Mid-morning sunlight filtered through the wide-paned windows of the study chamber Gringotts had assigned them for the day. The walls were lined with dark, aged books and the room smelled faintly of polished wood, dragonhide, and lemon balm.

Harry slouched in his chair, arms crossed.

"Tests," he muttered. "We fought a basilisk. You'd think that would count for something."

Hermione didn't look up. She was already uncapping her ink bottle with practiced precision, lips twitching in amusement.

"Think of it as a victory lap," she said, adjusting her quill. "You survived your second year at Hogwarts and the wizarding equivalent of standardized assessments. Really, you're on a roll."

Harry glanced at the stack of parchment before him. There were dividers marked:
Reading Comprehension, Numeracy, Spell Theory, Magical History, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense, and—of course—Handwriting.

"Pretty sure my handwriting's already been classified as a dark art," he said under his breath.

Hermione giggled.

"This is kind of nice," she said after a beat.

Harry gave her a skeptical look.

She shrugged. "Just... a little bit of normal. Paper, ink, questions with actual answers."

"Terrifying."

"No monsters."

"Yet."

Their laughter settled into a warm, quiet energy.

The goblin clerk overseeing the assessments, a silver-eyed scribe named Varrik, sat silently behind a side desk, enchanted quills tracking their responses without interference.

They worked in near silence for over an hour—Hermione in her element, flipping pages briskly, her notes neat and meticulous. Harry tried his best, mostly out of pride, and partly because he suspected Hermione would definitely ask how he'd done.

At one point, she passed him a spare quill without being asked. He grumbled something unintelligible and took it.

By the time they reached the non-magical sections—basic arithmetic, vocabulary, essay structure—Harry had started tapping his quill against the desk. Hermione noticed, but said nothing. She was almost enjoying this too much to ruin the mood.

"I'd forgotten how good I am at fractions," she murmured.

Harry looked up. "I forgot fractions existed."

A short break and two ginger biscuits later, Elijah and Clarisse joined them in one of the adjoining meeting chambers. A low table had been set for tea, and two thick folders—one marked H.J. Potter, the other H. Granger—sat atop it.

"Right," Harry said, eyeing the stack like it might attack him. "Let's get this over with."

Clarisse smiled. "You're already braver than most."

Hermione sat straighter, eager. "How did we do?"

Elijah gestured for them to sit. "Let's begin with the basics."

He opened Harry's folder first.

"Your magical comprehension is strong—particularly in Defense and Charms. You struggle more with Potions, Transfiguration, and spell theory. Your practical skills outpace your written expression, though that's more to do with formality and structure than intelligence."

Harry sighed. "So… I can do the magic, I just can't explain it?"

Clarisse nodded. "Precisely. But that's teachable. Your intuition is strong. Especially when it counts."

"Reading level is age-appropriate, writing is behind due to lack of foundational instruction. Arithmetic…" Elijah glanced up. "Could use attention."

"I know," Harry muttered.

"You already started on this last week," Elijah reminded him. "And you're not behind because of aptitude. Just lack of access."

Harry's mouth quirked. "So more homework."

"Less than you think. And more meaningful than you're used to."

He nodded and glanced at Hermione, who was barely containing her curiosity.

Clarisse opened her file next. "Hermione."

She beamed.

"Reading and writing, well above grade level in both magical and Muggle standards. You demonstrate near-perfect recall in Magical History and spell theory, and your Potions knowledge is precise—though more theoretical than instinctive. Practical work suggests a tendency to second-guess yourself under observation."

Hermione blinked. "Really?"

Clarisse smiled gently. "Your instincts are strong. But you sometimes defer to written knowledge even when you know the answer by feel."

Hermione flushed slightly, then nodded.

"You've begun work in Year 3 material already—Charms and Arithmancy in particular. We'll structure your tutoring to reflect that."

She glanced at Harry, who raised a brow.

"I like to stay ahead," she said sheepishly.

"Of course you do," he replied, grinning.

Clarisse leaned back. "The tests were comprehensive. They give us enough to assign tutors and adapt schedules. You'll each receive a personalized course plan—academic, magical, and ritual, in Hermione's case."

Elijah added, "And both of you will continue meeting with the mind healer—Alithea has already tailored your sessions to align with your learning."

"Do we get House Points for this?" Harry asked.

"No," Clarisse replied, dry. "But you get to keep breathing. Which, at this point, might be more valuable."

Harry groaned but smiled. Hermione gave him a triumphant nudge.

"Next time," he muttered, "I'm scheduling a troll attack."

