Chapter 13 – A Trio of Red and Gold

Being at Hogwarts without Harry is the strangest feeling. As if all the lonely years at Wool's in which she'd learned to be independent to survive had been completely wiped from Hermione's mind as soon as the chaos that is her brother had walked through the orphanage's gate. From that first meeting onwards - in which the wonders of their world had unfolded like the pages of an opening book - she'd been glued to Harry's side, aligned her own judgement to fit his views and experienced every part of her first school year as one half of a duo.

Now the other half is missing, it's a struggle to feel just as much at home in the Hogwarts Express or the Great Hall as before. The glaring emptiness of Harry's seat can't be ignored. The absence is a shadow that hovers near all the time, a mental reminder that no-one is present to give witty comebacks to Hermione's observations. That no-one here truly cares. Not that she is alone per se, the Gryffindor table boisterous as ever, but Hermione realises that last year, she didn't do an awful lot of socialising. The focus had been on Harry: working with him, learning from him. His goals, his secrets, figuring out his relationship…

Maybe Sirius is right. Hermione's adopted father had sat down with her a few times over summer to speak of opportunities to grow. He'd encouraged pursuing new friendships and learning about Hogwarts 'like kids do' without the weight of a grown-up holding her back from 'ridiculously fun adventures'. She doesn't believe that assessment is wholly fair, for last year had been plenty ridiculous and adventurous, but the point being made was fair. It's time to step away from this shadow and do her own thing.

Starting, ironically, with something Harry requested.

(In hushed tones, a moment of vulnerability. Not as a ploy to further grand plans, but a personal favour to ease his weary mind. Take care of her, he'd asked. Make sure she's well.)

The Gryffindor table cheers as the last first-year to be sorted for the night, Ginny Weasley, joins their house. Hermione claps as loudly as the rest of them and removes the bag she'd strategically placed on the bench.

''Here, come sit with me!''

The nervous girl with whom Hermione already spent a while talking on the train, is happy to take up the offer, grinning while whispering: ''Thanks, it would have been so embarrassing if I'd have had to ask my brothers to free up a spot.''

''Don't mention it. Your brothers are a handful, aren't they? The things Ron got up to last year, let me tell you…''

''Hey!'' Ron shouts from the opposite side of the table, a couple of seats further down. ''I heard that! I hardly got in trouble last year, Granger. Think you might be confusing me with yourself and Potter. He was the one questioned by the Minister for Magic and the one who went running after a monster with Lockhart! Where is he, anyways?''

Having looked too much forward to dinner to postpone eating any longer, Hermione lets Ginny fill the other Gryffindors in on the news of Harry's whereabouts, as the younger girl had listened to the official cover story on their way to Hogwarts. After a few minutes of digging into the feast, Hermione casts a glance at the staff table, where one of her 'targets' sits: Professor Fudge, who makes for a comical sight with the fluffy pink cardigan she put over her robes and matching hair ribbon. The woman wears a pleased smile as she nips from a golden goblet and chats with the librarian, Mr Quirrell. The man's head is still wrapped in a dark red turban, perhaps to keep up the image, but it's a less bulky version than he wore last year when it hid Lord Voldemort.

In all honesty, Hermione is glad to have been introduced to the Dark Lord after he'd fixed up a new body, for Harry's description of a parasite living on the back of someone's head sounds unsavoury. It's questionable whether she could have looked Voldemort in the eye the same if she'd seen that state.

''Do you think she knows a lot of cool magic? Being the wife of the Minister?'' Neville, who sits to Hermione's right and has followed the direction of her gaze, asks in a tone that conveys more worry than excitement. ''I hope her classes won't be awfully difficult.''

''Dad works for the Ministry and says most of it is talks and paperwork,'' Ginny informs them all. ''Besides, being someone's wife doesn't grant special abilities. We know nothing about her from that alone.''

''The Defence book on the second-year list focuses heavily on theory,'' Hermione reassures, knowing in advance from Hary's information that there won't be any practical spellwork.

Unlike her brother, she would genuinely not have minded the subject being reduced to theory exclusively, if only the exams would reflect that. With Mrs Fudge representing the Ministry, whose educational guidelines do require practical demonstrations, that is unlikely even with teachers creating their own tests for all but the fifth- and seventh-years. Hermione was luckier than most of her peers in one regard: she'd been able to get a head start during summer, encouraged to try out more advanced spellwork by most of the adults she'd spent time with and as a result taking away far more than defending her mind from those weeks living in the Dark Lord's manor.

