Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall stepped into the dimly lit foyer of Wool's Orphanage, and her eyes swept the room. The outside gave the place an air of neglect, and the inside wasn't any better, with paint peeling from the walls and a faint smell of mildew in the air. A stern woman with graying hair tied back in a tight bun, the orphanage's matron, she assumed, stood at the foot of the stairs, her hands clasped behind her back. She greeted the witch with a nod.
“Professor McGonagall, was it?” the woman asked, her tone brisk but polite. “I am Victoria Doyle, the orphanage's matron. It is my understanding that you wish to meet with one of the children under my care?”
“Yes,” McGonagall replied calmly. “I’m here to speak with Hermione Granger. There’s an important matter to discuss with her.”
The matron nodded curtly. "Right this way then." She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs, the professor following her closely behind. While they were walking through the dark and dreary halls, she quietly cast a compulsion charm on the matron to leave her and Hermione alone once they reached where she was taking her.
They stopped at a door, and the matron knocked twice before opening the door and walking inside with Professor McGonagall. On the other side of the door was a dimly lit room where a young girl with bushy brown hair sat at a rickety wooden table, her nose buried in a thick, worn book, clearly not having heard the knocks.
The matron cleared her throat. “Hermione, this is Professor McGonagall, and she is here to see you.”
Hermione looked up from her book and blinked at them. "Oh, my apologies, matron, I didn't hear you knocking." She closed the book and gingerly set it on the table before standing up. In front of the two adults, she smoothed her simple brown dress and smiled politely.
The matron gave a curt nod and left, closing the door behind her. Professor McGonagall stepped further into the room, her eyes taking it in. The walls were bare, and the furniture was limited to just the table and the chair, along with a small wardrobe and a pair of beds with a nightstand between them. Light was provided by a bare lightbulb in the ceiling. But what stood out to her most was just how spotless everything was, not a hint of dirt, and the beds were perfectly made. What also stood out was that there was a large stack of old and tattered books up against the wall; from here, she could see that they covered a variety of topics: science, math, history, philosophy, medicine, and more, quite a few of them obviously above what Hermione should be reading at her age and they almost look like they had been filched from the rubbish bin. While McGonagall looked, Hermione stood perfectly straight, her hands clasped in front of her, clearly waiting to be addressed.
“Hermione Granger,” the professor began, her tone formal. “I’ve come to discuss an important matter with you.” She reached into the folds of her emerald-green robes and pulled out an envelope, holding it out for her to take.
Hermione carefully opened it and pulled out the letter inside. She then started reading aloud. "Dear Miss Granger, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31."
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” McGonagall repeated, her voice warm. “You’re a witch, Hermione.”
“Hogwarts,” the little girl repeated, her voice tinged with wonder. She held the letter up to the dim light, studying it. “Will I be the only one from this orphanage attending?”
McGonagall's brow furrowed as she went over the prospective students she knew so far. “To my knowledge, yes. Though I would need to verify—”
“Then I’m afraid I must respectfully decline,” Hermione interrupted with an apologetic smile on her lips. “I won’t be leaving without Harry.”
McGonagall blinked. “Pardon?"
Before Hermione could elaborate, the door opened again, and a boy stepped inside. He had messy black hair that stuck out in every direction, piercing green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
McGonagall’s breath caught in her throat. 'He looks so much like James, save for those eyes; those are Lily’s eyes.'
“Harry,” Hermione said warmly, her smile widening when she saw him. “This is Professor McGonagall. She’s come with an invitation for me to go to a school called 'Hogwarts.' Apparently, I am a witch... which does explain some things, come to think of it.”
If Hermione saying that she was a witch surprised Harry, he gave no indication of it as he closed the door behind him. He gave the professor a polite nod. “Professor.”
McGonagall was silent for a moment, her mind racing. 'Harry Potter. Here. In this orphanage. I thought he was safe with the Dursleys, hidden away in their suburban home.'
“Mr. Potter,” she said finally, her voice careful. “I must admit, this is... unexpected.”
Harry tilted his head. "Do you know me, professor?"
