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Chapter Text

The train back to London was buzzing with gossip and fervor. Getting let out early had never happened before in the history of Hogwarts that anyone was aware of, and no one had any idea how to react. Rumors were flying wildly, and Hermione found each one more amusing than the last.

"The House Elves' bond with the school didn't break," she declared, shaking her head. "Everyone in Hogwarts would have been able to feel it, if that happened."

"I heard that they've been possessed by a Dark wizard trying to poison Dumbledore," Daphne announced. "Death Eaters are using the Imperius Curse on the House Elves to get to him, and Dumbledore had to send them all away to keep everyone safe while cursebreakers come and help the elves."

"Daphne. Don't be ridiculous – I heard that one from Sally-Anne," Blaise said, laughing. "Lavender Brown made that up. There's no evidence of that in the slightest."

"Well, I heard that the House Elves' magic is starting to fail," Tracey announced. "The weirdness started on Sunday, which was some kind of magical holiday—"

"Ostara," Theo corrected.

"—and their magic started getting faulty," Tracey continued, ignoring Theo. "They do so much around the castle that having everyone there without them working in the background was pretty much impossible."

"I mean, that's not wrong," Draco pointed out. "They can't keep the school functioning without the House Elves. Not without hiring dozens of cooks and laundresses."

"Do you think they'll have to?" Daphne's eyes went wide. "Can you imagine? Who would they get? Squibs?"

"No idea," Draco drawled. "Probably. Maybe Filch has family they could use."

"What do you think happened, Hermione?" Blaise asked, looking at her sideways.

"Me?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, you," Blaise said, smirking.

"What makes you think I have any idea?" Hermione asked lightly. "I haven't been running around gossiping with the Gryffindor girls."

Blaise looked taken aback for a moment, then annoyed, and Tracey hastily cut in.

"You made friends with one of the elves, though, didn't you?" she prodded. "And you were at the Kitchens Sunday morning – you told us, when you came back to the dorm just after dawn."

"Did you?" Theo said, interested. He looked at Hermione directly now, more curious. "So what's going on, Granger? Tell us."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Theo kept prodding.

"If you know, you should share it, Granger," he said. "The truth isn't going to hurt anything, is it?"

"Come on, Hermione," Draco pleaded. "I want to know what's going on."

"Fine," Hermione said, giving in. She saw a flash of irritation cross Blaise's face that she'd conceded to Draco but not to him, but she ignored him, turning to look at Theo. "What do you know about Ostara?"

Theo looked surprised.

"It's a magical holiday," he said slowly. "It's a celebration of spring and the potential for new life."

Hermione nodded. "The House Elves still celebrate magical holidays. Usually quietly, when they can get away with it – Dumbledore doesn't like the Old Ways – but they did a big healing ritual together off campus on Sunday, and I think Dumbledore found out."

"Did they really?" Daphne's eyes were wide. "And Dumbledore didn't like it?"

"The House Elves wouldn't have told him," Hermione said. "I imagine Dumbledore would have found out that a large House Elf contingent left Hogwarts grounds on Sunday, and he would have been furious about it, as well as furious with them for not telling him where they went."

"I mean, that makes sense," Tracey said. "Aren't they not supposed to leave the grounds?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"That's where it gets complicated," she admitted. "The House Elves' bond is with Hogwarts, not the Headmaster. They usually defer to the Headmaster, as a matter of order and respect, but it appears that Dumbledore has pushed them too far."

"They've gone on strike," Blaise gasped, amusement and horror slowly dawning on him. He started laughing. "Oh my stars, Hermione, you taught them about going on strike."

"So?" Hermione flushed, defensive. "They have every right to unionize their labor. If their contract wasn't with Dumbledore and he was making demands, it makes perfect sense to go on strike—"

Blaise was laughing hard now, incredulous.

"The House Elves are on strike," he said. "Brilliant. Brilliant."

"Why does that mean they had to leave?" Daphne asked, frowning.

"Part of the House Elves' bond with the school is them providing their labor in exchange for housing," Hermione said, glancing at Blaise, who was still laughing uproariously. "If they're not providing their labor to the school, strictly speaking, their bond dictates they shouldn't stay there."

"So they're actually gone?" Draco said, shocked. "There were dozens of them. Dozens of dozens. Where would they all go?"

"Can you imagine?" Tracey said, snickering. "Dozens of House Elves trying to check into the Leaky Cauldron? Or hiding out in caves?"

"Where did they go, Granger?" Theo asked. Hermione's eyes flew to his, and Theo's held a glint of certainty. "You knew everything else about this whole situation. Where do you think they've gone?"

While she wasn't certain, Hermione did have an inkling of an idea – an idea of a place that would be all-too-happy to temporarily welcome guests rebelling against wizard-kind, especially guests that had easy access to wandless magic who could help them for the entire duration of their strike…

And it had been the House Elves' Hogwarts pillowcases, not their sky-blue ones, that were left behind on the ground.

"I think they've gone to spend some time with their family," Hermione said delicately. "Tolly the Head Elf is probably going back and forth as the group representative, but I imagine the others are rather enjoying their sudden break."

Apparently, the parents had been informed somehow – King's Cross was cluttered with harried parents and older siblings, people who suddenly had to leave work to pick up their children. Hermione lingered behind on the train, not envying the crush of very stressed adults that hurried their kids along.

She watched through a window as Harry went with Ron and met with Mrs. Weasley, who gave Harry a hug. Dumbledore was unwilling to let him spend the break at a muggle house with Sirius Black on the run, Harry had told her, but the Headmaster had acquiesced to letting him stay at the Weasleys' for a fortnight.

Draco's father loomed on the platform, commanding Draco to follow him with his trunk as they moved away from the group to Apparate away. Hermione wondered to herself about the power necessary for that – most people seemed to be using the Floos at the far side of the platform to take their trunks through. Apparating with people was hard enough; she wondered at the skill needed to keep a trunk with magical things together too.

Blaise gave Sally-Anne Perks a hug goodbye on the platform, saying something with a glint in his eye that made her laugh before he left with his mother, who gave him an approving nod. He was looking around on the platform as he left (was he looking for her?), but Hermione stayed hidden in the train, watching as the platform gradually cleared out.

"If you said something…"

Hermione whirled around to see Tracey, who was looking at her pointedly.

"If I said what?" Hermione challenged.

"Nothing." Tracey shrugged. "I'm just saying… you know, if you had a problem with Sally-Anne…"

"I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely girl who Blaise enjoys spending time with," Hermione said primly. "I don't know what he sees in her, but he's entitled to date as he pleases."

"A perfectly lovely set of breasts, maybe," Tracey said, sniggering. "I think all they do is flirt and snog."

"If all he wanted was breasts, he could have gone out with Millie," Hermione said, scowling.

"He wishes," Millie scoffed, coming up from behind. She peered out the window. "Is my Dad gone yet?"

"Not yet," Tracey said. She glanced sideways at Hermione. "You know, you could meet Sally-Anne."

"I guess," Hermione said grudgingly. "I mean, I don't even know when he sees her. He must just vanish off to see her without me noticing from time to time—"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" Tracey pointed out. "She comes second. If Blaise can spend time with you, he does. It's only when you're off with the Ravenclaws or the Gryffindors that he goes to see her."

Hermione blinked.

"Is that what he does?" she asked, and Tracey rolled her eyes.

"You are an idiot," she announced. "Yes, that's what he does, Hermione. Did you forget how he keeps asking to swear you fealty? Over and over and over again?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I mean, no, but—"

"Blaise wants to be your right-hand man," Tracey told her.

"Left-hand man," Millie corrected, snickering.

"He wants to be the one you turn to for advice or help with anything," Tracey continued. "He prioritizes that first, and everything else accordingly."

"I mean, I do," Hermione objected. "He is the one I turn to for help, really."

"Yeah, but he wants you to turn to him for anything," Millie said, snorting. "Hence, Sally-Anne."

Tracey looked at Millie. "Sally-Anne?"

"Well, he has to learn and get good first, doesn't he?" Millie sniggered. "Otherwise, Hermione won't turn to him."

Tracey started snickering along with Millie.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said primly. "If Blaise wants me to turn to him for dating advice, him dating a flighty Gryffindor certainly isn't a way to inspire confidence."

Tracey and Millie moved from snickering to outright laughing, and Hermione grew annoyed.

"Oh, get over yourselves," she said. "Blaise can date whomever he damn well pleases. I don't care in the least."

"Of course not," Millie said, snickering. "Why would you care?"

"Clearly zero damns given," Tracey added, laughing. "Absolutely none."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She flicked her wand at her trunks, which moved to levitate behind her. The platform was deserted enough now for her to get away with it, hopefully.

"Have a happy Easter," she told them both pointedly as she left the train. "Bye."

The other two girls only waved as she left, still laughing behind her back, but Hermione was determined to leave them behind.

With three trunks, there was no way to safely get through the Floo network, so Hermione had to travel home another way. She managed to find a luggage trolley, and once her trunks were secure, she went to the illusion wall, walking through it smoothly out onto the muggle side of the platform.

Immediately, the noise and hustle and bustle changed. It was much busier, but a less obtrusive busy – everyone was keeping to themselves as they hurried to their trains, largely oblivious and apathetic to those around them.

Hermione smiled to herself. It was kind of nice, to disappear.

She wheeled her trolley over to a large poster of the nearby subway schedule and bus stops. There was no way her parents would have received an unexpected owl at their dental practice, she figured, so it'd be up to her to get herself home. She scanned the poster, eyes searching for the information she needed, and someone moved up next to her, looming.

"Shame it's not still Sunday, isn't it?" a voice drawled from next to her, and Hermione felt shivers go down her spine. "You could have just jumped the lines."

Hermione slowly turned to her right, looking up at the figure who had joined her, who was smirking at her with a glint in their silver gaze.

The woman wore a burnt orange robe open like it was a duster, and she had on jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, both dusty and stained. Her dark hair was tied back haphazardly. Her eyebrow was raised, her smirk similar to one Hermione saw regularly, and she was familiar enough to Hermione to recognize.

"Sylvia?" Hermione said, surprised. "Sylvia Lestrange? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing," Sylvia said, leaning back against the bus schedule lazily. "What about you?"

"I'm… finding a way home…" Hermione said slowly. She looked at Sylvia suspiciously. "What did you say about Sunday?"

Sylvia's eyes glinted.

"Just that it's a shame this all happened after Ostara, isn't it?" she said. "If it were still the equinox, you could have just jumped a line to get home."

Hermione felt a chill.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Granger," Sylvia said, her voice lowering. "I know you're learning to jump the ley lines."

Hermione held very still.

"I don't know where you would have heard such a thing," she said carefully. "But if that were true—"

Sylvia rolled her eyes and yawned.

"—then you should also know it's not illegal," Hermione continued. "There's nothing wrong with it or against the law."

"Of course not," Sylvia agreed, and Hermione relaxed slightly. "Why would the Ministry think to outlaw something nobody does anymore, since attempting it got people stolen away?"

Hermione flinched.

"It doesn't—on some days—" she protested.

"Oh, I know," Sylvia cut her off, eyes glowing. "That's why I said it's a shame it wasn't still Sunday."

Hermione held her breath, looking up at Sylvia.

"What do you want with me?" she asked, and Sylvia laughed.

"Very direct for a Slytherin, aren't you?" she mused. "Could have fit into Gryffindor."

"Not with my ambition," Hermione fired back, and Sylvia laughed.

"Yes, well," she mused. "There is that."

The two looked at each other, locked in a battle of gazes. Hermione didn't know what Sylvia could see in hers besides defiance, but Hermione was determined not to blink first.

"Excuse me? If you're not going to use the schedule—"

An impatient muggle woman bodily shoved her way through, breaking their connection, and Hermione fell back and moved out of the way, apologizing to the woman who was now muttering rude things under her breath.

Sylvia wandered back over to stand next to Hermione.

"What do I want from you…" the older girl murmured. "What I want, Hermione is for you to know that I know things about you that others do not know."

"I think that's fairly apparent now," Hermione said, managing to keep her voice from shaking.

Sylvia's eyes lit up.

"Perhaps it is," she said. "But what else do I know?"

Her lips twisted into an odd sort of smile, before she smirked.

"Your parents are waiting out front, by the way," she told her. "They did get an owl, apparently. You'd best be on your way."

"They did?" Hermione's jaw dropped. "Oh, Merlin, and I've kept them waiting for ages—!"

She hurried out of the station with her luggage trolley, Sylvia laughing behind her.

"Have a good holiday!" Sylvia called after her. "Don't forget about me!"

Hermione shuddered. She rather wished she could.

Chapter Text

Sylvia Lestrange was an enigma. Sylvia had been perfectly kind when Hermione had worked at the publisher's, and she'd seemed to enjoy winding up her mother Phaedra when Hermione had been over just before the holidays, so Hermione had had a good impression of her in general. But now, with the weird implications of her words, Hermione wasn't so sure. Sylvia had mentioned she worked in the Department of Mysteries at one point, Hermione recalled - maybe her odd words were a warning to be more careful, that people were starting to monitor the leylines. Or maybe they were the beginning of a recruitment drive - the Department of Mysteries certainly wouldn't approach candidates normally, would they?

Whatever the case, Hermione was happy to leave Sylvia Lestrange and her weird unsaid threats behind as she left King's Cross.

Hermione's parents were both glad to see her, though still somewhat surprised. Her father helped her load her trunks into the car, and Hermione settled into the car for the ride home, her mother explaining the letter they'd gotten told them she'd be home for the next fortnight while "unforeseen support issues" were resolved – i.e., while labor negotiations were conducted, Hermione figured.

"You'll be able to keep yourself busy, won't you?" Hermione's mother worried. "We weren't expecting you, and we don't—"

"It's fine, Mum," Hermione assured her. "I've got plans and a bunch of things to do."

"Already?" Her father laughed. "You didn't know you were getting a sudden break, and already you have grand plans for the next two weeks?"

"Well, I had plans for Easter break already from before," Hermione defended. "I just have more time now, so I can spread things out a bit."

"What all do you have planned?" her mother asked. "No swords this time, right?"

Hermione laughed. "No swords. Maybe a fancy shield, though." She met her father's sparkling eyes in the review mirror and grinned. "I'm mostly going to go around and visit and help my friends, I think," she said. "I'm going to help some of my friends put up silver wards around their homes to protect from werewolves."

"That's very thoughtful," her mother praised.

"Always important to protect from werewolves," her father said solemnly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Werewolves are a real thing in the wizarding world, and they can present a real threat when they go rogue," Hermione informed her father, who was grinning. "One rogue werewolf can decimate a community if they don't—"

"What else do you have planned?" her mother hastily cut in.

"Umm, building a tree house," Hermione said, thinking. "Visiting Draco at his house. Visiting Tracey and Millie, I think. Going to the bank. Looking up pureblood birth announcement traditions."

"Birth announcement traditions?" her mother said, surprised. "They have traditions about that sort of thing?"

"I have no idea," Hermione said patiently. "That's why I want to look it up."

"They seem so medieval, I'd have thought they might wait until a child's first birthday to bother naming it, to see if it survives," her father said. "To make sure the kid doesn't blow itself up with its magic or something else horrible."

"Your magic protects you," Hermione said emphatically. "It doesn't attack inward unless you suppress it. Anyway, I want to help Jade and Milan with their birth announcement. Depending how they do it—"

"Wait, I'm sorry," Hermione's mother interrupted. "Did you say Jade?"

Hermione blinked. "Um. Yes…?"

"Jade, as in Jade Rince, your Head Girl?" her mother clarified. "From your letters?"

"Yes…?"

"And she's pregnant?" her mother stressed. "The Head Girl, who everyone looks up to, is pregnant at seventeen?"

"Oh! No, no," Hermione hastily clarified. "She's not pregnant anymore—"

Both her parents seemed to simultaneously relax with a sigh.

"—her girlfriend Milan is."

"Wait, what?" Her father whipped around in his seat. "Hermione!"

"What? What did I say?" Hermione wanted to know. "You asked…"

"Please explain what exactly you mean and what is going on," her father said, voice curt. "Why is it you want a birth announcement for your Head Girl and her girlfriend?"

"Um," Hermione said. "Because they're having a baby?"

Her father raised an eyebrow.

"They're both women?" he said. "With female parts and wombs and the like?"

"Yes…"

"And how is that possible?" her father asked conversationally. "How did two teenage girls manage to cause a pregnancy?"

"I want to know why one was pregnant and now isn't, but her girlfriend still is," her mother said. "Why didn't her girlfriend follow suit?"

"Is this something we need to be aware of?" her father asked Hermione, serious. "Does pregnancy just spontaneously happen sometimes? A manifestation of magic somehow? Is there a 'get pregnant' spell?"

"Oh! Oh, no," Hermione hurriedly reassured them. "It doesn't happen by accident. With Jade and Milan, we had to do an extensive ritual—"

"We?"

"—and it went a bit sideways, and Jade got pregnant, instead of Milan, like we planned," Hermione went on. "So then we had to do another ritual, so Milan could 'steal' the baby and we could transfer the fetus so she could be pregnant instead—"

"She stole the fetus?!"

"—and it all worked out fine, so it's all perfectly okay and good now," Hermione finished. "Jade and Milan are expecting, Milan's the one pregnant now, and she's at about eleven weeks now, I think?" She scrunched her face up. "I think you're supposed to count from the last period, but we had to cause ovulation for it to work, so if I kind of default that to two weeks prior to that date…"

She trailed off, mentally doing the math, only to stop when she realized her Dad was staring at her, aghast.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said sternly. "Are you telling me that you helped two teenage girls get pregnant on purpose?"

"Um," Hermione said, not following. "Yes?"

Her father threw his hands up in astonishment, her mother shaking her head even as she merged into traffic.

"I can't believe you would do such a thing," her father ranted. "Hermione, I know we raised you better than that. What possessed you to do something so monumentally foolish?"

"We researched the ritual, and it all turned out fine!" Hermione protested. "It wasn't foolish at all!"

"Not the ritual," her father said, exasperated. "Hermione, you helped your classmates get pregnant."

"Yes?" Hermione wasn't seeing the problem. "That was the whole point."

"They're seventeen!" her father exclaimed. "Hermione, they haven't even graduated! They're not even legally adults! And they're going to have a child right out of school?" He gave her a sharp look. "Hermione, that's irresponsible. Granted, it's better than having a child during high school, but right out of it isn't much better—"

Comprehension came to Hermione in a flash.

"It isn't like that," Hermione quickly stressed. "Mum, Dad, it isn't like that. Teenage pregnancy and dropping out isn't really a thing, really. Jade and Milan wouldn't have done this if there was another way for them to stay together."

"A child is not a good way to repair a relationship so people stay together," her mother said sharply.

"No! It's not like that!" Hermione protested.

"Then why don't you pause and tell us what it is like," her father suggested. His voice was curt. "From the beginning."

Hesitantly, Hermione began spilling the story: how Jade had a secret-but-not-so-secret girlfriend, how it was expected she'd give Milan up to settle down and marry shortly after graduating Hogwarts, how running off would cause her to be shunned, and how because having an heir was the core issue at hand, and how having an heir with her girlfriend would settle the whole thing positively.

"—so they won't make her marry and have an heir if she already has one," Hermione finished. "She and Milan get to stay together, Jade doesn't get disowned, and they have a new baby. It's a win/win for everyone. Right?" Hermione watched as her parents exchanged a heavy look. "Right?"

"It's barbaric that these people match teenagers together to produce heirs," her father said, disgusted. "I thought we'd collectively progressed past this sort of nonsense as a society."

"Hermione, I understand you were only trying to help," her mother said gently, "but don't you see where this might go horribly wrong? What if your two friends break up? They'll have a child together. That's a lifelong commitment."

"They intend on getting married," Hermione said stubbornly. "That's a lifelong commitment too. They just have to wait for Jade to get permission, after they reveal the baby."

"They're teenagers," her father stressed. "Teenagers, Hermione."

"Do all witches and wizards settle down so quickly?" her mother asked instead, phrasing it differently. "It's just—seventeen or eighteen is an absurdly young age to get married nowadays."

"Oh. Um. Maybe?" Hermione said, thinking. "It's—it's different, there. There are ways to kind of tell if you'll be good with someone in advance, so there's less chance of breaking up and more compatibility. You can feel if your magic matches someone else's."

"And wizards rely on this?" her father asked, raising his eyebrow. "They blindly trust their magic to pick their mate?"

"Not entirely," Hermione protested. "I mean, they pick someone to date, and then on the date they can feel if their magic can mesh or not, and if it doesn't then they don't go out again, but if it does, and they do date for a while…"

Her mother sighed deeply.

"It just seems awfully fast, dear," she told Hermione. "Getting married at seventeen…"

"And it seems so unnecessary," her father stressed. "Your headmaster is what, a hundred?"

"A hundred thirteen," Hermione corrected. "He was born in 1881."

Her father paused to boggle for a moment, before continuing. "A hundred thirteen, then, and he's still going strong. If magical people live so long as it is, why rush everything? Why get married so soon?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "It's just… it seems to be the thing to do?"

Her parents exchanged a wary look.

"I don't intend on it," Hermione said, attempting to reassure them. "It's just a cultural thing with purebloods, I think. The others don't seem to worry as much about it – half-bloods and Muggleborns and the like…"

"But it's the purebloods you're trying to fit in with, dear, isn't it?" her mother chimed.

Hermione paused, before falling silent.

"I don't like it," her father said grimly. "I understand why they did it, and why you helped, but Hermione, I don't like the idea of child marriage and pregnancy being normalized."

"They're not children," Hermione protested. "They're seventeen! Eighteen, even, probably. They're both of age, legally adults…"

"Hermione," her father sighed. "When you are my age, you will be able to look at a teenager, and you will realize just how much of a child a person of seventeen still is."

Chapter Text

"Lookit it all!" Derek crowed, grinning widely as he danced around. "Just lookit!"

"I see it," Hermione said, amused. "There's a lot."

Hermione had contacted the hedgewitches as soon as possible in order to help them prepare for the upcoming ritual, when they would be beginning setting their silver wards for protection from werewolves. When she'd arrived, Derek had already assembled his friends as well as the necessary materials, and he'd been grinning widely at her as soon as she came into sight, with Clover at his side with her arms folded, smirking.

"There's a shitton of silver there," Derek informed her, cackling.

"That's the proper measurement term," Worm said solemnly, Argin snickering at his side. "One metric shit-ton."

Hermione laughed. "If you say so."

The goblins had been trading in silver with the purebloods, but Hermione had not realized just how much trading they must have been doing. Parchment and ink weren't that expensive, and she wondered if the purebloods were drastically overcharging the goblins, or if the goblins had just decided to document all of goblin history and beyond and buy all the parchment they could get their hands on.

Either way, as a result, there was a giant stack of silver ingots that the hedgewitches had retrieved earlier.

"A few of 'em didn't want to give it up," Derek said. "Longbottom and Selwyn were fine, but Nott and Rosier were almost a problem."

"Almost a problem," Clover said. She smiled nastily. "They seemed to rethink their choices at the last second."

Hermione noticed, for the first time, Clover was wearing a wand openly. The hedgewitches wore fake wands to blend in occasionally, Hermione knew, but it was obvious Clover was wearing a real one - probably to help intimidate the landlords. Hermione didn't know whether to feel alarmed or proud of her, so she settled on sharing a smirk with the hedgewitch, who smirked back, proud.

"So what's next?" Jerran wanted to know. "We got the bunch of silver. Now what?"

"We'll have to melt it and pour it into molds," Hermione said, frowning. She glanced around. "You have a blacksmith around?"

"'Course," Derek said, standing up. "That's Blackbeard, up and around o'er here."

With Derek leading the way, Hermione levitated the pile of silver bullion, almost staggering for a moment as she acclimated to the weight. This amount of silver was heavy, and she walked quickly, careful not to let her magic falter or any of the silver bars fall.

The little village they were walking through was quaint, charming, and positively medieval with many of the houses made of wattle and daub. Some of them had a window or two, but the houses were all relatively small.

The hedgewitches didn't seem to use their houses much, though, Hermione noted. Even now, there were children playing in the streets, kicking around what looked like a weighted leather balloon, and there were adults in a circle under some trees, around a giant cauldron that smelled distinctly more like a stew than any potion Hermione knew of. If everything was done and shared in the collective for the most part, Hermione mused, maybe they would only really need their homes for bathing and sleeping and changing, or in the winter. In that case, it wouldn't matter if your house was small, if you were hardly in it at all.

Around the corner on the far side of the village was the blacksmith, and it was immediately apparent why Derek had called him 'Blackbeard'. The blacksmith was a tall, burly man with a very full black beard. He looked like a pirate or a drawing of a stereotypical blacksmith come to life, and Hermione was immensely amused at the picture.

They seemed to have caught him while he was cleaning out his outdoor workshop, but at some point when he spotted them, he froze, staring, then started laughing, letting out a warm, hearty chuckle.

"This the silver, then?" he asked. He looked at Hermione, eyes sparkling. "And I suppose you're the little wizard-witch who'll tell us how this needs forged?"

"This is Hermione," Derek announced, clapping her on the back. The sudden impact made Hermione trip, and she had to hastily set the pile of silver down before her levitation failed. "She's the one who's gonna help us set up the werewolf wards."

"Well, we'll all owe you a mighty boon, then," Blackbeard said, smiling. He had a friendly manner about him, despite the fact he could probably snap her in half with forearms that size. "I'll admit, when we dug up one of the old runes, it was so tarnished we could scarcely make out what it'd once been."

"That's okay," Hermione said. "I found information about it in some old library books. I don't think it will be hard. I'll show you."

Hermione had painstakingly copied the details and drawings needed onto a new parchment, including weights and dimensions and designs. She pulled it out now, unrolling it on Blackbeard's workbench, and they all crowded around to see.

"The core shape is either going to be a square or a circle," Hermione said, pointing. "We'll need both of these type of sigils to make it work. Rather more circles than squares, I'd say, but a bunch of them all."

"That one looks like a diamond, though," Argin commented, frowning. "What do we need the square for?"

Hermione blinked, looking over at him. Argin was frowning at the parchment in earnest, and Hermione's eyebrows rose high.

"A diamond like that is a square," she said, turning the paper 45 degrees. Argin blinked as the parchment shifted, then reacting with genuine surprise.

"Will you look at that!" he exclaimed. "It's both! Wicked!"

Hermione carefully didn't comment and just rotated the paper back around.

"Each ward is going to weigh about ten pounds," she said. "Each side needs to be eight inches long, with the circle ones having a diameter of 8 inches long. They'll be about half an inch thick."

"Easy enough," Blackbeard said, looking it over. "What about your designs?"

"That's what I was unsure about," Hermione admitted. "Is it possible to cast the metal with the design on the wards? Or do they need drawn on individually?"

"It depends on the magic you're aiming for," Blackbeard said, shrugging. "If the magic is carried by the shape and the silver, we'll be alright just casting them, but if it's caused by intent, you'll need to etch them by hand."

Hermione looked up at Blackbeard slowly, surprised.

"That makes sense," she said slowly. "Do you… do you do much magical smithing?"

Blackbeard grinned, scratching his head.

"Not really," he said modestly. "Just… I remember some of what I heard about at home. Before I left."

"Before you left?" Hermione asked.

Blackbeard winced, then offered a small smile.

"I'm what the wizards call a squib," he told her. "Here, I'm just one of the hedges, but I did grow up in a magical household."

"You did?" Hermione said, surprised. "Which one?"

"Bastard offshoot of the Blacks," he said. "My dad was Lycoris Black's bastard, I think? He kept the name 'Black', which infuriated his dad and uncle, but he ran away out here and kept it. Makes 'Blackbeard' fit me all the more, doesn't it?"

He turned side to side to show off his beard, fluttering his eyelashes, and Hermione laughed.

"You're right, of course," she agreed. "Luckily, the protection will be all in the ward and the metal itself, so we can just make each one without intention."

"So we'll need to make a mold, then," Blackbeard said, nodding. He looked back at his workshop. "Come on."

He led them over to the side of his workshop, where there were some low, flat stones around, as well as a smooth wooden table, legs pounded firmly into the ground.

"Here's some clay," he said, plopping a heavy chunk of clay onto the flat boards. "We'll need to make the molds with this and fire it first."

"So what are we sculpting?" Clover asked, experimentally squishing the clay in her hands. "Are we making the mold itself? Or the ward part?"

"The negative," Blackbeard said. He looked at Hermione. "This'd be easier if we had one silver one to press into the clay and copy. D'you think you can make one yourself?"

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"I—I've never used a forge," she said quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The hedgewitch laughed.

"Not with the forge," Blackbeard said kindly. "With magic. You can do Transfiguration, right?"

"Oh," Hermione said, blinking. "Well. I suppose I could try."

She sat down at the table as well, the smooth stone serving as a low bench. Hesitantly, she duplicated her parchment paper, turned it over, and withdrew a muggle pencil from her bag.

"If we need a real one, it'll have to be life size," she said, taking out the geometry set Harry had gifted her so long ago. She pulled out the ruler. "So we need eight-inch sides…"

Slowly, Hermione drew a life-size sketch of each rune: one large square, and one large circle. She went over the outlines firmly, rounding the corners of the square slightly, before moving on to the rune inside of them.

"These aren't runes I use," Clover said, watching. "What're these ones?"

"These are Celtic runes, for protection," Hermione said, drawing. "These are what the old Druids around here used to use. We usually use the Elder Futhark runes for magic now, as they're more specific, but big, heavy runes like this will help connect the magic to the earth and make it last longer."

"It looks complicated," Jerran said, frowning.

"It is a bit," Hermione admitted. "Just be glad we don't have to etch them all by hand."

The first was a Celtic Shield knot, an odd knot that looked square but was still somehow round. It had four little areas, and each one a quarter-sized wedge with one right angle and a curvy hypotenuse part made up of two curved lines. The middle of each wedge had a knotted part that connected to the surrounding wedges, making a square shape come through within the overall circle shape. Hermione was careful to detail which way the lines went, where it went over or under itself, while briefly wondering just how, exactly, that was going to work when it was poured out in metal.

The second one was a Quarternary knot. This was a knot that looked like a circle, but it was actually rather square in shape. This one was a bit easier to draw – the circle in the middle connected only with itself, and just interloped with the rest of the knot.

After she'd sketched out what she needed, she levitated over a couple ingots of silver, frowned, and pulled out her wand.

"I'm not entirely sure how well this is going to go," she admitted. She looked up at Blackbeard. "The pattern on them should be recessed, don't you think?"

"If they're going to be channels that fill up with blood and magic?" Blackbeard said. "Most likely."

Biting her lip, Hermione waved her wand.

Transfiguring the silver ingot into a large square wasn't hard, nor was a circle. Once she had the base shapes down, she shifted them aside to better look at her work, standing and carefully tracing the knot design into the metal with her wand.

"Over here, under here…" she muttered, wincing. "This one goes over…"

"Is this how normal Transfiguration works?" Clover wanted to know.

"Not really," Hermione said, distracted. "But when you get good enough, you can kind of feel some things out."

Once she was done, she grimaced down at her work.

"I mean, I have it, but it looks a mess," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm doing, here."

Blackbeard laughed.

"Here, we'll work together," he told her, coming to stand behind her. He took her hand in his to guide her, engulfing her hand with his massive palm. "If you transfigure, I'll trace the design, and we'll get it right this time."

"Okay…"

Blackbeard had a much better idea of what he was doing. Hermione had traced the shape with her wand, following one smooth path, but it hadn't turned out well at all, looking wrong somehow. With Blackbeard drawing, lifting and replacing her wand as he came to crossings, the knot slowly started looking right again.

"You're not just drawing, you're knotting," he explained as he traced. "Over, under, over, under. You're weaving the lines together, not just putting them down."

The Shield knot looked perfect once Blackbeard had taken a pass at it. Invigorated, Hermione took a try on the Quarternary knot, only to fail.

"This one doesn't weave!" she complained. "I did it right, but it looks all wrong."

Blackbeard chuckled, and once more took her hand.

"Here, we'll draw the circle first," he said. "Now, we'll decide we're going to go over the ring when we go out to make a point, and then under when we come back in."

"We'll go over this channel in the middle, though," Hermione pointed out. "So shouldn't we go over there, and then under on the way back out?"

"Let's just focus on making the crossings on the ring all look the same," Blackbeard said easily, "and then we'll see how weaving the middle comes out."

He made it sound so simple, and under his hand, it was – the knot came out effortlessly. Hermione felt a jab of jealousy – she'd wanted to impress the others by effortlessly producing a beautiful rune in silver for them to use the first time she tried.

She sighed, shoving the envy aside. At least they had what they needed.

"Now we press this into the clay," Blackbeard instructed, and the others took the silver runes. "Make sure to press the clay deep into the nooks and crannies to fill them out."

"How are we going to get the silver out?" Jerran complained. "It's not going to peel out easily."

"Once the mold is fired, we'll melt the original one out," Blackbeard assured him. "After that, we'll coat the mold with something so the silver will come out easier when we cast it."

Once the two big clay molds were complete, Blackbeard took them and fired up his kiln once after the molds were safely inside.

"It'll take a while to get up to temperature," he told them. "I'll handle this part. If you want to come back in a few days, I'll make sure to have them all poured for you."

"How long is 'a while'?" Clover wanted to know. "I'm not that impatient. We can wait."

Blackbeard laughed. "It takes about eight hours to get up to temperature, and then another twelve to cool."

Clover blanched. "…okay, maybe I am a bit impatient…"

"Is it the time that's important, or the temperature?" Hermione asked. "I could use magic to heat it up faster, but if it's a process that happens over time, that probably wouldn't help."

Blackbeard considered.

"I think heating it too quick could trap moisture inside," he advised. "Better not."

"We can practice channeling the ley line again while we wait," Clover said.

"Or literally anythin' else," Derek pointed out. "He said it'll take a few days to finish 'em all."

"We need to prepare for the ritual!" Clover objected. "It's best we're all ready."

"We've told everyone," Jerran grumbled. "They'll be ready, Clover. Most all 'em need to do is bleed."

Hermione was looking at Blackbeard closely, curious.

"Can you touch the ley line?" she asked. "Have you been able to use magic with it?"

Blackbeard paused.

"I have touched it," he said carefully. "I can hold it. I just can't use it."

"You can hold it, but you can't use it?" Hermione repeated, surprised. "Really?"

"Really." He looked uncomfortable. "Like I said. I'm a squib. It didn't exactly come as a surprise."

The fact he could hold magic at all came as a surprise to Hermione. She withdrew her wand.

"Do you mind if I cast a spell?" she asked. "I'm curious to see how your core interacts with the ley line magic."

Blackbeard waved a hand. "Whatever you like."

Casting Snape's visualization spell, Hermione leaned forward, eager to see what she would see.

At first glance, Blackbeard's magic container looked normal – fairly large, but he was a large man. He was full of magic, and it had the feel of the energy from the ley lines, and it was only when she looked closer did she realize the issue – he didn't have a magical core.

She flicked her wand, spreading the visualization to the hedgewitches. They each had a magical core and container, and their cores, though weak, had been able to spin on their own and generate some magic before. They'd managed to reverse the spin on their cores to harmonize with the ley line magic, but they still had cores – whereas Blackbeard had none.

Was that the difference, then? Hermione wondered. A squib could hold magic, and interact with magic, but could produce or control none of their own. Without a magical core to direct and control magic, a squib wouldn't be able to get magic to go where they wanted it to go, even if they had a wand and a container brimming full of magic.

That had to be the difference, then – squibs could still feel and hold magic, while muggles were born completely without magical containers at all, oblivious to magic's existence entirely. Squibs couldn't direct magic properly, but they could at least feel it and know it was there.

Hermione wondered if it was some sort of birth defect. If there was a magical gene, for example, did too many copies of it cause a magical deformity in utero? Or was it a recessive trait on a gene, and not a genetic issue with an extra chromosome at all?

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if any DNA studies had been done with magical blood. She sincerely doubted it, but oh, she wished there had! It was fascinating to consider what scientists might find. For just that reason, though, she doubted it had ever been studied – the last thing the wizarding world would want would be for the muggles to discover that some of them were unquestionably different in their very genetic makeup.

"Can the runes all be done by Saturday?" Hermione asked hopefully. "The full moon's that night, and it'll be the optimal time to set up the runes."

"Maybe." Blackbeard stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Possibly. Depends how good the weather is, and how many I can pour."

Clover looked sideways at Hermione. "Anything you could do to help with that?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"If you owl me once the molds are done, there's a chance I could magically duplicate them," she said. "That way, more than one of each can be poured at once."

Blackbeard laughed.

"That'd be a huge help," he told her. "If you can make me more molds, I can make as many runes as we need."

"Make more than we need," Clover stressed. "We're doing the biggest villages on Sunday, but we'll have to do the other villages next month, too."

"I'll melt all the silver we get," Blackbeard agreed. He was suddenly serious. "Silver wards will go a long way toward keeping everybody safe. And I've seen too many tragedies from what can happen when werewolves get into a town."

Chapter Text

CW: Infertility discussion

When Hermione visited Luna, Susan tagging along, Xenophilius Lovegood was a perfectly welcoming host.

"I have tea, if you like," he said. "I also have things that are not tea, if you would prefer, but I find most people generally prefer some sort of tea. I also have teas that are not-tea, that are more unconventional plants we can dump into hot water. Some of them cause hallucinations, but the rainbow bubbles can be quite relaxing and meditative, I find." He looked at the three girls. "Perhaps not if you're going to go on a hike though, yes?"

Hermione hastily agreed and just took some biscuits from the tray with her instead, noticing later each biscuit was shaped oddly like some twisted hybrid of an owl and a bear.

"Are all pureblood magical parents like that?" Hermione asked, munching on her biscuit as they walked through the field behind Luna's house.

"What, welcoming?" Luna asked, blinking. "If they're polite, I suppose."

"They don't all offer hallucinogenics, if that's what you mean," Susan laughed. "But you already know that, Hermione."

"He's just so accepting," Hermione said, making her way through some weeds. "It's like, 'Hello, we are going to go explore your backyard for devious coven purposes', and he responds with, 'Excellent, of course, and would you like some tea?'"

"Are you parents not accepting?" Luna asked Hermione. "It sounds like you've got some thing of your own bound up in talking about this."

Trust Luna to be insightful enough to see through to the core issue. Hermione sighed.

"Alright, yes, I'm kind of frustrated," she admitted. "I mentioned Jade and Milan to my parents, and they were horrified. They were furious with the entire thing, and when I explained that it's common for wizarding people to get married early, they wouldn't just accept it as part of the culture. They wanted to know why, and I didn't know what to tell them." She scowled. "I just wish they were a little more open-minded at times. It's not my fault purebloods wed and bed each other as soon as legally possible."

"It's because purebloods lose children all the time," Susan told Hermione, tromping through the woods. "A lot of pureblood families have immense difficulty having pregnancies that stick. Miscarriage is very common."

"It is?" Hermione said, surprised. "There's a lot of purebloods about. I wouldn't have guessed that at all."

"Well, it's mostly from the Sacred 28, who have had trouble for ages," Susan admitted. "Not all of them, but many of the families have a lot of trouble."

"Not yours, though," Hermione pointed out. "Nor the Weasleys. Why's that?"

"No idea," Susan said, sighing. "I know it's why the custom of marrying so early started. If it might take ten years to have an heir, better to get started rolling the dice as soon as you can make a magical bond."

"I wonder if it's because they're pureblood," Hermione theorized. "Like, if they're marrying each other all the time, they'd end up with interlocked family trees and bad genes, which could contribute to the miscarriages."

"Most purebloods don't do that, though," Susan pointed out. "There are a few families who are fanatical about purity – the Blacks come to mind – but most don't care if you're Sacred 28 or not, just if you've got four magical grandparents."

"Eight magical great-grandparents, if you're a Death Eater," Luna chimed in cheerfully.

"And the ones that don't have trouble too," Susan said. "Daphne's mom, Evelyn Greengrass, is most known for it. Her breeding is impeccable, but she's had more miscarriages than anyone else I know. And she's still trying for a son."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I guess that makes sense," she admitted. "If it were a genetic issue, we'd see more of our classmates with birth defects and severe issues going on, anyway."

They continued traipsing through the forest a bit further, careful not to step into wild gnome holes or touch a bowtruckle tree. They looked around as they went, examining the area and the trees and bushes.

"Daddy says most of this is all ours on paper, so we're still good," Luna said, gesturing around. "Though the trees really belong only to themselves."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Susan asked again. "What defines 'the perfect tree'?"

"I'm not quite sure," Hermione admitted, "but hopefully we'll know it when we see it."

That 'it' turned out to be just up ahead, as they came around a bend. Hermione and Susan both stopped short and gasped, Luna following up from behind.

"Oh," said Luna. "Do you think this tree will work?"

In the middle of the glade on a rare flat patch was an enormous London Plane. It towered above them, maybe forty meters tall, its branches stretching out widely in a grand manner. The flaking, multicolored bark was beautiful, the trunk enormous, and just seeing it made Hermione excited.

There was something majestic about the tree, something magical. The tree itself had a presence, dominating the small clearing it had claimed as its own. And it was enormous. A tree like this… it had spirit and a drive of its own, and it'd clearly been succeeding on its quest toward the sun for over a hundred years or so, at this point. A tree like this… it deserved respect.

Its age, its majesty, its magic…

As Hermione took it all in, something about this tree just felt right.

"We wouldn't have to cut it down, would we?" Susan mourned.

"No, of course not," Hermione assured her. "We'll build the house in the branches, and a ladder or stairs up around the trunk to get in. We might need to remove a few branches to get room for a foundation, though."

"If we're doing a magical foundation, shouldn't it be in the ground?" Luna asked. "You can't bury wardstones in midair."

Susan glanced around. "We could try implanting them in the trunks of other trees?"

"Not a good idea," Luna stressed, suddenly looking worried. "There are too many ash, oak, and thorn trees around here for that to be safe."

"We can bury the wardstones, and then just not build anything outside of them," Hermione assured Susan. "That should work, I think."

"They have to be part of the final structure," Susan argued, shaking her head. "We need to have the bottom floor be on the ground, and then the rest of it can be on top."

"Fine," Hermione conceded, rolling her eyes. "If you insist."

"I don't insist," Susan said back snippily. "Magic does."

Hermione sighed. "Alright."

The three girls scoped out the tree, taking measurements and discussing what they wanted the tree house to ultimately look like, as well as how it would be made.

"We can't use wood from this forest," Luna commented. "The other trees would be sad, seeing the mutilated corpses of their dead friends every day, and they would judge us for it."

Hermione stared. "Is… that how that works?"

"I don't know." Luna shrugged. "But do you want to chance having the forest mad at us?"

Susan sketched out a rough floor plan as they walked around the tree. Once she was done, the three of them pulled on their air elementals to fly up into the branches to examine that area, which quickly became a game of climb-the-tree and jumping from branch to branch.

"This tree is spectacular," Hermione declared, grabbing another branch and hoisting herself higher. "I'm almost already above the tree line, and the branches aren't even getting thin!"

"We could build a look-out tower," Susan said, excited. "We could have one below the trees, to look for threats coming from the ground, but a higher one too, to look for threats from above or far away!"

Hermione paused.

"Wouldn't people just Apparate?" she asked. "And then we wouldn't see them coming at all?"

"Not if we put down Anti-Apparition Wards," Susan said smugly, folding her arms. "Or if we make the whole thing Secret-Kept and they can't get past the wards."

After they'd decided upon the tree, they walked toward the nearby muggle village, keeping track of how far it was and what the land was like.

"There's not nearly enough room in here to bring a vehicle," Hermione frowned. "Not nearly enough."

"No one is going to want to drag wood in by hand this far," Susan said, sighing. "We'll have to buy all the wood in advance, won't we?"

Hermione winced. "Maybe?"

"Daddy's not going to like muggles wandering the forest," Luna warned. "It's dangerous. It's a magical forest. They're not going to know what to do if they come across an erkling."

Susan shot Luna a sharp look. "Are there erklings in these woods?"

"No," Luna said. "But there might be dugbogs."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't want muggles attacked by dugbogs or gnomes or anything," she said, rubbing her head. "That'd be a great way to get the Ministry involved, which I want to avoid at all costs."

"Then hire wizard builders," Susan prompted.

"But then they'll know about it," Hermione complained. "I don't want anyone magical except us knowing where our treehouse is. I know we can Secret-Keep it once we're old enough, but if we don't have to, I'd rather not."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "So what's the plan?"

"First, go back and check with Luna's father," Hermione said, nodding to Luna. "If he's okay with it, then figure out a final floor plan. Go learn architecture, I suppose. Maybe buy all the wood we'd need? And after that…" She winced. "I don't really know. Maybe if we found muggles who were teenage boys, they'd be willing to traipse up here and do it, if we paid them enough. Teens are less likely to be bothered by the inconvenience than a proper tree-building firm."

"Do the muggles have that?" Susan asked, eyes wide. "Firms that do nothing but build tree houses?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Hermione admitted. "I figured when we got to that point, we'd look and find out."

After a tiring journey back and a break for water (and collapsing in the back yard), Hermione, Susan, and Luna approached Xenophilius Lovegood, explaining to him their plan and what they wanted to do.

"The big London Plane?" he asked. He blinked, then looked at Luna.

Luna nodded. "It's the one."

Xenophilius looked at Luna very seriously.

"That tree can only hold one tree house, you know," he told her.

Hermione and Susan exchanged a wary, skeptical look. Luna's father's oddness was fine, really, but sometimes it seemed somehow... more.

"I know," Luna said solemnly. "And this tree house is the one it will hold."

Xenophilius looked surprised, then excited, then thoughtful.

"And you three intend on building it yourselves?" he asked.

Susan snorted.

"We're only off for another week," she said. "We can't build an entire treehouse in that amount of time."

"I was hoping to hire muggle builders, honestly," Hermione admitted. "I don't want many wizards knowing about where we're putting our coven hideaway, but the tree is so far from the muggle village that I don't know if that's really feasible."

"Hire?" Xenophilius' eyebrows went up. "You were going to pay them?"

"Yes?" Hermione wasn't understanding something. "That's generally how commerce works…?"

Xenophilius looked to Luna, lost. Luna tilted her head, then looked at Hermione.

"It's probably very expensive to build a treehouse," Luna said carefully. "It will cost a lot."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh. That's not a problem," she assured Luna's father. "Gringotts will change gold over for me into muggle money, if I need it." She paused. "Or I could just offer pure gold. It'd be a better deal for the muggles, with the current exchange rate, I bet."

"You just have gold ingots in your vault?" Susan asked, snickering. "Do you really, Hermione?"

"Yes. So?" Hermione defended. "I have an underground vault. Of course I'm going to keep at least some gold bars in it."

Susan laughed. "Living out your muggle buried treasure fantasy, are you?"

Hermione flushed and shot her a look, but Susan only grinned.

Xenophilius was twirling his stringy blond hair, thoughtful.

"You have to go back to school soon," he said. "If you were to leave the gold bars here, I could reach out to some people I know who would be happy to build you a tree house in exchange, who can keep a secret. They're not from around here. Then it could be done by the time you're let out again from school."

"You could?" Hermione was surprised, but excited. "You know people who can build treehouses?"

"I do," Xenophilius said cautiously. "You'd need to provide at least somewhat detailed floor plans, and you'd probably need your coven to do the wardstones for the foundation ahead of time…"

"Not a problem," Susan said confidently. "We can get Harry and Blaise whenever."

Luna was looking at her father oddly.

"You know builders?" she asked. "I didn't know that."

Xenophilius winced, then offered her a strained smile.

"They were… friends of your mother's," he said. "Family, practically. We don't really keep in contact much anymore. But if it's for a safe place for your coven…"

Hermione winced herself, looking away. She imagined after Luna's mother's untimely death, reminders of her from visiting her side of the family would be incredibly emotionally painful. She couldn't blame him for not keeping in touch.

"Okay," Luna said finally. She looked at Susan. "We can get the gold and do the wardstones before April 3rd, right?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Susan said. "I'll figure out about the wardstones and owl you all."

"And I'll get the gold," Hermione said. She blinked. "Err—how much gold do you think this sort of thing is worth?"

Xenophilius shrugged.

"If you leave a pile of gold and silver bars, I'll have them take what they think is fair and leave the rest," he said. "They're very fair, really."

Luna muttered something under her breath, and her father gave her a cross look, but to Hermione, who genuinely had no idea what raw bars were worth, didn't know how much building a tree house could cost, and really didn't want to bother doing the math, it sounded like a fine idea, given Xenophilius trusted his contacts enough.

"I'll make sure to get it to you before we go back to school," she promised, "ideally when we do the wardstones for the foundation. Would that be soon enough?"

"Yes." Xenophilius' smile was strained. "I still have to reach out to them and get in contact before construction can begin. And I imagine that might take a little bit of time."

Chapter Text

Hermione had no idea what to wear to see Narcissa Malfoy and visit her manor. Draco had assured her any robes would be fine, but Narcissa was always so poised and put together, Hermione felt like she had to at least try to be at the same level as her.

She finally decided on a set of midnight blue robes her mother had given her. They were an A-line cut with a chiffon overlay and lace detailing on the bodice, with flattering V neckline. The whole thing looked very expensive and designer, in her opinion, and she paired it with a belt made of solid silver around her waist that chained together in the back. Her wand holster hung from her belt at her side, and she wore her best black boots as well.

Hermione paused over her appearance in the mirror, finally giving in and applying some light makeup. If nothing else, it would give her confidence, and it made her feel more adult, somehow, to have shaded eyes and longer eyelashes. She looked at her hair for a long moment, looking at the curls, before she sighed, going to her trunk to retrieve the only jewelry she had that would match her robes.

The crystal-embedded pendant cradling a soft blue pearl looked good, laying how it did on her chest. She considered the earrings, holding them up. They looked good against her riot of curls, she noted, before she laid them back down, reaching for another box instead.

As she clipped part of her hair back in her beautiful, jeweled butterfly clip, encrusted with sapphires and aquamarines, Hermione felt a faint smile come to her lips despite her nerves. She did want to make an impression, after all, didn't she?

She wondered what Narcissa would think, seeing her, a person with muggle parents, wearing jewels like any pureblood witch would.

Hermione met Draco at Diagon Alley as planned, at the corner of the alley that met with Carkitt Market. Draco had done a double-take at her appearance, before giving her another once-over appreciatively.

"You didn't have to get so prettied up," he teased her. "It's just my mother."

"Narcissa Malfoy may just be your mother to you," Hermione shot back. "But in this context, she represents much more to me."

Draco grinned. He offered his arm, which Hermione took.

"We're traveling by Portkey," he warned her, withdrawing what looked like a hewn wooden token on a leather thong from his robes. "Touch this. Ready?"

With a sudden sharp yank behind her navel, Hermione found herself violently transported with a yell, and when she landed, she clung to Draco to regain her balance, her stomach roiling.

"Easy, easy," Draco soothed, but he sounded pleased. "I've got you… you're fine…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and straightened up, pulling herself out of his arms. She smoothed down her robes and fixed her hair, before looking up at the manor and whistling.

"So. This is Malfoy Manor from the outside," she said. She raised an eyebrow at Draco. "Bit ostentatious, isn't it?"

Draco laughed, offering her his arm once more, which she took.

"It's been in the family for generations," he told her, amused. "The only decorating decision I think we've really made has been the shapes of the topiaries and the peacocks."

"Peacocks?" Hermione looked around as Draco escorted her up the front pathway. "Why peacocks?"

"My father likes them," Draco admitted. "We've got leucistic ones from India. My father finds the beauty of the white tail feathers to be more striking and dramatic. Maybe we'll see one later, if we go through the gardens."

"Why would we go through the gardens?" Hermione asked, looking at Draco. "We need to talk to your mother."

"If we take tea?" Draco offered. "If she becomes overwhelmed and needs a moment outside to get some air?"

Hermione suppressed a snort. However elegant and delicate Narcissa Malfoy might present herself as, Hermione severely doubted she would be genuinely overcome by anything and swoon.

Draco led her inside, pausing in the entryway for a long moment, worrying.

"We—we have wards, and I just realized," he said, wincing. "I—I don't know if they're coded appropriately for New Bloods. If you can wait just a moment—"

Hermione sighed and strode forward into a sitting room out of the entryway, and Draco gaped.

"Ah—nevermind then, you seem fine—"

He led her through the sitting room, through another room that looked like it was solely used for looking impressive, and into what looked like a cross between a study and a living room. The furniture here was not as polished and pristine and stylish as it had been in the other rooms; here, it was dark leather, and it looked worn. The room held forbidding portraits, some of whom shifted in the frames, suspicious, as opposed to the beautiful art that had been in the parlor.

"I'll get my mother," Draco said, biting his lip. He looked at her. "Hermione…"

"I'll handle the talking, Draco," Hermione reassured him. "Don't worry."

"It's not that…" Draco seemed oddly flustered. "Just… where do you want me to sit?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

The room held a sofa and two large leather chairs. They all looked equal in quality and stature, and the sofa had plenty of room. Hermione glanced around the room again, unsure if she'd missed something, before she slowly looked back at Draco.

"Is the sofa not okay?" she asked. "I figured your mother would sit in a chair, and we'd sit on the sofa, but if she'd prefer the sofa and you'd rather sit with her…"

"No, no, it's—" Draco broke off, looking away. He looked a bit red. "Nevermind. Sit wherever. I'll go and get her."

Hermione watched him go and shrugged to herself, taking a seat on the nearest side of the sofa, the left-hand side. Draco was just weird sometimes, she decided. Who knew what was running through his mind?

When Draco returned, Narcissa Malfoy at his side, Hermione stood. He stepped back, allowing his mother to enter the room first, her eyes sweeping over Hermione.

"Mother, may I reintroduce Hermione Granger, New Blood, the Heroine of Hogwarts, Youth Representative of the Wizengamot, and a dear friend of mine?" he said, gesturing, and Hermione swept a formal curtsy. "Hermione, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

"It's good to see you again," Hermione said, bowing her head. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home."

Narcissa's gaze was cool but curious as she settled herself down into one of the chairs, Hermione sitting down as well at her cue.

"If the wards of the manor welcomed you, I am happy to welcome you as well, I suppose," she returned. Her eyes drifted to Draco, who was sitting down next to Hermione on her right. "My son tells me you have serious business to discuss…?"

"Yes." Hermione bit her lip. "There's… really no easy way to say or discuss this, or an elegant way to bring it up. I'll have to ask you in advance to forgive my directness."

"Is that so?" Now Narcissa looked intrigued. "I'll forgive any rudeness, then, if it helps you explain matters to me. What is the issue at hand?"

Hermione paused.

"You're the current Regent of the House of Black," she said slowly.

Narcissa's eyes were sharp. "I am…"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I have undeniable evidence that Sirius Black, Head of House Black, is innocent," Hermione said, meeting her eyes. "As Regent of his House, I believe you're the one who needs to petition the Wizengamot for justice, for him to come to trial."

It was clear Hermione could have said nothing that would have shocked Narcissa Malfoy more.

Hermione watched as Narcissa's face paled rapidly, going from a pretty porcelain to a ghostly white in seconds. Her eyes opened wide, astonished, and she sucked her breath in sharply, her breathing erratic after that. She stared at Hermione in open horror and alarm, and Hermione didn't know what that kind of response meant – was Narcissa surprised that Sirius was innocent in a good way, or a bad way?

"Sirius?" Narcissa said, her voice hushed and shaken. "You're serious about this? He's innocent?"

"He is," Hermione said, watching her reactions. "He was framed."

Narcissa leaned back in her seat, the back of her hand to her forehead. She seemed to be taking very deep, measured breaths, consciously working to calm herself down.

"And you are certain?" she asked. "You are certain that he is innocent? In truth?"

"I'm holding prisoner the person who framed him and actually betrayed the Potters," Hermione said dryly. "Yes, I'm certain. We just need to get him a trial. He never had one."

Narcissa's face paled even further.

"Sirius… innocent…" she trailed off. "All these years… and I never even visited him..."

"I thought we didn't like him or that side of the family," Draco said, confused. "You used to say about Aunt Walburga—"

"What I said about Aunt Walburga is immaterial," Narcissa said, cutting him off. "But Sirius—Sirius is my cousin. And I never visited him. Not once."

Hermione watched Narcissa carefully.

"I didn't realize Azkaban allowed visitors," she said. "You've gone there before?"

Narcissa seemed shaken, but she looked back at Hermione, her face carefully neutral once more.

"It is… not easy to visit Azkaban," Narcissa conceded. "The passage there by the boat is very expensive. And the Ministry must agree to send an Auror escort with you. It is not something readily available to anyone who would see their loved ones."

Hermione could read between the line – you had to bribe the right people or have the right connections in order to get in to visit someone.

"I have readily visited my sister," Narcissa admitted. "But not once have I gone to see Sirius, even though he was held in the same block of cells. All this time, I thought he murdered twelve people in cold blood in front of witnesses for his sick amusement, and I could not bring myself to see him, to see what a monster he had become."

"Wait, what?" Draco was confused. "You'd visit Aunt Bella, who killed I don't know how many people, but you wouldn't visit your cousin because why?"

"Your aunt is very sick," Narcissa said sharply. "She is not the sister I was raised with now."

"Yeah, but she still murdered people, didn't she? And if Sirius murdered people too—"

Narcissa held up a hand, cutting her son off with a look. She took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, as Hermione watched on.

"Can you tell me what happened back then?" Hermione asked. "Why didn't Sirius get a trial at all?"

Narcissa once again took a deep breath, before she began to speak.

"You must understand," she began, her voice low, her eyes intent on Hermione's, "everything was in chaos back then. The Dark Lord fell. Dozens of people were coming out from being under the Imperius Curse for months. Death Eaters attempting to flee. No one knowing who was guilty, who was not, or what was going on. The Ministry was overwhelmed, still operating with wartime procedures, and the actions the Aurors took were swift and cruel."

Hermione had never considered what the end of the war must have looked like, given its abrupt and sudden end. Voldemort had been vanquished, after all; it wasn't like he'd signed a peace treaty with the sitting Minister.

"Barty Crouch Senior was head of the Council of Magical Law at the time," Narcissa went on. "He scheduled and oversaw the trials. Most trials were not open to the public at large, to keep down the panic and to avoid tipping off other Death Eaters… many people were held in Azkaban or the Ministry holding cells for long periods of time, awaiting trial while the Ministry scrambled to put together a case."

"They just held them there? Without being formally charged?" Hermione asked. "For how long?"

"Weeks? Months? Years, for a few," Narcissa said, shaking her head. "If the evidence was overwhelming, you were thrown in Azkaban without a trial, the sentence presumed. It was bribes, political clout, and cutting deals with the Wand of the Realm that helped you actually get a trial. The Headmaster of Durmstrang, for example, cut a deal with the Wand of the Realm, I know, to turn in other servants of the Dark Lord. Ludo Bagman got a trial – he was a well-known Quidditch player who'd been arrested. And your father…"

Her eyes went to Draco, who looked pale.

"Dad was a well-known political influence, right?" he asked. "He was on the Wizengamot…"

Narcissa exhaled.

"Your father got a trial because the Malfoy family was very generous in helping fund the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after the war," she said delicately. "As such, his trial was scheduled more expediently."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You bribed them to get father a trial sooner?"

"I did." Narcissa raised an eyebrow, sniffing. "What would you have had me do?"

Hermione watched Draco's shock and horror play out across his face with curiosity. She'd thought it was well known the Malfoy family meddled in politics by throwing their galleons around. Was that just a presumption on her part, then? Did they not actually bribe people all the time? Or did Draco genuinely not realize his family bribed politicians to get their way?

"It was very difficult to get your father a trial," Narcissa said quietly. "Be glad we had the money we had. Many people stayed in Azkaban for months without trials. Some – like your cousin – may have never gotten them at all."

"What happened at the trial?" Hermione asked. "What was it like?"

"It was awful," Narcissa said, her eyes clouded. "It was humiliating. Lucius being made to sit in a chair, chained before his peers, being interrogated by Crouch…" She closed her eyes, remembering the embarrassment. "It was easy to see why Lucius had been a target of the Dark Lord – he was wealthy, he was well-connected, and he was vocal about his anti-muggle sentiments. It was all too easy for them all to think the worst of him, to believe he'd willingly become a servant to the Dark Lord."

Draco looked torn and anguished. Hermione listened quietly, keeping her face blank as Narcissa went on.

"It was only because your father had such influence that he was able to be freed," Narcissa said. "So many of the Wizengamot members themselves had been charged… it was the Council of Magical Law who oversaw many of the trials, run by Crouch, and I'm grateful every day that the council members knew your father well enough to know he would not have become a Death Eater willingly. Your father faced the embarrassment of publicly acknowledging he had not been powerful enough to throw off the Imperius Curse…" Narcissa's face shifted, twisting slightly, "…but who among them could have stood up against the Dark Lord's power? The Dark Lord left utter domination and destruction in his wake."

Draco's face was pale, and he looked torn and upset. Hermione bit her lip, looking back to Narcissa, who was shaking her head.

"All of it was such a mess," she said. "Everyone scrambling, families torn apart, me handling a newborn with my husband in prison…" Narcissa sighed deeply. "It never occurred to me to see if Sirius had received a trial. It was all over the papers – Sirius Black, found laughing after blasting a dozen muggles in broad daylight – and I supposed I rashly presumed him guilty as well."

"And you didn't know?" Hermione pressed. "It was well-known he was friends with the Potters. And if your husband was—"

"Regardless of my husband's unwilling participation in the Dark Lord's campaign," Narcissa said sharply, "it is known that the Death Eaters did not know each other. They wore masks and robes, and they clothed themselves and met in darkness. The Dark Lord did not want his servants able to turn on each other, or for it to become well-known who was serving him and who was not. He thrived on fear and paranoia, when people didn't know who was friend and who was foe."

Narcissa's manner of speaking was very dramatic and theatrical. Hermione wondered if Draco got his melodramatic tendencies from her.

"That makes sense, I guess. Though I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't get Sirius a trial," Hermione admitted. "I'd have thought with how close Dumbledore seemed to be with the Potters, that he would have followed up on that."

Narcissa sniffed, disdainful.

"As unfond as I am of Albus Dumbledore," she drawled, "it isn't quite fair to lay this failure of justice at his feet."

Hermione was surprised. "It isn't?"

"In the aftermath of the death of the Potters," Narcissa said, "Albus Dumbledore was not yet in a position of great power. He was not yet on the Wizengamot as Chief Warlock. And he was highly preoccupied with a different matter – helping identify Frank and Alice Longbottom's attackers through very advanced mind magic and experimental Legilimency."

"The Longbottoms?" Draco asked slowly. "Aren't they—"

"Yes, Draco," Narcissa snapped. "They were the victims of your aunt and the Lestranges, as well as the Crouch boy."

Hermione gasped. "Wait, what?"

Narcissa looked mildly surprised. "The Longbottoms. Surely you've heard? They went insane. They're still held in the Janus Thickley ward at St. Mungo's."

"I didn't…" Hermione was lost for words. "I never knew…"

"My sister and the Lestranges thought the Longbottoms had information on the Dark Lord's whereabouts, and the Longbottoms lost their minds under the Cruciatus Curse when they were tortured for information." Narcissa's eyes cut over to Hermione. "Dumbledore spent weeks in Saint Mungo's with the Healers, trying to pull them out of their madness."

It was as if ice water had been dumped over Hermione head. She felt cold, her thoughts stark. Neville's parents… she'd never even considered they might still be alive. There were enough students at Hogwarts that had been orphaned by the war, and when Neville had said his grandmother had raised him, she'd assumed he'd lost his parents as well.

And in a way, he had, hadn't he? Parents driven insane through torture at the hands of Death Eaters – it wasn't like they'd been around to help raise Neville, had they? But to have them still alive, just… damaged…

Hermione wondered why Neville had never mentioned it. She'd had no idea, all this time.

Narcissa was watching Hermione's reactions closely as she absorbed the information about the Longbottoms. Draco seemed to have known about that part – he was still hung up on the Sirius Black and Bellatrix disparity.

"But—you go and visit Aunt Bella still." Draco looked conflicted. "Even though she did those things?"

Narcissa took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"My sister had always been fixated on the concept of restoring magical purity, possibly from the Black family motto," Narcissa said. "But when she was older, something happened to her. She became unstable, radical. She became paranoid, violent, and she was no longer the sister I knew before."

Narcissa's eyes met Hermione's. Hermione held her gaze; it was clear Narcissa was spelling things out as explicitly as she was not for Draco's sake, but for Hermione's, or possibly her own.

"My sister does not have a good reputation," Narcissa said quietly. "Believe me; I know. And she willingly served the Dark Lord. And I will admit she was always obsessed with magical purity, but it was a cooler obsession, one of pride and derision towards others who were lesser or unworthy." She paused, drawing breath. "When my sister came of age, she began to change. She was paranoid. She was irrational. She became more extreme, unreasonable, terrifying in her passion and violence. I don't know if she was cursed, or if she set her core off-balance, or what happened to her." Narcissa's face was drawn, closed off. "But she is not the sister I remember. And if something had happened to her, something that caused her to act out and behave unlike herself, how can I hold her guilty for what she would not have done in truth?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," she said. "We might not be able to help your sister. I have no idea what could be wrong with her. But we have a chance to help your cousin, now."

Narcissa looked at her for a long moment, before nodding slowly.

"We do," she said finally. She glanced from Draco to Hermione. "I can present a complaint of injustice for Sirius Black. We can get him a fair trial."

"Wait – Is he going to end up holding the Black seat on the Wizengamot, then?" Draco asked.

Narcissa's eyes cut over to him. "Potentially."

"Ew, I don't want that," Draco complained. "Can we just not?"

"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed, appalled.

"What? What?" Draco wanted to know, defensive. "He's crude and nasty, and I—"

"The Wizengamot traditions are sacred to the Ministry and our people," Narcissa snapped, glaring at her son. "We will not let our family languish in condemnation, when we have it in our reach to rectify the matter, for political power! Sirius will take the Black seat when he is recovered, and I will be happy to hand it over. I am Regent, holding it in his stead, and I will happily step down when the time comes."

Draco looked appropriately chastised, and Hermione's eyes were wide. She didn't think the Malfoys would willingly give up political power of any sort, but Narcissa seemed to indicate she was willing to do just that.

"He's just… he's so uncultured," Draco complained, looking at his boots. "I just don't like him."

Narcissa's eyes went wide. "You've met him?"

Draco snorted. "Of a sort."

Narcissa turned to Hermione, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Hermione coughed.

"When I had initially captured Sirius Black and had heard his side of the story, I kept him as my prisoner for a time," Hermione explained. "I took Draco to see him, to help figure out how to get him a trial, figuring Draco was his family."

"He was urinating on the floor at the time," Draco said, his lip curling. "Wonderful way to meet someone at the time."

"He was imprisoned, and there were no toilets." Hermione gave Draco an exasperated look. "Give him a bit of slack, would you?"

"You snapped at him too!" Draco objected. "You went off on him about pissing all over the Chamber! I remember!"

"Yes, well, he had a point," Hermione conceded. "I hadn't exactly conjured him a loo, had I?"

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes, while Hermione crossed her arms, annoyed. Narcissa watched it all with observant eyes.

"Is this how things are at school?" she inquired, eyes glinting.

"What, needless bickering?" Hermione asked. "I mean, sometimes? But more generally we get along, talk about classes—"

"No," Narcissa said, cutting her off. She looked at her son. "You leading a charge or a cause, with my son following behind."

Hermione blinked.

"I mean, I was the one who captured Sirius…" she said slowly. "When I went to Draco, he was the one who suggested talking to you…"

"Yet you are the one presenting Sirius' case to me," Narcissa said conversationally. "Not my son."

Hermione got the feeling she wasn't getting something. She looked over at Draco, whose face was growing red.

"She knows more about it," Draco defended. "It just made sense to—"

"You're sitting at her right, but she's doing all the talking," Narcissa snapped. "What am I supposed to think here?"

Draco's face colored further, and he looked at the floor.

"It's Hermione's cause," he said. "I'm—I'm just supporting her. Like an advisor. I'm helping."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Is that so." It wasn't a question.

"Well, it's not as if I have a chance at sitting on her left with father being an ass about everything, is it?" Draco exploded, jumping to his feet. "I'm doing the best I can, mother, and at least I'm helping a cause and serving a person I believe in!"

Hermione was alarmed at the sudden fight between Draco and his mother, at the fury and anger in Draco's eyes.

"Let's all settle down right now," she coaxed, holding up her hands anxiously. "Narcissa, Draco has been instrumental in helping me with determining how best to clear Sirius' name, as well as helped me understand the more esoteric and unwritten standards of pureblood protocol." She glanced over at Draco. "Though he hasn't explained the significance of me sitting at his left…"

Narcissa looked surprised, then deeply amused.

"It's not you sitting at his left, dear," she said, "but the fact he sits at your right."

"Isn't that the same thing, though?" Hermione said, confused. "If I'm on his left, he's at my right by default."

Draco's face was very red.

"It doesn't matter right now, mother," he said, hissing through his teeth. "Can we please discuss this at a later time and focus on the matter at hand?"

"Yes," Hermione quickly agreed. "Like how to present a complaint for justice to the Wizengamot."

Narcissa looked them over again, looking privately amused, before conceding.

"I suppose we can get to work," she said. She looked at Hermione, raising an eyebrow challengingly. "What would you suggest we do first?"

"Bring Sirius Black here?" Hermione suggested. "He can magically claim sanctuary in the home of his kin, I think. That way we can ask him questions and he can help mount his own defense."

Narcissa's jaw dropped, and Hermione winced. Whatever Narcissa had expected, that wasn't it.

"I suppose that makes sense," Narcissa said after a moment. She glanced at Draco. "Is he lurking nearby?"

"Err—no." Draco glanced at Hermione. "You've still got him shut up in that cave, right?"

"Last I knew," Hermione agreed. "I can go and get him, but he's going to need transport back with your Portkey. I can't exactly use a public Floo with a wanted criminal."

Narcissa seemed remarkably composed, recovered from her shock of a moment ago.

"I suppose I'll prepare tea in the parlor while you go and retrieve him," she said.

"Better to do it on the patio," Draco suggested, wrinkling his nose. "He's been hiding in a cave in rags. Who knows about his stench."

"The garden, then," his mother snapped. "Honestly, Draco. You can be so crude."

Hermione smiled faintly to herself as she stretched, waiting for Draco to stop arguing with his mother and come along with her. It seemed she might get to see the peacocks after all.

Chapter Text

CW: Discussion of rape, self-harm, suicide; grisly imagery

Sirius Black was not easy to convince to come along.

"How do I know this isn't a trick?" he asked suspiciously. "How do I know you're not taking me to the Aurors?"

"If I was, I'd just take you down to Hogsmeade!" Hermione snapped, throwing her hands up. "I could have told anyone where you were for weeks! Honestly, you goon, I'm trying to help you!"

Sirius looked at her doubtfully, and Hermione glared.

"If it helps, know that we're going to my mother," Draco said, stepping forward. He took a deep breath. "And she would do anything for family."

Sirius' eyes flitted over to Draco.

"Like protect or visit her sister once in a while?" he sneered.

"She visits Aunt Bella a few times a year," Draco objected. "She goes as often as she can, but—"

"Not Bella," Sirius snorted. "Her other one."

There was a poignant pause.

"I can't speak for my mother and her relationship with anyone that might have been disowned," Draco said carefully. "But I can point out that you are not disowned anymore, and her family in every meaningful way, and she treasures that family."

Sirius scowled at him and looked at him very suspiciously, before finally snarling and thrusting his hand out.

"Fine," he bit out. "But if this is a trick, I will hunt you down where you sleep."

Draco paled, but Hermione bit back a snort. Sirius had failed at stabbing a rat – twice, now – and he still didn't have a wand. She wasn't exactly intimidated by any threats he made.

This time, the Portkey back wasn't quite as bad, and Sirius didn't seem affected at all. He looked at Malfoy Manor with suspicion and grudging admiration.

"Nice place," he finally conceded. He glanced at Draco. "Where's your mum?"

Draco led them around the manor to the back, through a path in the gardens. The gardens themselves were beautiful, rich with foliage and flowers just starting to bud with spring. Several winding stone paths crossed theirs as they walked, the other paths leading other ways in the garden, on different beautiful trails and walks. Hermione was excited to get to glimpse a few white peacocks roaming around, though none had their tails fanned out.

"You might want to stay away from them," Draco cautioned. "They're pretty, but they're nasty birds."

Sirius snorted. "No wonder your Dad likes them."

Draco shot Sirius a glare, and Sirius grinned.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Yes, well, let's at least try to be polite?" Hermione suggested tersely. "Your freedom's at stake here, realize."

"I know, I know," Sirius said, rolling his hand and his eyes. "I'll behave."

They came upon Narcissa sitting on a richly-appointed terrace, sipping a cup of tea from elegant china. She rose as they approached, her eyes going wide and her face paling.

"Sirius," she breathed, a hand slowly rising to cover her mouth in shock.

"Cissy," Sirius said. He raised an eyebrow, and he smirked, giving her a horrifying smile. "Miss me?"

To Draco and Hermione's astonishment, Narcissa began crying silently, tears streaming down her face.

"I never thought I'd see you again," she said. "I'd thought—well, it doesn't matter what I thought—"

Sirius pulled out a chair across from Narcissa and settled himself down, lounging back in the seat with his arms folded behind his head. Narcissa composed herself rapidly, elegantly flicking tears from her face with a fingernail, but Hermione was still surprised Narcissa had been overcome at all. Maybe Draco was right, and his mother really did value family above all.

"Could have come and visited," Sirius said, raising his eyebrow pointedly "I heard you visiting Bella. She always got the most visitors in the place."

"She is remembered fondly by those who knew her before her affliction," Narcissa snapped.

"Dunno if I'd call serving You-Know-Who an 'affliction' so much as 'very evil' and 'a very dumb thing to do'…" Sirius drawled, and Narcissa glared.

Hermione's opinion only solidified as she watched while the two Black family members 'catching up' quickly devolved into argument: If Narcissa didn't value family above all else, Hermione had no doubt Sirius would have ended up cursed.

"You were sane," Narcissa hissed. "Laughing at the death of a dozen muggles made you sadistic, sure, but you had always been sane. My sister was not."

"Oh, please. She was evil," Sirius snorted. "That's just an excuse."

"She went mad," Narcissa snapped. "She drew the tarnished sickle from the bag of fate. It could just have easily been you or me, of our generation."

"Excuses, excuses..." Sirius sniffed, examining his filthy fingernails lazily. "Lies, lies, and more lies. Anything to get precious Bella off the hook."

"You're joking," Narcissa said flatly. "Surely you know of the Black family madness?"

"Those were always rumors," Sirius said, dismissive. "Malicious gossip from jealous onlookers."

"That's what your mother Walburga told you, isn't it?" Narcissa pointed out, her eyes sharp.

Sirius looked annoyed and uneasy. "So?"

"Did you think you were going to get an honest story out of her?" Narcissa said, smirking. Her eyes were cold. "Her father went mad and raped his classmate at the age of thirteen to conceive her. She couldn't exactly admit that to herself, could she?"

Hermione's jaw dropped, and Draco looked horrified next to her, going pale.

"Wait, what?" Sirius demanded, incredulous. "Pollux and Grandma Irma were married—"

"Yes, afterward, to save Irma from the shame," Narcissa informed him. "Have you truly never looked at the dates on the family tree?"

Sirius scowled, folding his arms.

"I always hated that bloody room," he muttered. "Had to go in and memorize my lineage when I was being punished. I never did the math on any of the years."

"Grandfather Pollux lost his mind when he came of an age," Narcissa told Sirius grimly. "He swore Merlin was talking to him from beyond the Veil, telling him that he had to conceive an heir who would help save the world. So he did."

Sirius choked. "Are you serious?"

"The only reason he wasn't kicked out of school is his Grandfather was still Headmaster at the time," Narcissa said. "Your mother was born, quietly raised by her grandmother until her mother graduated. But Grandfather tried again, every seven years, convinced he hadn't yet had the heir Merlin had destined him to."

Sirius looked ill. That was saying something, Hermione thought, considered he already looked very pale and sickly to begin with.

"So… what, your Dad was the true heir of Merlin or whatever, so old Pollux stopped?" Sirius asked, though his voice was shaky. "Cygnus was the youngest."

"No," Narcissa said primly. "Irma finally grew a spine and cut his testicles off."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and Sirius and Draco both flinched violently, their hands instinctively flying to cover their privates as if they were suddenly under threat.

"And they stayed married?" Hermione said, astonished. Narcissa smiled grimly.

"Didn't have much of a choice, did they?" she said lightly. "She'd been forced into a child marriage because she'd been raped, forever stunting her magic. Pollux had three children he had to raise, so he couldn't exactly leave and abandon his heirs…"

Hermione was sickened, but she simultaneously felt a flush of pride and vengeance for this unknown woman.

"Still," Sirius said. "One bad apple doesn't mean the whole tree is bad."

"What about your Aunt Lucretia?" Narcissa snapped. "She lost her mind too."

"She was severely ill," Sirius objected. "They had to keep her indoors so she wouldn't get more sickly—"

"Did she ever seem sickly to you, at family gatherings?" Narcissa interrupted. "Or did she seem fine, if a little odd?"

Sirius faltered.

"Err—she always seemed strong. Thin, but strong," he said slowly. "But she always wore bandages to hide her boils—"

"Her scars," Narcissa corrected. "She wore bandages because her parents and husband didn't want anyone to see her scars."

Sirius didn't get it. "Scars? From what?"

"From trying to kill herself," Narcissa said. She shook her head. "Sirius, do you genuinely not know this? They kept her locked up in a tower with nothing sharp, with the windows jinxed so she couldn't jump out."

"Dad—Dad told me she was an eccentric sorceress," Sirius said. "She would write her spell crafting on the walls of her research tower—"

"She was mad," Narcissa said flatly. "She could barely show emotion or care about other people, she didn't have or maintain relationships, and she didn't want to do anything, ever. She spoke like she was a stroke victim at times – just words all garbled together, completely nonsensical—"

"I don't remember that," Sirius defended. "I mean, I remember it was hard to follow along with her more advanced concepts—"

"I'm four years older than you," Narcissa said darkly. "I remember."

"She was married," Sirius objected. "No one would marry a madwoman!"

"She went mad in her twenties," Narcissa shot back. "Uncle Ignatius did the best he could to protect her, but he married her solely to avoid scrutiny from his family. Anyone with one eye could tell he was practically a woman himself."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who winced. He mouthed the word "bent" at her, and Hermione settled back down uncomfortably, watching the cousins continue to fight.

"She was still alive last I knew," Sirius said. "What happened?"

"She finally figured out a way to kill herself," Narcissa said flatly. "It wasn't pretty."

"What, despite the tower? I thought if they'd kept her locked up—"

"She bashed her head into the stone wall over and over until she died," Narcissa informed him. "The funeral was a closed-casket affair, and the House Elf who had to clean her tower afterward had a mental breakdown and had to be sent away."

Sirius looked disturbed. "That's—well, that's—"

"The House of Black is cursed with madness," Narcissa said curtly. "I watched my sister morph before me into someone I hardly knew. But you did not change. That was the difference, in why I never visited you. She was mad and did not know what she was doing, while you knew exactly what you had done."

There was a very heavy silence.

"Bellatrix is evil and murdered a ton of people," Sirius said flatly.

"I'm well aware," Narcissa said calmly. "Nevertheless, I maintain she would not have if she had not gone mad."

"But she did go mad, didn't she? She went off and—"

"Her affliction is not her fault, and I'm done justifying myself to you," Narcissa said curtly. "I didn't visit you in Azkaban. I have apologized for this. Now, are you going to accept my apology so we can move forward, or are you going to sit and be insolent about it and remain a wanted criminal forever?"

Hermione could tell from the struggle on Sirius' face that he was having a hard time with the choice. She wondered if Sirius and Narcissa had argued so much as cousins when they were younger. From the way they had both settled into fighting immediately, she wouldn't be surprised if they had.

"Fine." Sirius scowled. "I accept your apology."

