Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 1: On the Train to another World

Another September 1st, Hermione Granger thought, standing in front of a compartment of the Hogwarts Express. She was wearing her school robe already, the one for the students up to and including 5th year. Black, conservatively cut - even for muggles - and sporting a badge on her heart with the colors of Gryffindor, her house at school. The robe looked mundane, but it was heavily charmed, actually floating mere millimeters above her skin and kept at 22 degrees Celsius no matter the actual temperature around her. The fabric was resistant to wear and tear, and repelled most fluids as well. Hermione doubted any other 4th year student could have cast such spells, much less enchanted a robe, but her pride in her work was muted by the need to hide her achievements. It would not do for a muggleborn, much less a true muggleborn, to show up the pureblood students. Even or especially those wearing robes bought and charmed at Madam Malkin’s. They wouldn’t do anything overtly, of course, but she had enough enemies already. Making more out of pride would be a mistake she wouldn’t repeat.

The young witch reached up to touch her necklace. Or more precisely, a torc. Celtic style, pure gold, enchanted of course, showing the Potter crest on one of the pendants between her collarbones, indicating her status as a retainer of the Head of the Potter Family. Which consisted currently, and for the foreseeable future, of herself, and her Patron, Harry Potter. An orphaned boy and a muggleborn girl. No home, ancestral or otherwise. No real estate. No fortune - after buying that torc in their first year Harry had just a bit more than needed to cover his and her remaining education at Hogwarts. And no pureblood ancestry dating back to the Founders. It would be a joke of a family, if not for Harry being famous as the Boy-Who-Lived and the Slayer of Slytherin’s Monster.

The first had been achieved by Harry alone. Defeating the worst Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain had seen in a long time as a toddler had earned him that title as well as the approval of the Wizengamot for his posthumous adoption by his father, James Potter. If not for that Harry would have legally been the muggleborn Harry Evans. The second title though… that should have been hers as well. Hermione scoffed. Would have, if not for the circumstances of her birth.

Students passed her, most of them nodding at her, receiving a nod in return. Some ignored her, of course. Most of those were wearing the green colors of House Slytherin. Beatrice Wells, Gryffindor 6th year, stopped and smiled. “Hello Hermione.”

“Hello Beatrice. Did you have a nice vacation?”

“Oh, yes. My family went to Spain, Barcelona.” The older girl smiled. She was wearing the open robes of the 6th and 7th years over a shimmering red and black dress that seemed to slowly flow around her. Hermione recognized it from the display in Madam Malkin’s she had seen on her last visit to Diagon Alley. It was the least expensive of the dresses there, though by no means cheap. Simple and very modest, for Wizarding Britain - it covered her from neck to knees. Hermione had expected that, since Wells was another “true muggleborn”, as those wizards and witches born to muggle parents were called. One of only four currently at Hogwarts, including Hermione herself. The dresses, if one could call those elaborate magical constructs by such a normal word, some of the pureblood girls of the 6th and 7th years wore under their open robes would turn heads even in the most liberal muggle night clubs or on the catwalk in Paris.

“Nice. We went to France again. Burgundy this time.” Hermione wondered if her and Wells being ‘true muggleborn’ would make those muggleborns born to magical parents ‘fake muggleborns’. It would fit them, she thought, since they were usually as isolated from the muggle world as the half-bloods and purebloods. The two girls chatted about their vacations a bit more, then Wells went off to find a compartment of her own. Hermione remained standing there, waiting.

More students passed her. Among them was Draco Malfoy, in a robe made of green spider silk, overloaded with gold and jewels, gleaming with enchantments that formed and reformed his family’s heraldry on his chest. Another work by Madam Malkins. The boy was sneering. A year ago he’d have insulted her. Had insulted her in fact. Now, with Harry’s godfather exonerated and confirmed as Head of the Black Family, Draco apparently had learned some discretion. Hermione didn’t think it would last.

She felt her torc grow a bit warmer, the enchantment informing her that Harry was nearby. Turning her head she spotted him entering the carriage and felt the familiar burst of happiness at seeing him. He was clad in a red and black robe that shone with protective spells woven into the fabric. Professional work, better than her own spells, if not as customized. Sirius hadn’t skimped after the incident at the Quidditch World Cup.

The young witch smiled, not as widely as she felt like, but appropriate for a retainer meeting her Patron in public, and bowed in the formal greeting.

“My Patron.”

“My Wand.”

As soon as Harry returned the formal greeting she straightened up and opened the door to the compartment. He strode inside and she followed, locking the door and providing privacy with a flick of her wand and a muttered incantation. Then she hugged him. Hard. It might just be the magic of the Patron Oath at work, but she was almost sighing contentedly at their brief closeness.

“Hi Harry!”

“Hi Hermione.”

Sitting down, Harry pulled out his trunk, unshrunk it, then got his school robes out. Hermione resisted her sudden urge to sort and repack his stuff in an orderly fashion when she saw the chaos inside. Instead she sighed, loudly, which made him laugh, and her giggle.

A conjured screen - a variant of a predecessor of the protego Hermione had found during third year when researching self-defense spells - preserved Harry’s modesty while he changed into his school robes.

“Is Hedwig already on her way to Hogwarts?”

“She is, yes. Sent her ahead after breakfast at Sirius’.” Harry threw the expensive dress robe into his trunk, grinning when he caught her wincing, then closed and shrunk the piece of luggage. Hermione shook her head at him, grinning despite herself. He had come a long way since she first had seen him, the real him and not the image her books had painted of him in her mind.

*****​

It had been her worst day at Hogwarts, in first year. Well, the worst day so far. She had been crying in a bathroom, the harsh words of Ron Weasley hours earlier having been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Alone, ostracized by her fellow Gryffindors, her at the time pitiful attempts to make friends rebuffed. It had felt like the end of her new world, a world full of promises, of discoveries, of magic.

