Dear Mr. Flamel,

So this is kind of awkward. Remember that Philosopher's Stone you had? The one you loaned to Albus Dumbledore? Well, Dumbledore has been sort of losing some of his marbles lately. I'm a student at his school – Harry Potter, you may have read my world famous blog – and he's really not done a good job of securing your property. He hid it in a passageway under the third floor corridor, then proceeded to warn everyone that the third floor corridor was off-limits because it was so deadly. He also hired a guy to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts who had Voldemort on the back of his head. My friends and I were concerned about your stone's safety – especially after Dumbledore started rambling about it to me, and if he did that to me, who knows what random people off the street he'd do it to? So we may have…procured it.

But look, before you send an army of gargoyles after us or whatever you alchemists do, let me explain! We were super worried one of the other teachers would steal it because he was acting super shady (turns out he was shady, but about something else) so we decided to rescue it, not steal it. As Nicholas Cage said in the greatest movie ever made, we're treasure protectors, not treasure hunters. And, dude, the protections were so lame. We got past it with nothing more than a gas mask and a couple of first years spells.

So anyway, here's your stone, safe and sound, and maybe next time you get the idea of hiding your stone somewhere, you could pick a fancy Swiss Muggle bank of something? Whatever. It's none of my business. Just pretty please don't kill us. We meant well!

Harry Potter

Dear Mr. Potter,

[Congratulations on finding | May your worst nightmares come true for stealing] what you thought was the Philosopher's Stone™! (The Philosopher's Stone™ is a registered trademark of Flamel Enterprises!) Our founder, Nicholas Flamel, could have released the formula for making the Philosopher's Stone™ to the world, but such an action would have resulted in dramatic overpopulation which would have ultimately caused the extinction of humanity. He also could have destroyed the Philosopher's Stone™, but, come on, would you destroy your ticket to eternal youth? Obviously not since you already [found | stole] the decoy. Besides, Mr. Flamel has more than made up for it in other ways, including finding the cure to various diseases. Have you heard of the Obuchowski plague? Indeed you have not because Mr. Flamel found the cure and inoculated the entire world by releasing it into the atmosphere before the plague could wipe out humanity.

In order to ensure the Philosopher's Stone's™ security, Mr. Flamel decided to create a variety of decoys to make sure it would stay in safe hands. Over fifteen thousand of these decoys have been made so far. They have been hidden in a motley variety of places, including the steppes of Russia, the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls, Oregon, and where you [found | stole] your decoy given to Albus Dumbledore in Hogwarts. Many thieves have tried to steal the decoys. Very few of them have survived very long and most of them don't even live long enough to realize they have a decoy.

Since you have [found | stolen] one of these decoys, you [get a prize | have chosen death.] In honor of this not quite all that monumental achievement you [have won this commemorative T-shirt stating "I Found the Philosopher's Stone™ and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" | will be hunted to the ends of the earth and all traces of your memory will be forcibly removed.] [Thank you for participating in our little game! | In the future, if you are spoken of, it will only be in hushed tones as a cautionary tale and only when children are not present.]

[May you find peace and happiness | May you die burning in agony with fire ants devouring you slowly with your pain receptors enhanced a hundred fold],

Perenelle Flamel, Vice President, Flamel Enterprises

Dear Hermione,

All right, I've talked to Remus and, yes, after all these weeks of badgering, I can finally tell you why I'm so cool with him. But it's very important that you cannot tell anyone. You know me. You know how chatty I am. You know I don't have much of a filter. You know I even had no problem talking about our little heist on my blog. So all of that should impress upon you that if I want this to stay a secret, it must stay a bloody secret. (Remus says you can tell your parents, though.)

Remus is a werewolf. And, yes, in retrospect I should have realized it since his name is Remus Lupin, but nominative determinism isn't a thing in real life. Have you seen me near a kiln? No, you have not. Magical society is prejudiced against werewolves. To a certain extent, I can sort of understand. They didn't have any control of themselves when they were transformed, which happens once a month, and if they didn't keep themselves securely locked up, they could seriously hurt or kill people. But recently someone invented a potion called Wolfsbane which allows him to maintain control of himself when transformed.

"Okay," I said to him slowly after he informed me of this one day after class. "But that doesn't explain why you didn't try to gain custody of me? Or, what, did you think Petunia was such a wonderful person?"

Remus sighed. "Harry, I know it's hard to believe, but, yes, I actually did. And there's a very simple reason for that. Your mother told me she was."

