Hermione sat at the dining table by the glass doors to the garden. She cradled a cup of tea as she stared outside. Looking at nothing. Dawn was starting to break through and all the birds in the neighbourhood were making a chirping fuss about it. She had not meant to wake up so early. But she had had a bad dream. A nightmare that had felt so real and had made her feel so bad that Hermione had been unable to fall back asleep. It had been about her head of house. Professor Severus Snape. Or maybe—it had not been of him.

There was yelling. Plenty of it. People were crying out too. Screaming. Maybe even crying and screaming from terror and pain—Hermione could not tell. Everything around her was a swishing merge of streaked colours like a distorted water painting. But the colours were not pretty. They were all dark. Dark and dirty. And with it everyone's voices around her were muted as if by the pressure of water. At least, Hermione's brain thought the things around her were people. She could not see them clearly so it was her brain's only way of rationalising the dark figures. Everything around her was blurry and muffled, all expect for the person before her. No, not just any person. A wizard. A wizard in a purple cloak.

Professor Snape.

It had to be. She could recognise him anywhere. He had been her potions professor and head of house since she was in first year. She knew the way he extravagantly carried himself. His black greasy hair at his shoulders. But what she could not understand nor comprehend, was why she was dreaming of him. Why she was standing behind him. And why she held her wand out pointed toward him.

A terrorising flash of green exploded from her wand.

Hermione jostled back into her reality and physically shuddered at the memory. She wanted to be sick. Her brain wanted her to be sick but her body had no reason to be. Hermione wished she could be sick. The very thought of taking someone's life—her own professor's—Hermione gave another shiver. Granted Hermione had never liked Professor Snape, and he had always despised her. Terrorised her and Harry. She had shrunken teeth because of him. He had always added fuel to the bullying she received at Hogwarts from her Slytherin peers. But never, not ever, had she wanted to take her wand to his back and use Voldemort's Killing Curse against him.

She took a sip of her tea. Then frowned, remembering something.

"Why the fuck was he wearing a purple cloak?" She asked herself. Angry with her brain for having conjured such an image. "He's never worn any other colour but black—it makes no sense."

She stared down at her tea. Hard. Pensively. Muggle psychology would argue that murder in a dream represented repressed aggression. And because she knew her victim, it was clear evidence of how deep her hate for Snape ran.

Do I really hate him enough to kill him though?

Magic on the other hand, may—well, actually, Hermione had no idea what her dream meant magically. She did not want to admit it to herself but possibly this was an instance where Professor Trelawney could have had some type of insight into the matter. Regardless of how much Hermione was convinced the witch to be as off-with-her-head as Loony Lovegood. It was possible, after all, that her dream had been—

Hermione sat abruptly up in her chair. She placed her mug down onto the dining table with more force than necessary.

"No." She shook her head insistently. "Absolutely not."

She refused to believe it. She instantly cast the thought out of her mind. She was not Professor Trelawney. She was not Loony Lovegood. She was not clairvoyant. The only thing Hermione had ever predicted correctly was the outcome of her Hogwarts exams—and that had been purely based on how much she had or had not studied. She could not see into the future. And her dream about Professor Snape was not a dream that was to come true.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not." Hermione harshly whispered to herself.

I'm not a murderer. And I never will be. Not in this life or any other!

She then blew out an air of frustration and held her head in her hands.

Where's Harry when you need him?

She paused. Harry. She sat up straight again. Harry might know what this is about. Harry had been suffering with Voldemort's visions for years. Maybe he could shed some light on it. Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment from a neat pile near her and summoned a pot of ink and a quill. However, before her quill could so much as splash a dot of ink onto the piece of parchment paper she paused again. And suddenly the idea of writing down a murder—real or not real—on a piece of paper felt both silly and dangerous. She slowly lay her quill back down onto the table.

"No." She murmured. "No that wouldn't be smart—definitely not with the current climate."

Hermione would have to go back to Diagon Alley to post the letter. That would mean losing another day tutoring Maddy and she had no idea what kind of enchantments the Ministry of Magic were currently utilising to scan and filter through post and communications across the country. Hermione knew how the Muggle government behaved when it was at high alert. Anything goes so long as it is in the name of national security. She had no doubts that the Ministry was the exact same. Especially when Muggles and wizards were being killed left, right and centre by Voldemort's underground forces. And especially after Umbridge's short, but brutal rule at Hogwarts a year ago. Harry still had the scars.