"Excellent," Narcissa said primly. She snapped her fingers. "Dobby? Bring more tea."

A House Elf appeared a moment later, bearing a serving tray, and it replaced the existing tea tray with a fresh one, loaded with chocolate biscuits and lemon tarts, before the elf disappeared once more.

"That Lucius' elf?" Sirius asked, as Narcissa poured the tea. "Where is old Lucy, anyway?"

The thought that Lucius was missing hadn't occurred to Hermione. She'd presumed he was just elsewhere in the house, doing other things. She glanced at Narcissa, who had gone somewhat still. Her face was smooth, emotionless and unalarmed, but there was a definite pause as she considered what to say.

"Lucius is currently at Saint Mungo's," she said, her words slow. "He's undergoing a course of treatment for quicksilver poisoning."

"Wait, what?" Draco looked alarmed. "Mum, you said he went because he had tremors and trouble sleeping."

"Those are side effects of the quicksilver poisoning," Narcissa admitted. She gave Draco a small smile. "Rest easy, Draco. Your father has undergone similar treatments before. It will take the healers a few days to pull all the toxins from your father and help his body heal once more, but he will return healthy and hale before long."

Draco looked mildly reassured, while Hermione's mind was spinning. Mercury poisoning?

Lucius Malfoy?

It wasn't as if Lucius Malfoy worked in a dangerous muggle factory, or in an elemental laboratory. There were very few magical uses for quicksilver, and she didn't think he was an alchemist. Where on earth had Lucius Malfoy gotten mercury poisoning from? And he'd gotten it before? And now he'd gotten it again?

"Better for me, I suppose," Sirius quipped. "Me and ol' Lucy never got along."

"Yes, well," Narcissa dismissed. "Shall we move on to the reason you're even here?"

"Sure," Sirius drawled. He raised his teacup and saluted them with it. "To making me a free man, once and for all."

Narcissa seemed to be struggling not to roll her eyes.

"Miss Granger," she said. "You said you had undeniable proof of Sirius' innocence?"

"Um," Hermione said. "Of a sort. I have the person who framed Sirius captured. Presenting him will kind of prove Sirius' innocence."

"You are holding a man captive?" Narcissa repeated, her eyebrows rising.

"Well, he's a rat right now," Hermione admitted. "It's not quite as cruel as you're making it out to be."

Narcissa looked mildly impressed.

"On the contrary," she said, "keeping a man prisoner by turning him into a rat is much crueler, but practically speaking, it's undeniably easier for you."

"He's an Animagus," Sirius said. "Peter Pettigrew can turn into a rat."

"Peter Pettigrew?" Narcissa paled. "Well. That does clarify matters, doesn't it?"

"Does it?" Sirius said darkly. "He's going to still claim that I murdered all the muggles, and that he turned into a rat and went into hiding to protect himself."

"Did you murder all the muggles?" Narcissa asked.

"No, but—"

"Then the Truth Circle on the floor of the Wizengamot will tell your tale," Narcissa said, dismissive. "If I present your complaint, and you are granted temporary protection in order to have a trial, we will present Peter Pettigrew's continued existence as proof of your claim. Peter's testimony, then, will damn him, and it is he who will be charged and condemned."

Sirius shot a look at Hermione. "Is that right?"

"I'm fine with presenting him to a judge and jury," Hermione protested. "I wasn't fine with handing him over to be murdered."

Sirius muttered something under his breath, before speaking louder.

"You said you wouldn't hand me over to the Dementors because you objected to them morally," he said. "But you'll hand Peter over?"

"Peter hasn't been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss," Hermione objected. "It's not a fair comparison. Azkaban's not ideal, no, but he's not going to end up a soulless husk even if he's convicted."

Sirius looked annoyed, but he settled down.

"This seems straightforward," he said. "You present a fancily-worded complaint to the Wizengamot, they agree to see me to give me a trial, and boom! I show up, Peter's brought in, I'm freed, and the rat's sentenced to life in prison." His dark eyes glittered. "When do we start?"

Narcissa seemed contemplative.

"The soonest we could present a complaint of injustice would be the next Tuesday session," she said. "The trial itself would need to be scheduled, of course – probably that Thursday or the following Thursday night – but we need time to make sure you're presentable before that."

Sirius snickered.

"You don't think I'm beautiful just the way I am, Cissy?" he asked, patting his matted hair. "I'm hurt."

Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"I'd think you'd be more eager to get neatened up," she shot back. "You always were a vain one back in school."

Sirius' eyes darkened.

"You'd be surprised how fast Azkaban changes you," he said. "You don't exactly come out the same person you went in."

Narcissa sobered.

"No," she said. "I suppose not."

Chapter Text

Hermione and Draco left Narcissa and Sirius to argue over the wording of the complaint of injustice, opting to walk around the gardens instead. The white peacocks were indeed beautiful, and Hermione enjoyed seeing all the different blossoms and trees on the grounds. Despite the beauty, she found it hard to relax as they walked around. The Sirius Black issue continued to weight heavily on her mind.

She'd done the right thing, Hermione thought vehemently - she'd listened to him, verified his story, and taken him to the people who could help him go through the necessary legal and political steps. She had figured out a plan of action and carried out. It wasn't like she was abandoning him; she was leaving him with family.

Though, the way that 'family' had been bickering...

"Your mother will protect him, won't she?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "I understand it's fine now because your father's not nearby, but when he gets home…"

Draco winced.

"My father… isn't likely to get along with Black," he said. "Black is probably going to do something stupid like call him a Death Eater, and my Dad's very sensitive about that kind of thing."

Hermione didn't say anything. Draco looked at her sideways.

"You don't think my Dad was a Death Eater, do you?" he asked her. "You heard the story from my Mum."

Hermione had to bite her lip, hard, to stifle her instinctive snort of disbelief.

"I wasn't there, Draco," she said. "I don't know what happened or didn't happen."

"Still," Draco pressed. "He's spent all this time trying to restore the family name—"

"Draco," Hermione sighed. She turned to look him in the eye. "Do you really believe your father was under the Imperius Curse?"

Draco faltered. "What do you mean?"

"Do you honestly, genuinely believe that your father was forced into serving the Dark Lord?" she asked patiently. "Or do you think it just might be a fancy lie your father used in order to escape Azkaban, a nice lie he used so his son wouldn't grow up thinking his father was a former terrorist?"

Draco paled, then grew angry.

"My father was not a terrorist!" he snapped. "You take that back!"

"I didn't say he was," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. "I just asked you which you thought was more likely."

"Yeah, but you heavily implied it," Draco scowled. He shot her a sharp look. "What do you think?"

Hermione gave him a cool look, folding her arms.

"Do you honestly want to know what I think?" she asked. "Do you honestly want to know, knowing that I won't back down from it once I say it, and that I would absolutely thrash you in any sort of honor duel?"

Rage and frustration warred across Draco's face, and Hermione watched as he gnashed his teeth.

"They're both equally likely," he said finally, viciously. "You can't prove my Dad served him willingly. There was a trial."

"Yes, there was a trial," Hermione conceded. "With council members your father had undoubtedly bribed in advance."

"There was a Truth Circle!" Draco protested. "His testimony couldn't have had any lies!"

"It's easy to walk around the truth without telling a lie," Hermione said. "It's likely the Dark Lord put your father under the Imperius Curse at one point and forced him to do something he didn't want to, possibly for punishment or humiliation." She raised her eyebrows. "That alone would allow him to truthfully say 'I was under the Imperius Curse from the Dark Lord' as well as other vague true statements like 'just because I agreed with some of his politics doesn't mean I followed him'." Her smile was grim. "And with sympathetic questioners on the jury… before you know it, he could have been acquitted and freed."

"You can't prove that!"

Hermione shrugged. "No, I cannot..."

Draco looked fiercely triumphant for a moment, until Hermione continued.

"…but I have evidence that didn't come out at trial." She glanced at her classmate. "Evidence that I very strongly suspect would not have fallen into Lucius Malfoy's hands if he were being forced into the Dark Lord's service."

"You do not," Draco snapped. "What? What evidence do you have?"

Hermione sighed, biting her lip.

"I will tell you," she said slowly, "because I think you deserve to know the truth about your father. But Draco…" She sat down on a bench nearby in the garden, looking up at him plaintively. "Does it really matter to you?"

Draco scowled. "What do you mean, does it matter?"

"Does it matter to you if your father was a Death Eater or not?" Hermione asked calmly. "Does it really bother you if your father used to go out murdering muggles for sport?"

Draco's jaw dropped.

"How can you even say that?" he said, appalled. "How can you even say that, 'does it bother me'—"

"You thought muggles were like livestock, practically," Hermione pointed out. "You expected my parents to be dumb and mute, and you were astonished when they could converse like civilized people."

"I'd never met a muggle before!" Draco objected. "All I'd heard of was them during the witch trials—"

"You mocked the Muggleborns at school last year," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows, "telling them that they'd be next."

Draco looked frustrated. "That was different—"

"You continue to spout this nonsensical belief that purebloods are stronger than halfbloods, who are stronger than Muggleborns, when absolutely none of the evidence points to that," Hermione went on. "You've even repeated the Death Eater talking points before, saying how Muggleborns are 'stealing magic' from infant purebloods—"

"Magic is getting weaker," Draco said viciously. "It is. You can't deny it."

"Magic isn't getting weaker, wizards are getting weaker," Hermione snapped back. "And you know why that is. It's because they're cutting themselves off from Magic."

"Is that so?" Draco sneered.

"You know it's so," Hermione retorted. "I'm New Blood, with a direct line to Magic, and I'm the most powerful witch of my generation. Meanwhile, the Ministry and the government's been gradually cutting people off from the most powerful parts of magic, decrying them as 'Dark' or 'evil' just because they can't be controlled."

"You're exaggerating," Draco snarled.

"Draco, you did a ritual with me!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up. "You felt the magic. You know the power we channeled. And you know it was more powerful than anything you've ever done with a wand!"

Draco hesitated. "Yeah, but that was special—"

"Was it?" Hermione challenged. "Draco, I have a coven. I cast ritual magic regularly. And let me tell you, it is fierce, it is raw, but it is not Dark. It is no more inherently Dark than using a wand is. Ritual magic can be used for good or for evil, but it's entirely neutral by itself."

Draco looked torn between skepticism and jealousy.

"But it's hard to be controlled," Hermione went on, emphatic. "The Ministry can decide what spells to teach or not to teach. Spell creation is long, grueling work, and often rather thankless, too. Students aren't likely to take to making their own spells to do whatever they want. But with rituals – it's so much easier, Draco, you have no idea. And that scares the Ministry. People who are powerful are harder to control."

Draco looked torn, frustrated.

"You're exaggerating," he said. "Why would the Ministry want that? Why would they want to be weaker themselves?"

"The institution evolves to protect itself?" Hermione guessed. "I don't know, Draco. Why did they ban celebrating the Magical Holidays?"

Draco faltered. "Hang on. They didn't—"

"They all but banned them, and you know it," Hermione snapped. "They're never taught, they're never mentioned, and if you mention them in public, you're regarded with open suspicion of being a Dark witch unless you're in very traditional pureblood circles."

"The Dark Lord sacrificed dozens of lives on some of those holidays, Hermione!" Draco hissed. "There's a reason people don't like them – he did a lot of Dark magic with the power of those days!"

"And could another person not do an equal or greater amount of Light magic?" Hermione challenged. "Last year, my coven and I did a ritual on Beltane that freed ghosts from this plane. An utterly Light necromancy ritual, that gave them the choice once again to move on to the next plane of existence. And we could do it because it was Beltane."

Draco was shocked. "You're joking."

"I'm not. Ask any of the ghosts at Hogwarts. Ask the Bloody Baron. We tied it to the wards – the pathway to the beyond should open up again at Beltane this year." She raised her eyebrows. "Where did you think Professor Binns got off to?"

"You exorcised him?" Draco's jaw dropped. "You didn't."

"He chose to move on," Hermione snapped. "But Draco, that's my point – the Ministry doesn't want you to know that that kind of power exists. They want a weaker populace. Weak people are easier to control."

"So you're claiming that Magic isn't getting weaker, it's wizards that are making each other weaker on purpose?" Draco looked angry, now. "How do you explain the hedgewitches, then? They're too weak to even go to Hogwarts."

Hermione laughed.

"Have you visited the hedgewitches recently?" she challenged. She grinned nastily, and Draco faltered.

"Uh, no. Why would I—"

"Be careful if you do." Hermione smirked. "You may find them not quite so weak as they were before, now that they've had their magical birthright restored to them."

"Their what? Hermione—"

"Lord Voldemort gave your father a piece of his soul to protect," Hermione told Draco, getting to her feet once more and dusting off her robes. "It's called a horcrux. It's an extraordinarily Dark object. It helped Voldemort stay immortal." Hermione fixed Draco with a look. "And I severely doubt Voldemort would have given one to someone who was unwillingly serving him."

Draco froze. What little color his pale face dropped, and he looked deathly white, shaking slightly where he stood.

"What?" he wanted to know. "Where did you hear such a thing? There's no proof! What are you—"

"A horcrux can possess people and make them do things," Hermione snapped. "Your father sent it to Hogwarts last year, and it possessed someone and made them open the Chamber or Secrets to attack the Muggleborns. Your father sent that to the school to deliberately hurt the Muggleborns, Draco."

Draco's eyes were wide.

"The cursed object at the trial," he said, his voice a whisper. "The one Moody wouldn't talk about. The one that was destroyed with the basilisk venom." His eyes flew to Hermione. "How do you know—"

"Draco," Hermione sighed. "Just… just talk with your father, alright?" She sighed. "Your father was a Death Eater, Draco. He signed up for it. And the sooner you acknowledge to yourself that you know that to be true, the sooner you can decide what you want to do about it."

"Do about it?" Draco echoed, and Hermione gave him a look.

"Well," she said pointedly. "Would you still want to follow in your father's footsteps or not?"

Draco's mouth fell open once more, and Hermione decided she was completely done with the conversation.

"I'm leaving," she informed him. "Goodbye."

She refused to go back through the Floo, to have Draco escort her back through his bloody Manor. Instead, with an unnecessary grand gesture with her arms, she rose up into the air, flying. For effect, a bit of magic channeled through her fire elemental gave her fireballs in her hands, creating a fiery halo as the wind whipped around her. It was very melodramatic, she admitted to herself, but Draco was a very melodramatic person himself.

"Good-bye, Draco," Hermione bid him. "I'll see you at school."

She didn't wait to see his expression; she flew off behind his manor as fast as she could, quickly vanishing from sight. As soon as she knew Draco couldn't see her anymore, she dropped the fire and flew closer to the ground, her eyes skimming the area for what she was looking for.

She found it in the sight of a few bonfires all lit around one place, and she landed a few minutes away, walking the rest of the way, hiking up her best robes. When she emerged in the glade, a dozen or so hedgewitches were all cooking in giant cauldrons, and they looked up in surprise at her arrival.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "Does any one of you happen to have a Floo?"

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned in surprise, recognizing the friendly hedgewitch bartender she'd come to know.

"Aurican!" she exclaimed. "Fancy seeing you here!"

"I was just off to The Yard," he said. He paused and raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down. "Want to come with? You look like you might need a drink."

Hermione considered.

"You know," she said. "A drink sounds absolutely lovely right about now."

Chapter Text

Hermione's parents were not thrilled at the prospect of her staying out overnight to perform a ritual to help the hedgewitches protect themselves from werewolves.

"Why can't you do it during the day?" her mother wanted to know. "Daylight's much safer, isn't it?"

"Plus then you can avoid werewolves," her father pointed out. "They only become werewolves at night, don't they? Going out at night during the full moon seems like just asking for trouble."

"Yes, but that's kind of the point," Hermione argued. "We're doing most of the preparation during the day, but we use the light and power of the full moon in the ritual. It helps imbue the wards with the magic necessary for them to work."

Her parents exchanged a glance.

"Can your friends do this without you?" her mother asked.

"No," Hermione said emphatically. "I have to teach them how."

"And you've done it before?" her father asked.

"Well, no, but I'm the one who designed it," Hermione protested. "As part of my promise to them for youth representative, I said I'd help protect them from werewolves. Please. Mum, Dad, I have to do this."

Hermione looked at her parents pleadingly. Her parents exchanged a long look, expressions and emotions playing out a conversation their faces. Her mother raised her eyebrows and looked skeptical, while her father kept tilting his head and giving her mother different looks, glancing pointedly at things with his eyes. Finally, her mother sighed.

"You may go help your friends—"

"Yes!"

"—if you have appropriate adult supervision at the event," she finished, fixing Hermione with a stern look. "Your father and I will be coming along."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What? No, Mum—"

"It's either you take us with you, or you don't go," her mother said calmly. "Which is more important: helping your friends, or saving face in front of them with your parents?"

"You're not even magical," Hermione protested. "You can't help with the ritual – everyone will have to hold the ley line's magic—"

"From what you've described, not all of the ritual will be magical," her father pointed out. "You'll need volunteers to help lug around these wards. You'll need other people to help dig holes. You'll need someone on hand to help with any injuries. You'll need lookouts for actual werewolves."

Hermione gnashed her teeth.

"So? Which will it be?" her mother asked, folding her arms. She raised her eyebrows. "Ritual with supervision, or no ritual at all?"

To her eternal embarrassment, instead of just ignoring her parents like any normal teenagers would, the hedgewitches seemed awed by Hermione's parents coming along. It was as if they'd never met a muggle before (which, to be fair, she supposed many of them never had). A large group of hedgewitch boys, armed with spades and shovels, were questioning her dad, fascinated.

"You're Hermione's parents?" Derek said, awed. "An' like, you can't feel magic at all?"

"Not a bit of it," her dad said cheerily.

"What's with your breeches?" Derek wanted to know. "How d'you move with them all tight and stiff like that?"

"What, my jeans?" her father laughed. He bent his knees up as high as he could. "Just the same way you do, I imagine. They're not restrictive, and they're good for protection for some things."

"Wicked," breathed Worm.

Hermione's mother, at least, was being less embarrassing, conversing with Clover and Blackbeard.

"So this will protect you from werewolves?" she asked. "Does it keep them out entirely? Or kill them?"

"It won't be strong enough to kill them," Clover explained. "It'll put them in agony, though, if they try to enter the warded area when transformed. They won't stop feeling burning pain until they run out. And if they howl, we can all run out and take them down while they can't attack us."

"I see. And if a werewolf transforms inside of the area?" her mother asked mildly.

Clover and Blackbeard's expressions both darkened, and they exchanged an ominous look.

"There are no werewolves living among the hedges, ma'am," Blackbeard said, diplomatically.

"And if there are, this'll root them out for good," Clover muttered viciously.

To her credit, Hermione's mother seemed to accept this in stride and dropped the issue.

"Do we have a schematic drawn up?" she asked. "Do we know which wards will be going where?"

"We mapped out the areas," Clover said, spreading out a parchment. "We're doing three tenancies tonight, if we can."

Hermione's mother was startled. "Three?"

"The Notts', Longbottoms', and Shafiqs'," Clover said. "We're only doing the Shafiq's 'cause they're right next to the Longbottoms anyway and smaller. We'll need more silver to cover the Lestranges' and Greengrass' next time."

Hermione's mother blinked.

"Well," she said. She looked up. "I'm supposing this is 'central command' because you produced all these beautiful silver pieces?"

"Wards, madam." Blackbeard grinned at her. "But yes, I cast the wards in silver."

Her mother turned back to look at Hermione.

"Hermione, come here," she said, gesturing. "If we're going to have these boys dig dozens of holes, we need to be able to tell them where to go."

"I know," Hermione said, annoyed. She joined Clover and her mother at the table all the same. "They didn't have these maps ready the last time I was here, okay?"

"Well, they have them now, dear," her mother said, patting her on the back. "Work with Clover on this, will you? I'll go make sure the First Aid station is set up properly and help Aurican with the refreshment table."

Her mother strode off back towards the empty clearing that had become a sort of 'home base' for the ritual activities, Clover and Hermione watching her go.

"'First Aid station'?" Clover asked. "'Refreshment table'?"

Hermione groaned.

"My parents dragged folding tables through your Floo and a bunch of medical supplies," she said. "They're convinced people are going to get hurt digging holes or that they'll forget to drink water and end up dehydrated."

She hadn't even been sure if her parents would be able to use the Floo, being muggles. They'd figured out together the Floo required Hermione to be the one to toss the powder in and yell out the destination, but it was the Floo powder and system itself that was magic, not the traveler. Hermione's parents took to the form of magical travel in an instant, having Hermione follow them back and forth for several trips to transport all their supplies, like a real-life version of the fox-chicken-feed boat problem that had annoyed Hermione as a child.

Better to Floo several times than an hours-long car ride into the countryside, though, Hermione supposed.

"To be fair, someone is likely to get hurt digging a stupid hole," Clover pointed out. "The boys will start having competitions to see who can dig a hole the fastest, and someone's going to end up twisting an ankle or bashing themself in the head."

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione dismissed. "Still. She's so annoying. I could have done all this on my own."

"On the contrary," Clover said, smirking, "I think she's awesome."

"Awesome?" Hermione's jaw dropped. "My mother?"

"She's a muggle, but she's here, unafraid, and she's helping everyone else get set up," Clover said, grinning. "She strode in, saw what needed to be done, and immediately took charge. That's a woman who knows what she wants to do, and who knows exactly how to get it done."

Hermione made a face.

"Anyway," she said. "We need to do these diagrams. If we need a ward every so far…"

They took to drawing on the diagrams. The trick wasn't to spread them out a set distance apart, Hermione explained, but to put them at key places to help cast a net.

"These shield knots at the corners are crucial," Hermione said, drawing, "but we need the quarternary ones at the intersection areas and between the far apart shield knots to help hold the net together."

Clover frowned. "So shield knots at the corners, shield knots on the perimeter at street intersections, and the round diamond ones between them all and in the middle of the streets?"

"Close," Hermione said. "Here, like this…"

Once they were done diagramming out all of the locations, they took them over to the First Aid station. Hermione's mother swept the maps up, examining them critically.

"I need Team Longbottom!" she called out.

To Hermione's astonishment, about a dozen hedgewitches immediately broke out of the larger group and approached her mother, spades laid over their shoulders. Hermione had no idea they'd already been divided into teams. Hermione drifted out of the way, taking up a spot next to her father as she watched her mother take control.

"Right, you'll need 32 Shield Knots, and 48 Quarternary Knots," her mother instructed them. "That's 32 round ones, and 48 square ones. Who's Team Captain for the Longbottom Team?"

"I am, Ma'am," Derek said, stepping forward, and her mother handed him the drawing.

"Remember: holes need to be at least a foot down, and a foot either in diameter or in sides of a square to fit each ward." She nodded to the side. "Go get your flags from the table over there – red for diamonds, blue for circles – and make sure your team maps out everything with the stakes before anyone starts digging. It's much less work to correct a flag than fill in and re-dig a hole."

"Where did Mum get the flags?" Hermione whined to her Dad. "She seriously has little stations all set out. She even brought a water cooler."

Her Dad grinned sheepishly.

"That might've been me," he admitted. "I got excited and wanted to help out. I went out to get supplies first thing today."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"You said you were going to get extra medical supplies from the dental practice," she accused.

"Well, I did that. But then I went and got more things," her father said reasonably. He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. "I thought it'd be helpful. And it has been so far, hasn't it?"

Hermione snatched the paper, eyes rapidly scanning over it:

• Folding tables
• Water cooler
• Paper cups
• Rubbish bin for cups
• Bandages
• Alcohol wipes
• Antiseptic
• Tent stakes
• Colored flags
• Cheap battery-powered torches
• Megaphone?
• New trainers
  

Hermione glanced down at her father's feet, which were indeed sporting new trainers, and he grinned.

"C'mon love," he cajoled her. "This is your old Dad's one chance to actually help do magic. Let me have some fun and help you, alright?"

Hermione sniffed, folding her arms.

"It's just… Mum is doing what I was supposed to do," she admitted. "I was supposed to be the leader. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Oh, you are the leader, love," her Dad reassured her. "Your mother is just helping designate the mundane logistics. She's freeing you up to worry about the important part, the magic bits. She's not going to be able to help spread out the rune wards or tell everybody when and where to bleed."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's fair."

"Why don't you go figure out how to get these massive piles of silver distributed all over the country before sundown?" her father suggested, eyes sparkling. "Meanwhile, I'm going to trounce these boys and show them how a man properly digs a hole."

Chapter Text

Hours later, Hermione had to admit that having her parents help out had been a godsend.

"A lot of people would have passed out from exhaustion, I think, if we didn't have the muggle Cooling Charm bucket," Jerran told Hermione at one point. "A lot. Holes are hard. The water helped keep our spirits up. And it made Keenan feel useful, to have something to do, helping give out water."

"These flags're the best," Derek had proclaimed, waving a tent spike with a scrap of plastic attached to it at Hermione. "D'you know how many times we would've messed up an' dug holes in the wrong place? A lot. People jus' can't listen, I guess, but these things saved us a ton of digging an' re-digging…"

"They're pretty chill for parents, aren't they?" Aurican commented at one point. "We told them we needed to make giant bonfires, and they didn't even blink, just directed us to a place where there wasn't any grass."

Hermione regarded her parents, who were both helping a boy who had a deep gash in his calf from enthusiastically missing the ground with his shovel.

"Yeah," Hermione had admitted. "For parents, they're kind of cool."

Hermione had taken her father's words earlier to heart, and she'd focused on the magic of the ritual. She double-checked that everyone knew where to go and what supplies they would need. She supervised small groups practicing connecting to the ley line in the village, growing impressed despite herself at how well Derek and Clover had passed on the knowledge they'd only recently acquired themselves. She taught groups of adults and resting diggers the chant they would need, having them all practice reciting with her like a toneless concert, feeling very much like a school teacher all the while. It had needed done, though, and Hermione was pleased and confident that everything would work.

After supervising chanting practice, Hermione and Clover made big piles of the silver wards each tenancy would need, separating them out and labeling them before addressing the largest pressing issue: how to get the giant piles of silver from place to place.

The diggers had just been flying around with their shovels tied to their brooms, but it wasn't exactly feasible to tie 50+ large silver slabs to a broomstick. It had been Clover's complaining that so few people had a proper Floo that inspired Hermione – could they use the Floo?

Old Man Hobbs had taken up a spot shining all the silver wards with Blackbeard before they were to be put in the ground, grumbling all the while (it was entirely unnecessary, but Hermione figured maybe if the wards were shiny, they'd reflect more moonlight, so it could help, theoretically). Old Man Hobbs knew enough about the Floo network to help Hermione out.

"The Ministry are a bunch of fools, but they're not complete lumps," he snorted. "They have their Floo network all linked up so no one gets lost or ends up in a random fire getting burned. Their little maps and fireplace runes help keep people safe. But Floo powder used to be kept in your pocket in a sachet at all times, in case the muggles came a'calling."

"The muggles?" Hermione asked, curious.

"'Course," Old Man Hobbs said, squinting at her with his one good eye. "If the muggles found you, what do you think happened?"

"Umm," Hermione said. "Something bad?"

"They'd call you a witch," Old Man Hobbs said patiently, "an' then they'd drag you off to be burned."

Hermione's jaw dropped open as he continued on.

"Floo powder, it was a last resort," he told her. "If you could wiggle enough to get it to fall out o' your pocket and your fire to turn green, you had a chance at escaping – though then they'd know for sure you were a witch." His face was grim. "We've come a long way since that – muggles don't believe in witches anymore, I reckon – but Floo powder used to work just fine in great bonfires. No bloody fireplace needed."

Clover had been dispatched to Diagon Alley with a bag of gold, and she'd returned with several large sacks of Floo powder, heaving with effort as she dragged them back through the fireplace.

"It's two sickles a scoop, you know?" she said, panting as Hermione helped her with the bags. "D'you know how many scoops you can get for twenty galleons?"

"A lot?" Hermione ventured.

"A hundred seventy," Clover stressed. "A hundred seventy scoops."

Hermione instructed the hedges to make great bonfires at each site – one at the Longbottom tenancy, and one where they were at the Notts'. The hedges had decided the Longbottom estate was close enough to the Shafiqs' to only worry about one fire.

They'd put great buckets of Floo powder near each bonfires. With Clover helping, tossing a big scoop of Floo powder into the fire each time, Hermione had managed to levitate the silver wards through the giant glowing green bonfire to the other places they were needed – much easier than flying them all over the countryside. Hermione and Clover had celebrated when it had worked, thrilled at their discovery.

Having only two bonfires helped a lot. With only one street and two endpoints, there was little danger of anyone accidentally going to the wrong place. Hermione idly wondered if there was a way to crystallize the Floo powder into a solid thing, like a glowing green coal that could just be kept at the center of a bonfire, instead of needing to throw in more Floo powder each time.

She let the idea pass, though. She already had quite enough to do.

As dusk grew closer, the older hedges began to emerge, some of the women bearing large cauldrons of stew to share. Old wooden bowls and spoons appeared as if from nowhere, and the hedges all lined up to get food with the practice of people long since used to doing so. People ate and talked and laughed as they ate, the sun slowly setting.

As dusk approached, the hedges seemed to shift, growing from easygoing and light to more intense and serious. There was a fierce determination in their gait, now, even as they played with the flashlights Hermione's father was handing out.

It was kind of creepy, Hermione thought, to see how tense everybody grew. There were no children out, and there were lookouts posted on the side of the village nearest the trees with silver daggers and spears. As the moon rose, a lone wolf howled, and Hermione felt shivers run up her spine.

Almost silently, each hedgewitch went to their appointed hole, bearing their rune and their dagger, and Hermione levitated herself onto the roof of a tall center building of the little down to try and get the best view of everybody possible. She tapped her wand to her throat, murmuring "Sonorus", and cleared her throat.

"Is everybody at their positions?" Hermione called. "Can we get a final check?"

Her voice rang out over the area, and there were affirmative cries all around. Her dad and Blackbeard ran through the village, quickly double-checking that each hole had a hedgewitch positioned next to it. At their confirmation, Hermione drew herself up.

"Ready?" she said. "Let us begin."

A few flashlights were left on, laid on the ground nearby to help some, but the light of the full moon was bright enough for Hermione to see everyone. She watched as all of the hedgewitches, all one hundred of them needed to cover the expanse of the Notts' lands, settled down, meditating on their magic and going into their cores.

As each person reached equilibrium, they began to hum. Soon, there was an eerie hum carried throughout the entire area, echoing into the forest beyond. Hermione reached down into the ley line with her own magic, careful to keep hers separate, and realized she could feel all the hedgewitches harmonizing with it, linking up their cores.

It was incredible, to feel this. It was magical. And everyone else seemed to realize it, because when the last person linked up, very suddenly, everyone hushed.

Hermione had gone over the ritual with them all very carefully, instructing them all on what needed to be done. The hedges hadn't flinched at the blood needed, and they'd all practiced the chanting together. She watched as it all came together now, each hedgewitch cutting their hand deeply with a knife and holding it over their rune to bleed.

As their blood dripped from their hands, filling up the rune channels that had been pressed into each silver ward, the hedges began to chant.

"With our daggers, we cut our hands
With our blood, we defend our lands."

There was a feeling of tension, of magic growing and charging the air as the channels of each rune filled with blood. Hermione could feel it prickling her skin, could feel it humming around her. She glanced over at her parents, who stood over by the medical table with Blackbeard and Keenan. It was clear that Blackbeard and Keenan could feel the magic from the tension in their stance, while her parents watched with curious eyes.

"With our silver, we repel all harm
With the moonlight, we charge our charm."

The full channels of blood in each rune began to glow an unearthly silvery-white. It was like liquid moonlight, almost, forming tiny rivers within each rune stone, barely contained by its meniscus. Hermione watched the hedges' eyes all widen in shock that they were actually doing magic, but practice and discipline kept them chanting as planned.

"With our magic, we combine and connect—"

Hermione could feel the sudden drain on the ley line, as each hedgewitch took as much power from the ley line as they could and pushed it into their rune.

"—With our spell, this land we protect."

The effect was electric.

Beams of unearthly silvery light lit up the village, light going from one rune to another to another, connecting all of the hedges' silver wards together in a glowing silvery-white net. Light traveled, linking rune to rune, beam by beam, until every hedgewitch had a glowing silver ward, each one a link in the net of magic. It practically hummed, so powerful was their warded net.

It had worked. It had worked. They had done it.

Now that the wards were effectively 'charged', from blood, moonlight, and magic, Hermione could feel the hedges gradually disconnect from the ley line running through the town. There were gasps and murmurs, and Hermione watched as people carefully set their rune wards down on the ground before leaping to their feet, running to each other and hugging fiercely, laughing in celebration.

"We did it!" Clover cried, throwing herself at Derek, who hugged her back just as fiercely.

"We did that," Worm marveled. "I'll be. We did that. Magic."

It was a triumphant, happy atmosphere as the hedgewitches congratulated each other, all of them in awe and beaming, proud of themselves. Most of them had never cast big magic, Hermione reminded herself, and she watched for a long moment as they celebrated, before she drew them back to the task at hand.

"Everybody be careful!" Hermione called out. "We need to be sure the wards are all buried before the moon goes down. If we want to do the Longbottom tenancy next, we'll need to be quick to make sure there's still enough moonlight left."

That sobered the hedges somewhat, but even as they each ran back to their hole, carefully placing each ward inside before scooping dirt back into it, there was happy laughter and teasing catcalls from across the village, the sense of glee and success unable to be denied.

"Quietus." Hermione holstered her wand and levitated herself off of the roof she'd stood on and made her way over to her parents, who watched her approach with amusement.

"Did you see?" she said excitedly. "Did you see? It worked!"

"Did it, dear?" her mother said. "Well done, then!"

"That was excellent," her father said. "Everyone chanting together – very mysterious and cool."

Hermione faltered, looking at her parents.

"Well, yes – that was the spell – but the net…"

Dawning realization slowly spread over Hermione, and her eyes flew to Blackbeard and Keenan nearby. Keenan grinned at her.

"That was awesome," she said, waving her stump arm emphatically. "So cool when everything started glowing. I can't believe it worked so well!"

Hermione's eyes went to Blackbeard, who was giving her a small smile.

"It was beautiful," he assured her. "Seeing the light of the magic, even if I couldn't help weave it. And now everyone's safe – that's a gift beyond measure, to us."

Hermione looked back at her parents, who were now discussing the logistics of treating everyone's cut hands before the hedges just went and cut them open again at the next ritual site.

Did they…?

Could they really not…?

Hermione stood still.

She had thought her parents would at least see something. The glowing blood in the runes, the light connecting each ward – that was physical, that was light, surely her parents would have been able to see that, even if they couldn't sense the magic – but her parents hadn't seen anything. They hadn't even realized the ritual had worked.

Hermione had thought they could tell, somehow. She'd thought they would be able to see. Why did she think that? Why? She wracked her brain, dredging up the memory of casting a protection spell on the house with them once. Her parents had reacted then, to the end of the spell. She remembered it. Her father had wanted to know where the blood on the door posts had gone. And her mother had been startled when the candles had gone out…

"Is that it…?"

It was a really weird feeling, realizing that her parents hadn't felt or seen the magic of the ritual at all. The first ritual she'd done with them, they only reacted to the end because physical things had changed – the blood was gone, and the candles she'd lit traditionally had gone out. But they hadn't felt the magic, they hadn't heard the clap, and must not have seen the glow of the blood at all.

And now. Hermione knew her parents were muggles – of course she knew that, she wasn't stupid – but there was still an odd feeling of realization, of slow comprehension. Her parents were muggles – they wouldn't have been able to participate in the ritual as they couldn't channel magic – but somehow, Hermione had expected them to realize something was going on.

She thought they'd be able to see the runes glowing with moonlight, maybe. She thought they'd be able to see the light illuminating the village. She'd thought it was light. And muggles could see light. They just couldn't see magic.

But the light had been magic. It wasn't just light at all.

There was an odd mournful feeling swelling in Hermione, one that was entirely irrational, but it grew anyway. It was a sense of loss for her parents, for not being able to share the beauty and success of this moment with them, and knowing that as much as they supported her, they'd always remain partially cut off from this part of her life.

"It was really pretty, mum," Hermione told her. She found her eyes were wet, and she dashed the tears away. "The runes all lit up with moonlight, and then the magic connected them all, like a giant net made of light."

"Did it really?" her father asked. "That's neat. A net... so is the 'protection' caught inside of it? Or is it more like a faraday cage, diverting threats down the sides of it and away?"

"It sounds very pretty, Hermione," her mother told her, smiling gently at her. "I would have liked to see it."

The hedges were still whooping and talking, filling in their holes to cover up their runes. Her father set about gathering up some of the supplies with Blackbeard, and Hermione leaned back against her mother, who took her and enfolded her in her arms in a close hug without a word as they watched the hedgewitches work to fill in their holes.

"I wish you could have seen it, mum." Hermione's voice was choked up, quiet as it was. "It really was beautiful."

"I know, dear," her mother murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow. "I know."

Chapter Text

"You expected muggles to see magic?" Susan repeated. The coven was in the woods behind Luna's back yard, with everybody digging holes and preparing the area for their coven headquarters. She blinked. "Hermione."

"I didn't think they'd see magic," Hermione shot back, shoving her spade into the ground and jumping on it. "I thought they'd see the light."

"And… you didn't realize the light was magic…?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?" Hermione snarled. "Light's a particle. It's a wavelength and a beam. I didn't know magic could be a particle just the same."

"Easy, Hermione," Blaise cautioned. "It's a simple misunderstanding. Susan grew up knowing that magic could look like that, while you did not."

"How would I have known that?" Hermione said frustratedly, digging up a large clod of earth. "I thought magic caused the light, not that magic was the light. Ugh."

"Well, at least we know the spell worked," Harry said cheerfully, digging with his own spade. "We're using an adapted version of it for our foundation wardstones, right?"

"Yes," Luna said. "After we bury our wardstones, we can lay out the outside border of our tree house for the builders to use."

"Is it still a treehouse?" Susan mused. "Or is it more of just a clubhouse?"

"If it's going to be around that tree, and sprawl up into the branches, I'd say it's a treehouse," Harry grinned. "Wouldn't you?"

Blaise looked at Hermione from his place, some distance away where he was digging his hole.

"You alright there, Hermione?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Hermione grumbled. "Now I just have to find a way to do a double-slit experiment with bloody magic to figure out what magic is…"

Blaise gave her an odd look, but he shrugged, returning to digging his own giant hole in the ground.

Each time Hermione thought she understood something about magic, the rules shifted and changed, she thought, annoyed. She'd thought she'd understood how runes worked, and then secondary runic meanings had come into play. She'd thought she'd understood how Dark magic worked, only to realize no, she didn't, now oops, it was too late to go back. And she'd thought she'd understood that magic could cause physical effects, so it could cause a beam of light.

She scowled at herself, furiously digging her hole. She felt stupid about it, now, in retrospect. Spells looked like colored light in duels, didn't they? Had she really thought they were shooting beams of light at each other, instead of thinking that magic could look like light?

It was embarrassing, honestly, even if only to herself.

"We need ten holes?" she heard Harry ask, and she tore herself out of her angry self-reflection to look up and answer his question.

"Ten holes," she confirmed. "One at each of the vertices, and one midway between each one of those."

"Are we sure we want a pentagon house?" Harry asked skeptically. "I mean, I get that there's five of us, but I feel like it's going to look a little wonky…"

"Harry, it's literally meant to house our coven," Susan said. "Of course it has to have five points and five sides."

"I'm just saying, it seems a bit silly! So does building it with this great big tree right in the middle of it – why not start off on one side instead? It doesn't make sense—"

"This is the treehouse we're meant to build, Harry," Luna told him solemnly. "This is right."

Harry faltered in the face of Luna's certainty. "Well – sure. It's just unusual, though…"

"Everything we do is unusual, Potter," Blaise drawled. "You're not used to it by now?"

Her holes dug, Hermione went over to the pile of runes she had brought. She had taken a gold ingot from her vault back to the hedgewitch village, and Blackbeard had been all too happy to assist her, helping melt it to cast her Shield Knots in gold and trading five Quarternary Knots in silver for the remaining gold. She levitated each ward over to its appropriate hole.

"So we're not using a leyline for this, right?" Blaise asked her. "We're not using the moon either. So how's this going to work differently?"

"We'll unite as a coven and use our own personal magic," Hermione told him. "I mean, I guess the blood might light up in the color of our magic? So mine would be purple, Harry's red, yours green, and so on. But that's just a guess, honestly. We'll have to wait and see."

"What about the chant?" he asked.

"It's a simple alteration," Hermione assured him. "Don't worry. Really."

"This one's really common," Susan added in. "Old families still do this one all the time. Though, granted, they usually do it in Latin…"

"Better English than Latin," Harry said. "I don't know if I'd be able to pronounce any of that right."

"English is better," Luna agreed. "We're in England, not in Rome."

Hermione blinked. "…right."

There was a scuffle for a moment as Susan handed out ritual robes and everyone put them on. No one had wanted to get their formal robes dirty as they dug holes, and there were a few moments of everyone doing up the clasps on the front, keeping their arms inside, and quickly undoing the buttons on their other robe, shucking the dirty clothes to the ground before they were hastily stuffed into bags.

They each got into position by their hole at a vertex. They'd agreed to arrange themselves in the same pattern they'd been in when they'd united as a coven, and Susan had dug out their original candles, the ones that had turned colors on Beltane. They'd set up the colored candles opposite their vertex, to form a reversed pentagon within their own.

"Is everybody ready?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said, looking around. "I can't find my knife. Where did it—"

"Got it," Luna said, finding it near a discarded shovel. "Catch!"

She tossed the dagger across the clearing, and despite Hermione and Susan both yelling in protest, Harry plucked it out of the air effortlessly, eyes wide.

"Jeez, Luna," Harry said, laughing awkwardly, though he looked pale. "You could have impaled me!"

"You could have stepped aside and let it land behind you," Luna pointed out. She laughed. "You decided to actually try and catch the silly thing."

Harry turned red.

"Err—that's true," he admitted. He cleared his throat. "Alright. I'm ready now."

Each of them knelt, settling their ritual robes around them on the ground. Hermione closed her eyes, focusing on her core and settling into her magic, and around her, she could feel her coven doing the same thing. Across the clearing, Susan began to hum, and Hermione joined in, all of them harmonizing as their magic evened out and harmonized with itself too.

As if as one, they all opened their eyes. They each took their dagger, pressing it hard into their palms. Hermione winced as her palm stung sharply, the pain burning, and she watched as blood streamed down her hand, filling up the gold channels of her rune.

"With our daggers, we cut our hands," they chanted. "With our blood, we defend our lands."

Hermione thought she was used to the feeling of powerful magic building in the air by now, but each time, it still took her breath away.

The blood against the gold looked striking up close, even in the dappled sunlight through the trees. Hermione was reminded of an old legend she'd heard, where a metal smith had been charged to cast a great bell, but the casting had been cursed, and the bell had turned out pitted, as had the recasting. The third time, the metal smith's daughter had hurled herself into the molten metal itself, horrifying everyone but breaking the curse, and the bell had turned out whole, though with the metal streaked with red.

"With our silver, we repel all harm," they chanted. "With our gold, we charge our charm."

Hermione watched as the blood in her ward began to brighten, turning from a dark red to a glowing violet light. Next to her, the Quarternary knot wards' channels lit up with magic, glowing blue and yellow next to her, and the candles at each spontaneously lit.

The magic in the clearing continued to build, almost tangible, as they finished their spell.

"With our magic, we combine and connect," they chanted. "With our spell, this place we protect!"

There was a whoosh, and the wards lit up with a blinding white light, glowing brightly. Hermione had to look away from the brilliance until it faded to a more manageable level, making a massive pentagon around the central tree of their intended clubhouse.

"It worked!" Susan crowed, from across the clearing. "We did it! It worked!"

"You said it was really common," Blaise challenged, grinning. "Now you sound surprised that it worked at all."

"I'm not surprised, I'm just excited," Susan defended. "I've never done it myself!"

"Well, now you have," Hermione said, laughing. "Let's get these buried in the ground. I don't know how long the light will last, but it seems like a good idea to get this all finished before it goes out, right?"

"Race you," Harry challenged Blaise, shoving his body into the mound of dirt next to his pile.

"Oh, Potter, you're on." Blaise began shoveling dirt into his hole as fast as possible, and Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned as placed her ward in the hole and filled her own hole in. Filling her hole was much faster than digging it, at least. They'd decided together to dig their holes by hand as part of the magic, instead of making holes in the earth with their elementals, and it had been a lot more grueling than Hermione had anticipated. Her respect for the hedgewitches who had done nothing but dig holes all afternoon had significantly grown.

Harry won the first fill-in-the-hole race, to much laughter and sarcastic applause, and everyone had rotated around the tree to the hole across from their original one, filling in the hole where their colored candle stood.

"So our blood magic is going to keep it safe?" Harry asked. "So no one who means one of us harm will be able to enter?"

"Exactly," Luna said. "We had to do this step ourselves because of that. But now Daddy will be able to send the builders in. The builders won't mean us harm, so they'll be able to start building immediately."

"Neat." Harry looked mildly impressed. Hermione glanced at him, but he seemed occupied with filling in his hole.

"They should be done within a few months," Hermione said, watching him carefully. "Before the summer for sure."

"Really?" Harry said. "Excellent." He paused, making a face. "I'll have to see if the Weasleys will let me stay again, after I'm free to leave the Dursleys' again, so I can come join you all for coven things."

Hermione paused.

"Harry," she said gently. "You won't have to go to the Dursleys' again."

Harry sighed and gave her a sad, resigned smile.

"No, I do," he said. "Dumbledore explained it to me. I have to go to the Dursleys' once a year for a while because—"

"Because of the protection your mother gave you, and her blood running through her sister allotting you some sort of protection at her house," Hermione cut in. "Right?"

Harry was caught off-guard. "Err—yeah, something like that."

"Your mother's blood also runs through you," Hermione pointed out. "And Harry, you just put up a real blood ward around what will be a house of your own."

Harry faltered, his eyes growing wide.

"Wait," he breathed, staring at Hermione. "There's no way—"

"Whatever protection is in your blood will have been in the blood that filled up the channels of your ward," Hermione said. "Harry, this treehouse—it will be safe for you in the summer. In all ways," she stressed, looking at him, "not just from Death Eaters."

It was interesting to watch the change that came over Harry. He'd been patting the dirt overtop of his second hole, settling it in, only to stop and stare at Hermione. His eyes had grown wide, his mouth slightly agape, and shock had played over his face as Hermione had explained. He stared at her silently for a moment afterward, astonished, his bright green eyes slowly filling with tears before Hermione abruptly found herself tackled to the ground in a violent hug, Harry yelling in her ear.

"—never go back! I'll never have to go back! Oh, Hermione, I could kiss you—"

"Let me up!" Hermione laughed, pushing Harry back a little. "Harry! Let me breathe!"

"What's all this, Potter?" Blaise drawled from behind her, as Hermione fought to sit up. "We all help make the blood wards for you, but only Hermione gets a hug? I'm hurt."

There was a sudden impact from the side, toppling Hermione and Harry to the ground once again, and Hermione squealed as Blaise was suddenly tackling them both.

"Blaise! Get off!"

"Oh no, if this is a coven group hug, then I get to give hugs too—"

There were twin whomps from the other side as Luna and Susan joined in, laughing, throwing themselves into the hugging pile on the ground. Someone's robes were in Hermione's eyes, someone's knee in her ribs, and she was fairly sure Harry's face was still buried somewhere in her armpit, but Hermione couldn't help but join in the laughter. It was such a happy and triumphant moment for them all, for Harry, and the laughter felt like pure joy.

As they settled down, pushing back and sitting up one by one, Hermione was gradually freed from the pile, until it was only Harry clinging to her around her waist.

"Harry," Hermione said, laughing. "Come on."

"No." Harry's voice was somewhat muffled against her middle, tickling her.

"Harry!"

"Nothing doing," Harry said stubbornly. "I'm not done hugging you yet."

Hermione laughed again, and she ran her fingers through his hair fondly. Susan laughed and started cleaning up, Luna assisting with gathering the bloodied daggers. Blaise raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shrugged helplessly. What was she supposed to do? Harry was clearly emotional, and if he still needed to hug her for a while longer, who was she to deny him?

She let him stay like that, clinging to her for a while longer, before she moved from running her hands through his hair to patting his back.

"Harry…" she said gently. "Come on."

"Oh, fine," Harry said. He pulled back, pouting. "If I must."

The others laughed, and they finished gathering up their supplies. Hermione packed up the ritual components and checked to make sure she had all their candles before slinging the bag over her shoulder to head back through the forest to the Lovegood house.

"We're lucky we were able to do this during the spring," Luna mused. "Walking around in ritual robes in the sun in summer would have been hot."

"We could have used cooling charms," Blaise said, looking at Luna in alarm. "Surely this area's been designated a magical area by your father?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said. "But the robes would have still been quite hot, wouldn't they? Unless you cast your charm on your robes, instead of yourself, but people often don't think of what their clothing might be feeling in addition to themselves—"

Harry fell into step alongside Hermione, taking up the back, and he nudged her. She looked up, his bright green gaze meeting her own.

"Thank you," he said. "Hermione, thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," Hermione dismissed. "It was all of us—"

"Don't," Harry cut her off. His eyes were intense on hers. "Don't pretend you didn't do this for me. You would have had us do this over the summer, and we'd probably have built the treehouse ourselves, too, if I hadn't told you about the Dursleys."

With his eyes piercing hers, Hermione found she couldn't lie.

"…I accelerated the timeline," she finally admitted. She bit her lip. "After you told me… Harry, I just couldn't let you go back…"

Harry's eyes looked wet.

"I didn't tell you all that so you'd help save me," he chuckled, rubbing his eyes and looking away. "Not that I'm not grateful, mind you—"

"Oh no, I know," Hermione assured him. "And your story did help, you know – I was able to dig deep and harness my Sith side after all."

Harry laughed.

"Well, I'm glad I helped with that at least," he said. He gave her a grin. "But… really, Hermione. Thanks."

Hermione gave him a soft smile, her heart warm. "Anytime, Harry."

Harry walked quicker, catching up with Susan and Luna, and Blaise fell back to fall into step with Hermione at her side.

"Your 'Sith' side?" Blaise questioned.

Hermione chuckled. "It's nothing. It's a reference to—"

"The muggle space drama," Blaise cut in. "The one with the light swords."

Hermione turned to stare at Blaise.

"…yes," she said slowly. "Star Wars. How did you…?"

"Professor Burbage showed us one of them in class when she wasn't feeling well," Blaise said. "She told us muggles had gone to space, and when some students didn't believe her, she figured out a way to play the film on the wall with magic."

"Star Wars is not factual," Hermione objected, horrified. "Don't tell me—"

"Oh no, she made sure we knew it was made up," Blaise said hastily. "Not everyone understood the concept of fiction, but—well—she didn't have video of the actual moon landing, so it sufficed. Anyway…"

He looked at her squarely, eyes serious for once.

"If you've gotten in touch with your 'Sith' side…" he said, trailing off. His eyebrows quirked, questioning, and Hermione felt her mouth dry.

"I…"

"I trust you," Blaise said quietly, gently. "Whatever the reason, I trust it was a good one." His eyes met hers again, soft. "But Hermione… why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione couldn't speak; her throat had dried up, her mouth as if it had been coated with sand.

"I…" she coughed. "Blaise, I…"

She faltered, looking away under Blaise's intense gaze, and she cleared her throat again. Next to her, Blaise waited patiently, not saying anything. They walked in silence for a long moment, Hermione gathering her thoughts.

"I didn't want you to think ill of me," she admitted quietly. "I didn't—I wanted you to stand with me because you wanted to, not out of fear—"

"Did you think I'd immediately jump to you being a Dark witch?" Blaise asked, astonished. "Hermione…"

"No, no, I didn't," Hermione protested. "I didn't. But I…"

She trailed off, looking for the words.

"I didn't want you to think poorly of me," she said again. "I just—I didn't want to have to deal with that again…"

"Think poorly of you? Again?" Blaise said, incredulous. "Hermione, when have I ever thought poorly of you? There's no one I hold in higher esteem—"

Hermione's heart clenched hard, aching, and Blaise's words abruptly cut off, his eyes going wide. Luna cast a worried glance back at them.

"You don't—" Blaise said, faltering. "Surely you don't—you don't still think—"

"Think what?" Hermione snapped, temper flaring. "I don't think what, Blaise?"

Blaise fell silent next to her, looking away and not saying a word.

They walked in silence next to each other as the coven navigated through the trees, Susan teasing Harry about how he'd need to become his own housekeeper, Harry making jokes about using his Firebolt to sweep the floors. Luna was laughing, adding comments about different magical creatures Harry would have to defend the coven house from, and Harry declared he was ready to fight off armies and armies of gnomes, slashing at imaginary hordes with a long stick he'd found.

"It was nice, what you did," Blaise said quietly. "Accelerating the timeline like you did, for Harry."

Hermione glanced over at Blaise. He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly, before, looking away again.

"It was," he said. "It was very selfless, Hermione."

It was as if a great weight was suddenly lifted from Hermione. There was a sense of a pressure loosening around her heart, as if a tight rope had been squeezing it this whole time and she hadn't realized, like she'd just grown so used to it she didn't remember it hadn't always been there before. She took a deep breath, as if she hadn't fully breathed in ages, and when the air filled her lungs, somehow, it felt cleaner than before.

Blaise watched her quietly from her side.

When she looked over at him again, he offered her the ghost of a smile, and he grabbed her hand from where it hung next to her, squeezing it tight. He tugged on her hand, making her stumble into his side for a moment, and he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the back of it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes holding hers. "I didn't know it needed to be said. But I'm sorry, Hermione. I was wrong, before."

Hermione tugged on her hand, letting her hand drop back to hang between them, but Blaise didn't let go, holding her hand and squeezing it again even as he turned to face front and make his way over a series of fallen logs. He lifted her hand silently, helping her clamber over them after him, and he didn't let go after that either, their hands quietly swinging between them as they made their way.

Despite the heavy bag of ritual components weighing her down, Hermione somehow felt lighter than she had in years.

Chapter Text

CW: Dated language about the mentally ill

Hermione received a formal invitation back to Malfoy Manor a few days later.

It would benefit us both to work together on freeing Sirius Black, Narcissa Malfoy wrote. His trial is likely to be the political event of the year, and carefully planning how it should play out would benefit us both. I would welcome your input in planning, as well as your feedback and advice.

She'd shown the letter to her parents, both of whom were mildly intrigued.

"This is the family with the dubious history of Dark magic?" her mother asked. "I'm surprised she wants to coordinate with you."

"Maybe she feels like she doesn't have much of a choice," Hermione said, looking down at the invitation. "I'm the one who found out the truth about Sirius Black."

"It's still a good sign she wants to plan with you, even if only for political advantage," her mother said. "Especially after your fight with her son."

Hermione bit her lip. "Yeah. Draco… he's probably still mad at me. That'll be awkward, I guess."

"This is the family with the madness?" her father asked, joining the conversation. "Cursed to insanity once a generation or somesuch?"

"I don't know about 'once a generation'," Hermione said hastily. "I just know about—"

"The heritability of schizophrenia is around 80%," her father reminded her. "If they all grow up in a similar environment, the same environmental risk factors present for all of them—"

"I know, Dad," Hermione cut him off. "Narcissa isn't crazy, though."

"I know, I was just saying—"

"Are you doing to go, dear?" her mother asked her.

Hermione bit her lip, looking up at her mother as she considered.

"Yes," she said finally. She sighed. "I don't want to go, but it's the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do often isn't the easiest thing." Her mother gave her a small smile, proud. "It's a sign of our maturity as people when we gather the strength, stand up, and do it anyway."

"Those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action," Hermione recited, and her mother laughed.

"Hopefully it won't be too bad, seeing your classmate again," she said fondly. "With a bit of luck, you might have managed to knock some sense into his silly head."

Hermione really wasn't eager to see Draco again after she'd read him the riot act about his father being a Death Eater, but she didn't want Sirius Black to not get a trial for forever either. She had reluctantly penned her acceptance, mentally gearing herself up for another confrontation.

To her surprise, though, when the appointed day arrived, Draco wasn't even present. Narcissa apologized for his absence.

"There have been family fights, lately," she said. "Draco… he got into a fight about my sister, Bellatrix, about whether or not she could be 'cured'. In the process, he was jinxed somehow – probably for telling lies or somesuch," Narcissa dismissed. "He's being seen at Saint Mungo's right now. He'll probably be back later today."

Hermione was surprised Sirius could manage a jinx wandless. He had escaped Azkaban, though. And with regular meals now, it made sense his magic was gradually returning. But still – wandless magic was still quite a feat.

"Not that I think the guards of Azkaban would ever give it to her," Hermione said, giving Narcissa a twisted smile, "but your sister might be better helped with Clozapine than any magical remedy."

Narcissa blinked. "Clozapine?"

"It's a muggle remedy," Hermione said. "I was telling my parents about what going on with Sirius Black and his family—"

"Your muggle parents?" Narcissa stressed, her eyes keen and suspicious.

"Yes," Hermione said sharply. "They like to keep up to date, and they knew that Sirius Black had escaped. Anyway, I was telling them about the 'Black family curse', and they both started discussing how it sounded more genetic than anything. Anyway," she said, hastily changing the subject. "We're to plan Sirius' trial?"

"Of course," Narcissa said smoothly. "We'll take tea on the veranda."

Hermione followed Narcissa out of the manor onto the veranda, overlooking the gardens, and she was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy sitting there. He stood as they approached, nodding.

"Miss Granger," he said. "We meet again. Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

Hermione hesitated, eyeing him.

"Thank you," she said slowly. "You have a beautiful home."

"Forgive me for not being present the first time you were here," Lucius said smoothly, retaking his seat. "I hope everything was to your liking."

"It was fine," Hermione said, sitting down. Her mind was spinning. "Narcissa said you weren't feeling well?"

"I was not," Lucius said. "I have fully recovered, now, luckily."

Hermione caught the sharp look Narcissa gave her husband, before she snapped her fingers. A House Elf appeared next to her seat, wide-eyed.

"Go find Sirius Black and tell him to come to the veranda," she instructed the elf. "Then prepare tea for four."

The House Elf nodded hurriedly and disappeared. Hermione looked at where it had disappeared from.

"How does one acquire a House Elf, anyway?" she asked curiously. "I've heard the old families tend to have them, but I don't actually know."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look, and Lucius smiled thinly.

"Well, people say they're bound to bloodlines," he said, "but it's more accurate to say they're bound to buildings."

"Bound to buildings?" Hermione said, astonished.

"'Locations' might be more accurate," Narcissa said, considering.

"Dobby is bound to Malfoy Manor," Lucius said. "If another family ever lived here, he would be more likely to serve them than to move and serve my family at another place."

Hermione considered this.

"But they're loyal to families, aren't they?" she said. "How does that work?"

"Who knows?" Narcissa said, shrugging. "Many old families bind the elves with blood magic so they can't betray their family, regardless of location. My aunt did with her old House Elf. It's not pleasant magic, though. I imagine for most elves, loyalty is a matter of personal honor."

The conversation was broken off by Sirius' abrupt arrival. He looked much better, now, cleaned up. His straggly hair had been cut and washed and now hung in shiny waves to his shoulders. Someone had had a go at his eyebrows, which now looked more normal and less inhuman, and his teeth were noticeably whiter. He was wearing a proper robe that fit him – black, still – and though he still looked thin, he looked noticeably less gaunt than he had before.

Despite his improvement in appearance, Hermione was immediately reassured it was the same Sirius Black as ever as he plopped himself down into a chair, leaned back, folded his arms behind his head, and raised an eyebrow at Lucius.

"Lose your son, Lucy?" Sirius asked, challenging. "Where's little Malfoy?"

Lucius snarled. "Mind your tongue, Black."

Sirius snorted. "Like he minded his."

"Draco is not necessary for this conversation," Narcissa said smoothly. "He, after all, is not in the Wizengamot. We are the ones who will handle this matter."

Sirius shrugged. "Fair enough." He glanced around at them. "So – what's the plan?"

"That's what we need to determine, Black," Lucius said, nastily, and Narcissa shot her husband a warning look.

Narcissa laid out the plan so far – she had drafted a very formal statement for Sirius to sign and her to present, that laid out the situation with Sirius Black. It asserted he had never received a fair trial, and that he had broken free to protect his godson when he realized he was in imminent danger from an uncaptured Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew. It was phrased to create as much dramatic impact as possible, which, Narcissa said, would help make sure people granted Sirius Black a fair trial, even if only to hear the dramatic gossip of the truth.

"The issue we face," Narcissa said, glancing at her husband, "is the potential political backlash."

"Barty Crouch, Senior, specifically," Lucius drawled. "He's the one who put Black into Azkaban without a trial. The fuss of all this is going to make him look particularly bad."

"Who cares?" Sirius wanted to know. "He deserves it – throwing me away to rot for twelve years—"

"Bartemius Crouch has already lost a lot of political clout, after the death of his son," Narcissa told Sirius. "Whereas he was once poised to take over the Ministry, after the capture and death of his son, he was regarded as heartless and cruel."

"They shunted him sideways. He runs the Department of International Magical Cooperation, now," Lucius said. "As such, he controls two Wizengamot seats – one for the Crouch House, the other for his department. He has an assistant sit in for him for the department, but the assistant is really just a proxy vote who votes the way he's told."

"That's only two seats," Hermione said. "Are two seats really that much of a threat?"

The Malfoys exchanged a look.

"While Crouch lost much goodwill, he is known as someone who was tough on Death Eaters," Narcissa said delicately. "As the Regent of the House Black seat, and wife of Lucius, openly opposing Crouch and asserting that Sirius Black is not a Death Eater…"

Hermione saw the issue immediately. "You think they won't believe you."

"The Black family has a reputation for Dark magic," Lucius said. "It is much easier to believe Sirius Black was a Death Eater than that a man chose to live as a rat for twelve years."

Hermione bit her lip.

"How do we approach it, then?" she asked. "We'll need to establish goodwill from witnesses they'll consider reputable first, then, right?"

"The obvious answer is to have an ally demand proof that the complaint has a factual basis," Lucius remarked. "The issue is where that proof will need to come from."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

Lucius gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow aristocratically raised.

"Why, Miss Granger," he drawled, "you will have to tell the Wizengamot just how you came by Peter Pettigrew."

Hermione felt a chill.

"You—" her mouth was dry. "You want me to admit to my coven in open court."

Narcissa raised a challenging eyebrow at her. "Are you ashamed of your coven?"

"No!" Hermione objected. "It's just—politically speaking—"

Politically speaking, Hermione was still rather a nobody – the only child on the Wizengamot, but still a child nonetheless. Until she could claim a House seat as her own upon reaching an adult age, it was important Hermione not taint the Wizengamot's opinion of her in a negative way at all.

"How many votes do you control?" Hermione asked Lucius directly. "How many allies can you get?"

Lucius looked taken aback at the directness of her question.

"Quite a few," he said slowly. "Let me think."

As Lucius began running through people, Narcissa began making a list.

"Black, clearly, and Bulstrode. Burke. Carrow and Flint, I can manage. Lestrange, of course. Potentially Greengrass." He ticked people off on his fingers. "Nott, of course. Rosier. Rowle. Travers. Yaxley. Perhaps Slughorn, and maybe Parkinson. And of course the Malfoy seat."

"All Houses of Death Eaters," Sirius remarked, raising his eyebrows high. "Would you look at that."

"That's the problem, isn't it, Black?" Lucius snarled. "As many votes as I can get, many of them will look bad. They will make you look worse, voting in your favor."

"That's why we need to make them not vote for this at the start," Hermione said, thinking. "It needs to seem like they're being reluctantly persuaded – to set Sirius up as a genuine hero of the Light, not as a Death Eater."

"I am a hero of the Light," Sirius snarled. "I fought Death Eaters. I would have blasted Peter apart if he hadn't been such a coward—"

"We need to have Harry testify, then," Hermione said, cutting in. She bit her lip. "Harry will be the one person they won't be able to question. If he tells the Wizengamot that he did a Blood Debt ritual, fully intending on getting Sirius Black to avenge his dead parents, it will play on the court's sense of justice and pity."

"Harry Potter is in your coven?" Lucius Malfoy said, astonished. "Your little coven—"

"Susan Bones could be called to support his claim," Hermione went on, ignoring Lucius' remark. "Her aunt is on the Wizengamot and held in high esteem. She could support his claim. And then—well, I guess at some point Ron Weasley would have to be called to testify that Peter Pettigrew was his family's pet rat for years and years. We could have as much of the trial sort of 'pre-play' out as necessary until the other families insist on hearing Sirius testify."

"That's not a bad idea," Sirius said, considering. "With enough goading, Augusta Longbottom is likely to demand to speak to me herself."

"So the idea is to have the trial happen without it being a proper trial?" Narcissa mused. "If we don't involve the Wand of the Realm for Sirius, merely have the Wizengamot vote on his innocence, and the Wand only becomes involved in the formal trial of Peter Pettigrew, we're more likely to succeed."

"Sirius was never formally convicted, or even charged," Hermione argued. "He doesn't need a trial unless charges are brought against him – he just needs to be freed. If we stick to that angle, he's likely to be publicly cleared without needing the stain of a formal trial."

"That's overly optimistic," Lucius drawled. "You forget how many families loathe the Blacks."

"And you're forgetting the key factor here," Hermione said sharply. "This isn't about the Blacks – this is about Sirius."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "And…?"

"And one of the people who knew Sirius the best now runs the Wizengamot," Hermione said triumphantly. "Dumbledore."

There was a poignant pause.

"Blimey," Sirius breathed. "Dumbledore."

"If you truly worked with Dumbledore against the Dark Lord," Hermione said, her eyes cutting over to Sirius, "he's likely to be appalled at discovering you never got a fair trial."

"He'll lose his mind," Sirius confirmed, eyes wide. "He'll – yeah, he'll help me. He's got to. We can trust Dumbledore."

"You, Narcissa, are going to have a harder time, I think," Hermione said, turning to the other woman. "You'll need to make it seem like Sirius is leveraging you as the Head of House Black, making you present his complaint. Lucius will have to either pretend to be furious with you in public, or have to pretend to be caught completely off-guard and shocked – whichever you can pull off better," Hermione added to Lucius. "But it has to seem like you don't want to present this complaint, in order to give it more legitimacy with the other families aligned with the 'Light'."

"I can do that," Narcissa said, tapping her nails on the table thoughtfully. "I can appear pale but strong, have my voice waver ever so slightly… it can be done."

Lucius was looking at Hermione, his face unreadable.

"This just might work," he admitted, his voice silky. "I have underestimated you, Miss Granger."

"Why?" Hermione raised her chin. "This won't be the first time I've manipulated the court."

Lucius's eyes narrowed to slits.

"That's right, isn't it." It wasn't a question. "I'd nearly forgotten your little trial last year."

"My trial?" Hermione said sweetly, batting her eyelashes. "You misremember. I wasn't on trial at all."

"No," Lucius said. "You weren't."

"And you weren't on trial, either," Hermione said, her own eyes narrowing. "Regardless of if you should have been or not."

Lucius visibly paled. Sirius was looking between the two of them curiously, eyes darting to and fro as Lucius took a deep breath, visibly calming himself.

"How fortunate I am, then," Lucius said finally, "that we are working together as allies, not opposing each other as foes."

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure."

"You misunderstand our position, Hermione," Narcissa said, raising an eyebrow. "We are supportive of your claim as a New Blood. We are encouraging Draco to openly support you as well."

Hermione blinked. "Wait. You are?"

"We are." Narcissa and Lucius glanced at each other, before Narcissa turned back to look at Hermione. "And in return… we hope you will think kindly on the Malfoy family in the future, when you gain a seat of power of your own."

From the look in their eye, Hermione suspected they weren't just talking about a Wizengamot seat.

"I certainly hope so," Hermione said coolly, folding her arms and looking at Lucius. "But I suppose that depends on where the Malfoy family sits regarding certain issues."

Lucius paled, and Sirius looked confused.

"Wait, hang on," he said, voice audibly annoyed. "Are we all working together or not?"

"We are," Narcissa snapped. "Do keep up."

"Well, I don't speak snake," Sirius objected. "I don't know if all the unsaid political threats are good things or bad."

Narcissa rolled her eyes as Lucius rubbed his temples, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh.

"We'll try and save the Slytherin-ing for later, then," Hermione said, grinning at Sirius. "Instead – let's rewrite this complaint for the Wizengamot a bit so it seems more like you're coercing Narcissa, and then let's plan out how we want Peter's trial to go, shall we?"

"Oh, yes," Sirius breathed. His eyes seems to glow. "Merlin above, I'll have my seat back by then. I would love to sit in on his trial."

"You'd be a witness," Hermione objected. "Surely you'd need to recuse yourself?"

Lucius snorted openly.

"Hermione Granger," he drawled. "One thing you will have to learn about the wizarding legal system – we very rarely ever play fair."

Chapter Text

Hermione bought an enchanted money bag before stopping by Gringotts. Raw ingots of gold and silver would weigh a LOT, she knew – she'd been weighed down by the one ingot of gold before that she'd taken to the hedgewitches' blacksmith. She gave Bloodthorne a drawing to give to Silversmite, who had agreed to work on her family crest for her, and then Bloodthorne was only too happy to take her down to her vault, grinning a very pointy smile all the while.

"You have upset the status quo once more, Hermione Granger," he cackled, leading her to the carts. "You would overturn the world, I think, if no one would stop you."

"I have no idea what you mean," Hermione said primly, though her eyes sparkled, and Bloodthorne cackled as they set off down the track in the rickety cart.

"The House Elves would call us kin," he called back to her as they zoomed along. "Their strike has been a boon to us. They have helped restore the Hold and take delight in helping us garden. They would have us use magic as they do, but we cannot. They would not like to see us dependent on wands."

"Rods," Hermione corrected, and Bloodthorne smirked.

"Rods," he agreed. "Still. They would rather see us 'healed'. They would have us believe goblins did not need rods or wands before, and that we used magic as they did, many centuries ago."

Hermione was surprised.

"Can goblins do that?" she asked. "I know there's natural metalsmithing magic innate in goblins. I don't know how far you are from House Elves in terms of magic, though. Do your histories say one way or the other?"

Bloodthorne considered.

"Our legends deal with metal," he said. "They tell of goblins learning to harness their own magic to manipulate metals. There is nothing to indicate wandless magic of any other sort."

Hermione shrugged.

"The House Elves think magic with wands is silly, I think, because they can't conceptualize needing a wand," she said. "I don't think they use magic in quite the same way that others do."

"I would not disagree," Bloodthorne said dryly. "If I would take a galleon from you for each time a House Elf has not understood why we did not 'just fix' our homes ourselves in the past week, you would rapidly worry of growing poor."

Hermione laughed.

"Considering you're still making me gold?" she said, grinning. "I doubt it."

As they reached her vault, Bloodthorne opened the door. The heaps and heaps of gold everywhere were dazzling, and Hermione was rendered speechless once more, even though she had known what to expect this time.

"This is… this is more than last time," she said finally, looking to Bloodthorne.

"It is," Bloodthorne said, smirking. "I have used your stone again. This time, I did not turn it into coinage, as per your wishes."

That explained the massive pile of raw gold ingots stacked in a giant pyramid pile, Hermione thought faintly. With each one weighing twenty pounds, she realized she might be looking at a literal ton of gold.

"How many ingots would you take?" Bloodthorne asked, moving into the vault. He gestured for her bag, which she handed over. "You did not say what you would withdraw."

"Err—I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "Just… a lot of them? And some silver ones as well, that haven't been used to make the alloy for coinage yet."

Bloodthorne gave her a look.

"You would pay for something without knowing the cost?" he asked her, his tone clearly indicating he thought this was a very stupid idea. "You would just throw gold away?"

"I'll bring what's left back," Hermione argued, her face flushing. "I just… I don't know what's a fair price for what I'm asking. I want to make sure I have enough."

"These ingots are pure gold," Bloodthorne told her, as if she was slow. "Do you know what they are worth?"

"A lot, obviously," Hermione said, aggravated. "I'm just going to—"

"Gold is expensive in the muggle world," Bloodthorne went on. "One ounce would give you £250."

"I know it's a lot," Hermione cut in. "But—"

"There are twelve troy ounces to the pound," Bloodthorne said. "One bar is 20.9 pounds. One ingot would give you £62,700."

Hermione faltered, her eyes going wide.

"Alright, I think I didn't quite do the multiplication on that one correctly," she said faintly. "Umm… let me think."

Bloodthorne's eyes glittered as Hermione sat down on a nearby rock. He went over to inspect the Philosopher's Stone while Hermione stared at the wall, her mind whirring.

How much money would a tree house actually cost? She wanted a nice tree house, so maybe the cost of actually constructing a real house would be comparable?

Her parents had bought their house in 1971, Hermione knew. They'd paid about £15,000 for it at the time, but she knew it was worth a lot more now – her father said it had quintupled in value in twenty years, she could recall. So did that mean a house now cost £75,000?

But that might not factor in the cost of labor, Hermione thought, mildly alarmed. What if that was just the cost of materials and the land? How was she to know? And what if labor prices and construction were much higher in the magical world, where things were dependent on highly specialized and very powerful wizards?

"Let's… let's take ten gold ingots, and ten silver ingots," Hermione said finally. "That should be enough, I think? I hope?"

"If it is not," Bloodthorne said dryly, "you would discover you are being cheated fairly soon."

He began tossing ingots into the bag, as easily as one would toss potatoes into a sack.

"I can't believe you can do that so easily," Hermione said enviously. "They're so heavy."

"Metal is light to goblin touch," Bloodthorne reminded her, smirking. "Otherwise, our mining and smithery would not go nearly so well."

Hermione wandered over to look at the Philosopher's Stone while she waited. It currently sat on top of a pyramid-shaped stack of lead bars. The top three were gold, with the next three down looking like they were in the active state of transmuting into gold from the top down, gold creeping down in drips through the lead.

"You just set it to go and leave it?" Hermione asked. "Is that it?"

"It requires one's magic and intention to start it, but essentially," Bloodthorne agreed. "Once it would tell what you intend of it, the stone exerts its power."

Hermione snorted.

"I'm almost surprised you have to tell it anything," she said. "That's all it does anyway, isn't it?"

Bloodthorne hesitated.

"I would not know the truth of the matter," he said slowly, "but legend would have it that the stone would have other powers too."

"Other powers?" Hermione asked. "What else does—"

She trailed off, her eyes wide as she remembered. Voldemort had tried to steal the stone, and not for its ability to make gold. He had wanted it to become immortal. Which meant—

"It can make the Elixir of Life," Hermione breathed, eyes wide. "But how?"

"I would not know," Bloodthorne admitted. "I am a goblin. I understand gold. I understand metal. But that?" He shook his head. "That would require you to study alchemy and experiment at your leisure, Hermione Granger. A Gringotts goblin would not know."

Hermione looked at the stone, her eyes wide.

"I'll have to think about that," she said faintly. "I rather imagine I have a lot of research to do first."

Hermione was almost disappointed to get an owl from Hogwarts, assuring her and her parents that the Hogwarts Express would leave from London to Hogsmeade on Monday, April 4th. She'd accomplished much of what she'd set out to do, though – the tree house had been planned, she'd given the payment to Xenophilius Lovegood, the hedgewitches had their ritual to protect them from werewolves, and she'd planned with the Malfoys just how the trial for Sirius Black should go.

Hermione was optimistic about freeing Sirius Black. Though she didn't get along with him the best, she felt confident she'd be able to leverage helping him gain his freedom into a political advantage. She was still brainstorming ideas about how to solve the werewolf problem, but she once she finally had a good one, and she'd need support in the Wizengamot to pass the legislation she was mentally beginning to draft. So long as Sirius Black was freed, Hermione figured she'd have an ally for life – especially in this matter, given he had been friends with Lupin.

The train back to Hogwarts was loud and packed, students more hectic and energetic than than they usually were on the train back to school. Part of that was no one knew just what to expect upon their return – the owls they'd received had not detailed the outcome of the House Elf issue, though everyone seemed to have enjoyed the sudden and unexpected break.

Hermione had arrived early, found Susan, and quickly claimed a train compartment, before Luna, Harry, and Blaise joined them as they arrived. The compartment was only designed to fit four, but Hermione hadn't wanted to risk claiming a six-person one and having an outsider butt their way in. Once the Hogwarts Express was finally on its way, pulling out of the station, Hermione locked the compartment and drew the blinds, turning to her friends.

"This is going to be a very odd conversation," she warned them. "I need to explore ideas with you without explaining them in detail. You'll understand later in the week, but right now I need you to bear with me."

Her coven all straightened up, looking interested, except for Luna, who was busy plaiting her hair back with tiny clover flowers woven in. Hermione looked to Harry, who looked curious.

"If you recall, we did a blood debt ritual back in January," she began. "In your mind, what was the goal of that ritual?"

"To catch Sirius Black," Harry said immediately.

"Was it?" Hermione equivocated. "Was it to catch Sirius Black?"

Her stress and tone of voice caught Harry off-guard, and he paused.

"Well, it was to catch the person who betrayed my parents to Voldemort," Harry said. "We didn't actually name Black in the ritual."

Blaise's eyes went wide, but Hermione hurried on.

"And to your knowledge, Harry, we did the ritual exactly as we should?" she prompted. "Even though we got a rat?"

"Yes, obviously," Harry said, scowling. "We still don't know why we got Scabbers, but if things calm down, we could redo the ritual this month with Neville's blood—"

"That won't be necessary," Hermione assured him. "Harry – this is important – is it more important to you to catch your parents' betrayer, or is it more important to catch Sirius Black?"

Susan sucked her breath in sharply, realizing, but it took Harry a moment.

"You—you're implying that Sirius Black isn't the one who betrayed my parents," he said slowly. He looked up at Hermione, green eyes confused. "But I heard – when I was eavesdropping in Hogsmeade. He was Secret-Keeper for them…"

"You overheard a few people talking, none of whom were actually there at the time the Potters died," Hermione said gently. "Harry – which is more important to you?"

"Catching the one who betrayed my parents," Harry said immediately. "But—Hermione, if that's not Sirius—"

"I'm not saying it isn't," Hermione stressed, "but I'm not saying it is."

"—then Scabbers actually did betray my parents?" Harry asked, astonished. "What happened if it wasn't Black? It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't need to make sense now," Hermione said. "But Harry, if you were asked about the ritual, would you be able to explain what we did, why we did it, and the result we got?"

"Yes?" Harry said, not following. "Why? Do I need to?"

"You—you have Wizengamot tomorrow," Susan accused Hermione. "You—you know something, and you want Harry to be able to testify at Sirius Black's trial, don't you?"

Hermione winced. "Not exactly."

"But you do want me to testify," Harry breathed. He looked at Hermione, eyes wide. "Are you—is he really—"

"I want you to be able to truthfully say 'I didn't know' on the stand," Hermione said carefully. "So I'm not going to say anything about anything now."

"But the coven," Blaise said, alarmed. "If Harry has to testify about the coven—"

"It's very possible our coven will come out in open court," Hermione admitted, wincing. "That's why I'm hoping if Harry testifies, that the coven might not come up. And if it does, Susan can be called to support Harry's statement."

"The coven's going to have to come to light eventually," Luna chided. "We should consider when. If it's in court, for us catching a notorious criminal, that might be the best optics we could possibly hope for."

"We thought it would come out when Rince announced her baby," Blaise said. "Are the optics of doing a blood ritual to catch a traitor better than helping out pureblood fertility?"

"It'd certainly be good with Harry Potter at the helm," Susan emphasized. "People are much less likely to be alarmed about our coven if they think it was formed to help Harry Potter heroically avenge his parents rather than explore forgotten magics."

Harry looked uncomfortable.

"But that's not why we made a coven," he said. "We didn't even know about Sirius Black when we bonded."

"We all know that," Hermione assured him. "We're helping you out with this matter because we care, not because it's our one purpose—"

Harry seemed to relax slightly at her words.

"—but that being said, it might help if other people thought that was our purpose," she finished. She bit her lip. "To avoid accusations of Dark magic being thrown around."