I looked at him askance. "Yeah, sure. I'm totally going to buy that. They were on such great terms. That's obviously why Petunia told me she was a drunken whore who died in a car crash."

Remus frowned. "I didn't know she said that. That's horrible."

"Answers!" I shouted.

"That's answers, please, professor," Remus said in a teasing tone. "For the longest time, I was just as confused as you are. But I think I've figured it out. You see, even for a Muggleborn, Lily's political positions were…radical. They got more radical by the day."

I suddenly recalled all those terrible things the person pretending to be Mum had said in the Daily Prophet article and then I forcibly put it out of my mind. That couldn't have been real. "So what does that have to do with my aunt?"

"I'm getting there," Remus said very patiently. "Lily despised the Statute of Secrecy. She constantly advocated for its abolishment. She believed the Obliviations conducted on Muggles were nothing less than violation. But you see, it just was not done to want the Statute of Secrecy to be abolished. The dark lord before Voldemort had wanted to do it, but only so that he could rule the world. Thousands of people died in the service of that cause and that's a conservative estimate."

I still didn't understand where this was going. "But if we got rid of the Statute of Secrecy, then that would mean…" I really couldn't come up with the words for such a massive, world changing idea.

"A lot of things, but this isn't the point. Lily's argument got her…attention. Voldemort saw her as an asset to his cause, even though she was a Muggleborn. He tried to recruit her on three separate occasions. But she refused, with force, each time. Lily knew Voldemort was pure evil, of course. She was a good person." It was strange, and probably just my paranoid imagination, but I detected a note of uncertainty with that last sentence. "Since she got so much negative attention, I believe she attempted to defuse suspicions about her loyalty by pretending she was on good terms with her Muggle sister. Even though the exact opposite was no doubt true."

Well, that made…not sense. It was an utterly nonsensical thing to have done. But it certainly sounded plausible. No one must have objected to my placement because, well, as far as they knew, there wasn't anything to be concerned about. And she was the closest family member. And anyway, every time I tried to get child services involved, everyone promised to follow up on it, but then they never did.

"I am sorry, Harry," Remus said morosely. I felt a tear forming, much to my horror. I couldn't remember the last time an adult had apologized to me. "I should gotten into contact with you. I should have done a number of things. But I want to make up for my mistake."

"Can you adopt me?" I blurted out. I knew Remus wasn't the best choice for a guardian. He was an alcoholic for some years, had trouble keeping a steady job, and he turned into a ravenous monster on the full moon. Logically speaking, it made more sense to try to get the Weasleys or your parents to adopt me. Yet in that moment, I knew with all my heart Remus loved me and I loved him and I wanted him to adopt me. The heart sometimes has more of a say in things than the head.

"I don't think I can," Remus admitted, and I could feel my heart cracking. "I don't mean I don't want to," he hastened to add. "But I don't think it's legal for me as a werewolf to adopt you. I would need to consult a barrister."

I gave him Ms. Cheatham's contact information. "Remus, if it was legal, would you want to adopt me?"

Remus leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. I don't think I've ever been treated with affection by an adult before in my life. I know that's sad, but it's the way things have been for me. "It would be a great honor, Harry. But I should warn you, it's going to be a hard fight. And just because we win in the magical world doesn't mean we'll win in the Muggle world. Your uncle is a prominent executive and I haven't even set foot in Britain since your parents died before this year."

"But will you try," I begged him.

"Yes," he said firmly. "If you want me to. But I may not be the best option you have for getting out of the Dursleys."

I've spoken to Ms. Cheatham since then and she's told me that since I'm in the custody of Muggles, the issue of my custody is a purely Muggle one. Fortunately, her firm has a presence in the Muggle world as well. She has recommended your parents be the ones to try to gain custody of me, at least on paper. I think I'd still prefer Remus (no offense to your parents at all; it's just I think my parents would have wanted Remus to raise me), but I can see Ms. Cheatham's point. As very well to do dentists with some of the most important people in Britain as their clients, your parents probably have a better than Remus to gain custody.

Sorry to disrupt your vacation like this. I hope you're having a great time in Malta!

Your friend,

Harry

Dear Harry,

Don't be absurd. Of course you're not disrupting my vacation. It's always a pleasure to get correspondence from a friend. I'm glad you're getting along well with Professor Lupin. I suppose in retrospect it shouldn't have been all that surprising he's a werewolf, given that he has a substitute every full moon, but still, it's a bit of a shock. And don't worry, my lips are sealed!