Then the troll had entered, sniffing the air, growling, waving with a massive club, a ripped out tree trunk she realized while she stood, frozen in fright. The beast had spotted her, and let out a roar that broke her out of her paralysis. She had scrambled away, on all fours, frantically, ducking and dodging, all thoughts of magic and her wand forgotten in the face of such a monster. It had wrecked the bathroom, smashing toilets, sinks, stalls and walls with ease, showering her with shards and splinters that cut her skin. It had driven her on, away from the door, until she was trapped in a corner, bleeding. The troll had bared its teeth, slowly raising the big club, as if it was savoring the moment until it would smash her. Hermione had known then she’d die there, alone and far away from her family.

And in that moment he had stormed inside. Harry Potter. The orphan hero who had vanquished a Dark Lord as a toddler. Harry had distracted the monster by jumping on his back and climbing up. At once the troll had forgotten about Hermione and had attempted to shake the young wizard clinging to him off. Ron had been there as well, at the door, wand in hand, staring, until she had shouted at him to cast. Their spells had been ineffective though, the skin of the troll too tough, his grip on the club too strong, until Harry had stuck his wand up the monster’s nose and roasted his brain with what Hermione later thought to be accidental magic. He had almost been crushed when the monster had toppled over, smashing the last intact sink in the process, but the young wizard had managed to get clear at the last second. He had never lost his grip on his wand either.

Hermione would never forget the sight of him, standing on the corpse, his wand tip covered with smoking black ichor, smiling at her, asking if she was safe, unhurt. It had been a moment right out of a fairy tale. The hero, having defeated the monster, and the girl he had saved, staring at each other, ready to...

Then the teachers had arrived, and the moment had ended, and they were just students who had broken the rules. And killed a troll.

*****​

Hermione touched her torc, running a finger over the three enchanted pendants dangling from it. That incident had changed her life. Without it she doubted she would be here, with Harry. She’d probably be in a similar situation like Wells - or gone from Hogwarts. All due to the troll in the bathroom, and of course the talk between two Slytherins she overheard in the library in Hogwarts.

*****​

“That know-it-all made a spectacle out of herself again today. It’s a wonder she didn’t rip her own arm out of its socket, she was raising her hand so fast at each question.”

That had been Pansy Parkinson’s voice, a tad shrilly. Hermione had stopped her search for the most recent volume of “Irish Magical Herbs and Seeds”, and had listened to the conversation on the other side of the shelf.

“What can you expect from mudbloods? Even the ones born into our world are barely civilized.” That had been Draco Malfoy, chuckling at his own “wit”. She had recognized his voice easily - there hadn’t been a day he had not thrown verbal barbs at her, Harry or Ron.

“And the way she’s hanging around Potter. Disgraceful. And he lets her, treats her like an equal even though she owes him her life.” Pansy had sniffed, as if she had smelled something nasty.

“Potter is a disgrace. If I was in his place, I’d use her life debt to put her in her place.” Draco had laughed at his feeble word play again, but it had sounded a bit forced.

“Does your father know who is going to be her Patron? Maybe she’ll be reigned in next year.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Or… maybe my father will become her patron. That would be ideal. I’ll write him.”

Hermione had heard Pansy laugh at that and praise Draco for his cunning, but had stopped listening to their talk. Life Debt? Patron? Put her in her place? She had had no idea what the two Slytherins had been talking about. But she had been in a library, the best and biggest library in all of Wizarding Britain. She would find answers.

And she had found out what the two had meant, in the hours that had followed. She had skipped dinner, caught up in her research, hunger losing any importance when faced with the growing feeling of horror at what the various books and scrolls she had read had revealed to her.

‘When a wizard risks his own life to save the life of another wizard or witch, a life debt is created. Magic itself will ensure that it is paid back with an equal deed or service. As long as the life debt remains active, a strong bond is formed, to facilitate the repayment. Many a wizard whose life has been saved sacrificed his own life later, to repay the debt. A noteworthy example was Hieronimus Parkinson in the Battle at Hogsmeade in 1612, where he took a dozen poisoned goblin arrows for James Abbot, who had saved him from a Manticore 10 years before. The alliance between the two families created by those deeds lasted until the unfortunate almost-wedding between Agatha Abbot and Cyril Parkinson in 1709.’

Hermione had imagined sacrificing herself to save Harry. It had felt right. Then she had realized how wrong that should have felt, and realized that magic was already influencing her. The young witch had needed a few minutes to calm down after that, her fist pressed into her mouth to prevent herself from screaming in the library.

‘To repay a life debt requires an equal deed or service. Among wizards of equal standing, only saving the other’s life, honor or livelihood will truly balance the scales, and lacking such an opportunity can cause quite a detrimental effect as the magic keeps prodding the indebted party, even to the point of dividing their loyalties between their saviour and their own Head of family. It is thought such a situation was the root of the infamous Green Solstice in 1375, when the Head of the Fickleton family as well as his designated successor and bride fell to killing curses cast by his younger brother Anastasius, who owed a life debt to the heir of the Fickleton’s ancient rival, the Proudfoot Family. It could not be verified, since Anastasius in turn was slain by his cousin, with a killing curse as well, before his brother’s corpse had touched the ground.’

She had already been familiar with the hierarchy of Wizarding Britain caste system - though that particular term was absent in every book she had read - with purebloods on top, half-bloods below them, and muggleborns on the bottom. Since she was a muggleborn and Harry a pureblood, this did not apply to her.

‘Between Wizards of unequal standing, repaying a life debt is far easier, for the indebted party can either grant their saviour a boon far above their station, if of higher standing themselves, or enter their service as a retainer, if of lower standing. An extreme example was the adoption of Lucullus Harrison by the Head of the Macmillan family as a reward for saving his life. The muggleborn wizard was thus elevated to pureblood status, though it is believed that he was his natural son, born to a muggleborn client of the family, to begin with.’

