Lady Clarisse Marchand walked with measured steps along the polished marble corridor, guiding Dan and Emma Granger away from the dimly lit Memory Review Chamber. The heavy oak door thudded shut behind them, its echo swallowed by the hush of Gringotts' subterranean halls. Soft golden sconces flickered along the walls, glinting off veins of silver in the stone floor. Emma glanced back at the door, her worry etched plainly, while Dan gently rested a hand on her back.

As they moved deeper, the air cooled, but the tension clinging to them didn't ease.

Dan cleared his throat. "We appreciate everything you've done, Lady Marchand," he said, his voice steady but tight. "It's just… with us abroad most of the year now, we won't be around if anything goes wrong."

Emma nodded. "Hermione's always been independent, but she's still just thirteen. The magical world…" She trailed off. "It's a lot."

Clarisse's voice was calm, even. "I understand your concerns. What happened to Mr Potter shouldn't have been possible. He had no magical advocate, no oversight. That will not happen to Hermione."

Dan nodded slowly. "That's what we're hoping. We were going to ask Professor McGonagall to help us arrange something, but Hermione as usual has taken the situation into hand. While we are relieved, we hadn't anticipated you."

"My role," Clarisse continued, "is to ensure her rights are upheld—legally and magically. To defend her interests if challenged, protect her inheritance, and connect her to resources and mentorship she might otherwise be excluded from. Especially as a Muggleborn, those ties matter."

Emma gave her a grateful look. "Thank you. She'll need someone who understands all this."

Clarisse allowed a small, warm smile. "She won't have to navigate it alone anymore."

They rounded a final bend and approached a pair of heavy bronze doors flanked by goblin guards. One inclined his head and opened them without a word.

"Your daughter is waiting inside."

The reception room was warmly lit, the polished table gleaming beneath floating sconces. Harry and Hermione sat side by side, both freshly returned from their healer evaluations. They looked tired—but steadier.

Hermione rose the moment her parents stepped in, wrapping her arms around both at once. Harry stood, giving Dan a polite nod.

"Thanks for being here," Harry said.

Dan gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Thank you for looking after our girl."

"I think she's been doing more of that for me," Harry replied, managing a half-smile.

Across the room, Tharkun stood with his ceremonial chain glinting in the light, ledger at hand. "We are prepared to proceed," he said.

The door opened again, admitting Elijah Dorne—quiet, efficient, a thin leather folio under one arm.

"Elijah," Harry greeted, surprised but pleased.

Elijah gave a slight nod. "Mr Potter." His voice was quiet but resolute. "Ready?"

Harry nodded once, all business now.

Clarisse motioned everyone to sit. Tharkun reviewed the guardianship contracts with brisk precision. Hermione's came first—co-signed by her parents, who asked a few clarifying questions but ultimately didn't hesitate. Then Harry's, which would be finalised once Elijah secured the Dursleys' signature. Harry wouldn't have to attend.

The scrolls glowed softly as they sealed with magic.

For the first time in a long while, both teens exhaled.

As tea was poured, quiet conversation resumed—less tense now, but still purposeful.

Hermione turned to Tharkun. "If it's allowed… I'd like my parents to attend the genealogical rite. Just to observe."

Tharkun tilted his head, assessing her. "It is not customary," he said. "But it is not forbidden."

Tharkun looked to Clarisse, then to the Grangers. "So long as they do not interfere, and you are certain, Gringotts will permit it," he stated.

Hermione turned to her parents, her eyes clear. "I want you there," she said. "Whatever happens—I don't want to go through it alone."

Emma's eyes misted, and she nodded. "We wouldn't be anywhere else," she replied softly.

Dan reached across and squeezed Hermione's hand, offering silent support.

No one voiced it aloud, but the sentiment was palpable: they remained a united family.