"The Ministry wouldn't know Dark magic if it bit it on the nose," Luna commented, wrinkling her nose. "They think the Fidelius Charm is a Light spell."

Harry blinked. "Wait. It isn't?"

"It requires a secret being magically hidden in a person's soul," Luna told him, raising her eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like a Light spell to me."

"Regardless of the Fidelius Charm, do we want the coven to come out this way?" Hermione asked hastily. "With Harry admitting to it in open court? The fuss of—erm—of what else he'd be testifying about might help the public gloss over it as a detail, instead of it being a main story."

"Are covens really seen that badly?" Harry demanded.

"Yes," said Blaise, at the same time Susan said, "No."

They glared at each other, before Blaise started to speak.

"Covens make a lot of people think of Dark witches chanting and doing evil spells at night," he said. "They've fallen distinctly out of favor, and a lot of the myths muggles have about witches have sort of melded with the wizarding public's idea of covens."

"In traditional, magical families," Susan emphasized, her voice hard, "covens are a legend to aspire to, not one to fear. Covens are told of in terms of how to enhance your personal magic, how to bond with people who will never betray you, how to explore all that magic would have you know."

Hermione sighed.

"Let's hope those legends live on in enough of the Wizengamot." She smiled wryly. "I'll still need their support in a few years to try and claim my own House."

Harry looked torn.

"I want my parents' killer to face justice," he said. "Given that's Voldemort, and he's not exactly accessible right now, I want the one who betrayed them to face his comeuppance instead. If that means I have to talk about the coven…"

I want to do it hung in the air, unsaid, as they glanced around at each other.

"I'm fine with it coming out in court this way," Susan said firmly. Her eyes were fierce. "I'm not ashamed."

"Says the Hufflepuff," Blaise snarked, and Susan shot him a look.

"I'm okay with it," Luna said, shrugging. "It's just magic. Maybe we can inspire other people to form covens of their own."

Hermione looked at Blaise, frustration warring visibly across his face.

"All right, fine!" he burst out, aggravated. "Potter can tell on us to the Wizengamot if he has to." He shot Hermione a glare. "Is this really necessary?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think it is," she sighed. "I wish there was another way, but I really don't think there is."

Blaise scowled, kicking his seat.

"Should get Malfoy to bribe the press beforehand," he muttered. "Make sure they get the optics of this right for us from the start."

That wasn't a bad idea, Hermione mused. Maybe an owl to the Daily Prophet wouldn't go amiss.

Chapter Text

As soon as she got to the school, Hermione practically ran to the Kitchens to see the House Elves. The House Elves were in the midst of a celebration themselves, and they cheered when she came in. Most of them were clad in sky blue, but a few had too-big faded black robes on. No one was wearing their Hogwarts uniform.

"Missy Hermione!" One of the elves ran over to her, beaming. "We is doing it! We is winning!"

"You 'won'? Won what?" Hermione asked, laughing. "Dumbledore conceded to your demands? Tell me everything!"

Hermione was pushed into a chair, given a bowl of berries and cream, and the elves crowded around her, chattering.

"—none of his business where we is going—"

"—is having family likes anyone else is—"

"—is telling him to go fart somewhere else—"

"—so many of us is growing moss, and we is helping—"

"Settle down, settle down!"

There was a loud clap, and the elves fell back as Tolly and Neemey approached, both of them grinning. Hermione laughed, smiling at them widely.

"I take it your strike was successful?" she asked, eyes sparkling. Tolly laughed.

"Oh, the Headmaster is having no idea what to do!" Tolly crowed. She snickered. "I is telling you everything."

The other elves all took seats nearby, listening raptly, even though they had lived through the story themselves.

"It is starting on Ostara," Tolly said, nodding. "We is visiting family, helping do a healing ritual for them, and the Headmaster is not liking it."

"What healing ritual?" Hermione asked, curious.

"We is fixing the goblinses' eyes," Tolly said. "They is supposed to be able to be seeing in the dark, but they is not for some reason. So we is helping fix it."

Hermione had no idea goblins were supposed to be able to see in the dark. When had that changed?

"Dumbledore is not being happy to discover we is doing things without telling him," Tolly went on. "He was being mad that we put out celebration foods for Ostara. Even though we is not giving him Ostara foods," Tolly said slyly, "he was being very mad. He is not liking that we elves is recognizing Ostara."

"Asking magical beings to not recognize magical holidays," Neemey said, scoffing. "Honestly."

"So Dumbledore is coming down to be angry," Tolly said, "but this time, when he is arriving to be telling us what to do, I is informing him he is having no authority over the House Elves!"

A cheer went up from the House Elves, and Hermione grinned along with them.

"The Headmaster was being very puzzled, and very annoyed," Tolly said. "I is having to explain our bond is being with Hogwarts itself many times. The Headmaster is saying many times 'you cannot leave' and I is saying back 'so long as we is keeping our side of the contract with the castle, we is coming and going as we please'. The Headmaster was then trying to ban House Elf travel," Tolly stressed, "as a way of making sure we is not able to go anywhere."

There was booing all around at this statement.

"Ban House Elf travel?" Hermione asked, astonished. "But you pop with the ley lines. How could he—?"

"He is not coulding," Tolly said, certain. "He is instead putting down an anti-apparition ward that is targeting only House Elves. He is thinking we is going to be needing to walk around the school to clean instead of popping. But he is silly – we elves is not subject to wizard magic."

"Is that when you started sending up weird foods?" Hermione asked, and Tolly nodded.

"If he was going limit us, we were going limit him," Neemey said, eyes glowing. "We thought making the students cook their own breakfasts on the table and eat hard tack would get the point across."

"It is only making Dumbledore more mad," Tolly said. "Finally, Dumbledore is coming down and demanding we behave and serve the school properly. I is explaining we is always serving the school, we is only demonstrating against him for being mean and saying we is not to visit family and come and go as we is pleasing." Tolly folded her arms. "Then Dumbledore is saying because it is his school, it is his castle, with his rules, and I was saying then it can be being his castle, and he can be doing all the cooking and cleaning hisself."

There was a cheer from the House Elves at this, and Tolly looked pleased.

"Tolly was quaking in her bones," Tolly admitted, "but I was being a representative, so I is holding firm. I is telling the other House Elves, we is going on strike, and we elves is all going to the goblins for sanctuary while we is striking against the Headmaster. Dumbledore is not knowing we could go somewhere else, I is thinking – I is thinking we caught him off his toes."

"We was in the goblin cave!" one of the House Elves exclaimed. "We is helping them!"

"And they was being grateful," another chimed in. "They was being happy for very very small things, like getting water or cleaning up dust!"

"They is needing our help very badly," one said, nose wrinkling. "I is not knowing how often they is doing their laundry, but it is not being nearly enough."

"The House Elves were all staying with the goblinses while we were being on strike," Tolly told Hermione. "I is going back and forth to bargain, but everyelf else was having a nice vacation, I is thinking."

There was a cheer at 'vacation', and Tolly quickly added, "but we is back to work, now!" The elves cheered at this too, though, and hopped to their feet, going about the kitchen and starting to prepare food as if they had only been waiting for an official reminder that they were allowed to start their usual duties once more.

"So what did you agree on?" Hermione asked.

"We is making a paper agreement," Tolly said, pulling a paper from her sky-blue pillowcase. "Neemey is helping. But I is being pleased."

The parchment was labeled HOUSE ELF & HEADMASTER AGREEMENT written on in big, bold letters across the top, and Hermione pulled it closer, curious.

.

HOUSE ELF & HEADMASTER AGREEMENT

Headmaster agrees to:

· Let House Elves determine necessary labor levels and allocate staff themselves as needed

· Let House Elves determine what foods to feed the school on whichever days

· Provide new uniforms for half the number of elves each year

· Not ask nosy questions about House Elves visiting family or leaving the school

.

House Elves agree to:

· Uphold their bond and contract with Hogwarts,
cooking and cleaning and maintaining the school in exchange for room and board

· Wear a uniform while performing their duties

· Not celebrate magical holidays with rituals at the school where the students can see

· Not all suddenly leave the school without just cause or warning

· Help protect the school from malicious intruders

· Serve Magic as best they can

.

Hermione looked up at Tolly once she had finished reading.

"Did you have to concede anything?" she asked, impressed. "It seems like you got everything you wanted, and he got nothing you wouldn't do anyway."

"Why would we give him anything?" Neemey asked cynically. "We held all the power. Once we showed we had no need for Hogwarts, he was desperate to get the elves back before we forged a bond somewhere else."

"I is thinking he is being more distraught over us suddenly up and leaving than he is being upset over not knowing when we is going to visit family," Tolly confided. She grinned a wide, toothy smile. "He is looking very silly amongst wizards, methinks, for his school to suddenly be being falling apart when it is supposed to be being under his control."

"His pride must have taken a hit," Hermione said, nodding. "So he was more concerned with you not going on strike again than the original reason you had to go on strike?"

"I is thinking so," Tolly nodded. She shrugged. "We is not liking to not be working. It is not in our nature, for us elves. So it is easy enough to be conceding to not be striking again."

"We made sure to make that agreement conditional," Neemey said, grinning nastily. "What we consider 'just cause' may not be what the Headmaster considers just cause."

"Oh?" Hermione said, amused. "Like what?"

She meant it to be teasing, but Tolly sobered rapidly.

"Like striking to be being in solidarity with our goblin family," she said seriously. "Is you knowing the goblinses is not being able to live in their homes for over a century?"

"I know their homes have been broken for a long time," Hermione said. "I helped fix some of them too," she added, but Tolly waved away her words.

"Their houses is not being their homes," Tolly stressed. "They is not living in their homes for over a hundred years."

Hermione faltered. "—wait, what?"

Neemey's eyes were hard.

"The goblins' hold – that was previously their city, their center of commerce," Neemey said, voice flinty. "It was a place of prosperity. The goblins lived in burrows, in a network of caves in the ground. It was only when their burrows were poisoned that they were forced to flee and make homes in the hold itself."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What?"

Her mind was racing. She might have heard of this before, she thought – Lockhart had taught them about a Minister ordering the ground water poisoned near the goblin burrows. At the time, she hadn't really thought through the implications – that goblins naturally lived in burrows, not in normal human-esque homes.

"It affected their fertility and genetics as well," Neemey added, scowling. "I've no idea how to restore the goblins' full abilities to them, but over the centuries, wizards have ground them down to a mimicry of what they once were."

Hermione was horrified.

"I had no idea," she breathed. "And their burrows are still poisoned? That's why they live in the hold?"

"We is all weeping when we is learning," Tolly said, her big eyes tearing up. "We is helping all we is able to be fixing their houses, but until the wizards is unpoisoning their burrows, their homes is always being out of reach."

"Where are these burrows?" Hermione wanted to know, her mind spinning. "Like, geographically? If I had a map, could you show me?"

Tolly looked at Neemey uncertainly. Neemey nodded slowly.

"I could," Neemey said. "Or at the least, I can find out."

"I'd have to get wizards to think of it in a different way," Hermione said, already brainstorming to herself. "They're not going to want to help the goblins in any way. But if I can get some people to think that their livelihood is at risk from the continued pollution of magical flora and fauna…"

"You should be doing that, but maybe be doing it elsewhere, Missy Hermione?" Tolly told her, nodding vigorously. She glanced around the messy kitchens, making a face. "We is having a lot to do to be catching up here."

Chapter Text

Hermione knocked smartly on Professor Lupin's office door Monday evening. The door opened a few minutes later, revealing Professor Lupin in shabby brown robes, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Miss Granger," he said. "What an unexpected surprise."

"I'm blackmailing you again," Hermione said promptly. "May I come in?"

Lupin's lips twitched as if he was trying not to smile, but he stepped back, allowing Hermione to join him in his office. He set about making tea, and Hermione glanced around as he did, taking a seat. The room was as barren as ever, with a Daily Prophet on his desk, the headline reading SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE. The deranged photo of Sirius Black adorned the front page once more, and for the first time, Hermione wondered where and how it had been taken.

Once the (weak) tea had been served in chipped china, niceties concluded, Lupin looked at Hermione curiously.

"So," he said. "You have more questions about werewolves?"

"I do," Hermione said, nodding. "I've helped start the process for silver wards for the hedgewitches, but that will still take some time. Months, to protect all of the tenancies." She bit her lip. "Meanwhile, though, there could still be werewolf attacks at any time. Even after they're all protected, all it would take is someone wandering outside of the wards."

Lupin flinched.

"I wish you wouldn't describe it that way," he said. "It's—it's not something anyone wants to have happen, werewolves least of all."

Hermione bit her tongue, the name Fenrir Greyback waiting to spill out.

"But it happens," she said calmly. "I need to figure out how to make sure it doesn't happen."

Lupin sighed. He leaned back in his chair, resigned.

"Then, by all means," he said, gesturing. "Ask your questions, then."

Hermione ignored his tone of voice and pulled out a list she'd penned ahead of time.

"How does the Wolfsbane potion work?" she asked first. "You have to drink it every day for the week prior to the full moon?"

"Yes," Lupin said.

"And if you forget it for even one day, it doesn't work?" she stressed. "Even one day?"

Lupin sighed.

"One missed dose renders it entirely ineffective, yes," he said. "It's not like you maintain most of your human mind. Either you take it all seven days and maintain your humanity while in wolf form, or you miss a dose and you retain none of it once you've transformed."

"And the transformation is very painful?" Hermione asked. "That's why you're so tired and miss classes the next day?"

Lupin smiled wryly.

"That, or from running around as a wolf all night," he said. "Wolves are nocturnal. They stay awake at night. You don't get much sleep when you're in wolf form."

Hermione frowned.

"How does the transformation work, anyway?" she asked. "I know it's at the full moon, but… the moon's full during the daytime too sometimes, you know? It doesn't make any sense."

Lupin shuddered.

"It's awful when that happens, the full moon rising during the day," he said lowly. "You can feel it there, prickling beneath your skin during the day… this awful sense of spiky anticipation as night draws nearer."

He paused, looking into his teacup, before looking back up at her.

"As far as I can tell, it's an astronomical magical cause," he said. "The light of the full moon has different magical effects on certain magical plants and animals. It has one on werewolves, too."

"Is it really the light of the full moon?" Hermione asked. "If it was moonlight, couldn't you stay indoors, away from all the windows, and not change?"

Lupin looked mildly annoyed.

"It's not that simple," he said. "Whatever change there is – it's as if it's in the energy of the air. It's magical. If it's nighttime, and the moon is full, you turn into a werewolf, whether you see the moon or not."

Hermione frowned.

"Define 'nighttime'," she said. "Is it when the moon rises? Or when the sun sets?"

"After dusk," Lupin said promptly. "Sunset is like a last warning to a werewolf. Once the rays of the sun are gone, the transformation begins."

"And it ends the next day at dawn?" Hermione asked, guessing. "Or at sunrise itself?"

"Dawn starts the transformation back," Lupin confirmed. "Once direct rays from the sun creep over the horizon, the night's finally over, and you change back."

Hermione made a face.

"There's no guarantee a person will always remember to take a potion every day for seven days," she said, "let alone that everyone could afford it. Even if we send all the werewolves to a forest to run and hang out together each full moon, it doesn't really solve the problem, does it?"

"Wouldn't it?" Lupin asked, lips quirked.

"What happens to the first poor sod who wanders in by accident?" she challenged. "What happens when two packs of werewolves start to fight and quarrel? What happens when the wards are weakened by accident and a mindless wolf manages to break out?"

Lupin shrugged, bleak.

"Many werewolves still keep silver chains or cages in their basements," he said. "It's agonizing, but it works."

"Yes, but it depends on them not forgetting," Hermione stressed, "or no one going down there, or them not breaking free." She scowled. "The problem is them being werewolves in the first place. If we can stop that, then the danger isn't there. But as far as I'm aware, there's no cure to that yet."

"There's not going to be a perfect solution to this, Hermione," Lupin said gently. "Short of wiping out the entire werewolf population, Wolfsbane is the best tool we have."

Hermione shot him a look, horrified.

"I'm not proposing genocide!" she protested, aghast. "Just—I don't know, if you could take an anti-moonlight pill or something, one that everyone could come to the Ministry for and take on the spot—something that stopped the transformation before it every started—"

She broke off, eyes wide.

"I—I think I have an idea," she said. "Maybe. Possibly. Probably not. It'd be expensive. But maybe."

Her mind was racing through the possibilities. She'd need to talk to someone at the Wizengamot the next day, but maybe she could…

Lupin's lips quirked.

"I find it amusing you feel so passionately about this, despite your lack of a personal werewolf connection," he told her. "Is this really from your village friends telling you horror stories?"

Hermione turned to give him a flat look.

"Because you think I'm comfortable just having a werewolf for a teacher?" she said. "One who's constantly one missed potion dose away from mauling my classmates and me?"

Lupin flinched.

"I wouldn't," he protested. "I take Wolfsbane. Professor Snape brews it for me himself, makes sure I take each dose. I curl up in my office chair with the door locked, as docile as a lamb."

"And if Snape is sick once?" Hermione said cynically. "If your last goblet is spilled, and you can't find him in time to get another one? Then what?"

Her eyes were fierce as she glared at him. Lupin looked very tired and resigned.

"It is not my fault I was bitten, Miss Granger," he chided.

"I'm not saying it is," Hermione argued. "But until there's a way to ensure that no one else can be bitten, werewolves are inherently dangerous to have around."

Lupin sighed.

"If you do find a solution, Miss Granger," he said, "you will be hailed as a hero the world 'round."

Chapter Text

Hermione awoke on Tuesday immediately wide awake, a feeling of excited anticipation already vibrating under her skin. She got dressed in her school robes as per usual, and she did her best to be present and participate in the conversation amongst her dormmates (who were wondering if breakfast would be back to normal, or if they'd be cooking their own eggs again), but it was a challenge.

In a matter of hours, Narcissa would be presenting Sirius' complaint to the Wizengamot.

Breakfast was the usual fare, so conversation turned from the House Elves' recent oddities to what people had done over the extended break. Daphne had evidently spent it in Switzerland, to the envy of all, but Tracey and Millie had the best stories, involving Tracey's parents' hunt for the perfect Easter ham. Everyone was laughing as Millie described, in painstaking detail, the getup Tracey's mother had donned in order to go to the muggle grocery store to 'hunt' the perfect ham, and though Tracey's face was bright red in embarrassment, she was laughing along with the rest of them.

As Millie was recounting the confusion of Tracey's father upon seeing his wife, and then his decision not to say anything about her attire, Blaise nudged Hermione's side. Hermione turned to glance at him, and Blaise flicked his eyes down the table. Hermione gave him a questioning look, and Blaise shot a pointed glance down the table again.

"What?" Hermione whispered. "It's just Draco."

"He's just sitting there," Blaise hissed. "Hermione, he hasn't glanced up at you once. And he hasn't said a word. What did you do to him?"

Hermione felt her defenses prickle. "What makes you think I did anything to him?"

"Because he was in a mood last night as well," he told her, keeping his voice quiet. "We were talking about the House Elves, and all of a sudden, Malfoy just up and asked Theo if it ever bothered him knowing his Dad was a Death Eater."

Blaise gave her a pointed look, and Hermione winced.

"That's—why do you think I—"

"After Theo got over the fact that Malfoy apparently had actually believed his father had been under the Imperius Curse," Blaise continued dryly, "Theo read Malfoy the riot act, going on about how he didn't give a damn what his father did, because he wasn't going to follow in his footsteps regardless."

Hermione was surprised. "Really? I thought Theo—"

"I think it was more a comment based on his mother than on the Death Eater thing, if I'm being honest," Blaise said. "But then Malfoy asked Crabbe and Goyle, and both of them were kind of dumbfounded. It was like they'd never considered it at all."

Hermione bit her lip.

"But surely that's a good thing, right?" she ventured. "That he's thinking about these things now? That he's seriously considering what he wants to do in the future?"

"Sure," Blaise said dryly. "That'll make it all the better when he disappoints you – knowing he thought over all the details and chose to be an evil git anyway."

"He might not!" Hermione objected. "He could not follow in his father's footsteps, you know."

"And Snape might do a jig," Blaise countered. "It's possible, but I don't think it's likely. Malfoy doesn't have the strength to go against his father like that."

Hermione glanced down the table at him. Draco was determinedly not looking at her, lifelessly picking at his food.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we," Hermione said with a sigh. She glanced up at Blaise, offering a sort of half-shrug. "Not much else we can do."

"Just don't be surprised when he disappoints you," Blaise warned. "It's all he seems to know how to do."

"Hermione!" Neville exclaimed, catching her as she entered the Transfiguration classroom. "I'm a Gryffindor again!"

"Were you ever not?" Hermione asked, trying to suppress a smile at Neville's enthusiasm. "I thought you were just taking refuge in another house."

"Well, that's true," Neville acknowledged. "But they made me an honorary Hufflepuff while I was there. They gave me a tie and everything."

That was nice of them, Hermione thought fondly. She was glad they'd grown protective of Neville and supported him when he was down.

"But Professor McGonagall came and found me," Neville went on. "And she apologized – said she was partially to blame for putting a bad portrait to guard the common room, and that she spoke out of anger." He lowered his voice. "She apologized in front of all the Hufflepuffs in the common room – and I think she meant it, honestly. Professor Sprout was there, too, and she said, 'Neville, do you accept her apology?' and of course I was going to say 'yes', but there was this heavy moment where everyone was just looking at me, and I realized that if I said 'no', they would have let me stay…" He trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. "But I did, and now I'm back in Gryffindor tower, allowed the password and everything. McGonagall might be kind of mad at you, I think – I heard you tore her a new one – but I think it genuinely helped everything."

Hermione couldn't find it in her to care if McGonagall was mad at her – seeing Neville's face alight at being welcomed back to Gryffindor and being treated like he mattered by his Head of House was worth it.

"Settle down, settle down," Professor McGonagall said, entering the classroom. "Take your seats. Break is over."

Hermione quickly went to her seat, Neville hurrying to his.

"Today we are beginning indefinite transfigurations," McGonagall said, flicking her wand at the chalkboard. "This is a very difficult skill, but one of the most useful. It involves your use of Transfiguration basics and mental imagery to 'sculpt' a material from one form into another, without changing its base nature."

Hermione took notes as McGonagall explained the properties of different materials in indefinite, shape-to-shape transfigurations, and it was only when McGonagall plopped a lump of copper on her desk that Hermione quite realized what they were expected to do.

"Try to form a definite shape," she told the class, distributing lumps of metal. "Allow your magic to naturally form the metal into something else. A cube, a sphere – you will need to exert your magic over the metal to coax it into matching whatever mental image you hold."

Hermione bit her lip, holding back a smile, and she withdrew her wand.

The copper was much easier to work with than the silver she'd used over the break with the hedgewitches, and soon Hermione was done, while her classmates struggled manipulating their metal around her.

"Done already, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall came over, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said. "I think I am."

She watched as Professor McGonagall picked up a solid copper statuette of a lion from her desk. Hermione had managed to get some good detail in the mane, she thought, and the lion's expression as it roared proudly made her wonder if there was a charm to animate it and make it actually roar. The haunches probably weren't entirely anatomically accurate – Hermione had no idea what the backside of a lion actually looked like, so she'd modeled after Crookshanks – but all in all, it was a good effort, she thought.

Professor McGonagall looked it over, then looked at Hermione, eyebrow raised.

"Attempting to flatter me, Miss Granger?" she asked archly.

"Not at all," Hermione said, smiling. "Just a thank you. For finding a lost lion and welcoming him home."

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched, but she turned away, setting the lion back down on Hermione's desk as she moved on to another desk.

"Ten points to Slytherin for an excellent first Transfiguration," she said as she passed. She glanced back at Hermione. "One would almost think you'd done this before."

The rest of classes were terrible for Hermione to endure. Nothing exciting was happening, and it felt like time was positively crawling as the afternoon wore on. The moment Herbology was finally over, Hermione was running back up to the castle, taking a quick shower and getting ready, determined to look her best.

Though she usually Time-Turned first and ate dinner on her second go-around, she lingered long enough to eat dinner this time, wearing her Wizengamot robes at the table as she bolted down her food.

"Dumbledore's not here," Tracey observed. "I wonder why."

Hermione glanced up at Draco, who met her eyes for a moment before hurriedly looking away.

"I wonder," Hermione said. "Who knows?"

Blaise's eyes were steady on her as she stood, adjusting her robes, and he touched her hand for a moment.

"Good luck," he told her quietly. His eyes glinted. "Have fun, with whatever madness you've got planned now."

Hermione grinned. "Thanks."

She dashed off through the halls, ducking into a bathroom on the fifth floor to time turn back. The bathroom blurred around her, and when she left a moment later, light was filtering through the castle windows once more as she hurried to the great statue guarding Dumbledore's office.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," she said, panting as she arrived. "I know I'm cutting it close—"

"We have plenty of time, Miss Granger," Dumbledore assured her. His blue eyes sparkled behind his half-moon glasses. "Don't you look sharp today."

Hermione glanced down at herself. She was wearing her black velvet Wizengamot robes with her official member pin, as she did for every meeting, though she had taken the time to make sure her hair looked good and touch up her spots a bit with makeup.

"I do hope today's not too long," Dumbledore admitted, flicking his wand and a blaze of fire effortlessly appearing in the fireplace. "I have dozens of owls to answer – parents inquiring about the extended break."

Hermione hesitated.

"Sir," she said slowly. "You weren't at dinner today – I ate before I Time-Turned back."

Dumbledore turned to look at her, his gaze scrutinizing.

"Well, then," he said. He shrugged easily, and he went over to open his desk. To her astonishment, he pulled out an entire sleeve of Jammie Dodgers from his top drawer, and he gave her a wink as he put them into his robes. "Best to be prepared."

Chapter Text

As the Wizengamot members chatted and settled down, taking their seats as they filed in, Hermione made a beeline for Barty Crouch Senior, suspecting this was the only time she'd get to talk to him for a while without him being in a distinctly foul mood. He looked to be in a bad mood now, though, giving sharp orders to his assistant as he took the Crouch seat, the assistant hurrying away.

"Sir," she greeted him. She swept him a curtsy. "Hermione Granger, for the Youth Representative of Great Britain."

Crouch eyed her over.

"I know who you are," he said curtly. "What do you need?"

"Sir," she said. "If I needed to work with someone in charge from the wizarding community of New Zealand, would that go through you? Or someone else?"

Crouch looked startled.

"New Zealand?" he said, incredulous. "That's out of the usual scope of my Department."

"But you head the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Hermione protested. "If not you, then who?"

Crouch grimaced.

"I suppose it's under my department," he conceded. "You'd need to work with the British representative for the International Confederation of Wizards. They're officially under my department, but they generally act independently of the rest of us."

"I see, sir," Hermione said. "Thank you. Who might that representative be?"

"Currently, Julian Selwyn," Crouch said. His upper lip curled. "Brother of Alina Selwyn, the famous robe designer." Disdain dripped from his tone. "Not closely related to Zarek, either, if you were hoping for an introduction."

"Ah—thank you, sir," Hermione said hastily, watching as Dumbledore took his seat. "I'll figure out where to go from here."

She hurried up to her own seat, retreating to safety, writing down on a piece of paper Julian Selwyn – UK Representative to the ICW.

As everyone settled, Dumbledore addressed the hall and began going over the agenda from the previous meeting, and Hermione found herself doodling impatiently on her parchment. Once old matters had been handled, Thoros Nott brought up that his tenants had indeed drawn from the silver allotted for them to protect themselves with, with Augusta Longbottom quick to cut in that her tenants had re-warded their tenancy as well. Amycus Carrow protested, loudly declaring that it was impossible for their tenants to re-ward the properties themselves.

"I know we put in writing that they could do it themselves if they wanted to," he said. "But we all know that they can't – they don't have the magic."

Augusta Longbottom narrowed her eyes.

"Come and test it, then," she challenged him. "Come and see for yourself, if they did the warding correctly or not."

Amycus flinched in the face of the Longbottom matriarch's glare. Thoros Nott reported that he, personally, verified that the wards on his tenancy were strong.

"I do not know who they hired to ward the property," he said. "I do not care. Only know that it was done, as intended by our legislation—" his eyes cut over to Amycus "—so it is working. The other tenancies will presumably be warded in the order previously discussed."

Hermione was mildly surprised that neither Augusta Longbottom nor Thoros Nott seemed to care about how their property had been re-warded, only that it had been done. If she had a bunch of tenants she thought to be magicless, she would certainly want to know how they'd suddenly pulled off such a feat.

Maybe they thought they just did a bad job of it and didn't care if their tenants got mauled. Hermione sniffed, sketching a rune on her paper as conversation turned to the complaint of a Fwooper that was loose in the Westerlands. She tuned it out, idly swatting a bug away from her as she drew on her parchment, doodling and distracting herself. She kept glancing up at Narcissa and Lucius, both of whom were sitting perfectly still, faces perfectly neutral and emotions masked.

Slytherins to the core, the both of them. Hermione hoped she'd be able to hide her emotions half as well by the time she was an adult.

After the Fwooper issue was addressed, finally, finally, Dumbledore said the words Hermione had been waiting for.

"Does anyone else have any matters to address before the Wizengamot?"

The Wizengamot all began to stir, as usually his last request for matters not on the agenda was met with silence, but this time, Narcissa Malfoy stood, and the room grew quiet.

"I have a matter to address before the Wizengamot," Narcissa Malfoy said. Her voice was firm, but she seemed to quake slightly where she stood. "If I might step forward?"

Dumbledore looked at her curiously, but he nodded. "The floor recognizes Narcissa Malfoy, Regent of House Black."

Narcissa nodded deeply and strode forward, black velvet robes shining. She clutched a parchment to her chest, and she took the podium at the end of the floor, setting her parchment on the lectern to read from. The podium was generally ignored during sessions – everyone tended to just talk loudly from the center of the floor – but the fact Narcissa had formally taken the podium seemed to catch everyone's attention, and there was a quiet murmur as Narcissa settled herself. She looked pale, and Hermione wondered if she'd powdered her face to look paler than usual.

"As Regent of House Black, I currently hold the Black Seat," Narcissa began. She paused. "However… I have been bid by the Head of House Black to issue a grievance with the Wizengamot."

There was a collective gasp, and several people sat up straight, eyes wide.

"And as Regent, I am compelled to present it to you all," Narcissa continued. She cleared her throat. "I will read it now."

There was a subtle change in Narcissa's voice as she began reading Sirius' complaint. Her voice deepened slightly, becoming more firm, and her words rang out in the chamber crystal clear.

"I, Sirius Black, Head of House Black, petition the Wizengamot. A serious miscarriage of justice has occurred, and for the safety of us all, it cannot go on any further.

"You may believe terrible things of me. I would not be surprised. Terrible things have been said and reported about me. And it is true that I have escaped Azkaban. But know this – my honor as a wizard and as a man compelled me to do so. I discovered Harry Potter, who is my godson, was in grave danger, and I had to act.

"Listen here, Wizengamot: hear of the miscarriage of justice that has occurred.

"Twelve long years ago, I was locked up and thrown in Azkaban without a trial – blamed for the deaths of a dozen muggles I did not kill. I have never received a trial, and I was never sentenced to serve a life sentence in Azkaban, no matter what the papers say. I challenge you – look for a trial transcript. Look for witnesses of people who were there. You will find nothing, because there was no trial.

"If there had been, you would know I am innocent.

"Twelve years ago, James and Lily Potter were betrayed by one of their closest friends, leading to their death. But it was not me – nay, I was the only person who knew the truth. I knew that Peter Pettigrew, a close friend of James Potter's, had been swapped out to be the Secret-Keeper at the last second, to trick our enemies, as everyone assumed that I would be chosen. When I heard of James and Lily's deaths, I was consumed by grief. I immediately knew what had happened, and vengeance took over as I hunted Peter Pettigrew down.

"All those years ago, when I finally cornered Peter Pettigrew on the street, he yelled for everyone to hear that I had betrayed James and Lily, blew open the street, killing a dozen muggles in the process, and he escaped.

"Yes – escaped. For not only did Peter Pettigrew rat out the Potters to his evil master You-Know-Who, but he was an unregistered Animagus – one who could take the form of a rat.

"I presumed he was gone, hidden in the muggle world across the ocean somewhere, starting a new life. Why would he come back, after he'd faked his death so well? I was locked in Azkaban all this time, weakened by Dementors. It was only when I learned where Peter Pettigrew was that I learned my godson, Harry Potter, was in imminent danger, and I was forced to act.

"Now, Wizengamot, is the time: I, Sirius Black, declare before the court that I am innocent, and that I have committed none of the crimes of which I am accused. As proof, I will offer Peter Pettigrew himself, the captured rat Animagus, alive. Peter's testimony will damn him for the crimes he has committed. Then, compel me to testify – the truth will set me free.

"I am no fool. The Ministry of Magic has done me wrong once, locking me up for twelve long years without trial, and I will not abide it again. Revoke the edict of the Dementor's Kiss on sight, give me the promise of the Wizengamot for a fair trial, and I will produce myself, as well as the rat Pettigrew.

"Send word through my Regent. Once the Wizengamot decides they are ready for justice to be done, I will come.

Signed,

Sirius Black

Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

Narcissa rolled up the parchment before her, her head down, and stepped down from the podium. There was a heavy silence for a long moment, before the chamber exploded into noise, everyone exclaiming and turning to their neighbor to discuss.

"—without a trial? How could he—"

"—the hell is Peter Pettigrew? This is outrageous—"

"It's entirely lies, obviously, he must have Dark magic to defeat a truth circle—"

"—best friends with the Potters, I knew it couldn't be him!"

"SILENCE!"

Dumbledore's powerful voice boomed through the room, and the chamber fell silent.

Hermione watched Dumbledore. His blue eyes were wide, his chest heaving slightly. His face had different emotions rippling across it, and Hermione wondered what he must be feeling right now. She watched as he took a moment to gather himself together and regain his poise before he raised his head, addressing Narcissa Malfoy.

"Regent of House Black, these are substantial claims," Dumbledore said. "Does your Head of House offer any evidence to convince the Wizengamot of their veracity?"

Hermione had to hide her grin.

"He does," Narcissa said quietly. "He bids you to call Harry Potter to the stand and testify."

Dumbledore reared back in shock.

"Call Harry Potter to the stand?" he repeated. He looked at her in shock. "You're sure?"

"There is a list of people he lists for the Wizengamot to examine first," Narcissa said, moving forward and handing Dumbledore a short list. "He asserts that their testimony will support his claims enough to give the court reasonable doubt of his alleged guilt in these matters."

"Harry Potter, Susan Bones, and Ronald Weasley?" Dumbledore said, incredulous. "These are all school children…"

"Sirius Black is said to have broken out of Azkaban to murder Harry Potter," Lucius Malfoy drawled. "Obviously, this is a trap so he might lure Potter out of safety and kill him once and for all."

"Are you daft?" Augusta Longbottom snapped. "The Wizengamot Chambers are a safe and secure place for Harry Potter. Only a fool would try and attempt a murder here."

"He expects us to believe the word of children?" Melker Travers sniffed. "This is a waste of our time—"

"It hurts no one to hear out a claim," Henry Macmillan retorted. "It is our duty to hear out this matter. And the Truth Circle holds fast for anyone – adults and children alike."

"Besides," Geraint Weasley chimed in. "I'm very curious to hear what testimony my little cousin might have on the matter."

Conversation grew, more people speaking out, and Dumbledore banged his gavel loudly, the hammer ringing out unnaturally to bring the chamber to silence.

"This is a very serious matter," he said gravely. He looked about. "We will vote on whether or not to conduct a preliminary investigation into these claims. If we vote 'yes', we will assemble Thursday eve, as we would for a full trial, and we will attempt to get to the truth of the matter. If we vote 'no', the current Ministry Edict of the Dementor's Kiss on sight will still stand."

Dumbledore looked back at Cornelius Fudge significantly, who had paled and not said a word since Narcissa Malfoy had spoken. He turned back to the room.

"Before we cast our votes, I urge you to consider what you would want if this happened to you," Dumbledore said quietly. "The Wizengamot is a powerful body people turn to for justice. If you were accused, and had no trial – guilty or not, would you at least want to be heard?"

"You're swaying the court," Lucius Malfoy snarled. "You're supposed to be neutral as the Chief Warlock."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Henry Macmillan snapped. "Like you're neutral, you great pig."

"Silence!" Dumbledore held up his hands. He clapped, and suddenly a paddle appeared on Hermione's podium. "We will vote. White to investigate the claims, black to let the current edict stand. Vote now."

Paddles immediately went up, some white, some black, and conversation broke out as people argued. Hermione felt vindicated to see Augusta Longbottom and her contingent immediately put their paddles up as white, Amelia Bones waving her white paddle around and loudly harassing the Ministry representatives to vote too. Across the way, Narcissa Malfoy quietly raised her own paddle as white, but she was surrounded by paddles of black – Lucius Malfoy, who wore a snarl, as well as Thoros Nott, Melker Travers, and Phaedra Lestrange. Other people Hermione vaguely recognized held up black as well – Millicent's father, Amycus Carrow, and the holder of the Flint seat. But almost as if in opposition, as they held up black, more paddles were held up white, all of the regional representatives declaring their votes, and Era Hornbeam gave Hermione a private grin from behind her own paddle.

"It'll at least be interesting, don't you think?" she said, winking. "Besides – Thursday evening trial means overtime pay for me."

Hermione suppressed a grin, holding up her own paddle as white. A few more paddles rose, and Dumbledore loudly banged his gavel, the sound booming throughout the room.

"By a vote of 37 to 12, it is decided," he intoned. "The Wizengamot will investigate the claims of injustice issued in the grievance filed by the House of Black."

Dumbledore looked shaken, but as Amelia Bones spoke up, discussing the logistics of getting school children to come and testify while maintaining the confidentiality of the Wizengamot, Hermione saw him sneak a Jammy Dodger out of his pocket, hopefully just enough to bolster him through to the end.

Discussion of the logistics for an evening trial and the legal paperwork to begin the process for calling off the Dementor's Kiss on sight went on for a while, and it was after dinner by the time Hermione and Dumbledore Floo'd back to Hogwarts, both of them drained. As Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace back into his office, she was wondering if she should try to get a snack from the Kitchens before bed, or if she should just go to her bed and immediately collapse.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "A word before you go?"

Hermione turned to look at him, blinking. Dumbledore regarded her steadily through his half-moon glasses.

"It does not escape my notice that both Harry Potter and Susan Bones are in your coven," he said.

Hermione did her best to keep her voice even. "They are."

Dumbledore sighed.

"Do you know anything about all of this?" he asked her directly.

Hermione bit her lip.

"I feel like to answer that honestly would taint your vote during the pre-trial," she admitted.

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and a faint smile touched his lips.

"As Chief Warlock, I do not have a vote," he reminded her. "But I do have influence over what questions are asked of the witnesses. I will probably be the one leading the questioning."

Hermione blinked.

"So… if you and I made a bargain, you could lead the questions in a way to make my coven not appear Dark or dangerous?" she asked.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Is your coven Dark and dangerous, Miss Granger?"

"No," Hermione said vehemently. "But that doesn't mean people won't think that. The word 'coven' has bad associations for many people."

"Fewer than you might think, especially in the Wizengamot," Dumbledore told her. "The Wizengamot is filled with old, traditional families. They are more likely to be quietly impressed or jealous. The common public is who you will have more of a challenge with."

Hermione hadn't realized that.

"Nevertheless, I can try to ask questions that portray your coven in a positive light," Dumbledore said, "if I know what sort of information might be forthcoming during the hearing."

Hermione bit her lip, considering. This hadn't been in the plan she'd made with the Malfoys, but if it worked to accomplish the same end goal – freeing Sirius Black – she didn't see why not. Plus, it would help get her on the Headmaster's good side, which wouldn't be a bad thing.

She took a deep breath.

"Before the holiday break," she began, "Harry overheard the story of how Sirius Black betrayed his parents. When he told us, we resolved to do a Blood Debt ritual to catch him…"

Hermione detailed the Blood Debt ritual they'd performed in January, how they'd been so methodical about the setup and casting, and as she explained how Ron's rat had been the one to appear inside their ritual circle, Dumbledore's eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire, a quiet fury she'd never seen before.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, when her story was done. His eyes were hard, and his tone of voice sent ominous shivers down her spine. "We will see that justice is done."

When Hermione saw Dumbledore running the school all the time, it was easy to forget that Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards alive. Now, though - his eyes were a steely blue, all twinkling gone, and he seemed bigger, somehow more, as if his very presence in the room had grown. He no longer seemed like the doddering eccentric old man she was used tom, and in the old man's place was the grand wizard who had bested Grindelwald in single combat. Dumbledore's fury and anger were almost a palpable thing in the air of his office, like a haze of heat before a firestorm; a tension of crackling of raw magic, just waiting to be unleashed.

Hermione nodded to the Headmaster and quickly fled. She didn't envy Peter Pettigrew one bit.

Chapter Text

The dramatics at the Wizengamot remained secret for nearly twelve hours, until the Daily Prophet broke the story on the front page. Hermione had been eating an omelet when Blaise had gasped over the paper, turning her and hitting her on the head with it.

"Is this you?" he demanded, brandishing the paper. "This is you, isn't it?"

"Is what me?" Hermione wanted to know. She set her eggs aside and took the paper, scanning the front page.

SIRIUS BLACK DECLARES HIS INNOCENCE IN OFFICIAL WIZENGAMOT COMPLAINT!
Complaint alleges Black never got a trial before being thrown in Azkaban

Hermione glanced at Blaise, who was looking at her expectantly. There was a long pause.

"Alright, fine, yes, it was me," she hissed, and Blaise looked triumphant.

"I knew it," he declared. "With the ritual result… it all makes sense, now. Kind of, at least."

Hermione continued reading the story, curious to see what all the paper had gotten right.

.

SIRIUS BLACK DECLARES HIS INNOCENCE IN OFFICIAL WIZENGAMOT COMPLAINT!
Complaint alleges Black never got a trial before being thrown in Azkaban

By Rita Skeeter

Tuesday afternoon, the regularly-scheduled Wizengamot session was rocked by an official petition for justice from the Head of the House of Black, who happens to be none other than wanted criminal Sirius Black. The complaint alleges that Sirius Black is innocent and that he never got a trial for him to prove his innocence to the court before being thrown into Azkaban.

Shocked by the complaint and allegations, the Wizengamot voted to investigate Black's claims of innocence. If probable cause of their truth is found, a stay of execution will be issued so Black can receive a fair trial without receiving the Dementor's Kiss on sight.

"The Ministry takes such claims very seriously," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "If Black has been innocent all this time, a serious miscarriage of justice has occurred."

The Ministry is undoubtedly searching through its records to determine if Sirius Black ever received a trial. Our own writers searched through our back issues to see if the Daily Prophet had ever published something on a trial or verdict for Black twelve years ago.

"There's nothing," said Caitlin Massine, Assistant to the Editor. "We've got headlines about his capture, and headlines about his crimes, but there's nothing about a trial, a verdict, or even sentencing. We covered his story, but if he ever got a proper trial, we missed all of it. And I don't think that's likely."

Some people disagreed.

"Trials were held in secret to not clue other Death Eaters in that they were going to get arrested too," said Lyle Crowley, Assistant to the Head of International Magical Cooperation. "Back then, trial transcripts were kept under lock and key. It's entirely possible Black's trial was one such trial, and the transcript has never been released to the public."

Possible, certainly, this writer concedes. Is it likely , though? Would any wizard really be so bold to make such claims if they could be so easily proven false?

"As Regent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, I presented the petition from the Head of my House to the Wizengamot," said Narcissa Malfoy, Regent of House Black. "It will be up to the Wizengamot's collective decision as to what to do with it. But I, personally, do not think there is a Black alive who would make such claims if they were naught but lies."

A special investigation session for the Wizengamot has been scheduled for Thursday evening. It is officially a closed session and not open to the public to be kept confidential, but we'll do our best to get the full story out to you all!

.

Hermione set the paper back down, surprised.

"They didn't… all the relevant details and supporting claims weren't mentioned," she said. "I'm surprised the paper actually kept the important bits secret."

"More likely that the source didn't tell them the important bits," Blaise said. He glanced at Malfoy, who was staring sullenly down at his food. "If the Malfoys contacted Skeeter first, she'd be more than happy to angle the article how they wanted, if it meant she got to break the story first."

Hermione frowned.

"What is up with Malfoy?" she wanted to know. "He hasn't spoken to me once since we got back to school. He can barely look at me."

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe challenging his world view of his father wasn't a thing he wanted to deal with right now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her sympathy for Draco's daddy issues had worn thin.

"They're going to call Harry and Susan to the stand on Thursday," she told Blaise quietly. "Ron too, maybe, to testify about his rat. The rat's an Animagus."

Blaise's eyes grew wide, and he whistled.

"Merlin, Hermione," he said. "And he's been in your dorm room all this time? Watching you all change?"

Hermione felt a stark bolt of horror.

"No, no, I doubt it," she said quickly. "I put the cage on the very top back of my wardrobe so Crookshanks couldn't reach him and kill him. He wouldn't be able to see past the decorative edging."

"Are you sure?" Blaise said pointedly.

Hermione bit her lip, uneasy. She'd have to double-check after class.

Harry found Hermione later that day, holding an official-looking piece of parchment.

"I've been called to testify in a hearing on Sirius Black's claims," he said, eyes wide. "Is this what you were talking about on the train?"

"It is," Hermione admitted. She looked up at him. "Are you up for it?"

"For finding out the truth of who betrayed my parents?" His green eyes hardened. "Absolutely."

The school was buzzing with gossip about Sirius Black's claims. No one knew the details he'd alleged his innocence on, so theories ran amok.

"Why would he break into Hogwarts?" Ernie Macmillan demanded loudly, to no one in particular before Charms class. "How can we think that's anything but something a bad person would do?"

"Maybe he just wanted to talk to Dumbledore," Hannah Abbot suggested. "He's who I would turn to for help."

"Yes, that's why he broke into the Gryffindor common room," Pansy Parkinson sneered. "Makes perfect sense."

"What's your idea, then?" Hannah challenged, and Pansy sniffed.

"I don't have one," she said, tossing her hair. "And I don't care. We'll all find out soon enough after the hearing."

The news even leaked into classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a pop quiz, something Lupin had never done before.

"This is just to check where you all are in preparation for end of year exams," he reassured them. "If everyone's weak in a particular area, I'll know what we need to review."

It was a fair idea for a teaching tool, Hermione thought, but as she looked over Lupin's pale countenance and the way his eyes were constantly drawn back to the newspaper on top of his desk, she suspected he'd abruptly changed his lesson plans.

Professor Trelawny was happy to openly exploit the breaking story.

"In order for us to discover the truth of the matter, we need to ask specifics, and we need to connect it back to ourselves," she emphasized. "Take turns. As you shuffle your tarot deck, reflect: what does Sirius Black mean to me? How would his innocence or guilt affect me? And is he innocent or guilty?"

The tarot card readings, though, seemed to not think Sirius Black was important at all.

"…for environmental factors, you've got the ten of pentacles reversed," Hermione said, flipping the card for Tracey. "This indicates worries over family. For your ninth—" she flipped a card, "you've got the Star representing your inner emotions, which means you're hopeful. And for the final result—" she flipped the last card "—you've got the Lovers."

Tracey blushed a brilliant red, and Hermione looked her squarely in the eye.

"Were you thinking about Sirius Black at all?" she asked.

"What do I care about Sirius Black?" Tracey said defensively. "I want to know about my future, not his."

When it was her turn, Hermione was careful to shuffle the cards and reflect on everything with Sirius Black. If any of this actually worked, her tarot spread would probably have the most accurate information in it.

"Keep your Inner Eye clear as you shuffle the cards," Tracey intoned, taking on a mysterious persona. "Your Inner Eye must be free of sleep dust and fallen eyelashes, lest your future be plagued with exhaustion and clumpy mascara…"

Hermione snorted, handing the cards over to Tracey, who promptly dealt six out.

"Your present position is the seven of pentacles," Tracey said. "You've done all you can in this situation, and now you must wait for the results to grow."

"That is not what the book says," Hermione said, annoyed. "The book says 'long-term view, sustainable results, perseverance, and investment' for the seven of pentacles."

"That's what I said, pretty much," Tracey shot back. "You've got this goal you've been working towards for a while, but right now, you've done all you can. See the little man?" She pointed to a man standing with a hoe, looking down at the pentacles in a bush. "He's planted his plants. Now he has to wait for nature to work her magic and make them grow."

Hermione gave Tracey a look. "Are you really doing this?"

"It's my Inner Eye," Tracey said haughtily, though her eyes sparkled. "Be quiet and let me have my moment."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smirked, sitting back. "Then by all means."

Tracey flipped the second card.

"The crossing shows immediate influences and obstacles that lie just ahead," she said. "Err—you've got the seven of swords. It symbolizes betrayal, deception, getting away with something, and acting strategically."

Hermione frowned. "That's hardly fair! Everyone keeps secrets."

"This isn't you keeping secrets – that'd be if it were reversed," Tracey said. "Upright, someone else is going to deceive you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. If Sirius Black tried to betray her, it'd be the last thing he ever did before he got his soul sucked out.

"Third card is your goal or destiny. You've got Justice," Tracey said. "That's exactly what it sounds like – you're seeking justice and fairness in the world."

"That's fair at least," Hermione said dryly. "Maybe your 'Inner Eye' isn't so bad after all."

Tracey flipped the fourth card, pausing.

"Fourth card is distant past," she said. "You've got the three of swords."

Hermione waited, but Tracey frowned and flipped the remaining two cards.

"You've got the ten of swords in the 'recent past' position, and nine of swords in the 'future influences' position," she said. "That's… really not good."

Hermione bit her lip, looking over the cards. "They… don't look good."

Tracey took a deep breath.

"Well, in distant past, someone was getting away with something sneaky," Tracey said. "Possibly you, possibly someone else. But it's an influencing factor. Ten of swords, though – that's fairly clear. Someone's betrayed you. And recently."

"But how? With what?" Hermione wanted to know, looking at the little picture of a person lying on the ground with ten swords stabbed into their back. "How am I betrayed?"

"No idea," Tracey said promptly. "In whatever the reading was about, I'm guessing? But possibly just in your life. It's not going to get better, either – with nine of swords, you're in for feeling stabbed in the back and a lot of mental and emotional anguish."

"I am not," Hermione argued, flushed. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Well, we'll see, won't we?" Tracey said easily. She dealt out the next four cards. "Next we've got the questioner, which is meant to show you your present position or put things into the proper perspective. You've got the nine of wands, which indicates you've been in a battle or fight recently. It also cautions you to remain vigilant, as the fight's not over yet."

"That one might be accurate," Hermione conceded. Despite all her prep work, after all, the hearing for Sirius Black was only just about to start.

"Environmental factors is next," Tracey said, flipping the eighth card. "You've got Queen of Swords reversed. So… an over-emotional, irrational woman who's determined to get what she wants."

"This is an outside influence, right?" Hermione said, frowning. She couldn't imagine Narcissa Malfoy ever becoming emotionally overwrought and irrational.

"Probably a woman with dark hair and dark coloring?" Tracey said, guessing. "Anyway, for your ninth card, you've got—"

The Devil flipped up on the table upside-down, looking ominous with its horned creature and chained naked man and woman.

"So this card represents inner hopes, hidden emotions, secret desires, fears, and your anxieties," Tracey said. "The Devil is all about your shadow self, accepting your darker impulses in order to free yourself. You can see the shackles around the people are loose – they can free themselves whenever they want. Reversed, it's actually better in this case – it's calling upon you to confront your inner fears and anxieties to free yourself from the chains that bind you to your limiting beliefs." Tracey got a sly look on her face. "This card also represents your sexuality. If it's telling you to free yourself—"

"Not in this case, I assure you," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Come on. What's the last one?"

"Tenth card, the outcome," Tracey said. "And you've got—er—"

The Tower sat at the top, a picture of people leaping out of a burning building being hit by lightning.

"Um. So this card is generally bad," Tracey said diplomatically.

"I can see that," Hermione snarled.

"So… well… um…" Tracey hesitated. "The Tower generally means the unexpected – a massive change, an upheaval, destruction, and chaos. It's anything that shakes you to your core and shocks you – it's a change that will create chaos and destroy everything in its path, but ultimately for the greater good."

"I'm done with this," Hermione announced, folding her arms and glaring at Tracey. "Sirius is going to go free and it will be fine."

"Maybe it wasn't about Sirius Black," Tracey objected. "All the betrayal cards were about you, not him."

The reverse hadn't occurred to Hermione.

"No, no, they were about him," she said slowly, thinking. "He was betrayed – that's the whole claim on his innocence. The reading is for him, not me."

Tracey blinked. "I don't think that's how it works."

"No, no, look," Hermione said, pointing to the cards. "Seven of pentacles, that's the same, but the seven of swords here just means sneaky tactical planning – that's fine, that's what we've been doing to try and get his freedom. Justice holds, but the betrayal cards – those have got to be about his friend's betrayal, both the past one, and undoubtedly the one yet to come on the stand. And the future – err – well, I imagine the trial will be a lot of emotional anguish for him – he'll be reliving the worst time of his life."

"You are not a stand-in for Sirius Black," Tracey said crossly. "No matter what dodgy political nonsense you've been getting up to, Hermione."

Hermione ignored her. "The Questioner makes sense – he just battled his way out of Azkaban, and now he's looking at a legal fight – and the outside influence is the Queen of Swords – that could be me, right? A very determined woman with dark hair? Then the Devil – he's literally going to take his shackles off his neck when he's freed—"

"And the Tower?" Tracey said pointedly. "How's that going to be a positive outcome?"

"Err…" Hermione stalled. "Maybe… it could be his imprisonment in Azkaban? He's now free from the dark tower?"

"By it being struck by lightning and leaping to his doom?" Tracey asked incredulously.

"Well, maybe it's metaphorical!" Hermione said hotly. "Being freed would destroy everything he's known for the past twelve years of his life! The lightning could be the court's judgement, shaking everything he knows to its core, and he'd have to build a new life afterward, wouldn't he?"

"That is not how divination works, and you know it," Tracey said, annoyed. "My Inner Eye is clearer than yours, Hermione. This is about you."

"It's not." Hermione was certain; she knew much more about Sirius Black's situation than Tracey did, and with that extra knowledge, the cards made perfect sense.

Tracey rolled her eyes and huffed, but Hermione huffed right back. What did it matter, anyway? Divination was imprecise and dumb.

Chapter Text

Harry and Susan went with Hermione up to Dumbledore's office after dinner on Thursday, both wearing their best robes.

"I'm nervous," Susan admitted. "I've been to the Wizengamot before, but I've never testified."

"It'll be fine," Hermione assured her. "You're clever. Just be thoughtful with your words and tell the truth, and it'll be fine."

"Will I get to see Sirius Black?" Harry asked. "Will he be there?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "This is the pre-trial type stuff. Sirius Black isn't going to come out of hiding for a proper trial until the Ministry promises he won't be Kissed on sight."

Harry sighed.

"I guess that's fair," he conceded. "Drat. I kind of wanted to meet my godfather."

With as little family as Harry had, Hermione supposed that wasn't a surprise.

Dumbledore greeted them all at his office, smiling.

"This evening will certainly be an adventure, won't it?" he said, eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. He led them over to the fireplace, throwing Floo powder into the flames to turn them emerald green. "And each great adventure starts with a bold first step."

He gestured to them, smiling, and Hermione led the way, stepping into the fireplace, tucking in her elbows, and calling out, "Ministry of Magic!"

The Ministry was practically deserted this time of day, with all the light globes dimmed down. Susan and Harry came through the fire, followed by Dumbledore, and he led the way.

"We'll be in a trial room today," he said, black velvet robes sweeping along the floor. "Utterly confidential, and with a Truth Circle no one can challenge." He gave them a smile. "If we're going to do this, we might as well do it right."

Hermione didn't really know what to say to that.

The trial room was the same one in which Harry and Hermione had testified in over the past summer. As they entered this time, though, the Wizengamot was still circulating around, talking as everyone filed in.

"I have to go up to my seat," Hermione told Harry and Susan. She gave each of them a quick hug. "Good luck, you two!"

She hurried up the steep stairs to the back, where Royce Fiddlewood was waiting for her.

"What's this committee inquiry I've got about my budget?" he demanded, holding up a paper. "There's no legislative committee formed for any of this here – I'd know if there were legislation in progress about werewolves!"

"It's just me – a committee of one," Hermione said hastily. "And it's not to audit your budget – I'm trying to determine if you're allotted enough to pull off my idea for werewolf legislation and reform. If not, then we'd need to give your department more."

"Give my department more money?" Royce said. He squinted at her suspiciously. "No one cares about my department, you realize. They like to forget that magical creatures exist."

"If we terrify them about the threat of werewolves and then present a perfect solution to the problem, they'll be falling over themselves to fund it," Hermione said, confident. "I'm trying to figure out the finances of it all to make sure it will work before I present it to the Wizengamot."

Royce looked her over consideringly.

"Give me what you have so far," he said. "If you're going to reform my department, I want to help."

"I don't have anything written down yet," Hermione protested.

"Then just tell me what's in your head," Royce said dismissively. "What's your core idea? What exactly do you think is going to work?"

Hermione explained her idea in a hushed voice, Royce growing thoughtful as she talked.

"I've honestly never heard an idea anything like that," he said. "I'll have to ask someone on the sixth floor about the possible expense to see if it's remotely feasible. I know someone I can talk to there – Miriam Edgecombe owes me a favor…"

Dumbledore's gavel suddenly echoed loudly in the hall, and everyone quickly fell silent, finding their seats. Hermione watched as Lucius and Narcissa both took their places, their features emotionless. It was remarkable how well they were portraying a cold anger between the two of them without saying a word – it was in the subtle things, like Lucius not taking Narcissa's arm to escort her to her seat, in Narcissa not looking at her husband before she stood to speak.

Adult Slytherins were very subtle, Hermione mused. By contrast, she must seem as subtle as a charging hippo.

"We are gathered to investigate the claims put forth by Sirius Black in his complaint to the court," Dumbledore announced, his voice ringing out. "We have called the first two people on Black's list of supporting witnesses to question them. Harry Potter, if you would take the stand, we will begin."

There was no Wand of the Realm present for questioning this time, Hermione saw. Instead, Dumbledore led the questioning, with others chiming in as need be.

"For the record, can you tell us your name, please?" Dumbledore said.

"Um. Harry James Potter," Harry said. He shifted in his seat.

"Thank you. Now, Harry," Dumbledore said. "What can you tell us about Sirius Black?"

It was such an open-ended question that Hermione was astounded, and Harry was caught off guard as well.

"Err—I heard he's my godfather," Harry said. "He's wanted for breaking out of Azkaban. And he's said to have been the one who betrayed my parents to Voldemort."

There was a murmur in the room at Harry saying Voldemort's name.

"Sirius Black has alleged he did not betray your parents," Dumbledore said. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Not directly," Harry said slowly. "But I have reason to believe that's true."

There was another murmur.

"What reason do you have for that?" Dumbledore prompted.

Harry glanced up at Hermione, who nodded, and he took a deep breath.

"When I first heard Sirius Black was my godfather and he'd betrayed my parents, I was angry," he said. "I wanted to go after him – just leave school and chase after him, to demand he account for what he'd done. No one knew where he was, though, so it wasn't a great idea. So my coven and I decided to do a Blood Debt ritual, to call him to account for his crimes that way—"

"A coven?" Zarek Selwyn interrupted. "I'm sorry, did you say a coven?"

"I did," Harry said, holding his chin up.

There was a murmur at his words.

"I'm sorry, I know you were raised with muggles, but the word 'coven' has a very specific meaning within the wizarding world," one of the regional representatives said apologetically. "Do you mean—"

"We bled and bound our magic together on Beltane," Harry said, eyes flashing with defiance. He raised his hand, ring glinting from his finger. "My magic is their magic, and their magic is mine."

There were gasps and loud murmurs at this.

"A coven?" Muriel Prewett demanded. "You're letting them form covens in Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore?"

"Though ritual magic has long since been removed from the Hogwarts curriculum, covens have never been forbidden at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"And they shouldn't be," Rowan Greengrass said curtly. "They are part of our heritage." He looked at Harry. "Please, continue."

Harry glanced around, uncertain.

"I was just so angry," he recounted. "So we decided to do a Blood-Debt ritual, to call Sirius Black to account for the deaths of my parents and his betrayal. Only… it didn't quite go as expected."

"What happened?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Well, the ritual worked," Harry said awkwardly. "The blood made these giant tentacles of magic that went searching for the traitor, but it didn't bring back Sirius Black. It brought back my friend's pet rat."

There was a collective gasp.

"A rat? A rat?" August Longbottom demanded.

"Um. Yes," Harry said. "My friend Ron has a pet rat, Scabbers."

The Wizengamot, having heard Sirius' full complaint and accusation of Peter Pettigrew being an unregistered Animagus, were shocked, and they broke into murmurs. Harry, having no idea of the details of that complaint, went on.

"We thought it might be because we used Ron's blood in the ritual," he said. "We needed virgin blood, and he gave us his. We were going to try again in case we did it wrong, but we never got around to it – there was so much else going on. And… well…" Harry hesitated. "The ritual felt right. It felt like when the magic searched for the traitor, it found Sirius Black, determined him not guilty, and then went on to find Scabbers." He shrugged. "We figured maybe there was a curse that turned the real traitor of my parents into a literal rat, but we could never find a counter-curse to try."

The court stared at Harry, amazed. The murmuring didn't stop.

"To summarize," Augusta Longbottom said. "You, with your coven, sought justice for the death of your parents. Instead of pulling Sirius Black into your ritual circle, however, you pulled in your friend's pet rat."

"That's exactly what happened," Harry said, shrugging.

"Does anyone have any further questions for Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked the Wizengamot.

"What do you do with your coven?" Muriel Prewett blurted out. "Besides Blood debt rituals?"

"Um," Harry said. "Well, before this, we were getting lessons from Professor Lupin – that's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor – on how to cast the Patronus charm."

"The Patronus Charm?" Amelia Bones asked, surprised. "You're only in your third year!"

"Well, it was tough to learn," Harry admitted. "It helped that we're bound as a coven – we were able to share magic with each other until we got the hang of it."

"Wait – you're saying you succeeded?" Amelia was astounded. "You can cast a corporeal Patronus? At thirteen?"

"Um," said Harry. "Yes."

"I don't believe him," Lucius Malfoy said loudly. "The boy clearly doesn't know what 'corporeal' means, for the Truth Circle to read that statement as true."

"I do too," Harry said, getting angry. "I'm not lying. Watch." He withdrew his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

A brilliant silver stag burst out of the tip of Harry's wand, galloping around the chamber, leaving silver wisps behind it in the air. The Wizengamot gasped, and on an impulse, Hermione started clapping. A moment later, the others joined in, then more, until the nearly the entire chamber was clapping. Hermione was satisfied to see Harry's face look a bit red when he dismissed the Patronus, the applause slowly dying down.

"Do you and your coven often study very advanced magic?" Muriel asked suspiciously. "That charm is out of reach for most adults, let alone a third year!"

"It seemed like a good thing to learn when there are dementors surrounding your school," Harry shot back angrily. "They invaded the school grounds once, messing up a Quidditch game. I could have died, falling from my broom, just because they wanted to feed on everyone's emotions. I didn't want to ever be that vulnerable again, so we went to the Defense professor and asked for help."

There was a heavy silence in the chamber. Harry was glaring at Muriel, who looked very taken aback. No one said a word.

"There are no further questions for Harry Potter," Dumbledore concluded a moment later. "Harry, you may step down."

Harry hopped down from the stand and took a seat on the side. Susan was called up next to testify in front of the Wizengamot.

"I am in Harry Potter's coven," Susan said, glancing over at him. "We did decide to do a Blood-Debt ritual. Everything Harry said is true."

"Do you have any thoughts on the ritual or Sirius Black that Mr. Potter did not already express?" Lucius Malfoy drawled.

"Only that we did the ritual properly," Susan asserted, sitting up straight. "Afterward, we wondered if we messed up, but I'm confident we didn't. We didn't call for Sirius Black by name; our words were 'House Potter was betrayed, and the betrayal calls for blood; we reach for the traitor's blood through blood, and we summon the traitor to come and answer for what he has done'." She glanced around. "The fact Sirius Black didn't appear means he is not the one who betrayed House Potter. It has nothing to do with where we got the blood."

Susan wasn't as famous as Harry, so people weren't as hesitant to quiz her on the existence of the coven.

"What was your first ritual as a coven?" Muriel asked suspiciously.

"You mean besides just binding our magic together?" Susan asked. "Um – we did a ritual on Beltane to help ghosts pass on if they wanted. It opened up a path to the beyond. A couple of them moved on – it was kind of beautiful to see."

"A Light necromancy ritual?" Phaedra Lestrange wondered aloud. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Covens have gotten a bad name because of You-Know-Who polluting traditional ritual magic," Susan said, glancing at Phaedra sideways. "My mother was in a coven, though. As was her mother. Sharing your magic with those you trust allows for you to amplify your power and do magnificent things you couldn't do otherwise."

"What else have you done?" Thoros Nott wanted to know.

"We've been trying to help someone conceive through fertility rituals lately," Susan said, vague. "It's her private business, so I don't want to name names, but a lot of old fertility rituals are messy and kind of Dark. We've been altering them to account for willing participants, to make them Light acts of creation instead of Dark aberrations against nature."

There was a murmur at that.

"Did it work?" Rowan Greengrass wanted to know. "Did it work?"

"It's not my place to say yet," Susan said evasively, which was answer enough – Rowan's eyes grew wide.

There were only a few more questions for Susan – apparently saying that they were able to help with fertility issues had helped their public image already with the Wizengamot. When Susan was allowed to step down, she went to sit with Harry.

"We have heard testimony from two witnesses. Both accounts support the claims put forth by Sirius Black in his complaint," Dumbledore announced. "What says the court?"

"Grant him his stay!" August Longbottom demanded immediately. "Give him a fair trial!"

"The words of confused teenagers messing with magic they don't understand is hardly sufficient evidence to prove a murderer innocent," Lucius Malfoy drawled. "Summon the boy with the rat. Compel him to bring his pet. Let us see once and for all if this rat is truly Peter Pettigrew."

There were loud murmurs and agreement at that. Dumbledore banged his gavel.

"It does no harm to be certain," he conceded. "Sirius Black listed Ronald Weasley as a witness to support his claim. We shall summon him and his pet rat, and we shall determine the truth of these matters once and for all. We will reconvene next Thursday."

He banged his gavel again, and the Wizengamot got up, murmuring and circulating amongst themselves. Hermione went and joined Harry and Susan, both of whom had wide eyes.

"Scabbers is Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked, his voice hushed. "What?"

"That's what he's saying," Hermione said quietly. She bit her lip, glancing up at Harry. "And I believe him. I think Black is innocent."

"If he finally gets a trial, we'll find out one way or the other," Susan said. She pushed her turquoise glasses up. "I can't believe Crouch just threw him in jail without a trial. Black was in there twelve years."

"He threw his own son into Azkaban with only a show trial, I heard," Hermione said. "Crouch wanted to come down hard on Death Eaters, and he didn't care about collateral damage."

Harry snorted. "Brilliant."

The Wizengamot cleared out rather quickly, and Dumbledore waited for it to clear out before escorting them back out.

"I dislike having to do this in the dark," he admitted to them, lighting his wand with a wordless Lumos. It helped, but only a dim light seemed to permeate the darkness of the corridors. "Follow me please."

Level Ten, where the courtrooms were, was only accessible via a small staircase that led up to Level Nine. Dumbledore led the way, followed by Harry, Susan, and Hermione taking up the rear. The Department of Mysteries, which dominated Level Nine, gleamed in the dim light from the blue-white torches, black tiled walls glinting with a haunted ambience. Dumbledore hummed as they waited for the lift.

"You would think," he said pleasantly, looking up at the lift, "that in a building of this size with this many employees, they would have more than one elevator."

They all laughed, waiting patiently.

It happened very suddenly – one moment, Hermione was waiting for the lift with Dumbledore and the rest of them, and the next, she was zooming through space, a sharp hook behind her navel yanking her along. She crashed into the floor of a dark room, gasping, and she whirled around, wand out and alert.

Hermione could see nothing. The room she was in was pitch black.

"Lumos," she said, and her wand lit up. She held her wand aloft, searching.

The room she was in was much taller than she had realized initially – it wasn't entirely dark, she could see now – the ceiling was similar to the one in the Great Hall, alight with stars and distant galaxies. A large model of the planets hung in the air, suspended in space, shining slightly in the light of Hermione's wand.

"Hello?" Hermione called out, taking a careful step forward. Her voice echoed in the darkness. "Is anybody there?"

Footsteps echoed from the far side of the room, and a figure walked towards her, boots clicking. As the figure came into view, Hermione could see it was a woman, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with the image a prism on it, light entering it and forming a rainbow. She wore a rough-looking black robe over it, open, and Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Sylvia?" Hermione asked, astonished. "Sylvia Lestrange?"

Sylvia's eyes seemed to glow.

"Hello, Hermione Granger," she said. "I'm here to blackmail you."

Chapter Text

Hermione stood very still, her wand still in her hand. Sylvia watched her from across the room. Sylvia was circling around the room slowly on the outside, Hermione turning to make sure she was always facing her, her wand still aloft, her nerves on edge.

Sylvia Lestrange. Hermione would have never thought the kind young woman from her summer internship would ever become someone who would abduct a child. Because that was what had happened here – a sudden abduction into the depths of the Department of Mysteries. And with a Portkey, no less, which meant this had to have been planned out in advance.

Which made sense, Hermione figured. Sylvia had already declared she was here to blackmail her. Blackmail wasn't exactly a crime of opportunity.

"Let's get a little more light in here, shall we?" Sylvia suggested. She waved a hand carelessly at the walls and the torches on the walls lit themselves, casting a flickering glow into the room. The light the flames added barely seemed to make a difference; it was as if the light was all sucked up into the darkness above. "There."

"I need to go back to Hogwarts," Hermione said. She fought to keep her voice from quavering. "Dumbledore will wonder where I am."

"He will," Sylvia said, shrugging. "Oh well."

Hermione stared at her. Sylvia just looked back at her, hands in her pockets.

"I don't know what you want," Hermione said slowly, "but I'm only the Youth Representative on the Wizengamot. I don't have much say in anything."

"I'm not interested in your political position," Sylvia said. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm much more interested in something else you have."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked, apprehensive. "My coven?"

"No," Sylvia said. "The Philosopher's Stone."

Hermione's blood ran cold.

Sylvia's eyes gleamed.

"You have the Philosopher's Stone," she said, circling Hermione slowly. "I've caught a goblin buying lead bars twice now, and you were seen carrying an ingot of solid gold through Diagon Alley recently."

Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe.

"It was from my vault," she protested. "And I don't know what the goblins are doing—"

Sylvia rolled her eyes.

"I don't have the patience for this," she snapped suddenly. "I'm not going to play games. You have the Philosopher's Stone. I want something from it."

"What, gold?" Hermione said. "If this is blackmail, I assure you, I can pay you with galleons, not literal gold bars—"

"No," said Sylvia. "The Elixir of Life."

Hermione froze.

The Elixir of Life. Hermione knew, in theory, that the Philosopher's Stone could make it somehow – it had been why Voldemort had gone after the stone, back when he was still possessing Quirrell. She'd never explored its potential herself. To be fair to herself, though – she'd only really realized she had the Philosopher's Stone in her vault and the implications of that less than a year ago.

And now, Sylvia Lestrange wanted it. Sylvia Lestrange. A reasonable Lestrange, to be sure, but a Lestrange nonetheless – a family with very Dark connections indeed. And a Lestrange who had just kidnapped her… so maybe not such a reasonable Lestrange after all.

Hermione bit her lip. Sylvia's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

"…I don't know how to make the Elixir of Life," Hermione said carefully. "I know it's possible, but I don't know how. And you have to drink it continually to have it extend your lifespan."

"I'm not interested in living forever," Sylvia said pleasantly. "I only need one flask of it."

Hermione paused.

"…one flask of it?" she repeated. "One?"

"One."

Hermione didn't know what good someone could do with one flask. Perhaps temporary immortality during a risky situation?

There had to be some reason for it, though. Sylvia had abducted her, inside of the Ministry of Magic, to blackmail her. Even as unstable as she seemed right now, Sylvia was smart – she'd been recruited for the Department of Mysteries for a reason. She wouldn't have risked getting caught unless there was an immense payoff or important reason.

"Why should I help you with this dodgy scheme?" Hermione asked, folding her arms. "Even if it gets out that I have the Philosopher's Stone, it's in Gringotts. No one can steal it from me. And technically, I won it from the obstacle course – it's mine by rights."

"Oh, no!" Sylvia started laughing. "No, no, no. I don't care about the stone. I'm not blackmailing you over that." She laughed again, genuinely amused and shaking her head, before she straightened, her eyes gleaming. "I'm blackmailing you over being a New Blood."

"Being a New Blood?" Hermione repeated, not understanding. "Everyone already knows I'm a New Blood."

"Everyone thinks you're a New Blood," Sylvia corrected. Her eyes glinted. "But what if they knew the truth…?"

She pulled out a small tome from her robes, flipping it open. Hermione felt her heart clench in her throat.

"You were smart," Sylvia mused aloud, circling Hermione slowly. "The Pureblood Directory was exactly the right book to pick. Everyone important had a copy of it, but no one reads the intro chapters carefully – they all just want the list." She raised an eyebrow at her. "So once it came out that 'New Blood' was very rare but was defined in the directory, it became a genuine possibility for you."

Hermione's mouth was dry.

"But you were very young," Sylvia said, "and you forgot something important." She gave Hermione a very sad look. "Do you know what that might be?"

Hermione couldn't find her words. Sylvia's face smiled at her, firelight flickering across it.

"You forgot that we always have two copies printed," she told her, flipping through the pages. "The master… and the original."

Hermione's heart stopped.

It had been years since she'd worked at Lleuwlyn & Selwyn. Years. She'd been a copy editor, grammar-checking manuscripts as a summer internship. She'd learned that the printing press printed a Master copy, and it was that copy that all other copies were duplicated from and connected to. Any changes to the Master copy were reflected in all duplicates made from it. Hermione taken a chance and acted on a whim, getting a Muggleborn Ravenclaw to help her alter the Pureblood Directory to add a section on 'New Blood' to add credibility to her claim. And because she'd altered the Master copy, anyone who went to their own copy to verify had seen her addition, unaware there had ever been a change.

But there had been a second copy printed – one that was specifically charmed to never be altered or changed.

"When I left Lleuwlynn & Selwyn," Sylvia said, "I took a book with me. Do you think you might know what that book could be?"

Hermione swallowed hard.

"The Pureblood Directory," she whispered, a lump in her throat. "The original."

"Bingo!" Sylvia said. She winked at her. "And guess what? This copy has absolutely nothing in it about New Bloods!"

She held her hand to her mouth in mock horror, then gave Hermione a very sorry look.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if this got out?" Sylvia said. "The first New Blood in centuries… all based on a lie. People would be crushed. Do you know how many followers you've actually got from that little prophecy being published in The Quibbler?"

Hermione had no idea. She didn't think very many.

"And they'd all have their hearts broken," Sylvia said, fluttering her eyelashes and putting her own hand to her heart. "It would be tragic. They would all be so upset."

Hermione didn't have much experience with Sylvia Lestrange in person. She didn't know her well enough to accurately predict what she might do. Sylvia had been kind to her when she worked at the publisher with her, she'd been sarcastic and tongue-in-cheek when Hermione had seen her at her mother's house, and she'd been intimidating and ominous when she'd shown up at the train station…

Was this what Sylvia had been hinting at, when she'd randomly shown up at King's Cross?

"What do you want?" Hermione asked. She kept her voice remarkably even, and Sylvia turned to look at her, a sharp smile on her face.

"I already told you," she said quietly. "I want the Elixir of Life."

"I don't know how," Hermione protested. "I honestly don't."

"The figure it out," Sylvia hissed. She stalked closer to Hermione, looking into her eyes, and Hermione fought not to cower in front of her. "I don't need tons of it – I need one dose of it." She paused. "Maybe two or three. I'll figure it out after the first one. But I need it. And you're going to get it for me."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"What's to stop you from holding this over my head for forever?" she asked, voice shaking. "If you're going to make me keep doing this—"

"I'll trade you," Sylvia said immediately. "The original Pureblood Directory – the book that will damn you – for the Elixir of Life."

Hermione took a breath.

"Do you promise?" she said, shakily. "If I do this—"

"I need it by Midsummer," Sylvia warned.

"I'm still in school!" Hermione protested. "How am I supposed to figure this out or get this to you by—"

"I don't care," Sylvia said patiently. "That's when I need it by. Find a way."

Her eyes glowed in the flickering light, and Hermione swallowed hard.

"Alright," she said. "I'll do it. I'll find a way."

Sylvia's face brightened, then split into a smile. It wasn't a very warm or kind smile.

"Excellent," she said softly. "That's excellent."

Hermione really didn't think it was.

Chapter Text

Hermione was escorted back to the Atrium by an Unspeakable, wearing the Unspeakable robes that prevented identification. She was shaking, and she couldn't look up at Dumbledore or her friends as they approached them.

"Miss Granger!" Dumbledore's voice was a mixture of worried and relieved. "Good to see you again."

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "You were right with us one moment, and then you were gone!"

"The Department of Mysteries was conducting an experiment," the Unspeakable said. Their voice was altered, utterly void of identifying characteristics or timbre. "She unfortunately fell victim to it. She has been warned never to speak about what she saw, but she should be fine in a day or two."

"Merlin and Morgana," Susan breathed. She went to Hermione, taking her hands. "Hermione? Are you okay?"

Hermione couldn't look up at her friend. She nodded silently, and Susan exhaled, not letting go of her hands.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go." Susan's voice was determined. "Let's get her out of here."

The trip back through the Floo was a green whirl, and Hermione barely remembered the trip back to the Slytherin dungeons. Susan had escorted her most of the way, maybe. She only remembered returning to her room, stripping off her Wizengamot robes, and collapsing on her bed, staring at the ceiling vacantly.

The Elixir of Life. The pinnacle of alchemical achievement.

And she had to figure out how to make it in ten weeks.

To be fair, she would be starting with a considerable head start, already being in possession of the Philosopher's Stone. She had no idea how to use the stone, though. She had none of the alchemical understanding of it necessary for creating it in the first place, which would have undoubtedly helped her know how to use it as well.

The only one she really knew of who knew alchemy was Dumbledore. And she couldn't go to him for help with being blackmailed.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she stared up at the canopy of her bed, her mind racing, but she was jerked from her thoughts by Millie entering the dorm room. Millie glanced at Hermione, before coming over and sitting down next to her on the bed.

It took a moment for Hermione to pull herself out of her thoughts and self-despair to really look at her friend. Millie was pale, but she waited until she was sure she had Hermione's full attention.

"Madame Pomfrey says she thinks she's repaired the damage," Millie said quietly. "At least, all of it she thinks she can."

Hermione exhaled. "Are you going to be okay?"

Millie winced.

"Mostly?" she ventured. "I mean, I've damaged my—err—my birth canal, and Madame Pomfrey warned me that it probably won't self-lubricate like it's supposed to anymore. But if I don't want it to lubricate because I don't want to be sticking anything in it, it's probably not much of a problem?"

She winced again, and Hermione bit her lip.

"There are things you can use if you change your mind," Hermione said uneasily. "To help—err, things—not have friction burn…"

But Millie was already vehemently shaking her head. "Nope. Eww. Gross. No."

"We're still very young," Hermione protested. "None of us have even tried—"

"Not interested," Millie cut in. "Hermione, I see you and Tracey and the others flirting and getting shy and having crushes on everyone. But I just don't. It's just not me."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "Millie, if it's a situation of you just haven't—"

"It's not because I haven't 'met the right person'," Millie said firmly. "I just don't have that drive. To fall in love, to have sex, none of it. It's not in my makeup."