Hermione had been surprised to realize just how rare Harry’s adoption might have been according to this volume - though maybe that had changed since this book had been written a century ago. But the implications for her had pushed such thoughts from her mind. To find out she was pushed by magic to repay her debt to Harry... What she had thought to be friendship could have simply been the effect of magic compelling her. That had been terrifying enough, but what her search for the meaning of ‘Patron’ had revealed…

‘Muggleborns, those rare wizards or witches born to actual muggles, without a magical parentage on either side, posed quite a problem for Wizarding Britain, lacking any blood ties to established pureblood families. In the past most of them were simply taken from their muggle families by the pureblood wizard who discovered them and were raised in a magical family, but that practise was outlawed by a Royal Decree shortly before the 16th century. Instead the Patron System was established by Fytherley Undercliffe, the Headmaster of Hogwarts at the time. Muggleborns would receive a Patron during their time at Hogwarts, to help guide them into the Magical World and provide them with a Head of Family and a proper, secure place in Wizarding Society. At the time most muggleborns were married to half-bloods, elevating their children to half-bloods and creating true ties of blood to a pureblood family. The practise of muggleborns marrying each other, or even entering concubinages with not so discerning purebloods was still unthinkable, so muggleborns very rarely inherited their Patron from their parents, as is the usual case today.’

That had not seemed that bad. Hermione would have welcomed having such a Patron to explain to her the intricacies of Wizarding Society, after her first visit to Diagon Alley. She had felt so overwhelmed at walking through such a magical street, filled with sights she hadn’t even been able to imagine, that she hadn’t been able to think clearly, much less ask all that she should have asked Professor McGonagall then. And her time in Hogwarts so far had been spent learning magic, not the ins and outs of the society she was now part of. How stupid she had been!

‘At the beginning there was a fierce competition among some families for talented muggleborns, which besmirched the dignity and importance of the Patron System and even caused a few muggleborns to grow arrogant and have demands far above their station. Fortunately it quickly became tradition that only one Head of Family would ever offer to become the Patron of a muggleborn, determined at the Summer Solstice Meeting of the Families following the muggleborn’s first year at Hogwarts. When the Wizengamot was established this task fell to it.’

Hermione hadn’t liked the undertones in that part. To have others decide who her Patron would be - it was unsaid, but clearly implied that the offer could not be refused - seemed wrong to her. What if someone like Snape would pick her? Or, even worse, Draco’s father?

‘A Patron is like the Head of Family for a true muggleborn. He or she provides guidance for those not fortunate enough to be born and raised in a magical family, helping them to become a productive member of Wizarding Britain and supporting them in their career. While it is a great responsibility to teach a muggleborn wizard or witch the ways of the Magical World, nothing is as rewarding for a Patron as seeing the muggleborn take their place alongside their peers after Hogwarts, marrying and raising children of their own. Only in rare cases does a muggleborn prove to be in need of more than gentle guidance, and thus require their Patron to resort to the means offered by the Patron Oath to correct their behaviour.’

She had been shaking when she had finished that part. If Draco’s father would become her Patron … she had felt bile rise in her throat, and had barely managed to keep from vomiting on the library floor. She had not been an expert in Wizarding Britain’s politics and society, back then, but she had had no illusions what being a client or retainer of the Malfoy family would mean. Months of constant insults and “pranks” and “accidental hexing” had left no doubt about that.

Tears had ran down her cheeks while she had tried to find a way out. Running had been impossible - they’d have found her. Attending Hogwarts was mandatory, and they might even had taken her from her parents afterwards. Hoping for a less bigoted Patron would not have been enough. The teachers would not have been able to help her, since her fate would have been decided in the Wizengamot. Even worse, with her life debt, she’d have been caught between magically enforced loyalty to Harry and whatever magical compulsion her Patron would have been able to command. She hadn’t been an expert, but it certainly wouldn’t have been a good position to be in. How naive she had been, to assume Wizarding Britain was just like her home country, but with magic!

The young witch had still been searching, desperately, for salvation when the library had closed. Her fellow Gryffindors had assumed she had been studying for an upcoming test, and hadn’t cared about her state, though Harry had seemed concerned, before Ron had pulled him up to the boys’ dorm. Harry, she had realized then, before she fell asleep herself, hungry and exhausted, had been the key.

*****​

“What are you thinking about?” Harry’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She smiled at him, and pulled lightly on her torc.

“I was just thinking of when you became my Patron.”

“Ah.” He smiled, though she was aware he did not completely feel like smiling. For all the two of them had gone through, she knew he still felt a bit guilty about her situation, no matter how often she had told him it was the best thing he could have done for her.

*****​

“Harry, I need to talk to you.” Hermione had stated. With a glance to Ron she had added, “Alone. It’s very important.” She hadn’t disliked Ron, but she’d certainly not have wanted to discuss the most important decision of her life with someone who argued against doing one’s homework on time every time she had reminded him and Harry. Judging from the way Ron had cringed and made himself scarce, her glance might have been closer to a glare. Or he had spotted her full bookbag, and had thought it was about homework. It hadn’t mattered, only Harry had, and he had come with her to an unused classroom.

Hermione had closed the door had laid out her notes and books on the table, carefully. She had been delaying, nervous to the point of trembling, and about to bite her lower lip until it bled.

“Are you alright?” Harry had sounded concerned, caring. As she had come to expect of him. She had shaken her head.

“No, I am not. I am in a terrible situation, and only you can help me.” His surprise had quickly given way to determination, as she had expected. Quickly - relatively, for it took some time to explain it all - she had told him what she had found out about life debts and the Patron System.

“So… it’s possible that Draco’s father will become your Patron?” Harry had sounded as horrified at the thought as she had been feeling.

“Yes. It doesn’t have to happen, but… he hasn’t been a Patron yet, so custom would give him precedence over those wizards and witches who already have been a Patron.” Or so she had thought. A lot of Wizarding Britain’s customs were not codified, or even written down. One simply had to know it, had had to be born into it. The best she had been able to achieve was inferring and deducing from recorded events.

“But what can I do? I am not a member of the Wizengamot.”

“I owe you a life debt, and you are the Head of the Potter family. You can become my Patron. Even though you’re still a minor, a life debt is so important, and so personal, it takes precedence over any other claim.” At least partially because the magic of a life debt was so strong, one could not trust a Patron Oath to hold against it if the two conflicted. Or any other oath or obligation.