If Hermione were to take her wand to the back of anyone it would have bee—

No. I'm not a murderer. And that pink cow would most definitely not be worth a life sentence in Azkaban—let alone a Dementor's kiss.

No. A letter was not a smart idea. She then made her final decision. If she were to dream of such a thing again, then and only then would she ask Harry about it the next time she—

A sudden vision of Harry against her swooped into her mind and she instantly began to flush pink in the face.

When did—

Oh Jesus, I'd forgotten all about that…

No. A letter is definitely not a good idea to write to Harry—and anyway his visions are due to a connection he and Voldemort share.

She placed the piece of parchment back in its original pile, and sat down and took a sip of tea trying to remove all blood-pulse heightening thoughts of her best friend from her mind.

And choked.

Hermione shot up from her chair knocking it backwards—coughing wildly as her tea had gone down the wrong pipe—and dashed towards the stairs to where she had heard a worrying amount of banging and doors slamming.

"Made!" She called out breathily as she ran up the stairs.

She heard the indisputable sound of someone retching.

"Madds are you ok?" She asked opening the door to the bathroom.

Maddy sat on the floor crouched over the toilet as she threw up. Hermione quickly ran to her and grabbed her copious amount of hair, holding it out of the way.

"Fuck, it must have been the takeaway last night." Hermione said softly, whilst attentively holding her breath.

She felt Maddy shake her head.

"No?" Hermione asked. "Is it that time of the month? Do you usually throw up because of your menstrual cycle?"

Maddy shook her head again then reached for the toilet paper. Hermione was faster. She ripped a few squares away and passed them to Maddy. Together they then closed the toilet lid and flushed the remnants of her fake Chinese away. Hermione grabbed a large hair barrette from one of the bathroom drawers and clipped Maddy's hair back as her sister caught her breath back.

"Why do you think you were sick?" Hermione asked.

"Blood." Maddy said. "Lots of blood."

Hermione looked up and down at Maddy with deep concern. Her sister wiped her mouth again and then slowly got up onto her feet. Hermione helped her.

"Where's there a lot of blood Made?" She asked gently.

"Dream—" Maddy took a deep breath in. "I had a bad dream—there was blood—everywhere—on the floor, in my mouth—it was—" She shuddered, much in the way Hermione had downstairs thinking back on her own nightmare. "I could taste it."

Hermione watched as Maddy braced herself against the sink as the tips of her fingers whitened with the pressure of her grip. Before she could stop herself Hermione was gently stroking her hand up and down against Maddy's tense back. She did not ask any further questions about her sister's bloody dream—it probably had to do with her parent's deaths.

Instead, she softly murmured, "It's alright, I had a bad dream too. It's not real. You're not there. You're here. Feel the floor beneath your feet… Listen to my voice… Try and open your eyes… You're not there, you're here."

Slowly, Maddy began to relax and she opened her eyes again. She turned the tap on and rinsed her mouth out a couple of times.

"Wait at least half an hour before brushing your teeth. You have too much acidity in your mouth at the moment." Said Hermione, the daughter of two dentists.

Maddy nodded her head, then asked, "What was your dream about?"

"I can't remember," Hermione lied. "But I remember it felt horrible."

Maddy nodded again. They stood there in silence for a moment.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Hermione asked.

Instantly, Maddy cringed. "No way." She said.

"Alright," Hermione began. "I think this calls for tea."

Maddy's nose wrinkled. Hermione softly chuckled.

"Do I have to?" Maddy asked.

"Indeed." Hermione replied.

She gently began to pull Maddy toward the bathroom door. Hermione heard her sister mumble something along the lines of, "Well, if I really have to drink hot grass water..."

"Wingardium Leviosa." Chanted Maddy.

She huffed when the pigeon's feather just nudged itself sideways instead of upwards. They would have used a quill feather, but Hermione did not want to find out if Maddy was as talented as Seamus Finnigan and ruin a perfectly good quill. So, a pigeon feather from the garden was just fine. Hermione patiently watched—at a safe distance—as Maddy rose her newly purchased wand from Ollivander's and attempted the first-year charm yet again. She flicked her polished laurel wooded wand with unicorn hair core and uttered the spell impatiently.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Maddy repeated.