One memory in particular left a deep impression, of being allowed to watch Lord Voldemort teach his own follower on a day Harry had been out. The duel between Barty Crouch and the Dark Lord she'd witnessed from the sidelines had shown the existence of magic beyond her wildest dreams. Solidifying shadows had served as weapon and barrier alike, whereas transfiguration on a molecular level had turned air into noxious fumes with a snap of one's fingers. The aftermath had been just as horrifyingly fascinating, for the duel had ended with half of Crouch's body burned to a blackened crisp. The sight had turned Hermione's stomach, who'd helplessly looked on as the Death Eater had pitifully crawled to his Lord's feet to be healed.

Crouch had been good as new minutes later, but Hermione would never forget the twenty-one seconds of silence during which the Dark Lord had done nothing but revel in the misery he'd caused.

The whole experience had driven home a couple of points. One: it was understandable how Harry had been so incredibly bored at Hogwarts. Two: Hermione should thank every star in the sky that she was protected by the only person on earth whom Voldemort respected enough to consider the wishes of. She could finally understand taking a neutral stance in wars, for what sane person would want to be this man's friend or foe? Surely not Hermione if she wouldn't have been protected by the impenetrable shield consisting of 'your Intended would hate to see me hurt'.

Having the talent to multitask – to a fault, really - being lost in thoughts about the epic spells out there does not diminish Hermione's attention on Ginny, who is obviously relieved to have found someone else than family to rely on on the first day of school. It makes it easy to get her to open up. Childhood tales - half of which involve brooms and fist-fights – and speculations about how she imagines life in Hogwarts will be like fall from Ginny's lips like a waterfall.

''- everyone told me so many different stories that I could never tell what is true. Mum and dad always spin romanticised boring tales that somehow end in 'wise words' on how to follow the rules, Fred and George claim to have done and seen the wildest things that I don't trust for a second, and Percy tends to brag about how everyone looks up to him…'' the newest Gryffindor grumpily mutters. ''I tried asking Ron, but all he had to offer were complaints. The Potion's professor unfairly favouring Slytherins and family, schoolwork being too hard, richer kids being further ahead as they pay their way up…''

Hermione scoffs at that. ''Severus doesn't treat me any different since he adopted me, so the preferential treatment is rubbish. As for rich kids getting ahead: Harry and I were last year's best students and whereas he is far above bribery, I didn't even have a penny to spend if I'd have wanted to. It's all about effort and talent, not how much gold you can throw around.''

''True, I would love to bribe my way into getting good grades,'' Neville weakly smiles. ''I try to put in lots of effort, but without the talent to back it up, it's not going so well…''

''Aren't your overall grades fine?'' Hermione counters. ''You're the only one who can handle some of the troublesome plants during Herbology on the first go, and mastered so many charms because you didn't give up when other moved on after reaching mediocrity.''

Neville turns red at the unexpected compliment, mumbling: ''I also keep confusing star charts and blew up my cauldron during potions more than once… Mum and dad said not to give up and tried to give me some tips over summer, but I already can't remember half of them. Didn't help that grandma came around every week and grilled me on my lack of skill. She wouldn't stop bringing up how I'd broken my wrist during my first flying lesson…''

''Flying isn't an essential skill,'' Hermione wisely states, then catches Ginny's half-horrified, half-insulted look and remembers the dozen enthusiastic rants about Quidditch of the past hour. ''Unless you're looking for a career in sports, which I know you aren't,'' she hurriedly adds, patting Neville's shoulder a tad forcefully.

A commotion from the teacher's table is her saving grace. Professor Dumbledore rises first to say a few words, only to be interrupted by Professor Fudge midway. The speech that follows is a watered-down version of the announcement made at the Sunday Sorcerer Soiree, where the newest educational measures had first been introduced to the public. The glassy eyes of most students as they're being told the Ministry is taking over Hogwarts is not a promising sign of intelligence, or lack thereof. Not that Hermione will complain about it, for her peer's obliviousness plays into her own cards – which she plans to play close to her chest.

Part of that tactic has to be abandoned quicker than is preferred: a mere two days after the welcoming feast, before having properly settled into the new school year, a parchment scroll with neat handwriting makes its way into Hermione's hands; an invitation to 'take tea' with the Headmaster that same evening.

Does Professor Dumbledore really think he can get to Harry through her?

While confident in her mental defences, even Harry had had trouble getting away unscathed during the last confrontation with Dumbledore, leading Hermione to be extremely wary about underestimating the old Professor. There are barely a few hours to prepare, not enough to brew helpful potions or drop by the library to research additional methods of defence, so she'll have to swallow her pride and involve someone with more experience.