Hermione laughed.

Clarisse and Elijah exchanged a glance—something private, warm, and deeply relieved. They were, for the moment, just children again. Clever, brave, battle-scarred—but still kids.

And for now, that was enough.

The door to Alithea's office whispered open on its own, and Harry stepped in, more familiar with the space now than he'd ever expected to be.

It still smelled like peppermint and beeswax—but today, there was something else beneath it. Rain on warm stone.

She sat cross-legged, as always. The chair had been reupholstered in rich green velvet since his first visit. The shelves were the same—books and memory stones, quiet little orbs of thought and recollection. Nothing loud. Nothing sharp.

"You remember the chair," Alithea said.

"I remember you don't let people start by talking," Harry replied, sliding into the same armchair he always used. "You ask if we've eaten."

She smiled. "Have you?"

"Tea. Two ginger biscuits. Hermione made me."

"A good start."

There was a moment of quiet, not awkward, just space. He'd learned that was the way she worked—never filling silences just to fill them.

She let him get there on his own.

"I'm still angry," Harry said finally.

Alithea didn't move. "You were angry last week too."

"I thought I'd be less angry once I got answers."

"Are you?"

"…Not really."

She waited.

"It's not just about the Dursleys," Harry said. "It's… everything. That Dumbledore knew. That he put me there. That he told no one. That I didn't even know what I was missing."

"Do you think you would have wanted something different, if you'd known sooner?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know. I think… I just wanted someone to tell me the truth. I was there in that cupboard, in that house, trying to believe that was normal. I made it normal. Because no one told me otherwise."

She nodded. "And now that you know the truth?"

"It makes me feel stupid."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't know."

Alithea leaned forward. "Harry. You were surviving. You were surviving with the tools a child was given. There is no shame in that."

He didn't look up.

"You didn't miss the truth. The truth was hidden. That is not failure. That is design. And now you're unlearning it."

Harry finally looked up. "That sounds exhausting."

"It is."

She waited a beat.

"How's your anger now?"

"…Smaller," he admitted. "Still there. But… less sharp."

"That's how it works," Alithea said. "Not all at once. But choice by choice. Truth by truth."

Harry shifted in his seat. "I'm worried about Hermione."

"You said that before."

"She didn't get the answers she was expecting. I think she wanted a family—a real one. And what she got was… sacred rites and ancient responsibilities and myths made real. It's not the same."

"No," Alithea agreed. "But it is hers. And what she does with it will be her choice."

"She always makes the right ones," Harry muttered.

Alithea smiled softly. "And maybe now, so will you."

Harry looked down at his hands again, then nodded once.

"I'll see you next week?"

"Of course."

Alithea's office was still familiar. Still hers.

The scent today was lighter—rosemary and orange peel—and the windows let in filtered sun, enchanted to look like afternoon in early spring. A nod to something Hermione had said during her first session.

That she missed the green of English gardens when summer got too hot.

"Welcome back," Alithea said, her voice as calm and grounding as ever.

Hermione sat. No notes today—just her, in soft robes and plaited hair.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," she said after a moment.

Alithea nodded, but didn't press.

"I thought it would be… clearer. Like, if I learned who I was, then I'd become her."

"And did you?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "Not really. I still feel like… me. But it's like everything around me changed, and now I'm the part that doesn't fit."

Alithea was quiet for a moment.

"You told me, our first session, that you liked stories with answers."

Hermione flushed. "I still do."

"But this one isn't finished yet."

"No," she admitted.

"Do you want it to be?"

"…Sometimes."

"Because you're tired?"

Hermione's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I feel like I'm holding too many pages."

Alithea offered no platitudes, no soothing nonsense. Just truth.

"Then set them down. Read one at a time."

Hermione sat back, letting the words sink in.

"I was scared," she said. "When I found out. That I wouldn't like them. That my family—my birth family—might be cruel. Or arrogant. Or… not good."

"Are they?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I haven't met them. But I know their family reputations. And they're not always kind ones."

"And does that change who you are?"

"No," she said immediately. "But it changes… how I feel about what's next."

Alithea nodded.

"You said last time that you were afraid of being forgotten. That you had to be useful to be loved."

Hermione flinched.

"You are allowed to just be, Hermione. You do not have to prove anything to magic. Or to the Weave. Or even to Harry."

Her shoulders dropped, just slightly.

"I still want to help," she said. "But maybe not today."

"That's balance," Alithea replied. "Not selfishness."

Hermione exhaled. Slowly.

"I think I'd like to come back."

"My door is always open."