Harry had looked unsure, almost afraid. Hermione had not know what he had been afraid of, but had not cared. Her life had been on the line. She had laid a hand on his arm, looked into his eyes.

“Please…”

Harry had shivered, then taken a deep breath and calmed down. “Alright. I’ll do it. But I don’t know what I have to do.”

Hermione had beamed at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you!”

*****​

Remembering that scene, Hermione had to smile. She had been so naive then, and so selfish. She had had no idea of just how many things she had had to learn, and to teach Harry.

“Did you ever regret what we did then?” Harry asked, fiddling with a small mirror.

“No.” Hermione had regretted it, of course. Had even ranted, when she was alone, at the injustice of it. But compared to the alternatives, it had been for the best - both for her, and for Harry. Even though they had had to struggle. Or especially because they had had to struggle for it.

*****​

It had been the first time Hermione and Harry had been in the office of the Headmaster. She had been awed, almost distracted by his personal library, by the strange and wonderful knick-knacks, and of course the beautiful phoenix, whose trilling greeting made her feel warm and loved, and banished her nervousness. Dumbledore had kindly smiled at them, introduced them to Fawkes, as the phoenix had been called, invited the two to sit down, and then offered them lemon drops. Hermione had declined, as had Harry. She had been so nervous, she had had trouble eating dinner that day.

“Now, what important topic do you two have to discuss with me?” The Headmaster had sounded like an indulgent grandfather, kind and caring. Hermione had taken heart at that, and had gotten straight to the point of their meeting, while she still felt the phoenix’ magic calming her.

“Sir, as you without a doubt already know, I owe Harry a life debt, since he has risked his own life to save me from that troll during the Samhain celebration. To repay that I offer to become his retainer. As his guardian, we ask for your blessing.” Technically, the Dursleys had been Harry’s guardians, but they had only been able to handle the muggle aspects of his life. For anything magical a witch or wizard had been required, and the Headmaster had been Harry’s guardian for such matters, in loco parentis. A life debt repayment and a Patron Oath without a doubt qualified as magical matters Harry needed his guardian’s permission for.

“Ah. Miss Granger, Harry, you are still young children, who should not be burdened with such grave matters. A life debt is an obligation not easily repaid. One should not talk about becoming or accepting a retainer lightly, or without the knowledge of what such things entail. I would be remiss in my duties if I would let Harry take on a responsibility he is not ready for.” Hermione had not been sure, but she had thought there had been a flicker of surprise and annoyance on Dumbledore’s face, before he spoke with his grandfatherly, if patronizing tone.

Usually Hermione would have been swayed by his words and manner, deferring to a wiser and more experienced adult, but this had not been some complaint about lessons, or some minor trouble. This had been about her life, and she had given this a lot of thought, had sweated and cried about it. So she had sat straight in her seat, collected all her courage, and responded. “Sir. The life debt exists, its bond exists. I can feel its pull already. All the books I have read agree that unless I repay this debt, I will always feel beholden to Harry. And becoming his retainer is the only way I have to repay the debt, short of saving his life.”

“You are still young. Who is to say you will not be able to repay the debt in another way, later in your life?” Hermione had to blink at that. Did the Headmaster expect another troll to enter the castle? “Harry, my boy. You should enjoy your childhood, not try to take on a responsibility beyond your years. We are only young once, and the older we grow, the less carefree we become.”

Hermione had been able to see that Harry might be swayed by the Headmaster’s reasoning, and had spoken up again, her words aimed at both even though she addressed Dumbledore. “Headmaster, in less than a year I will have a Patron. It could be anyone, even Malfoy.” A glance had shown her Harry straightening up. Good.

“Miss Granger, Patrons are selected from the Heads of Families. Experienced wizards and witches. Harry is a mere boy, and raised by muggles. He cannot provide the guidance and insight a Patron has to offer, since he is still in need of guidance himself.”

“If given the choice, I’d rather have Harry than Malfoy as a Patron. I think I am better off without the kind of guidance I’d receive from Draco’s father if his son is anything to judge him by”

“The Malfoys are an old family, Miss Granger, They can offer a lot to a young witch new to the Magical World.”

“They can, Sir. I have my doubts they will. Judging by Draco’s words and actions, they do not seem to be favorably inclined towards muggleborns such as myself.”

“You should not judge the family by the actions of a child, Miss Granger. Young Draco is still seeking his way, making mistakes as children are wont to do.” He had turned to Harry, who had been scowling. “Harry, do you really think you can be Miss Granger’s Patron? Wouldn’t she be better off with a more experienced Patron? What can you offer her that would help her in her life?”

Hermione had seen then how Harry had cringed, doubt and insecurity written on his face. And she had been flush with anger, the urge to protect him, console him, filling her. The life debt at work, she had later realized. At the time, she had simply acted, not thought, and wrapped Harry in a hug while she glared at Dumbledore. “Headmaster! He has saved my life! No one else can ever equal what he has done for me! If he’s not ready to be my Patron now, then he’ll be ready next year. He can learn. I will help him.” Again a flicker of anger had appeared in Dumbledore’s eyes. She had barely noticed it, since Harry had returned her hug at the same time. “If you are unwilling to give your permission for this, then maybe Harry is in need of a guardian who will not stand against all tradition and refuse to let a life debt be honored.”

She had not understood, back then, why that had made Dumbledore cave in. She hadn’t been experienced enough, hadn’t known enough about politics and Wizarding Britain’s society. But she had never been able to fully forget the idea that Headmaster might have wanted for Malfoy to become her patron, despite her life debt towards Harry, no matter how stupid it sounded. All that had mattered had been that the Headmaster had given his permission. Hermione, afraid of Harry changing his opinion or losing his backbone, had pushed for an immediate ceremony right then and there.

Harry and Hermione had stood up and had been facing each other in Dumbledore’s office, with the Headmaster watching from the side. Hermione had bent her right knee and held out her wand with both hands above her head, as they had rehearsed beforehand.

“Harry James Potter, Head of the Potter family. You have risked your own life to save my life. To repay that, I, Hermione Jean Granger, offer you my wand to be used in your service, to be raised in your defense, until it is buried with me.”