Hermione is halfway to the dungeons when it occurs to her that Severus' intention to upkeep his role as a spy might actually force him into taking the Headmaster's side during a questioning. Which means the most comforting option is off the table…

Well, then. Time to bring out the big guns.

''Come in,'' a fake-sweet voice answers her knock. Upon entering Professor Fudge's office, Hermione is overwhelmed by the amount of clutter. Lace coasters, porcelain plates and figurines, tiny vases with dried flowers and a dozen other knickknacks stand or hang between stacks of pink paper, pink drapes and pinker walls. ''Good evening, Ms Granger, how can I help you? Did you have any questions about today's lesson?''

''Good evening, professor Fudge,'' Hermione politely returns, as the first thing her newest Professor had insisted upon during today's class was decorum – greetings and hand-raising to the point of excess. ''I don't have any questions about Defence, no.'' Honestly, even a four-year-old shouldn't have trouble understanding the course material that'd been covered today: an introduction in standard safety protocols that didn't utilise magic. ''The thing is: I've found myself in a bit of an uncomfortable situation and thought… well, I got the impression that you might be able to help where other teachers can't.''

Taking a deep breath, Hermione hands over the scroll. ''I know it's a prerogative of the Headmaster to summon students, but with all that's happened between Professor Dumbledore and my brother, I cannot shake the feeling there's more to it. Why invite me for tea? We've never spoken before, and I don't believe there can be anything of importance to discuss about my schoolwork days into the new year. Maybe it's silly of me…'' she trails off while waiting for Professor Fudge to read the message in full.

The woman unhurriedly puts the scroll down and straightens a few creases in the parchment. When she speaks, it's with poorly concealed glee. ''You did well in coming to me, Miss Granger. It is commendable that you knew to put your trust in me – into the Ministry – to look after your best interests. I cannot prohibit Dumbledore from summoning you, as it is indeed his right, yet it is within your right to ask for another teacher to accompany you. How about the both of us attend this little meeting and hear what the Headmaster has to say? Whether it is about your education or your family, I do believe I have a legitimate interest in supervising this conversation, as a representative of the government that approved the restraining order that protects your brother.''

The Headmaster does not appear to believe in the legitimacy of that interest, for once they enter the office, silver eyebrows are raised at the newest teacher of Hogwarts. ''What a lovely surprise, my dear Professor,'' he speaks, gesturing for Hermione to sit down while failing to conjure a second chair. ''I'd not expected the Ministry would take evening tea so seriously as to send a chaperone.''

''This child's very life was endangered due to poor management, Dumbledore. It was a Ministry-approved teacher who slew the foul beast and saved her. Surely you cannot fault me for keeping a close eye on her when meeting with someone who was unable to keep her safe.''

''I appreciate Professor Fudge's concerns,'' Hermione is quick to say to squash any protests. ''What was I called in for, Headmaster? We haven't had any tests yet and I can't recall getting in any kind of trouble…''

The Headmaster appears to consider the truthfulness of her words, then slowly lifts his wand to craft an ornate armchair out of thin air. ''Nothing so formal, Ms Granger. Taking last year's events into account, I wished to ask how you've been settling in. Myself and the rest of the staff are aware it might be difficult being back. Not to mention that whereas you decided to return to Hogwarts, your close friend Mr Potter opted to be home-schooled…''

''Hem hem. I would like to strongly remind you of Mr Potter-Black's protection extending to attempts to uncover information about his whereabouts, actions and relationships.''

''No reminder necessary, Professor Fudge,'' the ancient man speaks with a genial smile, rolling up wide sleeves to have them out of the way as he pours three cups of tea that no-one asked for.

At least that's one thing he and Professor Fudge have in common: uninvited teatime. After her brother divulged that Fudge had spiked Harry's drink with truth serum, Hermione dearly hopes that the woman can recognize if anyone else uses the same method of extracting information. Hermione is not so apt in wandless magic as to vanish the tea from the inside of her mouth.

Harry having been brought up less than a minute into the talk, the reassurance sounds insincere, so Hermione does not react to it one way or another. Having received some snippets of wisdom about how to handle the social and political field from her future brother-in-law, she tries to stick as close to the truth as possible and steer the conversation into safer waters:

''I've missed school. There's little that beats quiet time in the library. Although I appreciate that Sirius and Severus looked out for my wellbeing and arranged for the holidays to start early, I think I'd also have liked to use those weeks for my studies like everyone else. What happened last year… it's not enough to stop me from pushing forward and becoming the best witch I can be.''

