonverbal command. "Forgive me, Miss Granger. I had a speech prepared, but I find myself at a loss for words."

He moved his wand in more complicated patterns, and the urge to switch to her metavision to see what he was working with the energy struck her. She tamped that desperation down for the moment.

"There," he said, slipping his wand back up his sleeve. The physics of such an action boggled her mind since there was surely not enough room. "I've put up a few privacy wards to keep our conversation private."

Hermione's brow rose in the air. "Charles and Dr. Hampton won't be able to hear us?"

"Your escorts? They will not, especially since I layered on a mild muggle-repelling spell."

"Muggle," she repeated.

Professor Flitwick blushed. "Ah, I'm afraid I'm not only caught off guard but also a bit rusty on my influx speech. You see, Minerva usually handles are the Muggle-borns."

Her brain clicked onto glowing cores. "Muggle-born, like me. And my parents are muggles, like Dr. Hampton and Charles."

Professor Flitwick's brow jumped. "Very astute of you, Miss Granger. I sense that I'll be having a new Ravenclaw join my house at the start of the year." When Hermione went to ask another question, he raised a quelling hand. "Please, Miss Granger. For such a clever girl as yourself, I'm sure you have many questions. I have a fair few of my own."

He glanced around the decrepit, barren room.

"Is this some sort of new student orientation? Or is it something you only do for Muggle-borns?"

"Another wise question. I—"

The room dropped drastically in temperature, enough that the sight of their breath condensing in the cool air cut Professor Flitwick's words off.

Hermione switched to her metavision, scanning the surroundings. There, in the corner, a towering spirit, too indistinct to make out, faded into existence.

She went to address them, but a blinding light burned her sensitive eyes. She cried out in pain, twisting away from the source of the light which, even in regular vision, overexposed every crack and crevice in the room in a brilliant wash of white.

Ethereal shrieking and hissing sounded before things grew still again. The air temperature increased.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger, are you alright?"

She waved off his concern, rubbing her eyes. They felt sensitive, almost sunburned. "I'm fine. It was just a ghost."

Professor Flitwick tsked. "That was no regular ghost. That was a poltergeist. Powerful buggers." He canted his head in consideration. "They don't normally test wards. I wonder what made this one expend so much energy to get in here."

Hermione straightened, smoothing down her jumper. "You were talking about magic?"

Flitwick paused, narrowing his eyes at her in suspicion. "You're quite calm for a Muggle-born that just witnessed her first spirit."

Hermione shifted. "Oh, well, I'm used to ghosts popping in and out you see."

The eyebrows jumped on the short man's forehead. "It was you that caused the poltergeist to try its hand at crossing the wards."

"Guilty, I'm afraid," she admitted sheepishly. "That's been happening ever since I can recall." She paused, glancing at the concerned look on his face. "Is that not normal?"

He smoothed his expression. "I think you'll find a great deal of things not normal in the Wizarding World, Miss Granger. Perhaps uncommon would be a kinder word. Let's sit and discuss this over tea." With a wave of his wand, two footstools grew into cozy armchairs. He pulled his breast pocket open. "Now, you'll learn about the limitations of magic when you attend school, but here's your first one. A witch or wizard can't make food from nothing."

Hermione watched with wide eyes as a full tea service appeared, complete with steaming kettle, sugar bowl, and a plate of biscuits.

Flitwick sent her a wink. "I nicked this from the kitchens prior to following you here. Something told me that there wouldn't be any refreshments available considering your unusual circumstances."

Hermione accepted the tea. "Unusual circumstances? And how did you follow us? Did you take a cab? And" –she cast a nervous glance at the "warded" door—"won't Dr. Hampton and Charles notice if I'm gone for long?"

Flitwick grinned. "A Ravenclaw, for sure." That was the second time he'd used that word. "No, they won't notice your absence, I followed your car by broom, and yes, unusual circumstances. You see, you were supposed to start Hogwarts last year, but for whatever reason, the Book of Admittance never put down your name."

The way he said the title made it sound like a proper noun. "Oh." Her face fell. "I missed a year of schooling?"

He chuckled for some reason. "Yes, my apologies, Miss Granger, but of everything I've said and done, you showed the most distress over that."

She dropped her gaze down to the creamy sepia of her tea. "My studies are important to me."