Before McGonagall could formulate an answer, Hermione stepped closer to Harry. “As I was saying,” she continued, her tone calm and reasonable, “I won’t be leaving without Harry. If he’s not attending Hogwarts, then neither am I. I'm sorry for wasting your time, professor.”
McGonagall took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I see. Well, Miss Granger, I can assure you that Mr. Potter's letter will arrive on or after his eleventh birthday. Since his birthday is in July, he’ll be joining Hogwarts next year as well.”
Harry tilted his head again, a hopeful look on his face. "You know when my birthday is, Professor?"
"I..." McGonagall tried to find the right words but couldn't, so she decided on blunt honesty. "Yes, your birthday is July 31st, Mr. Po— Harry."
Harry smiled brilliantly. "Great! I didn't know that!" He looked at Hermione. "Finally, you know when to give me something for my birthday instead of just picking a random day on the calendar and declaring it to be my birthday that year."
Hermione smiled back before turning her attention to the witch. "How did you know Harry's birthday, Professor McGonagall?"
McGonagall sighed before she walked over and sat on one of the beds, the bed creaking under her weight. "I knew Harry's parents; they were students of mine in Hogwarts, and I knew him as a baby."
"You knew my parents?" Harry whispered. "What were they like?"
"Your father, James, was quite a prankster, always up to some form of mischief and constantly confessing his undying love to your mother, Lily, while your mother would scold him and turn him down," McGonagall recalled fondly. "But they both were brilliant when it came to magic in their own way." There was a pause. "They wouldn't have wanted you to be here, Harry."
"But, why am I here then? Did they not want me?"
"No!" McGonagall sharply protested. "Your parents loved you very much, Harry. There were just... circumstances."
"Circumstances, professor?" Harry asked quietly.
"They died, they were murdered by a dark wizard when he broke into your home," McGonagall explained. "But James and Lily would have never abandoned you, Harry. Never. You wound up here because of the actions of other people."
He smiled sadly. "Thank you for telling me that, professor."
"You're welcome, Harry. And when you get to Hogwarts, feel free to come by my office. I can at least tell you some stories from when they were students of mine."
"Thank you."
They fell silent, and McGonagall looked for a different topic to talk about. "That is an interesting collection of books," she noted, pointing at the stack of them.
Hermione beamed. "It is our collection," she said with pride. "We don't want to stay in this orphanage; we actually want to make something of ourselves, so we find all the professional books we can and read them so we can have the knowledge we need to be able to do something." Those words pained McGonagall's heart a little as the little girl shuffled her feet slightly. "We don't understand all of it, but it is better than just sitting here and doing nothing." She shrugged. "The world doesn't give that many handouts, professor."
"I see," McGonagall said, her throat tight. "Well, at Hogwarts, you will learn everything you need to know to be able to get a career in the magical world and provide for yourselves, I promise."
Hermione smiled so hopefully at that that the elderly witch's heart lurched as she turned to Harry. "Did you hear that, Harry? We will be able to get jobs when we grow up."
"That is brilliant," Harry said with an indulgent smile of his own.
They talked for a little while longer, but eventually, McGonagall had to excuse herself. “I need to return to Hogwarts, but, Hermione, I’ll be back in a week to take you to Diagon Alley so you can get your wand and school supplies. Harry will be free to come along.”
Hermione gave a warm, appreciative smile while Harry nodded. “Thank you, Professor. We’re looking forward to it.”
Minerva McGonagall stepped into the hallway and almost ran in the direction of the matron's office that she had made note of coming in. Once she was at the door, she composed herself before walking into a small and cluttered office, as neglected as the rest of the orphanage. The matron looked up from the paper she was working on and folded her hands on the desk in front of her.
“Professor,” the matron said politely. “Is there something else you require?”
McGonagall took a seat in the worn-out chair across from the desk. “Yes,” she began, trying to keep her voice calm. “I need to know how Harry Potter came to be in this orphanage. I’m... a family friend, and this is the first I’m hearing of his presence here, so I’m rather concerned.”
The matron’s polite demeanor faltered, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her hands clenched into fists. She leaned forward.
“A family friend?” she repeated, her voice low and accusatory. “Where were you, then, when he was left in a rubbish bin? Where were any of his so-called family friends when he was left to die of exposure?”