Oh, I've just been having the most magnificent time in Malta. My parents and I visited the museum of the famous Maltese wizard Sellem bin al-Sheik Mansur, who was an expert in geomancy and even taught members of the Knights of St. John how to use the art. He wasn't quite subtle enough, though, and got caught by the Inquisition in 1605. He was tied to a pillory in the main square of Valetta and then sent to prison for a few months. In subsequent decades, Sellem would become one of the foremost advocates for what would later be known as the International Statute of Secrecy.

But listen to me chatter away about historical minutiae! You've been a bad influence on me! I've talked to my parents about gaining custody of you and they decided they need more information. We have a meeting planned with us, Remus, and Ms. Cheatham at her law offices in Diagon Alley. They're going to ask you questions about your life with the Dursleys. Please answer them honestly and with as much detail as you feel comfortable with (but no more, please!) I really hope we can get you out of there, Harry.

Otherwise, this has been a fairly uneventful trip. Though in an unsettling coincidence, a Russian dissident was shot dead in an ice cream parlor we frequented that very morning. It was a good thing we didn't decide to go there later! At that point, my parents were getting some alone time in their hotel while I was in the National Library of Malta soaking in the beautiful neoclassical atmosphere.

Hoping you're having a lovely holiday too!

Your friend,

Hermione

I am having the best holiday I've ever had. Of course, there isn't exactly fierce competition for that slot, because, you know, the Dursleys. But still, I'm living my best life.

It didn't exactly start out that way. Dumbledore has been…well, I'd really prefer not to use the word stalking and I'm not even sure it's legally applicable, since it's his school, but I'm pretty sure he's been stalking me. I keep seeing him out of the corner of my eye. It's very hard to miss him, since he wears robes that probably went out of fashion in the 60s. And by 60s, I mean the 1860s. They're bright neon and almost blinding. I've seen him in no less than fourteen of my classes over the last few weeks. I asked Professor Sinistra what could be done, but she says he has the right to sit in on whatever classes he wants and unless he does anything unseemly in my direction, there's really nothing she can do.

Dumbledore's been trying to engage me in conversation. I tend to just nod and smile a lot, but he's persistent. I don't understand half of what comes out of his mouth. The sad thing is, every so often, I can see the man he used to be, the man my parents followed willingly. Sometimes he comes up with a particularly wise piece of advice or tells a fascinating story about the two most recent magical wars. Now he's just become this bumbling, paranoid shell of himself and it's a real tragedy. My parents would be turning in their graves.

One day, a week before the end of term, he cornered me just outside the Slytherin Common Room. "Ah, Harry, old bean. Good to see you again. Fancy running into you again." I bit back the retort I wanted to give. I'm not stupid, just incredibly reckless and erratic. I know provoking a very powerful wizard, even if he's gone senile, is a bad, bad idea. "What a remarkable coincidence."

"Yes, sir," I replied dutifully. "I'd love to stand here all day chatting, but I have homework to do. Unless you'd like to exempt me from it?" I was genuinely willing to subject myself to hours of rants, no matter how insane, if he actually did that. Homework is awful.

He did not look amused. "Harry, we recently had a theft. The Philosopher's Stone was taken. And I suspect you had something to do with it."

I plastered my best innocent look on my face. It was pretty good if I did say so myself. It even took in McGonagall sometimes (though not very often). "Oh, sir, I don't know why you'd think that!"

"Multiple sources have told me you posted on your…bog that you stole the Philosopher's Stone."

"Oh, don't be silly, sir, everyone knows electronics don't work at Hogwarts," I lied brazenly.

He crossed his arms. "You are wearing a T-shirt that says 'I Found the Philosopher's Stone and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.'"

"Muggle trend." I was disappointed he didn't mention how swanky I looked in it.

Dumbledore didn't look very impressed. "Harry, I want you to swear on your parents' grave that you did not steal the Philosopher's Stone."

"I did not steal the Philosopher's Stone," I said, this time completely truthfully. I recently received a letter saying the Stone was a fake, so it wasn't the Philosopher's Stone I stole.

Incredibly, this seemed to work. "Very well, my boy," Dumbledore said in a much jauntier tone. "I suppose I'll have to look elsewhere for the culprit." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very thin silvery grey cloth. "A Christmas gift for you, Harry." I gave a polite smile, even though I didn't see what use I would have for it. Dumbledore chuckled. "Put it on."

I put on the cloak and much to my shock I found I had become invisible! Now this was some powerful magic! Very powerful magic. Probably not the sort of thing you'd just give an eleven year old. Maybe I misjudged Dumbledore. He may be senile and old and have a weird body odor and be obsessed with handing lemon drops to people, but maybe he's not as bad as he appears.