"So when you were born, that switch just never got flipped?" Hermione asked. Millie looked confused, and Hermione amended, "So it's like when you were born, that particular torch just never got lit?"

Millie considered.

"It's like there wasn't a torch in the first place," she said. "No torch, no sconce on the wall. I'm not missing a lit torch – the torch was just never there, and there was never one there in the design to start."

Hermione felt a moment of deep sadness for a moment, as she regarded Millie. To never have a crush, to never fall in love… she felt bad that her friend would never experience such things. She couldn't really imagine not wanting to fall in love someday. But Millie seemed to have no interest whatsoever.

And if she wasn't made for such things… well, enduring them would probably be miserable, she guessed.

"Well, you know you the best," Hermione said finally. "So. What's the next step?"

Millie relaxed, relief shining out through her face at being believed, and Hermione felt guilty for questioning her in the first place. She'd just been trying to look out for her friend – she hadn't meant to make her feel defensive.

"Madame Pomfrey says she'll take it out for me, if that's what I really want," Millie said. "She asked what I wanted to do with it. She recommended keeping it in a jar in case I wanted it back someday, but I kind of thought throwing it onto a fire would be very cathartic."

Hermione cracked a smile.

"From the cramps mine gives me sometimes? I completely understand," she said. She smiled at Millie. "As cathartic as it might be, though, you might consider keeping it. It could be worth a lot of money, you know."

"My womb?" Millie made a face. "As what, a potion ingredient?"

"I mean, maybe?" Hermione said. "I was thinking as a ritual ingredient, to be honest. This last fertility ritual my coven did, we used basilisk ovaries, but I only had the two. If people want to do fertility rituals, a willingly-donated womb would probably fetch a fair price."

Millie snorted.

"And what, put an advert in the Prophet?" she said cynically. "'One partially-used, lightly-damaged womb for sale'?"

Hermione managed to keep a straight face. "It could work."

Millie looked at her incredulously, before they both cracked up into laughter.

"Merlin, I'd end up with hags owling me, wanting to eat my reproductive parts," Millie said, laughing.

"You could host an auction at the Hog's Head," Hermione suggested, giggling. "See how much the hags think it's worth."

They looked at each other and burst into laughter again, their giggles taking a while to subside.

"Madame Pomfrey says it might hurt," Millie admitted, after a while. She looked sideways at Hermione. "She said it'd be dangerous to put me to sleep for it."

"It probably won't hurt more than douching with a liquid fire potion," Hermione said dryly, and Millie cracked a grin with a wince.

"Probably," she said. She looked at Hermione, hesitating. "Still. Will you come?"

Hermione understood in a flash. She took Millie's hand, squeezing it.

"Of course," she told her, heartfelt. "Do you want Tracey to be there too?"

Millie blinked. "Tracey?"

"I could hold one hand, while Tracey holds the other," Hermione said. "We could both support you while Madame Pomfrey does whatever needs to be done."

Millie looked like she hadn't considered the possibility of telling Tracey before.

"I—yeah, alright," she said, after a moment. "I'll need to tell her, though. And then schedule it with Madame Pomfrey."

"Do you want my help in telling her?" Hermione offered.

"No, I think—I think I can do it," Millie said, thinking. "Tracey—she was really good. Kind. Over Easter. She didn't ask too many questions, but she—"

She broke off, thinking to herself, and Hermione didn't push.

"I'll tell Tracey," Millie said, nodding assertively. "Then – a Friday evening, maybe? So I have the weekend to recover, if it hurts very bad?"

"Sounds like a plan," Hermione said, smiling. On an impulse, she hugged Millie tightly for a moment, Millie rolling her eyes but tolerating it with indulgent humor.

"You're my friend, you know?" Hermione told Millie. "I know you don't like opening up about your problems, but you know I'd burn down the world for you, right?"

Millie snorted.

"That's exactly why I don't tell you about my problems, Granger," she said dryly, but she smirked and gave Hermione a half-hug back.

Chapter Text

Classes on Friday passed in a blur. Hermione was barely aware of them; she'd skipped breakfast to go to the library to look for beginner's books on Alchemy, and she'd spelled the covers to mimic her class texts. She didn't remember a word said in DADA or History class, and she was grateful that they were still on the indefinite transfigurations in McGonagall's class – she was able to shape her lump of silver with only slight difficulty and read the rest of the class.

By the end of the day, though, it was clear: Hermione was massively out of her depth.

There was just so much to Alchemy. The magical theory behind it was immensely complex, involving Ancient Runes, Arithmancy arrangements, Transfiguration, and other niche fields Hermione knew little to nothing about – Evocation, Transmutation – and others Hermione had never heard of – Transmogrification, Thermobiomancy, and Quantumancy. There was no way for Hermione to suddenly become a magical genius and expert in Alchemy in two and a half months. There was simply no way.

It was frustrating to realize she wouldn't be able to learn enough to figure it out herself. Coupled with the crushing panic of being blackmailed constantly lurking in the back of her mind, it took everything Hermione had to not have a complete mental break down.

Still. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew if she wouldn't be able to figure it out herself, she would need someone else to help her.

And so after dinner, Hermione pulled Blaise aside into an old Charms classroom. Blaise went along amicably, though he raised a curious eyebrow when Hermione locked the door and enchanted it with a Keep-Away charm.

"Fancy," Blaise commented. "I didn't think we'd learned that one yet." He looked at Hermione patiently, sitting on a desk to dangle his legs. "So. What's up?"

Hermione hopped up on another desk to face him. She took a deep breath.

"You're my official blackmail advisor, right?" she asked.

Blaise's face split into a grin.

"I am," he assured her.

"Well," Hermione said, keeping her voice steady, "I'm being blackmailed."

Blaise's jaw dropped, and Hermione winced. His eyes grew large, and his voice immediately lowered to a hush.

"You're being blackmailed?" he asked, his voice urgent. "By who? For what? What's going on?"

"By who and with what isn't relevant," Hermione said. "The issue is what they want."

"It is very much relevant, and we'll come back to that," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "But fine – what do they want?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "The Elixir of Life."

There was a long pause.

"You're joking," Blaise said, his voice low.

"No," said Hermione. "I'm not."

Blaise swallowed. "Oh."

Hermione watched as something inside Blaise seemed to shift. His astonishment and surprise seemed to morph. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes becoming sharp, methodical, thoughtful. When he spoke, even his voice was slightly different – slower, more thoughtful, with fewer inflections.

"So," Blaise said, his voice not betraying the seriousness of the matter. "A mysterious person knows you have the Philosopher's Stone, and they are now blackmailing you for the Elixir of Life."

"They're not blackmailing me over me having the Stone," Hermione corrected. "That's just what I have to use to get the Elixir."

Blaise tilted his head, considering. "How did they know you have the Stone?"

"They said they caught a goblin buying a lot of lead bars twice," Hermione said, making a face.

Skepticism flickered over Blaise's face, but his eyes remained intent and focused. It was odd, to see him so expressionless. It was as if he'd put on a mask, Hermione thought, to hide all his genuine emotions and expressions - a mask made of his own face.

"I'm surprised the goblins would be so sloppy," Blaise commented. He looked at her sideways. "No one usually pays attention to what they do, anyway."

"I was also seen carrying a gold bar through Diagon Alley," Hermione said dully. "I thought I had hidden it in my robes pretty well, but... well. It was really heavy, and I probably got sloppy with it after a while of struggling."

"So... the blackmail material is some other secret," Blaise summarized. "They're only blackmailing you into using the Philosopher's Stone to get the Elixir of Life."

"And I have to give it to them," Hermione added. "Their blackmail material… I can't let it get out. Ever."

"And we're forced to capitulate to their demands." Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I'm presuming poisoning is out of the question?"

Hermione's mouth dropped.

"I don't want to kill them!" she said, horrified.

"Why not?" Blaise asked. "They're blackmailing you."

Hermione goggled at him, mouth hanging open. Blaise waited patiently, blinking, only continuing when he was sure no further rebuttal was coming.

"It would nicely resolve the issue of someone having blackmail material on you," he pointed out. "As well as removing the threat of having someone left alive who knows whatever secret it is. There's no guarantee this person wouldn't continue to blackmail you once you handed the Elixir over."

"The deal is to trade the Elixir for the proof," Hermione said, wetting her lips. "So… even after, then, if they claimed—they wouldn't be able to prove—"

"Ah. Well, that works." Blaise pulled a leg up on the desk, drumming his fingers on his knee as he considered. "If 'handling' the blackmailer is out of the question... we have to figure out how to get them the Elixir of Life."

"Yes." Hermione winced. "And—I've already looked, Blaise, and Alchemy—it's nearly incomprehensible, it's so difficult, and the time I'd need to study enough—"

"No one expects you to learn a field of magic that takes wizards decades of study to become merely proficient in," Blaise told her, cutting her off. "That's unrealistic, even for your genius."

Hermione ignored his teasing.

"Then what else am I going to do, Blaise?" she worried. "The only other person I know of who knows Alchemy is Dumbledore, and I can't very well go to him!"

"Agreed," Blaise said dryly. He folded his arms, pondering hard. "And I trust using the stone isn't intuitive for this?"

"Not that I can figure," Hermione said miserably. "Doing gold is easy – you just put it on top of the lead and tell it to make gold, according to the goblins. I've got no idea what to do for the Elixir."

Blaise heaved a sigh.

"How long do we have?" he asked. "When do you need to have the Elixir?"

"By Midsummer," Hermione said. "In ten weeks."

Blaise whistled.

"That's soon," he said. "Really soon. We won't even be out of school yet, what with them pushing the end of the school year back because of the House Elves."

"I know," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "What do I do?"

Blaise gave her a look.

"Well, first, get the stone here," he said. "Then we'll figure out how to make the Elixir of Life, one way or another."

"But what if we can't?" Hermione fretted. "What if it's too hard, Blaise? What if we can't figure it out?"

"Hermione—" Blaise cut himself off, shaking his head. He stood instead, coming over to stand directly in front of her. "Hermione. Look at me."

Hermione looked up at him, biting her bottom lip. He was looking directly at her, his gaze holding hers. Blaise's eyes held a certainty hers did not, and as he gently laid a hand on her upper arm, she took a slow, shaky breath.

"Whatever it is, we'll figure it out," he told her quietly. "It might not be fine now, Hermione, but it will be fine. We'll handle it. I promise."

Hermione nodded shakily, and Blaise sighed, pulling her into his arms for a hug. Hermione was surprised for only a moment before hugging him back tightly, burying her face into his robes.

"You're not usually the one who's scared," he murmured, stroking her back. "It's unusual to see you like this."

"I'm not usually being blackmailed either," Hermione shot back, her voice muffled, and she could feel Blaise's laughter in his chest.

"True," Blaise mused, gently weaving a hand into her hair. "Still. It'll be alright, Hermione. We'll come out on top. I've got a few ideas."

Hermione seriously doubted whatever idea Blaise had would be sufficient to dig her out of this hole, but she didn't want to fight. Instead, she burrowed deeper into his robes, soaking in the reassurance and gentle comfort of his hands playing with her curls.

"It'll be alright," he promised her, his voice soft. "We'll figure it out. I promise you – I'll make sure by the end, it's all okay."

Chapter Text

Saturday morning, to Hermione's annoyance, confidential hearings or no, the Daily Prophet decided to publish information from Thursday's hearing. The headlines weren't exactly unexpected, but they were unwelcome nonetheless.

IS SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT?
Secret Wizengamot session seems to think so!

The first story covered the frame of the Wizengamot session – there had been a secret session, and there was another confidential session scheduled, which meant the claims so far had been deemed to have some merit or support. The rest of the piece went on to theorize about what would happen if Sirius' claims, whatever they were, were determined to be true or false.

The article itself was massively devoid of any real information, but Hermione realized that was likely because a different article had already taken all the juicy bits:

HARRY POTTER ALLEGES SIRIUS BLACK DID NOT BETRAY HIS PARENTS
Perfectly-performed Blood-Debt ritual did not summon Black in January

That story had the details somehow, secret Wizengamot session or not. The article detailed the questions that Harry had been asked on the stand, his responses, as well as the currently-accepted backstory of Sirius Black and his crimes regarding his betrayal of the Potters and the Fidelius Charm.

Next to it was another story:

ARE YOUR CHILDREN PERFORMING FORBIDDEN RITUAL MAGIC?
School children forming covens to cast ancient magics!

"It's not as bad as you think," Blaise told her, seeing her blanch at the headline. "It's actually almost good. I wonder who bribed the press."

Surprised, Hermione leaned closer to read.

ARE YOUR CHILDREN PERFORMING FORBIDDEN RITUAL MAGIC?
School children forming covens to cast ancient magics!

By Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter revealed he is a member of a genuine coven during Thursday's confidential Wizengamot session. He and his covenmates formally bound their magic last spring.

"We bled and bound our magic together on Beltane," Potter told the Wizengamot, showing off his silver coven ring, worn on the third finger of his left hand. "My magic is their magic, and their magic is mine."

The Wizengamot was shocked by this unexpected pronouncement. Upon questioning, a further truth was revealed: "Though ritual magic has long since been removed from the Hogwarts curriculum, covens have never been forbidden at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

Forming a coven is not something to be taken lightly. It involves binding yourself and your magic to others, and once done, it cannot be easily undone. Coven members can call upon each others' magic in times of need, and during ritual magic, their power is amplified through their shared magical bond.

Wizards have long since turned to wands for most magical needs, with Potions covering most of the rest. Using a wand is a natural limiter, generally – truly terrible things cannot be done by one person, as they require more power than most people have.

With covens, that limitation is removed.

"Covens have long had a Dark undertone," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "They perform rituals, and the fact is, a lot of Dark things can be done via ritual."

Bones holds that covens are misunderstood, however.

"Covens can do a lot of good, too," Bones said. "A protective enchantment cast by a coven instead of by one wizard is much more difficult to break. And You-Know-Who didn't have a coven, realize – he and his Death Eaters did their Dark rituals unbound."

One example of a coven doing non-Dark magic is Potter's.

"When I first heard Sirius Black was my godfather and he'd betrayed my parents, I was angry," Potter said. "I wanted to go after him. No one knew where he was, though. My coven and I decided to do a Blood Debt ritual, to call him to account for his crimes that way."

A Blood Debt ritual is an ancient ritual that summons a person who has betrayed someone and caused a grievous loss of life or limb. It was an ancient tool for justice when wizards could not use the court system the muggles had set up without risking a loss of life should they be discovered. Despite the name, a Blood Debt ritual is not Dark magic.

One member of Harry Potter's coven is Susan Bones, a 3 rd year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, niece to Amelia Bones.

"My mother was in a coven, as was her mother," the young Bones said. "Sharing your magic with those you trust allows for you to amplify your power and do magnificent things you couldn't do otherwise."

To the astonishment of the Wizengamot, this apparently includes Light necromancy rituals, which were thought not to exist.

"We did a ritual on Beltane to help ghosts pass on if they wanted. It opened up a path to the beyond," Bones said, sitting in the Wizengamot's Truth Circle. "A couple of them moved on. It was beautiful to see."

Other good works of magic are possibly coming still, though Bones was tight-lipped with the details.

"We've been trying to help someone conceive through fertility rituals lately," Bones said. "We've been altering [old rituals] to account for willing participants, to make them Light acts of creation. It's her private business though, so I don't want to name names."

Should such magic prove effective, it could shake the wizarding world to its core.

"Many families struggle with infertility," Rowan Greengrass said. "Ritual magic being able to fix that or work through it could reshape society. It could increase our birth rates immensely."

Such magic would not come cheaply, though, as ritual magic tends to be very time intensive and can only be performed at certain times of the year.

"Many people would pay, regardless of how high the cost," Rowan said. "To have a pregnancy stick and have a live, healthy child – there's no price in the world some of us wouldn't pay for that."

.

"They had a reporter in there," Hermione said, astonished. "They had a reporter. There's no way they got all those quotes second-hand. How did they get someone in there? It was a sealed session!"

"Maybe one of the Wizengamot works for the Daily Prophet?" Tracey suggested.

Hermione blinked. "I hadn't considered that."

"The article is slanted positively, though," Blaise pointed out. "It addresses the alarming parts of covens up front, and then it talks about all the good things we've done. It's definitely skewed to be pro-coven."

"And I'm glad of it," Hermione said honestly. "Though... I worry what the backlash will be."

Harry pulled Hermione aside after breakfast, taking her up to the 8th floor window seat. He brushed off a cushion before sitting, turning to Hermione, and taking a deep breath.

"I'm angry at you," he said, green eyes hard. "I realized yesterday – I'm furious. And I wanted to talk to you about it directly."

Hermione was surprised.

"You are?" she said. "I mean – alright, okay – but why?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"You didn't tell me about Sirius Black," he told her, meeting her eyes. "You knew he was innocent, and you said nothing to me for months."

Hermione bit her lip. "I mean—he's a fugitive, and the Wizengamot hasn't determined if he's innocent or guilty—"

"Don't give me that," Harry snapped. "You knew, Hermione. You knew, and you didn't say a word."

Hermione winced, and Harry glared at her.

"Why?" Harry wanted to know. "Why didn't you tell me, Hermione? You knew how I felt about Sirius Black."

Harry's eyes were hard as he glared at her. It was a new feeling – usually she and Harry were glaring at the same things. Being on this side of his acid-green death stare… guilt rose in her chest like bile as he looked at her. She didn't like it one bit.

"That was why I didn't tell you," Hermione admitted. "If I told you Sirius was innocent… well, I figured then you'd want to go see him and meet him. And… sneaking you out of the school to see him when he was on the run, as well as working on his legal case… it seemed kind of overwhelming."

Harry looked angry. "It seemed overwhelming? The prospect of having a conversation with me?"

"No, look, okay, I messed up," Hermione said, tugging at her hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd want to know right away. I figured if I could get Sirius cleared and exonerated by the end of the year, then you could meet him over summer break and get to know your godfather." She exhaled hard, trying to get all the words in order. "I just—it felt incomplete, to tell you what I was working on in the middle of it. I wanted to present it as a fait accompli, once it was already done."

Harry's eyes were hard. Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said quietly. "I didn't realize what it meant to you. I didn't think."

Harry looked at her for a long moment, before he heaved a sigh.

"I forgive you, Hermione," he said, his voice tired. "Just—you're one of my best friends, y'know? We're in a coven together. You can come to me with anything you need."

"I know," Hermione said. "It's just—it's hard to ask people for help, or to tell them I'm doing something risky they might want me not to do."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm in Gryffindor," he said incredulously. He started to grin. "Do you really think I'm the one who'd tell you off for doing something risky?"

A smile crept onto Hermione's lips. "Depends what risk I'm taking, I suppose."

"Try me," Harry challenged, eyes sparkling. "What risks have you taken lately?"

Hermione grinned.

"I captured Sirius Black," she told him, meeting his challenge.

Harry's jaw dropped. "You did not."

"I did. I caught him in the secret tunnel to Hogsmeade after he fled the Gryffindor tower back in February," Hermione told him, grinning. "I kept him in the Chamber of Secrets as my prisoner for a while, before moving him to a cave. He's staying at the Malfoy's, now – he can claim sanctuary there with Narcissa Malfoy, who's his cousin – while his legal case proceeds."

"You caught a man wanted for twelve murders," Harry said incredulously, but he was grinning. "You're mad for trying."

"He didn't have a wand," Hermione protested. "And it was easy enough to disarm him of the knife."

Harry laughed.

"Only you," he said, shaking his head fondly. He looked up at her. "What's he like?"

Hermione blinked. "Who, Sirius?"

"Yeah. He's my godfather," Harry said. "And if he didn't do it… if he's not guilty, and he didn't betray them…" He shrugged, looking out the window. "He's my last link to my parents."

Hermione thought she understood what Harry was getting at.

"Well, he's crude," she said, wrinkling her nose. "He makes a lot of foul jokes, and he's very blunt. He offended the Malfoys like five times in five minutes, and I think he thinks it's funny to horrify and shock people."

Harry snickered. "Okay, but making the Malfoys mad does sound like fun."

"They're the ones helping clear his name," Hermione said, exasperated. "It's immature."

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted, grinning. "What else?"

"Well, he looks a lot better now," Hermione said. "They got him a bath and a haircut and a shave, and he looks much more like a proper wizard now, instead of a deranged homeless man."

Harry laughed.

"Do you like him?" he asked. "Do you think I will?"

Hermione considered.

"He… has a distinct bias against Slytherins," she said carefully. "I don't think he'll drop that prejudice easily. And he hates Snape, and Snape loathes him back. But I think you'll get along with him, once you two get to know each other."

Harry laughed.

"Considering Snape also hates me," Harry said, amused, "I suspect I'll be in good company."

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, and Harry laughed again. He pulled her into his side, wrapping an arm around her in a half-hug, and Hermione leaned into him, rolling her eyes with a smile.

"Just – if something's relevant to me like this again, please don't keep it a secret?" he asked plaintively.

"I'll try," Hermione promised. "I'll do my best."

Chapter Text

Blaise, as Hermione's official Blackmail advisor, was taking his role very seriously. He had made a list of possible avenues of action and done preliminary Arithmancy odds on how likely they were to be successful.

"I'm just saying – the best way of handling this is poison," Blaise said, holding his hands up. He nodded at the parchment. "The numbers don't lie."

"I'm not killing someone over this," Hermione said, exasperated. "I'm not."

Blaise sighed very dramatically.

"Well, if force and violence are off the table, that leaves us with limited options," he said. He glanced up at her, lowering his voice. "Can you get the stone?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Maybe?" she said. "I can ask Tolly. She might be able to get it from Bloodthorne for me. That'd be safer than sending it through the mail."

Blaise nodded, making a note on his parchment.

"If we get that, we can begin trying to figure out the Elixir," he said. "We're going to need help with the Alchemy part, though."

"The only alchemists I know of are Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel," Hermione said, sighing. "The latter's dead, and I don't want to go to Dumbledore – he'll be furious that I have the stone."

"There's Cedric Dearborn, but I don't think he talks to anybody nowadays," Blaise said, frowning. "I only know because my mum tried to seduce him once."

Hermione's lips twitched. "You know about your mother's attempted seductions?"

"Of course," Blaise said, waving her words off. "He was an alchemist. Great potential for wealth and prestige. His constant ramblings about higher magics and crazy details got to her though, and she couldn't stand it, so she broke it off."

Hermione laughed, and Blaise smirked.

"There's one other person I think we might be able to ask," he said, "who might be able to provide some help."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised. "Who?"

Blaise glanced at her.

"You know who," he said, lowering his voice.

"I don't," Hermione said, annoyed. "Who?"

"No, not you know who. You-know-who," Blaise said. "The Dark Lord. Voldemort." His gaze was piercing. "He's the one who went after the stone for the Elixir in the first place."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"So, what, you want me to owl the Dark Lord?" she hissed. "Just write, 'hey, sorry for stealing the stone that would have resurrected you a body, but can you tell me how it works?' I don't exactly think I'm on good enough terms with him for that!"

"I mean, maybe." Blaise struggled to keep a straight face. "It could work."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Blaise grinned.

"But if I'm being honest," he said, eyes glinting, "I more thought you could consult the baby Dark Lord - the little one you carry around in your pocket."

Blaise didn't want to come along for Hermione pulling Tom from the diary, but he did anyway.

"If it's to do with your blackmail, I should be there to help," he said begrudgingly. "I just don't like him."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, shrugging. "He's practically harmless."

"I don't trust him," Blaise said immediately. "What's he after?"

"Presumably, a body someday," Hermione said. "I'm his best chance at ever getting out of the diary."

"Yeah, and will you give him that?" Blaise glanced sideways at her. "If he makes an offer to help you once, for something you can't refuse – would you do it? Give the baby Dark Lord a new body?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'd like to think I wouldn't," she said. "But a lifetime is a long time. Who knows?"

They went to the Chamber of Secrets, where there was no risk of Tom being seen or overheard. Blaise was surprised to see how clean it was.

"It wasn't this nice after we did the ritual for Jade here," he commented.

"I think the elves helped clean up," Hermione said, glancing around. "They may have even installed a toilet down here."

She sat down and took out the diary, while Blaise moved off to the side.

"Do you have your sword?" he asked. "In case this goes poorly and you need to destroy him?"

"I don't need it," Hermione said, waving off his concerns. "If it goes that badly, I can just cast Fiendfyre to destroy the diary, and he knows it, so he'll behave."

Blaise's eyes went wide, but Hermione was focusing on her breathing, closing her eyes and centering her magic, settling into her core. Once her magic was settled, Hermione reached out with her magic into the diary, fishing around, waiting for the feeling of someone taking her hand, before slowing pulling her power out.

Blaise gaped as Tom Riddle was slowly pulled into existence, a body forming as it emerged from the pages of the open diary, and Hermione quietly enjoyed his astonishment. She'd done this many times, now, but it was rather fantastic, seeing a person form from nothing but magic and will.

"Hermione," Tom said, greeting her. He glanced to the side. "And—Blaise, was it?"

"It was," Blaise said evenly.

"A pleasure," Tom said. He looked to Hermione, eyes glinting. "Are we teaching everyone in your coven Fiendfyre now too?"

"No," said Hermione, as Blaise's mouth fell open again. "No, I need help with something else this time."

"Then, by all means," Tom said, spreading his arms grandly. "What is the quest of today?"

"Alchemy," Hermione said. "Making the Elixir of Life."

To her astonishment, Tom Riddle groaned.

"Must we?" he complained. "I detest alchemy."

"Yes, we must," Hermione pressed, surprised and annoyed. "I'm being blackmailed for it. I have the Philosopher's Stone, but I don't know how to use it to get the Elixir."

"Blackmailed?" Tom raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And is there a reason you haven't just killed the blackmailer to be done with it?"

"That's what I said," Blaise grumbled.

"Killing is bad," Hermione said sharply.

"Blackmailing is also bad," Tom pointed out. "Surely you don't think the life of a person blackmailing you is worth more than you keeping your secret?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione snapped. "It's a life. If my secret came out—well, it would be bad, but I wouldn't die. So they're not comparable."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Fine, then," he said. He heaved a huge sigh, moving to sit down on the stone floor. "Alchemy. What do you want to know?"

"How to get the Elixir of Life from the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione repeated. "I looked at some of the alchemy books in the library, but they're impossibly complex—"

"Learning Alchemy is hard, but understanding the basic concepts is not," Tom said, waving a hand dismissively. "You grew up with muggles, yes? Did you learn chemistry?"

"At a very basic level," Hermione said, wincing. "I only had primary school before I went to Hogwarts, really."

"You only need a very basic understanding," Tom said. "You know the difference between atoms and molecules, yes?"

"Err – atoms are the smallest unit of ordinary matter that compose everything. They are composed of protons, neutrons, and electrons," Hermione said slowly, thinking back. "Molecules are composed of different types of atoms and are held together by chemical bonds."

"So long as you know what that means, that's enough," Tom said.

"It doesn't feel like enough," Hermione grumbled.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"What is Transfiguration?" he challenged.

"Err…" Hermione faltered. "Transfiguration is the field of magic where you turn one thing into another."

"Close," Tom said. "What's Alchemy?"

"I've got no idea," Hermione said, annoyed. "It seems like it's this utterly incomprehensible mess of ideas—"

"It's not," Tom said, annoyed. "Stop. Listen. You're making it more complicated than it needs to be?"

"Am I?" Hermione shot back. "Simplify it, then."

"Transfiguration is the field of magic that changes molecular structures," Tom said easily. "Alchemy is the field of magic that changes atomic structures."

Hermione paused.

"You're kidding," she said.

"I assure you, I'm not," Tom told her, raising his eyebrow.

"You mean to tell me," Hermione said, tugging on her hair, "that right now, the Philosopher's Stone, which I set down on a pile of lead, is atomically changing it into gold?"

"What did you think was happening?" Tom asked her, smirking.

"I don't know! Magic! I didn't consider it in-depth!" Hermione snapped. "I definitely didn't consider it was breaking atomic bonds and splitting atoms!"

Tom held his hands out, shrugging. "That's Alchemy for you."

"This doesn't make any sense," Hermione groaned. "I've turned things from one element to another in Transfiguration before. I'm sure of it."

"Have you?" Tom said ambiguously. "Are you certain?"

"Yes!" Hermione insisted. "The very first lesson – we transfigured a matchstick into a needle. That's wood into metal. And I know metal is made of different elements than wood!"

"A matchstick – that's wood and probably phospohorus sulfide," Tom said. "Wood is primarily carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen, with other elements such as nitrogen, sodium, potassium, magnesium, and iron." He raised an eyebrow. "And what is a needle made of?"

"Steel," Hermione said with certainty.

"And steel is just iron and carbon," Tom said, shrugging. "You've got both in the matchstick. Transfiguration."

Hermione gaped at him.

"What happens to the rest of it, then?" she demanded. "The leftover carbon and oxygen and whatever?"

"It probably turns into harmless gases," Tom said. "I'm guessing, mind. But if your magic is only focused on one part – turning the wood into metal – I believe the rest would just be left to do as they wanted. Which would probably be turn into carbon dioxide and water droplets in the air."

"Splitting atoms results in nuclear fission," Hermione snapped. "That's how they made the atomic bombs."

"I don't know what that is," Tom said easily. "Consider, though – have you ever transfigured anything silver or gold?"

"Yes!" Hermione cried. "Just the other day, we were doing indefinite transfigurations—"

"And you reshaped a mound of silver, yes?" Tom said challengingly, eyes glinting. "You didn't change it into anything else, did you?"

Hermione faltered.

"…is that really the difference?" she said. Her mind was boggling, rejecting the very idea. "Alchemy is essentially atomic transfiguration?"

"You say that like it's easy," Tom sneered. "It's extraordinarily difficult. Wizards have to use Arithmancy and Quantumancy to figure out the composition of what they're trying to change, extensive Ancient Runes to detail out the specifics and lay down guidelines, have an understanding of Thermobiomancy and Evocation to deal with the energies and magics involved, and then have a matter of skill in both Transmutation and Transmogrification." His look was cutting. "Alchemy is a discipline that requires decades of study. Decades. There's a reason I dismissed it when looking into immortality."

"Then why did Voldemort go after the Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Because it's cheating," Tom snarled, suddenly looming in front of her. "It's essentially a shortcut, Hermione. I have no idea how the Philosopher's Stone works, but it does all the complicated parts for you."

Hermione held her breath.

"Once you have something that does the alchemy for you, the rest is easy," Tom told her, eyes glinting with malice. "If you provide the right ingredients and magical intent, the stone will do the rest."

Hermione swallowed.

"So… you're saying if I figure out what the Elixir of Life is supposed to be made of, and I get the right ingredients, the Philosopher's Stone will break molecules apart to stick the right atoms together in the right order? Or turn atoms into other atoms?"

"Better than you writing out 10-foot runic diagrams to do it yourself," Tom said pointedly.

Hermione felt faint.

"Well," she said weakly. "I guess it's a place to start."

Hermione was still dwelling on the matter when she returned to her dormitory for the night. The threat of blackmail seemed to hang over her heavily these days, never far from her mind, and obsessing over alchemy at least made Hermione feel like she was doing something to help.

The easiest place to start, Hermione determined, was to figure out exactly how the Elixir of Life was supposed to work. 'Make you immortal' wasn't an answer, in her opinion. Horcruxes allegedly made you immortal, but it was really through the splitting of your soul. If the horcrux and original body were both destroyed, then you were dead – clearly not immortal anymore.

Records of the Elixir of Life were old and fanciful, many of them seeming to be involved in legends. From what Hermione could tell, it was supposed to heal you and keep you from aging. That was a conditional sort of immortality, Hermione figured – immortal, so long as no one stabbed you to death.

It was a point to start, she supposed, but not an easy one. 'What causes aging' and 'how do bodies heal' weren't exactly questions with simple answers.

An unusual thought occurred to Hermione, though – if the Elixir of Life did, in fact, prevent aging… then it was only when a person stopped consuming the Elixir of Life that they would begin aging again. Depending on the age of a person when they had begun consuming it, that could give them nearly a lifetime to live after stopping. If they'd started at 100, sure, they wouldn't have much longer left, but if they'd started at 40? A wizard could easily live another 60 years.

Nicholas Flamel had created the Philosopher's Stone. He and his wife, Perenelle, had used it to live into their 600s, and they'd used the gold it made to create an endowment at Beauxbatons, if Hermione wasn't mistaken.

Hermione bit her lip. If one of them were still alive, and could answer her questions…

Her eyes flitted over to her desk, where an elegantly-penned scroll lay, the fleur-de-lis seal broken, waiting for her response.

With a sigh, Hermione heaved herself out of bed and to her desk, taking out a quill. She might as well try and ask.

Chapter Text

Ron Weasley was not a particularly aware individual. When he got his order to appear before the Wizengamot with his pet rat, Scabbers, he didn't seem to realize just what the implication of this was, or that it had anything to do with the Sirius Black hearing. He was much more aware of the immediate effects of this – mainly, his family finding out that he'd lost his pet rat.

"I know I shouldn't tell him anything so his testimony isn't tainted," Harry ranted to Hermione, "but he keeps going on about how upset Percy is going to be! Percy, who had Scabbers for years!" He threw his hands up. "Percy's going to have a heart attack when he realizes just who he had at his bedside for seven years! He'll be a sight more upset over that than the loss of the rat, I'd wager!"

Hermione was hard-pressed not to laugh. "I bet."

When the time for the hearing finally rolled around the next week, it was Hermione who needed to bring Scabbers, as Ron still had no idea where he'd gotten off to. She dutifully retrieved his cage from the back of the top her wardrobe (where the rat didn't have a view over the edge of it, to her immense relief), only to have Crookshanks leap at it almost immediately, hissing and spitting. This time, Hermione understood.

"You know it's not a normal rat, don't you?" she praised Crookshanks, setting the cage down to scratch his head and scruff. "You are such a smart cat, aren't you? Such a brilliant, clever Crookshanks."

Crookshanks purred and looked smug as she scratched behind his ears.

"Well, I'm going to go take care of it," Hermione assured her cat. "They're probably going to transform him back into a person, and I expect he'll be seized and put into custody. There won't be this fake rat lurking around anymore."

Crookshanks seemed to reluctantly accept this, though he still seemed to glower at the cage as Hermione picked it back up. He hissed viciously, and Scabbers squeaked and ran to the back of the cage, cowering. Hermione peered at him curiously.

"You've been a rat for twelve years – do you even remember how to be human?" she wondered. "Can you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Scabbers didn't react to her words, trembling in the back of the cage, and Hermione sighed.

"I suppose we'll find out," she conceded.

To her surprise, not only were Harry and Susan were waiting with Ron at the base of Dumbledore's rotating stairs, but Blaise and Luna were as well.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in astonishment. She glanced around at them all. "Surely you haven't all gotten requests to testify?"

"Susan and I figured we should come along in case they had any more questions," Harry said, shrugging. He looked sideways at Ron. "And, y'know, I wanted to be there. Moral support for Ron, and to see what all goes down."

"And we decided to come along as well," Blaise said, tugging Luna into his side in an awkward hug, "in case they want to ask us any questions as a coven, or in case we're needed to prove the ritual we did."

"And protect you." Luna's eyes were a darker blue than usual, deadly serious. "We're stronger together than we are apart."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that, but anything she was about to say was interrupted by the grinding noise of the stairs next to the giant phoenix statue beginning to rotate and rise.

"We'd better get on!" Harry said, hopping onto the stairs. "Come on, it's time!"

"Do these just move for us?" Ron asked, leaping on. "Wicked."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped on calmly – it wasn't like the staircase was a trap or obstacle of some sort. Luna and Susan followed suit, and Blaise brought up the rear with his wand aloft, almost as if he was the vanguard.

Dumbledore was waiting for them at the top, blue eyes twinkling.

"What a prepared crowd of young witches and wizards," he said, nodding to them. "Good evening to you all. Are you quite ready?"

"Err—Professor Dumbledore?" Ron said. "I'm sorry, I only just got this a few days ago, but they want me to bring my pet rat, and I haven't got him anymore."

"I'm sure the Wizengamot will be understanding in the matter of your lost pet rat," Dumbledore reassured him. His eyes cut over to Hermione, sharp through his half-moon glasses, and Hermione nodded, patting her pocket. He refocused on Ron, smiling benignly. "So long as you answer their questions honestly, this should not too difficult an experience for you."

Hermione doubted that. Answering questions might not be difficult, but the emotional burden of realizing the truth of his beloved pet…that was going to be rough.

"We can afford it."

Hermione looked up at Royce Fiddlewood, who was grinning down at her.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

"We can afford it," Royce said again. "I spoke to the Department of Magical Transportation. There are unpublished rates they use for Ministry projects – drastically lower rates, which makes sense how the Aurors jump all over the bloody continent without flinching. I'd wondered—" he broke off, clearing his throat. "Anyway. If you can get the diplomatic arrangement in order, we'll be able to fund it and organize it on our side."

"That's excellent," Hermione breathed, relieved. "I've owled Julian Selwyn – he agreed to meet me on an upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. This—this really might work!"

"Don't drop your wand just yet," Royce advised her, taking his seat next to her. "You've still got to talk to New Zealand's people and see what they think."

"I know," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Fingers crossed it goes well."

Royce looked puzzled by the idiom, but he quickly dropped it as Era Hornbeam bapped him on the head as she took her seat.

"I spent my day handling goblins being attacked by Chinese Chomping Cabbages in a town market," she informed him. "They're enormous, compared to the body of a goblin. One goblin lost an arm and howled, and the other goblins counter-attacked the cabbages."

Hermione did her best to stifle her laughter. It wasn't funny, someone had gotten seriously hurt, but the mental image of the goblins going to war with cabbages was too silly to ignore.

"The resulting scuffle broke through the secrecy barriers and into the muggle side of the town." Era glared at him. "This is your fault, allowing the bloody goblins bloody trade."

"They're supposed to go through the committee!" Royce objected. "There's a specific legal outline for them to follow—"

"Well they're bloody not, are they? The committee probably told them to go buy their own cursed cabbages, and they did—"

"We are convened to continue our investigation into Sirius Black's claims," Dumbledore intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Please take your seats."

Era shot Royce a venomous look before settling her robes around her. Hermione wondered what the goblins needed with more cabbages. Had the ones she'd brought them died out? Had they all been used up?

"Ronald Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Would you please take the stand?"

Ron walked to the center of the room, trembling. He took the seat inside the Truth Circle after glancing back at Harry several times, as if needing reassurance of where to go. When he finally settled himself and looked up at Dumbledore, Dumbledore gave him a kind smile.

"If you could say your name for the court, please?"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Ron said. "Um. I mostly go by Ron."

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Now—"

"I don't know anything about Sirius Black," Ron blurted out. "I mean, I heard he was Harry's godfather, but I haven't seen him, and I don't know anything about him being innocent—"

"We have not called you here to ask about Sirius Black," Dumbledore reassured him.

Ron looked confused. "Wait, you haven't?"

"No," Lucius Malfoy said curtly. "You've been called to testify about your pet rat."

"What, really?" Ron was incredulous. "You want to know about Scabbers?"

"Scabbers, you call him?" Lucius Malfoy sniffed. "Well, then…"

"What can you tell us about Scabbers?" Dumbledore asked Ron.

Ron looked kind of boggled by the question. Hermione didn't understand how he was so surprised – his order to appear had included mention of his pet rat in the document.

"Err—well, he's my pet rat," Ron said uncertainly. "He was Percy's before he was mine."

"You inherited a rat?" Phaedra Lestrange's lip curled in distaste.

"I didn't inherit him," Ron objected, face going red. "It's not like Percy died!"

"Forgive me; you received a hand-me-down rat," Phaedra corrected herself, tone dripping in disdain. "Please continue."

As Ron detailed how Scabbers had been in the family for ages but how he'd started to look more sickly this year, Hermione looked at Phaedra Lestrange closely. Did she know about her daughter's espionage and blackmail? Sylvia seemed estranged from her mother, so Hermione doubted it, but if she did know…

"Is there anything special about Scabbers besides him being smart and so long-lived?" Augusta Longbottom wanted to know.

"Err—well. He's missing a toe," Ron said, scratching his head. "Not sure how that happened, but he is."

There was a murmur through the room, wide eyes exchanging significant looks.

"And where is your rat?" Augusta demanded. "You were to bring him today, were you not?"

"Err—well, he vanished," Ron said. He looked miserable. "I haven't seen him since January. He ran off, I guess."

"'Haven't seen him since January'," Lucius Malfoy said, his lip curling. "How convenient."

"You may step down, Ron," Dumbledore bid him.

Ron hopped down from the stand, going to sit with Harry, and immediately discussion and objections broke out.

"This is all hearsay, Dumbledore," Lucius Malfoy said loudly. "Without the rat, this is all insane speculation and the deranged conspiracy theory of a lunatic madman—"

"Luckily for us," Dumbledore cut in, eyes gleaming, "we have the rat present today."

Lucius Malfoy cut himself off abruptly, apparently astonished, and Dumbledore looked satisfied as he nodded to Hermione.

"Miss Hermione Granger," he bid. "If you would approach?"

Hermione walked down to the floor of the chamber, careful not to trip on her long Wizengamot robes. As she did, she marveled at Lucius Malfoy's acting. He knew Pettigrew would be present – it was part of their greater plan, after all – but for the world, you'd never know it by his reaction. Dumbledore seemed taken in by his act as well, even.

But that made sense, Hermione mused. If Dumbledore thought Sirius was innocent, he would think Lucius Malfoy would want to keep him behind bars. He saw what he expected to see. It was harder to imagine Lucius wanting Sirius to be declared innocent, to conceive that he was part of this plan all along.

Hermione took her place inside the Truth Circle, looking up at Dumbledore.

"If you might state your name for the court?" he bid her.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said.

"And what do you have for the Wizangamot today, Hermione?"

She didn't require much bidding.

"I am a member of Harry Potter's coven," she said, speaking clearly. "I was there when we conducted the Blood Debt ritual."

There was a murmur and looks of astonishment, but Hermione went on.

"After the ritual, we were confused why Sirius Black hadn't appeared, and why we'd gotten Ron's rat instead," Hermione said. "We decided to err on the side of caution, and we captured Scabbers and kept him in a cage." She withdrew the cage from her robes. "I've had him since that night in January."

There was a loud murmur as Hermione set the cage on the stand in front of her, members of the far seats gossiping with each other wildly. Dumbledore banged a gavel to settle everyone back down.

"You've had this rat for months?" Lucius Malfoy demanded. "Why didn't you return him to his friend?"

"We thought the rat might be a person cursed to live as a rat," Hermione shot back. "He did come through the ritual circle, so he had to be responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents somehow."

"But—you said nothing?" Augusta Longbottom prompted. "You told no one?"

Hermione winced.

"I didn't think my Head of House would be pleased to learn that I'd participated in a ritual with the express goal of capturing Sirius Black," she admitted. "And the rat being an Animagus never occurred to us at the time – who would want to live as a rat for twelve years?"

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "You may step down."

Hermione bowed and hurried off to the side, joining her coven and Ron. Ron looked torn between being furious and being appalled, but Harry was practically vibrating with anticipation, his eyes wide.

"They're going to do it, aren't they?" he asked in a hush. "Turn him back?"

"There's a spell," Hermione told him, quiet. "The Homorphus Charm. Professor McGonagall told me about it."

Amelia Bones was directing two Aurors now, who were laying down protective wards outside of the truth circle. They took up position next to the circle a moment later, wands at the ready, and Amelia turned to Dumbledore, nodding. Dumbledore nodded deeply back.

"All the witnesses up to this point have been about this rat," Dumbledore proclaimed. "We have heard its history; we have heard the chain of custody. Now, we will learn the truth."

"Get on with it," Lucius Malfoy hissed, eyes tight.

Dumbledore nodded obligingly, withdrawing his wand.

There wasn't even an incantation – the lock of the cage popped open, the door flew open, and Scabbers made a mad dash out of it only to be caught by a wave of magic a moment later, blue-white light catching him in the air. The rat squeaked rapidly, his small gray form twisting madly, there was a blinding flash of light, and then—

It was like watching a time-lapse film of a tree growing: a head was shooting upward from the ground, limbs were sprouting off of a thick trunk, and a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands, whimpering.

He was a very short man, shorter than Hermione, even. He had thin, unkempt colorless hair with a bald patch on the top, and he had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. His skin almost looked grubby, like Scabbers' fur, and he had something of the look of a rat about his face, lingering in his pointed nose and his very small, beady eyes.

There was no doubt left to be had that the rat was indeed an Animagus.

There was chaos and a roar from the Wizengamot, members shouting out, and Dumbledore had to bang his gavel several times to regain control while the small man cowered within the Truth Circle, eyes darting around wildly.

"Settle down, settle down!" Dumbledore said, trying to regain control. "We must have order!"

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry, who was staring at Pettigrew with an intense look on his face. Luna stood next to him, her hand on his back supportively, though Hermione wasn't sure Harry was even aware he was being touched. Off to the side, Ron was vomiting, Susan doing her best to Vanish his bile each time more came up.

"He slept in my bed," Ron moaned. He threw up again, gagging, and Hermione winced and went over, withdrawing her wand and Vanishing the small pile. Susan shot Hermione a grateful look before conjuring a cup of water for Ron to wash his mouth out with as he moaned piteously.

"Can't really blame him," Susan said quietly. "This has to be an awful shock."

The Wizengamot was settling down now, and Dumbledore was focused on the man on the stand with a terrible intensity. All sparkle in his eye was gone.

"Your name." His voice was hard, a demand.

The man on the stand cowered.

"P-Peter P-P-Pettigrew," he stammered. "W-w-what's going on?"

Dumbledore was having none of it. "Were you Secret-Keeper for the Potters?"

Peter's eyes bulged. He opened his mouth, only to choke and gag. A circle of red began to glow around him, a slight glow that intensified into a bright red light as Peter continued to struggle. The murmurs around the room grew louder as he fought.

"You are inside a Truth Circle, Peter! One of the most powerful ever laid down. Tell the truth!" Dumbledore's voice boomed.

Peter coughed, trying to catch his breath. Hermione wondered if he had tried to lie so hard, that the Truth Circle had actually choked him to the point of depriving him of air.

"…yes," he gasped finally. "Yes, I was."

"And did you betray the Potters to Lord Voldemort?" Dumbledore demanded. "Did you reveal their location to him?"

The Truth Circle pulsed red warningly as Peter opened his mouth. Peter stared down at it, before he closed his eyes for a long moment, seeming to resign himself to his fate.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, alright, I did."

The outcry was immediate.

"Arrest him!" Augusta Longbottom shrieked. "He is responsible for the deaths of the Potters!"

"Get the Veritaserum!" Thoros Nott declared. "We must have the truth!"

"Why stay a rat?" Amycus Carrow wanted to know. "Why live as a rat for a decade?"

Other people were crying things out, Dumbledore desperately banging his gavel and trying to maintain order. He was at a disadvantage, though – Dumbledore could not stop staring at Peter Pettigrew, and his body seemed to shake slightly with his hatred. Harry was in a similar state, glaring at Peter, but his face was torn between fury and anguish.

"Are they going to give him Veritaserum?" Harry wanted to know. "Will I get to ask him why?"

"Probably not right now," Susan told him quietly, as the Aurors moved to arrest Peter. "This isn't a trial – use of Veritaserum is highly regulated. That won't happen until trial or official interrogation, if at all."

Harry looked wild, his hair standing on end from him running his hand through it so many times. Frustration warred with sense on his face, and he scowled at Peter as he was chained.

"Look on the bright side," Blaise said.

Harry turned to shoot him a glare. "What bright side?"

"Well, Peter's already admitted guilt, yeah?" Blaise commented. "That means you're likely to get your godfather back – and not guilty, too boot."

Harry froze.

"Sirius," he breathed, eyes wide. He turned to Hermione. "Are—are they going to let him go?"

"First, they need to issue a stay of execution," Hermione said. "Err—or whatever they call it, to reverse the Dementor's Kiss order. Then, I think he has to surrender to Ministry custody to be officially arrested and arraigned?"

"He'll probably send word through his Regent his terms of surrender," Susan clarified. "He'll agree to present himself for trial if certain conditions are met." She looked to Harry. "There will be a trial – there has to be, with all the publicity his escape has had. But… with Peter Pettigrew as a witness… he's likely to go free."

Harry's face was frozen, as if he couldn't believe it. Hermione bit her lip, not knowing how to feel. She imagined Harry was feeling some fairly complicated things right now.

"My Mum's gonna kill me," Ron moaned from the floor, where he laid, forgotten. "Not only did I lose Scabbers, but I was feeding a Death Eater for years…"

Their reassurances that Molly Weasley was not going to be upset with him for unknowingly harboring a murderer fell on deaf ears; Ron was utterly inconsolable over the entire thing. He continued to moan and gag while the Wizengamot continued, and by the time the revocation of the Dementor's Kiss on Sight edict was complete, Hermione was sick to death of Ron's moaning and rather wished his mother would kill him over the stupid rat.

Chapter Text

CW: Hysterectomy

The Daily Prophet wasted no time with their coverage of the Wizengamot's secret session, plastering it all over the front page the next day.

PETER PETTIGREW FOUND ALIVE!
Alleged victim of Sirius Black faked his death!

To Hermione's astonishment, the story was scrupulously accurate, detailing the alleged crimes of Sirius Black. It documented the claims of murder, as well as Black's counterclaims that Peter had framed him and that he was innocent. They definitely had a source on the inside of the Wizengamot – the story detailed Ron's testimony and Peter's appearance under the Homorphus charm on the stand, as well as Dumbledore's questions and Peter's forced responses. They'd even snagged a photo of Peter Pettigrew as the Aurors had taken him up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, looking short and beady and rat-like, even in human form.

They ran the full story of Black's claims right next to it:

SIRIUS BLACK CLAIMS HE WAS FRAMED
Read his official petition to the Wizengamot here!

As well as the story Hermione was most relieved for:

EDICT OF DEMENTOR'S KISS REVOKED FOR BLACK
Official Trial of Sirius Black currently in the works!

The student body of Hogwarts was in an uproar over the news. The fact that Peter Pettigrew had been hidden as somebody's pet, for years, rocked the student body, and breakfast was filled with first and second years bringing their familiars up to their House prefects, begging them to test their own pets with the Homorphus Charm. It was a difficult charm, one only the Charms N.E.W.T. students really seemed to know, so the 7th year prefects were besieged by requests for help.

The Head Boy, Percy Weasley, was livid, and he seemed to take requests to test pets as a personal affront and a silent snide commentary regarding his own possession of 'Scabbers' for so many years. The Head Girl, Jade Rince, was happy to pick up the slack, testing students' familiars with a sly smirk and sideways look at the Head Boy, and Snape was all-too pleased to hand out points to his house's prefects for going above and beyond for their underclassmen, his eyes glittering all the while.

Ron, to his credit, seemed to be handling the astonishment and horror of his classmates rather well. He retold the story of Peter's appearance on the stand over and over throughout the day, each time embellishing his gnarled appearance and his own horrified reaction. He told the story of him vomiting, but then just described how horrible it was, what terrible things could have happened if Peter had changed back in the boy's dorm, and what unorthodox methods Ron would have had to employ in order to save himself from Peter.

The Gryffindor boys seemed to take to this method of storytelling enthusiastically, and by the time she finished dinner on Friday, Hermione had heard how Ron would have had to strangle Peter with the curtains, smother him in the bed drapes, bash him over the head with a Sneakoscope to stab him with the broken glass to save his dormmates. If none of that would have worked, Ron was prepared: he would have tricked Peter into thinking Ron was a supporter of You-Know-Who too and then push him down the stairs.

The inauthenticity of his recounting of what actually happened annoyed Hermione more than was reasonable, a fact she recounted to Tracey and Millie that night in the Hospital Wing, Millie wearing a cotton medical gown, Tracey sitting at her side.

"—wouldn't stop puking and throwing up, and he wouldn't stop whining that his mum was going to murder him," Hermione complained. "I mean, I understood it once, but he just went on and on and on!"

Tracey giggled.

"I mean, I probably would have been upset too, but I don't think I'd have carried on quite that much," she said. "This is the one who wanted to date me?"

"Ron? Yes," Hermione said. "In exchange for his blood."

Millie rolled her eyes.

"I imagine if you hadn't kept the rat far away from us, we'd have thrown up and murdered you as well," Millie pointed out. "If that rat ever saw Daphne changing, and then her Dad learned he was an Animagus? You would have been murdered as well."

"Well he didn't," Hermione snapped, defensive. She hadn't even considered the risks and dangers of bringing the rat into her dorm room. "He was on the back of the wardrobe, and he couldn't see over the detailing."

"He might not have even cared, you know," Tracey said. She giggled. "He did choose to stay with the male Weasley children and snuggle up to them in bed, instead of Ginevra."

Millie snorted. "That's a fair point."

"Alright, enough, enough," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling in, holding several potions in her arms. "I understand there's a lot to talk about with Sirius Black's trial being planned, but I can't have you straining your diaphragm or abdominal muscles here, Millicent."

"Yes, ma'am," Millie said obediently. She sat back against the pillows she'd been leaning up on. She glanced at the pile of potions. "What are those for?"

"Blood Replenisher, Infection Impeder, a pain potion, a lubricant, and a disinfectant," Madame Pomfrey said promptly. She raised an eyebrow. "This isn't a simple procedure, you know."

Madame Pomfrey set about getting several things set up, while Hermione and Tracey moved to be out of the way, one of them at each of Millie's sides.

"I'm still surprised you're even doing this procedure," Tracey said, watching as Madame Pomfrey withdrew a large yellow gem. "It seems like the sort of thing Saint Mungo's would want parental permission for."

"This isn't Saint Mungo's," Madame Pomfrey said succinctly. Her eyes were sharp. "Care of patients is under my judgement, here. And I've determined this procedure is medically necessary for Millicent's health."

"Really?" Hermione said, surprised. "Her uterus removal?"

"Yes," Madame Pomfrey said. "Or else she will die."

Tracey and Hermione recoiled in horror, but Millie just looked stubborn as Madame Pomfrey glanced down at her coolly.

"That's an exaggeration," Millie grumbled.

"I've been treating you all term," Madame Pomfrey told Millie. "Now that I'm fully aware of what your goal has been and what's been happening to you, I am fully convinced you would kill yourself trying to end your fertility."

"I was getting better at it," Millicent argued. "I was going—"

"You were going to bleed to death, is what you were going to do," Madame Pomfrey snapped.

"Well, so what?" Millie challenged, eyes flashing. "At least then I wouldn't have to marry that oaf Fionn Yaxley—"

"And that," Madame Pomfrey said pointedly, her eyes cutting over to Hermione, "is why this is a medically necessary procedure."

After the potions were uncapped and ready, along with an odd yellow gem sitting on Millie's chest, right below her rib cage, Madame Pomfrey went and retrieved a small glass jar that was etched with runes in gold.

"Professor Burbage assures me this will keep your womb preserved for you for hundreds of years," she told Millie, unscrewing the top. She poured one of the potions into it, a clear one that had an odd sort of iridescence. "She modeled it after the Egyptian canopic jars they used during magical mummification."

"Lovely," Tracey said, distaste dripping from her tone.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a dark look as she set the jar aside on the table nearby, before picking up her wand. "Ready?"

Millie hesitated. "…can you go over what's going to happen again?"

Madame Pomfrey nodded, sitting up.

"We are going to be removing your uterus and fallopian tubes through your birth canal," she told Millie, her tone no-nonsense and very matter of fact. "The topaz is going to help project a visualization of what's going on inside of your body to me." She gave Millie a frank look. "This is going to be painful and very uncomfortable. I have no idea how the speculum is going to feel to you, given how much you've already damaged your tissue, and the process itself is going to hurt."

Millie looked away. Hermione took her hand and squeezed it, while Madame Pomfrey pulled down the covers that had been overtop Millie's bare abdomen and legs.

"Should we get a sheet or something to go over Millie's legs?" Hermione asked, thinking back to her gynecological exam.

Madame Pomfrey snorted. "Absolutely not. That's a distraction I don't need, and I'm already doing a very finicky procedure. If she wanted to maintain her modesty, she shouldn't have gone about destroying her feminine parts in this way."

"It's fine," Millie assured Hermione. "You've all seen me change a million times. And I really don't care."

"Changing is a bit different than looking at you naked with your womanly parts being pulled out of you," Tracey said dryly, looking a bit green.

"Well, yes," Millie said, starting to grin. "It's much cooler, isn't it? How often do you get to see inner organs on the outside?"

Tracey gagged, and Millie and Hermione giggled.

"I'm ready to begin," Madame Pomfrey announced. She gave the girls a sharp look. "Once I begin, do not stop me or interrupt me. This is going to be difficult, and if I slip, Millicent could be at significant risk."

"What if someone else comes to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked.

"I've locked the doors," Madame Pomfrey said, moving the topaz to sit atop Millie's pelvic bone. "If they keep knocking and banging, it'll be up to you to make them go away." She looked at Millie. "Ready?"

Millie took a deep breath.

"Ready," she said.

And Madame Pomfrey began.

It was apparent that it was very uncomfortable for Millie from the get-go – her expression changed, and she winced several times as Madame Pomfrey inserted the speculum. Soon, her expression changed from one of discomfort to one of pain, and her eyes were pleading as she looked up at Hermione and Tracey, squeezing their hands.

"Hurts," she whimpered. "Help."

Carefully, Hermione spooned the pain relief potion into Millie. She had to pause, making sure she didn't give Millie too much – if she was loopy or high, she wouldn't be able to give Madame Pomfrey the feedback she needed. It was agonizing, watching her – Millie's eyes clenched shut, tears leaking out as she gripped Hermione' hand hard.

Time seemed to crawl by, the tense quiet broken only by Millie's shallow sobs.

"Your cervix is inflamed," Madame Pomfrey muttered from down below. "Bear down for me…"

There was a flash of orange light, and Millie gasped, her eyes going wide as she choked on a cry.

"Breathe," Hermione urged her. "Breathe. Deep breaths. Breath in… breathe out. Breathe through the pain with me."

There were tears in Millie's eyes, and she hiccupped.

"Please," she moaned. "I need—"

"She can't have more pain potion," Madame Pomfrey said grimly. "I have to cauterize these blood vessels as I detach them, and more pain potion is going to mess that up."

"Focus on your magic," Tracey suggested. "Can you find your core?"

"Yes," Hermione said, seizing on Tracey's suggestion. "Find your core, Millie. Settle in it and feel your magic. It will help you through this pain."

Millie was struggling to breathe evenly, sobbing shallowly.

"I can't—" she said, her voice wobbly. "It—It hurts—"

Tracey bit her lip hard, then looked at Hermione determinedly.

"Can you read minds?" she asked quietly, so as not to be heard by Madame Pomfrey.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione said, blinking.

"You know," Tracey said impatiently. "Legilimency. Can you do it?"

Hermione stared at her.

"I know the theory…" she said slowly. "I'm certainly no expert…"

"Can you do it to me?" Tracey said. "Try to read my mind?"

"Right how?" Hermione said, astonished. "Why—"

"Millie was my partner in your protection ritual," Tracey said, squeezing Millie's hand tightly as she gasped aloud in pain again. "If it works how you said it would, she should be 'transported' to my mindscape if my mind is under attack."

Hermione understood. "And you think that'll—"

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Tracey said impatiently. She worried at her lip, looking down at Millie, who was whimpering. "She's hurting so much, Hermione. We have to do something."

Hermione glanced at Madame Pomfrey, who was fully involved in looking at the odd projection from the topaz and cursing things inside of Millie's body. She was muttering to herself and not paying attention in the least.

It was worth a try…

Hermione withdrew her wand, looking into Tracey's eyes.

"Legilimens."

She felt herself falling, falling, before landing hard onto mossy ground, somehow aware that her body was still in her chair.

Hermione had never been on this side of an Occlumency barrier before. It was fascinating, and incredibly similar to her own mindscape – a fully-realized location that she could see herself in, even as her body remained firmly planted in reality. Tracey's mind was not protected by fire, though; instead, Hermione found herself in a very dark forest, filled with lush moss, dark trees, and thick, creeping vines.

What sort of barrier did a forest present; Hermione wondered. Her own mind had a river of fire, but she didn't think a normal river would present quite the same level of protection. The forest was oddly silent as Hermione wandered through it, glancing around. There were no animals or signs of life, and it made the dark forest far creepier than it had any right to be. After a time, Hermione came to a bramble of thorny vines, and she paused, slowly looking up.

There were vines and thorns everywhere.

The thicket was immense, and impossible to cross without being stabbed a hundred times. On the other side of the thicket was a large, looming stone castle – where Tracey's memories were, Hermione imagined. Was Millie standing on the lookout tower of the castle? Hermione wondered. She was always on the other side of the fire river in her own mind, or the other side of the ice inside of Draco's.

Curious to see what would happen, Hermione tried to get through the vines. Two of the vines withered and decayed under her magic, but others surged and wove into place in front of her, strengthening the thicket, preventing her from making her way.

It felt like something from a dark fairy tale, from Sleeping Beauty come to life, only there were no animals or sounds as Hermione prodded at the vines with her magic; instead, just the eerie stillness from the dark forest around her.

What secrets did Tracey have to protect so fiercely, Hermione wondered as she wandered around, looking at the brambles. The protection was Millie's magic, but if Hermione had managed to get up into that tower... what memories or thoughts would she find? Tracey seemed to be fairly transparent with her friends. Hermione hoped Tracey didn't feel like she had to hold part of herself back from them, that she didn't trust them enough. To protect her memories so fiercely... was that instinctive, or something to hide?

Or, Hermione thought dryly, maybe it was just memories of Tracey's amorous activities with Adrian.

Hermione kept prodding and poking at the thicket of vines with her magic, as if she was attempting to get through, but very carefully, for what seemed like forever. Time dragged on as she carefully went through the thicket, taking care to not get impaled by the thorns. Hermione didn't want to get through to Tracey's mind, but she needed to do enough that Millie's magic still felt there was a threat, to keep Millie there, aware. She felt a moment of longing to get closer to the castle's outer moat and walls; maybe once she got close enough, she'd be able to see and talk to Millie, much like Tom Riddle had approached the river of fire to talk to her.

It didn't matter, in the end – Hermione was abruptly yanked out of Tracey's mind by a loud sound and losing her balance on her chair, her body crashing to the floor of the Hospital Wing and bringing her back to the present fast.

"It's done," Madame Pomfrey said, sounding harried. There was a plopping, wet noise as something was dropped into water, and Madame Pomfrey wiped her hands off on a bloody towel before taking her wand and Vanishing the muck from them. "One magical hysterectomy, all complete."

Hermione stood up from the floor to look into the jar, where a reddish organ now floated. It looked about the size of a pear, with little hands floating off to the sides.

"Is that it?" Hermione marveled. "It's so small."

"That thing can hold a baby?" Tracey asked, astonished. "I thought it'd be much bigger."

"Yes, well. The human body's a marvel," Madame Pomfrey said, smiling thinly. "Hand me the healing potion, will you? We're not quite done here, but she can have the rest of the pain potion now."

Hermione helped Millie drink the pain potion while Madame Pomfrey rinsed out Millie's insides with the healing potion. Millie made a face, but she didn't seem to be in pain anymore. It probably wouldn't hurt, anyway, Hermione imagined – though it probably felt very odd, to be full of liquid down there.

"I think she's high again," Tracey said, amusement in her tone.

"'M not," Millie said, her speech slow and slurred. "I was Rapunzel, up in the tower…"

"I thought it was Sleeping Beauty," Hermione said, suppressing a smile. "Wasn't that the fairy tale with the cursed castle and thorns?"

"Whatever, does it matter?" Millie groaned. Her eyelids fluttered. "''t'd be nice to have a castle like that. Could get all kinds of meat and dead things from magic thorns…"

"Just let her sleep," Madame Pomfrey advised, standing up and stretching her back, casting a critical eye over her. "She's got a lot to heal from, but she'll be able to walk a bit in the morning."

"I think she's already out," Tracey said. "Um. Maybe we gave her a bit too much."

Hermione looked to Madame Pomfrey, who was screwing the lid onto the pre-prepared jar. She moved the enchanted jar that now held Millie's womb out of the way, the gold runes glowing slightly, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude toward the nurse.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "Thank you. When I learned that Millie—I didn't know what to do—"

Madame Pomfrey's expression softened.

"It wasn't quite my pleasure, but I was happy to do it to help her," she said quietly. She looked at Millie with a sigh. "Forced marriages are a terrible thing. Douching with fire to destroy one's fertility is far from the worst thing I've seen a girl do to escape her fate."

Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to imagine what worse things there were.

Chapter Text

Hermione read the Daily Prophet the next morning with a critical eye. They'd published an article speculating about which way the Wizengamot would vote on Sirius Black's innocence, despite the trial not having even begun. The article seemed to simultaneously indicate that Sirius Black was clearly innocent, but also that there was clearly something nefarious and manipulative going on.

The Daily Prophet had the oddest editorial slant Hermione had ever seen. If they were attempting to be objective by presenting both sides of the matter, they were failing horribly – it just came out like two dueling writers had written the article, contradicting each other in the same piece.

"So," said Blaise, sitting down for breakfast at her side. "It's Hogsmeade weekend. Millie's in the Hospital Wing, and Tracey's gone off with Pucey." He raised his eyebrows. "Given Malfoy's still avoiding you and not talking to you, I doubt you're going to go to Hogsmeade with him again…"

Hermione laughed.

"No, you're right," she said. "He hasn't spoken to me in weeks."

"Want to come along with me, then?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him sideways. "Won't Sally-Anne mind that?"

Blaise shrugged, giving her an easy grin. "We don't have formal plans. Plus, she'd like to meet you, I think."

The idea that Blaise's sort-of girlfriend would want to meet her came as a surprise.

"I—ah, maybe?" Hermione faltered. "I'm meeting Julian Selwyn at the Three Broomsticks at three, so we could—"

"Julian Selwyn?" Blaise made a face. "Who's he?"

"The UK representative to the International Confederation of Wizards," Hermione said. "It's Wizengamot business, really – I need him to get me in touch with someone else."

"So… it's a wizard you've never met before?"

"Well, yes," Hermione said. "That's what the introduction today is for."

"I'll be there, then." Blaise had a dark expression. "The last time you met someone new in Hogsmeade, you were kidnapped."

"That was your cousin," Hermione protested.

"Lazzero was not my cousin," Blaise objected. "He's the son of the brother of one of my step-dads – I'm not related to him by blood at all."

"He was your contact—"

"Nevertheless," Blaise said firmly, "I think you should have protection."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I seriously doubt the official representative of the UK is going to kidnap me."

"If you're meeting at the Three Broomsticks, it'll be easy enough to provide backup," Blaise said. "Sally-Anne and I will just get a table nearby. We'll be able to keep an eye on things then."

"'We'?" Hermione commented dryly. "Is Sally-Anne quick enough with her wand to defend me in the event a grown wizard decides he means me harm?"

Blaise paused.

"Well," he said, after a moment. "Hopefully we won't need to find out."

Sally-Anne Perks was a third-year Gryffindor with long, straight brown hair. She was of average height, maybe a few inches shorter than Hermione, with full eyebrows and brown eyes. Hermione recognized her from Transfiguration; she often put on reading glasses while she took notes, and then took them off and hung them from her robes when actually attempting the transfigurations. Tracey had made a crude remark about the glasses getting lost in her bosom once, and Hermione and Millie had needed to fake a coughing fit to hide their giggles.

It felt rude to recognize a girl by the size of her curves, but with Sally-Anne, they were ample, and particularly hard to not notice in the robe she'd chosen to wear.

She was pretty enough, Hermione supposed, looking her over as she approached with Blaise.

"Hi! I'm Sally-Anne," Sally-Anne greeted her. She extended her hand to Hermione, and Hermione took it instinctively, shaking it.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said reflexively. "Pleased to meet you."

Sally-Anne let go of her hand, beaming.

"You shook my hand!" she said, grinning. "Do you know how many people just stare at me when I do that?"

A slow smirk grew on Hermione's face.

"I imagine quite a few," she said. "They don't really shake hands in the wizarding world, do they?"

"They don't! They just stare and sneer, really. And I don't understand why," Sally-Anne ranted. She was immediately heated, and Hermione sensed this was not the first time she'd gone on this particular tirade. "It's not as if touching hands with another person is magically dangerous or significant, is it? But no, we're going to curtsy instead, because we all decided we'd prefer to live out our full Jane Austen fantasy, didn't we?"

A smile threatened to spread across Hermione's face, and she was dismayed to realize she might actually like this girl.

"Our Jane Austen fantasy?" she said, amusement in her tone. "With the lack of grand balls we have around here? Hardly."

"You know it!" Sally-Anne giggled delightedly. "Even Blaise here didn't shake my hand – he kissed it instead." She looked at him fondly. "Not as bad as staring at me like a bug, but still very Regency."

"I object – I was taught to kiss the hands of beautiful women," Blaise protested easily, giving them both a charming smile. "I was being polite."

"Oh, pish," Sally-Anne said, slapping his arm lightly and laughing. "I'm no beautiful woman, you rake."

"I speak only the truth," Blaise flirted. Hermione barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes as Sally-Anne laughed again.

"I'm fourteen," Sally-Anne said. "I'm not a woman by any means."

"A mere technicality," Blaise responded, offering her his arm. "Still beautiful, though."

Sally-Anne laughed and took his arm, fond. "Flatterer."

Blaise looked to Hermione, offering her his other arm.

"Coming along?" he asked. He shifted his elbow, clearly indicating she should take his arm, and Hermione paused.

Sally had taken Blaise's left arm, and Blaise was offering Hermione his right.

Hermione had finally asked Daphne after the Easter break about the significance of sitting on a person's left or right. Draco and his mother had made such a fuss about it that she hadn't been able to drop it, and she'd wanted to know what it meant. Daphne had been happy to explain – a romantic consort always sat on the left, an advisor on the right.

"My mother always sits to my father's left," she had explained to Hermione. "If she sat on his right, people would presume she was bossing him around, telling him what to do. And she would never."

Her explanation made sense, to Hermione. She'd seen photographs of Kings and Queens of years past, with the King on the left and the Queen on the right, which meant she sat at the King's left.

However, Queen Elizabeth II, the reigning monarch, did not have a King. Her husband, Prince Phillip, was the 'prince consort'. He did not have the power and did not reign as King; she was the one in power. And on the telly, from everything Hermione had seen, Prince Phillip sat on her left.

The whole business of sitting at the sides of someone being a silent declaration was exactly the sort of over-dramatic pureblooded culture nonsense Hermione often got annoyed with, though she knew she had to do her best to learn it all to adapt and blend in. She'd been able to gather that because she'd taken the lead talking to Draco's mother, Narcissa had identified her as the 'one in power'.

And now…

Sally-Anne had taken Blaise's left arm, which left Hermione on his right. Which was proper and made sense – Sally-Anne was dating Blaise, so naturally she was on his left. Only…

Well. That still put him at her left, didn't it?

Deciding she was overanalyzing things, Hermione shook her head to clear it and took his arm. A genuine smile spread across Blaise's face, almost relieved, and Hermione wondered if he really thought she'd been about to make a scene.

"To the carriages, then," Blaise said grandly, leading the way.

"Carriages! It is a Jane Austen fantasy," Sally-Anne declared. "So be it! To the carriages, then!"

Hermione laughed.

"To the carriages," Hermione agreed.

Blaise and Sally-Anne pranced across the Courtyard grandly, and Hermione got caught up in it, skipping to keep up, laughing, and Sally-Anne was laughing as well. Blaise puffed out his chest and tried to look as stuffy as possible, and Sally-Anne put her nose up in the air so high Hermione wondered how she could even see. Hermione used her air elemental to make her own robes sweep about rather dramatically, and Sally-Anne took the side of her own robes, attempting to sweep them rather grandly as well.

They were probably being ridiculous and making a bit of a scene, but Hermione found she couldn't bring herself to care. It was fun.

"Do you think they'll finally get rid of the dementors?" Sally-Anne asked, as Blaise helped her into the carriage. "If Sirius Black isn't a danger anymore, I think we should get rid of them. I hate going past them."

Hermione shuddered as she climbed in after. "I couldn't agree with you more."

Tagging along as the third wheel on Blaise's date was an incredibly odd experience, mostly because of just how odd it didn't feel. Sally-Anne included her in conversation, didn't seem to resent her presence, and was perfectly kind and chatty the entire time. It felt more like hanging out with friends at Hogsmeade than it did a date she was intruding on, and Hermione wondered in a different life, if she might have naturally made friends with Sally-Anne.

"I swear, it's just for the aesthetic," Sally-Anne said, as she purchased a new quill. "There's no good reason we can't just use biros."

"There is, actually," Hermione said, amused. "You can jinx the ink from a ballpoint pen to change, and verification spells don't work on it. Unless the ink flows directly from the movement of your hand, without a little ball getting in the way, the spells we use don't work properly."

"You mean I can't use a ballpoint pen because they want to cast anti-cheating spells at my essays?" Sally-Anne protested. "Can't they just tell by my handwriting that I'm the one who wrote it?"

"If you wrote with a biro, the ink could be jinxed to change into your handwriting," Hermione said, shrugging. "It's a bit of a hassle, but it makes sense. Magic complicates things like that."

Sally-Anne sighed. "It does, doesn't it? What a pain."

Inside the bookstore, Sally-Anne was protesting the lack of fiction.

"I read enough nonfiction for school. I want something fun to read on the weekends," she complained. "I swear, the wizarding world is so behind in some things. I have to get my mum to send me novels."

"You'll want to look under memoirs," Hermione told her, taking out a beginner's alchemy book for herself. "They do have fiction here, but they pass it off as dramatic experiences, pretending they were real."

"Wait, really?" Sally-Anne's eyes grew wide. "You're serious?"

"Don't you remember Lockhart's books?" Blaise teased her. "All the fanciful adventures he said he went on?"

"You know…" Sally-Anne looked thoughtful. "They did rather read like fiction, didn't they? The pacing, the plots…" She looked at Hermione. "Does that mean he didn't do the things he said he did, then?"

Hermione laughed.

"I'm not answering that," she informed her, taking out another book, one on legends of long ago.

"Why not?" Sally-Anne protested. "If you have such opinions on fiction—"

"Because to say 'yes' would be to imply he'd faked his teaching credentials," Hermione said promptly. "And I like him teaching History. He's much better than Binns ever was."

Sally-Anne laughed. "Alright, alright, fair point there."

Sally-Anne wanted to stop at Gladrags Wizardwear. Blaise stayed with her as she perused the robes, exclaiming over new arrivals, but Hermione, who was not dating Sally-Anne and was under no obligation to trail after her, was happy to sit in a chair and take out her new alchemy book to read. Blaise shot her a jealous look as he followed after Sally-Anne, holding a few robes for her that she wanted to try on, and Hermione shot a smug smirk back.

When Sally-Anne had finally decided what new spring robe she wanted, Blaise then had to wait outside a curtain while the tailoring witch came over to apply fitting charms. Hermione was included with her into the tailoring area, curious to learn what charms they were using. Sally-Anne's figure was such that she had to get a very large size to fit over her top, and in order for it not to look like she was drowning, the robe had to be taken in severely at the waist and hips.

"My mum always said I'd have top-heavy figure, just like her," Sally-Anne laughed, grinning at Hermione. She gave a sigh, slightly wistful. "I'll never balance out like you."

"What, me?" Hermione looked down at herself. "I'm not nearly as blessed as you."

"No, but you've got enough, don't you?" Sally-Anne laughed. "You've got both breasts and a bottom, whereas everything meant for my butt ended up in my breasts instead."

Hermione had never before considered her hips and bottom as a positive. "You think?"

"You've got an hourglass figure," Sally-Anne told her, a bit envious. "I'm stuck with everything up top."

"Boys seem to like it," Hermione said neutrally, and Sally blushed.

"Well, there is that," she conceded. "Can you imagine if I were a pureblood, though? Lavender's constantly telling me I need to get proper stays! As if stays would hold these things up, right?" She grinned. "I'll be keeping my bras, please and thank you, miss."

"Me, too." Hermione couldn't help but smile back. "Some things, the muggles just do better."

"Right?" Sally-Anne agreed emphatically.

"Please hold still," the tailoring witch begged, and Sally-Anne blushed, quieting and holding still.

After the robe shopping was done, Blaise led them to the Three Broomsticks. It'd settled down somewhat, now that it was moderately after lunch time. They took one of the booths, Sally-Anne sliding onto one bench, Hermione sliding into the opposite. Blaise went and got them all butterbeers before sliding onto the bench next to Sally-Anne, and after some meaningless chit-chat about how busy the place was, Sally-Anne focused on Hermione with a smile.

"So! Tell me about you," she asked, brown eyes sparkling. "Blaise has told me some things, but I want to know about you from you."

"What has Blaise told you?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oh, just the basics," Sally-Anne said, waving a hand vaguely. "You're a New Blood, which is something special, you're in a coven together, you're his best friend, you're on the Wizengamot, that sort of thing. But all that's boring."

"That's boring?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Well, yeah – anything I could read in the paper about you isn't something personal about you, is it?" Sally-Anne said. "Look – I can learn you're the Heroine of Hogwarts from the Daily Prophet, but that doesn't tell me who Hermione is, really, or what's important to you."

Hermione blinked.

"I don't think I've ever been asked to just define myself to someone before," she said. "I hardly know where to start."

Sally-Anne grinned.

"Let's start with your jewelry, shall we?" she said. "That set is lovely. Are those pearls?"

Hermione's hand went to her pendant, fingering it lightly. "I think so."

"Is that a fancy pureblood courting token?" Sally-Anne asked. "Lily Moon had one of those for a while. They're more common in Slytherin though, I hear."

"Ah—of a sort." Hermione faltered. "It—um. Kind of? It's hard to explain."

"It is really?" Sally-Anne got excited. "I was just gabbing! I didn't think you were seeing anyone!"

"I'm—I'm not, not really," Hermione said quickly. "It's more a—"

"Who gave it to you, then?" Sally-Anne wanted to know, eyes sparkling. "Did you dump them? Are you allowed to wear the fancy token even if you break up?"

"It's—ah—"

Hermione faltered. How to explain, and how much to explain to someone she barely knew? Sally-Anne was practically vibrating with excitement, and even Blaise was watching her now, dark eyes fixed on her. Hermione fingered her bracelet and bit her lip as she tried to gather the words.

"A courting gift doesn't necessarily mean someone is being actively courted," Hermione said, slowly. "It's an indication that one would pay the other suit."

"But you're wearing it," Sally-Anne said. "Doesn't that mean you accept their suit?"

"It indicates that I would accept such a suit," Hermione said, hesitating, "were it paid."

"If they gave it to you, then they clearly want to court you, so what's the big—"

"We can't," Hermione said quickly. "Court, that is."

"Why not?" Sally-Anne wanted to know. "Is it some over-dramatic blood purity thing—"

"Because they're in France," Hermione snapped. "And neither of us can be expected to wait for someone across the English Channel."

Sally-Anne fell silent, her eyes wide, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping," Hermione apologized. "It's just—it's a bit of a sensitive subject. And I—I haven't seen them since the summer. It's very personal."

Sally-Anne nodded slowly.

"So… your boyfriend is in France?" she said. "But he's not your boyfriend right now? 'Cause you were dating Cedric Diggory for a while."

"That's… close enough," Hermione said, amending her original response.

"Is he dating anyone else too?" Sally-Anne wanted to know. "Even though he wants to be courting you?"

"They're—ah, they're in a unique situation that makes dating in general difficult," Hermione said, parsing her words. "They've tried going out with a few people, and kissed a few, but they haven't had much luck with it yet, really."

"And he tells you this?" Sally-Anne was horrified. "That's so insensitive!"

"We keep in touch," Hermione said defensively, "and we're both practical and fully aware of the situation. I would be happy if they got a partner that they had a connection with – I'm not about to demand they stay faithful to me when I can never see them – but they just haven't had much luck."

Sally-Anne gave her a dubious look. "If you say so."

"Look, it's fine. It doesn't matter anyway," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I'm hoping I'll get to see them soon, anyway, so letters recently have been planning that—"

"You will?"