Dumbledore hums, stirring his spoon. ''As I recall, last year you spent most time with Harry-''

''Hem Hem!''

''-so I hope it's not been difficult to find new friends?''

Hermione juts her chin forward and straightens her shoulders. ''It's not like Harry ever held me back from forming friendships with anyone else, Sir. I get along fine with my other House-mates. Neville is great company when studying and I'm helping Ginny find her own place.''

Dumbledore visibly relaxes, smile turning genuine. ''Ah, you're enjoying the company of some fine people. Very fine indeed. Keep a tight hold of those friendships, Miss Granger,'' he advises, leaning closer and peering over the golden rim of his spectacles. ''As you may be aware, I've made my opinion public of a dark storm approaching, which will affect many a life in the near future. With your background, it'd be wise to reconsider whom to trust and call family-''

''That is quite enough!'' Professor Fudge shrieks, red in the face as she jumps up from the chair and points a stubby finger at Dumbledore. The many heavy rings on it rattle as she trembles all over. ''There is not an ounce of truth to your ludicrous opinions! I forbid fearmongering within these walls!''

''My dear Professor…'' All warmth has fled the previously comforting voice. ''With all due respect, I am Headmaster of this school, and as long as I sit in this office, I refuse to have the truth censored at Hogwarts. Cornelius would do well to listen to my advice as raptly as when my support secured him the position of Minister. Any children I can save from the crossfire of the upcoming war by being informed of what is going on, deserve to know the truth. Miss Granger, I will not ask you to betray your friend, but be careful. Harry is playing a dangerous game with an extremely dangerous man. Should he keep chasing visions, they might well come true.''

Hermione gets to her feet too, shoving the cup away as a sign of being done despite having barely drank half of it. Taking a deep breath, she rushes to say: ''I had really hoped this talk would not be about my brother, Headmaster. I've been told there are good reasons as to why you are no longer allowed to speak to or of him. Harry never gave me any reason to doubt his intentions. You, on the other hand, just proved that you invited me under false pretense. Professor Fudge, could you return me to my dorms?''

Without waiting for either adult to reply, she turns around to sweep out of the room, hopefully coming close to imitating her godfather whenever Severus impressively strides through the dungeons with billowing robes.

''You are incredibly well-spoken,'' Professor Fudge compliments on their way down the spiral staircase.

''For being raised by Muggles…?'' Hermoine warily guesses, not having forgotten the recent exchange with the Malfoys, who'd been baffled about a Muggleborn being literate.

''For a child,'' the other bluntly replies. ''I've never had much interaction with children, so I was shocked to find in the past days that some of my younger students have such a… limited vocabulary and crude grammar.''

Hermione isn't sure how to reply to that questionable compliment. While she always did pride herself in getting ahead by practically inhaling books not intended for her age group, the reality is that there'd been limited choices for entertainment in the orphanage. She'd never belonged enough to be invited to play any of the games the other kids distracted themselves with.

She takes a deep breath when remembering those she'd grown up with. Emily, whose words stung like wasps. Cameron, who laughed at each of those words and added rumours to spread. Tyler and Amber and Leah, each of them pleasant enough on their own but hell when put together without supervision. Jasmine, who kept getting away with mean pinches because she had a more sympathetic backstory than Hermione did and the ability to break out into crocodile tears. Scott, who didn't get away with the punches but never let that stop him from dashing them out.

Hogwarts wasn't all that different. Scott had been replaced by Crabbe and Goyle, Cameron by Lavender Brown, Jasmine by Pansy Parkison… The difference was that these kids didn't all gang up on Hermione, did not run screaming when books fluttered down the shelves on their own or ran to teachers when sparks danced across bare skin. Here, Hermione was not cursed by unknown forces. Here, knowledge and skill could lift up anyone who knew how to. Any prejudice could be overcome when good enough.

Hermione had not been kidding when she'd told the Headmaster that she aimed to become the best.

(A pity that your blood does not match Slytherin's values, the Sorting hat had sighed before spending minutes trying to decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.)

''Here we are,'' Professor Fudge's shrill voice echoes through the corridor in front of the Fat Lady.