"It's fine. I shouldn't have laughed at something that distressed you anyway. It was unprofessional. Now, with your permission I'd like to run some diagnostics over you to try and solve why the Book of Admittance overlooked your presence for more than a year. Considering the level of control you displayed over those protegos you were wielding when you entered, I have to say that it wasn't for a lack of magic."

Protegos?

"Is it uncommon for the book to miss a student?"

He grinned at her use of his word. "Indeed. Paired with the Quill of Acceptance, they make a formidable pair that haven't been wrong since the foundation of the school."

That implied a very long time, even if the school was fairly new. Considering the—Wizarding World, he'd called it—still used things like parchment and quills, she felt that they moved very slowly through time, resistant to change. Which meant the school was probably as old as, well a good portion of the Wizarding World itself.

"Does that mean that an ancient magic, older than the school, would've been needed to confound that process?"

Flitwick blinked. "Uh, why, yes. I'm sorry, but I'm not quite used to students with such strong deductive reasoning methods, and I'm the Head of Ravenclaw."

She canted her head, recalling the Hogwarts crest with four animals on it. "So Hogwarts has four different groups, and Ravenclaws are known for being smart? How do you know where to put students when they're first starting? Surely they change as they grow. Is there a yearly sorting?"

Flitwick raised his wand in silent question, and she nodded her assent, feeling the wash of magic as he cast various spells.

Again, she resisted the urge to switch to her metavision. She'd admitted to her magnetism for ghosts and restless spirits, and it hadn't been common for wizards and witches to do. Since her metavision was largely tied into her ability to converse with the dead, she figured she'd wait it out before revealing that secret to this virtual stranger, even if he was very endearing.

"To answer your previous question, yes, there are four houses, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. You'll be sorted into one, either at the official Sorting Ceremony with the incoming first years, or privately considering the nature of your circumstances. That's not been discussed yet, but I'll be sure to address it at our next staff meeting." He paused to wink at her. "As for the details of that, well, it's a secret, I'm afraid."

Hermione catalogued the movements of his wand carefully, fully intending to attempt replicating them later on in the privacy of her dorm back at MI5 headquarters.

She wanted to itch at her chest when he tried his next spell, but she resisted the urge, instead asking, "I assume that the Wizarding World is a secret considering how much I've never heard of or seen in books."

"You read a lot, do you?" he asked distractedly, a small grin curling his lips as he concentrated on the spell. Her skin heated up all over with whatever he was doing.

"Yes. I skipped a year in school. I could've skipped two," she added, feeling the need to impress him. "But with my work and studies through…" she trailed off because MI5 was supposed to be a secret as well. Was she allowed to tell him about that?

Although, the letter had been addressed to her down to the exact room and floor level, so maybe witches and wizards knew everything, and the flow of knowledge only needed to be protected one way.

Instead of saying that, she changed the subject. "In my Hogwarts letter, it had a list of supplies for year one and two. Is that because I missed my first year?"

The next spell Flitwick attempted sent a buzzing sound in her ears that nearly drowned out his response before he cut it off. "Did it? That's interesting."

"Will I be expected to study all the first-year material and start my second year with my peers?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. The letter is penned automatically and signed off on by the professors, usually Albus, the headmaster, or Minerva, the deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor. They probably intended to sit down and talk with you personally about your case but with all the excitement that's been happening at school—"

"Something's been happening at the school?"

He gave a tired laugh. "Where would I even begin? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hear all about it when you start in the fall. As for your year, well, I am positive that Albus and Minerva will discuss what's best for you with your parents before term begins."

"Will they… will they send an owl?"

"Of course. And Minerva will likely return to take you shopping for your school supplies this summer as well. You'll need to be shown how to enter Diagon Alley the first time, but it will be quite a magical experience, if you can excuse the cliché."

Hermione nodded, wondering if she should tell him that technically she hadn't spoken to her parents in weeks and that they'd have to take this up with Ms. Walker. "Good, I was worried about confirming my acceptance, if that is something I choose, by July 31st when I have no owl or return address for Hogwarts."

"Return address?"

"Oh, the uh, the location of the school to know where to send it."

The light dawned on his expression. "Ah, of course, but Hogwarts' location is unplottable, so no one knows the exact location. And besides, it's not necessary when sending by owl. They have magic that allows them to find any person. You need only to tell them the name."

Hermione's mind dove down that rabbit hole, wondering what would happen if two people shared a name or if there were wards up like Flitwick had set around the room. Would their magic still work?

Flitwick sighed, lowering his wand as he studied her. "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news, Miss Granger."