Sally-Anne was suddenly excited again, but Blaise had spoken up as well, curious eyes on hers.

"You're going to see them?" Blaise asked again. "Soon? Are they coming to England?"

"Err—no, they're still at Beauxbatons," Hermione said slowly, holding Blaise's gaze. "They can't—"

"So you're going to sneak out?" Sally-Anne was practically vibrating in her seat. "You're going to sneak out and Portkey to France for a romantic rendez-vous?"

"I'm—"

Hermione was saved from answering by the arrival of a very tall man wearing a multicolored cap. He had on long, sweeping multicolored robes, and the colors seemed to shift slightly on the fabric as he moved. He glanced around the restaurant, his eyes alighting on hers and smiling.

"That'll be Julian Selwyn, my contact," Hermione said, standing up. "I have to go. It was great to meet you, Sally-Anne. Thanks for letting me hang out with you."

"Oh, anytime! If you finish up—"

But Hermione was moving away from their table, greeting Julian at the door with an elegant curtsy. He grinned at her, returning her curtsy with a fancy bow.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked with an easy smile. "Shall we return to your table?"

Hermione bit her lip and glanced back at the table she had left, where Blaise was looking at her from.

"Actually," she said. "It's rather warm and crowded in here. Do you mind if we take a walk?"

"Not at all," he said, smiling. "We can take a bench at the station if you like."

Hermione could feel Blaise's eyes boring into her back as she left with the stranger, but she ignored it, determinedly leaving with the ICW representative at her side. Blaise could have his chatty and cheery companion all to himself, if he wanted. Hermione was happy to leave them be so they could have time to snog. And she was quite done answering the nosy questions of Sally-Anne, no matter now nice and bubbly she seemed to be.

"This is about werewolves, you said in your letter?" Julian said, holding the door open for her. "I must admit, they are not my area of expertise."

"Don't worry about that," Hermione said, leaving the warm shop. "I just need an introduction and information from you on how the ICW works."

Chapter Text

Julian Selwyn was a charming man, if a bit grand and flamboyant. It was clear he had adapted well to life in France, and he enjoyed his position in the ICW. He was pleased to meet with Hermione, and he seemed to be proud that a British youth was taking such an interest in international politics already. He had run for Youth Representative himself as a boy, he told her, and though he hadn't won, it'd given him a taste of what was to become his future career. Luckily for Hermione, he was very patient with her and didn't mind answering all her questions about the International Confederation of Wizards.

"Mostly, we worry about secrecy matters that impact us all," he explained to Hermione. "Trolls in Lichtenstein are a common concern. There is a permanent task force in Tibet to handle the sightings of the Yeti."

"Do you know everyone?" Hermione asked. "I'm hoping to meet the representative from New Zealand."

Julian made a face.

"That'll be more complicated than you'd think," he said. "They've got two, for their tiny islands."

"Two representatives?" Hermione repeated, blinking. "Why?"

"Internal politics? I'm not sure," Julian said, waving a hand. "There's Ruby Wilson and Amaia Mateo. I don't know which one you'll need."

"Do they split up responsibilities?" Hermione asked. "Who would handle making international agreements?"

"If it's trade-related? Ruby," Julian said with certainty. "She's very sharp, very keen. If it's werewolves…" He made an uncertain noise and shrugged. "I would guess Amaia? She's Māori – she'll know whatever legends they've got."

"Can you introduce me?" Hermione asked.

"If you like," Julian said, shrugging. "Realize, though, that you're in school, and we meet in Paris, and only once a month. It won't be easy."

"That's fine," Hermione said, mentally sketching out her summer timeline. "What day do you all meet?"

"The first Sunday of the month," Julian said promptly. "Every month. Even New Year's."

Hermione paused.

"…the next first Sunday of the month is May 1st," she said. "Isn't it?"

Julian paused to think. "I believe so."

"Out of curiosity, on the freak chance I could make it to the ICW meetup that day," Hermione said, pulling out a scrap of parchment and pre-inked quill, "where exactly would I need to go?"

That evening, after returning from Hogsmeade, Hermione and Tracey claimed a table in the common room to finish their homework. Divination assignments were always an aggravation, but working on the homework with Tracey made it at least a little more bearable. The two girls were working on their essays on dowsing in the Slytherin common room (though Hermione was doodling on the side of her page, trying to think what qualified a stick as a 'dowsing rod') when Blaise found her, fire in his eyes.

"Hermione," he said. "Can we talk?"

Hermione looked up at his tone of voice, eyes wide. Tracey shot Hermione a look, and Hermione lifted a shoulder, not having any idea what was wrong.

"Um," she said. "Sure?"

"Not here," Blaise said curtly. "Somewhere private."

Hermione nodded and slowly got up. Blaise jerked his head sharply and strode to the common room door, Hermione following behind.

"Curfew's in an hour," Tracey called after them. "Don't forget."

Blaise ignored Tracey and led Hermione out of the common room. To her surprise, he led her up out of the dungeons, up the stairs, and to the end of the third corridor – the one that had once been blocked off.

"They've just been storing stuff in here now," Blaise said, jinxing the door open. "Come on."

He was right – the room that had formerly housed a giant three-headed dog was now stuffed with mismatching furniture. There were random beds scattered around, dozens of couches of different patterns and sizes, and armchairs galore.

"Is this where Hogwarts stores things it doesn't need for the common rooms?" Hermione asked, astonished. "I thought it just manifested things as needed."

"I honestly have no idea," Blaise said. "Sit down."

Hermione sat obediently, and Blaise said on the other side of the sofa from her. He looked at her for a long moment, and Hermione gnawed on her lip, uncertain.

"You're doing it again," he said finally. "Hiding things."

"Hiding what?" Hermione said, immediately defensive. "I told you what I was working on, I told you I was being blackmailed—"

"You didn't tell me you were going to sneak out to go to France!" Blaise said, throwing his hands up.

"That was a recent decision!" Hermione said hotly. "I'm still working on it—"

"You didn't even tell me you were considering it!"

"Forgive me for not wanting to dump all the details of my drama on your girlfriend!" Hermione snapped.

"She's not my—Hermione—" Blaise's voice came out strangled, and he rubbed at his face in annoyance, taking a deep breath. "Let's start over, shall we?"

"Fine," Hermione said curtly.

Blaise took a deep breath.

"So," he said, his tone neutral. "You're intending to go to France?"

"Yes," Hermione said, her tone short. "I am."

"That's new," Blaise said evenly. "What sparked that decision?"

He was being calm and reasonable, and Hermione found herself sighing.

"The blackmailing," she said. "I just—even with Tom's help, Alchemy is such a mess. I've been so stressed over it, and I'm desperate. So I wrote to Fleur, seeing if she knew anything, and—"

"Fleur?" Blaise said. "That's your French girlfriend?"

Hermione paused, looking at him suspiciously. His voice was neutral and betrayed no emotion.

"Kind of," Hermione said slowly. "She's—we were close over the summer. We're not in anything official, though."

"But she's the one who's sending you courting gifts?" Blaise asked. His voice was perfectly even. "The one who's sending you letters via raven?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She raised her chin. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Blaise said, shrugging one shoulder elegantly. "I just want to know all the players in the game. So – you wrote to Fleur…?"

"I did," Hermione said. "As it happens, though Nicholas Flamel died, Perenelle Flamel is still alive – she visited Beauxbatons at the beginning of their term to give a speech. And she's a renowned alchemist in her own right."

"I see," Blaise said, nodding slowly. "And your goal is to go and ask her how to use the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Err—maybe a bit more subtly than that," Hermione said awkwardly. "I don't really want her to know I have it? That seems like a bad idea. But as it happens, the ICW is meeting in France that same day, so I figure if I can Time-Turn back—"

"The same day? On what day?" Blaise asked. "You have a particular day picked out already?"

Blaise betrayed no emotion in his voice, but Hermione still hesitated.

"Um, yes," she said. "May 1st."

"That's soon," Blaise said, with mild alarm. "Do you need a Portkey? Because if I need to get you one, it can take weeks—"

"Oh, no," Hermione said hastily. "I was planning to go on Beltane because the ley lines will be open. I can hop them without risk of the Fae kidnapping me, and there's one with only four nodes before I get to France."

Blaise took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Hermione bit her lip, worrying at it while Blaise rubbed small circles into his temples.

"Let me get this all straight," he said. "You intend on traveling via the ley lines like the House Elves. Which you've been practicing?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But I can only travel on certain days."

"And you intend on sneaking out of school to France, where you want to talk to Perenelle Flamel about the matter you're being blackmailed for," he continued, "as well as crash an ICW meeting for your legislation about the antipodes."

"I wouldn't say crashing, but in essence, yes," Hermione said. "The British representative said he'd introduce me. And Royce Fiddlewood says his department has sufficient funding, if I can get the international diplomatic agreement part all set up."

"And you intend on introducing your legislation after you're done scheming to get Sirius Black free?" Blaise went on. "So he can vote in favor of it for you?"

"Hopefully," Hermione said. "Honestly, I didn't think I'd be able to introduce it until summer, but the dates of the ICW meeting just happened to line up, so I thought 'why not'—"

Blaise took a deep breath.

"Hermione," he said, meeting her eyes. "You realize you're a bit mad, right?"

Hermione was startled into laughing.

"I'm mad?" she said, amused. "How do you figure?"

"You are simultaneously keeping a million things straight at once, and I've no idea how," he told her. "Just in the next month, you've got ley line traveling, secret romantic meetups, international diplomacy, and the secret interrogation of a world-famous alchemist. That's to say nothing of your schemes with the hedgewitches, plotting with the Malfoys and Sirius Black, or your ignorant support of the goblins."

Hermione paused. "...it does sound like quite a lot when you put it all like that."

"And that's without mentioning your recent acquisition of Fiendfyre." Blaise's eyes gleamed. "Many Death Eaters have failed at casting and controlling that spell. Theo said it ate some of them alive when they tried."

"The fire elemental helps a lot," Hermione reassured him. "It's still hard, but—"

"And you won't tell me why," Blaise said, "you needed to learn such a Dark spell."

Hermione paused. Blaise looked at her for a long moment in the quiet.

"…you need plausible deniability for this one, Blaise," she said quietly. "If they found out that you knew…"

"You say that as if you won't be significantly at risk," Blaise snapped. "If it's so dangerous for me to know, it's got to be wildly dangerous for you to do—"

"I'll have an alibi," Hermione assured him. "I'll use the Time-Turner. Not many people know I have it, and there's no real reason anyone will immediately suspect me."

"Unless they know you can cast Fiendfyre, I'm presuming?" Blaise said, raising an eyebrow. "Who all knows?"

"Um. You. Tom Riddle," Hermione said, thinking. "And—err—Snape knows now, I guess—"

"Snape knows?" Blaise said, incredulous. "Hermione!"

"I needed help!" Hermione said defensively. "I was worried I was going to become a Dark witch! So I went to Snape and we talked and he helped—"

Blaise groaned, holding his head in his hands.

"You're mad," he said, voice muffled. "Brilliant, but mad."

Hermione bit her lip, looking at him sideways as the moment stretched on.

"I'm sorry?" she offered. "I didn't mean to cut you out – just so much was happening, and I was making decisions and we didn't have time to talk—"

"There is always time to talk," Blaise assured her, looking up. "Hermione. I will always make time for you."

"I mean, I know that," Hermione said, biting her lip. "But I was trying to be thoughtful. Tracey said you only get to see Sally-Anne when I'm not around, so I've been spending more time out of the dungeons—"

"Tracey needs to keep her blasted observations to herself," Blaise growled. He looked annoyed. "Look. Hermione. My relationship is not going to interfere with my loyalty to you."

"I didn't think it was," Hermione said hotly, though her throat clenched at hearing him say 'relationship' in connection to Sally-Anne. "I was just trying to be respectful—"

"Don't make decisions for me on my behalf, Hermione!" Blaise snapped. "I can plan my own time. If I want to go snog Sally-Anne, I will! I don't need you to sneak off to pseudo-schedule it for me!"

Hermione's eyes went wide, and Blaise groaned, pressing a hand into his eyes.

"Look. That came out wrong," he said. "I just—"

He trailed off, frustrated, and Hermione bit her lip.

"She seems nice," Hermione offered hesitantly. "A bit chatty, maybe, but she's fun enough?"

Blaise looked up at Hermione incredulously, giving her an are you seriously doing this?-type look. Hermione continued on, keeping her voice steady as she bravely asked, "So. You've been seeing her since Valentine's Day?"

A slow smirk spread across his face.

"Yeah, about," Blaise said, eyes glinting. "Everybody else was locking down dates, and I figured 'why not?'"

"And you enjoy her company?" Hermione continued determinedly. "She's good to spend time with and talk to?"

"To be honest, we don't spend all that much time talking," Blaise drawled. "She's very… physical… with her communication."

"Ah. I see," Hermione said, swallowing. "Um. That's good."

Blaise laughed.

"What do you think of her, Hermione?" he challenged. "Other than 'chatty'?"

"Well, she seems fine," Hermione said, feeling oddly defensive for some reason. "If you like her—"

"Do you think she's attractive?" Blaise asked directly.

"She's pretty enough—"

"Are you attracted to her?" Blaise challenged, eyes gleaming. "Is that why you were acting so weird at the Three Broomsticks?"

"No!" Hermione objected, eyes going wide. "No, no, it wasn't that—"

"Then what was it?"

"It was awkward talking about Fleur and minding my pronouns and words because I didn't exactly want to out myself in front of Sally-Anne Perkins!" Hermione said hotly. "I didn't expect to be talking about that, that was all!"

"Ah, yes, Fleur." Blaise's voice was a suggestive purr. "Enough about Sally-Anne. Tell me about Fleur, Hermione."

Hermione huffed. "Are we really doing this?"

"Discussing our romantic liaisons? You started it," Blaise said, a wicked smile on his lips. "What is Fleur like, Hermione? If Sally-Anne isn't to your liking, what is your type?"

Despite the gleam in his eyes, Blaise seemed genuinely interested in her answers. It felt weird, but Hermione was determined to try and be more open with him, so he wouldn't have reason to accuse her of keeping secrets anymore. But it was still hard, telling someone what felt like a cherished secret memory, something she held close and protected to her heart.

Hermione bit her lip, looking up at Blaise.

"Fleur is a girl I met in France," she said finally. "She's—umm—"

"What does she look like?" Blaise prompted.

"She's—she's beautiful," Hermione said emphatically. "She's tall and slender, but she's still feminine, and she's got these enchanting blue eyes and blonde hair—"

"Another blonde?" Blaise said, tapping his lips. "Is blonde your type, then?

Hermione looked up at him. "What do you mean, another?"

"Fleur's blonde, Diggory was blond—"

"Cedric did not have blond hair! Brown with highlights maybe—"

"—and Malfoy's blond." Blaise's eyes gleamed. "Seems like you have a type."

"Draco doesn't count," Hermione said hotly. "You know I went on the date with him to get to know more about his family and his mum—"

"Still a date, though…"

"—and Cedric wasn't blond. Fleur wasn't even blonde when I met her," Hermione argued. "She was brunette."

Blaise looked interested. "Wait, really? Is she a metamorphagus?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind. Did she color her hair?" Blaise asked. "I know muggles can do that."

"Err—not exactly," Hermione said. "She was wearing a wig. To—um—help her blend in. Her hair's platinum blonde, and very long and pretty. It really stands out. Anyway, she's beautiful, and she's brilliant. She knows everything about everything, it seems. She took me around wizarding Paris to tell me about everything."

"And she gave you that hair clip?"

"Err—yes." Hermione flushed. "That wasn't quite intentional, in that way? But she gave me another one later, one that very much was intentional. So… there's that."

"And she fancies girls?" Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Or boys as well?"

"I don't honestly know. Both, I think?" Hermione guessed. "She—she has a lot of difficulty making friends in general. She's getting better at it – she impressed a group of classmates recently in their spring dueling competition, so they're all studying together now. But—umm—she's really pretty, so most guys don't bother to get to know her and just go after her because she's gorgeous."

"You're pretty," Blaise commented. "You still didn't have trouble making friends."

"I might be pretty, but I'm not preternaturally gorgeous," Hermione snapped. "Don't be ridiculous."

Blaise laughed.

"So, what, your type is long and lithe?" he asked, eyes glinting. He wouldn't let up, and Hermione took a deep breath, considering.

"I like girls who are kind of tall. With long hair, too. I like eyes that aren't brown like mine, and—umm—feminine, but not…"

"You like them with breasts, but not overly large ones," Blaise summarized. Hermione's face flamed.

"I guess?" she muttered. "I mean, it's more their waists and necks, I think. I just like…"

"What about boys?" Blaise asked. "The same things?" He smirked. "Long hair? Like Lucius Malfoy?"

Hermione snorted despite herself.

"No. With boys, it's… I don't know, it's different. I like their forearms and chests? I like their strength." She drummed her fingers on her lips. "It's a different kind of attraction, almost. With… with girls I fancy, I'm attracted to the feminine parts of them. With guys, I'm attracted to the masculine parts."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "It's different, but the same?"

"Kind of? Like with Cedric – he was quite fit and toned, wasn't he? But in a very masculine way. And… umm… think of like Angelina Johnson."

"The Gryffindor Chaser?" Blaise was astounded. "You fancy her?"

"I don't fancy her! She's just—well, she's quite fit, isn't she?" Hermione's face was flaming. "She's—she's pretty and feminine, but in an assertive way, and I just—"

Blaise was laughing.

"You're so flustered," he teased. "Is this that hard to talk about with you?"

"Yes," Hermione said emphatically. "Not many people know. Jade warned me not to let people know unless I was willing to risk everything."

Blaise seemed calculating.

"So you fancy girls who are tall, feminine, confident, and very capable in a particular area," he summed up. He gave her a keen look. "I'm trying to think of other people you might fancy. Cho Chang?"

Hermione shot him a look. "No."

"No, too short, isn't she?" Blaise hummed. "Who else…"

"Can we not play this game?" Hermione said tersely. "The important bit is that I'm going to go to France to try and meet Perenelle Flamel."

"Yes, yes, of course. The blackmail." Blaise sighed dramatically. "Are you sure we can't just Memory-Charm your blackmailer?"

"Blaise!"

"Fine, fine," Blaise grumbled. He sighed. "Let's make a map of where you're going in France then and figure out a timeline for you so you can get all your things done."

Hermione watched carefully as Blaise looked around for a table to use. As if sensing her watching him, he turned back to look at her, eyes meeting hers.

"What?" he asked pointedly.

"You—you don't seem phased," Hermione said. "By me liking girls."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Should I be?"

"I don't know," Hermione groaned. "But—it feels weird, having you know? And talking about it so openly? And Jade said that this sort of thing wasn't accepted—"

"I spent a lot of time in Italy, growing up," Blaise said, shrugging. "One of my mum's friends – Emelia – took delight in trying to seduce wives away from their husbands."

Hermione blinked.

"…are all of your mother's friends like that?"

"Let's see." Blaise hummed, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "There's Emelia, who I just mentioned. My mother, Elora; that's two. Cassiopeia – she's on her fifth husband, I think? She's three. There's Gia, who's not married but has like ten different lovers; that's four. Rosa's a politician, I think? Or maybe she just likes seducing and blackmailing politicians. That's five, anyway. And Natalia's the only one who's actually happy in her marriage, I think. He's her second husband, but they've been married for almost ten years. So six."

Hermione's mouth dropped. "That's—that's a lot."

"Well, my mum can't exactly have normal friends…" Blaise snickered. "Any normal woman wants her nowhere near them, for fear she'd steal their husbands. So she had to make friends with women with similar reputations."

"And… you just grew up with this?" Hermione bit her lip. "Blaise, this… this doesn't seem healthy or normal."

Blaise scoffed. "You think I don't know that?"

"I'm just saying!" Hermione said, flushing. "It's—how are you ever going to have a real relationship, with that as the model in your mind?"

"Do you think I'm too dumb to realize that model isn't a good one?" Blaise drawled. "Hermione."

"Okay! I get it. But it had to have at least influenced you, though—"

Blaise sighed.

"I mean. It did. It does," he amended. "My mother's friends—they're all gorgeous women. They're strong and independent and have no shame in flirting and seducing people for fun. They doted on me as a child, giving me tips on relationships and seduction from a—well, too young of an age, probably. So now I'm attracted to strong and independent girls, I guess because I grew up seeing that type of woman as the most desirable."

Hermione blinked. "Sally-Anne is strong and independent?"

"She's certainly strong-willed, and she's independent of thought," Blaise said pointedly, looking at Hermione. "I'm not oblivious to the fact that we're all still teenagers, Hermione. It's not like I'd expect her to live on her own at fourteen."

Hermione bit her lip, weighing her next words carefully.

"Do your mother's friends share her interest in esoteric plants and poisons?" she asked delicately. "Or do they…"

"Cassiopeia's been widowed three times and divorced once," Blaise said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know the details of the circumstances around her husbands' respective untimely demises."

Hermione snorted despite herself, and Blaise smirked.

"Hermione. It's not like I think murder is the proper way to break up with someone or anything," he reassured her, eyes gleaming. "I'm fine."

Hermione sighed.

"If you say so," she said doubtfully. "It just doesn't seem healthy, to see that growing up."

"It is what it is," Blaise said, shrugging. "It just means I flirt a lot, and I'm a bit more calculated about how I seduce people, I suppose."

"Seduce people?" Hermione tried to hide her shock. "Blaise, we're fourteen!"

"Convince to fall in love with me, then." His eyes glinted. "But maybe I am seducing them. Maybe I'm playing the long game."

"I'm fairly sure Sally-Anne doesn't require a long game," Hermione said dryly. "She seemed quite keen on you."

Blaise laughed.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he said, amused.

"Oh, because you're a gentleman—"

Blaise waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and they both broke out into laughter.

Hermione smiled as her giggles faded, looking at Blaise. She felt almost relieved, in a way. She didn't like it when they were fighting, and thought it had felt awkward, she felt better now that she'd gotten (almost) everything out in the open with him. He didn't seem upset about Fleur, which Hermione had thought he might have an issue with. She felt lighter, now that she'd unloaded her secrets onto him, and it felt good sitting with him — relaxed, comfortable, and certainly less stressed than she'd felt in a long while.

Share a joy and it will double, she thought to herself, looking at Blaise fondly. But sharing halves any trouble.

"Let's go back to the common room to get a parchment to draw out your France timeline," Blaise said. His eyes gleamed as he stood. "If we plan it right and use your little hourglass, maybe you'll have extra time to go seduce your French girlfriend."

Hermione's face flamed.

"It's more her seducing me," she mumbled, red, and Blaise laughed as he led her out of the door and into the corridor.

"That surprises me precisely zero," he said cheerily. "Though, I'm curious to see what you trying to seduce someone would look like. I feel like it'd be one of the few things you'd be terrible at."

Hermione shot him a dark look, but Blaise only grinned as they walked down the hall, eyes sparkling all the while.

Chapter Text

Classes the next week were constantly interrupted by the news of the day, most of it pertaining to Sirius Black. Gossip about his story and his trial flew around the halls, most of it absurd and completely fictional, based on absolutely nothing of fact. A few of the professors had genuine insights, though, and Hermione made a point to try and get them.

"I saw him, once," Hagrid said. "'Night I picked up Harry from the rubble. 'e was there with his flyin' motorbike. Said I could have it; he wouldn't be needin' it anymore." He stroked his beard. "If the story's true, I guess he figured he'd be goin' ter Azkaban for murderin' his friend anyway."

Professor Lupin was surprisingly tight-lipped about the entire matter.

"It has been over a decade since I've seen or spoken to Sirius Black," he said, his smile strained. "We were friends once, yes. And we might be friends again. But Azkaban changes people. We'll have to see how he is once he's freed."

Lupin didn't seem to realize he'd assumed Sirius would get off, which told Hermione which side of the Sirius/Pettigrew issue he fell on. A plus, really – she couldn't bring herself to ask about Lupin's previous friendship with Pettigrew.

Though most of the professors seemed neutral or curious about the Sirius Black news, there was one who was decidedly not pleased to be reading about Sirius' upcoming trial.

"No reading in class," Snape snapped, seizing someone's copy of the Daily Prophet. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Class hasn't even started yet!" Seamus Finnegan objected.

"And a further five for backtalk," Snape said curtly, throwing the newspaper on his desk. "Don't pretend like you wouldn't have tried to sneak it under your desk to read."

Hermione gnawed on her lip, avoiding eye contact with Snape throughout the class. She didn't answer questions and took the lead on ingredient preparation, letting Theo take the lead in the actual brewing.

"What's with you?" Theo wanted to know. "You're never this docile."

Hermione winced. "I think Snape's mad at me."

"Please," Theo scoffed. "Snape favors us. We don't have anything to worry about. Pass me the xander root."

Hermione handed it over as she started chopping arteza pods, still keeping her head down. Theo didn't know she was largely responsible for Sirius Black's petition to the Wizengamot, nor for his substantial chances of going free.

As it was, her keeping quiet didn't matter.

"Perfect," Snape pronounced, observing the glittering surface of their potion with keen eyes. "Ten points to Slytherin. Mister Nott, bottle this up. Miss Granger, stay after class."

Theo shot her a look while Hermione winced, and Snape swept across the room to the Gryffindors.

"And here we see an absolute atrocity of a potion. Did I not clearly state one scoop of diced arteza? And did I not mention the need to stir counterclockwise after each new addition? Well? I'm waiting, Mister Weasley."

As the class shuffled out, Hermione waited at the front of the classroom, looking at her feet. Harry shot her a sympathetic look, and Hermione felt a sudden urge to ask him and Blaise to say, to face Snape's wrath as a coven together. She dismissed it a moment later – she was the one who knew the truth of Snape's history with Black, no one else – but it would have been nice to have support for this conversation, which she suspected would not go well.

After the last student had filed out, Snape gestured at the classroom door, which flew shut with a loud slam. Hermione jerked, startled, and her eyes met Snape's, which were glittering.

"Miss Granger," he said. "We have much to discuss."

He walked around behind his desk, slowly drawing out his chair. He sat down, eyes fixed on hers, Hermione biting her lip all the while.

"Now, Miss Granger—"

"I'm sorry!" Hermione burst out, unable to keep it inside any longer. "I'm sorry, I know you hate him, but I checked, and he'd been in Azkaban for the standard sentence for attempted murder, so it was kind of like time served? Even though he'd never been tried? But I couldn't just let him stay condemned to the Dementor's Kiss – I couldn't – and I couldn't keep him imprisoned forever, so I was only trying to do the right thing—"

She cut herself off, biting her lip, and Snape's eyebrows rose.

"Well," he said. He looked down at her, examining. "I thought this conversation was going to be admonishing you for the danger of conducting a Blood-Debt Ritual at the school when fully expecting to get a mass murderer as a result—"

"We had containment wards up for that! And we had an owl to send for a teacher if he really came through!"

"—but now I see that there are other issues at play here." His eyes glittered. "Am I to believe, then, Miss Granger, that despite the failure of your ritual, you captured Sirius Black anyway?"

"Um," Hermione said. She winced. "Yes?"

Snape paused, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly.

"How?" he asked. "How did you, a girl of fourteen, manage to do in her free time what the full-time Aurors of the Ministry have not?"

"Opportunity and luck?" Hermione guessed. "When he broke in the last time, I was crashing in the Gryffindor tower. I used the Time-Turner to go back in time and hide in the hallways to see how he came in, and then I trapped him as he tried to escape through the secret passage he came in through."

Snape sighed.

"And it never occurred to you to get a teacher?" he said. "To take the wanted criminal to Dumbledore?"

"I mean, it did," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "But first I wanted to know why I'd gotten the rat in the Blood-Debt ritual, and after Sirius explained that, I wanted to verify his story to know if he was telling the truth or not. Once I determined that he was, my mind just sort of clicked over to 'help him clear his name', not 'tell Dumbledore'. It just seemed like the next thing to do."

Something dawned in Snape's eyes. He looked at her for a long moment, a tense silence growing in the classroom, one that made Hermione squirm.

"You asked me that day, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "That was the day you asked what sentence a teenager would get for attempted murder."

"Um. Yes," Hermione said.

"Why?" Snape's voice was a whisper, his eyes glittering. "Why did you ask, Hermione? If you were going to help him walk free anyway?"

Hermione swallowed hard.

"He never got punished for what he did to you," she said. "It didn't—I didn't want to help him, if it meant he'd never be forced to account for his actions. He had, though, being locked in Azkaban, so I decided to help him without making him plead guilty to attempted murder as part of the deal."

Snape's eyes met hers steadily.

"You would do that?" he said softly. "Hold a man's life and soul hostage for something he did twenty years ago?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Hermione protested.

"But you did, did you not?" Snape said. "You alone held the key to his freedom."

"He hurt you," Hermione said vehemently. "And—justice isn't always fair. If the courts or other people fail us, and we have to do it ourselves – and, well, I had the opportunity, didn't I? But he'd served his term in Azkaban, to balance out the scales. But I wouldn't have helped him the same way if he hadn't."

Snape looked at Hermione for a long moment, his face utterly unreadable. Hermione bit her lip hard. She felt like crying.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you hate him. I know. Maybe you can duel him after he's free, to get revenge for everything he did in school? I know you hate him. But I couldn't risk his soul. I had a moral obligation, no matter how much I dislike the man. I'm sorry. I know you're mad."

"On the contrary, Hermione," Snape said quietly, "I find I'm unexpectedly touched."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Really?"

"You put retribution for a crime done against me above a man's innocence," Snape said. "Do you know how long it's been since somebody's put me first?"

He raised an eyebrow, sardonically, and Hermione felt her heart pang for him. How lonely and sad that must be, she thought, to have no one care about him or make him feel valued or cared for as their #1.

Snape gave her the ghost of a smile, and he leaned back in his chair.

"So," he said conversationally. "Tell me, then. What is your master plan to free Sirius Black?"

"Well," she said hesitantly. "It started with me going to Draco…"

As she explained how everything had unfolded so far, Hermione slowly relaxed as Snape listened, making cutting and sarcastic comments at times but seemingly amused. Despite his hatred for Black, he seemed to be interested in her plot to free Black, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face and pride in his eyes as she explained how she and the Malfoys were manipulating the Wizengamot.

It meant a rather lot to her that Snape wasn't mad at her, she realized. More than expected.

That was okay, though, Hermione decided firmly. Snape was her mentor, right? It was okay and only natural to want his approval, to hope he'd never be mad at her at all. It made sense to be relieved and pleased to learn he wasn't angry with her.

She only hoped her luck would hold.

Chapter Text

The Quidditch final crept up on Hermione quite suddenly; one day, everyone was buzzing about Sirius Black, and the next day, everyone couldn't stop talking about the upcoming Gryffindor versus Slytherin match on Saturday. The change in focus caught Hermione off-guard, and she found it hard to suddenly care about something she hadn't even been aware of.

Harry was very excited, but also very nervous about the match.

"Not only do we need to win, but I need to make sure we're more than 50 points up," Harry said constantly. "Slytherin's currently leading the tournament by 200 points, so if we're not up by 50 points, they'll end up winning the Quidditch Cup, even if we win the game."

The Gryffindors were all intensely charged-up about the match. They hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley had been Seeker, and their Captain, Oliver Wood, was determined to win it his last year at Hogwarts. The Slytherins' attempt to sabotage Gryffindors' match against Ravenclaw hadn't been forgotten either, and the enmity between the teams seemed at its highest point ever.

It was in this atmosphere Luna approached Hermione the day before the big game.

"We need to go and talk to Draco," she told Hermione.

Hermione blinked. "We do?"

"We do," Luna said simply. "He's been wallowing for too long."

Luna's odd ideas generally turned out for the better, and Hermione trusted her friend. If they needed to go talk to Draco Malfoy, then that was what they would do. Besides, it had been weeks, and Draco still hadn't resumed speaking to her. Hermione was rather fed up with it by now.

They found Draco by the lake after dinner, skipping stones by himself as he stared moodily out at the water. He startled at their approach, his eyes going wide with alarm, but Luna handled this by unexpectedly tossing a dinner roll at him.

"Catch!" she said, before throwing another one.

Draco was startled into action, catching the first roll and scrambling to catch the second. By the time he had caught all three rolls Luna had thrown at him, she and Hermione had reached the area Draco had claimed, and it was too late for him to flee. Draco seemed to realize this, staring down at the rolls in his hands before raising his head to look at Luna, accusation in his eyes.

"Practice for Quidditch tomorrow," Luna said cheerily. "Good job."

She plucked two of the rolls from his hands and handed one to Hermione. Draco stared at them for a long moment before slowly sitting down, eyes never leaving them. He started absently shredding his roll, not eating it.

"What do you want?" he wanted to know.

"It's time to move on," Luna said simply.

Hermione watched Draco. Luna's words seemed to make him angry, before he was abruptly consumed by a deep despair and slumped.

"You don't know my life," he muttered. "I can't just move on—"

"You can, and you will," Luna said firmly. "If you have any hope of having a better future for yourself, it will be made of the choices you make now."

"You don't get it." Draco looked at her sideways. "Some things can't be undone."

"No. They can't," Luna said sadly. "But we can do our best to make up for them. We can try to show others we've learned from our mistakes. We can try to earn forgiveness, to become people that deserve a second chance."

Draco seemed to gnaw on that. Hermione wondered at what was going through his head. She was glad he'd taken her words to heart, but he seemed in a much darker mood than she would have thought. He wasn't guilty for his father's crimes as a Death Eater, and though he'd been terrible to Muggle-borns, he'd essentially only been a bully. He hadn't killed anyone, and he hadn't done anything truly reprehensible.

But his relationship with his father…

Hermione imagined that might be undone.

Draco must be feeling the loss of identity and a loss of faith in his father, Hermione thought. Draco had idolized his father his entire life, putting him on a pedestal, and now, having realized his father was essentially an evil person, the idol statue he aspired to had come crumbling down. But it was good, Hermione thought vehemently. Draco shouldn't want to aspire to that. If that was what being a Malfoy was, he shouldn't be a Malfoy anymore, or he should change what defined the Malfoy House.

But it would cost him his relationship with his father. And something like that… once Draco declared he believed his father had been a Death Eater and that he had no intentions of following in his footsteps, well…

There was no way that song could be unsung.

"You are going to lose your friendship with Hermione if you don't," Luna told Draco, her blue eyes never leaving his. "Do you want to lose that?"

"Hey! She hasn't spoken to me either!" Draco objected.

"I thought you needed time!" Hermione protested. "I was trying to be respectful! And—well—I've been busy—"

"Busy with what?" Draco sneered. "You were too busy to spare me a few minutes at any point?"

"You didn't talk to me either!" Hermione snapped. "And it's none of your business—"

"Hermione's been being blackmailed," Luna told Draco seriously. "She's been panicking about it for a while, and it's kept her very busy."

There was a stunned silence as Draco's jaw dropped, and Hermione threw her hands up in the air, so frustrated and aghast she could barely find the words. "Luna!"

"What?" Luna turned to look at Hermione, her eyes widening. "Oh, no. You look upset."

"Of course I'm upset!" Hermione said, exasperated. "You just told Draco I was being blackmailed!"

"But you are," Luna said. "That's why you've been so busy, hasn't it?"

"How do you even know about the blackmail?" Hermione demanded.

"Oh," said Luna. "Was I not supposed to?"

"No! It was a secret! I never told you about it!"

"You didn't?" Luna questioned, puzzled. "But we all went with you to the second hearing to prevent you from being kidnapped again."

"You never explained that!" Hermione protested. "You all just showed up and said you were there to provide protection! I thought you meant from Pettigrew!"

"Oh," said Luna. She paused. "Maybe I should explain things more."

Hermione growled under her breath. Draco just sat there, wide-eyed.

"You—you're being blackmailed?" he asked. "You were kidnapped?

"It's fine," Hermione snarled. "I'm handling it."

"Is it bad?" he ventured.

Hermione snorted.

"Oh, it's not that bad," she said, sarcastic. "It's just everything I've worked so hard to build is now at risk of coming crumbling down and destroying my entire life."

Draco looked hesitant.

"If you want, I could help?" he offered. "I could try and get whatever material they have on you, or help make them 'go away'—"

"Blaise keeps trying to convince me poison is a good idea too," Hermione said, cutting him off, "but the answer is still no. I'm not killing anybody; nobody is going to go 'missing'. I'm just—"

She broke off, frustrated, while Draco watched.

"You'll just… what?" he prompted.

"I'll just—I'll handle it," she said, sighing heavily. "I'm figuring it out. It's—well, it's going to involve some risky things, but I think I'll be able to get a handle on it. It's just—with exams coming up, and everything else I have going on, it's just a level of stress I really didn't need or want. It's really hard not to panic at times."

Draco bit his lip.

"If you're busy handling this," he said slowly, "I could help handle other things?"

Hermione shot him a look. "I'm not having you do my homework for me."

"No, no," Draco protested, though he grinned with a wince. "I meant—you have all these other things going on. If there's something I could take off your plate to help you—"

Hermione looked at him suspiciously.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you want to do that?"

Draco winced.

"Call it making up for being a bad friend," he said, offering a pained smile. "I shouldn't have reacted to your confrontation about my father's past how I did."

"Oh? You realize that now?" Hermione folded her arms and sniffed.

"Yes." Draco looked down, not meeting her eyes. "I—I was immature, and I didn't handle the news particularly well. I regret how I handled all of it."

Considering Draco's 'handling' of his emotions had involved him sulking for weeks, Hermione was inclined to agree with him. Draco looked at Luna, who was watching him and nodding gently, before he looked back up at Hermione.

"But actions speak louder than words." Draco took a deep breath. "So. I'm sorry. Is there something I can help you with to make it up to you?"

Hermione looked at Luna, who smiled encouragingly, before looking back at Draco. She sighed.

"I could use someone to collect on my investments for me," Hermione admitted. "And if you could help with the hedgewitches getting the silver they need from their landlords, it would be a lot off my plate."

Draco blinked.

"The hedgewitches?" he said uncertainly. "You—you've kept in contact with them?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Draco."

"You realize they are probably deceiving you?" Draco asked seriously. "You need to be careful—"

"Merlin and Morgana, Draco! They don't steal magic," Hermione exclaimed, frustrated. "They're just people. They've got weaker cores than you or me, but they don't steal magic from anyone else to try and get more."

Draco looked uneasy. He glanced away, looking at the lake.

"This is one of those things my father misled me on, isn't it?" he said finally. He ran a hand through his hair, anxious. "They're probably entirely harmless, aren't they?"

"They're not harmless, but they're not more of a threat than any other witch or wizard," Hermione said. "They're just people who are scared of werewolves. They just need a bit of help."

"With werewolves?" Draco said, blinking.

"They've been renewing the silver wards protecting the tenancies from werewolves," Hermione explained. "We managed to do a couple of the tenancies last full moon, but there are many more to go."

Draco considered this thoughtfully.

"I could go and help," he said. He pulled out a hewn wooden token from his robes, fingering it. "This is a Portkey I'm authorized to use to leave school grounds, if it concerns landlord-type concerns. When's the next full moon?"

"Monday," Hermione said, and Draco winced.

"Well," he said. He paused. "That gives me the weekend to help. And if I won't want to hang around the common room tomorrow evening anyway…"

Hermione's eyebrows rose, and she smirked.

"What's this?" she teased. "Draco Malfoy not certain he'll win tomorrow's Quidditch match?"

"Oh, shut up," Draco said, but there was no heat behind it, just amusement. He looked up at her, a soft smile on his face. "I've still been doing the Arithmancy, you know. I know my odds."

"And they're slanted enough that you think you'll have time to get off the grounds tomorrow afternoon to help get silver from the Sacred 28?" Hermione asked.

Draco made a face.

"It's not my fault Potter is a Quidditch prodigy," he said. "If Flint would listen to me and have our Beaters go more on the defensive tomorrow to make sure Gryffindor's golden girls couldn't score fifty points, we might have a shot, but no, they've got to play offense and try to take Potter out with a Bludger, like that's even a remote possibility with him on a Firebolt…"

Hermione was giggling as Draco trailed off his muttering. He looked at her, a tentative smile peeking onto his lips.

"I'll try to help you with your hedgewitch thing?" he offered. "I don't know what all I can do to help, but I'll try. And I can definitely help with your investments – that's something I learned how to do before."

Hermione smiled. "That'd be great," she told him honestly. "You taking over helping the hedgewitches will be a load of stress off of me. Thanks."

Draco's smile was still tentative, unsure, but it seemed stronger now, even as his melancholy lingered. He looked to Luna, who nodded solemnly, before turning back to Hermione.

"Then I'll help you," Draco declared. "I'll do the best I can do."

Chapter Text

The Quidditch game on Saturday was one of the most brutal and intense games Hermione had ever seen. The Slytherins were playing dirty, using purposeful fouls strategically and cheating at every chance they got. The Gryffindors played with a fierce intensity Hermione hadn't seen, and the game seemed like it was constantly neck and neck. If Draco hadn't told Hermione the odds were so heavily in favor of Gryffindor, she would have thought Slytherin might actually win.

They didn't, though – the Gryffindor Chasers proved supreme, Harry caught the Snitch, and the game ended at 230-20, a score that didn't seem at all as close as the game had felt when it was all over.

Draco was noticeably absent from the Slytherin common room that night, something even Blaise remarked upon.

"He's not the one who's at fault," he commented. "It was Flint's dumb strategy to use the Beaters as offense on the wrong players. Malfoy did the best he could."

"Yeah, but Flint's not exactly going to own up to it, is he?" Millie said, eyes glinting. "He's just going to storm about in front of the fireplace, posing and being mad all night. Draco's smart to avoid being the scapegoat."

"I bet Flint's considering failing his exams," Tracey said, giggling. "You know, purposefully being held back so he can try and win the Quidditch Cup again next year."

"Harry will still be Seeker. Does he think he would really stand much of a better chance?" Hermione snickered.

"Well, he's already been held back once before, hasn't he? He's clearly not the smartest, so he might…"

"Jade's been on edge all night," Blaise remarked, nodding over to where the Head Girl was helping a fifth year. "Gryffindor got a bunch of house points for winning the Quidditch Cup. If she doesn't get House Cup all seven years running, I think she might murder someone."

"But Flint or Potter?" Millie said. "Who would she want to kill?"

"Five sickles on Flint," Tracey said immediately. "It's not Harry's fault Slytherin lost; he's just why Gryffindor won."

"That is the same thing," Hermione argued, but she was drowned out by a chorus of "No, it's not" from the others.

"Anyway," Hermione said, forcefully pulling the conversation away from Quidditch. "Draco isn't even here tonight. He's off the grounds."

"He is?" Tracey was surprised. "Is that allowed?"

"It is if he's doing certain tasks." Blaise's eyes cut over to Hermione. "What's he doing?"

"Hopefully, charming the silver out of some of the Sacred 28," Hermione said. "Next full moon is Monday night."

Blaise nodded slowly, considering.

"That's a good use for him," he said. "It leverages his status and strengths, and it'll help expose him to the people he's supposed to be protecting." He glanced at Hermione. "Is he going to help them on Monday night?"

"That's the goal," Hermione said, shrugging. "We'll see how well he does."

"If it relies on him talking to the common people and being likeable?" Millie snorted. "Five sickles on 'not well at all'."

Time almost seemed to speed up. Draco's trip to help the hedgewitches had been a success; he'd had little trouble getting the silver from his peers, and the hedgewitches had given him the direction he needed to help with the ritual Monday night.

"They were preparing all day Monday," he told Hermione later, in tones of amazement. "I saw your parents there, that evening. Apparently, they came to help organize even though they were muggles."

That was entirely unexpected to Hermione. "They did?"

Draco nodded. "One of the girls – Clover, I think – owled them directly and asked if they could borrow the equipment your folks had brought last time. Your parents apparently decided to just show up and help out themselves." He paused. "Your father seemed really excited. He was thrilled to get to handle the runes and help distribute them this time. He kept hoping there would be an extra one that he could keep as a souvenir."

Hermione laughed. That certainly sounded like her father. She'd have to owl her parents later to get the full story.

The Daily Prophet continued to blast sensationalist headlines during the lead up to Sirius Black's trial. They managed to get some of the facts correct, like how Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew's trials would be held almost simultaneously, with one right after the other, so testimony wouldn't need to be given twice. But many of the headlines were entirely speculative – for example, there was no indication that Sirius Black would try and annul Narcissa's marriage to Lucius if he was declared innocent and became the official Head of House Black (was that even possible?), but the way the paper wrote sometimes, they made it seem like an imminent threat, heavily implying Lucius Malfoy would vote against Sirius regardless of the truth in order to preserve his marriage.

Soap opera drama and outrageous headlines sold papers, Hermione figured. But it was irritating all the same.

Letters from Fleur came more frequently, now. Fleur had been excited at the prospect of Hermione sneaking out to visit her, and now that May was rapidly approaching, letters to plan out the logistics of everything that would need done were being traded back and forth daily. Blaise raised his eyebrow every time he saw a raven with a gleaming blue-black head descend to drop a scroll on Hermione's lap, often making her flush, but he didn't say a word about it, though his eyes gleamed.

Hermione was reading her latest letter from Fleur when an envelope was dropped on to her lap one morning, startling her. She hadn't been expecting another letter.

"What's that?" Tracey asked. "Whose crest is a frog?"

"No idea," Hermione said, opening it.

.

Dear Hermione Granger,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dmitri Forrester, and I am Grand Product Officer here at Charming Chocolates. You may know us by our most popular product, Chocolate Frogs.

We are intending on doing a limited run of white chocolate frogs for next winter, with limited edition collectible cards honoring young witches and wizards who accomplished great things as children. Your name has come up several times in discussions, and we would like to include you as the Heroine of Hogwarts within this collection.

Please note that the cards in this limited-edition collection will not be considered Official Chocolate Frog Cards, as those are only done for fully-grown witches and wizards who have accomplished great things. Any listing of being included on a chocolate frog card on a CV must include the detail of the card being from a 'special run' to indicate it is not part of the Official Chocolate Frog Card Complete Collection. Being on a special run card will in no way disqualify you from being on an Official Chocolate Frog Card in the future, should you accomplish something great as an adult, but this card should not be considered an Official Chocolate Frog Card.

If you would like to be included in this special run of chocolate frog cards, please write back and let us know. We would like to schedule you for a photography session and copy review session over the summer to allow us sufficient time to prepare for the winter launch.

Best wishes,

Dmitri Forrester
CPO of Charming Chocolates

.

Amused, Hermione passed the letter to Tracey, who scanned it before she started laughing.

"Please do this important thing for us, Hermione," she said, putting on a snooty voice as she passed the letter to Blaise, "but know that it's actually not important or special at all."

"Right?" Hermione snickered. "You'd think a limited run card would be more special, because it'd be harder to get in the long run."

"Maybe it will be." Tracey shrugged. "I didn't know they seriously curate a special official collection of cards. I wonder if that can be looked up anywhere?"

"Are you going to do it?" Blaise asked.

"Sure," Hermione said, grinning. "How could I pass this up?"

"Even though your card won't be official?" Tracey snickered.

"Are you sure?" Blaise asked, teasing. "Your dentist parents won't be horrified at their daughter's photo being included with a sweet?"

Hermione paused. "…actually, they might."

Blaise and Tracey both laughed heartily at that.

"We'll have to figure out how to do your hair and what to have you wear," Tracey mused. "Think robes made from basilisk skin would be too much?"

"It's a limited-edition card," Blaise said dryly. "It's already going to be ostentatious and flashy, I expect."

"Should I pose with my sword?" Hermione asked, amused. "Ernie took photos of the basilisk's head, I think. We could get one of those and have them combine the photos to look like I just cut it off."

"Is that a thing?" Tracey asked, surprised. "Can wizarding photography do that?"

"No idea," Blaise said, shrugging. "You'd have to ask the obnoxious Gryffindor kid with the camera."

Hermione wrote back in the affirmative, and promptly let the matter drop from her mind. She wouldn't need to worry about it until after exams.

April also held another surprise for Hermione: the consultation of a press release about her coven.

"Milan's doing so well," Jade said, genuinely smiling. "She's so excited, reading up on how to nurse the baby and what to feed her. We're looking for flats near Saint Mungo's, and she's sketching out how she wants to design the nursery."

Hermione laughed.

"Pregnancy not so bad now that you're not the one carrying it?" she teased, and Jade had the grace to look abashed.

"I didn't handle that well, did I?" she sighed. "Look. All I can say, Granger, is when you've planned your life deliberately around never getting pregnant, suddenly finding yourself knocked up is incredibly upsetting." She grimaced. "Water under the bridge now, I hope? Milan is glowing, and the Healing spells we've used indicate everything's going okay."

"Are you excited?" Hermione asked pointedly. "I know Milan's excited, but are you?"

"I mean, I'll be honest; I'm more excited at getting to stay with Milan," Jade said frankly. "Having a kid… that's something I never thought I could have, you know? It was always out of reach, so I never thought about it. It's a new idea. But…" She trailed off, looking into the distance, before clearing her throat. "I mean, I'm not opposed to it. I think it'll be neat, having a daughter with Milan, a little person to raise and teach." A small smile crept onto her lips. "Maybe she'll be Head Girl too, someday."

Hermione smiled softly. It was cute, to see a softer side of Jade.

"Anyway…" Jade cleared her throat. "We're going to make the pregnancy announcement on Beltane. The plan is to tell Madame Pomfrey that Milan is pregnant and request she be seen at Saint Mungo's. At Saint Mungo's, they can do the paternity/maternity spells to confirm whose child it is, and when it comes out that it's mine, someone will undoubtedly leak it to the press." She smiled wryly. "When they demand to have us answer questions, how do you want us to refer to your coven? What level of detail should we go into?" She smirked. "Should we mention your consulting rate for other inquiring couples?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't know. Let me check with my coven and see what they think."

It seemed everyone seemed to be planning for Beltane, to Hermione – including the House Elves this year.

"It is being in our contract," Tolly told Hermione happily. "We is planning on making traditional feast foods. And Dumbledore is just going to be sucking on an egg if he is not liking it."

Tolly had regretfully told Hermione that the goblins were not willing to pass the Philosopher's Stone through the House Elves, but they would let her go to her vault on Beltane if she went to Gringotts.

It was yet another thing to do on an already very full day, but a crucial one, so it was with a sigh Hermione added it to her list nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Beltane started off with a dramatic bang, with Milan collapsing and vomiting in the Great Hall at the smell of the bannocks the House Elves had served for breakfast. Jade rushed to her to help, holding back her hair and Vanishing the sick, and Milan had looked up at Jade weakly in thanks, her hands on her belly. Her robes seemed almost too small today, making her look bloated around the middle instead of fitting loosely as usual.

"I'm okay," Milan said, her voice oddly carrying. "But I fell—do you think the baby—?"

There were loud gasps and wide eyes, and Hermione had to suppress her snickers.

"We'll go to Madame Pomfrey," Jade vowed, helping her to her feet. "She'll be able to check."

As the two girls hurried from the Great Hall, gossip breaking out fervently behind them, Hermione and Blaise quietly shared their own theories, both privately amused.

"There's no way we should have been able to hear that conversation from two tables over," he said. "Wonder what spell they cast to make their voices carry without seeming like they were yelling or announcing anything."

"I'd have done it with the wind, but they don't have that option, I imagine," Hermione remarked. "Snape looks seriously annoyed."

"His expression is nothing next to Flitwick's," Blaise said, snickering. "It looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his skull. The Ravenclaw 7th year prefect, pregnant? Can you imagine?"

All too soon, breakfast was over, and it was time for Hermione to go. She went back to the dorm and packed her bag carefully with snacks and anything else she might need, including her carefully-planned itinerary and Luna's ley line map. She fished her sword and sheath out from underneath her bed as well, a necessity for any Gringotts excursion. Blaise intercepted her in the common room. before she went outside, taking her hands.

"Be careful, okay?" he told her, eyes holding hers. "I know you've been doing this 'popping' thing for a while, but it's dangerous. Don't take unnecessary risks. Stop and rest when you need to."

"I'll be okay, Blaise," Hermione said a smile on her lips.

"Be careful," Blaise urged. "Don't just be okay – be cautious, Hermione. With everything, today."

"I'll be careful," Hermione promised dutifully, and Blaise relented, releasing her hands and letting her go with a hug.

"Don't forget caffeine," he told her dryly, as she hiked her bag up on her shoulder. "You're going to be essentially pulling an all-nighter, doing the entire day over twice."

Hermione laughed. "Believe me, I'm well aware."

Hermione's first stop was Gringotts. It was the shortest ley line jump – a sort of warm-up, she thought – and she wanted to make sure she got the Stone when the bank was open, as opposed to trying to coax the goblins to open up for just her late at night.

The goblin behind the desk recognized her and her sword, and he immediately left without her even saying a word. He returned in short order with Bloodthorne, who was grinning widely, showing many pointy teeth.

"Hermione Granger," he said. "I am pleased to see you are well."

"Likewise," Hermione said, bowing. "I would like to go to my vault, please."

"Certainly," Bloodthorne said, leading her to the carts. "I would talk to you of other matters as well, if you would."

"Other matters?" Hermione asked curiously, and Bloodthorne gave her a sly look.

"Other matters," he said. "Silversmite would show you something, if you would tarry just a bit."

Excitement thrummed through Hermione. "My crest? It's done already?"

Bloodthorne merely smirked.

"I'll wait!" Hermione said. "Or—wait, hang on—I would tarry to speak with him. And I would discuss things with you as well."

"Excellent. I will send word." His eyes gleamed at her, and Hermione smiled.

"I would be happy to see it," she said, bouncing slightly on her feed. "I would like that a lot."

"Your efforts at speaking our way have not gone unnoticed," Bloodthorne cackled, climbing into a cart. "You would improve, I believe, if you would spend more time with the goblins."

Hermione's eyes grew large.

"Is that an invitation to visit the Horde again this summer?" she asked, and Bloodthorne's eyes gleamed.

"Perhaps," he said. "If it were, would you come?"

"Sure," Hermione said easily, shrugging. "We could invite the House Elves too. Make a big party of it. Why not?"

Bloodthorne cackled delightedly. "You are a jewel, Hermione Granger. You are a jewel."

The ride down into the vaults on the rickety cart was as alarming and dangerous as ever, but Hermione found herself enjoying it. It felt more like a roller-coaster to her now, and it appropriately seemed like more fun. She wondered if she'd just gotten used to it, or if the elementals she'd absorbed helped steady her nausea for this too. Or maybe it was the sense of security she felt that if they crashed and she went flying into a pit, she'd be able to float herself safely to the bottom.

They arrived at her vault, and Hermione once again marveled at the sheer amount of gold present. The bars and galleons gleamed at her. She walked around, just looking at it all for a while before she bent to put an ingot of gold and an ingot of silver into her money bag with the Feather-Light Charm. If Alchemy dealt with atomic transfiguration, elemental metals would be an appropriate thing to practice on, she hoped. Or maybe the Elixir would require ridiculously expensive ingredients. Either way, the ingots seemed a smart thing to have.

"If you had sent more notice, an accounting of the vault would have been possible," Bloodthorne said. "As it stands, I would not know firm totals—"

"That's fine," Hermione said, waving him off. "That's not what I came for anyway."

In the center of her vault, atop a pyramid of gold bars, sat the Philosopher's Stone. Hermione approached it curiously. All but the bottom layer of the pyramid was solid gold, with the last still looking to be somewhat made of lead.

"Were you the one who used this?" she asked Bloodthorne.

Bloodthorne inclined his head. "I was."

"How did it work?" she asked. "Did you just set it down and let it go?"

Bloodthorne stepped closer, stroking his nails as he thought.

"I acquired the lead, as I easily knew of that," he said. "When I would begin, I would place the Stone on the lead and press my magic down into it. Once I did, the Stone would react, indicating it understood my intent, and I would withdraw and pull back, and the Stone would begin."

"You just press your magic and intent into it?" Hermione said, blinking. "Is that all?"

"That is all it is for a goblin," Bloodthorne said. "I know not what it might be for a human."

Hermione picked up the stone in her hand, weighing it.

"For something as valued as it is, it doesn't feel very substantial," she commented.

"It may not have much physical weight to it," Bloodthorne said seriously, "but that does not reflect its weight on the world."

That, Hermione thought as she pocketed the stone, was a rather elegant way of putting it.

After her vault, Bloodthorne led her back to the surface, only to be immediately led further into the depths of Gringotts' halls.

"We're not going to your office?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"My office?" Bloodthorne gave her a scathing look. "I would never disrespect you so."

As they went down a long stone ramp and around a corner, Hermione realized.

"There's to be a ceremony," she said, trotting after Bloodthorne down a long hallway. "Isn't there?"

Bloodthorne gave her a look.

"You would honor the Horde with forging your House Crest," he said. "Did you think we would treat is as callously as paperwork?"

Hermione bit her lip and stayed silent. She honestly thought he'd just hand it to her and they'd be done with the matter.

To her astonishment, as they went into the small stone amphitheater this time, it was not largely empty as it had been for her sword presentation ceremony. The seats were all entirely filled, and still more goblins stood in between others, on the stairs, or in the area between the seated goblins and their desks. There were dozens upon dozens of them. Possibly hundreds of goblins, all tightly packed together, watching. Hermione wondered how many elevator trips from the Hold it must have taken to get them all up here and crammed into the amphitheater, or if the goblins had a secret back entrance up.

Six goblins stood on the dais on the center of the floor, and a familiar seventh stood to the side, bearing a large bundle wrapped in cloth.

"Silversmite," Hermione said in greeting, smiling and bowing to him as she passed, following Bloodthorne. The goblin grinned back, showing many teeth, and Hermione turned and refocused on the goblins before her (now seven, that Bloodthorne had joined them on the dais), gripping her sword tightly as she bowed to them all.

Bloodthorne stepped forward, eyes gleaming.

"Hermione Granger, of the House of Granger," he said. "You have come before the Horde with a request. You have commissioned a heraldic crest and coat of arms, intended to define you and yours, and you have entrusted this duty to the Goblin Nation."

This felt so familiar. Had it only been a year ago she had a similar ceremony to receive her sword? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"I have," Hermione said.

Bloodthorne stepped back, and another goblin stepped forward.

"When it became known that the House of Granger came to the Horde with this commission, there was a great clamor to participate in the honor of the collaboration." The goblin's smile seemed proud, despite the needle-like teeth. "Many goblins came forward, using all of their skills and magic, to create the crest of House Granger."

The goblin stepped back as another stepped forward.

"Your crest has been made using secret techniques of metalsmithing privy only to the Horde," the goblin informed her. "The gold shall never dent, the silver never oxidize, the metals never lose their luster. The brilliance will never fade, as shall the House of Granger's brilliance never fade into obscurity."

Hermione wondered if her descendants did end up becoming boring normal people at one point, if that would be disappointing the goblins, now that they'd declared her House should never fade into obscurity.

Another goblin stepped forward and the second stepped back.

"To honor their debt to the House of Granger, and to honor Hermione's Granger's friendship to the Horde, goblins from all reaches brought forward prized gemstones." The goblin paused, taking a deep breath. "The fox upon the escutcheon combines orange sapphires, hessonite garnets, orange zircon, sunstone, spessartite garnets, fire opals, carnelians, orange agate, citrine, tourmaline, clinohumite, spinel, coral, sphalerite, and amber to compose its body." The goblin took the chance to draw breath. "The tail and head are made of rainbow moonstone and Australian opals. The triskele is made of alexandrite, amethyst, benitoite, charoite, chalcedony, purple diamond, almandine, dumortierite, kornerupine, kunzite, jade, lapis lazuli, lepidolite, labradorite, all inlaid into a background of violet agate."

The goblin discreetly breathed deeply as he stepped back. Another goblin stepped forward.

"Each gem was mined, cut, and polished by a different goblin," he told her, looking her squarely in the eye. "Each gemstone was imbued with protective magic, and each was inlaid by a goblin who offers support to House Granger, should it ever be needed."

Hermione glanced around, eyes wide. If each of the goblins present had contributed one gem from the list all of those gems listed, that… that was a lot of gemstones. Far more than she imagined. Hermione had rather thought the piece would be mostly silver, emerald, and gold.

"The motto of House Granger is 'you only fail when you stop trying', inlaid in obsidian and gold," a new goblin declared, voice booming. "So, too, does the Goblin nation believe in these words. The Horde will endeavor to always improve, never stop trying, and not fail their friends of the Granger House for as long as both shall prosper."

A new goblin stepped forward.

"The blood and magic of many goblins has gone into this coat of arms and crest," he told her. "Never before has there been a heraldic crest made like this one, and never before has one been inlaid with the promise of loyalty and support from the Horde."

Hermione looked out over the crowd, the masses of people there, beginning to realize the gravity of just what the goblins were saying. They weren't just helping with her House's crest – they were saying that they would support her. They were promising her their magic and blood if she called upon them.

Hundreds of them. Goblins. Promising her loyalty and support.

Who knew what portion that was of the entire Goblin Horde?

"With the crest and coat of arms crafted thus, and the commission complete, the master craftsman who completed the escutcheon would submit the piece to you," the goblin was saying. "Silversmite, if you would step forward."

Silversmite, who was still standing off to the side, came forward, bearing the large bundle wrapped in cloth. He bowed to her, before straightening, eyes gleaming.

"I am called Silversmite," Silversmite told her, head raised proudly. "It was I who prevailed for the honor of forging your shield, and it is I who would present it to you now."

"I would see the piece," Hermione said, sure of her words.

Silversmite carefully unwrapped the crest, and even though she was expecting something magnificent, Hermione gasped.

The crest was an incredible work of art.

First of all, the piece was enormous. The shield itself looked to be four feet across, to say nothing of the laurels and scrollwork adorning it, adding to its size. The piece looked to be almost twice her height, from the top of triskele to the bottom of the banner. And it was made of so much pure metal, the weight had to be immense. Hermione wondered how she would ever get it home.

The shield itself was pure silver, gleaming brightly. The floral scrollwork at the bottom was green-gold, somehow – an alloy, with tiny emeralds used on the edges – and the laurels surrounding the sides of the shield a reddish-gold, each leaf fully detailed and realized. At the top was more green-gold scrollwork, shape and form and texture laid into the metal expertly.

The fox, emblazoned on the shield, was made up of many orange-colored faceted gemstones, different gems next to each other to create a 3D texture and shape to the inlaid fox. Hermione could only remember some of the names the goblin had listed off – sapphire and garnet and zircon and fire opal and sunstone – but there were at least a dozen different types of gems there, all expertly-cut and used to create the fox in a gorgeous sort of jeweled mosaic. The white of the fox's tail and head gleamed (the rainbow moonstone and Australian opals, Hermione recalled), and the crescent moon the fox looked at was a brilliant yellow gold.

Hermione had originally expected the violet triskele atop the shield to be made out of a piece of carved amethyst, the one purple gemstone she knew, but no – so too, here, had the goblins outdone themselves with the gem work. Dozens of tiny purple stones had been inset against a background of violet agate, the different jewels and their colors used to shade and highlight the branches of the triskele, making it look like she could reach out and grab it.

The bottom or the crest held a book made of gold with brilliant white-gold pages shaped atop the rose gold cover, with a banner of bright gold below the book, molded so expertly as to look like actual cloth. And engraved onto the banner, enhanced with subtle obsidian, were her House's words.

You only fail when you stop trying

Hermione realized there was a sudden lump in her throat. Her vision blurring, she turned back to the goblins.

"I would accept this crest," she said, her voice thick. The enormity of the moment was hitting her suddenly – this wasn't just a crest, something fancy to fit in with her pureblood classmates. This was her legacy, just beginning, with the promise of a hundred goblins to help her if she called. She could imagine it, in the future – her children playing in a living room underneath the crest, asking her questions about why she'd chosen a fox, pointing out the different gemstones to each other and trying to guess which was what. Emotion welled inside of her, and Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to hold back her tears.

Silversmite was beaming at her, but he gave her an understanding look as he knelt at her feet, holding up the shield on the cloth.

"With the crest created, the shield forged, and the commission complete, the contract is at an end," one of the goblins pronounced. "Silversmite has offered his blood to the piece as part of the contract, as have many of the Horde. Hermione of the House of Granger, now you must offer yours."

Hermione had no uncertainty this time. Her sword hung at her side in the special sheath Luna had procured for her, and she withdrew it smoothly, cutting her hand without hesitation, letting the blood well up and pool in her hand.

"I hope you all know," Hermione said, emotion thick in her voice, "that I consider the Goblin Horde as more than just an ally; I consider you all my friends. Just as you promise to support me, I hope you know that will I support you too."

She let the blood fall onto the shield, and all of the goblins became to hum, holding up their arms and hands as the amphitheater filled with the odd, high-pitched, jarring tone.

"Blood for blood, and bound by blood, the contract is complete!" one of the goblins cried out. "May you protect your House and defend your friends!"

All at once, the goblins clapped, and there was a bright flash of light from the shield, and Hermione staggered backwards, blinded. It took several long moments for her vision to clear, and when it did, the ceremony seemed to have finished; goblins were descending the stairs in the amphitheater, filing out to leave the room. Several lingered around the front of the room, though, as Silversmite grinned at her, pointy teeth showing.

"I would explain your crest and coat of arms to you," Silversmite said, nodding.

"What, it's not just what it looks like?" Hermione asked, stepping towards it again. Her blood was gone from the crest, and her hand had healed itself somehow – how was Hermione not surprised?

"Your crest and coat of arms have been claimed by your blood. It will protect you and yours," Silversmite told her. "The coat of arms, should it be claimed in part, will protect you and yours in battle."

Hermione blinked. "Wait, what?"

"It would protect you in battle," Silversmite repeated. "A coat of arms is, ultimately, a shield."

"It's made of silver and solid gold," Hermione said, astonished. "I'm hardly going to be able to move this, let alone lift it on the battlefield!"

There was high-pitched laughter and snickering around her. One goblin stepped forward, one that didn't look quite like the other goblins. Its eyes seemed larger, with bigger ears.

"I can speak wizard," it said. The goblin grinned, showing sharp teeth. "The jewels hold goblin protective magic, Hermione Granger. If you or your descendants claim one and put it on a shield, the protection imbued to the piece will protect the part as if it were the whole."

Hermione blinked, struggling to follow.

"But it is a shield," she said. "You mean if someone makes another shield?"

"Just so," the goblin said, nodding. "You are given a crest and coat of arms. Should a child go to battle, they would create their own coat of arms, but adorned with your crest. Should they transfer a jewel over to their own shield, they would be protected, too."

Hermione began to understand.

"So the 'crest' is the triskele, laurels, book, and banner?" she asked. "And the 'coat of arms' – the shield – that can differ from person to person?"

"Close enough," the goblin cackled, grinning.

"And—if my child puts one of the gems into their shield, even though it's not this one," Hermione said, putting it together, "the goblin magic put into this one will transfer over to their shield?"

"Just so," Silversmite said, nodding satisfactorily.

"That's… that's incredible," Hermione said, stunned. "Can it block spellfire?"

Silversmite sneered. "What kind of shield would not?"

Hermione considered this.

"Does it work for all protective gear?" she asked. "Or only specifically shields?"

Silversmite looked at her, puzzled. A puzzled goblin was an odd sight.

"I would answer, if I would understand your query," he said slowly.

"These gems are enchanted to protect me and mine, right?" Hermione questioned. "I understand that if I take one out and have it mounted onto a shield, the protective magic will transfer over and protect that shield too. But if I were to take a gem and mount it into armor, for example – would the magic transfer over that, too?"

Silversmite considered deeply.

"It might," he said finally, thoughtful. "It would depend on the composition of the armor, I would think. The magic would travel better along metal." He looked at her. "If you would do such a thing, I would advise you to do so while working alongside a goblin to ensure it would have the intended effect."

"Understood." Hermione smiled at Silversmite, who grinned toothily back. Bloodthorne stepped forward, joining them.

"Now, Hermione Granger, I would return you to your vault," Bloodthorne said. He took the enormous shield from Silversmite, holding it aloft as if it weighed nothing.

"My vault?" Hermione said. "But we were just there."

Bloodthorne cackled.

"I would assist you in storing this in your vault," he said. "Unless you would acquire an estate or fortress today, I would presume you have not a place to put such a crest, correct?"

"Ah, that's correct," Hermione agreed hastily, following him from the room. "And I would very much appreciate your assistance in transporting it down. Heavens, I don't know how many wizards it would take to move that much gold…"

"When you acquire your stronghold, I would help you move it," Bloodthorne told her, shrugging. Hermione marveled at how easily he maneuvered the massive crest down the hallway and around corners. "If I am slain, another goblin would be willing to help you as well."

"If you are slain?" Hermione asked in alarm. "Why would you be slain?"

Bloodthorne cast a glance back at her. "Goblins do not live forever."

"But you have fairly long lives, right?" Hermione said. "Unless something dramatic cuts it short, you have a pretty good lifespan, don't you?"

Bloodthorne raised an eyebrow, before smirking.

"One never knows when death will cut them down," he said, eyes glinting. "If you would want me to transport your crest to your stronghold, Hermione Granger, I would recommend you would find one sooner rather than later. The longer you would wait, the higher the chance that I would have passed on." He gave her a pointy grin. "But do not worry, Hermione Granger. I have no intent to die."

Not knowing what to say, Hermione let the matter drop, though Bloodthorne's ominous words lingered heavily in the air.

Chapter Text

The visit to Gringotts had taken entirely longer than Hermione had estimated; she hadn't anticipated the shield presentation ceremony being a whole big thing. She hid in the shadows of Knockturn Alley for a moment and turned the Time-Turner back two hours, putting her roughly back on schedule.

"Turned at 9, back to 7," she muttered to herself. She took out Luna's map. "Now, to France."

The shortest path to Paris would take her through four nodes. Hermione bit her lip, considering if she wanted to try for all four at once, or if she wanted to split it up. It would be good practice, to ensure she'd be ready come the summer, but it would be a challenge.

"I promised Blaise to be careful," she murmured to herself, tracing lines on the map. "But what is the greater danger – failing now, or failing on Midsummer?"

She decided to split the difference, mapping out a different path that was five nodes instead. She'd go through three, pause, and then jump the rest of the way. Satisfied, she rolled up her map, put it away, squared her shoulders, and closed her eyes.

"A bubble," she whispered to herself. "A bubble of magic, floating in a stream."

Focusing on her magic and core, Hermione reached out with her magic and drew the magical curtain of mist aside.

Being a bubble instead of a bundle worked well – she made it through the bend at the node in Canterbury, and she maneuvered around the bend at Calais, too. The bend at Amiens was sharper, though, and she crashed hard into the wall of the ley line, and when she was spat out of the line at Rouen, it was to fall to her knees and vomit until her stomach was empty.

Gagging, Hermione stayed on the ground while her stomach roiled. When it finally settled, she glanced up and looked around. A nearby sign informed her she was in Parc Jacques Chastellain – a lucky thing for her, she realized belatedly, to land in a park with few people about this early. Was that a thing with ley lines? They intuitively put her in places where she would be unnoticed or unremarked upon? Or had she just gotten monumentally lucky?

People in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley were no strangers to people popping out of midair, Hermione knew. But before, when she'd practiced, if she wasn't in a wizarding area, she tended to emerge on a moor or field in the countryside. She'd need to ask Tolly or Neemey if they knew – that was an important thing to know, really. If she might show up in front of muggles, it was good to know she should be prepared to panic.

A ley line jump from Rouen, down the Seine, and around only one small node at Vernon landed her neatly in Paris, just inside the entrance to La Place Cachée, and Hermione smiled to herself.

Now to find the International Confederation of Wizards building, and she'd be on her way.

The International Confederation of Wizards was several blocks from the far entrance to La Place Cachée and hosted in what Hermione had thought to be an entirely muggle building. Employees were coming into work in muggle suits and skirts, taking the escalator up out of the lobby. Julian Selwyn had warned Hermione the entrance was a bit odd, and it took her a moment to locate a cleaning closet on the far right of the lobby, with a handwritten sign that said "ICW" tacked onto the door. None of the muggles present seemed to see her at all as she made her way over to it, and Hermione shrugged to herself and opened the door.

Inside was an enormous auditorium, decorated in yellows and oranges. The room was bright and cheerful, and there were tons of witches and wizards in long robes milling about, chatting. Confident she'd found the right place, Hermione entered the room, closing the door behind her, and she set about looking for Julian Selwyn.

Representatives chatted and argued in different languages throughout the room. Hermione passed by a very pale man arguing with a Korean man in what sounded like Russia, while the representative from Egypt was arguing with someone clad in what looked like a Mongol Horde uniform in Swedish. What was someone doing wearing something out of history like that, anyway? Was that what the ICW wore to go fight the Yetis?

Intrigued, Hermione looked around at the clothing with a keener eye.

The fashion was somewhat incredible to behold, and the more Hermione looked around, the more she saw. There was a representative from Japan with robes that looked far more like a kimono than traditional robes, and the Indian representative had robes reminiscent of a saree. There were two different people from parts of Russian, but one wore a brown robe heavily adorned with gold, while the other had on a bright red robe with very bright and busy multicolored embroidery and a matching hat. It was fascinating to see how different cultures interpreted the same base article of magical clothing.

Finally, Hermione spotted her contact; Julian Selwyn was wearing very tailored robes that seemed to move through blue gradients as he stood. Hermione stood nearby at his elbow as he finished speaking to a man from Germany, judging by his accent, before Julian turned to her and beamed.

"You made it," he said, satisfied. "I didn't think you truly would. Well! Excellent! We generally sit in geographic clusters, so New Zealand's this way…"

He led her across the room to where a Japanese woman was arguing with a group of Australians. They stepped around the tussle, and Julian stopped and bowed to a woman with dark skin and black hair. She looked up and smiled at they approached.

"Kia ora, Julian," she said warmly.

"Amaia, may I introduce Hermione Granger, one of the Wizengamot representatives of Great Britain?" Julian gestured grandly to Hermione. "Hermione, this is Amaia Mateo, representative of New Zealand."

"Materoa," Amaia corrected, her smile growing a little more strained. From the tone of her voice, Hermione suspected Amaia had made this correction many, many times.

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione said, managing a curtsy despite the seats crowding her. "I was hoping to discuss a potential diplomatic arrangement with you."

"Oh?" Amaia seemed amused. "You are a child."

"She's very sharp," Julian assured the New Zealand representative. He clapped Hermione on the shoulder. "You go ahead and explain your plan and needs. I need to go talk to Uganda."

Julian went off, leaving Hermione with the new woman. Hermione took a deep breath and offered her a smile.

"I wanted to talk to you about werewolves," she said, taking a seat next to Amaia's desk. "Do you have werewolves where you are?"

"Werewolves?" Amaia looked puzzled as she took her seat. "We don't have wolves in New Zealand. We lack many predators other cultures have. Many never made it to our island."

"You have dingos and the like, though, right?" Hermione asked. "Do you have lycanthropic dingos? Or does only Australia have those?"

Amaia looked at her like she was speaking tongues.

"What are you talking about?" she wanted to know, and Hermione made a face in frustration.

"In the UK, we have werewolves," she told the Amaia. "They're normal people, but on the night of the full moon, they turn into wolves – great, furious ones with a taste for human flesh."

"You're talking about the Moon-Mad," she said, eyes lighting up. "Yes! We have those."

"Moon-Mad?" Hermione questioned.

"They go mad at the full moon," Amaia Materoa confirmed. "They turn into great dogs, twisting and transforming in their madness."

"And they spread it through biting?" Hermione asked.

Amaia paused. "Explain."

"Our werewolves, if they bite another person, that person turns into a werewolf too," Hermione explained. "The disease spreads that way, from werewolf to victim."

The New Zealander frowned.

"I do not know if it is quite the same?" she said. "With us, it is part of the legends of magic. When Māui turned Hina's husband, Irawaru, into the first dog, Irawaru's followers were devastated, proclaiming to magic and the world that they would become dogs too. They offered him their best cuts of meat and brought to him his staff, and Irawaru blessed them, so they might hunt with him as his pack each night of the full moon."

"…does that still happen?" Hermione asked. "They're all one big pack?"

"No, of course not," Amaia dismissed. "It is Māori mythology; an origin story, a legend. But these people are considered sacred in our culture. If a person were 'bitten' and joined their pack, it would be considered a blessing."

"A blessing?" Hermione repeated dumbly. "To turn into a vicious dog that might then hunt its own human family?"

"Not all blessings are easy to bear," the woman said, lip quirked. "Even as we venerate the Moon-Mad, they are feared."

"That's…" Hermione struggled to find the words. "That's rough."

"Non-natives often blame the Australians," Amaia commiserated. "They have dingos. It seems more likely the blessing and curse came from there. And the Moon-Mad certainly act more like a dingo than a dog."

"So what do you do with them?" Hermione asked. Amaia hesitated.

"From what I know, there is a potion," she said slowly. "It is very expensive, and though the government provides it, there are protests – both from people who do not want to pay for it, and from those who think it is heresy to alter the transformation. The Moon-Mad themselves usually want to take it – they least of all feel they have been given a blessing, with their madness."

Wolfsbane, or something similar to it, Hermione surmised. But the same problems with it that the British Ministry had, she figured – some people not taking it, the expense, and the fact the transformation was only altered, not stopped.

"I think we can help each other with this," Hermione told her. "It'll require some research and money, but we could help your Moon-Mad as well as my werewolves, if we work together."

Amaia raised her eyebrows.

"I'm listening," she prompted. "Go ahead."

Chapter Text

Hermione left the ICW with a feeling of confidence and success. Amaia had promised to stay in touch and update her after she went back to her own Ministry. The New Zealand magical government was much smaller and didn't have a legislative structure like the Wizengamot, which would help to streamline things, and Amaia had been confident she'd be able to get approval to move forward with the plan.

Hermione beamed to herself, skipping down the stairs as she left the building. One thing down off her list, only a million more to go.

Her next stop was Beauxbatons, the French Academy of magic, located in the south of France in the Pyrénées mountains. It was nearly 500 miles away, almost directly south. Examining Luna's map, Hermione carefully plotted out her course across the French countryside through the ley lines, before focusing on her core, harmonizing with her magic, and stepping into the stream.

As Hermione traveled further south, the ley lines felt different to her, somehow. There was a different energy about them, something more alive. Hermione wondered if Beauxbatons students maybe used the ley lines, so they were more used to feeling the magical energy of people within them. It was almost pleasant, somehow warm and fond, and Hermione had to remind herself of the dangers if she got distracted even slightly while 'popping' around. If she accidentally fell out of the ley line on the wrong side and ended up in the Fae realm… well, she might never escape.

It took nearly an hour, hopping across the country with discreet stops to rest and puke, but Hermione soon found herself two nodes away from Beauxbatons. Excitement thrummed through her, and she focused on taking a ley line that would put her just outside the school. She didn't want them to think her an intruder or an attacker of some kind. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped into the ley line once more, and a short jump later, she was abruptly on the ground outside of Beauxbatons, eyes wide.

Fleur hadn't been exaggerating.

Beauxbatons was beautiful.

A palace stood in the center of enormous, lush gardens, carved out from the mountainous landscape as if by magic. The palace itself looked like a cross between a medieval castle and a stately manor home, made of shining white stone. It was covered with tall windows – grand, arched ones and multi-pane ones - and it had slate gray roofs with as many towers as possible added on. Hermione counted four floors (an entirely reasonable number of floors, unlike Hogwarts), save for the towers on the ends, and she wondered where the students lived. Fleur had mentioned the central fountain in the middle of the school's park; did the school then form a giant square, with a courtyard and fountain in the middle?

The gardens around the school stretched out in every direction to fill the magic-made valley in the mountain. Flowers of different sorts adorned the bushes, multicolored and gorgeous. Topiaries lined some of the walkways, expertly trimmed into striking shapes – a unicorn, a griffin, a dragon, a phoenix. The gardens seemed to be solely dedicated to the aesthetic and the beautiful, with nary a concern towards growing magically-functional plants for Herbology or Potions. There were only beautiful plants and flowers, surrounding the striking palace in the center, and the effect was stunning.

Hermione approached the castle on foot, reverently, slowly walking up to the gardens. There was no fence to prevent her from entering.