''Thank you, Professor. With the outcome of that talk, I feel much better about having trusted my gut feeling. If you hadn't been there, who knows how much more direct he'd have been…''

''This isn't the last of it, the gall of that man! Nothing for you to worry about, dear. Concentrate on diligently attending class and turning in your homework while Cornelius and I ensure this school is run much smoother than before. As long as he sits in that office… hah. We shall see how long that will be. Goodnight, Miss Granger.''

''Goodnight, Professor.''

Hermione faintly smiles as the stocky woman brusquely marches away. They'll all be in for interesting times…

Dear Harry,

the start of the year has gone as you predicted, which will come as no surprise to you. You still don't get to say 'I told you so,' because that got old a year ago.

We're barely a week in and Professor Fudge is already making waves. I'm sure you'll have seen the big news on the front page of yesterday's Prophet about Hogwarts' first High Inquisitor, but since I don't know how much news you receive from Hogwarts, I want to add that her request for that was submitted after a lovely chat between Professor Dumbledore, Professor Fudge, and I. You get one guess as for the main topic. That's right, congratulations, it was you. You just cannot stop haunting me, can you?

So far, it's been quite unclear what the position of High Inquisitor concretely entails other than the inspection of other teachers. I hope to hear more of it soon, as Professor Fudge is organising a get-together for 'promising students' and I got an invite. I suspect she's taking a page from her friend Horace Slughorn's book with this. I don't know who else will be there. Neither Neville nor Ginny were invited, and I'm not sure if they'll have good chances in the future, what with Ginny throwing punches at Malfoy halfway through the first week. Apparently, he repeated some of his parents' rhetoric when I was out of earshot and Ginny took offence on my behalf. Speaking of Lucius Malfoy, don't you dare forget about my request. His insults make me furious whenever I recall them.

Other than the short summons to Dumbledore's office (don't worry, professor Fudge was there and made sure he got no chance to get any information on you) and the Educational Decree, not much has been happening. Classes aren't much more challenging than last year. I already ran out of homework before the weekend was over! I hope Professor Flitwick will actually give that pop quiz he's been hinting at and not only use the threat as a tool to get lazier people to study.

That's all from me so far. Give greetings to anyone who might appreciate it.

Love, Hermione

P. S. How are all the pets? I'm saddest about not being present to see them grow up.

- . -

Dear Mione,

receiving news from you is always appreciated. Even now I no longer attend Hogwarts, Severus insists on keeping life and work as separate as possible, so he's tight-lipped about the current situation. You know how he despises speculation in fear of being thought to be gossiping. The horror. I suspect he makes for a terrific gossiper and only doesn't want to lose face. To make up for it, Sirius has openly thrown around all sorts of wild theories about all that Professor Fudge can implement in the future. His biggest bets are on 'forbidding toads from croaking' and 'making pink sugar quills mandatory'. It's quite amusing. Taking a sabbatical to focus on tutoring me has given him far too much time for nonsense, I swear.

On a positive note, we've had plenty of time to catch up with the Quidditch season because of it. Not to insult the Hogwarts teams (go Gryffindor!) but it's been a huge relief to watch professional matches again. Wow, for a moment I sounded as spoilt as Malfoy - and no, I've of course not forgotten about your request. We'll have to see how to make it work, though. There are some plans for Halloween that may involve inviting the Malfoys. One of those attempts to mend bridges between Blacks, perhaps. Sirius hasn't given up on the idea of inviting Narcissa to his and Severus' wedding. We'll see whether this meeting improves or decreases those chances.

Things have been relatively quiet here, too. The tutoring goes as expected – none give me much trouble – and I'm able to focus on my many hobbies and side projects. As well as the pets, of course. H give their love (one is watching me write this while making a mess of my hair), and I'm sure the little night songbird would too if she knew you better. Hopefully come Christmas it'll be your chance for some bonding time. Let's see how you handle her as a teenager.

Tell Professor Fudge I said hi and that I'm sorry for missing that get-together I would surely have been dragged to. Good luck trying not to slap anyone if she tends to invite the same kind of people as Slughorn would.

Much love, Harry

P. S. I told you so.

P. P. S. Happy to hear that you've found friends in Neville and Ginny. Pity Ginny cannot play Quidditch yet, the Gryffindor team will improve with leaps and bounds once they've got her on board. Do encourage her to try out as soon as possible next year. Or chuck a Remembrall at McGonagall's window and have Ginny race to catch it, that might work to get her on the team early.