"It would certainly be terrible if you used it to get to mischief," he said, wagging his finger in my face mischievously. "Why, I remember all the things your father used to get up to. Ah, James was a true scallywag. It's truly horrible when good people are taken from us before our time." He looked like he was about to cry for a few seconds, then composed himself. "Well, in any event, I certainly hope we don't see you hanging around the third floor corridor, Harry."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" I pointed out. "Not with this thing."

He stared at me like I'd suddenly started speaking in tongues and I was absolutely terrified I might have lapsed into Parseltongue. But then he laughed uproariously. "Too true, Harry, my boy! Too true." He stared at me unwaveringly, trying his best to get me to meet his eyes. Which I wouldn't. I don't like eye contact. Never have, never will.

"I'm just going to get going…" I stammered and then quickly went into the common room.

Needless to say, if Dumbledore wanted me to use the cloak, I wanted the exact opposite. Giving it away to one of my friends seemed like the best option, but then I'd have to choose which one would get it and that would make the other mad. So I decided on the next best option! Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn't like that option. Not at all.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MAGIC ARE YOU DOING?!" he screamed at me the next day as put a poster on the bulletin board in the Great Hall, announcing that I was raffling off my invisibility cloak, with all the proceeds going to St. Mungo's.

For the life of me, I couldn't understand what got him so upset. "Sir, for the life of me, I can't understand what's got you so upset."

"You cannot just raffle off the invisibility cloak!" Dumbledore shrieked. I was seriously worried he might have a stroke or a heart attack given how upset he was.

"Of course not, sir, my mistake," I said as politely as I could. I still didn't see why, but as much as Dumbledore disturbed me, I wasn't about to let him die, which I really did feel might happen. "If I may, sir, could I please know what rule I broke so I can be sure not to do it again?"

This just seemed to get Dumbledore even angrier. Maybe he felt I was being sarcastic. In his defense, I'm sarcastic, like, all the time, so it was a pretty reasonable assumption. This time I really meant it, though. "It is one of the Deathly Hollows!"

I did not let out a little shriek at that and any rumors to the contrary are just being spread by Malfoy and his ilk; that's my story and I'm sticking to it. "It's deadly?! I feel like I should be told these things!"

By this point, a crowd of teachers and students had assembled around us. Good news for my raffle plans if somehow I managed to persuade Dumbledore to let me go ahead with them. Not that this seemed likely – by this point, it seemed like even odds he'd even leave the room alive. "Mr. Potter, the Deathly Hallows are a myth," McGonagall explained. "Three extraordinary artifacts – the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, and the Invisibility Cloak – that if combined, make one the Master of Death."

I laughed uproariously. "The Master of Death! Oh, that's a good one. Professor McGonagall, are there any rules against me raffling off the cloak?"

She pursed her lips as if she'd eaten something sour. "Not as such, Mr. Potter, but I regard it as extraordinary crass to just raffle off an heirloom that belonged to your father and has been in the family for centuries."

My jaw dropped open. How was I supposed to have known that? "Now, see, headmaster, you should have led with that instead of ranting about fairytales." I tore down the poster. McGonagall was right, of course. I wasn't about to give away basically the only tangible link I had to my dad. "Sorry, folks. Raffle's off."

Everyone trudged away, disappointed. Dumbledore grabbed my arm. "Who are you?!" he screamed, fear and confusion lining his features. "What do you want? Why are you taunting me like this? Why do you CONFOUND me so?!"

"In order, Harry Potter, fish and chips shop, I didn't mean to, and I suspect you have mental problems," I said glibly, counting the points on my fingers as I went.

Dumbledore basically frog-marched me out of the hall and over to an empty classroom. "Someone get Professor Sinistra!" I shouted at McGonagall as I went past her. She nodded at me.

The mirror I saw on the third floor was waiting there for me. I approached it very cautiously. I saw what it did to Hermione. She still hasn't told me what happened – nor should she if she doesn't want to. (But if you're reading this, Hermione, you really should at least talk to your parents about it. I'm sure they'd understand.) But I saw nothing nightmarish or horrible. Once more, I saw Potter's Platters.

"What do you see, boy?!" he said, shaking me back and forth.

I let out a long suffering sigh. "It's the fish and chips shop I want to run, sir. Why would it be anything else?"