As soon as Hermione stepped onto the garden path, the school's defenses struck; vines shot out from the rose bushes next to her, curling rapidly around her ankles and stopping her where she stood. Hermione gasped as larger vines studded with thorns emerged and loomed threateningly, and she stood very still – presumably, this was their intruder warning system, and someone would come along soon to see who was trespassing. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by it. Magically enchanted flowers and gardens were a sight prettier and more creative than the giant iron fence Hogwarts had surrounding its grounds.

Soon, two figures emerged from the palace in the distance: a very large one, and a very blonde one. As they got closer, a wide smile spread across Hermione's face.

"Fleur!"

Fleur was in her Beauxbatons uniform, a beautiful blue short robe and capelet, but she was still utterly recognizable from her blonde hair and bright eyes shining out from under a matching hat. She was stunning, as always, and Fleur was laughing, her face alight as she started running toward Hermione. Without thinking about it, Hermione instinctively pushed the vines away with her magic, freeing herself to run to Fleur as well with a joyous smile.

Before Hermione realized they'd met, Fleur had swept her up in her arms and was spinning her around, laughing. Hermione shrieked in surprise, grabbing at Fleur in alarm, but Fleur only laughed and set her down, beaming at her.

"Hermione!" Fleur said, her voice warm. "Ah, tu as laissé un vide derrière toi! Sans toi, ce n'était pas pareil…"

Hermione faltered and blushed.

"It's good to see you again," she breathed. "Though, my French hasn't improved much, mind. Umm… 'sans toi ce n'était pas pareil' is 'it wasn't the same without you', I think, and 'derrière' is 'behind', I think, but I don't know 'laissé' or 'vide'…"

Fleur laughed.

"You left a void behind you," she declared, holding Hermione close again. "It was not the same without you. I desperately wanted to see you again."

"Me too," Hermione admitted. "Ah… tu me manques. Err—is it past tense, now? So tu m'as manqué…"

Fleur's eyes sparkled.

"Your accent is terrible," she said, leaning forward and kissing the tip of Hermione's nose. "But you are cute for trying."

"I've been in France for two hours, not two weeks!" Hermione objected, face flaming.

Fleur laughed.

"It is okay; you are in France now. You will pick it back up again soon," she declared. She stepped back and took Hermione's hand. They turned to face the large woman, who was looking down at them appraisingly, and Hermione's eyes grew large.

The woman in front of her was the tallest person Hermione had ever seen, and that included Hagrid. She stood maybe ten feet tall, and she wore very voluminous robes, concealing her figure and making her look even bigger. Her hair was dark and cut short, and she had a long nose she looked down the entire length of to see Hermione with dark eyes.

"Madame Maxime, je vous présente Hermione Granger, mon amie. Hermione," Fleur said, turning now to Hermione, "this is Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbâtons."

Hermione curtsied very deeply. "C'est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance," she said, minding her accent. The large woman merely looked mildly amused.

"Enchantée," she said. She looked Hermione over frankly, before speaking English with a heavy accent. "So. You are zhe special one 'oo 'as our Fleur so flustered."

"I suppose so?" Hermione said, flushing. She looked over at Fleur, who was looking at her fondly. "I wouldn't say I'm special…"

"Au contraire," Madame Maxime said mildly, "you 'ave escaped our guardian vines wizhout a second s'ought."

Hermione blinked. She'd been so excited to see Fleur, she'd pushed her earth magic at the vines instinctively. Now, the vines still lay on the path where they had coiled around her ankles, but they had bloomed into a tangled bouquet of multicolored roses. Hermione faltered.

"Well," she said, awkward. "Maybe a little special."

Fleur laughed delightedly, and Madame Maxime nodded.

"Fleur 'as said you might transfer academies, if your French improves. You are welcome to take a tour of Beauxbâtons under supervision of Fleur," she said. "Your excursion is not for a few 'ours."

Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"I get to explore?" she said, breathless. She looked to Fleur. "I thought you said Beauxbatons was a secret."

"It is." Fleur's eyes sparkled. "But, as we have said, you are special."

"It iz not as if we could we woo you away from Dumblydore wizhout you seeing our beautiful school," Madame Maxime added. She smirked, the expression almost intimidating just for the size of it across the woman's wide lips. "Maybe we cannot regardless, but we need zhe shance to try."

Hermione was genuinely excited to get to explore Beauxbatons. She was curious to see the differences between the schools, what the professors here were like, what the students were like, how big the library was. She knew this was a rare opportunity, seeing another wizarding school like this (when they were so notoriously secretive), and she intended to savor it.

That being said…

Seeing Fleur again took precedence.

"You have grown up!" Fleur exclaimed, tugging Hermione by the hand through a grand archway, down a walkway. There was light and the sound of water ahead, and Hermione hoped they were going to the fountain. "Just look at you!"

"I haven't," Hermione protested. "I've long since stopped growing."

"Lies." Fleur scoffed. "You have filled out your figure, Hermione. And to say nothing of your hair!"

She paused in the middle of the walkway, reaching up with her free hand to cup Hermione's face and gently tousle her curls, and Hermione's face flamed. Fleur's blue eyes sparkled.

"I do not know what you have done to it, but I love it," she declared. "You are beautiful, Hermione."

The fact that Fleur, one of the most beautiful people Hermione had ever seen, was calling her beautiful… Hermione could feel her cheeks heat up, but Fleur wouldn't let her look away.

"You don't scrub up too badly yourself," she managed to get out, and Fleur laughed delightedly, her peals of laughter ringing in the walkway like bells.

"Oh, I have missed you!" she said, skipping down the walkway once more, Hermione's hand still firmly in her own. "Come! I must show you everything! Beauxbâtons is the most beautiful school in the world. And I have friends, now – well, some. Acquaintances, at least? They permit me to study with them. You should meet them, I feel. But first, the Flamel Fountain – it is right up here. Can you hear it?"

Fleur's enthusiasm and excitement was charming, and Hermione couldn't stop smiling as Fleur led her along. Fleur's joy just radiated out of her, and it made Hermione's heart warm, to know she was so happy to see her.

Fleur seemed entirely oblivious of the other students walking around in the walkways and the courtyard, or at the least, she was ignoring them. Clusters of students stared as they passed, other girls clad in capelets and robes like Fleur's watching in astonishment. Hermione remembered Fleur's anguished tales of how the girls generally treated her with suspicion, loathing, and envy, and how Fleur had to constantly put on an act, pretending to be above all the petty drama. Now, though, Fleur was laughing and skipping down the hall, blonde hair dancing in the air behind her, smiling openly with her eyes alight, and Hermione wondered if they'd ever seen Fleur look so free.

There were boys, too, though their uniform was very different – they wore navy blue slacks and a silken blue vest that matched the girls' robes. They wore a white collared shirt underneath the vest, and many of them had patterned blue ascots about their necks. Some of them had on long suit coat jackets, the same pale blue of their ties, with the crest of Beauxbatons embroidered on the chest. The boys, much more than the girls, stared after Fleur, not bothering to hide their gaze in darting looks or glances. Many of their faces slackened, apparently just drinking in the sight of Fleur, and the look in their eyes made Hermione feel uneasy and uncomfortable. Did Fleur have to deal with this all the time?

Fleur tugged Hermione through an opening into a stunning courtyard. There were trees and pavilions scattered around, with chairs and benches throughout the area. In the center was a magnificent fountain, a multi-tiered masterpiece. Atop the fountain stood what looked like an angel, reaching for the heavens, but there was a wand in its hand. Water spilled out from under the angel to the next tier, and then wider from the bottom tier still. The other tiers were decorated with statuettes of unicorns and pegasi, and the water glittered in the sunlight as it fell. It was almost too pretty, the water sparkling a little too much to be normal, but it was said to be enchanted, Hermione figured. Maybe enchanted water was prettier, the magic helping it catch more light.

Fleur tugged her over to a bench near the fountain. They both sat down on it, and Fleur took Hermione's hands, smiling at her.

"I know you would like to see the school, but Hermione, it is so wonderful to see you again, I want to just sit and talk for a while," Fleur told her. "I hope you will forgive me this?"

"Of course, Fleur," Hermione said, smiling. "Catching up in person is always better than letters, isn't it?"

"Not always, perhaps," Fleur said, making a face. "Letters to my mère maman do not provoke immediate nosy questions, at least. And they do not speak back."

Hermione laughed, and Fleur grinned.

"You see the fountain?" she said, gesturing grandly. "Made by the Flamel. Or at least, by their alchemist gold. It is lovely, is it not?"

"It is," Hermione said. "I didn't know wizards had angelic iconography, though."

"Angel?" Fleur paused. "What angel?"

"On top of the fountain," Hermione said, pointing.

"Oh!" Fleur said. "L'apogée de la magie. 'The apex of magic', I think, in English?" She smiled wryly. "The figure represents the height of magic, the constant strive for more. The wings are – euhh…" she trailed off, muttering rapidly in French to herself. "Comment dit-on 'métaphoré'? Our 'au sens figuré'? Zut alors, est-ce que je pourrais éviter de perdre mes mots, pour une fois?"

"Figurative?" Hermione offered, guessing. "Metaphorical?"

"Yes!" Fleur looked relieved. "The wings, they are symbolic. They are not actual wings. Just… representative. Of the journey for more."

"They're not supposed to be literal wings," Hermione said, nodding. "I understand."

Fleur looked sideways at Hermione.

"You are not so different from the figure," she said slyly. "Beautiful, and constantly striving for perfection. Though you do not need wings to fly, do you?"

Hermione flushed. "Fleur!"

Fleur laughed. "I am not wrong, am I?"

"I mean, no…" Hermione laughed, her cheeks red.

"Do you blush at me calling you beautiful?" Fleur asked, observing her. "Or is it the mention of your strange flying that has you turning red?"

"The beautiful bit," Hermione admitted. "It feels… I don't know. Inappropriate, somehow. You're beautiful, Fleur. I'm just… me."

Fleur looked at her, eyes soft.

"Beauty is a state of mind," she told Hermione. "It… is an aesthetic appreciation, a visual veneration." She nodded, satisfied with her words. "Do not compare my Veela allure with yourself. The allure, it is more part of the sublime, I think – a magical manipulation of the senses – than a truth that is beautiful."

"The… sublime?" Hermione faltered. She'd heard the word before, but she'd thought it just meant 'outstanding' or 'incredible'.

"The sublime is… more," Fleur said, trying to explain. "The sublime is elevated. Greater than normal. It inspires awe, veneration, fear. Like… when you look out over a cliff at the ocean, it is stunning, but also terrifying. That is the sublime." She made a face. "It has been some time since I have read Longinus."

"Wait – do you study Longinus at Beauxbatons?" Hermine said, astonished. She only vaguely recognized the name. "Do you have magical philosophy classes? Do you really?"

Fleur laughed.

"How else are we to explore the pinnacle of magic, if we do not expand how we think?" she queried, eyes sparkling. "If we have not the tools to reach the summit, how will we ever climb more?"

"That's brilliant," Hermione said enviously. "I wish we had that class at Hogwarts. And I wasn't," she added. "I wasn't talking about the Veela allure. Just… you."

"Ah, yes. Just 'Fleur'." Fleur's eyes went molten. "And you find 'just Fleur' beautiful."

"You know I do," Hermione said, resisting the urge to squirm underneath her gaze.

"Then why," said Fleur, her hand coming up to cup Hermione's face gently, "do you find it hard to believe I find the one I have soft feelings for to be beautiful too?"

Hermione's breath caught as Fleur leaned closer, breathless in anticipation.

"Everyone is watching," Hermione warned her, heart pounding in her chest. "Everyone is about to see you kiss a girl."

"Let them watch," Fleur murmured, his breath ghosting over Hermione's lips. She smiled slyly, eyes sparkling. "Let them see what it looks like when I try to seduce a person."

"Seduce—?"

But Hermione's objection was lost a moment later in Fleur's lips, in her deep kisses, and Hermione rather forgot to think at all for quite some time.

Chapter Text

The school library at Beauxbatons was massive, but it seemed to be built more for aesthetic pleasure than function. At Hogwarts, the library was large but felt small, cramped with bookshelves crammed into every available inch. At Beauxbatons, the library had a high domed ceiling, massive windows to let light in, and round floors of books available in tiers up the walls, all of which looked down to the bottom floor, where students gathered to study. There was the hum of quiet talking and chatting at the bottom floor, which surprised Hermione – Madam Pince would have never allowed such noise - but sound didn't seem to travel very far. Hermione wondered if the tables were enchanted to contain conversations, or if the books helped reduce the echo.

Fleur took Hermione to a table where three girls were sitting. She pulled out a chair for Hermione, gesturing for her to take it, before she pulled out her own roughly, plopping down in it carelessly. The girls looked up at Fleur's approach, eyebrows raised.

"Fleur?" one said. "Qu'est ce que tu veux?"

"Mesdemoiselles," Fleur said, gesturing very grandly and speaking very overdramatically, "j'aimerais vous présenter Hermione Granger, ma petite amie." Fleur smirked at them, eyes glinting. "She only speaks English, so endeavor to pull yours out, please?"

That wasn't quite fair, Hermione thought wryly. She knew enough to know the first girl had rudely demanded 'what do you want' of Fleur. She didn't know enough to really converse, though, so it hardly mattered.

The girls didn't seem phased, though. English clearly wasn't an issue.

"Ta petite amie?" a girl with dark hair repeated, dark eyes slitted. Her gaze cut over to Hermione. "You are Fleur's paramour? Her girlfriend?"

Hermione flushed. "Yes."

The girls all reacted with surprise, exchanging wide-eyed looks. Fleur leaned back in her chair, looking very smug and satisfied. Hermione wondered at her smugness. Fleur was stunning – were these girls really surprised that she would have a romantic interest?

"Enchantée, Hermione," one of the girls finally said. She glanced at the others. "I am Léa, and this is Manon and Juliette."

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione said, nodding to them. She couldn't exactly curtsy from her chair – or should she bow, now, with Fleur at her side? "So. You're Fleur's friends?"

The girls exchanged weighty glances, but Fleur saved them responding.

"They are the ones who were impressed by my performance at the spring dueling competition," Fleur said, in tones of satisfaction. "They did not expect my excellence."

"'ow could we?" Manon shot back. "You were not one to stand out in class."

"Fleur stands out without trying," Léa said dryly. "Why would she want to stand out more?"

Manon shot her friend a dirty look, but Léa merely shrugged.

"Welcome to Beauxbâtons, 'ermione," Juliette said, offering Hermione a smile. "You are visiting? Touring? What brings you 'ere?"

"Alchemy, mostly," Hermione said, returning the smile. "And curiosity. What sort of subjects do you study here?"

Juliette glanced up at Fleur, then to Léa, but then she shrugged, reaching into a bag she had on the floor next to her seat.

"They 'ave recently given us the course list for next semester," she said, passing a parchment over. "You can 'ave a look."

Fleur and her 'friends' were discussing something in quiet French while Hermione scribbled on a parchment. She had duplicated the girl's course list, and she was writing out equivalent subjects next to the listings in French.

Études Médicale – Medicine
Beaux-Arts et Littérature – Creative Arts and literature
Métaphysique - ?
Musique - Music
Soins de la Faune Magique – Care of Magical Creatures
Sorts et Magies de l'Esprit - ?
Défense personnelle et Diplomatie– Self-defense and diplomacy (DADA?)
Métamorphose - Transfiguration
Enchantements - Charms
L'Art des Potions – Potions
Langues et Langages du Monde – World Languages
Sensibilité aux Plantes – Herbology
Integration chez les Moldus – Muggle Studies

"Is this Metaphysics?" Hermione asked, nudging Fleur. She pointed at the list with her quill. "Philosophy?"

"It is." Fleur's eyes sparkled at her. "You asked about us learning of the Sublime, did you not?"

Hermione smiled.

"Fair enough. What's this one?" she said, pointing to the last she hadn't pieced together.

"Spells and Spirit Magic," Fleur translated. "It is not literal, however." She considered. "Euhh, how to say… it is like Hypnosis, perhaps? In English?"

"Hypnosis?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "In magic?"

"Perhaps not the same," Fleur said, frowning.

"What do you learn in it?" Hermione asked. "Maybe we have something similar."

"It iz a very advanced class," Juliette told Hermione. "It iz the study of mental magics. Memory charms, charms to influence opinions, magics to change the moods of people."

"Very dangerous spells are learned," Manon said, smirking. Her dark eyes glinted. "I 'ave 'eard it begins with an entire lesson and exam on personal responsibility and ethics for a month."

"More ethics?" Léa groaned. "We have ethics in everything."

"We have Legilimency?" Hermione said, considering. "That's the art of mind-reading. There's also Occlumency, the study of how to protect your mind. Those are probably the closest things we have? Though Legilimency is a highly restricted art."

Manon snorted. "Why?"

"Um. Presumably because it's very dangerous in the hands of the wrong person," Hermione said. "You can't have people just going around reading people's minds."

"Teach people to defend their minds, then," Manon said pointedly. "The type of person who would violate others is not likely to stop because something is 'ighly restricted."

"That's… fair," Hermione said cautiously. "So you would just teach everyone everything?"

"Why not?" Manon shrugged. "Better to learn 'ow to do it correctly under supervision than do it wrong and 'urt someone. And better to learn it alongside responsibility and ethics, to learn when it is appropriate to use or not."

Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu. It sounded uncannily like when she had learned Fiendfyre.

"Though Léa detests it, there iz a reason we 'ave ethics in so many classes," Juliette said, smiling a bit. "Beauxbâtons is proud of not just producing good witches and wizards, but producing good people."

Hermione considered this, looking down at her parchment thoughtfully. Fleur wrapped an arm around her, tugging into her side.

"What is the matter?" Fleur asked. "This is supposed to be exciting, is it not? And yet, you are pensive and sad."

"I'm not sad," Hermione objected. "It's just… this seems much better than how Hogwarts does it. If an evil Dark Lord does come around, everyone will be able to defend themselves, whereas my country will be sitting ducks."

The girls all exchanged wry looks.

"Just because we learn it does not mean everyone is good at it," Léa said.

"There was a reason Grindelwald did so much damage," Juliette said with a sigh. "With 'ope, we will do better next time."

"Please. If there is a new threat, Fleur will protect us all," Manon teased, eyes glinting. "La Gagnante du Printemps."

"'The Winner of Spring'?" Hermione said. She grinned at Fleur. "You won a whole season? In a duel?"

Fleur laughed.

"That is not quite what it means," she said, amused. "But yes, I did." Her eyes sparkled. "Maybe next term I shall win the autumn as well."

"Autumn is Spectacle Dueling," Manon warned, smirking. "You are prepared for that?"

Fleur laughed. "Do you think I am not?"

"Spectacle Dueling?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. It is different than Strike Dueling," Fleur said. She hummed. "It is not just until someone is defeated. You are awarded points in categories, for creativity, elegance, flourish, and so on. You earn a score to move on in the tournament."

"Much easier to just 'ex somebody," Manon said, rolling her eyes. "More realistic, certainly."

"You will need to keep your hair out," Juliette teased Fleur. "You cannot risk losing style points for an ugly color."

Hermione glanced at Fleur curiously, who grinned.

"I wore a dampener and a wig for the spring tournament," she said. She tossed her head. "I did not want it said that I won because of my Veela allure."

"You didn't tell me that!" Hermione exclaimed, shoving Fleur. "Well done, you!"

Fleur laughed, and Manon rolled her eyes.

"Arrête de te la péter," she snarked, and Hermione's eyes bulged.

"I'm sorry," she said incredulously, "but did you just tell Fleur not to fart?"

The girls, including Fleur, all dissolved into laughter.

"It is idiomatic," Fleur assured Hermione, amused. "It means… stop showing off. Stop bragging."

Hermione's mind boggled for a moment, before she shrugged.

"Well," Hermione said, eyes dancing, "if Fleur beat the rest of the school in dueling, it sounds like she's earned the right to fart about, then."

The girls dissolved into giggles and laughter again, this time, with Hermione joining them.

Beauxbatons encouraged extracurricular magical interests in a way Hogwarts did not. For Fleur to get permission to go off of the grounds, she had merely petitioned her professors for special permission for a field trip for magical research. They had looked at her grades, signed her request, and it had been sent to the Headmistress for final approval.

"And that's it?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "They just let you go?"

"I will have to submit an essay on what I learned," Fleur said, shrugging. "Or perhaps a project, depending which is more appropriate. I must show that I learned from my excursion, that it was not just for fun."

Hermione shook her head. "I wish Hogwarts did that."

Fleur shrugged elegantly. "Nobody has done an excursion to study Alchemy in many years. Madame Maxime told me that Perenelle is very excited. She does not often get to discuss her craft, I think. She is looking forward to meeting us."

"I'm glad for it," Hermione said, meaning it. "I don't know if she would have responded to a random letter from nobody written in English. Much better to leverage an existing connection."

"Much," Fleur agreed wryly.

Boys in the hallway continued to stare at Fleur as she and Hermione made their way back through the school to Madame Maxime's office. Fleur was holding Hermione's hand tightly, but there was a strained look about her face as she walked, now, a steely determination in her eyes and the tilt of her head. Her manner wasn't quite cold, precisely. She hadn't changed anything. But Fleur now seemed to emanate aloofness and untouchability, radiating an aura designed to keep the boys away.

Hermione and Fleur were stopped before going up a staircase, three boys cutting off their path. Fleur immediately took a step back, withdrawing her wand and stepping in front of Hermione as if to protect her. Hermione's eyes went wide at her sudden response, and the boy in the middle put his hands up, showing he was unarmed.

"We just want to talk," he said, his English heavily accented. "They are saying… they say you are paramours?"

"I fail to see how that is any of your business," Fleur snapped.

"It is only, with two lovely ladies as yourselves, it is a terrible thing to not have a man," another boy said, tripping on his words. "We selflessly offer ourselves for help."

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "We have no need of help."

Hermione subtly pulled out her own wand. Fleur's hands were changing, her nails lengthening into talons with sparks along the claws, and Hermione wondered if there was about to be a fireball fight. The prospect was oddly enticing; she'd be able to throw fireballs alongside Fleur now if necessary.

The third boy, apparently too impatient to attempt English, said something in French, his tone cajoling, suave. Fleur reacted with revulsion, rearing back, and her eyes flashed from blue to a dark, glowing amber.

"'ow dare you!" She snapped her wand at the boys, who rapidly stumbled backwards. "I will destroy you!"

The boys had their wands out now, shielding desperately as they attempted to retreat. Fleur's assault was merciless, though, spell after spell being sent after them. She seemed to be casting wordlessly - a litany of angry French poured from her mouth instead, her fury coming out in an angry rant rather than her pausing to bother using incantations.

The boys had sprouted ass' ears and tails, and they were sneezing slugs as they tried to protest, their sneezes coming out suspiciously like braying. They scampered away around a corner, shoving each other, and Fleur glared after them, her fingers itching to throw more hexes down the corridor.

"I cannot believe," she swore furiously. "The gall—"

"What did he say?" Hermione asked. "I couldn't follow—"

Fleur made a strangled, furious noise.

"It was very rude," she said. "It was a crude implication that because we lacked certain anatomy, he should provide it for us in the bedchamber."

Hermione was horrified, then revolted, then disgusted.

"That's awful. Do you really have to deal with such boys all the time?" she asked. "Do they always say such crude things?"

"Usually they attempt to romance me first," Fleur said. She was taking deep breaths, slowly and evenly, trying to calm herself down. "With you here, they must have thought the 'romancing' was already done and they did not need to try."

Hermione shook her head, disgusted.

"I wish I'd known what he'd said," she said. "I would have tried to hex off their bollocks instead of making them sneeze slugs."

Fleur snorted. A small look of amusement returned to her eyes, which were returning to blue.

"They were acting like asses, so I tried to turn them into asses," Fleur confided, smirking. "If I did well, they will find a grotesque horror in their trousers when they undress." Her eyes flashed. "I hope they are humiliated, when they need to ask for help to reverse the change."

Hermione was torn between perverse amusement at Fleur's revenge and a horrified wonder if the boys would be pleased to find larger equipment in their pants, regardless of how deformed and alien it looked.

"Well, less damaging than a fire fight," Hermione quipped. She smiled at Fleur, offering her hand. "I was ready, though."

"To fight with fire?" Fleur said, stepping forward and taking Hermione's hand. She began leading her up the stairs. "How?"

"I learned to throw fireballs," Hermione said. Fleur shot her an astonished look, and Hermione couldn't help but grin. "I wanted to be able to keep up with you, if we ever got into a fireball fight."

A wide smile cracked on Fleur's face, breaking through her fury.

"A fireball fight," she said, shaking her said. "As if it were naught but a snowball fight. As if it were a normal fight to have."

"Who cares about normal?" Hermione said, nudging Fleur. "You're undeniably special. Better to own it and make others cower from you as needed."

Fleur gave Hermione a small smile.

"Oui," she said.

"Yes?" Hermione said. "Yes to what?"

"No," Fleur said, smile playing about her lips. "Not oui. We."

"That's the same thing…?"

"We are special," Fleur said, lifting Hermione's hand. Her eyes were molten as she looked over their linked hands at Hermione, before pressing a soft kiss to Hermione's hand. "Not I. We."

Hermione's breath was suddenly caught in her throat.

"Yes, well," she said breathlessly. "That works too."

Fleur laughed, tugging Hermione further up the stairs.

"We must attend our excursion now," she said, determined. "We must visit Perenelle. And after, after the important business has been concluded, I intend to 'snog' you." She looked at Hermione, eyes mischievous. "This is the word in English, yes? 'Snogging'? For extended kissing?"

It was, Hermione thought, an excellent plan.

Chapter Text

The Portkey Madame Maxime gave them deposited them in a garden outside of a large castle. To Hermione's surprise, there were muggles about.

"Is this the right place?" she asked Fleur. "It looks… not."

"It is," Fleur assured her. "Le Château de Roquetaillade. The Flamel have lived here since…" she hummed. "Well. It has been many centuries. The muggles know it is privately owned, but they presume it just stays in a family. They opened it to the public some years ago, to tour the lower floors."

They went to the entrance, where a young girl was lingering. Fleur held up the Portkey token Madame Maxime had given them, and the girl nodded, turning wordlessly and indicating they should follow.

The girl led them through two rooms where muggles were drifting about, reading plaques on the walls or taking photos, before she suddenly stepped through the wall behind a hanging tapestry. Fleur followed without hesitation, tugging Hermione through after her, and Hermione wondered if it was the same spell that was used on Platform 9¾ at King's Cross.

The other side of the wall (the magical side) was cleaner, prettier, and more well-lit. There were a few large wizarding portraits that watched Hermione as she and Fleur followed the young girl up the stairs. When they reached the top, the young girl knocked smartly, before pushing open the door.

"Vos invitées sont là," she said, rather unnecessarily.

Hermione peeked inside, eyes growing wide.

The room looked to be a large workshop, with a stone floor and large stone desks jutting out from the walls nearly all the way around the room. Large, arched windows above the desk let in copious amounts of light, illuminating everything, and the desks were cluttered with parchment, ink, quills, and more strange ingredients than Hermione had ever seen before. There were a couple bookcases on one wall that held old, heavy tomes bound in leather, their pages fragile and aged. The ground was cluttered with assorted ingredients, a small cauldron made of solid gold, and chalk symbols and lines written all over the floor, emanating out from the cauldron like a spiderweb.

Abruptly, Perenelle Flamel was suddenly there, appearing from nowhere, examining Fleur and Hermione with sharp eyes.

"Welcome," she said. A faint smile touched her lips. "You may come in."

Fleur and Hermione gingerly stepped into the room, careful to avoid the clutter on the floor and the chalk drawings as they took two vacant stools. The small girl who had guided them left, closing the door behind her.

Perenelle Flamel was an odd-looking, ephemeral sort of woman. At a glance, she looked to be a young woman, with smooth skin and few wrinkles, but there was a darkness under her eyes that made her seem much, much older. She wore a muted green dress over a white underdress, very medieval in style, and she had a circlet of steel and silver on her head that her hair was woven into, keeping it out of her face. Her hair was a faded ginger sort of color, like Ginny's fiery red but with all of the life sucked out of it, and there were streaks of silver throughout. Some of the streaks actually looked like they were growing out, with red roots coming back in, to Hermione's astonishment, but other streaks were fully silver.

She was rather short, several inches shorter than Hermione, and she had a slight frame. Something about her manner made her seem like she was a very tall woman who had just been shrunken, as if by a spell, her presence taking up more room than the room taken up by her body.

Perenelle waited for them to stop staring before she gave them a warm smile.

"You are the budding alchemists from Beauxbatons and Hogwarts," she said. "I am so happy to have you! Welcome to my laboratory."

She spoke English with a very slight French accent, to Hermione's immense relief. Though, Hermione supposed, having lived over 600 years, Perenelle would have had plenty of time to become a master polyglot.

"You are hoping to learn Alchemy, are you not?" Perenelle inquired. "Madame Maxime was not terribly specific in her letter."

"We are," Fleur said. She glanced at Hermione. "We had questions on the Elixir of Life. We were hoping to learn from you."

"The Elixir of Life?" Perenelle's eyebrows rose. "Well. I can certainly teach you the theory, but if you're hoping for eternal youth and immortality soon, I daresay you'll be disappointed."

"No, no, I'm hoping to learn the theory and how it works, how the Philosopher's Stone worked to make it," Hermione said hastily. She withdrew parchment and a quill from her bag, settling herself on the floor. "I'm terribly curious how it all worked."

"I as well," added Fleur. "I am eager to learn from a skilled teacher for Alchemy."

Perenelle looked them both over, evaluating, before shrugging and giving them a smile.

"Then I shall teach you," she said. She conjured a chalkboard as if from nowhere, and her eyes were light. "I am always pleased to discuss Alchemy and teach curious students."

Perenelle Flamel, as ephemeral as she had seemed upon meeting her, was very matter of fact and grounded when it came to Alchemical theory, and Hermione hurried to follow along, ink spattering on her hands as she took notes.

Perenelle had started by giving a brief overview of Alchemy – that it was the field of magic that dealt with changing things at an atomic or molecular level – and how it was intricately tied to many other fields, including muggle chemistry and biology. The Elixir of Life worked by healing damage done to the body, she explained, including reversing aging. It left a person open to sudden, violent death, but it removed health concerns from the picture as a mortal threat.

"The Elixir of Life was made with magical theory and much trial and error," Perenelle told them, smiling faintly. "The Philosopher's Stone made it possible. It was only recently did muggle science catch up and explain to me how it worked, so it could be reproduced without the Stone."

"Trial and error?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "How did that work?"

Perenelle smiled. "We threw an apple in a cauldron of gold to see what would happen, and it worked."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "An apple?"

"An apple," Perenelle confirmed.

After Perenelle and Nicholas had completed the Great Work and created the Philosopher's Stone, they began experimenting to discover what was needed to create the Elixir of Life. They'd turned to muggle legends, legends of creation, and Perenelle had found a myth about an eternal garden of Babylon, where humanity had been forbidden to go after tasting of an apple they should not eat.

"'Forbidden Fruit' seemed an apt place to start," Perenelle said, smiling. "And so into the cauldron it went."

"And… that was all?" Fleur said, astonished. "It just worked?"

"It did." Perenelle sighed. "It's much more difficult to transmute without a stone. But I can now explain how it works."

The Elixir of Life, she went on to explain, healed not just damage done to body, but healed damage on a molecular level, including the telomeres of DNA. Reversing the shortening of telomeres during DNA replication stopped aging. She sketched an apple on the chalkboard, drawing rough diagrams of several elements below it, and Hermione wondered if she'd somehow stepped into a university Chemistry class.

"…we get carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, and phosphorus, which can be repurposed into forming nucleic acids," she explained. "It facilitates healing DNA, while the lingering negative ionic charge and magical charge helps counter free radicals."

To Hermione's surprise, Fleur was nodding along. She knew Fleur was smart, but she was somewhat astonished to realize Fleur understood muggle chemistry and biology. When would she have learned things like that? Did Beauxbatons teach a primer on Biology in Potions or Healing class? Did Hogwarts teach such things in the N.E.W.T. level classes?

"It seems as if this is not Alchemy, though, is it?" Fleur posited. "If it is rearranging just molecules, not changing one molecule into another…"

Perenelle gave her a smile.

"Technically, perhaps. But it is too precise of a Transfiguration to be done through Transfiguration alone." She gestured to the ground. "You see the runic diagrams and arrays it requires without the Great Working? One could never do it with a wand and Transfiguration alone."

"This is for the Elixir of Life?" Fleur looked interested.

"In part," Perenelle sighed. "There are many stages. It is a lot of work."

"If it's so difficult, why don't you just make another Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione asked. "You did it once before."

The room seemed to chill, and Perenelle grew still.

"It is not something I would do again," she said quietly. "We were ambitious, and we were determined. But for the Philosopher's Stone, we had to obtain the prima materia – the quintessence of creation and chaos." She shuddered. "Obtaining the prima materia… there is a reason few alchemists ever complete the field's magnum opus. A Philosopher's Stone is not worth what one must endure to make it. There are some scars left on the mind, on the soul, that even the Elixir cannot heal."

Hermione's eyes went wide. There was a silence for a long moment.

"I have a question," Fleur said. She shifted, pointing to something on the floor. "When you choose the runes for your arrays, do you ever use them merkstaved?"

The atmosphere in the room seemed to loosen, and Perenelle shifted to see what Fleur was pointing at, answering her question.

With Fleur asking questions about some of the runic diagrams Perenelle was using, and Perenelle pleased to explain, pointing out different groupings and diagrams, Hermione was free to fade into the background. Hermione briefly struggled to keep up and quickly got lost, but that was okay, she reassured herself; Fleur was two years over her, and utterly brilliant in her own right. It made sense that Fleur knew more about Ancient Runes than she did, and just because Fleur knew things she didn't at this point didn't mean Hermione would never catch up – it just meant she still had more to learn.

Leaving them to it, Hermione sketched out her own plans on her parchment while Fleur and Perenelle chatted, writing underneath of the notes she'd taken earlier.

• Cauldon of solid gold
‣ Buy? Transfigure?

• Apple
‣ Try multiple types – House Elves

• Water
‣ Purified from a magic spring? Tap water?

• Testing
‣ Feel different?
‣ Old wounds healed?

Hermione looked at her list, considering. Tom Riddle was right – having the Philospher's Stone was essentially cheating, skipping all of the hard work. Dozens of runic diagrams and various transmutations of water over a period of weeks seemed impossibly difficult. Throwing an apple into some water, and then pushing her magic and intent through the Stone, though… that was something she could do.

For the first time since she'd been kidnapped by Sylvia, Hermione felt the band of tension around her lungs start to loosen. Maybe this wouldn't all blow up in her face after all.

Chapter Text

Fleur enjoyed the lesson from Perenelle Flamel immensely. After they'd finished discussing the Elixir of Life, Perenelle had showed Fleur the basics of using runic arrays to rearrange molecular structures, as opposed to atomic ones (which were significantly harder), and Fleur was practically bouncing as they left the castle.

"It is a lot of work, but I understand it!" Fleur crowed. "Alchemy is a challenge, but I feel like I have taken the first step into learning."

Fleur's excitement and joy were contagious, and Hermione smiled, her heart warm.

"Does it really?" Hermione asked. "It all seems so overwhelming, even just at the start."

"I know how to turn charcoal into diamonds," Fleur informed her, eyes sparkling. "How can I not feel like I am on my way to becoming a master?"

Hermione laughed.

"You shall become a master jeweler," she praised Fleur, teasing. "All the goblins will be jealous of your flawless gems."

Fleur raised an eyebrow, giving her a curious look.

"We have few goblins, here," Fleur said, tossing her head. "Vicious creatures. They prefer to stay in the west, alone."

"Really?" Hermione was curious. "Who runs your banks?"

Fleur blinked. "People…? Who else?"

Hermione was startled. "Really? The goblins run the Wizarding bank in Britain."

Fleur was startled into laughing.

"The banks employ a few goblins, certainly, to help with the carrying of mass amounts of gold. But run it entirely?" She couldn't stop laughing. "Hermione, goblins are vicious creatures. They will rebel against any affront to their honor or independence. And your Ministry has them holding everyone's gold?"

Hermione paused. "…um. Yes."

"That is spectacularly stupid," Fleur declared. "No matter the state of subservience your Ministry currently holds over them, goblins never forget an offense. It is only a matter of time before they rebel."

"There have been a lot of Goblin Rebellions," Hermione admitted. "But if the government is suppressing them, they should rebel, really!"

"I do not disagree," Fleur hummed. "Creatures deserve to govern themselves. The Veela, they govern themselves on L'Île d'Yeu, and the French Ministry leaves them be. The hags in the north, near Normandie, they govern themselves, and the Ministry only intervenes when they become aggressive in whom they eat." She looked down at Hermione, giving her a quirked smile. "I only mean to say that a Goblin Rebellion will occur, Hermione. And such a rebellion would be very, very violent. It is better to leave their entire civilization alone."

"What would you do, then?" Hermione shrugged helplessly. "They run the whole banking system."

"Take part of your gold and hide it in your house, perhaps?" Fleur's eyes twinkled. "We could put gold in a chest and bury it. Or take it with us, and we could sail the world as pirates. We could meet the Sirens and learn their enchanting ways."

Hermione laughed, playfully shoving Fleur.

"You can't be a pirate; you'll be too busy being a master jeweler," she teased.

"I shall be a master of everything," Fleur declared, her eyes alight. "I dare anyone to stop me."

When they were outside the security wards of the castle, Fleur activated the Portkey, transporting them back to Beauxbatons, tugging them through the French countryside to the Pyrénées in a whirlwind. Hermione crashed into the ground as they landed, while Fleur remained standing on wobbly legs.

"You 'ad a good excursion, I 'ope?"

Madame Maxime was looking down on them expectantly, arms folded. Hermione scrambled to her feet as Fleur nodded, answering the Headmistress in French. Madame Maxime settled back, looking pleased, and she asked Fleur another question, which she answered, before they were dismissed. They left the Headmistress' office, and Fleur sighed, closing the door behind her.

"I did not notice as much with Perenelle, as I was distracted," Fleur said, "but I am terribly hungry. And we have missed lunch."

"Luckily," Hermione said, lips quirking, "we can fix that rather easily."

A brief trip into an alcove, surprised exclamation from Fleur, and three turns of the Time-Turner resolved that issue, and Fleur stole a kiss as Hermione hastily shoved the hourglass back down her robes.

"Brilliant," she praised, and Hermione flushed. "Come. Let us go to eat."

The dining hall in Beauxbatons was very different than Hermione expected. Instead of grand tables set up, there were dozens of small tables scattered around, with groups of four to twelve around them. Fleur headed directly towards one on the left side of the hall, and Hermione recognized Manon, Léa, and Juliette from a while ago. There was a boy with them, though, who Hermione didn't know.

"Fleur?" Léa said, confused. "I thought you had your excursion now."

"Oh," Fleur said. She paused, considering how to explain, before dismissing it. "Do not worry about it. We have come to lunch."

"Mademoiselle Delacour, who is this?" the boy purred, his eyes on Hermione, and Hermione blinked. His tone of voice seemed suggestive and odd, only… not? Was he teasing Fleur, somehow? He didn't seem actually interested in Hermione. And how would he be interested in her, anyway, with Hermione next to Fleur?

"This is Hermione, ma petite amie," Fleur said, pulling out a chair for Hermione to sit in. "You are not to bother her."

The girls all laughed at this, while Fleur sat down primly next to Hermione. The boy put his hand to his chest, giving Fleur a pained look.

"And you will not introduce me?" he said. "Am I so unimportant that you would neglect to recognize my existence to your lover?"

Fleur huffed and rolled her eyes, folding her arms, and the girls giggled again.

"Hermione," Fleur said, gesturing haphazardly. "Meet Jules. He is… fine."

Jules gave Fleur a hurt look, before fixing his sight on Hermione, eyes glittering.

"Enchanté, Hermione," he purred. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?"

Hermione shot a confused look at Fleur, who was rolling her eyes and huffing. Juliette seemed to intercept the look and laughed.

"Jules is… immune. To Fleur. One of few," she said, amused. "He is… comment dit-on en anglais…"

"It is the same," Léa supplied. "Il est homosexuel. He is gay."

"Ahh," Hermione said, relaxing. "I see."

Feeling less threatened, Hermione gave Jules an examining eye. Jules had short, curly dark hair and dark eyes that glittered with mischief. He had a dusting of freckles across his nose, and, rather interestingly, a long, ghastly looking scar on his neck. It started right under his chin and ran down and around the side of his neck before vanishing into his shirt, and Hermione wondered what had happened to him that had scarred badly enough that magic couldn't heal.

"And now, with Fleur, I am not the only one," Jules said wickedly. "I am no longer alone in my den of sin."

"Leave me out of your weirdness," Fleur said, giving him a look.

Jules gasped. "Fleur! You wound me!"

"Jules is… tout est toujours compliqué avec Jules," Juliette said to Hermione, amused. "Quoi qu'il arrive, il en fait tout un fromage."

Hermione nodded wisely, though she had only made out half of what was said. Jules was always overdramatic, and… he was always making cheese…?

Out of nowhere, two plates laden with food suddenly appeared, catching Hermione off-guard. She tried to play off her reflexive reach for her wand as brushing out her robes, but Manon gave her a smirk.

"Not the same at Hogwarts?" she asked. "Do the 'ouse Elves come out and serve you in person?"

"No," Hermione objected. "I just… wasn't expecting it."

There was a mixed salad, a piece of fish, lightly seasoned rice, and couple cheeses on her plate. It all smelled delicious, and Hermione was happy to tuck in while Fleur and Jules bickered in mixed French and English off to the side.

"I am just happy," Jules was saying emphatically. "Everyone sneers at me. With you, they will not sneer so much now, I think."

"I am not a lesbian," Fleur declared. "I am not like you."

"How can you say that? You are in love with a woman," Jules objected. "That does not make sense."

Hermione felt her face flame at the blatant declaration from Jules. Even more, Fleur didn't attempt to correct him or deny it.

"I am not homosexual," Fleur declared. She looked over at Hermione slyly. "I am Hermionesexual. That is that."

Jules huffed, falling back in his chair with folded arms and pouting. Fleur rolled her eyes dramatically, and the other girls giggled.

"And I thought Fleur wanted to be friends because she thought I was beautiful," Manon said, sighing wistfully. Her eyes glinted, betraying her humor. "Only no, it's not all girls; it's just one girl."

"You would be more beautiful if you weren't such a cow," Fleur snarked, and Manon cackled.

"Says the harpy," she shot back, but she seemed amused.

Conversation settled down into something more sedate and companionable as they ate, in mixed French and English as a courtesy to Hermione, so she could follow along. The teachers had been hinting that there would be a study abroad opportunity the next year, and the student body was filled with whispers about it.

"Only for the older years," Léa said, frowning. "Is that because the teachers are advanced, or because the location is dangerous?"

"Pourquoi pas les deux?" Juliette said, shrugging. "They are not giving details. It may not even come to be."

"I am not going if it is cold," Manon declared. She shivered overdramatically. "Imagine if it is in Russia. I should freeze."

"I would go if it was Hogwarts or Durmstrang," Léa said. "Nowhere too far from home. Except perhaps Mahoutokoro, but only there."

"I might go to Ilvermony," Juliette said. "I should like to play Quadpot."

"What about you, Fleur?" Hermione glanced up at Fleur. "Would you go to study abroad?"

Fleur looked down at Hermione and shrugged, smiling.

"I might," she said. "It would depend on the details. Where are we going? What will we learn there? How far is it from home?" She smiled wryly. "Certain places I would need to avoid."

"Like Forathmire?" Jules teased.

"I was thinking to avoid Koldovstoretz," Fleur shot back, "but absolutely, I would avoid Forathmire."

"They would only recognize schools from the registered eleven," Léa said, a hand going to her mouth in horror. "They would not send us to Forathmire, surely."

"Can you imagine?" Manon snorted. "Attending Forathmire. Or Clortho. Or Korumoch. I would rather perish."

"I would go to Korumoch's," Jules sighed wistfully. "Or to the Drakkellian Guild."

"You just want to be in an all-boy's school," Juliette teased, smacking Jules' arm. "You wouldn't really go. Think of your education."

"Sarribella's is seeking… umm…" Léa paused. "To become official. Recognized."

"Accreditation?" Hermione supplied.

"Yes!" Léa looked relieved. "It was in Le Cri de la Gargouille. I read it."

"I've never even heard of these schools," Hermione admitted. "I know there's eleven registered with the International Confederation of Wizards. Are there really more?"

"It depends on how you define 'school', I think," Fleur said. "Sarribella's House for Seers… it is only Divination, really. Very good if you have Seer blood in your family, but utterly useless in all other matters."

"You could read fortunes, but not charm your 'ouse clean," Manon said. She made a face.

"There are some like that, and some that are simple schools for people with less magic," Fleur said. "Ornisem's Academy, for example, in Spain. But others are more." She grinned.

"More?" Hermione questioned. "Better than Beauxbatons or Hogwarts?"

"Of a sort," Manon snorted.

"Take the Hall of Tomes. The Hall of Tomes is not a school because there are no true exams," Fleur said. "It is more of a university. You go and study alone, and then you present to your peers your research to 'graduate'. There are no formal exams to prove what you have learned."

"Most are just bad," Jules said, smiling wryly. "I may tease about going to the Drakkellian Guild of Sorcery, but I would not. All I would learn would be Charms and Transfiguration. They cannot do anything without a wand."

"I thought your Ministry 'ad one," Juliette said, surprised. "Blackwell. Do you not?"

Hermione blinked. "Blackwell?"

"Blackwell's School of Spells," Juliette said. "Iz it not?"

"I've never heard of them," Hermione said. "I'll have to look into it."

"It will be Durmstrang or 'ogwarts," Manon declared. "Professor Bernard implied we would not leave Europe."

"Fleur hopes for Hogwarts, I am sure," Jules teased. "She could spend her last year with her paramour."

Fleur gave Hermione a soft look, and Hermione blushed.

"Maybe," Fleur said, eyes shining. "We shall see if it is meant to be."

Chapter Text

After lunch, Fleur led Hermione through the inside of the school up to the fourth floor, where Fleur had booked a study room in advance. Beauxbatons, despite the size, did not have randomly available abandoned classrooms to use for whatever purpose students might have, and she laughed when Hermione asked.

"We have rather more students that Hogwarts," she reminded her, eyes dancing. "There are no empty rooms."

Right; Beauxbatons accepted the French equivalent of hedgewitches, Hermione remembered. They hadn't had an issue with a Dark Lord in a while, either, to cause a population decline.

The study room Fleur had booked was a large, stone room. It was charmed to be soundproof, despite the window it had on the wall, and there was a portable Potions set up in the corner, along with a chair and a music stand.

"The room is used for many studies," Fleur explained. "Music practice, often – for those taking lessons, it can be dangerous to practice elsewhere."

"Dangerous?" Hermione repeated. "From hearing music?"

"Of course." Fleur conjured a ribbon from nowhere and set about tying her hair back. "If one is practicing a song to encourage courage and bravery for battle, for example, and it sounds throughout the boys' dormitory…"

"I see," Hermione said, understanding immediately. "The magical effect always takes place, then? You can't just practice the notes and hold back on the effect?"

"Including your magical intent is part of the music, Hermione," Fleur said, laughing. "Turn around."

Hermione obediently turned around, and a moment later, Fleur had tied her hair up and back too.

"Perenelle had a circlet, but these are rather more flexible," she said, amused. "Shall we begin?"

"With Alchemy?" Hermione said. Her mouth was dry. "Fleur, I don't actually know any Alchemy…"

"Then help me." Fleur shrugged, taking out a set of long sticks of chalk. "I have to present a project to justify the excursion. With your help, it will go quicker, and we can chat while we work."

"If you say so," Hermione said. "What do you want me to do?"

Fleur instructed Hermione to begin by drawing long, straight lines emanating out from the center of the room. It was easy enough to do with an enlarged ruler, and when Hermione went back to for her next task, inspiration struck as she looked over Fleur's shoulder at her notes.

"It's like a ritual circle!" she exclaimed.

Fleur's head whirled around to look at her. "What?"

"You're drawing a ritual circle," Hermione repeated, excited. "Look – the circle is to contain the magic and energy, the ring is where the runes go, and these lines are channels and veins to bring in more carbon from outside the circle, right?"

Fleur puzzled over her paper.

"Not… quite?" she ventured. "The lines, they are not… they are creating the structure for the carbon."

"How do you make it work?" Hermione pressed. "Do you just push your magic into the circle?"

"I do not know, Hermione," Fleur said, exasperated. "I have yet to try."

Sensing irritation, Hermione dropped the subject and let Fleur boss her around, instructing her what lines to draw where while Fleur focused on doing all the runes.

"How did you learn Ancient Runes?" Hermione asked, tracing out a triangle. "It didn't look like Beauxbatons offered it."

"We learn in our Language class," Fleur said. "We learn English, German, Latin, and ancient language systems." She drew out another rune. "We also learn as part of our Enchanting class. Some charms take an anchor."

That seemed a very practical way to go about it, in Hermione's opinion. If they had all learned runes from the start at Hogwarts, they'd have been able to start long-lasting charmwork before O.W.L. level Charms. And Harry wouldn't be struggling so much with Arithmancy, constantly looking everything up…

"Do you have Arithmancy here?" Hermione asked. "I didn't see if on the course list. Or Divination."

Fleur paused, chalk hovering over the floor.

"Beauxbâtons does not teach either," she said neutrally, resuming her writing. "Beauxbâtons, as a policy, does not teach… err… we call it Les Arts Divinatoires. The whole field."

"You group Arithmancy together with Divination?"

"They are both future-looking, are they not?" Fleur glanced over at Hermione.

"I suppose," Hermione said, frowning. "It's just… Divination seems so woolly and like guesswork, whereas Arithmancy is hard and crunchy and you can figure things out—"

"One uses magic, the other uses mathematics," Fleur said, lips quirking. "They both still attempt to divine what is yet to come, yes?"

"Well, yes—"

"And Beauxbâtons holds that it is not for us to know," Fleur said simply. She shrugged. "Who are we to know the future in advance?"

"But when you know in advance, you can plan for it," Hermione argued.

"Nothing is unavoidable," Fleur countered. "Il faut cultiver notre jardin. We must path our own destinies, Hermione, not just accept what 'is to come'."

It was such a staggeringly different take than what Hogwarts and wizarding Britain held that Hermione fell into silence for several minutes, mulling over Fleur's words.

"…do you take music?"

Fleur glanced over at Hermione, a smile playing on her lips. "Done discussing Divination?"

Hermione flushed. "I'm asking about your other classes. We don't have music at Hogwarts."

"I did, for a time." Fleur shrugged. "I played violin. I stopped, though."

"You did?" Hermione asked. "Why?"

Fleur paused, weighing her words.

"After a time, I became uncomfortable with anything magic influencing others," she said delicately. "I thought I had enough of that in my life, and that which I had, I did not like."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to bring up something painful…"

A ghost of a smile haunted Fleur's face.

"You would classify my existence as something painful?" she said. "I am Veela. I cannot change it."

"Yes, but…" Hermione made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a complaint. She didn't know how to articulate the emotion she wanted to express. "Still…"

Fleur laughed. "Come here."

Hermione went, and Fleur tugged Hermione down into her lap.

"Do not bemoan my existence as a thing of pain," she said, tapping Hermione nose. "It is simply life. Raging at the sun would have more of an effect than wishing the Veela allure was gone."

"I feel like I'd never get used to it or get over it," Hermione confessed. "I would constantly be just so angry. Like… no one would ever be able to see me. They'd all think things of me without actually seeing me, who I wanted myself to be."

"I was, for a long time," Fleur sighed. "It is exhausting, to rage against the world for so long. My mother helped me reconcile my identity, eventually." She poked Hermione in the hip. "That, and you."

"Me?" Hermione said, astonished. "How did I help? I'm not a Veela. I don't know the first thing about what it's like."

"No," Fleur said, amused. Her eyes were soft, and she gently tucked back a piece of Hermione's hair that had fallen from the ribbon. "But you were the first to see and love Fleur, not the Veela allure."

Hermione felt her heart clench. She didn't know what to say.

It seemed so monstrously unfair, that Fleur should be so brilliant and beautiful and such a wonderful person, and yet be damned to be reduced to her Veela heritage and allure. Fleur should have had many people to fall in love with her by now – genuinely in love with her, not because her allure seduced them into believing they were – and the fact that she only had one…

Hermione looked up into Fleur's deep blue eyes, which were steadily holding hers. Fleur had long since accepted her fate, it seemed; she was just waiting for Hermione to come to peace with it, now. Hermione blinked rapidly, an odd, choking feeling in her throat.

"I'm going to kiss you," she told Fleur, and Fleur laughed.

"You are welcome to," she teased, eyes sparkling. "Whenever you like, Hermione."

Hermione shifted in Fleur's lap, putting a knee on either side of her legs so she could face Fleur directly, kneeling over her. She traced Fleur's lips with a finger, lightly, looking down at her, and Fleur let her eyes drift closed as she did, her blonde hair hanging all the way down to the floor.

Fleur's lips were soft against hers, and Hermione only had to kiss Fleur for a moment before Fleur was pulling her closer, her arms holding her close, cupping her face as the older girl kissed back. A warm feeling bloomed inside Hermione's heart, and she was able to relax into the kiss, her own eyes fluttering shut.

When Hermione returned to Hogwarts that evening, feeling queasy from the ley line hopping, Blaise was waiting for her.

"So?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow. "How did it go?"

"It went well," Hermione said diplomatically. "I think I have what I need to help us sort out the blackmail issue, and the New Zealand representative is going to write to me within a fortnight."

"Yes, good, good." Blaise rolled his eyes. "How was Fleur, Hermione?"

Hermione's face colored.

"Fleur is doing well," she said, trying to keep her voice aloof and detached. "She enjoyed the Alchemy lesson, and we spent most of the evening working on her field trip project, making a diamond."

"Of course you did," Blaise said, nodding wisely. "That's why you have an enormous hickey peeking out of your robes."

Hermione clapped her hand to her neck, her face flaming, and Blaise laughed.

"Fleur possessive much?" he teased. "It looks like a toothless vampire had a go at you."

"It does not," Hermione hissed, tugging up the collar of her robes. The neckline was too low; she tried rearranging her hair to get it to rest on her shoulder and cover the mark. "And… we just got a bit carried away."

"Sure." Blaise smirked. "Go change your robe. I'll wait here."

Hermione fled to her dormitory, where she chucked her bag into her trunk and hurriedly stripped off her robe. She'd looked pretty in it, and the boatneck neckline had been flattering, but it had rather exposed a fair bit of skin.

She returned to the Slytherin common room in short order, wearing a turtlenecked black robe her mother had gotten made for her from a muggle dress. Blaise only grinned when she came out.

"I'm cold," Hermione said, defensive.

"Of course you are," Blaise agreed. "You're just being prepared. The Great Hall is known to be drafty, after all." He offered her his arm. "To dinner, then?"

Hermione had already had dinner once, with Fleur at Beauxbatons, before she'd Time-Turned back, but most of the delicious French food she'd eaten had been lost on her ley line hopping and practicing back up the French countryside. With a sigh, Hermione took Blaise's arm with a wry grin.

"To dinner," she agreed. She shot Blaise a dark look. "Don't say anything to the others."

"Me?" Blaise gave her an expression of mock horror. "I would never."

"Oh, don't pretend you're so innocent," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You and Tracy race to swap gossip the fastest."

"Maybe, but not about you," Blaise emphasized. He glanced to his right, meeting her gaze. "Your business is your private business, Hermione. I'll not betray your confidence like that."

Hermione bit her lip. "You make it sound so heavy. It's just who I've been snogging."

"Your romantic liaisons are yours and yours alone," Blaise said, with a slight smile. His voice was fond. "I will keep your secrets, Hermione. No matter how large, how small, how silly, or how serious they are."

Chapter Text

CW: Pregnancy

In all the excitement of her own rather busy Beltane, Hermione had entirely forgotten about what else was going on. She was abruptly reminded by an owl unceremoniously dumping a newspaper onto her breakfast, flattening her pastry and splattering the back of it with egg.

"Thanks, then," Hermione muttered, wiping off the paper before turning her attention to the headline.

INCREDIBLE MIRACLE OF RITUAL MAGIC!
Two witches conceive a child together!

By Rita Skeeter

There was a photo of Jade and Milan together, standing proudly in front of a podium, and Milan's slight pregnancy bump was showing through her robe. Both figures shifted and grinned up at Hermione, it being a wizarding photo, and Milan's hands kept lightly running over her belly, as if disbelieving it was actually there. Both girls kept exchanging deep, meaningful looks of love and pride with each other, and Hermione felt an odd sort of emotion well up inside of her throat, tickling, and something that made her eyes burn as well.

Turning away from the photo, Hermione focused on the article itself.

.

INCREDIBLE MIRACLE OF RITUAL MAGIC!
Two witches conceive a child together!

By Rita Skeeter

Two young women have done the impossible: conceived a magical child together. Jade Rince and Milan Bexley, both seventh years at Hogwarts, reported to Saint Mungo's yesterday with worries the pregnant Bexley had injured her baby in a fall. The healer confirmed the pregnancy was fine and going well, but when it came to record-keeping, the healer was shocked at the reported paternity: none other than the friend accompanying Miss Bexley, Jade Rince.

Multiple healers were summoned to repeat the parentage confirmation spells, but all the results were the same: Milan Bexley was the mother of the child, while Jade Rince, a woman, was the father.

"It made no sense," one healer told the Prophet, under condition on anonymity. "We were all stunned and confused on what to do, and the two girls just sat there proudly, holding hands."

A supervising Healer was finally summoned, who thought to ask the pertinent question of how this came to be. Rince revealed that they had conceived together purposefully in a powerful fertility ritual, and that Bexley was carrying the resulting child.

"Bugger off," Jacqueline Heath, attending senior Healer, told our reporter. "Patients' medical history is none of your blasted business unless they want to tell you themselves."

The story leaked quickly, and Rince and Bexley were willing to speak to the press and answer questions in the lobby of Saint Mungo's, confirming that Bexley was indeed pregnant with Rince's child.

"We live surrounded by magic that can reshape the fabric of reality," Rince told the press. "Who am I to acquiesce to nature's demands that I cannot have an heir with the woman that I love?"

Bexley was more forthcoming with details on the ritual itself.

"A powerful coven at Hogwarts custom-crafted a ritual for us to help us conceive," she told reporters. "It involved turning one of Jade's eggs into seed, to make the child both of ours."

This revolutionary ritual, never before reported, opens the doors to a new, intriguing possibility. If women can conceive together with ritual magic, it could allow pureblood women who love women to pass on their titles and lines to children without the need of a husband.

Indeed, Rince was defiant and proud on the podium as she defended her love.

"I needed an heir for the Rince line, and I have one, now," she declared. "The fact I am a woman who loves women has no bearing on anything so long as I fulfill my familial obligations. My mother will be thrilled to have a grandchild, and my father will have the heir he wants."

One reporter inquired further about the capabilities of the fertility ritual.

"I don't think [the ritual] would help two men have a child because they wouldn't have a womb for the child to grow in, but you'd have to ask the coven to be sure," said Bexley. "They could certainly help other couples who are barren, especially heterosexual ones. I imagine that'd be much more straightforward and simpler than our ritual."

Reporters cried out for the name and contact information of the great coven who had managed this feat, but Rince and Bexley were tight-lipped on providing a name or contact information.

"Granger didn't tell me what they decided to name their coven, if they've named it at all, yet," Rince said. "You'd have to ask her. But I'll let you know once they decide if they want to remain confidential or not."

CONTINUED ON BABY, A4
FOR MORE ON FERTILITY RITUAL MAGIC, SEE COVEN, A5

.

By the time Hermione had finished reading the story, Blaise was shaking with laughter next to her, having read the story over her shoulder. Hermione wasn't sure if she should be amused or upset, but when she looked up, Jade was walking towards her with a wide grin on her face, and Hermione found she couldn't be mad.

"What if I had wanted to remain confidential?" Hermione said to her, laughing. "Fat lot of good hiding our coven that remark would have done!"

Jade grinned, eyes sparkling. "Whoops."

Hermione shook her head, laughing, before looking up at Jade.

"Everything went well, then?" she asked. "Everything okay?"

"It's perfect," Jade said, pleased. "Milan's doing well, the baby's healthy, and they were able to detect a magical core. Couldn't be better, really."

Hermione realized she had no idea what gestational stage a baby grew a magical core in. And was it a core or a container they were detecting? Could Healers know a baby was a squib before it was born?

"That's fantastic," Blaise was telling Jade. "Heard from your father yet?"

"The story just broke, so no," Jade said, smirking. "But I imagine I'll be getting a rather long letter later tonight."

"A long one, or a loud one," Blaise quipped, and Jade grinned.

"I'm glad it all went as planned," Hermione told Jade. "You deserve happiness."

Jade's eyes softened, and she grew more serious.

"I'll get to stay with Milan, now," Jade said. Her eyes held Hermione's steadily. "That means the world to me, Granger. And it's all because of you. Don't think I'll forget it."

"It's not all because of me," Hermione protested, but Jade waved her comment away.

"It is. Anyway," Jade said, her eyes sparkling. "I'm intending on proposing to Milan at Graduation. If I get valedictorian, I get to make a speech. Do you think that'll be dramatic enough to be memorable?"

Hermione laughed.

"Don't you have to give her a courting token first?" she teased. "If she's going to be the mother of your heir, and you're doing the whole pureblood thing, I'm pretty sure a courting indicator comes before bright betrothal jewelry."

Jade's eyes grew huge.

"Morgana's tits, I forgot," she breathed. "Milan always talks about muggle weddings and dramatic proposals, so I thought she'd like—but if we're doing this and staying in the Rince line, she'll need—Circe, I hope no one's said anything to her; if they think I've dishonored her by giving her a bastard—"

"Do you have any jewelry you can give her?" Blaise said, glancing at Hermione. "If you make sure she's wearing something now…"

"I might." Jade swore profusely. "Sorry, Granger, I've got to go—"

She rushed from the Great Hall. Hermione glanced up to see Milan watching after her worriedly, from where she was conducting her own question and answer session over at the Ravenclaw table. Her eyes met Hermione's, concerned, and Hermione shook her head and shrugged slightly. Momentarily appeased, Milan turned back to her peers who were quizzing her insistently, and Hermione returned to the destroyed eggs on her breakfast plate.

"That article's about as positive as I think we could have gotten," Blaise said, pleased. "It's always a toss-up, with the Prophet."

An old memory floated up in Hermione's mind, one from a year ago, and she glanced back at the article's byline.

"This reporter, Rita Skeeter," she said, quiet. "I met her. I think… I think she had a personal interest in the story."

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Like, she's into ritual magic or covens?" he asked. "Or she's into women?"

"The latter," Hermione said. "A long time ago, with Jade… there was an indication…"

Hermione had promised Jade that she wouldn't spread the secret language of bowing, or whatever other the secret signals wizarding lesbians did to identify each other in the wild, but she hadn't forgotten – Jade's curt bow, and how Rita Skeeter's eyes had gleamed at the prefect at the end of her interview, when she'd bowed back in return.

Blaise looked surprised, then shrugged.

"Who knows?" he said. He grinned. "This could be a good thing, then, right? If women can have children together now, maybe they'll start getting married all over the place. It could become commonplace in wizarding society." His eyes danced, and he lowered his voice. "Your French lover could court you properly, then," he teased.

"Blaise!" Hermione objected, eyes flying around to see who had overheard. Everyone was engaged in other conversations, though, and Blaise merely laughed.

"You're fun to fluster," he told her, eyes sparkling. "Your face turns the most lovely shade of red."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, to Blaise's laughter. Only Blaise would try to flirt with her by talking about another romantic interest, and only Blaise would be able to make it work.

Hermione hadn't been expecting to see Snape that day, as she didn't have Potions, but Snape sent word at dinner to meet him in the classroom at 7pm. When she arrived, the rest of her coven was there as well, all holding small scrolls.

"I hope we're not in trouble," Harry said, anxious. "My homework has been piling up, and I don't have time to do detention, really."

"We didn't do anything against the rules," Susan argued. "He's our coven sponsor, right? He probably just wants to hear about what we did. Record it for posterity, you know."

"He just wants to cheat," Luna said, shrugging. "Don't worry."

Harry shot Luna a look, but Luna only smiled.

"A guess," she said. "Not a vision. But we'll see."

Soon, Snape opened the door. He looked down at them all for a long moment, saying nothing, before he stepped aside to let them in with a sigh.

"Well?" he said, already sounding very exasperated. "Come in."

Hermione and the others sat at the front two tables on the left side of the classroom, bunched together, not knowing where they were supposed to sit. Snape shut the door and moved to the front of the classroom in front of them. He leaned back on his desk with folded arms, regarding them coolly.

"Would one of you like to explain," he said, in very dry tones, "why it is I learned about you all achieving a great magical breakthrough through the Prophet?"

Hermione and the others exchanged a wary glance.

"We didn't know if the pregnancy was going to stick," Susan offered. "Milan only just got through the first trimester, the danger zone. We didn't want to announce something and then have her have a miscarriage."

"There are ways, Miss Bones, of informing your coven sponsor of your activities without announcing it to the world." Snape's voice was cutting.

"They wanted to keep it private," Harry objected. "I mean, they were making a baby. It was a very private thing."

"That five strangers also attended?" Snape was having none of it. "Try again."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"We weren't sure." She said, looking down. "We didn't know if it was going to work—"

"Miss Bones already said that—"

"—and I didn't want you to know about it if we failed," she finished. She bit her lip. "I didn't want anyone to tell you unless we knew it'd worked."

Snape paused.

"Miss Granger," he said finally, weighing his words. "Are you aware that mistakes and failure are generally a part of life?"

"Of course I know that," Hermione snapped. "We made a horrible mistake once with this fertility ritual business – Jade got pregnant instead of Milan, and we had to swap the baby over – so it's not like I'm oblivious. I just didn't want you to know if—"

"Hermione craves your approval," Luna said simply, looking up at Snape. "She didn't want you to be disappointed in her."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, and she looked at Luna, horrified. Blaise and Harry stared at Luna, who shrugged.

"What?" she said. "That's the truth, isn't it?"

Hermione buried her face in her robes, while Blaise began hissing at Luna about what information was or was not appropriate to share.

"He's her Head of House?" Susan was whispering to Harry. "It's not that odd, really. I want Professor Sprout to think well of me…"

"Well." Snape's voice was wry, as if trying to hide his amusement. "As your coven sponsor, I do insist on at least knowing what all this ritual and its sundry details entailed."

Blaise stood up and went to the chalkboard to draw out the circles they'd used, allowing Hermione to continue hiding her face in embarrassment and shame. Luna shifted to be closer to her, and when no one was looking, Hermione peeked out to shoot a venomous look at Luna.

"Why would you say that?" she hissed.

Luna blinked at her. "Because it's true."

"He didn't need to know that!"

"Didn't he?" Luna hummed. "Would you rather he think you arrogant and overconfident? Or would you rather he think of you as human?"

Hermione fell silent, and Luna gave her a ghost of a smile.

"It's okay to want approval, Hermione," Luna told her. "You want your parents to be proud of you. Why would you want any differently from the teachers who you respect and value?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I feel like it's childish," she admitted. Her voice was quiet, hidden in the discussion Susan and Blaise were having with Snape about the circle orientation and design. "Adults don't want approval from each other. They're just confident and make choices on their own."

Luna's lips quirked.

"Do they?" she asked. "Or are they just better at hiding what they want?"

Hermione considered. "…I don't know."

"Maybe it's a mix of both," Luna said. She tilted her head. "I don't think anybody truly manages to not care what people think of them." She paused. "Not even me."

Harry had joined the conversation now with Blaise and Snape, explaining about the runes mistake, and Hermione managed to draw her head from her arms to help explain. Snape raised his eyebrows, but he listened as Hermione explained about the conflict from the secondary meanings of the runes they'd used and the corresponding reversal they'd needed for the follow-up baby-stealing ritual they'd co-opted.

"Well," Snape said, after all the discussion was done. He looked them over, eyebrows raised. "You've certainly been busy, haven't you?"

Blaise snorted. "You don't know the half of it, sir."

Hermione did her best to suppress a smile.

"Still." Snape regarded them. "This is a breakthrough magical achievement. I would be unsurprised if news of this were published in a journal internationally. You should all be proud."

Harry looked astonished, at Snape telling him he should be proud, and Snape smirked.

"I am proud of you," he told them. He looked them over, eyes soft for a moment, before they glittered. "100 points to each of you."

"100 points!" Harry was astonished, then incredulous. "You've never given me points once!"

"Perhaps you should endeavor to do better and earn points more often, then, Mister Potter," Snape said dryly, but Harry's infectious excitement was too joyous to ignore.

"Snape gave me points!" he said, grinning. "Me! The Weasley Twins will never believe this."

"Yes. Well." Snape looked strained, like he already regretted his choice.

"Hermione led the coven," Luna said, out of nowhere. "She came up with the whole idea, and she's the one who made sure we carried it out."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"She did indeed," Snape said to Luna. "A further 50 points to Miss Granger for excellent leadership."

Hermione was astonished. "Sir?"

"But next time you decide to do a groundbreaking ritual, I expect to be informed beforehand," Snape stressed. "Do you understand?"

Luna paused. "What about rituals that aren't groundbreaking?"

"Tell me," Snape said curtly. "If nothing else, I can help ensure you fools don't kill yourselves, summoning mass murderers or bleeding out on altars by accident."

Harry grinned sheepishly, and Susan smiled, eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

As they left the classroom, Harry was practically skipping.

"I can't believe Snape gave me points," he said. "Me! Points! He hates me!"

"I can," Blaise said, smirking. "He had to give you points, if he wanted to give points to any of us."

"Yeah, well he didn't have to give us points, did he?" said Harry. "He could have just not."

"But it's like Luna said, isn't it?" Blaise said slyly. "He wanted to cheat."

Harry looked over sideways at Blaise. "Cheat?"

"Think about what just happened," Blaise said, eyes gleaming. "We all got points. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw all got 100 points, so those effectively cancel out, don't they? Whereas Slytherin got 100 points—"

"—and then another 150," Harry breathed. His mouth hung open. "He did it because there's two of you. So he could give you extra." He shook his head. "Oh, he's sneaky."

"He's the Head of Slytherin." Blaise spread his hands, grinning. "What did you expect?"

"To not get points, honestly. But at least it makes sense now…" Harry frowned.

"It's your fault he had to do it in the first place, Harry," Luna pointed out. She smiled. "Your Quidditch points put Gryffindor in the lead, remember?"

Harry's eyes lit up.

"They did," he said. "So in order to make sure Gryffindor didn't win the House Cup, he had to figure out a way to give Slytherin a load of points without it looking massively unfair—"

"We did do a revolutionary ritual that's never been done before," Hermione said, lips quirking. "I wouldn't say giving us loads of points for that is unfair."

"Yeah, but he only did it so Slytherin could win, didn't he?"

"Does his motive really matter?" Blaise said, smirking. "What he did makes sense – he's our coven sponsor, so he's the most appropriate person to give us the points."

Harry rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, and Luna stepped up next to him, smiling.

"Let's get up to our Towers, Harry," she said. She touched his arm lightly. "You have the Quidditch Cup, anyway. Surely that's more important to you?"

"Yeah…" Harry sighed. "It's just the premise of the thing, really…"

They split up, heading to different common rooms, Blaise and Hermione walking deeper into the dungeons. Hermione was smiling to herself, and Blaise also seemed pleased that Slytherin was now poised to win the House Cup again.

"D'you think he's going to give Jade and Milan points too?" Blaise quipped, amused. "Then dock Milan points for being scandalously pregnant while still in school?"

Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Chapter Text

Sirius Black's trial had been scheduled for May, giving both the prosecution and defense roughly a month to prepare. Hermione hadn't seen or spoken to Sirius in all that time, but they'd sketched out the plan to follow together during Easter. Nothing would have changed in the overall strategy – prove Sirius was innocent, get him cleared and reestablished on the Wizengamot, get Peter locked away – but she still felt anxious as she put on her Wizengamot robes. Sirius was brash and unpredictable. Who knew what he might do today?

When she met Dumbledore, his blue eyes were very bright. They didn't have their usual sparkle to them, but more of a wet sheen, and to her astonishment, Hermione found herself wondering if Dumbledore had been crying.

It was mad, to think of a powerful wizard and adult like Dumbledore crying. But he was only human, Hermione supposed. Everyone cried from time to time.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. "We have quite the day ahead of us, and we best get started."

He led her through the Floo into a busy Ministry Atrium. As soon as they emerged, there were shouts, and Hermione suddenly found herself crushed by reporters swarming around her.

"Dumbledore, what have you got to say about Sirius Black's trial today?"

"Hermione Granger, how are you going to vote?"

"—coven feel about the trial today?"

"—respond to the allegations that Sirius Black is actually Narcissa Malfoy's brother?"

"—Dark magic defeat the Truth Circle?"

Dumbledore steered Hermione through the madness with a bland smile, though there was a steely glint to his eyes. Hermione hurried through, ignoring the reporters as best she could. Wouldn't it make more sense to them ask questions after the trial? She wondered just how the Daily Prophet expected to get scoops and how reporters were scheduled. It seemed to make little sense.

They were able to escape into the Ministry lift, which took them down to the Department of Mysteries. Hermione kept her wand in her hand, alert, as Dumbledore led her down the staircase to the trial rooms.

"Your little encounter with the Department of Mysteries seems to have shaken you," Dumbledore commented. "Do you think your wand would help you if their magic went awry again?"

"I—err, I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "But it helps me feel more in control and less scared."

Dumbledore smiled.

"There are very few things in life we can actually control," he told her. "There is an inner peace that comes from finally accepting that."

"A wand helps," Hermione shot back. "It helps me control a lot more things."

"That, I cannot deny." Dumbledore's smile was wry. "Still. My years have given me the serenity to accept the things I cannot control, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." He glanced over at her. "You will find a greater peace if you learn to do the same, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't quite know what to do with that advice. Dumbledore seemed to accept a lot of things he thought he couldn't control – he ignored the plight of the hedgewitches, he didn't help the werewolves beyond trying to make sure they could still go to school – and if his wisdom was what told him he couldn't do anything to change it, so he never bothered to try—

"I've still got time left to be young and foolish, sir," Hermione said, shrugging. "Let me tilt at windmills a while."

Dumbledore laughed.

"Tilt at windmills indeed," he said, eyes sparkling. "Well. Better windmills than sleeping dragons."

The courtroom was crowded with Wizengamot members already there. Hermione glanced at Narcissa, who was deep in conversation with Phaedra Lestrange, and then Lucius Malfoy, who was on the entirely opposite side of the room talking to Thoros Nott. Neither Malfoy seemed concerned or worried at all, both projecting an air of cool disinterest.

Hermione shrugged and went up to her seat. It was too late to affect anything now, anyway. She might as well just sit back and watch.

"Did you get everything sorted with the New Zealand Ministry?" Royce Fiddlewood demanded as soon as Hermione took her seat. "I fully intended on helping, but now that I've got this catastrophe with the goblins on my hands—"

"Wait – what catastrophe with the goblins?" Hermione interrupted, alarmed.

"On the sales slips we've been getting, someone listed 'staghorn' as one thing the goblins were buying," Royce said, fuming. "Staghorn's a fungus, a mushroom, perfectly sensible thing for goblins to be buying and cultivating. Only they weren't selling them staghorn, they were selling them 'stags' horns'—"

"That still doesn't sound that bad," Hermione said, frowning. "Antlers aren't particularly sharp or dangerous to humans."

"A male erumpent is called a 'stag'," Royce said. He heaved a large, frustrated sigh. "I'm not sure what you've covered in Magical Creatures so far, but Erumpents are dangerous creatures. Their horns are incredibly explosive. And the Exploding Fluid inside the horn can be extracted."

Hermione blinked. "…what, for potions?"

"Generally, yes, but we're talking goblins here." Royce groaned. "And now I've got to figure out how to hide the fact that someone was selling the goblins explosives under what was supposed to be my department's supervision—"

"Why would anyone ever know?" Hermione asked. "Is the Ministry likely to do an audit?"

"They're goblins, and they've been buying explosives. It's not going to stay quiet, Hermione – it's going to blow up in our face—"

"What about the goblins?" Era snapped, taking her seat. "You had better be talking about how to make them go back in their Hold and never come out, Fiddlewood."

"What now?" Royce whined, turning to look at Era. "Most devastating cabbage accidents?"

"Entirely different magical catastrophe – a goblin was seen in the muggle countryside, and muggle authorities mistook it for a rabid dog in a trash bag," she told him. "My team and I spent yesterday playing the most absurd game of hide-and-go-seek with the muggle animal police, trying to find the goblin first to sneak him back to safety."

"Why was the goblin in the muggle countryside?" Royce wanted to know. "They're restricted to magical areas only—"

"He said he was shopping at the market and took a wrong turn, I don't know—"

Hermione wondered just how the goblins got up from their Hold. As far as she knew, there was only one elevator, and it led up directly into the Gringotts bank. It was possible there were dozens of tunnels all over the countryside, though, with hidden entrances and the like from the old burrows. Would anyone ever know if there were?

"If everyone would take their seats, please," Dumbledore's voice echoed loudly in the courtroom. "Everyone, please take your seats so we can get started."

Hermione looked around as everyone settled down. The witness stand was there, inside of the Truth Circle, and Hermione recognized Alexandra Jones, Wand of the Realm. There was another woman on the other side of the courtroom with jet-black hair. Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

"We are assembled for the trial of Sirius Black," Dumbledore announced formally. "Who here will preside for this trial?"

"Alexandra Jones, as Wand of the Realm," Alexandra said, bowing slightly to the assembled Wizengamot.

"Beryl Fawley, for the accused's defense," the black-haired woman said, managing an awkward curtsy.

Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Fawley, if you would produce the defendant."

Beryl nodded and looked toward the wall at the side of the room. There was a sudden, tense moment of silence as everyone held their breath, craning their necks to see, and a moment later, Sirius Black walked in, materializing through the wall, his head held high and proud despite the shackles on his hands.

Murmurs broke out in the crowd, but Sirius didn't falter one step.

He looked good, Hermione thought, looking at him with a critical eye. He was still scarily thin, but his hair looked well-groomed. His facial hair had been trimmed neatly, and his eyes weren't quite so sunken. He had on black silk robes, plain save for the Black family crest embroidered over the heart. He looked poised, arrogant, and confident as he took his seat in the defense box, arranging his shackles as if he were rearranging his robes. He raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore, as if to say, well? I'm here, and a moment later, Dumbledore nodded.

"We will proceed with opening arguments," he said. "Wand of the Realm, you many proceed."

Alexandra Jones stood. "Thank you, Chief Warlock."

Alexandra began speaking about the crimes of Sirius Black, about how he had murdered twenty muggles in broad daylight with a single curse. She was vivid with the violent imagery, and she detailed the unhinged cruelty and the Dark magic he must have used to break out of Azkaban. To Hermione's astonishment, Alexandra didn't address any of Black's accusations regarding Peter Pettigrew, completely ignoring them in favor of telling the tale about Black the papers had been telling for months.

Well. It was his trial, wasn't it? The one he'd never gotten. If Black was truly being tried for his alleged crimes, it made sense that they'd go after him for said crimes – even if he'd already seemed to prove himself innocent.

Beryl Fawley's opening statement was a thorough denunciation of all of Alexandra Jones' claims, followed by what seemed like a slightly revised version of Black's original petition to the Wizengamot. Beryl's manner was very direct and open, unflinching from the truth to the point of being unprofessional. Alexandra didn't seem bothered by her statement being called 'Ministry propaganda' or 'so vacuously false a troll could do better'. Beryl was brash and rude, and as Hermione watched Sirius' smirk grow as he watched his barrister, she suspected she understood why Sirius had chosen this woman to mount his defense.

"The Wand of the Realm may call the first witness," Dumbledore announced.