Harry had taken the wand. “Hermione Jean Granger, I, Harry James Potter, Head of my family, accept your offer and welcome you into my service and into my family, to be protected in need, and guided when lost.” With that he touched her head, then her chest over her heart with Hermione’s wand before handing it back to her. “Raise your wand for me.”

Hermione stood up, then raised her wand. “I swear to use my wand in your service, raise it in your defense, until it is buried with me. Lumos.” While her wand tip lit up with bright light, Harry raised his own wand.

“I swear to protect you in need, and lead you with honor, and treat you as family. Lumos.” His wand tip too lit up. They - or rather Hermione - had chosen an older version of the Patron Oath, much closer to an oath of fealty in that it bound both Patron and retainer than the currently commonly used version, which only stipulated the duties of the retainer. She had felt the bond changing when the oath took effect, but it had been a subtle change. The desire to help and protect Harry had still been there, just less urgent. A background melody instead of a voice whispering into her ear.

When the two had canceled the light spells Fawkes had thrilled again, and warmth and happiness had filled Hermione again. Impulsively, she had hugged Harry once more. To the side, next to his phoenix, Dumbledore had smiled, though a bit sadly, until the magical bird had pecked at his hand and demanded some treats. He had chuckled then.

*****​

Indeed, it had been one of Hermione’s most memorable events. The first time she had worked powerful magic with a lasting, life changing effect. Before that day all she had done was casting some spells. Minor magic, fit for a beginner witch, seldom more than training exercises. Easily cast, and easily ended. That oath though… Once again she touched her torc. She was still feeling its effects. That happiness she felt when she saw Harry, the slight nudge to follow his suggestions - easily overcome though, since it was a very weak compulsion - were all due to the Oath.

“Oh, just for your information - Sirius is buying you a “proper retainer’s collar” for your birthday, to go with your dress robes.” Harry obviously had noticed her gesture. Hermione looked at him, narrowing her eyes. Given how much of a prankster his godfather was…

Harry held up his hands. “Don’t worry, he does mean a real proper collar, not a, ah…”

“Not a dog collar, but a livery collar, yes.” Hermione didn’t really think Sirius would send a prank gift - he cared very much about his godson’s reputation, which by extension included her own - but it would be prudent to open any gift in private. She blushed slightly when she remembered her own reaction to reading about a “retainer’s collar” when she had been researching the Patron System. Fortunately she had not shared what she had thought those collars were with anyone else before she had found out they looked like the chains of office mayors wore to special occasion. They were only worn with dress robes, and at a select few official events though, so they hadn’t needed to get one so far.

Her torc had been another thing, far too expensive in her opinion, even now, but then, Harry had been livid when Malfoy had mockingly insinuated he couldn’t afford to buy her a proper retainer’s insignia, and had gone overboard, no matter how much she had insisted that a simple ribbon would work fine. She was sure that even without Harry being her Patron she wouldn’t have been able to convince him.

“He does his best to spoil me.” Harry smiled a bit ruefully. He wasn’t that comfortable with it, which Hermione privately found funny - she had been in his place, after all, when Harry suddenly had come into money after the basilisk.

“It just means you can use your money for more important things.” She grinned at him.

“Like you?” He grinned cheekily right back, causing her to frown. She wasn’t a thing.

“Like your education.” And hers.

“You just want more rare books to read.”

“Yes.” Hermione wasn’t ashamed to admit that. Books contained knowledge, which they needed. The more they knew, the less mistakes they’d make. And they couldn’t afford to make many mistakes to begin with.

“So… which poor piece of muggle electronics will you be wrecking this term?” Harry’s tone was light, teasing, and yet Hermione couldn’t help but scowl when he reminded her of her past failures in getting electronics to work at Hogwarts.

“A radio receiver and a walkman. I am convinced that wards are the key to make them work. Electronics work fine right next to Diagon Alley, they work fine even when you cast spell after spell around them or on them, but they stop working once you enter the Leaky Cauldron. It has to be wards that stop them from working.”

“You’ve been busy at home, haven’t you?”

“Not more than usual. Besides, home is the only place I could experiment. Grimmauld Place has wards as well.” Without the permission of their Head of Family, or Patron, or guardian, an underage student was not allowed to do magic outside school. Hermione had gotten a blanket permission from Harry, so technically it was all legal, even if Harry himself wasn’t allowed to cast spells without Sirius’ permission.

“It would be good to be able to listen to music and news at Hogwarts. Sirius has a great, if slightly dated, collection of records from the 70s.”

“You know my dad has a collection as well. What does Sirius listen to?”

For the next while the two compared the music styles of their respective families, sharing amusement at some of the more embarrassing records they had discovered, and reminiscing about the good songs they’d be missing at Hogwarts until the holidays.

“Do you think the Triwizard Tournament will feature a concert?” Hermione had been overwhelmed by her first wizard concert at the Quidditch World Cup. Words, even records couldn’t adequately describe such performances, where spells and music came together to form something far more than either could provide alone. That event alone would have been worth attending the World Cup, Hermione thought.

“I sure hope so!” Harry sounded enthusiastic. Things had been going well for him, and her, ever since Sirius had been exonerated. “This should be a good year. A great year even.”

*****​

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry for Magic, Barty Crouch Jr. wiped sweat from his brow and sat down for a bit, to catch his breath. Manipulating an ancient artifact dating back to the Founders, or close to, was exhausting. Dangerous too - without the instructions from his master, he would have never survived the attempt, and even so he had had to resort to a dark ritual to affect the Goblet of Fire.

Rested enough, he stood up, then checked his pocket watch. A few more minutes until his polyjuice potion would wear off. He took another swig from his flask. It wouldn’t do to suddenly change form, even at this hour of the day. While his father had a legitimate excuse to be at the Ministry in the middle of the night - everyone knew he was married to his work, after the death of his wife, which would also neatly explain his upcoming illness - Barty Crouch Jr. was supposed to have died years ago, and getting discovered might threaten the plans of his Master. Something he’d die to avoid.