This time nothing at all happened and she began to flick her wand up and down aggressively whilst reciting the Levitation Charm as if it were an incorrect passphrase.

"Alright—alright!" Hermione intervened. "Before you take your own eye out or somehow manage to ignite the feather, let's take a break. We'll try again when you're willing to be patient."

Maddy half chucked her wand onto the dining table and collapsed into a chair defeated.

"Wand magic is the worst." She grumbled.

"Actually," Hermione grinned. "It's the best—well actually elf magic is top tier, but wizards and witches can be pretty impressive."

Maddy turned to glare at her sister.

"Easy for you to say—you've had years of practice." She mumbled.

"I can't argue with that. Tea?" Hermione asked.

"Absolutely not—thanks. A cup of joe would be swell, however."

Hermione made her way into the kitchen and put the water to boil. At the same time she prepped the French press for Maddy's coffee. Maddy came beside her and leaned over the kitchen counter as she reached up, into the cupboard for two mugs. She placed the two upon the countertop, then turned to eye her sister. Hermione met her gaze. She rose a brow questioningly.

"Yes?" She asked.

Maddy gave a small smile. "You know," she began. "I've always wanted a sister."

Hermione turned away to pick out her herbal tea from the selection they had.

"That's nice." She said. "I've always wanted a brother."

"Seriously?" Maddy asked.

"No, not at all." Hermione replied. "I've always wanted one of you."

Maddy smiled again, softly. Hermione mirrored it.

"It's funny actually, from first year up until third year I had always wished for a sister. It was so bad being in Slytherin as a Muggle-born that I'd just desperately wished I'd someone else to bare it with. Selfish, really." Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "But, I suppose that's what makes me a Slytherin."

"Maybe," Maddy began. "But people are allowed to be selfish—it doesn't make them a bad person."

Hermione paused. Then moved toward the kettle as it went off with a click.

"I never said it made me a bad person." She said gently.

"True, but the way you talk about the houses makes it seem like you believe it does—like being in Slytherin automatically makes you a bad person." Maddy explained.

Hermione poured the hot water into her mug, then into the cafetière à piston. All the whilst she fought to keep the memory of her nightmare at bay. When she said nothing further, Maddy decided to change the subject.

"Have you decided on what we're going to do with the memories?" She asked.

"Yes." Hermione answered. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do till we come by a Pensieve. Now, those things are one of the most ancient and rare magical instruments ever—so it's fair to say that it's going to be fucking hard to find one. The only one I know of is in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts—and I've never even seen it, only Harry has. So, I don't know exactly what it looks like but from what I've read—and from Harry's accounts—it's a bowl—of sorts—with silvery—airy—watery liquid in it."

Maddy eyed her curiously.

"And you stick your head in it." Hermione finished, passing Maddy her mug of long coffee.

"Right." Maddy nodded. "So we're never going to find out whose memories we've collected."

Hermione stopped short on her sip of tea to say, "Mh, no—no I didn't say that. I said it's going to be fucking hard—not impossible."

Maddy blew on her mug of hot coffee and eyed her sister closer.

"You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" She slowly asked Hermione.

"If you think I'm suggesting we find a way to break into my headmaster's office to use his Pensieve—then you would be correct." Hermione said simply, before taking another sip of her tea.

"Hermione!" Maddy protested.

But Hermione was not listening, she was already walking away back into the dinning room.

"Come on, dear sister, your feather awaits to be once and for all airborne." She called back. "Have confidence—you're doing much better than Ron did during his first time."

"Really?" Maddy called out.

"No, not in the slightest!"

Maddy glared at where Hermione no longer stood and then—with great lack of enthusiasm—followed her into the dinning room.

Hermione spent the next couple of days gruelling Maddy with all the easier first-year spells from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. The Levitation Charm, the Wand-Lighting Charm, the Softening Charm, the Mending Charm—as well as transfiguring a matchstick into a needle… Time being against them she wanted to make sure that Maddy had an adequate knowledge of wand magic rather than book knowledge. Books she could read in her own time, but magic needed to be practised. That of course did not stop Hermione from reciting the historical backgrounds to each of the spells she taught Maddy. Like how the Levitation Charm had been, quote, "…invented in 1544 by warlock Jarleth Hobart who mistakenly believed that he had at last succeeded in doing what wizardkind had so far failed to do, and learnt to fly."