Alexandra stood. "The Wand calls Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, to the stand."

Loud murmurs and exclamations broke out, but Cornelius Fudge climbed down from his seat, making his way to the witness stand. He looked shaken and anxious, but he didn't look surprised.

"Will you please state your full name for the court?" Alexandra asked.

Fudge glanced at the Truth Circle around him.

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge," he said.

"And when did you first encounter the defendant, Sirius Black?"

Under Alexandra's questioning, Fudge's story about helping catch Sirius Black unfolded. He detailed his assignment in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and how he'd been one of the first on the scene to the attack. His verbal depiction of the scene was vivid – of watching Sirius laughing maniacally, with the giant crater in the street, pieces of muggles scattered about as people screamed around him – and Hermione remembered that though Fudge wasn't good at very much, one thing he did seem to be good at was oration.

After Alexandra finished questioning the Minister, Beryl Fawley stood.

"Minister Fudge," she said. "Did you, or any other person on the scene, cast Priori Incantantem on Sirius Black's wand?"

Fudge considered.

"I don't know if anyone thought to do it," he said. "We were all more concerned about apprehending him, about how to handle the situation until the Aurors arrived."

"Did Black ever confess guilt on the scene?" she prompted.

"No. He just laughed. He seemed crazy."

"Did his crazed laughter seem typical of a mental breakdown a man might have after seeing one of his best friends blow up a street and twenty people after the same said best friend had betrayed another best friend and had him brutally murdered?"

"Objection!" Alexandra slammed her hands onto the desk. "Calls for speculation! Minister Fudge is not a psychologist."

Beryl paused. "…what's a psychologist?"

Alexandra groaned, and Dumbledore banged the gavel.

"Objection sustained," he said. "Defense, you may continue."

Beryl asked if Fudge was aware of what had happened to Sirius Black after he had been captured, and Fudge admitted no, he had no idea – he had been thoroughly preoccupied with trying to repair the crater in the street and smooth over the disaster with the panicked muggle authorities.

"—gas explosion only goes so far," Fudge was explaining. "Witnesses still needed their memories modified, the sewer pipe needed magically repaired, and it all needed to happen as quickly as possible before witnesses started leaving the area."

"Was a magical trace ever cast on the explosion site?" Beryl asked.

Fudge frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Did anyone try to trace the magical signature of the explosion?" Beryl rephrased. "To tell who had cast the spell?"

Now Fudge was scowling.

"That's not a thing that can be done," he snapped.

"There are reports of the Department of Mysteries being able to trace curses back to their original casters," Beryl said calmly.

"That's for cursed objects only, and it's extraordinarily difficult," Fudge snapped. "When they uncurse an object, they have to unravel the magic, and sometimes the way it was cursed will lead them back to the person who cursed it. It's not tracking magical signatures. That's impossible."

"There is clear evidence that the Ministry can trace magic," Beryl protested. "Magic children use outside of schools—"

"Oh good heavens, you're a conspiracy theorist nut job, aren't you?" Cornelius Fudge snapped.

Dumbledore banged his gavel sharply. "Minister!"

Fudge scowled.

"We can't detect the magic of individual witches and wizards," he said. "The Trace works by finding immature magic cast in muggle-marked places. It's not all-powerful, it's not all-encompassing, and it's not possible for the Ministry to know who cast what spell."

"How does the Trace work, then?" Beryl pushed.

"Objection! Irrelevance!" Alexandra Jones stood up. "The Trace is a secret of the Department of Mysteries and has no bearing on this trial."

"Sustained," Dumbledore said. He gave Beryl Fawley a look, who looked sheepish.

"No further questions," she muttered, sitting back down.

Fudge got up and stormed back to his seat in the Wizengamot, fuming, while Alexandra Jones watched on, poorly hiding her amusement.

"The Wand calls Bartemius Crouch Senior to the stand."

Barty Crouch did not look pleased to be summoned to the stand. His short gray hair was well-groomed with an almost unnaturally straight part, and he had a narrow toothbrush mustache. Despite his professional appearance, anger and frustration seemed to practically emanate off him, and Hermione wondered how this would go.

"Ooh," Era murmured from next to Hermione, leaning forward. "This will be a treat…"

"Please state your name for the court."

"Bartemius Crouch Senior," Barty snapped. "I was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Black was arrested."

Alexandra's questions covered Black's arrest, and Crouch detailed how Black continued to laugh maniacally throughout his arrest, before falling into a near catatonic state inside of the holding cell.

"He stared into space for hours, just vacant," Crouch detailed. "Not sleeping. Not moving. Just… there. The only times he roused out of it was to snarl at the attendants when they brought him food and threaten them."

From Crouch's testimony, it sounded like Sirius had had a psychotic break during his interaction with Peter Pettigrew on the street, and then that break had continued during his arrest. He at no point demanded a trial, claimed he was innocent, or gave any helpful indication one way or another.

"There were eyewitness accounts of what he'd done, and he'd been found with blood and body parts all over him," Crouch snapped. "When he was in holding, he'd gone empty and vacant. How was I supposed to hold a trial for someone who wouldn't respond? No one claimed he was innocent, including himself. There was a lot of chaos and confusion after You-Know-Who fell. It saved time to skip the trial and just put Black in Azkaban."

"And afterward?" Alexandra Jones prompted. "When the chaos had settled?"

Crouch scowled. "No one petitioned for a trial. Including him. It seemed a settled matter."

When it was Beryl's turn, the questions were decidedly odd.

"At what point did you learn of the attacks on Alice and Frank Longbottom?"

Crouch scowled. "What does that matter?"

"It was another event requiring your attention at the time," Beryl argued. She looked to Dumbledore, who nodded.

"The witness will answer the question," he directly.

Crouch scowled. "The day it occurred."

As Beryl's questioning unfolded, Hermione could see the narrative Beryl was going for begin to emerge. Barty Crouch's son had been arrested and tried around the same time Sirius had been apprehended. Barty Crouch had sent his son to Azkaban, despite his protests of innocence; the implication being that Barty had been too preoccupied with his own son's trial and attempting to salvage his reputation to pay attention to the truth of Sirius' matter.

Barty's lips grew thinner and thinner, his expression tighter and more pinched the more Beryl questioned him. All her questions were related just enough to the matter at hand that they were allowed, but it was tenuous at best. Barty kept glaring at Alexandra, attempting to provoke her into an objection, but Alexandra just smiled at him blandly, apparently perfectly content to let the painful interrogation into his family drama go on.

Hermione watched Sirius' reactions as the questioning continued. He looked perfectly relaxed and blasé, with a mischievous, mean glint to his eyes. Hermione wondered if he'd told his defender to follow this line of questioning as a sort of subtle, social revenge for never getting a trial, just to humiliate Crouch in front of the Wizengamot.

The questioning was largely boring, but something odd occurred toward the end of it.

"—departed from your visit with your son, you did not visit or inquire after Sirius Black, whom you had imprisoned without a trial?"

"I went to see my dying son, not someone I thought was a psychopathic Dark wizard!" Barty snarled. "Why would I? I did what I came to do, and then I left—"

He choked for a moment, and the Truth Circle glowed while he continued.

"—them all there. Dark wizards should be left in Azkaban, regardless of who they are."

Beryl was obviously startled by the Truth Circle suddenly glowing. She looked at Dumbledore helplessly.

"Barty," Dumbledore said. "What had you been about to say when the Truth Circle censured you?"

Barty glowered.

"I had been about to say 'my son'," he snarled. "I was going to say 'I left my son in Azkaban'." He glared at Beryl, defiant. "And the Truth Circle would not let me. Given we've already gone over how I declared 'I have no son' at his trial, is this scrutiny really necessary?"

There was a murmur and exchanged glances at this. The fact Barty held disowning his son so true that the Truth Circle had recognized it… how could someone be so heartless? Even Hermione was taken aback.

"No further questions."

Barty stormed back to his seat, and Dumbledore called for a recess for lunch.

Chapter Text

Hermione slipped out of the courtroom with the other representatives, up the stairs in the crush of people, and waited in the crowd for the lift to arrive. She glanced backwards at the Department of Mysteries, walls gleaming black in the torchlight, and bit her lip. She didn't really want to have lunch with Dumbledore, and she was perfectly capable of making it back to her seat in time without supervision...

She really wasn't that hungry…

Silently, Hermione slipped away from the group, easing her way down the dark hallway in her dark Wizengamot robes to the door at the end of the hall. She wasn't likely to get another easy chance to go to the Department of Mysteries, she figured, and she didn't want to let this one slip by.

Upon opening the door, Hermione was faced by a perfectly round room with twelve identical doors. Slowly, she closed the one behind her, but another door did not open.

"Um," she said. "I'm hoping to talk to… a secretary, I guess?"

The room spun around her, before a door directly in front of her opened. There was beautiful, dancing light coming from the door, and carefully, Hermione made her way forward into the room.

As Hermione's eyes adjusted to the brilliant glare, she was able to see the cause: there were clocks gleaming form every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in the spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room. A busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of miniscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione whirled around to see an Unspeakable next to her, clad in robes with the hood drawn. Their voice was utterly unrecognizable.

"Umm," Hermione said intelligently.

The Unspeakable sighed.

"Here for a prophecy?" the Unspeakable said, unkindly. "Come on, then."

Hermione had mostly intended to try and get an idea about what all the Department of Mysteries did. If they were the people who did the most research into magic itself and how it worked, Hermione was curious if they accepted summer internship applicants.

Still. She wasn't about to interrupt and correct the annoyed Unspeakable. The Hall of Prophecies would be fine to check out, she supposed. It'd be an interesting diversion at the least, and there had been a prophecy made about her.

Hermione followed the Unspeakable past small offices off the room of clocks, all the way to a door at the far side. As she passed the crystal bell jar, she was able to see there was a hummingbird in it, flying on glittering wind to the top, only to fall and die, becoming enclosed in a tiny, jewel-bright egg. A moment later the egg rose, cracking open to reveal the hummingbird, which reached the top and fell to the bottom again, feathers bedraggled and damp, and the bird was enclosed again in the egg by the time it reached the bottom.

"Do you know who made your prophecy?" the Unspeakable asked. "Or who received it?"

Hermione hesitated. "Err—"

The Unspeakable made a frustrated noise. "Do you know anything about it?"

"It was made by Luna Lovegood," Hermione said quickly. Aggravation through the identity-masking voice magic was frightening. "I don't know who it was made to."

The Unspeakable took a clear orb from their robes.

"Luna Lovegood," they told it, and the orb began to glow an opaque white and lifted into the air. The Unspeakable refocused on Hermione. "This will take you to relevant prophecies made or received by that person. Only take the ones about yourself. You will be driven to horrifying madness otherwise."

"Understood," Hermione said weakly.

The Unspeakable shooed her away, and Hermione followed the glowing light.

She emerged into a dark hallway, with what looked like dozens of upon dozens of glass spheres, sitting on tiny pedestals. Each had a tiny label beneath it. The orb floating in front of her bobbed impatiently, and Hermione hurried after it.

At the end of the row, the orb turned, and Hermione gasped, a sound that echoed in the enormous room she found herself in. There were hundreds of sets of shelves in the hall, with thousands upon thousands of prophecies upon them. Was this all the prophecies ever made? How did the hall of prophecy work? Did these just sit here forever until the person who they were made about came to listen? Or did they expire eventually, and this was just how many prophecies were made all the time?

The orb floating down the aisleway, past many rows, until it turned into row 97, according to the tiny plaque on the shelf. It floated midway down, stopping to hover in front of a particular sphere, and Hermione examined the label.

l.m.l. to x.l.l and g.h.o.; h.j.g.

(?) hermione granger

This must be it, Hermione thought. L.M.L. must be Luna, and she'd probably recited the prophecy to her father and someone else the first time, before she'd repeated it to Hermione in the bookstore during her first ever trip to Diagon Alley. Careful, Hermione picked up the sphere.

The sphere did nothing in her hand, and Hermione bit her lip. She reached out with a bit of her magic, just enough to touch it. The sphere reacted, and the ghostly image of a very young Luna Lovegood emerged and began to speak.

"The viper borne to Muggles shall be the New Blood to change the world
By clearing the cluttered path with those who answer her call
Whether gifted or claimed, true, faked, or false, pure magic unfurled,
The she-serpent borne of teeth shall rise and triumph over them all."

The ghostly image receded back into the sphere, and Hermione held it a moment longer, before carefully setting the sphere back on the shelf. As she did, the label of the sphere right next to it caught her eye:

p.a.e.l. to x.l.l. and l.m.l.

luna lovegood and (?) hermione granger

And then another, next to that one:

a.g.e. to x.l.l. and l.m.l.

(?) hermione granger; (?) luna lovegood; (?) susan bones

Hermione had to pause.

'l.m.l' she'd determined was Luna Lovegood. She suspected 'x.l.l.' was Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood. Who was 'p.a.e.l', though? Had that been Luna's mother?

Further, there was a question mark next to her own name. Did that mean they were unsure the prophecy was connected to her? If she picked it up, and it turned out it wasn't, would she still go insane?

Hermione bit her lip. Surely it was the label that would allow someone to pick the sphere up, right? She couldn't imagine that recorded record of the echoes of temporal magic traveling through time would be able to identify a magical signature. But it was the Department of Mysteries. Who knew what they could do?

Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione grabbed the sphere, holding her breath for a minute. When nothing happened, she slowly exhaled, and she reached out to touch the orb with her magic. The ghostly image of a young woman emerged.

"A bridge of bloods will bridge the realms," the ghostly woman said. "A tree of power will hold her house and seat. When she hides in the trees of the she-spawned she, the blood that runs will lay at her feet." The young woman suddenly raised her hands toward the ceiling. "Let the blood run, yea, let them bleed, for it will weaken those in power. The bridge will bridge the realm and realms; she is the last bridge, and none will come after."

The ghostly image of the woman receded back into the orb, and Hermione blinked, mechanically setting it back on the shelf. She paused a long moment, before she plunged her hands into her robes, desperately searching.

"C'mon, c'mon," she muttered, growing anxious. "Of all the times to not have a scrap of parchment…"

She found a bent self-inking quill at the bottom of her left pocket, but nothing else helpful. Scowling, Hermione snatched up the orb again and sat on the floor, hiking up her robes.

"Okay," she said, holding the orb in her left hand and pushing her magic at it. "Let's go."

The ghostly woman reemerged, and Hermione rapidly wrote down what the image said, scrawling onto the side of her thigh with the worst handwriting she'd had in years. It took three replays to get it all down, and when it was finally done, Hermione blew on her leg to dry the ink before carefully standing up.

She traded that sphere for the one next to it, the one with her coven members listed. When madness didn't claim her, she sat down again, hiking up her robes with her quill at the ready.

This time, the prophesier was an old, bearded man.

"At the Solstice will come a new dawn, born of fire and forged in flame," he said. "The coven-child cares not for rules and will entirely reset the game." He continued, "Deaths shall die a fiery death, and contradictions shall resolve. The she shall respect the no man and together make Magic evolve."

Aware of the dwindling time, Hermione managed to replay it once more to scribble it all down. She hastily blew on her leg and returned the sphere to its place on the shelf. She was turning to the glowing navigation orb to ask it to take her out when her eyes caught on another nearby sphere.

s.p.t to a.p.b.w.d

dark lord and (?) harry potter

Hermione stared.

A prophecy, about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter? One that Albus Dumbledore had heard?

She made a mental note of the initials and to ask Harry about it later before taking off running, certain she was undoubtedly already late to get back to the courtroom.

Chapter Text

As the trial was resuming, Hermione was hiding as much of her lower body below her desk as she could, robes hiked up as she copied down what she'd scrawled across her thighs onto a piece of proper parchment. It was awkward, and her handwriting had smeared in several places, but Hermione thought she'd at least gotten most of it right.

Mrs. Lovegood to Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood:

A bridge of bloods will bridge the realms
A tree of power will hold her house and seat.
When she hides in the trees of the she-spawned she,
the blood that runs will lay at her feet

Let the blood run, yea, let them bleed
For it will weaken those in power
The bridge will bridge the realm and realms
She is the last bridge, and none will come after

Old man (a.g.e.) to Xenophilius and Luna:

At the Solstice will come a new dawn
Born of fire and forged in flame
The coven-child cares not for rules
And will entirely reset the game

Deaths shall die a fiery death
and contradictions shall resolve
The she shall respect the no man
and together make Magic evolve

investigate: s.p.t to a.p.b.w.d re: dark lord and (?) harry potter

She read over her notes, scanning for clues.

The first, she had no idea why she or Luna had been on the label. There was no identifying information in that prophecy that made any sense to her. The one from the old man at least had an identifier – "the coven-child". With her current plans for the upcoming summer solstice, this one, Hermione was relatively confident was actually about her.

Not that it made any sense, but there it was.

Rather annoyingly, she found herself more obsessed with the one about Voldemort and Harry Potter. What had been prophesized about them? Had it been why Harry had been targeted as a baby? Had Dumbledore ever told Harry? Who had made the prophecy, for that matter?

Hermione paused, dwelling on the initials.

What was Professor Trelawny's first name…?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore calling everybody back to order, instructing them all to take their seats.

Dumbledore welcomed back the Wand and the Defense. When the Wand rested their case, Beryl Farley looked smug, gesturing, and there was a murmur as the guards escorted Sirius Black to the stand, securing his hand shackles to the witness box. Sirius sighed heavily with exasperation and rolled his eyes repeatedly through the whole thing, making a scene of it. Amused, Hermione fixed her robes and paid attention.

"If you would give your name for the court?"

"Sirius Orion Black," Sirius said. He smirked. "Or Sirius Black the Third. Whichever works."

Beryl got straight to the point.

"Sirius Black," she said, "have you ever murdered a muggle?"

"No," Sirius said flatly.

"Have you ever accidentally killed a muggle?"

"No."

"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"No," Sirius snarled. "The rat bastard's still alive."

"Then," Beryl said, "please tell us what you know of the day in question."

"Peter Pettigrew betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort," Sirius said grimly, and there was a stir him saying Voldemort's name aloud. "I know he did – he was their Secret-Keeper. He was the only one who could—"

"The day in question, Sirius," Beryl said sharply, and Sirius scowled.

"The night they died, I'd arrived to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle." Sirius's voice was heavy. "It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for the Potters' straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies… I realized what Peter must've done…" His voice broke. He took a moment before resuming. "I tracked Peter down. When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back – killed everyone within twenty feet of himself – and sped down into the sewer with the other rats…"

"I'm sorry, rats?" Beryl asked.

"Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus. He turns into a rat," Sirius snarled. "Should have known from the start never to trust him – what kind of person turns into a rat?"

"When you were arrested, what happened?"

Sirius grew quiet.

"Sirius?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, his voice quiet. "It's very hard to remember, now. The Dementors… they kind of suck everything out of you that's good and happy. I remember the betrayal and confronting Peter because they're such bad memories. I think…" He paused, dwelling.

"Do you remember your arrest?" Beryl prodded.

"I—I think," Sirius said. "I was in the street. I couldn't move, I couldn't believe it—that Peter had been spy for Voldemort, and he must have been for over a year—and then he'd murdered all those muggles—" He shook his head. "I don't remember, but I believe it when they tell me I was laughing like a crazy person. In that situation, laughing at the despair of it all was probably all I could do…"

"You did not hurt Peter Pettigrew that day?"

"I meant to, but he got away," Sirius said bitterly. "But no. I've never killed anyone. I am innocent."

There was a murmur as the Truth Circle didn't react. Beryl held her head high.

"No further questions," she said, stepping down.

Dumbledore looked to the other side of the room, and Alexandra stood.

"Sirius Black," she said, stepping forward. "If you were innocent, why did you not tell someone?"

"I did," Sirius snarled.

That caught Alexandra off-guard. She paused.

"What do you remember of your arrest and detainment?" she asked carefully.

"I was out of it for a while," Sirius admitted. "I was just so devastated. James was my best friend, my brother in magic—I was lost without him, and combined with Peter's betrayal…" He cleared his throat. "When I came out of it, I told the guards. I told them it was Pettigrew. I told them I was innocent. They laughed at me and did nothing. They told no one."

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "Crouch just testified that you never claimed you were innocent."

"Barty Crouch was doing fuck-all with me," Sirius snarled. "He was supervisor, and busy trying to handle the fact his own son was a bloody Death Eater. He just had the reports of the underlings he assigned to me, and they lied."

Alexandra paused.

"Do you remember who those people were?"

Sirius thought back.

"Scabior was one," he said. "Olive Snyde was another – she had those purple eyes. I don't remember the third." He made a face. "Probably another Slytherin."

"Why would they not tell Crouch the truth?" the Wand of the Realm asked.

"Objection! Calls for speculation!" Beryl declared, slamming her hands on the desk. "That calls for—wait—Sirius—" Her eyes grew huge, and she hurriedly sat down. "Objection withdrawn!"

Alexandra rolled her eyes.

"If I had to guess," Sirius said reluctantly, "they might have been some of the Slytherins who I was mean to in Hogwarts."

"'Mean to'?" Alexandra repeated.

"I was a bit of a dick in school, alright?" Sirius snapped. "We all did it – pushed around the junior Death Eaters, got harassed in the halls by the Slytherins right back—"

"You think three people essentially condemned you to a life sentence in Azkaban for schoolyard bullying?" Alexandra said, her tone skeptical.

"I don't know. Ask them," Sirius snarled. "But I told them I was innocent. And I was thrown into Azkaban anyway."

Alexandra paused. The pause grew in the chamber, becoming almost a tangible thing, the room vibrating with a silent tension. Finally, Alexandra stepped forward, facing the rows of the Wizengamot members, her back to Sirius.

"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," she began, "the Realm has no further witnesses for you. The accused denies his crimes within the oldest Truth Circle of the Ministry without pause. And his claims have merit – Peter Pettigrew is in a Ministry cell at this moment." She looked them all over. "With this, the Realm cannot prove their case against Sirius Black. The charges must be dismissed."

A murmur broke out, members quickly whispering to each other. Hermione was stunned. She'd presumed they would vote, and he'd be declared innocent – but a dismissal…?

"What's that mean?" Sirius wanted to know, still on the stand. "Does that mean I can be tried again?"

Alexandra paused.

"I'm not actually sure what view the Ministry would have on double jeopardy in this case," she said, frowning. "But dismissing—"

"No, I want to be innocent," Sirius declared. "I want to be declared innocent of all charges. If you didn't prove your case, then they should all just vote for me."

"Sirius Black, that is not how it works," Alexandra said, aggravated. "If the charges are dismissed—"

"The Defense rejects the dismissal of charges!" Beryl declared, slamming her hands on her desk. She stood up. "Closing arguments now!"

"I don't need a closing argument if we're stopping the trial—" Alexandra said, patience wearing thin.

"If she doesn't need a closing argument, I'll go!" Beryl interrupted, leaping forward. "The Ministry has not proved its case against Sirius Black! He is innocent! You must vote for him to go free!"

"We are not—"

"I want to finish my own bloody trial," Sirius snapped at the Wand, cutting her off. "I've waited twelve years for this, for everyone to know - let me be declared innocent, you bloody girl—"

The Wizengamot seemed to have accepted that it was, in fact, closing arguments now, as members began raising their paddles as the arguing continued. Hermione raised hers as white, and she was pleased to see everyone in her row raise theirs as white as well.

"—dismissal of all charges means that we're not—"

"—is innocent, so declare it so!"

"—need to be declared not guilty so I can sue the bloody Ministry into oblivion—"

"—not a witch hunt—"

It didn't take long; there was a loud DONGGG, and everyone rapidly fell quiet, but Hermione was grinning. Even without knowing the count, as she looked around, she could see the number of white paddles overwhelmed the room.

"Sirius Black, by a vote of 47 to 2…" Dumbledore intoned, his voice ringing out in the chamber, "…the Wizengamot has found you innocent."

Sirius, who had still been on the witness stand, leapt to his feet in a cheer, chains clanging loudly as he did, and some of the people in the Wizengamot cheered with him.

"You are cleared of all charges and free to go," Dumbledore said, banging his gavel. "This trial is adjourned."

Conversation immediately broke out, and Hermione watched as Alexandra stormed off to the side of the room, glowering and muttering to herself. Hermione wondered if she'd pushed for a dismissal instead of a verdict so this loss wouldn't taint her record, or if it had just been the fact a verdict was unnecessary and legally ridiculous that had offended her so.

"So! Peter Pettigrew next, yeah?" Era said, her eyes bright. "The drama of it all. Can you believe it?"

"It'll have to be scheduled," Hermione murmured, her eyes on the courtroom floor. "Amelia Bones will have to get the right witnesses in place, but yeah—pardon me—"

Hermione clambered down the stairs to the floor, skimming along the outside of the area. The guards were finishing unlocking the shackles around Sirius' wrists, and he grinned widely as they fell from his hands.

Sirius went to Narcissa Malfoy first, whereupon he immediately horrified her by sweeping her up in a tight embrace and spinning her around, eliciting a sharp shriek of surprise, and Sirius laughed.

"Free! Free, Cissy, free! We did it!"

When he settled her back down, Narcissa's face was pink, and she adjusted her robes in the most dignified manner possible.

"I'm glad of your innocence, Sirius," she said. "The Black family legacy will be stronger with you returned to us."

Hermione didn't know what any of that meant. She watched as Lucius approached Sirius, moving to stand at Narcissa's side.

"Congratulations, Black," Lucius said finally. He inclined his head, and Sirius snorted.

"Thanks," Sirius said. He grinned. "Your wife was a great help."

"Yes, well…" Lucius' tone was dry. "I trust you'll have no need of her now."

"She might not be Regent for much longer, but she's still my cousin," Sirius said, eyes glinting. "We'll see each other at family gatherings, now, Lucy. We'll be the best of friends."

Lucius scoffed audibly, disgusted, and he and Narcissa drifted away together, united in public once more. Sirius watched them go, his smirk softening into a smile, and Hermione smiled to herself as well. The public 'acceptance' had been scripted, she suspected, and Sirius had done a fair job of it.

But now, Sirius turned, and Hermione held her breath.

"Dumbledore…"

This had been what she wanted to see.

Sirius' voice was so pained, so hurt, so anguished, and as Dumbledore stepped forward toward Sirius, Hermione could see his blue eyes brimming with tears behind his half-moon glasses.

"Sirius, I am so sorry," Dumbledore said, his voice choked with emotion. "I didn't know. I would have never left you—"

"You never checked," Sirius said. "How could you think I would ever betray James—"

"With you as Secret-Keeper, it was the only possible conclusion," Dumbledore said heavily. "I never realized you hadn't had a trial. I was preoccupied at the time, trying to save Frank and Alice. I didn't know, Sirius. I am so sorry."

Sirius looked at Dumbledore for a long moment, pained.

"I lost twelve years," he said. "I was your man, your soldier, and I lost twelve years of my life."

"You did," Dumbledore said quietly.

"I can't forget that," Sirius stressed. "I trusted you, trusted you to protect me, and that trust has been broken."

"I know," Dumbledore said. "I know."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Eventually, Sirius took a step forward, slowly extending a hand to Dumbledore.

"We'll have to pick up the pieces one by one, then," he said, a faint, bitter smile on his face. "Together."

The sudden, blinding joy on Dumbledore's face caught Hermione entirely off-guard, and Dumbledore beamed at Sirius as he took Sirius' hand and shook it.

"It might have cracks, but we'll do our best to mend what was broken," he said cheerily. He grew somber for a moment. "I may have let you down, Sirius, but with this second chance, I will do my best to not do so ever again."

"Excellent," Sirius said. His eyes glinted, and the smile he gave Dumbledore was almost predatory. "Then… I want to see my godson."

Dumbledore faltered. "Ah…"

Hermione had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. There was no way Dumbledore would want Sirius to see Harry right now. Dumbledore hadn't had time to 'debrief' Sirius in any way, or any time to prime Harry for meeting his godfather, meaning he would be entirely out control of the situation if it happened.

And yet, he'd just promised not to let Sirius down. To refuse such a reasonable request, right after giving his word…

Hermione grinned from the sidelines, and Sirius shot a grin at her as Dumbledore scrambled, clearly caught off-guard. Sirius may have been a Gryffindor, but it was clear that being around Slytherins for a while had rubbed off on him.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore put up a valiant protest to Sirius' request, and if it had just been Sirius, the matter probably would have been tabled, with Dumbledore promising to bring Harry to meet Sirius after the school year ended. As it was, though, Hermione knew that Harry wanted to meet his godfather, and speeding that process along seemed like a good way to help atone for never mentioning to Harry that she had been helping free Sirius beforehand. And fortunately for Sirius, Hermione knew the Hogwarts rulebook cover to cover; she'd hunted it down and practically memorized it first year, after asking Snape if declaring someone a 'foe' was against the rules.

Parents and legal guardians of students were permitted to the school to visit in the event of major, life-altering events in the family, she'd recited. Previous events documented had been a death, a birth, a pregnancy, incarceration, a formal family feud, a murder attempt, and getting released from prison. As Sirius was effectively being released from prison (he'd been literally unshackled at the stand, she pointed out), it counted as a major event, and as Harry's legal guardian, he should be able to visit his godson and tell him of his freedom.

Hermione could tell Dumbledore was strongly considering bringing up the fact Sirius' former status hadn't yet been formally returned to him – his Wizengamot seat, his legal holdings, etc. – but in the end, he decided against it. So it was with a mild smile and resignation that Dumbledore led Hermione and Sirius back through the halls of the Ministry and into the elevator to go back to Hogwarts.

"There are likely to still be reporters in the Atrium," Dumbledore lamented. "A hazard of the publicity, I fear."

Sirius snorted. "Blood suckers, the lot of them."

A wave of noise washed over Hermione as the elevator opened to the Atrium and Sirius Black walked out. Reporters cried out for a statement, but Sirius and Dumbledore strode through the crowd with assurance, unbothered, Dumbledore wearing a bland smile, Sirius wearing a vicious grin. Hermione hurried behind them, going through the Floo to Dumbledore's office and collapsing into a chair there as Sirius and Dumbledore followed her through. Sirius looked around the office, wide-eyed, while Dumbledore considered Hermione carefully.

"If we are to do this," he said finally, "we might as well do the whole thing properly."

Hermione blinked. "Sir?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Miss Granger, please go and fetch Mister Potter and take him to the Great Hall," Dumbledore said. "It is quarter to four. If I am not mistaken, he will be in Defense Against the Dark Arts, just finishing up."

"The Great Hall, sir?" Hermione repeated.

"Sirius Black has been known to roam these halls before," Dumbledore said mildly. "Being open about where he is and that I am aware of it this time will significantly reduce the rumors."

Sirius looked surprised by this, but he shrugged.

"Wherever works," he said. He grinned. "I could use a good Hogwarts dinner anyway."

Hermione left Dumbledore's office, taking a detour to the Slytherin dormitory to change out of her Wizengamot robe and into a sleek green one. She paused to clip on her silver Slytherin crest and finger-comb her hair before heading out and back up the stairs. She didn't want Sirius forgetting she was a Slytherin, particularly if he was going to be talking to Harry, and she intended to remain at Harry's side until Harry seemed comfortable.

When Hermione knocked on the DADA door, Lupin called out "come in," and he looked surprised to see her. He was holding what looked like a kappa's skull in his hand.

"Miss Granger," he said. "What brings you to this class?"

"Sorry for interrupting, sir," Hermione said. "The Headmaster is requesting Harry Potter."

"Now?" Lupin glanced at the clock. "He's got another ten minutes of class."

"I know," she said. "Only—he's to meet his godfather, and Dumbledore wanted him to come now—"

Lupin's eyes widened as he inhaled sharply, and Harry's excited gasp echoed in the room, his chair scraping as he hurried to his feet and shoved his things into his bag.

"I'll get the homework from Neville, Professor!" Harry told Lupin, rushing toward the door. "Bye!"

Hermione glanced back at Lupin, who had gone very pale.

"Follow me, Harry," she said loudly. "We're going to the Great Hall…"

She closed the door behind her. Harry was practically vibrating with excitement, and Hermione looked at Harry with a smile as they walked.

"He got off, then?" Harry wanted to know. "He's innocent?"

"Cleared of all charges," Hermione assured him. "He wants to meet you. Dumbledore was pushing to wait until the end of the school year until I reminded him that Sirius is your legal guardian, now, so he had the authorization necessary to visit you at the school."

That gave Harry pause. "…my legal guardian?"

"He's your godfather," Hermione said, glancing over at Harry. "Your parents probably intended you to live with him if anything happened to them."

Harry lapsed into silence for a long moment.

"Well," he said. "I guess we'll see if it comes up."

There were maybe a dozen students scattered around doing homework in the Great Hall when Hermione and Harry entered. Sirius was sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table, immediately visible as soon as one entered the Great Hall, and he stood as Hermione and Harry approached.

"Harry," Sirius breathed, his eyes drinking him in. "Look at you."

Harry shot Hermione a look, who shrugged, before he turned back to Sirius, looking him over as Sirius took in Harry.

"You look just like your father," Sirius said, awed. "Except for your eyes. You have Lily's eyes."

"You don't look anything like your photo in the paper," Harry said, blunt. "How am I supposed to know you're actually Sirius Black?"

Sirius cackled, grinning.

"Had to look good for court, didn't I?" he said, sitting back down. "Had to make sure I could fool them into thinking I would be a productive member of society so they'd let me off."

Harry grinned back, sitting down across from Sirius. "'Fool them'? So you're not a productive member of society?"

"I've been lounging around the past twelve years, living off of the taxpayers' money," Sirius said, stretching out and folding his arms behind his head. "Certainly doesn't sound productive to me."

Harry laughed. "You were in jail!"

"So?"

Hermione sat down at the table as well, listening in and watching. Harry wanted to know all about the trial and how it went, and Sirius retold his account of it with flair and panache, gesturing widely.

"—insisted they declare me innocent," Sirius was saying. "When they voted, it was like a million to two."

"Forty-seven to two," Hermione corrected, rolling her eyes.

"Only two people voted guilty," Sirius went on, ignoring her. "That's practically no one. So Dumbledore declared I was innocent of all charges, and that I was free to go, and there was a great cheer. It was brilliant."

That wasn't quite what had happened, but Hermione let it slide.

"So you're my godfather again now?" Harry asked. "Now that you're innocent?"

"I was always your godfather, Harry," Sirius said, frowning.

"Well, yeah. But now you have your titles and land and stuff restored to you, right?" Harry asked. "Did they give you back your wand?"

Sirius looked startled and frowned deeply, as if only just realizing he didn't have his wand. After twelve years without one, though, Hermione imagined it had become his norm.

"There will be a follow-up hearing where Sirius will be formally restored his land and titles," Hermione said. "Madam Bones is having her staff hunt down his old wand, and the Minister will present it to him. That'll effectively restore him in society and to his Wizengamot seat, and he should have access to any ancestral properties or vaults at that point." She paused. "Though, the vaults I suppose is more of a question for the goblins."

"Wizengamot seat?" Sirius made a face. "I don't want that."

"Well, you've got it," Hermione said sharply.

"Uh-uh. Nope. No way," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Playing politics is not my thing. I'm staying on it long enough for Peter's trial, and then I'm off."

"You'd just give it back to Narcissa?" Hermione said, astonished.

"Why not? She was probably doing a good job before—"

"The Wizengamot is important," Hermione shot back. "You would have a voice on legislation—"

"Like what? Cauldron-bottom thickness? Hermione, law is boring—"

"Like on werewolves," Hermione snapped at him. "I'm working on legislation to improve their lot in life. And I need you on the Wizengamot to vote."

That caught Sirius off-guard.

"…werewolves?" he said.

"Werewolves," Hermione repeated firmly. "If you value your old friendship at all, you'll stay on the Wizengamot until my bill passes."

Sirius considered that.

"…I guess I'll need something to keep busy anyway," he conceded. "And it's probably not best to let the Malfoys have two seats. Seems more than a bit unfair."

"Agreed," Harry snickered. "The Malfoys are always a problem."

"So! Harry. Tell me about you," Sirius urged. "What's your favorite class? Do you have friends? What do you think of Hogwarts? I want to know it all."

Harry looked surprised at being asked about himself.

"Err. Well, I'm thirteen, now," he said. "Though you probably know that, I guess."

"I did know your birthday." Sirius grinned. "I held you when you were a baby, Harry."

Harry looked surprised by this, then vaguely uncomfortable at the thought.

"I'm really good at Defense," Harry said. "I like Arithmancy and Charms, too, though I think I need to get permission to take Ancient Runes next year to help with Arithmancy—"

"Arithmancy?" Sirius repeated, surprised.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's loads better than Divination, and it's mostly just maths. But I'm having trouble with the runes—"

"I wouldn't have thought you'd take Arithmancy," Sirius said. "Kind of a swotty class, isn't it?"

Harry was caught off-guard, then looked annoyed.

"Why?" he said. "Because it's hard?"

"It just always seemed like that," Sirius said, shrugging. "Even your mum didn't take that one. She excelled in Charms—"

Hermione expected Harry to ask Sirius more about his mother, but instead, Harry just looked irritated.

"I really like it," Harry said flatly. "Hermione told me it was mostly muggle maths last year, and I thought that didn't sound bad. We're taking Arithmancy together. I like the logic in how it works."

"So you're taking a class just because your friend is taking it?" Sirius drawled, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. So what?" Harry shot back, folding his arms. "Hermione is one of my best friends. Why not? I'm only in Magical Creatures and Divination because Ron and Neville wanted to take those classes."

"Those are at least more common electives," Sirius tried to say.

"So?" Harry said. "I don't care. I don't care what's common. I do what I want."

Sirius didn't know quite what to say to that.

"Tell me other things about you," he said, after a moment. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Quidditch," Harry said immediately, his eyes lighting up. "I made Seeker as a first year for Gryffindor, did you know? And we just won the Quidditch Cup a couple weeks ago—"

"I knew it!" Sirius crowed, grinning. "Your Dad was brilliant at Quidditch. I knew you'd love it. It's in your blood."

"Really?" Harry said, excited. "My dad played?"

"Best damn Chaser Gryffindor had in years," Sirius said firmly. "Gryffindor took the cup four years in a row because of him."

"Wicked." Harry was smiling wistfully. "I never knew my dad played."

"Seeker, though." Sirius whistled. "That's a key position. Very niche, very specific skills there. Has the Firebolt helped?"

"Yeah, it's—hey!" Harry cut himself off, exclaiming. His eyes went wide. "You sent that?"

Sirius grinned. "Guilty."

"I knew it!" Harry turned to Hermione, grinning. "He did send it!"

"Of course he sent it," Hermione chided gently. "We knew the odds—"

"You knew I sent it?" Sirius asked. "Wait, how? I didn't send a card—"

"We did the Arithmancy," Harry said, waving a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter now – we just had to run the odds to make sure the broomstick wasn't going to kill me—"

"Kill you?" Sirius repeated blankly. "Why on earth—"

"My broomstick tried to kill me first year, and a Bludger tried to murder me last year too," Harry said. "It's kind of a thing. And at Christmas we thought you we were still trying to murder me, so it made sense to check—"

Sirius was staring at him.

"You've just… had murder attempts?" he repeated. "During school?"

"Strictly speaking, the Bludger was only supposed to grievously injure Harry, I think," Hermione said, smirking.

"Bloody thing broke my arm and nearly took my head off," Harry groused. "But first year, Quirrell jinxed my broom. That was a deliberate attempt at killing me. I only lived because Snape was doing the counter-curse—"

"Snape?" Black repeated, blinking. He looked disturbed. "That's right… he's teaching now, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "He teaches Potions, which I'm not very good at. He's our coven advisor, though. I get along with him better there—"

"You get along with him?" Sirius repeated, incredulously.

"Kind of?" Harry frowned. "He's very sarcastic, but most Slytherins are, really. Blaise is Slytherin too – he's in my coven – and he's always being sarcastic and teasing me—"

Sirius was shaking his head.

"The Houses must have changed," he said. "Friends with two Slytherins… well, I suppose with Voldemort gone, you don't really need to worry about junior Death Eaters, do you? But Snape…"

"Or maybe," came an acidic voice from above, "there never was anything wrong with Slytherin House, and your own prejudice blinded you from seeing the truth."

Hermione looked up to see Snape standing behind her, his arms folded as he looked down at Sirius. There was a deadly fire in his eyes, and as Sirius stood up, there was an anger in his eyes as he glared right back.

"Snape," Sirius sneered. "What an unpleasant surprise."

Harry looked at Hermione in alarm as the tension ratcheted up dramatically between the two adults. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, and other students were watching on. Hermione stood up between the two, looking Sirius dead in the eyes.

"Professor Snape is the Head of Slytherin House," Hermione said warningly, keeping her voice low. "A House with a legacy I am proud to be a part of. As was Narcissa Malfoy, who was instrumental in securing your freedom, Sirius." She gave him a sharp look. "You've spent twelve years in prison, and we learned in court that it might have been in part because of schoolyard bullying when you were a child. Let's not start your freedom off by behaving badly, shall we?"

Fury flashed across Sirius' face, and he looked like not saying something mean was strangling him.

"Well said, Miss Granger," Snape said silkily. "Only, that would require Black here to feel gratitude for something, which he's never done before. Everything's always been handed to him, you see—"

"You have no idea," Sirius snapped, glaring. "I had to fight back against my mother—"

"Your rich, pureblooded mother who spoiled you?" Snape sneered. "Poor you."

"She disowned me, you absolute arse—"

"Sirius."

The gasp of breath that was Sirius' name cut off the growing argument, and they all turned to see Lupin standing there, his eyes wide. The moment stretched on as they looked at each other, drinking each other in.

"Moony," Sirius said finally, his voice choked, and Lupin went to him immediately, embracing him like a brother.

"How very… touching," Snape sneered. He looked down at Hermione, giving her a curt look, and Hermione winced, venturing a cautious, sheepish grin.

"You could at least wait until Harry gets to know him before you murder him in a duel?" she suggested, and Snape rolled his eyes, but a smirk was lurking on his lips.

"I will leave you then, Mister Potter, to your… happy reunion." His lips curled. "Remember where your loyalties lie."

He strode away, robes billowing, while Lupin and Sirius were still hugging each other tightly.

"What does that mean?" Harry wanted to know, whispering to Hermione. "My loyalties?"

"Sirius and Lupin bullied Snape in school, along with your father," Hermione murmured back. "They bullied a lot of Slytherins. I don't think they were very nice." She paused, gnawing on her lip. "I think he's reminding you to not try and act like your father. Snape wants you to remember yourself, and who you've chosen to be."

Harry seemed to dwell on this.

"Well, my first loyalty is to you and the coven, right?" he asked, almost rhetorically. "You're the ones I trust the most, I think. Then Neville and Ron – they're my closest friends, after the coven. Then… maybe Dumbledore? I don't know…"

Hermione felt a rush of affection for Harry, and she squeezed his arm.

More students were coming into the Great Hall now and staring at Sirius Black, who had sat back down and was now chatting with Lupin. Lupin was apologizing for not trusting him, and Sirius was waving it off as if being imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years had been a minor inconvenience.

"—going to be Peter's trial," Sirius was saying. He scowled. "Knowing him, I should probably register now so I don't get fined when he takes the stand."

Lupin was suppressing a grin. "I think that's probably wise."

"How long are you here for?" Harry asked Sirius. "Are you staying?"

"Nah," Sirius shook his head. "I'll go home after dinner." He paused. "Home. Merlin, I haven't been 'home' in… fourteen? Fifteen years?"

"Where are you going?" Lupin asked. "The old townhouse?"

"Only place I know of," Sirius said. He scowled. "Mum re-inherited me after I got thrown in Azkaban, did you know? For being a successful spy for Voldemort."

"Merlin." Lupin shook his head. "That's awful."

"Yeah, well. At least I have a place to stay." He grinned. "And I'll enjoy horrifying dear ol' mum with the changes I make."

Lupin and Sirius both chuckled, before Sirius turned to Harry. He paused, dark eyes meeting Harry's green ones.

"I know you live with your relatives now," he said. "But—I'm your godfather. After I get my place back into shape, if you wanted—you could come live with me…"

To Hermione's astonishment, Harry stayed quiet for a moment, looking at Sirius.

"Maybe?" Harry said, managing a small smile. "Dumbledore says there are blood wards at my aunt's house that helps keep me safe, so we'd need to make sure he thinks your place is safe too."

Sirius looked mildly annoyed at this, but Lupin was nodding.

"A valid point," he said, giving Sirius a look. "Harry's safety is of paramount concern. Right Sirius?"

"Right, yes, of course," Sirius said. He made a face. "I'm just considering what kind of safety hazards are inside the house. Who knows what kind of Dark magic shit she left just lying around before she died? I'll probably walk inside and be immediately eaten by a dresser…"

Harry suppressed a snicker while Hermione fought to keep down a giggle.

"You and your mum didn't get along?" Harry asked.

"No. I ran away as a teen and lived with your dad for the summers," Sirius said wistfully. "Good times, that, despite the disowning. But a boy's got to become a man at some point and take a stand, decide what he's going to believe in and stand for—"

"What did you stand for? What about my dad?"

Hermione touched Harry on the arm as she stood. He glanced back at her, giving her a grateful smile before he turned back to Sirius, who was telling Harry about James. More and more people were filing in, now, ready for dinner, and Harry seemed to be doing okay on his own.

Hermione went over to the Slytherin table, where people were pretending not to stare at Sirius Black and doing their best to have unrelated conversations. Blaise smirked at her as she approached.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, grinning. "How was the Wizengamot?"

"Oh thank Merlin," Pansy muttered. "Now it's topical."

"Enlightening," Hermione said. "Did you know the goblins—"

"No one cares about the goblins, Hermione!" Tracey moaned. "Come on – Sirius Black is right there."

"Oh," Hermione said. She grinned. "Innocent. He was cleared of all charges."

There was a commotion at this being confirmed, and suddenly everyone in her class was listening in.

"Sirius was able to declare he was innocent in the Truth Circle, and he laid all the claims of blame at Peter Pettigrew's feet," Hermione said. "The rest of the trial kind of focused on why he hadn't gotten a trial before, but it didn't really matter. The vote was forty-seven to two."

"That's excellent," Draco said. He looked genuinely pleased. "He's free, now? Entirely?"

"I think he has to report to the Ministry tomorrow to get his wand," Hermione said, "but yes, essentially."

"That'll be good," Draco mused. "Mum could use more family to visit. Even with him being an annoyance, it'll cheer her up. She's stretching the definitions of 'family' thin as it is."

Theo snorted. "Least you have family."

Draco shot him a dark look, which Theo ignored.

"Why's Potter talking to him?" Pansy wanted to know. "If it's established Black didn't actually want to kill him—"

"Oh, Sirius Black is Harry Potter's godfather," Hermione said, surprised. She'd forgotten that wasn't exactly common knowledge. "They're just getting to know each other."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"So if I go and visit my cousin this summer, now, Potter will be there?" he groaned. "I never get a break."

"Oh, it wouldn't be so bad, Malfoy," Blaise said. He batted his eyelashes. "You could practice Quidditch and get Seeker lessons from him."

There was a roar of laughter and Draco's face turned red as he glared at Blaise who grinned back, unrepentant.

When they left dinner to go back to the common room, Hermione brought up the topic again with Blaise.

"—and when Sirius brought it up, he just said 'maybe'," she told him quietly. "Harry hates his aunt. His excuse was about the blood wards, but it was just an excuse. Harry doesn't give a damn about the blood wards – he lived at the Weasleys' last summer as much as he could…"

"Well, Harry doesn't exactly know him, does he?" Blaise mused. "And he's got a bit of a rough history with trusting adults. His relatives, Dumbledore for putting him with his relatives, Quirrell trying to murder him…" He shrugged. "He doesn't need to trust an adult to protect him, now. He's got the coven house, now, to stay safe in."

"That's still just a treehouse," Hermione protested. "I mean, yes, I hoped Harry could live in it if he wanted, but compared to a London townhouse…"

"Harry wants his freedom," Blaise said simply. "That's worth a lot to him. And he'll be able to be around Luna and Ron all summer, as well as us anytime we meet."

Hermione glanced at Blaise.

"Do you think that will happen?" she asked, pleased. "That we'll all be around each other all summer?"

Blaise laughed.

"So long as you don't take off for the Goblin Hold again or something equally ridiculous," he said, nudging her, his eyes sparkling, "I'd say the odds are rather high."

Chapter Text

"This is it?" Tom Riddle said, holding the Philosopher's Stone. He looked over at Hermione before handing it to Blaise. "It's not much, is it?"

"What's it supposed to look like?" Hermione said, folding her arms. "By definition, it's supposed to be a literal rock."

"A rock made out of the primordial essence of the universe," Blaise mused. He held it for a long moment, turning it over in his hand. "I suppose if it's going to be literal chaos contained, the fact it's managed any kind of aesthetically-pleasing appearance is a miracle."

Hermione laughed. "Come on. Let's get started."

Blaise and Hermione had set up shop to make the Elixir of Life in the Chamber of Secrets. It was the safest place they knew of, and the least likely place to be raided by a professor or Filch while roaming the halls. Tom Riddle was helping, though his limited knowledge of alchemy restricted him to tasks such as setting up the cauldron and cleaning an area for them to work.

"I can't believe they discovered this based on messing around with the myth of Adam and Eve," Blaise said, shaking his head as he pulled out different types of apples from his bag. "The sheer coincidence."

"They had to start somewhere," Hermione said, going over to the cauldron of solid gold. She withdrew her wand. "Aguamenti." As the cauldron filled with water, she looked back at Blaise. "How do you know that creation story, anyway? It's a muggle tale."

"I grew up partially in Italy," Blaise reminded her. "The Catholics are everywhere in Italy. The architecture. The culture. The art. You can't grow up not knowing about it, magical or not."

"Is there a wizard equivalent?" Hermione wondered. "Is there a magical creation myth?"

Blaise paused to consider.

"You know," he said slowly. "I really don't think there is."

"There isn't," Tom agreed darkly. "Believe me, I've looked."

Blaise and Hermione had retrieved a multitude of different types of apples from the House Elves: red, yellow, green, pink, red streaked with yellow, pink streaked with yellow, one that looked almost orange… Hermione hadn't the slightest idea of the chemical compositions of different apples, and she'd decided it would be much easier to 'guess and test' than become a graduate chemistry student in a few weeks.

"You're literally just dropping an apple into the cauldron of water, and then dropping the stone in?" Tom asked. He seemed deeply amused. "How long does it take?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Hermione said. "I couldn't ask for super specific details without it being suspicious, could I? Though I think I have to 'activate' the stone with my magic before I throw it in."

"So…" Blaise looked over the apples. "Which one first?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Um…"

In truth, part of Hermione desperately wanted to experiment. Should she just throw in an apple, like Perenelle had done? Or should she try her own interpretation of myth, using a pomegranate instead? She'd considered trying to get a quince, one of the 'golden apples' Hercules had been charged with stealing from the Garden of Hesperides, to see if the myths held enough similar elements at the core to produce the same results. But she was under a bit of a time crunch from the blackmail…

"Let's try the Fuji apple," she decided. "It has some variation in color on the skin, so maybe that's caused by different minerals and elements?" She shrugged. "We have to start somewhere."

"Indeed we do." Blaise grinned. He picked up the apple, rolling it in his hands for a moment before tossing it into the cauldron, where it hit the water with a splash and a plop. "Your turn."

Hermione took the Philosopher's Stone in her hand, turning it over as she looked at it. How exactly was she supposed to communicate her will with this thing?

"This might be intense," Tom warned. "If it really contains the primal material of the universe—"

"Prima materia," Hermione corrected.

"—whatever, then you probably want to sit down before you talk to the ancient spirits of chaos."

Amused, Hermione settled herself on the ground, taking deep breaths and centering her magic around her. Once she was aware of her magic and core, she closed her eyes and reached out to the stone in her hands.

There was a sensation of falling, and then of floating aimlessly, her mind blank. Behind her eyes, it was as if she were floating in space, distant stars twinkling at her as she drifted in nothingness. It was simultaneously incredibly overwhelming and humbling, but there was also an odd sense of inner peace.

⁌ ? ⁍

An odd feeling entered Hermione, one of questioning. Hesitantly, Hermione envisioned the Elixir of Life and her goals, trying to push that idea out into the ether with her magic. There was a pause, and then a response.

⁌ Ⓐ⅌⅏✭₰¤ℭ₦৻৳ ? ⁍

Hermione blinked. Carefully, she envisioned the apple being put into the water in the cauldron of gold, then being transmuted into the Elixir of Life, the water glittering with magic.

⁌ ↂↈ◉⦾? ⁍

Hermione nodded and sent out a wordless affirmative.

⁌ ✓ ⁍

She wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she was somehow assured that the stone understood her desire. She carefully began pulling her magic back out of the stone, sending a wordless thanks out into the universe of the stone, and getting an amused, fond response back.

⁌ ❖ ⁍

Hermione opened her eyes. The stone was glowing red in her hand, which was rather reassuring, and she suddenly felt incredibly magically drained. She leaned forward, reaching to the cauldron, and dropped the stone inside, where it quickly sank to the bottom, still pulsing with red light.

"It's still glowing," Tom said, leaning over to look. "It landed next to the apple."

"I take it that it worked?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think so," Hermione said, biting her lip. "The stone didn't really communicate in English. Or in words, really. I had to figure out how to send out raw ideas and wants into the ether."

Blaise laughed.

"Nothing's ever simple with you, is it, Hermione?" he teased. "Learning primordial communication techniques to talk to a rock."

Hermione flushed. "At least I'm being polite! Even if it's only to a rock!"

Tom started snickering, and that made Blaise laugh even harder, and after a moment Hermione joined in, realizing the absurdity of what she had just said. It took a moment for her giggle fits to die down.

"Okay, I think we'll have an idea in a week if it's working or not," Hermione said. "The water glitters, I think, when it's become the Elixir."

"Are you going to test this somehow?" Tom asked. "Try and become immortal and see if you die?"

"That's a bit extreme," Blaise said, gathering up the other apples and hitting them with statis spells. "We could cut off Malfoy's pinky finger and see if it grows back?"

"It doesn't regrow limbs!" Hermione said, laughing. "And we'll figure out how to test it somehow. I haven't figured that bit out yet."

"Well, when we do, be sure to make Malfoy the test subject," Blaise said, smirking. "Even if we have to drag him kicking and screaming."

"Why?"

Blaise gave her a look. "He's the only other one who knows you have the Stone, right? If we've done something wrong, I don't want something terrible happening to you or me."

"Oh." Hermione paused. "I don't think that'd be very fair. But we'll see what happens."

"I volunteer," Tom said immediately. "I will selflessly volunteer to drink the test Elixir of Life, and we will be able to deduce if it is correct by its effects on me."

"Absolutely not," Hermione said immediately. "I'd sooner drink it myself."

"Please don't do that," Blaise pleaded. "The last thing we need is you drinking liquid gold and poisoning yourself. Promise me you won't do something stupid like try and drink it without me being here."

"I promise," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'd like to think I wouldn't be that stupid, but if it makes you feel better, I'll wait for your supervision before doing potentially 'stupid' things."

Blaise grinned. "Good enough."

With Peter Pettigrew's approaching trial, added homework and review for upcoming exams, and being blackmailed, Hermione began to feel like her mind was too full of things to function. She could do it all, she told herself firmly, but she found herself often writing lists out to herself to help sort out her thoughts when they were swimming around too fast in her brain.

- Transfiguration essay

- Apple check w/Blaise

- Potions assignment

- Wizengamot: restoration of Black's seat

- Wizengamot: pre-trial hearing

- History myth assignment

- Practice w/Tom

- Hedgewitch progress?

- Goblins?

Keeping detailed calendars and a to-do list helped keep Hermione sane and on track, as did her Time-Turner. She'd never have been able to manage everything without it, she knew. Or at least, she wouldn't have been able to manage it and keep her position at the top of the class, which was of paramount importance.

She did have her priorities, after all.

Hermione had started getting letters in the mail, too – inquiries from people who wanted to hire her coven for different things. She handed them off to Susan, who had taken up the position of the Public Relations front of the coven with relish. It hadn't really been discussed, but Susan had fallen into it naturally – she knew the traditional wizarding ways, she knew how different families were connected to each other, and she was good at phrasing things in ways that didn't alarm or challenge others.

Draco had started helping her as well. When Hermione had delegated the hedgewitch task to him, she'd expected sulking and resistance, but instead, he was taking it incredibly seriously.

"We're planning to ward my tenancy – that is, the Malfoys' – and the Rosier tenancy," he told her. "I'm a bit worried about the Rosier one – they're right by a forest that's rumored to be a center for werewolf attacks, and their tenancy has had the second most bites in the past twenty years. But that's why they should be next – they need the protection the most." Draco scowled. "The irony of having to do a werewolf protection ritual on the one night of the month where you're in the most danger from werewolves is not lost on me, Hermione."

"Maybe you can delay doing the Rosier one, then," Hermione suggested, biting her lip. "After the Pettigrew trial, I'm going to introduce anti-werewolf legislation that might help alleviate some of that threat."

"Anti-werewolf legislation?" Draco's eyebrow rose. "That might make things worse. The targeted werewolves will want to act out."

"It'll help them," Hermione argued. "It's as much for them as it is to protect the populace."

Draco snorted. "They probably won't see it that way. No one likes the government infringing on their business."

Draco had approached her with a specific concern, though: the next full moon was the 24th, on a Tuesday, he told her. He was concerned he'd have to skip Astronomy in order to be out all night. And with exams approaching, he was worried about what he might miss if he missed a class, but oh, the tenancy warding was so important that he couldn't just abandon the hedgewitches because he had class…

Hermione sighed and promised to 'help him' not need to skip, which made Draco grin and thank her, bowing with a flourish, and Hermione rolled her eyes. He could have just asked if she'd use her Time-Turner for him; it wasn't as if she hadn't done it before.

Blaise was mildly irritated at Draco taking up such a key role in Hermione's greater plans, but he reluctantly conceded it was necessary.

"He's the only one of us that could, really. Pureblooded ponce that he is," Blaise sighed. "None of us are Sacred 28 scions who can get off campus to help without it being against the rules."

"Being around the hedgewitches might help humble him," Hermione suggested. She shrugged. "It might be good for him to realize the plight of his tenants."

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, right."

As all this was going on, Tracy seemed to be planning out the summer, which seemed impossibly far out to Hermione. Hermione had plans as far as Midsummer and the last day of term, but that was it. Tracey didn't seem to believe her when she admitted she hadn't thought ahead that far.

"You'll have the Chocolate Frog photo session at some point, and of course there's the Quidditch World Cup," Tracey said, writing into a fancy planner she'd acquired somewhere. "What else are your plans?"

"I—um—" Hermione faltered.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "When you figure it out, tell me, alright? If I'm going to be the official scribe of The Shadows, I need to know these things."

Hermione had no idea when Tracey had decided she was the official scribe of The Shadows, or that that was even a thing they had decided they needed.

As the trial of Peter Pettigrew approached, Hermione found she was excited to see it unfold. She embraced the legal drama of it as a way of escaping everything else she had going on, and she was morbidly curious about how it would all unfold in court.

Harry was also obsessed with the upcoming trial.

"Sirius has been writing to me," he shared with the coven, as they lounged around the grounds one day after classes. "He's going to be the first witness for the Wand, I think. The Wand's also going to call Dumbledore to the stand, and probably Ron as well."

"Are they really?" Susan asked. "I figured they'd call Percy, instead. He had Scabbers the longest."

"Ron had him up until we caught him," Harry said, shrugging. "I'm hoping they'll call me to talk about the coven ritual and chain of custody, but Sirius doesn't think it'll be necessary – he says that the Truth Circle Peter will have to sit in will do most of the work."

"Are you jealous?" Luna asked directly, blinking, and Harry flushed.

"Maybe a little," he said defensively. "It's only natural. How come Ron gets to see the trial and I don't? I want to see the trial of the man who betrayed my parents." He exhaled sharply. "I want to know why. Why did he do it? He was their friend."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Do you still have your invisibility cloak?" she asked quietly, glancing around.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Of course."

Hermione glanced at Luna, who smiled ambiguously, and Blaise, who was rolling his eyes but nodding.

"Make sure you have it ready. Meet me at the door to Dumbledore's office on Tuesday at 10am," Hermione told him. She sighed. "Whatever you do, don't get caught, alright? This is probably highly against the rules"

"I'll be careful, Hermione." Harry's grin was infectious. "I'll do whatever you say so long as you let me come."

The morning of Peter Pettigrew's trial arrived, and Hermione awoke with adrenaline thrumming through her veins. It wasn't as if he had a hope in hell of getting off, she thought as she got dressed, but what all would they learn? If Peter was put in the Truth Circle…

They might learn more about why Voldemort had chosen to target James and Lily Potter on that fateful day.

Transfiguration was a blur, but Lockhart had decided to do a topical lesson on the history of trials within the Wizengamot and the realm – a legal lesson Hermione hadn't realized she desperately needed.

"Not all trials are so high-profile!" Lockhart declared with great panache, writing Local Trials on the chalkboard and underlining it. He turned to the class. "Who can tell me who oversees trials at a local level?"

Hermione raised her hand, along with a few others.

"The regional magistrates," Susan Bones said, when called upon. "There are thirteen of them."

"Precisely so! Take five points for Hufflepuff," Lockhart said, writing down regional magistrates. "These magistrates are elected by those in their region. Turnout for these local elections tends to vary, but it's usually on the low side, which is disappointing. These representatives may someday hold your fate in their hand! You should always vote when you can."

"Each magistrate has a local court and jurisdiction on small claims in civil matters and local criminal matters," Lockhart went on. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement isn't going to call the Wizengamot together for a trial on you selling unlicensed crups! But they'll take you to the local magistrate, where you'll have a small trial."

"That's if you get caught," Millie muttered.

Hermione shot her a look, and Millie smirked.

"Don't worry, I'll get all the licenses I need," she said, her voice low. "But I was just saying…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and resumed paying attention.

"—when crimes or parties cross regions," Lockhart went on. "In these instances, the magistrates of both regions are summoned, as well as all thirteen regional representatives to serve as the court. One of the Ministry courtrooms at the Ministry of Magic is used."

"Now! The Wizengamot serves as the High Court of the land!" Lockhart said, writing Wizengamot on the board. "Who can tell me who composes the Wizengamot?"

Hermione knew this one.

"There are 28 seats for the Peers of the Realm," she recited, "also known as the 'Sacred 28'. There are 13 seats for the regional representatives. There's 8 seats for the heads of the different departments of the Ministry of Magic, and 1 seat for the representative of the British Youth."

"Excellent! Take five points for Slytherin!" Lockhart said.

Lockhart sketched out the entire Wizengamot, writing out all of the members as best he could. Slytherin House was collectively able to supply the Sacred 28 with ease, while Susan Bones knew the different regions the magistrates were from, though not the names of the representatives. Lockhart didn't seem to think that was important, though.

"They change all the time!" he said, waving his hand. "Knowing the areas is close enough. Who can name all the Ministry Departments and their Heads?"

A few people knew the Ministry Departments, but only Hermione knew the heads.

"There's the Minister's Office; that's headed by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic," she said, counting on her fingers. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement is next – that's Amelia Bones. Next is Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, run by Era Hornbeam."

"You're going down the floors of the Ministry, aren't you?" Lockhart said, eyes twinkling as he wrote on the board.

"—control of Magical Creatures, with Royce Fiddlewood; Department of International Magical Cooperation is Barty Crouch Senior. Magical Transportation is Muse Boothe, and Magical Games and Sports is Ludo Bagman," Hermione said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Last is Department of Mysteries, and no one knows who that is."

"Excellent! Take fifteen points for Slytherin!" Lockhart said, beaming. "Why do we not know the representative for the Department of Mysteries?"

"It's an Unspeakable," Justin Finch-Fletchney knew, growing excited. "They wear hoods that hide their identity, and no one knows who they are or what magic they know. They're like magical spies."

Lockhart paused, blue eyes growing wide.

"…are they really?" he asked. "That changes everything. I thought they were more like the government's secret research team than spies."

"They are, sir," Draco drawled. "The Aurors and Department of Magical Law enforcement have their own magic they use for spying and infiltration missions. The Department of Mysteries researches mysteries."

"How do you know?" Justin shot back. "Nobody knows what the Unspeakables do!"

"I know more than you," Draco snarked. "My cousin works in the Department of Mysteries."

"If your cousin worked there, they'd be an Unspeakable, and Unspeakables aren't allowed to tell anyone that they're an Unspeakable!" Justin argued.

"Well, they broke the rules, then, didn't they—?"

"Getting back on topic," Lockhart said, cutting in hurriedly. "The vote to free Sirius Black only had 49 votes recorded. Who knows why the last was missing?"

"The Gaunt seat is empty, sir," Daphne Greengrass said, raising her hand. Lockhart looked relieved as Draco and Justin fell silent, glaring at each other from across the class. "It hasn't disappeared, so there's still a member of the Gaunt family out there somewhere," Daphne continued, "but they still haven't come forward to claim their seat."

Lockhart finished the lesson with a dramatic retelling of Sirius Black's trial and how everyone had voted. Their assignment was to write a dramatic account of how they imagined Peter Pettigrew's trial would go and hand it in.

"Remember: accurate characterization isn't important, so long as it's consistent," Lockhart told them, beaming. "Make sure you pick a point of view and stick with it! Best one will get an Advanced Reader Copy of my next book, coming out soon!"

Hermione wondered if she could successfully complete the assignment if she just wrote down everything she would see later that day, or if Lockhart was more intent on getting dramatized, fictional retellings. She caught up with Blaise in the hallway, but he held a finger to his lips when she reached him. He nodded ahead, where Theo and Draco were talking, and Hermione fell quiet, listening in.

"You don't have a cousin in the Department of Mysteries," Theo was arguing. "I know your family tree."

"Do so," Draco shot back. "Lysander's sister—"

"Lysander is not your bloody cousin, you oaf!"

"He's the kid of my aunt's sister," Draco argued. "That makes him—"

"He is the child of your aunt's sister-in-law," Theo hissed. "You have no blood relation to him whatsoever, and you should be glad of it—"

"His mum is practically my aunt!" Draco protested. "She's over all the time since—well, the rest of her family isn't around, really—and my Mum treats her as a sister. I grew up looking up to Lysander—"

"The fact your mother has found a surrogate sister to replace the one she disowned doesn't make her an actual relative," Theo said coolly. "These words have meaning, Draco. You can't just call everyone your cousin or part of your family."

"You're just jealous because you don't have any family," Draco said cruelly. "All yours got killed, captured, or—"

There was a flash of light and BANG! as Draco was blasted across the hall, Theo fuming, wand out and pointing at him still.

"Don't talk to me about my family," he hissed, eyes sharp. "Just because yours were all disloyal and escaped Azkaban doesn't make them better. It makes them traitors."

Draco's eyes were wide, and Theo glared at him for a long moment before turning heel and storming off. Hermione stared after him silently with Blaise, and Draco slowly got to his feet, glancing up at Blaise and Hermione.

"Eavesdropping, were you?" he snarked, brushing his robes off. He looked after the Theo. "Don't know what his problem is—"

"You were being nasty and you know it," Blaise cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Did you think he'd take kindly to you reminding him of where all his family is?"

"Does he even have family?" Hermione wondered. "I know his mum is dead, and his father's alive and on the Wizengamot, but otherwise—"

"They're in Azkaban." Draco shrugged airily. "All the rest of the Notts – his uncles, aunts, cousins. His mother's side all got killed, for the most part – I think she was the last Parshukova left in Russia."

"So you thought reminding him of that would be a good tactic?" Blaise said, exasperated. "You're not honestly this stupid, Malfoy."

"Family is who you treat as family!" Draco protested, reddening. He glanced at Hermione. "My mum invites the extended family over for family events, so I treat them as family. That includes Aunt Phaedra and her kids."

"But she's not really your aunt," Blaise said, folding his arms.

"If my mother wants to invite the Lestranges over because the rest of her family is—" Draco broke off, rubbing his hand over his face. "Look. Does it matter is it's really my cousin or not? I still know someone in the Department of Mysteries. That was the point."

"Do you know if they take summer interns?" Hermione asked. She sighed wistfully. "I would love to research magic all summer long."

"A summer… intern?" Draco repeated blankly.

"Yes. I went to inquire myself recently, but I got distracted by the Hall of Prophecy," Hermione said. "Oh, wait. On that note…"

She dove her hand into her bag, searching for the parchment she'd written the prophecies on.

"Remind me to talk to Luna," Hermione told Blaise, coming up frustrated. "There were prophecies she gave or heard that involved me, and I wanted to ask her about them. I wrote them down, but I think I left it in my dorm."

Blaise paused.

"Prophecies?" he said, emphasizing the last syllable. "As in, more than one?"

"Err, yes," Hermione said. "There were a few."

Draco's eyes went wide, and Blaise groaned. Hermione winced.

"I'm sure it's not a big deal," she said hastily. "I just—well, best to figure them out, right? Anyway, we need to get to lunch. I'll need the energy to get through the Wizengamot."

Chapter Text

Harry was waiting by Dumbledore's office under his invisibility cloak when Hermione arrived, wearing her Wizengamot robes and crest. He nudged her silently when she arrived, and Hermione nodded at him, before stepping onto the stairs.

Dumbledore greeted her cheerfully upon her arrival in his office.

"It's bound to be quite a day, isn't it?" he said, eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. "It feels very much like opening a book you already know the ending to, but everything in the middle has yet to be written."

It was quite an apt comparison, actually, Hermione thought. Peter would be declared guilty undoubtedly, but what all would he say on the stand?

"I've arranged for us to arrive in the Department of Magical Transportation," Dumbledore said, tossing in Floo powder. "Sirius decided to hold a press conference in the Atrium right before the trial, and it's bound to be impossibly crowded right now."

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the area next to Hermione as he said this, and Hermione wondered if Dumbledore's glasses were enchanted somehow, or if he had heard Harry move. He said nothing, though, just gesturing for Hermione to go first. She stepped into the Floo and took a long moment adjusting herself as Harry hurriedly crammed in beside her, before she yelled out, "Department of Magical Transportation!"

Whirling through the Floo was bad enough normally, but doing so with someone pressed up tight against you and clinging to you so you didn't get lost was strangling and awful. As soon as they arrived, Hermione and Harry both fell out of the fireplace, coughing on soot. Harry scrambled to cover himself with his cloak, and Hermione was still gathering herself back up as Dumbledore arrived neatly, nary an ash on his robe.

"If you are ready, Miss Granger," he said, leading the way through the cubicles, "the elevator is over here."

Enchanted paper airplanes of memos buzzed around the room, going from person to person, and the low-level of work chatter in the office seemed remarkably normal for what the wizards were working on. Hermione had only been in the Department of Magical Transportation once, years ago, to get her house hooked up to the Floo network with her mother. As she looked around now, there were other areas of the floor she'd never been to before, labeled with large signs: Portkey Office, Apparition Test Centre, Broom Regulatory Control. Ministry employees glanced up as they passed, but no one seemed bothered by seeing Dumbledore.

The elevator was empty, somehow, and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled.

"Perhaps the press is blocking the Atrium so no one can get through right now," he speculated. He shrugged. "Regardless, my elbows are happy to have the extra space."

Navigating down the narrow staircase next to the elevator with Harry next to her was a bit of a challenge, but at the bottom the corridor widened out again, and Harry was able to give her space enough to walk as they entered the courtroom, which was remarkably empty so far.

"I shall see you after the trial, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, nodding to her as he went to his desk.

"Thank you, sir." Hermione hurried to her own seat.

Hermione's seat was in the back row. Harry would be able to crouch behind her for the trial, she decided, though he'd have to hide under her desk until then so no one would crash into him in the aisle. She hissed this to him quietly, and there was a soft scraping as he obediently shifted her chair and hid. That meant Hermione had to sit on top of her desk, as there was no leg room with Harry under there now. She settled herself on her desk in such a way so as to look very confident and self-assured, and not at all like a teenager wondering how much it would hurt if she slipped off the front and fell all the way down to the next tier. It was only maybe six or seven feet, she estimated. Probably not fatal or dangerous, even if she hit her head….

She shifted back on her desk a little and subtly cast a sticking charm on her robes and the desk.

Royce Fiddlewood and Era Hornbeam were both cheerful for once, arriving together.

"Royce finally filled me in on your little bill," Era said, bapping Hermione on the head as she passed with a grin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione blinked. "Err… why would I?"

"Because I'm the one who has to clean up and handle the werewolf accidents and incidents," Era said, giving Hermione a pointed look. "Or at least, my department usually ends up helping."

"I didn't realize," Hermione apologized. "I didn't mean to leave you out—"

"I'm teasing," Era told her, smirking. "But I've got extra funding now – none of the extra money allotted for Sirius Black-related Mass Obliviation was necessary in the slightest. I'm happy to help foot the bill for the initial fundraiser."

Hermione froze.

"…I'd forgotten about the fundraiser," she said, paling rapidly. "Who's going to organize that?"

"I mean, I thought it was you," Royce said. He shrugged. "No matter. We'll get one of the pureblooded society wives to organize it – if you pitch the bill right and emphasize how it will benefit them, they'll fight over the honor to be one of the backers."

"I just hope they fight over the right to donate the most money," Hermione said, sighing. She held her face in her hands, looking out over the Wizengamot, where members of the Sacred 28 were starting to arrive. "Politics is hard."

Era snorted. "Life is hard. Politics is just complicated and tiring, really. But it could be worse. You could be trying to run Bones' department."

Hermione looked down to see Amelia Bones, talking animatedly with Alexandra Jones and several Aurors. She was gesturing at the Defense box, then at the witness box, and an Auror left for a moment, arriving with new chains that Amelia rejected, and he was sent away again.

"I wonder what the fuss is," Royce said.

"Bones is extremely good at her job, but Merlin, I don't envy her it," Era sighed, settling back in her chair. "So many moving parts, and all of them important. I'm quite happy with my own little job."

After everyone was assembled, there was an unexpected delay. The right chains had to be brought in for the prisoner, Amelia Bones explained, apologizing to Wizengamot. They had to make sure he wouldn't transform and escape on the stand.

That brought a murmur to the room, glances already being exchanged. Peter Pettigrew had lived as a rat Animagus for over a decade, they remembered. Already, the intrigue grew. Hermione took her quill and parchment out, fully intent on taking notes to use for Lockhart's assignment later, though she began doodling a rat now.

Ten minutes later, an aid hurried into the room and whispered something to Madam Bones, who nodded. She turned to Alexandra and nodded, before she went up to take her own seat on the Wizengamot, and the aid quickly left the room.

"We are assembled for the trial of Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore announced formally. "Who here will preside for this trial?"

"Alexandra Jones, as Wand of the Realm," Alexandra said, bowing slightly to the assembled Wizengamot.

"Rhamnaceae Rookwood, for the accused's defense."

Hermione sat straight up and stared.

Rhamnaceae Rookwood.

It was a name Hermione hadn't heard in ages.

Rhamnaceae Rookwood had been declared innocent but had been expelled, blamed for the incidents with the basilisk, and Hermione had mentally checked her off as 'dealt with'. She'd never imagined she'd go into law or take up defending Death Eaters as a career path. Though, with never graduating… what career options did she have?

Was she even seventeen yet? Hermione wasn't sure.

"Miss Rookwood, you are the public defender for Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the paperwork on his desk, over half-moon glasses.

"I am," Rhamnaceae said. She looked determined, Hermione thought, but very pale.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Miss Rookwood, if you would produce the defendant."

Rhamnaceae nodded and looked toward the wall at the side of the room. She snapped, and a moment later, Peter Pettigrew was dragged in.

Peter looked bad, Hermione thought, as the crowd broke out in murmurs. His skin was dirty and mottled, his eyes pinched and tired, and he was resisting the Aurors, who were physically dragging him to the stand. Both his hands feet were shackled (that explained the dragging, Hermione realized), and when he sat down in the Defense box, more chains glowed, rising and securing him down.

"We will proceed with opening arguments," Dumbledore said. "Wand of the Realm, you many proceed."

Alexandra Jones stood. "Thank you, Chief Warlock."

The Wand's opening statement was very straightforward: the Realm would prove that Peter Pettigrew had been a Death Eater, that he had betrayed the Potters to Lord Voldemort, and that he had murdered twelve muggles in an escape when he had almost been caught for his crimes. It was very brief and succinct, which Hermione appreciated – they'd all just gone through Sirius' trial, and they knew the story so far.

Rhamnaceae's opening statement was a little different.

"If someone puts their wand to your head, and demands you cast a curse that kills, are you the guilty one?" she asked. She gestured as she spoke. "If you are made to act under duress, are you responsible for the effects of your actions? Or is it the fault of the person who forced your hand?" She gestured to Peter Pettigrew. "We will prove that Peter Pettigrew acted under duress, and that he was, in fact, forced to do terrible things. As the story unfolds, you will realize that though his actions may have been horrible, none of the atrocities you will hear about are truly his fault."

It was an interesting strategy, Hermione thought as Rhamnaceae went to sit down, but one not likely to work. She couldn't imagine 'Lord Voldemort made me' was an acceptable reason for murder – at least, not without being under the Imperius Curse.

The first witness was Sirius Black. He came down from the Wizengamot, looking like he was practically drowning in the black velvet robes, and took a seat on the witness stand. Under the questioning of the Wand, he retold his story: the swap for the Fidelius Charm, the betrayal of the Potters, and cornering him on the street, where Peter had blown the muggles apart. It was nothing new, but when it was the Defense's turn, Rhamnaceae stood to ask her questions.

"Sirius Black, you stated that Peter's betrayal took you entirely by surprise," she said. "You did not suspect he was a spy for the Dark Lord?"

"No," Sirius said bitterly.

"Why not?"

Sirius stared at her blankly.

"Why did I not think he was a spy?" he repeated. "Because—well, he didn't act any differently, I guess, and I never thought he'd betray us."

"Why do you think he did betray you?"

"Objection!" Alexandra's hands slammed onto her desk. "Calls for speculation."

"Sustained," Dumbledore said.

Rhamnaceae looked annoyed.

"Did anyone else ever think Peter was a spy?" she asked.

"Not that I'm aware."

"Would most people think it would be out of character for—"

"Objection," Alexandra said again. "Sirius Black has no way of knowing what 'most people' would think."

"Sustained," Dumbledore said. He looked at Rhamnaceae, his tone warning. "Stick to the facts please, Miss Rookwood."

Rhamnaceae looked frustrated. Hermione could kind of see the story she was trying to craft – that Peter had been forced to betray them and never would have otherwise – but it was difficult to do so, it seemed. After a pause, Rhamnaceae changed tactics, asking Sirius about when he cornered Peter Pettigrew on the street. She lingered on the fact that Sirius had fully gone there expecting to murder Peter, which started to annoy Sirius himself.

"My best friend in the world was dead, because of him," Sirius snapped. "So no, I wasn't thinking clearly when I went after him."

"But you are confident you would have killed him?"

"No," Sirius said. "Clearly not, as I didn't kill him. I meant to, but who knows if I would have choked in the last minute?"

Rhamnaceae eventually stopped, and Sirius shot her and Peter a venomous glare as he left the stand, going up to his seat in the Wizengamot and fuming.

Alexandra stood.

"The Wand calls Peter Pettigrew to the stand."

Everybody sat up straight. This is what they had come to watch.

Aurors helped Peter go from the Defense box to the Witness Box inside the Truth Circle, dragging him in chains and plopping him onto the chair. Shackles inside of the Witness Box glowed and rose up, shackling him to the box itself, and Peter whimpered quietly, though it echoed in the large chamber.

"Please state your name for the record."

"Peter Pettigrew," Peter said.

"Peter," Alexandra said, leaning a hip against her desk, "were you Secret-Keeper for the Potters?"

Peter gnawed on his lip, his eyes darting around. He didn't answer, and the tension grew.

"You will be held in contempt and declared guilty if you do not answer," Dumbledore said warningly, his voice dark, and Peter sighed.

"Yeah," he said, resigned. "Yeah, I was Secret-Keeper."

"Did you tell Lord Voldemort where to find the Potters?"