And what glorious plans they were! He was not privy to all of them - his master was cunning and cautious - but he had done an important task today. The Boy-Who-Lived and his pet mudblood would receive quite the surprise come Samhain. They would pay for murdering his master’s basilisk.


Chapter 2: Memories and Musings

 

Chapter 2: Memories and Musings

Harry leaned back while Hermione was explaining her latest attempt to get electronics working at Hogwarts. In great detail. The runes and arithmancy theory did sound good to him, but he was not the researcher of the two and she had lost him when she started to post-OWL stuff. So he made the appropriate appreciative noises and studied his oldest and best friend. She was looking well. Slight tan from her vacation, hair loose so her long curls were covering most of her shoulders - he somewhat fondly remembered her bushy hair, before she had learned her first cosmetic spells - and her new robe. Enchanted by herself, of course.

That was Hermione as he and only a few others knew her: Passionate, enthusiastic, happy. Most only knew the facade she presented to the rest of the world. The stoic, dutiful and loyal muggleborn retainer. The shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived. The know-it-all who beat the purebloods at their own game. Harry himself was presenting a facade to the public as well. The Boy-Who-Lived. Youngest seeker in century. Slayer of Slytherin’s Monster. And youngest Patron in history. He almost scoffed at that thought.

He hadn’t known anything about the Magical World when he had boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. He had committed so many faux-pas in his first few months out of sheer ignorance, he had almost ruined his reputation if not for his Quidditch talent and his killing of the troll. Such heroic deeds had bought him some leeway, he had been seen as eccentric rather than uncouth. Until he had become Hermione’s Patron. Then he had to quickly learn what he should have known all along. Fortunately Hermione was a good, if pushy tutor. If she wanted to learn something not much could stop her. Not even a teacher.

*****

Hermione and Harry had knocked on the Transfiguration teacher’s office door after dinner, and it had swung open by itself while a disembodied voice - not the professor - had invited them in.

“Professor McGonagall?”

“Please enter.” That had been her voice, friendly, tough with a touch of impatience - or annoyance, or so Harry had thought. They had been in that office before, after the incident with the troll. It hadn’t changed. Marble furniture that seemed to grow out of the floor: A desk, shelves, even chairs. Not much in the way of decorations - a single painting of a Highland Cottage on the side, a wand mounted on the wall. The rest had been books and parchment. Austere, cold, solid. Like McGonagall, in a way. And yet flexible when needed - she had to use magic to adjust her office all the time, Hermione had theorized.

The teacher had been looking at them, not quite frowning, but far from smiling. “What can I do for you, Mister Potter?”

Not “Mister Potter, Miss Granger?” Ever since Harry had become Hermione’s Patron it had been like that in such meetings. It had been quite the contrast from the more egalitarian stance during classes. Hermione had felt insulted at first, when she had noticed, but then she had realized that addressing both of them when they were together would have been a faux-pas since it would have implied that they had a similar status. Which would have been an insult towards Harry. Just as it would have been an insult to let Hermione speak for them when addressing both a pureblood Head of Family and an authority with her Patron present. Hermione could have come alone, but Harry hadn’t wanted that. It was for his sake, after all.

“I am in need of lessons in Wizarding Etiquette, Professor. Hermione and I have been studying the relevant tomes in the library, but we have noticed there are a few gaps in the knowledge provided by the books.” A fact that had vexed Hermione greatly. The girl had practically devoured “The Wizard’s Book to Etiquette” and “Etiquette for Witches”, only to realize that they were meant for half-bloods and muggleborns. Purebloods, especially Heads of Families, were meant to learn proper conduct in polite society from their family. Hermione had managed to deduce part of what they needed from various sources, among them even a play that denounced “uncouth muggleborns” by contrasting them with well-bred purebloods on stage, but that method had had its limits. Not to mention that it had also taught them quite old-fashioned customs - although acting even more conservative than the purebloods their age certainly had confused them.

“I am sorry to say this, but I am quite busy with my duties as Transfiguration Mistress, Head of House and Deputy Headmistress. I cannot spend time tutoring students in topics outside the official curriculum.” The professor had not sounded quite as sorry as she had claimed to be. Harry had glanced over to Hermione. She had picked up on that as well, and had had to fight not to butt in. Harry had expected that reaction - none of the teachers had been happy with Harry becoming Hermione’s Patron. Part of that had been caused, he knew, by him and Hermione exploiting their unique circumstances to circumvent a number of school rules which had never been meant to deal with a student also serving as a Patron.

“Oh, of course not, I’d never impose on you like that. I fully understand that Hogwarts has not the capacity to provide such lessons.” He had smiled widely, as guilelessly when he had convinced his elementary teacher that he and his cousin had had nothing to do with the bird bath incident. “I just wanted to ask for permission to hire an etiquette tutor. Well, not for permission to hire one, I do not need anyone’s permission for hiring someone for my retainer, but for him or her to visit us in Hogwarts for the lessons.”

“Mister Potter, only staff is allowed to teach at Hogwarts. I cannot permit such visits.” Harry had been sure Hermione had been biting her lower lip then, ready to explode at the old witch. A glance from him had caused her to settle down a tiny bit. Good enough.

“I understand completely.” His smile had shown more teeth then. “I’ll have to hire a tutor over the holidays, and over summer. It will be quite the workload, but I bet a number of people will jump at the chance to teach the Boy-Who-Lived what Hogwarts or his guardian in loco parentis could not, so I should manage to find a willing teacher.” From the way McGonagall had frozen for just an instant, she had understood what he had implied.

“On second thought I think I can manage to spare the time to fill those gaps you mentioned.” Her eyes had been blazing though her tone had remained controlled, if more than a bit cold. He had not cared that much, despite knowing she was already overworked to some degree. But he needed those lessons, for Hermione as much as for himself, and she was his responsibility. Besides, if McGonagall had noticed Hermione missing at Samhain, none of this would have have been possible.