Hermione's plan was to spend a week on first year magic. A week on second year magic. A week on third year magic. And to carry on until September as so, with the hopes that if Maddy could not confidently perform the charms, jinxes, hexes or transfigurations, she at least would have some knowledge of them. It was the best that they could hope for. Teaching an adult witch half a decades worth of magic was to be no easy feat. Actually, it was to be the bane of Maddy's life for the rest of the summer holidays. Hermione was as patient and understanding as she could be, but she would not allow a single day off from training. They did not have the luxury of time.

After two days, a shattered mirror, a half needle half matchstick they could no longer locate and—somehow—an extra fluffier pigeon feather (as if it had been to the hairdressers) later and finally an eagle arrived in the garden.

"Hermione?" Maddy called out as she peered cautiously over the Standard Book of Spells.

"Yes?" Hermione responded from the kitchen, where she was currently putting together a couple of ham sandwiches.

"There's a bird of prey in the garden—is that normal for London?" She spoke nervously. "Hermione? It's staring at me."

Hermione hurried back into the dinning room with two plates in hand. She followed Maddy's gaze out into the garden and then quickly placed the two plates down onto the table with a clatter.

"That's from Dumbledore," she said as she dashed over to the garden doors and slid them open.

The proud, white-tailed eagle sat perched atop a metal garden chair on the patio and patiently waited for Hermione to approach it. When Hermione was close enough, the eagle stretched out its leg to reveal a small scroll bound to it.

Curious. Hermione thought. And clever.

Dumbledore had probably not written a formal letter so as not to alarm anyone who was checking the bird post on behalf of the Ministry. She made quick work of the tied scroll and unfurled it. Maddy was beside her by the time Dumbledore's correspondence was fully revealed.

Dear Miss Granger,

It gives me great pleasure to invite your sister to Hogwarts. She shall receive a formal letter of enrolment by Professor McGonagall shortly. In the meantime, yes, you would do well to tutor your sister before the start of term. You are of course one of the brightest witches this school has ever seen, she is in excellent hands. I look forward to meeting her in September.

I am, yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore.

Maddy turned to find her sister wolfishly grinning at her. Maddy smiled back nervously. She was of course more than a fair bit content that she had been accepted into Hogwarts, it meant she would, for the first time in her life, be able to acquire a magical education. She just could not understand Hermione's mildly scary grin.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" Maddy asked through a toothy, tight grin of her own.

"Because, Made," Hermione began. "You're off to the greatest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world—and you have—" Hermione prodded Dumbledore's note with her finger. "—the greatest witch the school has ever known to tutor you."

"He said one of the bright—"

"Semantics—semantics." Hermione brushed off. "Muggle, No-Maj—same difference."

Maddy then watched as Hermione walked away back into the dinning room. Maddy took a cautious step to the side when she realised how close she was standing to the eagle. The eagle which remained locked onto her with its beady, glittering eyes.

"Why—Why is it staring at me so hard?" Maddy asked taking another safe step away from it.

"Because it probably wants some food—it did just fly back from the Highlands you know." Hermione said as she casually made her way back and flung some ham into the air.

Maddy gave a strangled shriek as the eagle beside her instantaneously spread its glorious wings and took flight. Before either of them could so much as blink again, the ham, midair, had been wholly consumed and existed no longer. The eagle came back down to rest upon the garden chair again. Maddy was back safely inside. Hermione laughed, then went to fetch a bowl of water for the feathered creature. When she came back out, from beyond her family's garden, she caught sight of a little girl staring out from her window.

Hermione quietly summoned her wand as she placed the bowl of water down upon the garden table. Her sleek black wand met the palm of her hand like an old, obedient friend. She casually scanned the rest of her surroundings for other peeping Muggle neighbours, before directing her wand toward the girl who was still watching her curiously.

"Obliviate." Hermione murmured.

Once she was done Hermione left the eagle to rest and rejoined her sister back in the house.

"Right—quick lunch. Then we have much to do." She said taking a seat beside Maddy.

She pushed a plated sandwich her way and pulled another closer to herself. Maddy took a hold of her sandwich, then before Hermione had realised and could stop her, her sister took a bite into the slices of bread. It seemed Hermione had not given their feathery friend a single slice of ham. She had given it all the slices of ham from Maddy's sandwich.