McGonagall flinched, her composure slipping for a fraction of a second before she regained control. “I wasn’t aware—”
“You weren’t aware?” the matron cut in, her voice rising now, her restraint giving way to the rage she buried underneath her professionalism.
McGonagall’s throat tightened, but she held the matron’s gaze. “I understand your anger—”
“Do you?” the matron snapped, her face flushing. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to find a child like that? To see a baby shivering, alone, with nothing but his name stitched into a blanket?!”
“I assure you, if I had known—”
“If you had known,” the matron interrupted with a sneer. “You would have what? Done something? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
The room fell silent, the tension in the air thick. 'Albus, how could you not have known?'
The matron took a deep breath, steadying herself, before she sat back down. “Harry Potter was found in a rubbish bin on the 3rd of November, 1981," she started, her voice calmer. "Some passersby heard him crying and went to investigate. He was brought here that same day. No note, no explanation. Just a child, abandoned like trash and nearly dead. His only possession a blanket with his name embroidered into it.”
McGonagall’s stomach twisted. This was the second time she had heard her say that, but it was only now that those words sank in. She could see it in her mind, the image of a small, shivering baby boy, James and Lily's only child, left in the cold, in filth, wrapped in nothing but a thin blanket, likely his magic being the only thing that kept him alive long enough to be found. She had warned Dumbledore about the Dursleys, told him they were the worst kind of Muggles, selfish and cruel. But he hadn’t listened, had insisted he was right, and Harry paid the price for it.
“A rubbish bin,” McGonagall repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “How could anyone—”
The matron’s laugh was bitter. “You’d be surprised what people are capable of. It is not the first time I’ve seen it, and it won’t be the last. Children are tossed away like that more often than you think: rubbish bins, skips, alleys, lakes, holes in the ground, and even left on city streets. Harry is merely one of the lucky few who survived long enough to be found.”
'The Boy Who Lived, indeed," Professor McGonagall thought, sick to her stomach at what the matron was describing, before taking a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, her voice stiff.
The matron eyed her for a long moment. “And Hermione Granger? Would you like to know her story too? Or are you just curious about Harry's circumstances?”
“Hermione as well, please.”
The matron leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving McGonagall’s. “Hermione Jane Granger was dropped off here in September of 1979. She was just a couple of weeks old at the time. Her parents didn’t want her; said that she was an inconvenience to their 'precious lifestyle.'" The matron almost spat those last two words. "The only reason they didn’t abort her was that they believed it to be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath they both took as dentists, which is the only good thing I can say about them beyond the fact that at least they handed her over with all her documents in order and a bag of basic supplies as a donation. I’ve not seen them since.”
McGonagall's hands clenched into fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. 'An inconvenience. Only not aborted because of medical ethics. A child as bright and polite as Hermione reduced to merely an unwanted accident.'
"I see," she said finally, her tone tightly controlled to keep the rage out of it.
The matron’s gaze didn’t waver. “Since you claim to be a family friend of Harry's, would you mind at least answering a few questions for me about who he is? We obviously don't have anything about him, not even when he was born.”
"Certainly." She owed Harry that much and more.
"To start with, how do you know him, and how do you know who he is?"
"His parents were students of mine, and we were close enough that I was a guest at their wedding. While thin, he otherwise looks exactly like his father did at his age, but with his mother's eyes. So I couldn't mistake him for anyone but their son. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead is also distinctive, and he had it when I last saw him."
The matron nodded before she took out a sheet of paper. "What is his full name and date of birth?"
"Harry James Potter, 31st of July, 1980."
"Where was he born?"
"Saint Anges' Maternity Clinic in Winchcombe, the county of Gloucestershire," McGonagall effortlessly lied, giving the alibi for all witches and wizards born in Saint Mungo's.
"Parents?"
"James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Potter née Evans. They are both dead, murdered in October of 1981 during a home invasion."
"A shame." The matron noted. "At least they have that excuse. Any godparents?"
"His godfather is Sirius Orion Black; he is currently in prison. His godmother was Pandora Cassia Lovegood née Malfoy; she died in an accident."