A bit later the two had left the office, with a tentative schedule for etiquette lessons in their pockets. Hermione had been more than a bit disillusioned that they had had to use such pressure to achieve their goal, but Harry had considered that the first lesson he had taught her as her Patron.

*****​

Hermione was still detailing her planned experiments. A lock of her hair had come loose - he wasn’t sure if that was a fault or feature of the cosmetic charm she used - and she absentmindedly pulled it back behind her ear while explaining about interlocking inverted runes. He had thought she was pretty, even before she had had her teeth fixed, but he knew she was insecure about her looks. And, though he didn’t like to think about that, she might mistake his intent. A Patron had a lot of power over their retainer, and he would not be able to bear seeing his best, most trusted friend look at him with fear in her eyes. Fear of what he might demand of her. He felt guilty enough about her situation as a muggleborn, and that wasn’t his fault.

It was bad enough with the Dursleys. They tried, honestly tried, to be his family, to support him, care for him, but they were so afraid of magic, so afraid of him, he had hated living with them. And had hated himself for feeling that way.

He could not even honestly blame them. Aunt Petunia had lost her parents and sister to wizards who saw her as barely more than an animal, then had been told by Dumbledore that only Harry’s presence in their home protected them from those wizards who wished him and his family harm. He couldn’t hold her responsible for not telling him he was a wizard either - she had been informed of what the consequences were for breaking the Statute of Secrecy. And as he had recently found out, from Sirius, his father and his friends had played some pranks on Petunia and Vernon back in the day. Harmless for wizards (or so Sirius claimed - his standards were a bit off, Harry had found out), but terrifying for muggles who couldn’t undo spells with a wave of their wand and were utterly helpless against magic. It had not been a surprise that she had panicked when Harry had started to have bouts of accidental magic. Not after he had thrown the older boy who had tried to steal Dudley’s toy 10 meters back with a wave of his hand and obliviators had covered it up, but had not touched the Dursleys.

That had happened when he had been five. Petunia had, in an attempt to prevent further such incidents, told her neighbours that Harry was a nice kid, but could “freak out” when pushed. She had meant well, but instead of instructing their kids not to push or bully Harry, the neighbours had told them to avoid him. At least Dudley wasn’t afraid of him, or his special power, as Petunia had explained his magic to him, when ordering him to keep it secret, “or bad men will come and take you away”. An explanation that had made sense to him after watching Dr. Who. It hadn’t helped with his isolation from other kids his age, though. Something he shared with Hermione.

And he actually had a special power, something other wizards had not, as he had found out in his first year.

*****​

Harry had gone home for Christmas but both he and the Dursleys had been glad that he had spent a number of days after Christmas with the Grangers, after Hermione had given them a heavily edited explanation which had taken a long time, even though it could have been summarized as “He saved my life, and now he is responsible for me according to Wizarding Society”. Some of the looks Hermione’s parents had given him had made him almost wish they’d have been afraid of him. Though all in all it had been a good time - best Christmas holiday in years for him.

Neither he nor Hermione had been suspicious when the Defense Teacher, Professor Quirrell, had asked them to meet them in his office after dinner on the same day they had returned to Hogwarts. Hermione usually had done extra credit work for any teacher that allowed it and Harry had demonstrated a talent for defense even the rather demanding professor had acknowledged.

His office had been cluttered with books and all sorts of strange things, not unlike Dumbledore’s and a far cry from McGonagall’s, but it hadn’t had the sort of “lived in” feel that the Headmaster’s had. And no phoenix. It had been darker too, with less lights floating around, and those that had been there had been mismatched like the furniture. The result of too many different teachers, over the years, who had used this office had but never really taken it over. What was unique though was the smell, no stench, of garlic that had filled the entire room. Harry had almost gagged, and he had heard Hermione gasp.

“Good evening, Mister Potter.” The professor hadn’t been behind his desk, but had appeared at their side, out of the shadows there, surprising - to put it mildly - the two students. Before Harry had realized it he had positioned himself between Hermione and the teacher. At the same time he had felt a sudden, stabbing pain in his scar that made him gasp and almost fall down. He had recovered though, despite the ongoing pain, and had faced the teacher, who had looked quite different compared to before the holidays.

The man’s robes had been rather frayed, and instead of his usual wide hat, which tended to float after him when he took it off and was enchanted, as he had been fond to say during class, with enough spells to hold a rampant Manticore at bay, he had worn a turban. His face had looked haggard too, quite a difference from the jovial wizard they had known, and his eyes had showed an intensity that was almost frightening. “Please hand over your wands, I need to check them. There has been an incident.”

The two had done so, after a slight hesitation, with Hermione looking indignant at the suggestion she could have broken whatever rule had been broken during this incident. Harry had been distracted by the constant pain in his scar - he had expected blood to run down his face any moment, or bleed into his brain.

The teacher did not check the wands though, but dropped them into a drawer of his massive desk, which closed by itself at a gesture from him. Harry had started to grow concerned then - handing over a wand was a major gesture in the Wizarding World, apart from authorities in the line of their duty, only the closest of friends would even ask for that.

“Tell me, have you heard about the artifact hidden in this school?”

There had been rumors about something valuable or important or dangerous hidden in the school. Neither Harry nor Hermione had paid much attention - in their spare time outside school and, in Harry’s case, Quidditch, they had been busy trying to learn as much of the rules of Wizarding Britain as possible while avoiding Draco Malfoy’s attempts to discredit or simply injure them.

“No, Sir, I haven’t.” Harry had answered while Hermione, her curiosity evident, had perked up, and stepped up to his side.

The man smiled, and Harry’s unease grew. That smile had been very different from his usual, slightly teasing smile. “Dumbledore has hidden the Philosopher’s Stone here.” When neither Harry nor Hermione showed any sign of recognizing it, the man snarled. “The most sought-after alchemical artifact in the history of magic! I’ve been looking for it for a week, while Dumbledore attended the usual New Year’s festivities at the ICW and the Ministry of Magic, and I haven’t found even a trace of it, only false leads and traps.”