- . -

Dear know-it-all brother mine,

I'm not going to risk McGonagall getting mad at me for potentially breaking her office windows. Other than you and Ginny, I don't care about Quidditch all that much. I'm glad I have Neville on my side when it comes to a dislike for brooms, it keeps the balance of conversation on the acceptable side. His rants about plants are greatly enjoyable and educational. Did you know that Neville got special permission from Professor Sprout to go into Greenhouse three in between and after class hours? Having a secret hangout spot that's guarded by a venomous tentacula has been amazing! Picnics amongst deadly plants are something else for sure. Although I know we're far from the most popular clique at Hogwarts, this makes me feel like we've got an edge on the likes of Malfoy, who loiters in boring courtyards and corridors.

Regarding those Halloween plans, I doubt I could get permission from the Headmaster to leave the school for a mere family event. Severus surely won't break the rules either. Though during that get-together, Professor Fudge hinted at privileges for outstanding students, so who knows what will happen. (And yes, the crowd was as unbearable as you speculated. Mostly Slytherins, as well as Cormac McLaggen. McLaggen! As if that wasn't bad enough, Zacharius Smith attended, which made it difficult to get through dinner with a straight face. Due to you, I will never have a serious conversation with Smith for the rest of my life.) There's also a new educational decree in the making, the contents of which are still a surprise. She appreciated your greetings, by the way. Expressed her confidence in your being able to attend school again next year and becoming a splendid addition to this little group.

I'm not sure if you'd like the restructured Defence classes, practice-focused as you are (like many of our peers), but I for one greatly enjoy studying like this. No-one is stopping us from self-study in the common rooms or dorms if we wish to try out the spells we are being taught the theory of. Mr Quirrell is also quite lenient about allowing students to practise in the library as long as the spells aren't harmful to the books or other people.

There hasn't yet been a chance to return that library book you accidentally took with you over summer. It feels unfitting to waltz into the library and throw it on his desk. I plan on stopping by Mr Quirrell's office with a heartfelt apology from you soon. Maybe write him a short message to accompany my apology, Harry, it's a travesty that you kept a library book for months.

I'm glad to hear you have plenty of projects on your hands to keep you busy. Are you helping Sirius and Severus with the wedding planning, by the way? Do keep me up to date, I'm dying to know what kind of ceremony and reception two people who couldn't agree on the activities for simple birthday parties will plan.

Many hugs,
Hermione

- . -

Hey Mione,

Sorry for the late reply, I must have missed Hedwig right as I spontaneously left the country. My favourite tutor insisted I should get more hands-on experience for my elective course of Muggle Studies. I feel like we travelled the whole world in a week. I saw how Muggles lived in the furthers corners of the earth, under the harshest conditions. They're certainly tenacious.

Tell Mr Quirrell that, as an addition to the apology for the late library book, I'll send him a copy of the essay I'm about to write for my Muggle Studies course. Since he taught the subject before becoming a librarian, I believe he might be interested in a report. You know how much he loves Muggles. I'll send it with the next owl, it will take a while because I learned so much on this trip that I'll need a moment to sort my thoughts.

I read in the papers that the new Decree you wrote about was passed yesterday. I'm crossing my fingers that Professor Fudge will use the power to dole out punishment justly and fairly. Not that it will apply to you, as you've not broken a rule in your life, isn't that right? Do also keep up with possible changes. The focus on theory in education is deliberate to eliminate safety risks, who knows how long the self-study you described will remain allowed. In either case, I hope that she can help you with the Halloween dinner, it'd be a shame for you to miss it.

Your new hang-out spot in the greenhouses sounds wonderful. Don't forget about our old one though. Feel free to tell anyone you trust about it. With the greenhouses being in use for most of the day and open to older students for their studies, you might want another quiet spot to talk in private.

As for wedding bells: Siri wants a short courthouse wedding with a honeymoon filled with mountain climbing, road trips and surfing, whereas Sev is insisting on a traditional ceremony and would prefer a trip to a cultural city with good food. I'm sure I can help them figure out napkin colours for the reception once they've settled on the big decisions. So, you know, in a decade or so. I might be married before they are if they can't compromise. Reminder to myself to steal all their expensive magazines and browse a bit. You can never start too early if their planning chaos is any indicator.

Love, Harry

P. S. The thing with Smith was not my fault, and you and Zach were the ones who kept going on about it. I pin this entirely on you.

Hermione smiles fondly as she folds up the letter and gives Hedwig a treat – easy enough with Hogwarts serving roast every Sunday for dinner. ''You can go rest in the owlery, I'll send a reply in the morning,'' she tells the owl, who ruffles snowy feathers and jumps up, gracefully flying away.