Dumbledore gave a triumphant smile. "And yet you don't look so surprised to see your heart's desire in this seemingly ordinary mirror, do you?" Damn it! I keep forgetting this guy used to be a genius before he lost his marbles.

Fortunately, upon further examination of the mirror, I was able to come up with a great explanation. There's an inscription on it, printed backwards. It reads "I show not your face, but your heart's desire." I told Dumbledore this and he seemed to buy it.

"I just don't understand you, Harry Potter," he muttered. "Sometimes you are selfless and heroic. Other times, you are self-centered and arrogant."

"I'm eleven?" I offered. "That's…sort of our thing?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "My boy, I fear you are in danger of going dark."

I looked down at my skin skeptically. I've been living in Scotland in the autumn and I've been stuck indoors mostly to boot. If anything I've gotten paler. (Though at least it's not as bad as that one Hufflepuff prefect who looks like a vampire. Heck, he may even be one. I can't remember if I've seen him in the daylight.) "I've never been one for tanning. And that sounded super racist."

"Oh, of course not!" he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "You mustn't think that of me, Harry. Why, I have many colored friends." Yeah, I wasn't even going to touch that one. "I meant you're going down a path of darkness."

I smacked myself with how obvious that sounded now. "Oh, you thought I'm falling to the dark side, right?" He nodded cautiously. I shrugged and then a brilliant idea hit me. Stupid, but brilliant. Okay, maybe not brilliant, but hilarious. "Headmaster, did you ever hear of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?"

"I don't believe I have, Harry," he said, sounding politely interested.

Oh, this was going to be great. Hermione was going to laugh until she cried. "I thought not," I said in my best Palpatine voice. "It's not a story light wizards would tell you. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord so powerful and so wise, he could use magic to create…life." Dumbledore looked absolutely spellbound by this tale. It took all my self-control not to guffaw. "He had such a knowledge of dark magic, he could even keep the ones he cared about…from dying."

"What happened to him?" Dumbledore asked.

"He became so powerful, the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which, eventually, of course he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew. Then his apprentice killed him in his sleep." Dumbledore's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Ironic. He could save others from death, but not himself."

Dumbledore's head turned sharply in my direction. "You believe Voldemort may have apprenticed under this Darth Plagueis?"

"Oh, I don't think so, headmaster," I said chirpily. "Plagueis lived a long time ago, in a –"

The door opened and Professor Sinistra stormed in. "There you are, Albus. What do you think you're doing?"

"Mr. Potter and I were just having a stimulating conversation!"

Professor Sinistra motioned for me to leave and I quickly hightailed it out of there. Even the thought of Dumbledore frantically going through the Hogwarts library for any mention of Darth Plagueis nearly gets me in stitches of laughter, even now. The rest of the time until break was completely uneventful. I was worried Dumbledore might do something to thwart me leaving the school, try to get me back to the Dursleys, but things went very smoothly. I took the Hogwarts Express to King's Cross – it was very jarring seeing Muggle surroundings – and from there, we teleported – or Apparated, as mages call it – to the Weasley residence, the Burrow.

[Image description: A very haphazard, dilapidated looking structure that only looks like it's standing up by the grace of magic.]

There's nothing quite like being in a magical household. Seeing normal household chores done through magic is startling at first and then starts to become quite normal. The whole place is filled with all sorts of magical gewgaws like this clock which tells the status of various members of the family. Thankfully, none of the hands of the clock, one for each family member, pointed at mortal peril.

The Burrow is nothing less than pure chaos at all times. In other words, the perfect place for me. There's always something going on. Whether it's the twins getting up to mayhem, Ron trying to track down that awful rat of his, or explosions coming from whatever Mr. Weasley is working on in the shed, the Burrow keeps you on your toes constantly.

The Weasleys have been such gracious hosts to me. Maybe a bit too gracious. I'm a bit overwhelmed by their hospitality. I want to emphasize that the Dursleys did not starve me, but I always got the smallest portions, so I wasn't quite used to having so much food on my plate. Mrs. Weasley can be overwhelming in large doses and tends to micromanage everything she comes across, but you know it's coming from a place of love. Mr. Weasley practically bombards me with questions about various Muggle things. I answered to the best of my ability. I decided not to let him use my phone, though. I was worried he'd break it. (It's bad enough Fred and George somehow managed to sneak into my dorms and figure out how to leave comments on my blog all so they could just tease me about Hermione.)

