Harry sat at a small wrought-iron table outside Florean Fortescue's, slowly coaxing the last spoonful of melted ice cream into his mouth. It was warm, the sort of August day that made the Alley shimmer around the edges, the cobblestones baking gently underfoot.
For once, there were no Dursleys, no howlers, no murderous books or rogue bludgers. Just peace. And a second sundae, if he fancied it.
Then he heard it—half shout, half gasp.
"Harry!"
He looked up, startled. A flash of brown hair and rumpled robes tore across the street, dodging a cartload of Sneakoscopes.
Hermione barrelled into him with enough force to knock his chair back half an inch. Her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders before he could even say her name.
"Er—hullo?" Harry managed, muffled against her robes.
She stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed. "Sorry," she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Didn't mean to squash you."
"It's fine," Harry said, standing properly. "You all right?"
She gave him a too-quick nod and slid into the seat opposite. Her bag hit the ground with a thud—overstuffed, as usual, with books poking out at odd angles. A bit of parchment fluttered to the ground, and she scooped it up without a word.
"I thought you weren't coming until next week," he said, sitting down again.
"Change of plans." Her voice was bright. Too bright. "I'm at the Leaky now. Just thought I'd come early."
Harry frowned slightly. She looked tired. Not her usual book-weary tired, but the sort of tired that came from lying awake too long, staring at the ceiling and thinking too much. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her smile didn't quite reach them.
"Everything okay at home?"
A pause. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, then looked out at the Alley like she might bolt.
"Not really," she said eventually. "But let's not dive into that just yet, yeah?" She offered him a smile that had more effort than ease. "Tell me about your summer."
So he did. Blowing up Aunt Marge, being escorted by a jittery Minister of Magic, and getting a room of his own above the Leaky Cauldron where no one banged on the door with a frying pan. He told her about Florean Fortescue's ice cream quizzes and the strange way everyone seemed to be treating him like a bomb that hadn't gone off yet.
Hermione laughed—a real laugh this time, brief and startled.
"Only you could explode a relative and end up with free pudding for a week," she said.
"Technically two weeks," Harry said, grinning. "And it wasn't on purpose."
Her smile lingered, just for a second. Then it faded. She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick, serious-looking book, dropping it onto the table with a satisfying thump.
"You brought homework?"
"Research," she said primly, though her voice was flat. The cover read: Magical Lineage and Inheritance Law: A Modern Guide. She tapped it once. "There's a section on genealogical testing. You can go to Gringotts, request a formal assessment. They can trace magical ancestry—bloodlines, inheritance rights, sealed contracts, all sorts."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Like a magical ancestry kit?"
"Well, considerably more accurate, but yes. Same principle."
He tilted his head, watching her. "Why the sudden interest?"
Hermione hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly on the book's edge. Then:"I found out yesterday that I'm adopted." The words were soft, clipped. Like she'd practised saying them without emotion.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Mum and Dad sat me down over breakfast. Said they'd always meant to tell me, but the timing was never right. Now they're heading abroad for a year—Doctors Without Borders. It's something they've always wanted to do." She gave a small shrug. "Figured I ought to know. Just in case."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Right."
"So I packed a bag and left," she said briskly. "Told them I'd be at the Leaky for a bit. They didn't stop me."
Her gaze drifted past him, somewhere unfocused. "I don't really know how I'm meant to feel about it. I keep thinking I'm overreacting, but then I try to sleep and my brain won't shut up. It's like... everything's shifted, and I haven't quite caught my balance yet."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "I know that feeling."
She nodded once, grateful.
"I used to think the reason I felt different was because of magic," she said. "That I didn't fit because I wasn't supposed to. But now I don't even know if being Muggleborn is true. What if there's more to it?" Her voice dropped. "What if I'm not who I thought I was?"
Harry looked at the book again. "So Gringotts might be able to tell you?"
"Maybe. It's a long shot. But if there's any chance I've got magical lineage—records, a family name, something—I want to know."
She hesitated. "Though I'm not sure what I'll do if I don't like the answer."
Harry sat back, thinking. The street clattered around them, people going about their business like nothing was crumbling under the table.
"You want company?" he asked.
She looked up. "At Gringotts?"
"Yeah. Might as well get myself tested too, while we're at it. Merlin knows what's rattling around in the Potter family tree." He shrugged. "Could be cursed. Or cursed and rich."
Her mouth twitched.
"You don't have to," she said.
"No," Harry said, standing. "But I reckon I should. If you're diving into the deep end, might as well have someone to tread water with."
Hermione gave a soft laugh, small but genuine.
"Right," she said. "Let's go find out who we are, then."
"Could be worse," Harry muttered as they started walking. "Could be another troll."
"Don't jinx it," she said, but she was still smiling.