After several more questions, which included McGonagall saying that Harry and Hermione were being invited to a boarding school called Hogwarts starting next September, the matron nodded primly. "Thank you, professor, you have been most helpful."
"Of course," McGonagall replied. There was a pause before she added. "Both of them will do well at Hogwarts, I know it."
The matron nodded again, her expression thoughtful. “Good luck with them. They’re... different. Most children here? They're broken by it all. They are angry, silent. Those two? They're polite, kind, and surprisingly mature. Albeit very attached to each other."
McGonagall left the office and, upon stepping out into the September air, clenched her fists. The injustice of it all made her livid. 'Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, abandoned in a rubbish bin, left to die like a dog. Hermione Granger, unwanted and discarded because she was not a baby to her parents but an inconvenience... I should have stopped Albus when he put Harry there; I knew it was a mistake, but I let him do it... Those two are coming to Hogwarts even if I have to drag them there, and no one, not even Merlin, will stop me.' She glared at the sun. 'But first, I need to have a word with Albus.' She then disappeared with a loud crack of apparition.
Meanwhile, back in their room, the masks came off Harry Potter and Hermione Granger the moment the door clicked shut. The innocent and hopeful expressions they had been wearing melted away as Harry walked over to the door and locked it with a soft click. He then turned around, a gleam in his eye as he looked at Hermione, whose eyes were alight with excitement.
“She bought it,” Hermione whispered before she let out a small, satisfied sigh and kicked off her worn shoes, padding barefoot across the cold floor to one of the beds. “Every word. Every smile. She believed all of it and thinks we’re just two poor, pitiful orphans who are desperate for a better life.”
Harry grinned, leaning casually against the wall. "Of course, she bought it. You were perfect, Hermione. Polite, curious... and so innocent."
Hermione smirked before sitting down on the bed, leaning back, and looking at the ceiling. "And you with your clueless, neglected orphan act, of course, you know when your birthday is, that was one of the first things you had asked Lady Cassiopeia about." Harry chuckled, crossing the room to sit beside her. He reached out and brushed a strand of bushy hair from her face with casual familiarity. "She didn’t suspect a thing," Hermione continued, her smirk softening into a genuine smile as she leaned into his touch. "McGonagall is just like Lady Cassiopeia said, sharp, but predictable, and blinded by her fondness for James and Lily."
Harry grinned, and he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Good. Let her think we’re the poor, lost orphans who need saving, who are desperate for table scraps."
"Hogwarts," Hermione said after a moment, the word dripping with longing. "The place we’re supposed to belong. Where we’re meant to be, away from this filthy Muggle world."
Harry nodded, his expression dark. "The Muggles abandoned us. Both of us," he said, his voice low but steady. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned into him. "But it doesn't matter; we never belonged to them, we have always belonged to magic and to each other."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, but it was broken when Hermione separated from him and sat cross-legged near the head of the bed. "Convincing McGonagall is done, but we need to get ready for the next step. We need to be ready for Hogwarts, Harry."
Harry slid up the bed to sit right in front of Hermione. He then leaned in, his breath warm. "We’ll be more than ready," he murmured. Then he kissed her, slowly, deliberately, and with a clear familiarity that a ten-year-old shouldn't have. Hermione’s fingers tightened in his shirt, and she kissed him back with equal fervor.
When they finally pulled apart, Hermione rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed, and her lips still pursed. "We’ll change everything," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Together."
"Together," Harry echoed, his hand brushing gently against her cheek.
The hours slipped by as they talked, their voices low and hushed, planning their next steps and talking about the future that awaited them.
Eventually, the matron called for lights out, and Hermione yawned, her exhaustion showing on her face as she went to turn off the light. Harry climbed into one of the beds first, lifting up the blanket with an expectant look. Hermione scrambled on top of him and curled up with her head resting on his chest. Harry lowered the blanket and soon her breath evened out as sleep claimed her.
Harry stayed awake a little longer, his fingers absentmindedly running through her bushy hair. He stared at the ceiling. 'Soon we will be where we are supposed to be. Just one more year before it is time.' He thought before closing his eyes and joining Hermione in slumber.