''I wish I had an owl,'' Ginny sighs, picking up a bit of white down that had come loose and drifted down to the table. ''Or any pet, really. Well, almost any-'' she grins as Trevor carelessly hops across the table and gets stuck in a bowl of jelly.

''It's not like she's my owl, I just borrow her. Even if I wouldn't have access to Hedwig, I don't see much sense in owning an owl when the school has ones that anyone can use for free. I'd prefer something cuddlier, like a cat. A great, big, fluffy cat.''

A pity that is unlikely to happen as long as she spends the holidays in a house with multiple snakes and a dragon that might see other animals as snacks. Even the biggest cat would not be a challenge for Nagini…

Hermione shivers lightly, unable to think of the serpent without seeing the ghost of Severus Snape, throat aggressively ripped open by large fangs. She hadn't been able to speak of her fears in detail, unaware as her adopted father is of the entity of Death, but at least seeing Severus completely healthy had chased away the worst of it – enough that the nightmares had not persisted past a few days.

She couldn't possibly confide in Harry, who already had far too much going on. So, she'd handled it herself best she could and searched to chase away the rest with exposure therapy, stalking Voldemort. Originally, the idea had been that Nagini was hardly ever far away from the man, but it'd slowly turned into an understanding with the Dark Lord, who allowed bits of chit chat as long as Hermione didn't get in the way of whatever he'd been doing in that moment.

Once, she'd followed him into the cellar while talking and regretted it when realising the heart he cut in half to study was of human origin, and fresh to boot.

''Hermione?''

''Huh?'' she replies, dropping the fork that'd been hovering in front of her mouth for half a minute. ''Oh. Sorry, I was a bit lost in thoughts.'' It's atypical for her to get so consumed by anything to become unaware of her surroundings, so Hermione shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Thankfully, her friends don't point it out.

''I just asked if you had any plans for the evening. Neville and I wanted to check out Professor Sprout's newest addition to Greenhouse Three, a pair of Snargaluff trees. Do you want to come along?''

''I'd love to, but… There's something I've been putting off. Harry wanted me to return a library book he'd forgotten, with an apology to Mr Quirrell. Being spotted returning a late book is my worst nightmare, even if it's for someone else… The longer I wait, the later it'll be, though. I've finally gathered the courage to drop by his office tonight.''

''My sympathies,'' Neville emphatically smiles. ''If you need someone to back you up, we can move the Snargaluff viewing.''

''No, no. I don't want to make a bigger deal of it than it is. You two go and have fun checking that out. We can meet up in the common room after.''

The lies slip from Hermione's tongue far too easily, which causes an unpleasant coiling of guilt as she watches the other two leave in the opposite direction after dinner, oblivious. It can't be helped. No-one can see behind the curtain until Harry decides it's time.

The book weighs as heavy in Hermione's hands as her endlessly dropping stomach when knocking on the door of room 314. For a while, no answer comes. Then, a light shiver across her skin is telling of a spell having been cast – a sensitivity drilled into her by Lord Voldemort the first time he deemed to properly teach her. Although Hermione cannot pinpoint the exact spell, it's likely some sort of investigative charm. Either to identify visitors or detect general threat levels.

With a light creaking, the door opens by itself, allowing Hermione to slip into a shadowed office. Heavy wooden furniture and all manners of tall plants give the space a feel of stepping into a forest at dusk. With the only window being blocked by semi-transparent curtains and hanging vines, it's a wonder their owner sees anything at all. The only real light comes from flickering candles placed on the desk, adding to the eeriness.

Do all of the Dark Lord's followers have to sign a contract to adhere to dark academia aesthetics in addition to getting a tattoo?

From between two tall bookcases to the side steps Mr Quirrell, hunched over and wringing his hands. ''M-Miss G-Granger, what a s-s-surprise.''

Having heard all about Harry's many clandestine visits to this very office to openly talk to Lord Voldemort, she's a tad confused as to the act of a frail, nervous man being upheld. Have the defences lessened any? Or has Hermione's role somehow failed to come up?

''Do Mrs Fudge's inspections include keeping tabs on the offices of any staff members?'' Hermione questions, giving the man an opening. ''I'd not have thought my appearing here at some point would be terribly surprising to you, Sir.''

Mr Quirrel blinks rapidly, keeping his nervous appearance as he shuffles closer. Still baffled, Hermione waits to see what the librarian will do, refusing to show how rattled she is, merely clinging a bit tighter to the book she's brought to 'return'. She searches the man's face for any sign of what he may be thinking… until meeting pale eyes and feeling a telltale pressure.