And then, of course, there's Ginny, Ron's younger sister. It didn't take me long how to realize what was going on with Ginny, who blushed on a dime and seemed incapable of getting out complete sentences around me. The poor girl had a crush on me. Well, not me, per se. More like the mythical figure of the Boy Who Lived. When I told Ron about this deduction, he stared at me like I'd been replaced by an imposter.

"How did you figure that out?" he demanded. "Harry, you normally don't notice anything, much less people flirting with you, so how did you get this?"

"I'll have you know I'm very observant!" I protested.

"Harry, last week, you forgot where the WC was and nearly peed in the Charms classroom!"

I scoffed. "Almost doesn't count. Anyway, the place was empty; no harm, no foul."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "And yet when Hermione bats her eyelashes at you, you don't say anything."

I sighed. We were back to this again? "For the last time, Ron, she had something in her eye, that's all!" Seriously, I think I would have noticed if my co-best friend had a crush on me, thank you so very much.

As the days went on, though, Ginny started relaxing more around me. I think she began to see me more as her brother's best mate than just some mythical hero. We didn't manage to have any conversation about a topic more substantive than the weather or Quidditch, but then again, that describes most of my conversations with Ron, so perhaps that just runs in the family.

I was a little surprised the Weasleys celebrated Christmas – you know, with the whole suffer not a witch to live thing – but we had a really lovely meal nonetheless. I was shocked speechless when I got a sweater just like the rest of the family. They really saw me as one of their own! I totally didn't cry. Not for twenty minutes straight, no way, no how.

On New Year's Eve, I went over to Diagon Alley to have my meeting with Remus, Ms. Cheatham, and the Grangers. I don't mind telling you I was nervous, but I felt better knowing Remus and Hermione would be there. Ms. Cheatham asked me a lot of questions about how the Dursleys treated me. I don't feel comfortable telling you the answers here. But the long and short of was that everyone agreed they were unsuitable guardians.

"I did some research into your situation," Ms. Cheatham announced, "and what I found was most troubling. There are records of reports being made against the Dursleys by neighbors, by their friends, by your teachers." I nodded. I knew this already. I also knew nothing ever came of it. "And yet all those cases were dropped, and what's more…none of them remember making the complaints in the first place."

A shiver went down my spine. Was someone purposefully keeping me at the Dursleys? Was it Dumbledore? This definitely had his fingerprints all over it, the Machiavellian old fiend. He hasn't even watched Star Wars. You can never trust someone who doesn't like Star Wars, in my humble opinion and Hermione is the exception that proves the rule.

"Do you have any idea who might be responsible?" Danielle asked.

Ms. Cheatham shook her head. "No, but we have to be very cautious here. We're dealing with a cunning and devious adversary, someone who has his finger on the pulse of the Muggle world." Well, that certainly ruled out Dumbledore. "In the meantime, I believe the Drs. Granger wanted to pursue custody?"

Emmet gave me a kind and reassuring smile. "If you wouldn't mind, Harry. I truly think it would be best if this matter was handled in the Muggle world. I understand why you might want to have Remus or the Weasleys as your guardians, but Remus has…not been especially reliable in the past. Though he's much better now, of course! And the Weasleys don't exist in the Muggle world, so that'd…complicate things considerable."

"Dad is right, Harry," Hermione said softly. "They have a lot of important clients – judges, MPs, even a member of the cabinet. They'd be a shoe-in over the Dursleys."

Something was giving me pause, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. "We'd just be your legal guardians, Harry," Danielle said, seeming to know exactly what was troubling me, which put her ahead of me. "You and Hermione won't have to be considered brother and sister."

"Okay," I said slowly. "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything." Hermione looked like she did know, as she was glaring at her mum. "Okay. Go ahead and get things rolling. I don't want to go back to the Dursleys this summer."

Emmet nodded approvingly. "Not to worry, Harry. We'll pull this off, no matter what it takes."

Anyway, that's enough out of me! Time to get back to Hogwarts, where hopefully I'm not going to be lured into any more dangerous situations. We've got casting to do practically the moment I come back. I'm sure that with O'Neill unmasked, the Philosopher's Stone gone, Voldemort vanquished, and wow, I've been busy, everything will be fine and no one will pose a threat to me anymore.

From: Operative Woodpecker

To: Operative Echidna

According to Potter's latest blog post, the Grangers are attempting to gain custody. We've tracked down the origins of the gas mask the Grangers sent Harry and we've confirmed it was an FSB issue piece of equipment. Thus our superiors have confirmed Hermione Granger is a Russian asset and authorized you to use extreme measures – though not yet lethal force – to deal with her. You are to invoke Plan Epsilon as soon as possible.