Peter flinched at the name, and he was shaking slightly when he answered.

"Yes," he said weakly. "I told him."

"Did you kill twelve muggles in a confrontation with Sirius Black?"

"That was an accident!" Peter protested. "I didn't mean to!"

"But you used a powerful blasting curse right at a group of muggles?" Alexandra queried. "Knowing what that curse would do?"

Peter sighed.

"I mean, yes," he said. "It wasn't specifically to kill them, though…"

Alexandra looked up at the Wizengamot, holding her arms wide open.

"No further questions," she said pointedly, and took her seat.

Rhamnaceae stood, moving to the front of her desk. She looked at Peter for a long moment, and Hermione wondered what was going through her head.

"Peter Pettigrew," she began, "did you join the Dark Lord?"

"Er, yes," Peter said. His eyes darted around. "I did."

"Did you join under duress?" she asked.

Peter faltered. "I—um—"

"Did someone coerce you," Rhamnaceae clarified. "Did someone force you?"

"Oh. Um. No," said Peter. "You—it doesn't really work like that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then… how does it work?"

Peter winced.

"H-h-he—You-Know-Who only took willing followers," he said. "You—you couldn't become a full Death Eater by force. The ritual—the ceremony—part of initiation required you to be willing. It would fail if you weren't."

Rhamnaceae frowned.

"If you weren't forced, why did you join the Death Eaters?" she asked. "Why sign up for the enemy of your friends?"

Peter sighed deeply.

"I… I wanted to," he admitted, finally. "You-Know-Who was powerful. And people who stood up against him were getting killed. Joining him, I thought I would be safe. And I—I wanted that."

"You joined the Dark Lord," Rhamnaceae emphasized, "for safety?"

"People were dying!" Peter protested. "He was taking over everywhere! And it—it seemed inevitable that he would win, so I thought 'if I get in early, I'll be better off than those captured at the end'. I thought it'd offer some stability and safety, and he—he said he would teach us new magics we'd never seen before—"

Rhamnaceae looked lost, like she didn't know what to do.

"Did you betray the Potters to the Dark Lord?" she asked.

Peter hung his head. "Yes."

"Why?"

Peter groaned.

"I had to," he moaned. "If he found out that I had known where they were, and that I hadn't told him, he'd have killed me. I had to tell him."

"But they were your friends."

"Well, yeah." Peter shifted uncomfortably. "If Sirius had stayed Secret-Keeper, it would have been fine. He was going to go into hiding, and I'd have had no idea where he would go, and then I wouldn't have had anything to tell. But once he said we should switch, and he didn't listen to me when I said we shouldn't—"

"You tried to not be chosen as Secret-Keeper?" Rhamnaceae said, leaping on Peter's statement.

"Yes. I-I told them they shouldn't pick me, I wasn't strong enough to keep them safe or resist torture, that sort of thing," Peter said, wincing. "Sirius and James insisted I was braver and stronger than I knew. That they trusted me with their lives, and that I could do this. Sirius was certain the last-second switch was brilliant and would help protect the Potters even more." He hung his head. "I could only protest so much before it would look suspicious. So I—I let them do it. And I became Secret-Keeper."

Hermione was horrified. The Defense looked appalled too.

"Your friends told you that they trusted you with their lives," Rhamnaceae said, "and you immediately betrayed them, knowing it would mean they would lose their lives?"

"I only betrayed James," Peter protested. "Sirius wasn't under the Fidelius. And it wasn't immediately – it took a day or so…"

Rhamnaceae looked frustrated. It was obvious Peter's responses were not going to way she had hoped.

"Did you kill the muggles on the street?" she asked, redirecting her questions.

"Not on purpose," Peter stressed.

"Then why did you?"

"I was trying to escape," Peter said. He whimpered. "Sirius Black—he was trying to kill me! So I blasted the street open—"

"Even though there were people there?"

"I mean, they're only muggles—" Peter said, and there was a gasp from several people in the Wizengamot. Peter's eyes grew large and he faltered, trailing off. Rhamnaceae groaned.

"Why did you live the last twelve years as a rat?" she asked.

Peter leapt on this distraction.

"I wasn't safe," he said quickly. "Reappearing wasn't safe. After Sirius was in Azkaban for my murder, well—no one would be looking for me, then."

"Who would have been looking for you?" Rhamnaceae asked.

Peter winced.

"Other followers… Death Eaters…" he said. "I-I told You-Know-Who where the Potters were, and then he vanished. The Potters' house was blown up, no sign of where You-Know-Who went. And as a rat, I'd heard about the Lestranges torturing the Longbottoms, trying to find out where he'd gone…" He sighed. "It—it was comfortable living as a rat. Safe. Stable. I didn't have to worry about Death Eaters coming to murder me for the fall of the Dark Lord, and I didn't have to worry about anyone realizing Sirius was innocent."

"So you lived as a rat, for twelve years," Rhamnaceae said flatly, "because it was comfortable?"

"I mean, yeah?" Peter ventured. "When you're a rat, life is much simpler. I missed talking to people a bit, but I overheard other people talking, and that was nice. At Hogwarts I could find other rats in the walls sometimes, and that—that was fun. You know."

"Could you talk to the other rats?" Rhamnaceae asked.

"Kind of? It's not so much language as other signals?" Peter said, scrunching up his face. "But it wasn't hard to understand and make rat friends. Animals are only really interested in the four F's, right? Fighting, fleeing, feeding, and—"

"That's enough!" Rhamnaceae cut in. She looked horrified. "I—ah, Peter. Is there anything else you'd like to tell the court? Anything you want the Wizengamot to know?"

Peter looked down at his shackled hands.

"I guess that I'm sorry," he said. "I-I always was a bit of a coward. I hid behind James and Sirius a lot. I never knew how I ended up in Gryffindor, really."

"Are you sorry you betrayed them," someone called from up in the Wizengamot seats, "or are you sorry you got caught?"

Peter flinched, wincing, and the fact that he didn't answer, even as Dumbledore banged his gavel and called for order – that betrayed rather a lot, Hermione thought.

Rhamnaceae finally gave up and went back to her table, and Peter was removed from the witness box and reshackled inside the defense box. Alexandra Jones stood, looked around pointedly, and said loudly, "The Realm rests."

Dumbledore looked at Rookwood. "Defense, you may call your first witness."

Rhamnaceae looked utterly defeated.

"I mean, is there any use at this point anyway?" she asked. "I could call a mind expert to explain how people can act under duress and how it influences them, I can call any number of people to testify how the Dark Lord was taking over, but he still admitted he did it. And that he did it knowingly. Willingly. He bloody became their Secret-Keeper all the while knowing he would betray them. How am I supposed to defend that?"

The Wizengamot began to mutter and gossip. Dumbledore, too, looked caught off-guard.

"Well, then," he said, after a moment. "Does the Defense rest too?"

Rookwood glanced back at Peter, who shrugged hopelessly. She turned back and heaved a sigh. "Yeah, sure. The Defense rests."

"Then we will proceed to closing arguments."

Sound broke out immediately, but little of it was the people actually supposed to be arguing. Alexandra was repeating that Peter had murdered everyone, but she was drowned out by the sound of people on the Wizengamot yelling terrible things and insults at Peter.

"—knowingly sold your friends to You-Know-Who—"

"—coward of the worst kind, no wonder you turn into a rat—"

"—suck out your soul, you evil, evil little man—"

The loud DONGGG came quickly, and Hermione glanced around. There was one lone white paddle in a sea of black.

"By a vote of 48 to 1, Peter Pettigrew, you have been found guilty of the murder of James and Lily Potter, as well as the murder of twelve muggles," Dumbledore said. He banged his gavel. "Aurors, please take the prisoner back into custody."

Noise broke out as the assembled began talking, and Hermione watched as the Aurors approached Peter.

"Wait!" Pettigrew cried, eyes darting around wildly. "What—what happens to me now?"

"You get thrown into Azkaban for the rest of your miserable life," Sirius snarled. "Did you think otherwise?"

Peter whimpered, looking pathetic, and the Aurors grabbed him and roughly dragged him out. Hermione glanced over at Sirius, who was looking severely pissed off, and at Dumbledore, though she couldn't make out his expression from here.

"Move," a voice hissed in her ear. "I have to hide under the desk while everyone leaves."

Hermione had entirely forgotten about Harry, she'd been so wrapped up in the trial. She shoved her chair back and moved out of the way, giving him space to cram himself in, before shifting it back into place.

"Amelia Bones is going to have a fun time with that one," Era Hornbeam said, stretching as she stood. "I hope whatever she finds out leaks."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Well, he's been found guilty, right? So now they can interrogate him and try and get him to give up information in exchange for reduced sentencing," Era said. "Mind, it'll still be 'life in Azkaban', but there's a fair difference in standard of living between the top floors and the bottom, I've head."

"Will they give him Veritaserum?" Hermione asked.

"Err—probably not," Era admitted. "Bad things happen sometimes when you give Death Eaters Veritaserum."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes widened. "Like what?"

"Like their magic comes out and eats them alive when they try to betray You-Know-Who," Era said flatly. She shuddered. "I saw it once – it was like noxious black ink came out from his skin in a cloud and surrounded him, and then he started screaming. When he fell to the ground and the ink dissipated, his skin was stained with these black little pockmarks that had devoured him, and his eyes were wide open and staring at nothing because his eyelids had entirely dissolved."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "That's—"

"That's Dark Magic," Era said, shrugging. "It only happened to some of them, but… anyway. Best be careful with Veritaserum. You can get Veritaserum poisoning really easily, too. They always give people three drops, but that dose was calculated for men over three decades ago. They never bothered to figure it out for women, or to do it by weight…"

She waved as she left, leaving Hermione to stare after her in horror.

After everyone else was gone, Hermione went down the steps to meet Dumbledore, Harry trailing after her invisibly.

"Sir," she said, looking up at him. "Does giving Death Eaters Veritaserum cause their magic to eat them alive?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Been listening to Ministry gossip, have we, Miss Granger?"

Hermione flushed.

"It has been known to happen," Dumbledore told her, inclining his head. "The Ministry has stopped giving Veritaserum to Death Eaters in an effort to not have this happen anymore, without trying to divine why some Death Eaters are able to disclose information about Voldemort while some are not."

"Do you know why that is?" Hermione asked.

"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore admitted.

"What are they?" Hermione pressed.

"What do you think, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore seemed amused. "What would you do, if you were a Dark Lord?"

Hermione blinked. "Err…"

Tom Riddle had told her ages ago that he'd intended to mark his followers with the Dark Mark. At first, she'd presumed that the mark they received came alive and ate them if they betrayed Voldemort. But if some Death Eaters could betray him… and how would magic even know if they were betraying him or not…?

Betrayal couldn't be prevented, then, she thought. Not entirely. If magic couldn't detect betrayal, at least. So if betrayal couldn't be prevented, the next best step would be…

"He did it on purpose," Hermione breathed, realizing. She looked up at Dumbledore. "If he made the Ministry think that he couldn't be betrayed, they'd stop trying to get people to betray him."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Do you think so?"

"Yes," Hermione said vehemently. "I think he'd set a couple people up with a curse that eats them alive the moment he triggered it. Maybe he tied it to a word – his name or something – and sent people in there unknowingly. Or maybe they were suicide missions. But it makes sense, doesn't it? If it meant they'd stop using Veritaserum on people?"

"Well stated." Dumbledore smiled. "It seems you don't need my suspicions after all, when you have your own."

"But I don't know if I'm right," Hermione protested.

"Do you think I do?" Dumbledore said mildly. "Do you think I have been able to discover every truth about Voldemort in the intervening years, and have thoroughly dissected all there is to know?"

"…fine," Hermione groused. "I was just curious…"

He led her through the Atrium and to the Floo, where Hermione faked a sneezing fit so Harry could get in first. At Dumbledore's office, she had an actual sneezing fit, as some Floo powder had gone up her nose, and Dumbledore appeared after her, watching her cough and sneeze with wry amusement.

"Got it all out?" he asked kindly, once she was done.

Hermione coughed. "I-I think so."

"Excellent." He smiled. "Harry, a moment before you leave, if you please."

Hermione froze. There was a rustle, and a moment later, Harry pulled off his cloak, looking stunned.

"Ah—sure," he said. He raked a hand through his hair. "What can I help you with?"

Dumbledore gave a Hermione a look. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I can take a hint," she said. "Bye, Harry," she said pointedly.

"Err—bye?" Harry said, faltering, and Hermione left from Dumbledore's tower in a sulk.

Harry descended from the tower half an hour later, looking surprised to see her when he found her lurking in the hall.

"You waited for me?" he asked.

"Of course," Hermione said. She looked him over. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, it was fine. I wasn't in trouble," Harry assured her as they started down the stone corridor. "He just wanted to talk."

Hermione frowned. "What about?"

"My scar." Harry smiled wanly. "He wanted to know if it still hurt anymore."

Hermione blinked. "Does it?"

"No," Harry said. He looked at her sideways. "Not since Beltane last year."

Hermione bit her lip. "Which is… when we think…"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Exactly."

They walked in silence for a while, the only noise their boots on the stone and the crackling of torches on the walls.

"Do you think he's hunting them?" Harry asked abruptly. He lowered his voice. "The Horcruxes?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Probably?" she ventured. "If he intends to fully vanquish the Dark Lord, it's the next step, really."

Harry glanced at her again.

"But he won't find them all, will he?" he said plaintively. "Not when you have—"

"Point taken," Hermione said, cutting him off. "But if Dumbledore is indeed going on a scavenger hunt all over Europe to find random objects from the Dark Lord's past, I imagine it will take him quite some time to find them all. Once the number has dwindled significantly, we—we can decide what to do about Tom."

"Because you don't want to kill him," Harry said.

Hermione shot him a look. "No. I don't."

"I don't want to kill him either!" Harry protested. "I think he's interesting. And he can be helpful. I was just saying…"

Hermione sighed.

"You are such a Gryffindor," she said, almost affectionately. "You realize, even Slytherins don't openly talk about killing people in the hallway, right?"

Harry blushed but grinned. He looked around conspicuously for anyone else or any paintings before lowering his voice and continuing on.

"Tom said if you give him a body, he won't just be a—a thing, anymore," Harry said. "So he wouldn't count, then. Without us killing him."

Hermione sighed. "He did."

"Do you think that's a good option?" Harry looked concerned. "If war is really coming… if Voldemort is going to come back…"

"I… Tom is a complicated person," Hermione said delicately. "I recently learned what he had to do in order to make himself into… that. And it's—it's horrifying, Harry. I don't know if I could ever forgive someone who would do such a thing. And there's no way to know if he actually regrets it, or if he just says he does—"

"There is," Harry said suddenly.

Hermione blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Tom told us," Harry said. "That one time – he said you can reunite them, if you feel immense regret and remorse. He said that it hurts a lot, but it can be done."

Hermione scoffed. "If I'm not mistaken, he then moved on to a different plan that involved murdering the other parts."

"Well, yeah, but Blaise kind of baited him into that, I think," Harry said. "I'm just saying – if you need a test, that one would be it. Find another of—of those, and then see if he can reunite with it."

They walked along in silence as they headed down to the Great Hall.

"The entire coven would have to be on board," Hermione said finally. "We have no place to start. And we'd be literally racing against Dumbledore to find one before he found them all."

Harry grinned widely. "We never do bother with anything easy."

Chapter Text

The next morning, the Daily Prophet seemed to be having a field day with the previous day's verdict:

.

PETER PETTIGREW FOUND GUILTY OF FOURTEEN COUNTS OF MURDER!
Sentencing to follow after further Ministry interrogation

.

which seemed to be the story of what had happened at the trial, almost word-for-word, undoubtedly provided by whatever plant the Daily Prophet had managed to sneak onto the Wizengamot;

.

SIRIUS BLACK'S STORY TRUE!
The fantastical tale of the rat who was a rat

.

which was really just another retelling of Sirius' initial claim to the Wizengamot, but printed again; and Hermione's personal favorite:

DEMENTORS RETURN TO AZKABAN
Pettigrew's arrest returns Britain to its peaceful state

.

"Dementors gone!" Tracey crowed. She waved the paper around. "Finally!"

"Not a moment too soon," Millie said, sighing with relief. "Last Hogsmeade visit's soon."

"This is interesting," Blaise said, reading the paper. "He never said he regretted joining up with the Dark Lord?"

"He did not," Hermione said. "It was a rather large point."

"Huh," Blaise said. "After all that's happened… I mean, I figured he'd be able to manage at least that on the stand. Well, at least that's done and over with now, right?" he said. He grinned. "So what's next?"

"Introducing my bill to the Wizengamot," Hermione said, sighing. "It's written, but I feel like I need to network with the Sacred 28 a bit more before presenting it. I need to get someone on board to plan the fundraiser."

"A fundraiser?"

Hermione glanced up to see Daphne Greengrass, who was peering at her curiously.

"Yes," Hermione said slowly. "A fundraiser."

"Can I plan it?" Daphne's eyes shone. "I've always wanted to plan a big event!"

Hermione looked at Blaise, lost. "I—it's a rather big thing. It'd be for the Ministry—"

Daphne waved her hand carelessly. "So? If you let them plan it, they'll hold it in the Ministry cafeteria and serve soggy chips and sausages. No one would come." She grinned. "But if I organize it, and I get my mother and father to help – we can dazzle people. They'll come in droves and donate tons of gold."

"You don't even know what the fundraiser is for," Blaise commented, amused.

"So?" Daphne pouted. "Doesn't matter. It's still an event."

Hermione was struggling to hide her grin. She knew Daphne fully intended on being a wife of high society, but it was amusing to see her leap into her first opportunity to organize a social event with such enthusiasm.

"Why don't you sketch out a preliminary idea?" Hermione suggested. "Owl your parents and let them know what you're working on. If you tell them to support my bill and get their friends to support it, we'll stand more of a chance of actually getting to throw the party."

"Oh, that'll be perfect," Daphne said. "My dad is desperately trying to get on your good side anyway, so it'll be easy to convince him to support whatever your thing is."

Hermione blinked. "He is?"

"Of course." Daphne looked startled. "He's sent you several owls by now."

"Regarding what?" Hermione asked. "I haven't gotten any—"

"He wants to hire the coven," Blaise said, his voice lowered. "Susan got them."

"Oh!" Hermione remembered. Susan had mentioned Daphne's mother's struggle with infertility. "Ah, I—I'll have to look at them after exams. We're waiting on all that sort of business until after—"

"Oh, of course," Daphne dismissed. "But he'll still want you to think well on him before you make up your mind."

Lupin looked haggard in Defense Against the Dark Arts, dark black circles under his eyes. Hermione wondered why – it wasn't anywhere near the full moon – until she realized Sirius had probably told Lupin all about Pettigrew's trial. She couldn't exactly blame him for having had a rough night.

History found Lockhart beaming at the class. He had immensely enjoyed their essays, he told them (Hermione had no idea how he'd read them all between Thursday night and now), but he was disappointed by the lack of personalization in many of them.

"History happens to people!" Lockhart explained passionately. "These things we learn about – they're not just empty dates and facts! History is people's memories, what shaped them growing up. And we feel more connected to other people than we do empty meaningless facts and dates."

He proceeded to read to them from the 'winning' essay, which had been written from the point of view of the Department of Mysteries' Unspeakable representative for the Wizengamot. The story seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with Peter Pettigrew's trial, and everything to do with the Unspeakable's connection with the Department of Magical Games and Sports Head, Ludo Bagman, a retired Quidditch player, and the angst of flirting with him and growing to care for him during the Wizengamot sessions over the years while never being able to reveal herself to him and pursue a true relationship.

Hermione listened on in astonishment as the story finally came to the trial, where the Unspeakable had decided to vote 'not guilty' based on a misconception that Pettigrew had once been Bagman's friend. The story ended with Bagman voting guilty and giving the Unspeakable a betrayed look at her own white paddle, the Unspeakable feeling her heart break, and the Unspeakable resolving to ask for a transfer to work in the Love Room so she could figure out how to tear her feelings out once and for all.

It was incredible, ridiculous, and entirely fictitious. It was also, Lockhart emphasized, human.

"You sense a person's motivation in this!" he declared, smacking the chalkboard for emphasis. "Not everyone is motivated purely to see justice done! The protagonist was motivated by love – what is more human than that? It is her love that drives her, even though it ultimately causes her downfall when she votes the wrong way at the conclusion of the trial. But the story connects. You feel her story and its place in history. What person among us cannot relate to the exquisite pain of pining for another and unrequited love?"

Incredulous, Hermione tried very hard not to laugh.

The rest of the period was spent discussing the merits of humanizing historical figures and characterization. Lockhart challenged the class to build their own 'historical canon', and Hermione watched on in amazement as different classmates took turns writing personality traits on the chalkboard underneath the names of her coworkers on the Wizengamot. It was surreal to see people characterizing Royce Fiddlewood as "a chav" and Era Hornbeam as "a grown-up Essex girl". The space under Hermione's own name was left suspiciously blank.

"Now put yourself into their shoes," Lockhart told the class. "What did they see during the trial? What did they experience? What did they feel?" As the bell rang, he called out, "Homework! Rewrite your essays with this new information about how the trial actually went. Be sure to humanize your protagonist!"

Hermione had never heard so loose a definition of the word 'essay' before.

She was still talking about it after classes, going on about the ridiculousness of it all to Blaise and Tom in the Chamber of Secrets as they checked on the Elixir of Life.

"—real people!" she emphasized. "It's disrespectful. It feels like a violation."

"It's just fiction, Hermione," Blaise said, grinning. "It doesn't hurt anybody."

"But it's weird," Hermione complained. "And writing it for homework… I'm almost at a disadvantage, knowing what these people are actually like!"

"You could write about it from the point of view of a ghost trapped in the chamber," Blaise suggested. "The secret behind the empty Gaunt chair, perhaps. I bet Lockhart would eat it up."

"I'm sorry – the what?" Tom asked.

"The Gaunt seat," Blaise repeated.

"It's one of the Sacred 28 seats," Hermione explained, "but it's been empty for like forever. For decades at this point, I think. But the chair hasn't collapsed, which means there's still a member from that family out there who could assume it."

Tom smirked.

"There's another reason to give me a body, Hermione," he remarked. "You'd gain another political ally. I could take that seat."

"Sacred 28 seats don't work like that," Blaise argued. "There's a blood test when you sit on them, and the chair itself verifies—"

"I mean my mother was Merope Gaunt, you blithering idiot," Tom snapped. "I could justly take that seat."

Blaise paused. "Oh."

Tom rolled his eyes, but Hermione's were growing huge with an alarming realization.

"That means Lord Voldemort could get a seat on the Wizengamot," she breathed. "Lord Voldemort. Directly in politics."

"He'd be arrested the second he stepped foot in the Ministry," Blaise dismissed. "You can't honestly think—"

"And if he showed up as someone else? And took the seat?" Hermione demanded. "If he just went as 'Mister Gaunt' and sat—"

"He doesn't even have a body for the chair to blood test," Blaise pointed out. "And I don't think formal politics is exactly high on his list of priorities."

"On the note of bodies…" Tom leaned over the golden cauldron, peering inside. "Have we decided if I'm testing this or not?"

"You are not," Hermione said, annoyed. She paused, biting her lip. "…I guess I could try by asking the stone if it's done?"

"Yes, brilliant," Tom said drolly. "Instead of using the willing test subject, we ask a rock."

Hermione ignored him, rolled up her sleeves, and reached into the cauldron to grasp the Philosopher's Stone. She reached out with her magic, connecting with the stone ever so gently, not wanting to be floating in space again.

⁌ ? ⁍

The feeling of questioning entered Hermione, and Hermione tried to respond with her own question of if the Elixir of Life was completed.

⁌ Ⓐ⅌ↂↈ◉⦾ ⁍

…what?

Hermione visualized the apple being put into the water in the cauldron of gold, then being transmuted into the Elixir of Life, the water glittering with magic, and then imagined taking the Elixir out and drinking it. It was hard to communicate an idea of 'completeness', and Hermione didn't think her imaginary situations were quite going through.

⁌ Ⓐ⅌ↂↈ◉⦾ ⁍ the stone insisted. ⁌ Ⓐ⅌ↂ₰⅏✭₰¤₦ↂↈ ℭ ◉¤⦾৻৳ ⁍

Hermione blinked. Carefully, she focused on one idea.

⁌ Ⓐ? ⁍

⁌ Ⓐ ⁍ came the response. ⁌ Ⓐ⅌ↂↈ◉⦾ ⁍

That was the stone, Hermione realized. It was the Stone's identifier for itself.

⁌ ↂↈ◉⦾? Elixir? ⁍ Hermione tried to send.

⁌ ↂↈ◉⦾ ⁍ the Stone replied. ⁌ Ⓐ⅌ↂↈ◉⦾⁍

That was the Elixir of Life idea, then. So that meant the Stone was making it still? She sent out a query of if the stone was done, trying to focus on a binary yes/no answer.

⁌ ✗ ⁍

That wordless pulse of feeling Hermione understood. She pulled her magic back with a feeling of thanks to the Stone, getting a resigned but amused response back as she did.

⁌ ❖ ⁍

"I'm almost certain it's still working on it," Hermione said, looking at the others. She felt very suddenly drained of energy and magic, and it was hard to hold her eyelids open all the way. "Communicating with the Stone is… different. But I'm fairly certain it's not done transmuting it yet."

"Any idea on a timeline?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow. "We don't know how long this will take. And if we can't make the deadline…"

"Then we kill people?" Tom grinned. "I'm sure I can be very helpful there. The vanishing assassin in the night."

"We are not killing anybody," Hermione snapped. "Look. We have about a month left. That's a lot of time, right? It'll be fine."

"What if it's the wrong apple type?" Blaise asked. "Will we have time to try again?"

Hermione faltered, and Blaise and Tom exchanged a pointed look.

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, Hermione," Blaise said gently. His eyes held hers, and Hermione bit her lip.

"…we'll give it another fortnight," she said finally. "If it's not done by then, we'll make a backup plan."

"Of a murder?" Tom asked cheerfully.

"No."

Chapter Text

Managing the overload of homework with the stress of upcoming exams along with the Wizengamot was a balancing act of the highest degree, and Hermione often felt like she was walking a tightrope while balancing platters of cakes on her hands and head. If she lost focus or misbalanced, everything would come tumbling down.

It helped that the Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew nonsense was wrapped up. The Daily Prophet was still blasting headlines all over like

.

SIRIUS BLACK RETURNS TO HIGH SOCIETY
Newly declared innocent, we ask - what is next for Sirius Black?

.

but it wasn't actually news or relevant to Hermione's life. The trials were completed, Sirius was innocent, Peter was guilty, and everything was neatly tied up.

Delegating tasks was proving massively helpful, too. Draco had finally taken a detour on the way back from the hedgewitches to swing by Twilfitt and Tattings, and he'd been impressed when he made it back to the castle.

"Giulia and Aurora only gave me the records, not account access, but they're meticulous," he told her. "Whatever you've invested and got going with them – it's proving extremely lucrative. Your initial investment made over 5000 galleons. It's slower now, but you've got a steady stream of about 300 galleons a month." He glanced up at her. "What do you want to do with it? Reinvest it?"

"Eventually," Hermione said. "There's a lot going on right now."

"It's not going to do you much good sitting there," Draco pointed out. "You should invest it or spend it."

"It can wait a month," Hermione objected. "Let's get to the summer when I can actually go and look at the gold myself."

Draco grumbled but accepted this, telling her he'd draw up different investment plans for her that she could look over later. Hermione had no idea what a magical investment plan would look like, but if it made Draco happy to help by making them, she wasn't about to tell him to stop.

Daphne Greengrass was also proving unexpectedly helpful. She'd taken to planning a fundraiser like a broom to air, and she loved giving Hermione updates.

"It's going to be an art auction," Daphne told her, eyes sparkling. "One of the best ways to get money is to make sure other people see each other spending it. Everyone wants to be seen as being wealthy enough to make large donations." She paused. "That does mean we're going to have to get art from the werewolves, though. Pieces that capture the nature of their torment. Or maybe paintings of werewolves? Though that might be scary." She frowned. "Well. We have time. I have it tentatively scheduled for July 31st, but July 30th is the Saturday, so that might be the better option."

"You'd host it on a Sunday night?" Hermione blinked. "That's… unusual."

"Yes. Well." Daphne flushed. "It's also Bilberry Sunday. It'd be good luck to leave out berries and meat to see if Magic would provide."

Hermione gnawed this over in her mind.

"You mean Lughnasadh," she said slowly. She gave Daphne a pointed look. "Right?"

Daphne turned a darker red.

"Don't say that too loudly," she advised her. "But yes, essentially, alright? It seems like an auspicious day, and celebrations are traditionally held on such days."

Hermione considered.

"Go with the Saturday," she advised her. "If we want to leave out an offering for Magic, we just need to make sure the event lasts past midnight into Sunday. We can make sure to provide Wide-Eye Potions or Invigorating Draughts for guests so they can stay awake."

"Or a coffee bar," Daphne suggested, wincing. "It's considered impolite to potion your guests."

Daphne's support meant many of the Sacred 28 were at least aware of a political fundraiser being planned and had promised their support, though Daphne had been careful to be vague on the details when sharing. Hermione was mentally keeping a tally of votes she could count on, and she wrote to Sirius Black to confirm he would vote for it as well.

Of course I'll vote for your bloody bill, he wrote back. Dunno who else I could bully into voting for it. I could probably get Weasley and Prewitt on board. They're not likely to report being threatened or cursed.

Hermione despaired that she'd helped free an innocent man, only to end up seeing him condemned and charged as a convict within a month.

"Are you ready?" Era Hornbeam asked Hermione as she slid into her seat. "Today's your big day."

"I am," Hermione said, setting a large pile of parchment down on her desk. "I've got copies of the latest verbiage, and I got confirmation from Amaia a couple days ago that they're just waiting on us before they start construction."

"I am incredibly ready for this," Royce Fiddlewood added. He gave Era a vicious look. "My department has been working overtime, preparing counter-arguments to objections people are likely to put up. I have facts and figures at the ready."

Hermione laughed. "With any luck, we won't need them."

Era scoffed.

"This is politics, Hermione," she reminded her. "Arguing is what it is."

Dumbledore called the Wizengamot to order, and everyone settled down. He addressed a lingering concern that had been brought up before (the import of foreign brooms without going through Ministry of Magic safety testing), with Ludo Bagman from the Department of Magical Games and Sports getting up to talk about it. Hermione stared as he talked, unable to get the weird story about the Unspeakable being obsessed with him out of her head.

She chanced a glance down the row at the Representative from the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakable was leaned back in their chair, hood drawn, digging at their filthy fingernails with what looked like a cursed dagger. The Unspeakable raised their head to look at her, and Hermione quickly looked away, flushing.

There was a brief vote to allow the Department of Magical Games and Sports jurisdiction over foreign broom imports (confirmed, 39 to 10) before Dumbledore announced that there was a new bill being proposed, causing a slight stir among those representatives not in the know.

"The Wizengamot recognizes Hermione Granger, representative for the British Youth."

Hermione picked up her stack of parchment and carefully walked down the stairs to the front. She had a mental image of tripping on the hem of her robe and tumbling down the stairs in front of everyone, so it was with measured, deliberate steps that she made her way to the floor. She opted to use the podium a bit unconventionally, setting her pile of parchments down on it, before turning to face her peers.

"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," Hermione began. "I bring to you a concern of the British Youth. It is a concern shared by many." She paused. "Werewolves."

There was a stir and murmur, many dubious looks exchanged.

"The British Youth have been terrified of werewolves for decades, and for good reason," Hermione said, looking around pointedly. "Being weaker than adults, they are the most likely to be targeted by werewolves. Fenrir Greyback is known to prey on children. And one bite can expose an entire community to a terrible risk."

"We already agreed to do the silver wards," Amycus Carrow complained.

"And for the children not in a tenancy?" Hermione challenged. "For those people who live in Diagon Alley, or above their shops in Hogsmeade?"

Amycus fell silent, grumbling.

"Wolfsbane is an expensive potion to brew, and it offers no guarantees," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Locking werewolves up is only as effective as is their willingness to lock themselves away. And giving them their own forest to run and roam is only safe if no poor soul ever chances their way in."

She moved back to the podium, picking up her stack of papers.

"There is one way to prevent more werewolf bites and protect the public," Hermione said firmly. "And that is to not have werewolves on British soil at all."

She threw the stack of parchment into the air, and there was a whirlwind as they were blown wildly about, a bill making its way onto the desk of every Wizengamot member. There was a shocked murmur and impressed glances at the wandless magic, and Hermione suppressed her grin. Drama had its place in rhetoric.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. He adjusted his half-moon glasses. "Let us go over this legislation before we discuss."

Hermione nodded and returned to her seat. Her own copy of the bill had made it to her desk, and as Dumbledore read the bill out loud, she followed along, very proud of her work.

.

.

A Bill to Prevent the Transformation of Werewolves

.

BE IT ENACTED BY THE WIZENGAMOT HERE ASSEMBLED THAT:

.

SECTION 1: Werewolves are hereby forbidden from transforming into werewolves on British soil. For the protection of all British citizens, all werewolves must spend full moon nights elsewhere.

.

SECTION 2: Werewolves will be sent to a safe house for the duration of each full moon night in order to prevent the dangerous and painful lycanthropic transformation.

— A. To facilitate this, all werewolves are required to register with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where they will receive a Moon-key. This list will be kept confidential and will not be accessible to the public.

— B. Each Moon-key will be an enchanted, reusable Portkey, designed to activate at the beginning of sunset before the night of a full moon. This Portkey will take the werewolf wearing it to the Auckland House of Irawaru's Chosen. The Portkey will reactivate and return them at the British dawn of the next day. The Portkey must be worn about the ankle at all times.

— C. As New Zealand is near the antipodes of the UK, it will be daytime upon the werewolves' arrival. They will be required to stay in the Auckland House of Irawaru's Chosen, which shall be equipped with beds, so they might sleep during the British night.

— D. In exchange, the British Ministry of Magic agrees to fund the creation of an equivalent facility, where the Moon-Mad individuals from New Zealand society will be transported to spend the day while the full moon night elapses in New Zealand, being transported back at the New Zealand dawn.

.

SECTION 3: Moon-keys will be funded through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (DRCMC).

— E. Maintaining the Werewolf Registry and the distribution and maintenance of Moon-keys will fall under the purview of the DRCMC.

— F. Initial funding to finance the creation of a House for the Moon-Mad of New Zealand to spend their full moon nights in will be generated through a charity fundraiser. The facility can be named at the discretion of whomever funds the majority of the facility (with the oversight of the DRCMC).

— G. Upkeep and maintenance for the house will fall under the annual budget for the DRCMC.

.

SECTION 4: Werewolves found in violation of this law without a Moon-key will be fined or jailed. Werewolves found creating other werewolves will be killed.

— H. If a werewolf is caught unregistered, and it is their first transformation, the werewolf will be taken to the Ministry of Magic to be registered and given a Moon-key. The DRCMC will provide the appropriate education on lycanthropy to the afflicted individual and advise them about laws pertaining to werewolves.

— I. If a werewolf is caught unregistered, and it is not their first transformation, they shall be fined 50 galleons and made to register with the DRCMC.

— J. If a werewolf is registered, but is caught transforming on British soil, they shall be fined 500 galleons and given a more powerful Moon-key that cannot be tampered with. The only exception to this is if the werewolf's Moon-key is found to have failed without any outside influence, as determined under the judgement of the court.

— K. If a werewolf is caught transforming on British soil more than once, harsher fines and jail time are to be used at the discretion of the court to ensure the werewolf's future compliance with the law.

— L. If a werewolf bites a human at any point and turns them into a lycanthrope, they shall be put to death. All the werewolf's earthly possessions and estate shall be turned over to the werewolf's victim(s).

.

SECTION 5: This bill will be enacted on September 1, 1994. All laws in conflict with this legislation are hereby declared null and void.

.

.

As Dumbledore finished reading, there was a murmur about the room.

"We will begin initial discussion," Dumbledore said.

"This is ridiculous and too expensive," Amycus Carrow snapped. "Werewolves aren't nearly the problem you're making them out to be."

"What do you care about expense, Carrow?" Augusta Longbottom snapped back. "That's up for the Ministry Departments to determine."

"Portkeys can't travel halfway around the globe," Geraint Weasley said flatly. "Great idea, but—"

"They can, actually," Muse Boothe drawled.

Geraint Weasley looked up at Muse. "I'm sorry, Miss, but they can't, actually. Portkeys work by—"

"I know how Portkeys work," Muse cut in. She grinned, eyes glinting. "I'm the rep from the Department of Magical Transportation, remember? And I say it will work."

Geraint faltered. "Ah, that's—"

"Just because your family's never been able to afford an international Portkey doesn't mean the rest of us are in a similar situation," Lucius Malfoy drawled. "Stop embarrassing yourself, Weasley."

"Oh, because you support this bill?" Macmillian snapped, defending Geraint as his ears turned red. "Worried about werewolves, are you?"

"I am, actually," Lucius said, folding his arms. "So soon you forget the woes of your own tenants, Macmillian. Or do you never speak to them to learn of their fears and needs?"

Hermione highly doubted that Malfoy truly gave a damn about his tenants either.

"Werewolves will never go for this," one of the local representatives protested. "Register with the Ministry? Leave their families for New Zealand once a month?"

"Werewolves are already supposed to register with the Ministry," Amelia Bones cut in. "And I damn well hope they're already spending that night away from their families!"

"Preventing the transformation would go a long way into helping these people keep jobs and live normal lives," one of the other regional representatives said. "The idea is what, they Portkey to New Zealand right before dusk, sleep in a building with blacked-out windows, and come back to the UK at dawn when the danger's passed?" He shrugged. "I don't see a downside."

"The downside is this is likely to enrage the werewolves further," Thoros Nott said, his deep voice resonating strongly. "Right now, the werewolves are a threat, but no more of one than usual. A new restriction like this is likely to anger them and cause them to act out more."

"Then we catch them," Amelia Bones snapped. "And punish them according to the new law."

"We can't not pass legislation for fear that what amounts to guerilla terrorists will act out," Barty Crouch said loudly. "What government cowers in the face of its people?"

"Making smart decisions isn't cowering," Yaxley snapped.

Argument broke out in the chamber, people yelling, and Dumbledore banged his gavel.

"Order!" he boomed. He looked out over them. "We will discuss this bill in an orderly manner. Please designate if you wish to speak using the controls at your desk." There was a murmur, and Dumbledore shot everyone a look. "The Wizengamot recognizes Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games."

Bagman ambled down the stairs to the floor, offering everyone a self-aware grin.

"Now, I don't know much about werewolves, but I do know they like forests," he said. "And—well, for the Quidditch World Cup, we've essentially got a giant stadium in the middle of a forest. The full moon's a few days before the World Cup game is set to begin, but when we have international guests Portkeying in for a couple weeks beforehand…"

Hermione sat back in her chair to listen, happy. The initial support seemed to be there, and now it'd just be a matter of settling on the specifics and arguing on timing and price.

Chapter Text

The Daily Prophet the next morning did not disappoint. Hermione enjoyed her breakfast to headlines of:

.

WIZENGAMOT DEBATES WEREWOLVES
New legislation proposes outlawing transformation

.

WEREWOLF SLEEPOVER WITH THE KIWIS
Proposed bill would send werewolves to New Zealand to spend full moon nights

.

WEREWOLVES IN THE WILD: MISUNDERSTOOD OR MURDEROUS?
Read our helpful guide to determine if werewolves are a threat to you!

.

There was also an opinion piece, with opposing viewpoints pitted against each other. One opinion argued that sending the werewolves halfway across the globe for a minibreak once a month at the Ministry's expense was ridiculous, claiming everyone would sign up to be a werewolf just for a free Portkey across the globe. The other argued that werewolves were a constantly growing problem, and that eventually, it would come down to either this legislation or locking them all up in Azkaban as a preventative measure.

There was little discussion at the breakfast tables over the headlines. It was just politics, which was largely boring and did not affect most students. Breakfast was filled with more complaints of late nights finishing essays and exam stress more than anything, but Hermione tuned out the conversations around her, watching Lupin and Snape at the Head Table as they read the paper. The Daily Prophet had gotten a copy of the full text of the bill and had printed it on page 5, and Hermione was curious to see how her teachers would react.

Lupin read over the paper without much of a reaction, his eyebrows rising very high, but he tilted his head as he read over the articles, nodding from time to time in mild agreement. Hermione wasn't sure what parts he was agreeing with, but she hoped he thought it was a good idea. He didn't like transforming, and she suspected he'd be happy to have somewhere safe to sleep one night a month.

Snape, though…

Snape's expression was inscrutable. Hermione couldn't read him at all – all she could see was that there was a hidden intensity in his emotion, betrayed by the tension in his knuckles, behind his eyes. She'd have to talk to Snape, Hermione decided. She wanted to know what he thought.

Hermione had just resolved to try and corner him after breakfast when she was grabbed and dragged to the side of the hall by an older Hufflepuff, a girl who looked at Hermione with shining eyes.

"Thank you," she said emphatically. She sniffed, wiping her face on her sleeve. "This… this is the first hope I've seen for them that might actually work."

The girl was vaguely familiar, and Hermione wracked her brain.

"…Éadaoin?" she ventured. "You were the one who ran against me, right?"

"Éadaoin Lobosca. And I did." Éadaoin wiped her eyes. "But I'm so glad you won and not me! I would have never thought of this. And now—my sister—"

She broke off again, sniffing hard and scrubbing at her eyes with her robes, and Hermione ventured a compassionate smile, though it came out like more of a wince.

"I-I'm glad it could help your sister," Hermione said. "Hopefully it passes. Get all your friends to write to their representatives to get them to vote for it. Ah, I have to go…"

Hermione escaped from the older girl, stepping back as a bunch of Gryffindor boys were pushing their way through and getting swept up in the traffic. She escaped further down, glancing warily down the hall.

"You're going to be her hero," came a derisive drawl from behind her. "She's going to love you."

Hermione turned to see Pansy smirking at her, Daphne smiling at her side.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "It's not even about that."

"You've saved her poor sister," Pansy said, her tone dripping. "How could she not worship the ground on which you walk?"

"The bill has to pass, first," Hermione said, making a face. "We're a long way from hero worship yet."

"It'll pass," Daphne said confidently. "My father wrote to me. The only real objectors are lowlifes who just like being argumentative so they can feel important. If you call for a vote next time, after people have had time to write to their representatives, the people for it will likely outweigh those against."

"You think?" Hermione bit her lip. "People were concerned it would upset the werewolves…"

"Well, if the goal was to avoid that, that Snitch has already flown, hasn't it?" Pansy said dryly. "It's plastered all over the papers. Greyback is bound to see it if he's anywhere there are newspapers. If they didn't want him upset, they should have made the Prophet keep their mouths shut."

"It'll be fine," Daphne hastily assured Hermione, who looked alarmed. "They'll vote to pass it, and we'll host the party in late July. It sounds like Ludo Bagman wants the facility built and fully operational before the World Cup as a safety measure, and the commerce that comes with the World Cup will help sway people who are on the fence…"

Hermione sighed.

"I hope so," she said. "I suppose we'll wait and see."

Exam preparation and review was fully underway in Hermione's classes, and it was oddly relieving for her to focus on nothing but her studies. With the Sirius Black matter taken care of, the Peter Pettigrew issue handled, and her legislation successfully introduced, Hermione only had one major thing besides exams left to worry about. And at this point, worrying about being blackmailed wouldn't accomplish anything – the Philosopher's Stone was working away, transmuting the Elixir of Life, and unless Hermione had a change of heart and decided to try and murder her blackmailer, there was nothing more she could do at this point.

Instead, she and her friends studied for exams outside together, reviewing charms and transfigurations, quizzing each other on theory. The entire school seemed to rejoice in the turn of weather and the lack of dementors, now that they had been removed back to Azkaban. It was a kind of manic freedom for a while, students running around and playing weird, made-up games, before people gradually grew reaccustomed to the peace.

It was lovely. Hermione felt like she could breathe again with the dementors gone and fully relax for the first time in a long time.

Draco was still trying to make up for being a bad friend. He and Theo came over to review Potions with Hermione, Tracey, Blaise, and Millie in the common room one night, and they all made plans to review charms in an empty classroom the next day. The charms review eventually turned into practice dueling with Hermione as referee, Theo and Blaise casting curses at each other as fast as they could, everyone else cheering from the sides. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and decidedly did not help any of them review Cheering Charms, but it was a fun and successful day nonetheless.

To Hermione's astonishment, Draco's attempts at friendship went beyond associating with her Slytherin friends – he approached her in the library when she was with Harry, Neville, and Ron, where they were all reviewing quietly at a back table.

"I saw your Arithmancy books," Draco said, nodding at Harry's textbook. Draco glanced at Hermione. "I wondered if you wanted to review together."

"We don't need your help, Malfoy," Ron sneered. "Go trick someone else."

"It's not a trick!" Draco protested. "I just thought—" He paused, considered something, before a slow smirk spread across his face. "You've got a low chance of getting higher than an A on the exam, Potter, with your lack of skill with runes. Do you really want to turn away my genius?"

Harry rolled his eyes but scooched his chair over, and it was with a triumphant grin that Draco joined their table, helping Harry with his Arithmancy review at the far end. Ron shot a venomous look at Malfoy, suspicious, which Draco ignored.

"Don't pay attention," Neville advised. "We have to get through this Potions review, Ron. How do you prepare rat spleen?"

Hermione finished her work before anyone else. While the others finished their own review sheets, she took out a book on Divination theory Fleur had sent her and started reading it very slowly.

"Is that in French?" Harry asked, looking over her shoulder. His eyes widened. "You can read French?"

"Not easily," Hermione admitted. "But did you know they don't teach Divination or Arithmancy at Beauxbatons? I wanted to know why."

"Because they're rubbish at it?" Draco suggested, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"My grandmother said something about that once," Neville said, reflective. "They disagree with it on like… a different level. It's not that they can't do divination, but that you shouldn't do anything to glimpse the future."

"It's a philosophical objection," Hermione said, nodding. "I wanted to read their arguments to learn more about why. But…"

"They're all in French?" Draco finished for her. He grinned. "No translations yet available?"

"Shut up," Hermione groaned. "It was worth a try."

Hermione also found herself, rather unexpectedly, helping the Ravenclaws and Blaise with their final essays for Muggle Studies. They'd each been assigned a topic to write about, and Professor Burbage had deliberately assigned them things not covered in the textbook. The types of questions her classmates had for her boggled her mind.

"So explain this to me again," Terry Boot said, looking at Hermione very seriously. "This device, this 'binder'."

"It stores papers," Hermione repeated. "Muggles use paper, not parchment. It's a set size – about a foot – and it doesn't roll up. They punch holes in the papers and put them in order on the rings of the binder to stay organized."

"They punch them?" Anthony Goldstein repeated, incredulous.

"There's a tool they use that punch tiny holes, maybe a quarter of an inch across," Hermione said quickly. "They're not fighting their papers."

"So they destroy tiny parts of their papers," Terry said, "to string them up in an order." He paused. "Is there a reason they could not use a folder?"

Hermione paused. "Well, you can't really turn pages as naturally in a folder. And it's harder for larger documents."

"And why don't they bind them?"

"You can rearrange pages in a binder," Hermione explained. "You can't rearrange pages in a book once it's bound."

"If they want to rearrange the pages, why did they put them in the wrong order in the first place?"

Anthony was grinning widely at Terry's questions. Anthony had gotten an easier item – a thermostat – which was so easily compared to a localized weather-controlling charm that he'd finished his essay before anyone else.

"What did you say was the bad thing about glitters?" Mandy asked, looking up from her essay. "They kill fish?"

"Glitter is considered a microplastic," Hermione said patiently. "Because microplastics are so tiny, they usually end up getting past filters and ending up in water ways and oceans, where they can affect the wildlife."

"What are you writing so much for?" Michael Corner wanted to know, leaning over to look at Blaise's essay. "You've only got a bloody window."

"I got stained glass," Blaise corrected. "And do you know the history of this stuff? It's way more culturally important than just 'a window'."

"How do you know the history of it, anyway?"

"Because I'm not culturally ignorant," Blaise said curtly. "There's stained glass everywhere in Italy. You don't have to be a muggle to appreciate the beauty."

Michael sniffed. "Whatever. It's just glass."

"What did you get?" Anthony asked. "Muggle spellotape?"

"Masking tape," Michael corrected. He frowned down at his parchment. "As far as I can tell, it's just blasted tape. I don't know the difference between this and Spellotape."

Gently, Hermione began to explain the difference, how masking tape was made by adding an adhesive to paper, whereas other tapes were an adhesive applied to a very thin layer of cellulose. Anthony shot her a grateful look (as Michael was in a mood and certainly wouldn't express gratitude himself), and Blaise was tapping his quill against his lips.

"Do you think Burbage would give me extra credit if I tried to make a stained-glass window?" he asked.

"No," said Terry pointedly. "That'd be incredibly unfair. I can't just 'make' a binder. Anthony can't just 'make' a thermostat."

"Bother." Mandy sighed deeply. "How am I supposed to get another 6 inches on glitter? I should have just taken Magical Creatures instead."

One thing that caught Hermione off-guard, though, was the lack of other classmates wanting to study with her. The previous year, the first years had asked her questions when they needed help – she was known for being kind and patient and helping. This year, only the Slytherin younger years seemed to be asking her for help, and only in the common room, never the library. Hermione remarked on it to her coven one day as they worked on essays under a tree.

"It's not like anything's changed," Hermione said. "And it's not like I'm upset that they're not asking me for help. I just wish I knew why."

"You're evil now, Hermione, remember?" Luna said.

Hermione shot Luna a sharp look. "Excuse me, what?"

Susan sighed heavily. "No, I've got the same problem. It's not just you."

Hermione looked to Susan, who gave her a melancholy look.

"I can tell everyone over and over again that covens are honorable, that they are good, but the fact is, a lot of people still think covens exist to use Dark magic," she said. She sighed. "I didn't realize at first, really – it was subtle – but people have definitely started treating me differently in Hufflepuff. Not being mean to me. Just… avoiding me."

"They don't want you to curse them," Luna explained. "If they think you're doing Dark magic frequently, they wouldn't want to attract your notice."

"Luna, have you noticed people avoiding you?" Hermione asked.

Luna blinked. She tilted her head, considering.

"I honestly don't know if I'd be able to tell," she said. "Most people avoided me from before the coven announcement."

"I have," Harry said. He frowned. "Seamus and I had a row about it one night, but Ron and Neville sided with me, so it was fine. Lavender and Parvarti keep making snide comments, though."

"Why do you care what Lavender Brown thinks?" Blaise asked incredulously.

"I don't." Harry made a face. "But Ron seems to fancy her, and he's concerned that if she dislikes me, it will rub off on him, and then Lavender won't agree to go to Hogsmeade with him."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "He's going to ask her out?"

"I doubt it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But he likes to imagine he'll find the courage someday."

Being aware of the cause made Hermione notice her quiet ostracization more. It was subtle – people veering around her in the halls, scared looks being shot after her in the library, whispers as she entered the Great Hall. People in Slytherin, though, seemed to have the opposite reaction – she got nods of approval and respect from the older Slytherins, and a few of the younger ones looked at her with something like worship in their eyes.

Slytherin was the house where ambition and power mattered, and the house was not necessarily worried about whether magic was 'light' or 'dark' or in between. They respected the fact she'd made a coven, helped Professor Binns pass on, and helped their Head Girl conceive a child. Hermione found herself grouchily comparing other houses to Slytherin and dismissing them as short-sighted and superstitious, isolating her because they didn't understand what a coven really was.

In an odd way, Hermione found she missed helping the younger students. She'd liked being able to help them, and it made her feel like a junior Head Girl, in a way, or a tutor. She mentioned it to Blaise after seeing a few second years go to Hannah Abbot for help in Transfiguration (Hannah Abbot! Over her!), and Blaise gave her a commiserating look.

"We could get the focus off of us," Blaise suggested. "If it still bothers you. We could help a group of firsties in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff make a coven, and then everyone will be looking at them."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Hermione complained. "And I don't know any first years in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."

Blaise's eyes gleamed. "Then why do you care what they think of you?"

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. She didn't like that he had a point.

Chapter Text

Hermione awoke one Thursday in late May, yawned, and readied herself for Herbology and double Potions. She always made sure to wear the same robe on Thursdays so only one of her robes got excessively dirty, while the others stayed nice. She pinned her hair back as best she could and headed down to the Great Hall, idly wondering if they'd have fresh fruit.

She was enjoying some sliced pineapple and chatting idly with Blaise about the Arithmancy homework when the morning owls arrived. Many of them came bearing the day's Daily Prophet, and as soon as Hermione saw the headlines, it was as if her heart stopped, and the world seemed to fall apart.

.

WEREWOLF ATTACK AT THE MINISTRY!
Seven injured, three in critical condition

.

the main headline blared. The moving photo was of Ministry workers panicking and hiding behind a doorway, with Aurors shooting spells at actual werewolves, who were snapping their jaws and clearly trying to get to the cowering wizards. There was a photo of messages written in blood on the wall of the Ministry, and right below was the next bomb of a headline:

.

PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES WITH WEREWOLF PACK!
Holding cell bars found ripped off with wolf teeth marks embedded in them

.

The photo was of bent cell bars with teeth marks on them, the cell noticeably empty.

"Merlin," Blaise breathed, his eyes wide as he looked at the paper. "What happened…?"

Horrified, Hermione read as fast as she could.

.

WEREWOLF ATTACK AT THE MINISTRY!
Seven injured, three in critical condition

On Wednesday night, a pack of werewolves attacked the Ministry of Magic. It is believed the werewolves entered the Ministry during the afternoon as regular guests and hid until the sun went down and they transformed. Ministry workers still at the Ministry that evening report running and hiding while fearing for their lives.

"I was working a bit late, trying to reconcile some of the Portkeys we're arranging for the World Cup, when I heard screaming," said Miriam Edgecombe, from the Department of Magical Transportation. "The next thing I know, the entire Magical Games and Sports department is spilling out from the stairwell, werewolves hot on their heels."

Seven Ministry workers were injured during the attack. They have all been transported to Saint Mungo's, where three are reported to be in critical condition.

"We did the best we could," said Lyle Crowley, from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "We all eventually took refuge in the Magical Creatures department, where they had old silver wards embedded in the doors and a few silver holding cages. But not everyone made it."

The werewolves left clear messages on the walls of the Ministry Atrium, reading "you will not collar us" and "we will not be leashed" in blood. These messages are believed to be in response to recently proposed legislation which would require werewolves to wear a Portkey at all times to prevent transformation on British soil.

"This was planned," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Wild werewolves cannot spell words or paint with blood. That means there were several werewolves who had taken enough Wolfsbane to keep their minds about them, and then deliberately decided to attack people anyway."

The attack is believed to have been led by Fenrir Greyback. Greyback is a notorious werewolf known for purposefully infecting others with lycanthropy and leading a pack of werewolves that run wild during the full moon. It is believed he has the eventually goal of recruiting enough werewolves to build an army to take over the wizarding community.

"Of course it was bloody Greyback," said Bones. "He left his bloody badge right at the base of his message, didn't he?"

This attack brings the werewolf question to the forefront of everyone's minds.

"Rest assured, the Minister is taking this matter very seriously," said Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Senior Undersecretary of the Minister. "Right now, he is with the victims of this terrible attack and their families. But I think I speak for us all when I say the Ministry must not allow this to happen ever again."

.

The accompanying photo spread didn't make it any less horrific. Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu looking at blood-splashed messages on the walls of the Ministry, so oddly similar to the message about the Chamber of Secrets she'd seen in her second year. These messages, though, were not written in chicken blood – these had been written with the blood of humans.

Another photo was a close-up of a visitor badge that had been found beneath one of the messages, reading:

Fenrir Greyback
Terrorist Attack

Swallowing hard, Hermione went on to the next story.

.

PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES WITH WEREWOLF PACK!
Holding cell bars found ripped off with wolf teeth marks embedded in them

Peter Pettigrew escaped from the Ministry of Magic late Wednesday night, where he was being held for sentencing. Pettigrew had recently been found guilty of the murder of twelve muggles and the Potters. He was being held in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Peter Pettigrew is a known rat Animagus," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Azkaban is not equipped to hold someone who can turn into a rat. We were keeping him in a specially-enchanted holding cell on our floor while an appropriate cell was prepared for him at the prison."

Pettigrew's cell was found with the cell bars bent and broken, with wolf teeth marks embedded in the ripped-off bars. It is believed Pettigrew was purposefully targeted for this jailbreak by the werewolf pack.

"Werewolves don't target Animagi," said Amaranthe Tove, from the Animagus department. "They target humans. As soon as he was free, he would have been able to transform and stay safe."

The implications of this rescue are grim. Pettigrew is a known Death Eater who betrayed the Potters to You-Know-Who. Some fear the werewolves making a point of rescuing Pettigrew betrays their terrible plans.

"You-Know-Who allied with the werewolves and Dark creatures last time to help him overthrow the Ministry of Magic," said Tove. "If they decide they want his help to free them from this potential law, stealing a follower to help them locate You-Know-Who isn't the worst idea in the world."

.

Hermione felt a cold hand slowly closing over her throat, horror clutching her heart.

"I did this," she breathed.

"What?" Blaise said sharply, turning to look at her.

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I did this," she said. Her voice came out strangled. "This is my fault. If I hadn't introduced that legislation—"

Blaise reacted immediately, grabbing her hand and cutting off her words.

"This is not your fault," he told her firmly. "Look at me. Look at me, Hermione. This is not your fault."

"But it is," Hermione said, her eyes shining. "If I hadn't introduced that legislation, Greyback wouldn't have attacked all those people. Pettigrew wouldn't have gotten free. Blaise, this is—I—"

"Greyback is the one who decided to attack the Ministry," Blaise told her. "That is not on you. You were trying to help the werewolves."

"Yes, but look what happened! Seven people got savaged, and three of them might die—"

There was a whirl of a black cloak in the corner of Hermione's gaze as Snape suddenly appeared from nowhere. "Miss Granger. Come with me."

Hermione looked up to see Snape looking down at her, his face stony. She rapidly blinked her welling tears away, not wanting to cry in front of her teacher.

"Is it necessary she come now, sir?" Blaise asked. "Now's really not a good time—"

"It is imperative that it be now. Miss Granger?"

Hermione gathered up her bag, shoving the paper inside it and snagging a couple apples before following Snape out of the Great Hall. She glanced back at the Head Table as she left; Lupin and Dumbledore were nowhere to be seen, but McGonagall and Sprout looked very, very pale.

Snape led her down to his office, where he ushered her in and promptly locked the door. To her surprise, he moved his chair out from behind his desk to sit down across from her. His dark eyes met hers, and Hermione willed her eyes to remain dry.

She didn't manage it; the tears started leaking, and soon Hermione was crying as quietly as she could, unable to stop while Snape sat there nearby. His eyes weren't judging, and his solid presence seemed oddly comforting somehow, and he let her cry for a little while, silently offering companionship.

Eventually, her tears slowed, and Hermione looked up at Snape, who nodded.

"In my experience, guilt is a powerful feeling," Snape said quietly. "It can consume you, if you aren't careful."

"How can I not feel guilty?" Hermione asked, her voice coming out like a wail. She hiccuped. "It's my fault. If I hadn't proposed that legislation—"

"You could not have known what would happen before it did," Snape said gently. "You could not have known how the dominoes would fall."

"I could have, though," Hermione said. "Theo's dad even said at the Wizengamot—he said it could enrage the werewolves further—"

"It could have also had the werewolves celebrate you as a hero for finding a reasonable solution for handling their affliction," Snape said. "It could have also had the werewolves run away to form their own society on an island. You had no way of knowing how things would unfold."

"I could have run the numbers," Hermione said. "Arithmancy—I would have known the odds—"

"Hermione." Snape steepled his hands, exhaling. "I am close friends with Professor Vector, who is an Arithmancy genius. And even she would say this: you could not have known."

Hermione sniffed and hiccuped. Snape's eyes softened.

"There are too many variables, and we can never know exactly what the future holds," Snape said quietly. "I understand you feel responsible for this. But the best way to handle this is to make sure it never happens again."

"What, to keep pushing the legislation?" She sniffed again, wiping her nose. "I mean, it would mean no more easy werewolf attacks, but they'd have to catch all the renegade ones first—"

"That will help," Snape said. "In my experience, working to atone and make amends helps alleviate the guilt the most."

"What, from personal experience?" Hermione looked up at Snape, curious despite her upset state.

"I am only human. I have my own issues with guilt," Snape said. "I know what it is to be in the situation of having hurt those you were trying to protect or help."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, unable to help herself.

Snape's lips thinned, and he looked away.

"Something I will regret to my dying day," he said quietly.

Snape stood and went over to his desk. He pulled a piece of parchment from his top drawer and brought it over. He held it aloft and raised an eyebrow, and somehow, Hermione understood.

"Gemino."

The duplicate floated down from the air, and as Snape went to replace his own parchment, Hermione looked at the one she'd copied, Snape's spiky script making a list.

1. Name your guilt
2. Explore the source
3. Apologize and make amends
4. Self-compassion
5. Learn from the past
6. Guilt as a tool
7. Talk to people
8. Practice mindfulness
9. Forgive yourself
10. Let go

"What is this?" she asked.

"A list," Snape said dryly. He sat down again. "It was supposed to help me with my own guilt complex."

Hermione blinked. "Did it?"

Snape sighed. "Somewhat."

They sat there in silence for a moment, both looking down at the list. Finally, Snape took a deep breath.

"Over the course of last year, I realized I was being unfair and unjust," Snape said. "I was doing it because I was holding on to a lot of guilt and hatred. I… have been trying to work through it. Slowly."

Hermione suddenly had the mental image of Snape laying back on a chaise lounge, talking to a muggle psychiatrist who was rapidly writing on a pad.

"The list has helped," Snape went on. "I have named my guilt; I know the source. I am… trying to make amends, and I have learned from the past. But being mindful of the guilt helps it not… consume me, as it once threatened to."

He looked at her, black eyes steady on hers.

"Guilt can consume you," he told her quietly. "It nearly consumed me. And you have too many people counting on you, Miss Granger, to allow it to consume you."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the list Snape had given her. She crinkled the edges slightly with a finger, toying with it, before she took a deep breath.

"I feel guilty," she said, "because people got hurt because of me. I feel guilty because I feel like I should have known that a werewolf attack was a possible consequence of my legislation, and I didn't think about that before I proposed it."

Snape nodded. "Good."

"And—I didn't mean to," Hermione said, choking on her words. She blinked furiously, fighting the tears back. "I'm sorry – I would tell the hurt people in person, I never meant—"

"An apology should not be just an outpouring of emotion." Snape's eyes were dark. "To make an effective apology, Miss Granger, you need to acknowledge your role, show remorse, avoid making excuses, and ask for forgiveness."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I… I am at fault… partially at fault," she corrected, at Snape's sharp look, "for not anticipating how the werewolf community might react. If I had been more careful, I could have made sure the Wizengamot session was a sealed session or asked for a confidentiality order. Because I did not, people got hurt."

Snape nodded. "Better."

"I am sorry," Hermione said, her voice breaking a bit. "I never intended it to happen, and I am so sorry it did, and sorry that I played a role in it. I should have done better, I should have anticipated more, I should have been more responsible." She took a deep breath. "I will do better in the future. I will."

"The most heartfelt apology means nothing if you never do things differently going forward," Snape said. "What amends will you make? Can you commit to change?"

"I can… I can make amends by making sure the legislation goes through." She bit her lip. "To make sure it doesn't happen again. And by trying to protect the Ministry from attack in the future, maybe. Somehow."

"Ministry security is likely out of your reach," Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

"That's fair," Hermione sighed. "But… I can commit to being more thoughtful. To anticipating what might happen as after-effects of my actions. I can learn from the past."

"Can you?" Snape asked mildly. "What would you have done differently, if you got to do it all over again?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I would have asked for a sealed session," she said. "That the bill not be announced until it'd been voted on. I would have… I would have been more cognizant of the werewolf community that wouldn't want to be helped."

"But you would have still proposed your bill?"

"Yes." Hermione was certain on that. "I still think it's the right thing to do. I still think I'm helping. I just… didn't consider all the after-effects of it all."

"Then you made a mistake," Snape said. "That makes you human. It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I never thought I was a bad person!" Hermione objected. "I just thought—I just feel—"

She broke off, unable to articulate the awful feeling eating her stomach and choking her, and after a moment, Snape nodded.

"Forgiving yourself is crucial to moving on," he said. "It involves four steps: taking responsibility for your actions, expressing remorse and regret without letting it transform into shame, committing to making amends for any harm you caused, and practicing self-acceptance and trusting yourself to do better in the future."

"Four steps," Hermione said. "Right." She paused. "Err—first was—"

"Taking responsibility for your actions," Snape said.

"Right. So. I did that. I acknowledge part of this was my fault. I have expressed remorse." She bit her lip. "I'll do my best to make amends for the harm I caused. And I…"

"You need to trust yourself to do better in the future," Snape said.

Hermione paused, and Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Do you not—"

"I don't know if I can trust myself," Hermione admitted, looking down. "To do better, I mean. I know I'm impulsive, and I don't often look past my end goal to see what's down the road."

The ghost of a smile touched Snape's lips. "No one, Miss Granger, has ever said change was easy."

Hermione gnawed on her lip, thinking.

"I… I trust myself to try to do better," she said. "But that's not quite good enough, is it? So… I'll try to tell my friends. And others. If I can't see past my end goal, maybe they will, and they can tell me what I need to watch for and be aware of. And that way, I can reduce the harm caused in advance." She looked up at Snape. "Changing myself and my flaws is hard, but it's at least a little easier to account for the personality flaw and mitigate it in advance, right?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. Hermione winced.

"Err—so self-acceptance is next, right?" she prompted. "In order to forgive myself?"

Snape sighed.

"It is." He fixed her with a look. "You will need to sit with your emotions and allow yourself to feel them. Feel them, acknowledge them, and then let them go."

"Just… sit?" Hermione already felt terrible. She didn't think deliberately stewing in this awful, suffocating feeling would help her in any way.

"Meditate. Practice mindfulness," Snape instructed. "Feel, acknowledge, and let go. Accept your mistakes and your limits and your flaws. You are only human, and no human is perfect."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "I just… I wish I could be, sometimes, you know?" She looked up at Snape earnestly. "I mean, I feel guilty now for my mistake, but I feel guilty other times for not doing more. Like, if I didn't 'accept my limits', would I be able to help people more? If I were perfect, would I know what the best thing to do would be?"

Snape sighed very deeply, and a wry smile touched his lips.

"Only you, Miss Granger," he said, "would feel guilty for not being God."

Chapter Text

Snape's advice helped. After a couple days of misery and meditation, Hermione managed to recognize when she was feeling guilt, acknowledge it, and dismiss it as having served its function. It still felt awful, and she still felt the oppressive feeling like she was choking from time to time, guilt strangling her throat and voice, but having acknowledged her guilt and her culpability helped, in an odd way. It made it easier to recognize when and why she was feeling guilty, and it became easier to focus on the future and let the past go.

Determined to do better, Hermione made an honest effort at trying to figure out what would happen in the future if she carried out her biggest plan. The caveat here was she couldn't ask anyone who didn't either already know, or who was intelligent enough to put together why she had been asking in retrospect after the anticipated event occurred.

This resulted in an extremely limited list of people.

"The Dementors?" Lockhart asked, blinking. "What do you mean, Miss Granger?"

"We didn't always have them, did we?" Hermione repeated. "Only after the Dark wizard Ekrizdis died and they found his fortress. What happened to prisoners before then? Was there a prison? Who guarded it?"

Lockhart toyed with a quill thoughtfully.

"I know that there had been small, local prisons before the International Statue of Secrecy. There were problems with breakouts that attracted muggle attention, I recall," he said. "They originally planned on building a purposeful wizarding prison on some remote Hebridean island, but Minister Rowle instead insistied on using Azkaban after his election."

"And… people were just okay with it?" Hermione ventured. "With Dementors?"

"Well, no," Lockhart admitted. "But giving the Dementors a target to haunt dealt with that problem, and the zero percent breakout rate went a long way to convincing the public."

"But everyone there is insane," Hermione said. "If they weren't when they got there, they go mad fast."

"Been reading Eldritch Diggory's investigative reports, have you?" Lockhart said, grinning. Light seemed to glint off his perfect white teeth. "You're right – Minister Diggory was horrified by the conditions of the prison. He didn't have a way to deal with the Dementors, though, and he died of Dragon Pox before he could figure one out."

"What do you think would have happened?" Hermione asked. "If he had?"

"If he had figured out how to handle the dementors?" Lockhart mused. "Well, I imagine he'd have put in trained wizards as guards. There probably would be a more substantial break-out rate, I imagine – the dementors keep the current prisoners fairly drained of magic, as well as mad – so it probably wouldn't have been a popular decision." He gave her a sympathetic look. "History is very cruel, at times. The reality is that once prisoners are out of sight and mind, most people no longer care what happens to them."

Hermione sighed. "Thank you, sir."

Tom Riddle was even more unhelpful.

"They'll hire guards, won't they?" he said. "It seems obvious. It's not like they're going to just abandon the prisoners on an island to govern themselves." He paused. "Though – it would be quite funny if they did. I wonder what sort of twisted government they'd come up with."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Magical Australia?"

Tom snickered. "Maybe."

Hermione went to her friends last. Though she very much didn't want anyone in her coven to know about her plans so they would be protected in the event there were unexpected legal repercussions from her actions, Hermione suspected at least one of her coven had figured out her plans.

Or, at least, knew what she planned to do.

"What would happen to Azkaban without the dementors?" Luna said, blinking. "You mean after your plans on Midsummer?"

"This is a hypothetical situation," Hermione hissed, eyes darting around in alarm. "I am just curious."

"Of course." Luna hummed. "Well, the question isn't really 'what would happen to Azkaban', is it?"

Hermione blinked. "It isn't?"

"I doubt it. A prison is a prison, after all – if there are no old guards, you just find new guards to guard it." Luna's eyes were a very clear blue, unclouded. "People won't care about that as much as they will about what happened to the dementors."

"They'll care about the dementors?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "Luna, everyone hates dementors—"

"Yes, of course," Luna cut her off. "But think, Hermione – if the Minister suddenly wakes up one morning to news of all the Dementors just being gone, what's he going to think?"

Hermione paused. "Err—he's going to want to know what happened, I guess?"

"And if he goes to Azkaban and finds evidence of someone powerful destroying them all – one person – people are going to get scared," Luna said. "They'll suspect Voldemort, I imagine – who else would have a motive to lessen security at the prison where most of his followers are held?"

Hermione bit her lip. "That... that's valid."

"If people think Voldemort's returned to power, you'll have mass hysteria," Luna said, playing with her hair. "Scared people are stupid people. That's a much larger issue to deal with than just 'who will guard the prison'."

Hermione blinked.

"That's… a really, really good point, Luna," Hermione admitted. "That's probably exactly what would happen."

"I know." Luna tilted her head. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Explain to me why people blaming it on Voldemort would be a bad thing," Tom Riddle wanted to know. He was standing over Hermione, his hands on his hips as she practiced Fiendfyre in the Chamber of Secrets, the Elixir of Life carefully moved off into a large pipe and out of the way.

"It will cause panic and hysteria, which no one wants," Hermione said. She flicked her wand, and the rat made of hellfire disappeared. "They might cancel the World Cup? And overreacting to the wrong threat seems like a bad thing for the government to be doing."

"Good. Again," Tom instructed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malignis Fiendfyre."

A giant peacock of flame erupted from the end of her wand, fluttering and running around the Chamber, and Hermione held a tight leash of control on it, even as she managed to refocus and partially listen to Tom.

"—care what the government says or does," he was saying. "If you're really that worried, use that fear."

"Use it?" Hermione repeated. Her peacock morphed into a vulture of flame. "How?"

"Make sure you're seen."

Hermione flicked her wand, and the vulture disappeared in a large plume of smoke and fire as she whirled around to look at Tom, her eyes wide.

"Be seen?" she said incredulously. "Tom, the whole point is to not get caught—"

"I'm not saying get caught," Tom said patiently. "But it's not as if you intend on freeing the prisoners, is it? Some of them are bound to see you, and a few will be coherent enough to give witness statements."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"And if they identify me?" she said. "Just—allow them to arrest me for wanton destruction—"

"You're not imagining this properly," Tom chided. "You're imagining a typical witness statement. Imagine it from the perspective of a crazy person."

Hermione shook her head, not getting it. Tom rolled his eyes and abruptly dropped to the ground. He ran his fingers through his hair several times, messing it up, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were unnaturally wide.

"It was like an angel of fire," he breathed rapturously. "She came and destroyed the demons, and she smiled at me as she passed, and it was as if I had seen the face of God—"

"What did she look like?" Hermione prompted, getting into the roleplay.

"Like an angel," Tom sighed dreamily. "Fire and power lit up her face, and her eyes burned into my soul."

"What color hair did she have?" Hermione insisted. "What color eyes?"

"It was dark except for the fire," Tom objected. "All I could see was the purifying fire and righteousness of her cause—"

Hermione snickered, dropping her character.

"Okay, I take your point. Still, it seems risky," she said, musing. She tapped her wand to her lips, thinking. "It would only take one prisoner to see me and remember enough to bring everything crashing down."

"Why would they betray you like that?" Tom asked. "To them, you are an angel, delivering them from evil and harm. They're in Azkaban – they're not there because they have experience in ratting people out. And they're not going to care that you're using Dark magic to do it."

"And when the Ministry gets reports of a woman destroying the dementors on her own?" Hermione asked cynically. "What then?"

Tom shrugged. "At least they won't be worrying about Voldemort?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, lifted her wand, and resolved to try again.

Chapter Text

The next Wizengamot session was in an uproar as soon as it was convened. Dumbledore was banging his gavel loudly, trying to restore control and decorum, but people were yelling and shouting from the outset.

"—said would happen!" crowed Amycus Carrow triumphantly. "Did we not warn you? Did we not say—"

"It's too late – that ship has sailed, Carrow!" snapped Sirius Black. "What we have to decide now is what to do about it!"

"Appeasement is not an option." Augusta Longbottom's face was like stone. "This must never happen again."

"If we enact this legislation, it's not like Greyback is going to just come into the Ministry and register!" protested Yaxley. "This won't do anything!"

"Won't do anything?" Royce Fiddlewood stood up, outraged. "It will help the dozens of good werewolves the Ministry currently has on file. They'll be able to become upstanding citizens again – they'll be able to hold a job once more—"

"It'll give us legal backing to go after Greyback, you moron," Amelia Bones snapped at Yaxley. "If this passes, and he doesn't register? Now we have a high priority criminal on the loose. And then we go and capture him."

"Why can't you just do that now?" Phaedra whined.

"Current legislation on werewolves governs their occupations and activities," Fudge cut in. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It doesn't actually give guidelines on punishment or handling them."

"Then let this bill replace it!" Era Hornbeam cried. "Portkey them, catch the ones that won't, and deal with it once and for all. We could be free of werewolves entirely in a generation!"

There was a murmur at this, and it was enough of a break in the furor that Dumbledore was able to bang his gavel and regain control.

"We must make a decision," he said, his voice loud in the chamber. He looked around at them all assembled through his half-moon glasses, and Hermione felt like he was meeting everyone's eyes. "This matter cannot be left to languish on the floor. We need, at the least, a preliminary vote."

"I second that!" called out Minister Fudge, blustering. "Let's vote."

"Raise your paddles," Dumbledore instructed. "White to pass this bill, black to deny it."

Hermione raised her paddle white in an instant, Era and Royce next to her doing the same. She leaned forward and looked down her row – Muse Boothe from Magical Transportation was white, as was Ludo Bagman and the Unspeakable. If she looked down the other way—

There was a loud DONGGG, and Hermione whipped around to look at Dumbledore in astonishment. Dumbledore looked slightly shaken himself.

"By a unanimous vote," Dumbledore said, "the bill to prevent the transformation of werewolves passes—"

He was interrupted by cheering, most of it from the regional representatives and the Ministry workers sitting near Hermione. Hermione joined with Era and Royce, yelling in triumph and joy until Dumbledore cut them off.

"—must discuss the present!" Dumbledore boomed. "This legislation is not set to take effect until September. The World Cup is in August. And the people will want protection now. We must discuss the particulars of enacting the bill."

"The House of Greengrass will volunteers to plan and fund the charity fundraiser as specified in section 3F," Rowan Greengrass said immediately, standing up.

"House of Black volunteers to help fund it," Sirius Black said immediately, jumping to his feet. "I can't plan shit, but I can contribute gold—"

"If I might contribute?" said Muse Boothe, standing up. "The Portkey office is already pulling overtime and long hours to prepare for the World Cup. Throwing a few dozen more Portkeys into the queue now would barely make a dent. We could have them done in a fortnight."

"They'd have no place to go," objected Phaedra. "The Kiwis still need to build a house—"

"We could send them all to an abandoned island off the coast in the meantime?" one of the regional representatives suggested. "It's not ideal, but it'd be a temporary solution that the werewolves might go for."

"They'd still be exhausted in the morning, and then they won't be able to hold down a job—"

"Then we talk to New Zealand, and we see if they can speed their construction up—"

As discussion and debate continued, Hermione felt herself detach from the chamber, the noise of the Wizengamot blurring to meaningless noise in her ears. She looked straight ahead, but it was as if she couldn't see anything, even though her eyes were fine.

She had done it. She had done it.

She had set out what she'd promised to do.

Sure, it would need finishing – she had to figure out how to get art pieces from werewolves for one thing, and she had to talk to Amaia and let her know it had gone through – but the legislation had passed. It had passed.

She sat there with a small smile as the adults around her bickered about budgets and schedules and the logistics of everything. She was feeling quietly proud – she had helped, she had helped people like Professor Lupin, and maybe now, maybe someday, nobody would ever be attacked again—

She was rudely brought back to earth by Lucius Malfoy approaching her after the Wizengamot session had ended, as she waited for Dumbledore to finish up his clerical business.

"Congratulations," Lucius said, looking at her. "It is not every child representative who gets legislation passed."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, a smile spreading across her lips. "And I'm not every child."

"I am well aware." An answering smirk grew on Lucius' face. "However, I do wonder at the timing. Don't you?"

Hermione paused. "The timing?"

"With Greyback," Lucius elaborated. "If he hadn't attacked the Ministry, it's likely your bill would have languished in committee or been tabled for further discussion several times."

"I—I didn't realize that would happen." Hermione looked down at her feet. "It didn't occur to me that Greyback would take offense and attack over the legislation—"

Lucius laughed. It was high and cold, utterly devoid of humor, and it sent chills down Hermione's spine.

"Miss Granger, it is very likely that Greyback did not," he told her.

Hermione looked up. "…what?"

"Fenrir Greyback is akin to a wild animal," Lucius explained, raising an eyebrow. "He does not keep track of what wizards are doing. Even with the bill being reported in the Prophet—I would be surprised if he's read a newspaper in the past thirty years."

Hermione wasn't following. "Then—what are you saying?"

Lucius' eyebrow went up.

"Why, Hermione," he purred. "Someone must have told him." His smirk grew. "Someone who knew him. Someone who wanted very badly for this bill to pass."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"You think—someone—on purpose—"

"Miss Granger? Are you quite ready to go?"

Hermione whirled around to see Dumbledore waiting patiently. He was smiling benignly, but there was worry behind his eyes.

"Ah, yes, sir," she said quickly. She hurried to his side, and Dumbledore smiled at Lucius Malfoy.

"Have a good evening, Lucius," he said pleasantly. "Give my regards to Narcissa."

Lucius scowled as Dumbledore led Hermione away. They went down the hallway and to the elevator back to the Atrium.

"Was that a slight, sir?" Hermione asked Dumbledore, once they were in the lift. "Because Narcissa doesn't come to the Wizengamot meetings anymore?"

Dumbledore blinked.

"Is that how you Slytherins interpret things?" He sounded amused. "I was just trying to be polite. I thought it kind to send my regards to his wife."