Despite knowing who this man truly is: a murderer, a liar, a fanatical follower of Voldemort with no qualms of removing any obstacle, Hermione had fallen for the performance she'd known to be fake and let her guard down. Only Harry's tutelage saves her now: recognising the mind intrusion a split second after it starts, the girl fights back with proverbial teeth and nails, turning the walls of her mind into a steel trap that chases down the intruder.

(''Walls can be pierced and broken if you're weaker than your adversary. It works for me, but I don't recommend it for a beginner now I have experience with Occlumency,'' Harry had told her. ''Take the lead. A counter-attack is more effective than a shield.'')

She's taken that advice to heart, built her entire strategy of mental defence around viciousness. It clearly comes unexpected, for Mr Quirrell physically stumbles when fleeing from her mind rather than being thrown out. When next meeting wide eyes – deliberately taunting him to try again and suffer – Hermione feels a smile creep onto her face. There's a thrill to being the master of the situation in face of someone who has been described as ruthless. Deadly.

''You've learned a few tricks over summer, I see.'' The stutter has fled from his voice, been replaced by awe. The hunch is gone, too.

''I've heard we shared a tutor,'' she replies, alluding to the Death Eater's master to drive home the point of being on the same level.

Silently, Mr Quirrell gestures for her to take a seat. ''What has brought you here today, Ms Granger? Surely you didn't come for idle chatter.''

Carefully lifting the heavy tome onto the desk, she pushes it across the wood. ''Harry sends his regards and believes this can further your research.''

Asking no pointless questions (great, Hermione is fond of people who can work things out themselves), the librarian inspects every inch of the book, runs thin fingers across the dusty blue cover and cracks open the spine to read the table of contents. Murmuring about there being little value in the text (it's an entirely harmless book on divination), Mr Quirrell quickly digs deeper, drawing his wand to extract the book's secret. Tiny swirls of ink appear like snakes slithering in and out of grass, guiding the man to the very centre of the pages.

Hermione, - who only knows what it hides, not the details on how – leans forward in fascination as Mr Quirrell rolls back a heavy brocade sleeve and presses ink to paper. When withdrawing the Dark Mark, something follows it: a tiny phial filled with glittering gold rises from the heart of the tome. It twirls slowly in the air, fascinating both spectators. With a light trembling sigh, Quirrell pinches the phial between two fingers to bring it up close. ''Liquid luck? No… elixir of life? Also not, it looks different… thicker…''

''True elixir of life,'' Hermione corrects, stopping Mr Quirrell in his tracks. ''I'm not allowed to tell you of its source, but I can reveal that this is what the Philosopher's Stone is meant to produce. It grants eternal life… as well as eternal youth. When Nicolas Flamel created the Stone in your possession, he only fulfilled two of the set goals with it, not three. Harry has given this to you in hopes of helping you to not only reproduce the creation of a Philosopher's Stone, but improve it now that you have the desired end result to dissect. Oh, and I am to assist you in any way I can, too.''

Though voicing it as another request from her brother, Hermione had been the one to beg Harry about being allowed to be a part of this project – which he'd happily agreed to.

It reminds the girl of a different researcher whom she should really write to soon. Having slowly warmed up to the idea of Regulus Black possibly being her Intended, Hermione is itching to delve into the specifics of what makes a soul bond. If they can work together to uncover the science and magic behind this mystery (possibly helped by Death, once Hermione gets the courage and opportunity to speak to the being again), that'll be a huge step for wizardkind.

''Eternal youth…'' Mr Quirrell murmurs in awe. ''I am dying to know how Harry came to be in possession of this… alas, I'm well aware that some secrets must remain just that. Very well, Granger. You have impressed me today. Not an easy feat.'' Getting to his feet and approaching the bookshelves again, he bids her to his side with a slightly mad look on his face. ''Come along. Let me show you how far I have come …''

Much later, when reaching Gryffindor Tower minutes before curfew, Hermione joins her new friends. And as interesting as their descriptions of Snargaluff pods the size of grapefruits are, Hermione's head whirls with all she'd seen: a secret study filled with hundreds of shards that'd been whittled from the original Philosopher's Stone. Smoke and potions and bowls with liquidised eternal life, each experiment accompanied by meticulous logs and calculations.

Mr Quirrell is an absolute genius. Once again, Harry's innate skill of having a feel for people had led to brilliance having a chance to shine with the decision to give the Stone to this man.

She cannot wait to see a world that has been shaped entirely by her brother.