Harry had glanced at the door then, but a flick of the professor’s wand had covered the rust-colored wooden door with a shimmering field of magic. “Too late Mister Potter.” Quirrell had been standing behind his desk, a smile so warped it had almost looked like a caricature on his face. “Your mudblood will go and tell the Headmaster that I demand the stone, in exchange for your life.” With that he had aimed his wand at Harry and shot a red spell at him.

Harry still remembered the surprised expression on Quirrell’s face when said spell hadn’t hit him, but had been reflected back at the caster instead, striking the teacher right into his chest. The man had fallen down, but hadn’t been knocked unconscious - though he had started to move with obvious difficulties, in an almost uncoordinated manner. “Potter!” he had growled in an inhuman voice, “You’ll pay for this!”

Harry and Hermione had charged forward to get their wands, but neither had been able to open the desk drawer. In desperation, Harry had taken a page out of Dudley’s book and had jumped the wizard still trying to get up. Both had tumbled to the floor again, and Harry had started to hit the man wherever he had managed to reach. His weak blows had not shown any effect, until he had landed one in the man’s face.

To his horror, the face had started to disintegrate, turning into ashes. And while the growling had turned into curses, the face had not moved, not even the eyes, while the body had started to jerk and twitch, then flail around. “Potter! Curse you!” It had only been after the turban had come undone that he had caught a glimpse of a second, monstrous face on the back of Quirrell’s head, screaming at him in pain and hatred, until that too had disintegrated, leaving only ashes and a green spectre that had fled through the wall. Harry and Hermione had exchanged shocked looks, then Harry had stared at his hands, right before he had thrown up on the still smoking corpse.

The two had been stuck there for a few hours, until the spell on the door had faded and they had been able to get help - the desk had withstood any attempts to get the drawer to open. They had covered the remains up with some tarp taken from an empty cage in the corner, and had spent the rest of the time sitting on the other side of the desk, trying to puzzle out what had happened.

They didn’t find any explanation, until Dumbledore told them that the man had become possessed over the holidays, likely during his trip to the Mediterranean, where he had planned to investigate ancient tombs.

*****​

Harry still remembered the lessons he had learned then: He had a special power, and he should never hand over his wand to anyone he did not trust. The latter lesson had gotten him into trouble with Snape more than once, of course; but that would have happened anyway.

Hermione had finally finished her explanation of her planned experiment, and despite his well-timed appreciative comments she smiled at him in that mixture of fondness and slight annoyance that told him she had noticed he hadn’t really paid attention. He smiled in return, spreading his hands briefly to show he had noticed. A brief check of his new watch - a gift from Sirius as well, mechanical and enchanted of course - showed they still had quite some time until the Weasleys would arrive, unless they had decided to break with their pattern of always boarding the train at the last minute. Thinking of Ron...

“‘Baiting the Basilisk’ is still selling well. Lockhart sent us our cut for the second quarter last week.” It had been sent to him alone, and both of them knew it, but neither commented on it. Instead Hermione nodded, and noted down the sum in her ledger.

“That alone should cover the tuition for this year.” she commented happily.

“Sirius insisted on paying my tuition.” Harry frowned slightly. He was very happy to have a godfather, a link to his parents and his family’s history, but he had been very proud of being able to provide for himself and Hermione thanks to something he - they - had earned. Hermione snorted, amused - she hadn’t missed the parallels between Sirius’ stance, and Harry’s stance towards her own tuition.

That book, but more so the events that led to it being written, had changed all their lives, back in their second year. Harry would never forget that night.

In the words of Lockhart, “Terror stalked Hogwarts in those days. Someone, something, had petrified a member of the staff and several students. Not even the great Dumbledore, vanquisher of the Dark Lord Grindelwald and the only one You-Know-Who ever feared, had found the lair of Slytherin’s Monster yet. It seemed only a matter of time until the first victim would be found dead - or disappeared. No one seemed safe, not after a Slytherin pureblood had been found petrified together with a ghost. And the mandrakes ordered would not arrive for several more days, so we had no remedy for those petrified. The students huddled in their common rooms, seeking safety in numbers, no matter how much of an illusion that would be in the face of such danger. They would have been sent home already, if not for the terrifying suspicion that among them, hidden by the darkest magic, lurked the Heir of Slytherin, and that sending them home would loosen him and his monster on the Magical World. Aurors supported the staff and had found a colony of acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. Some thought the Monster had been found - but I and every reader of “Adventures with Acromantulas” knew of course that those beasts rent and poisoned their victims, they did not petrify. No, Slytherin’s Monster was not a giant spider, but something far more terrible.

I had written to all my friends, whose adventures and heroic deeds my readers are surely familiar with, and asked them for advice. Advice, not help. I was sure that with Dumbledore as our protector we had no need of more wands, but knowledge only those who hunted the most dangerous terrors of the Magical World would be privy to. I would be proven wrong, for the knowledge we needed would be found in Hogwarts itself, thanks to our own hero, the Boy-Who-Lived, and his faithful friends. The young wizard had only weeks before been mistaken for the Heir of Slytherin himself due to his ability to talk to snakes - a great gift, as Jungle Jenny, the witch whose bravery and skill with a wand was only second to her beauty and whose deeds I have recounted in “Out in the Outback”, would say, as would anyone else living around the deadliest of snakes. And yet, far from carrying a grudge, he and his loyal retainer Hermione Granger as well as his best mate Ron Weasley, had snuck out of their dorm and braved the dangerous hallways, to search the library of Hogwarts, where I, on a similar mission, encountered them.”

*****​

Harry, Hermione and Ron had used his father’s cloak of invisibility to sneak to the library. Harry had been reluctant to go, but Hermione had been adamant that they only needed a bit more information to identify the Monster, and that time was of the essence. The young witch had also argued that the library, with all the protection spells to prevent theft or damages, would actually be safer than the common room. Since she had been there, unhurt and safe, while Hagrid, carrying a mirror for some reason, had been petrified not ten steps outside, Harry had been forced to agree with her logic.

The library had been an impressive sight. The walls, lined with ancient wooden shelves, reached far higher than the those of the great hall, thanks to expansion charms. Floating marble platforms allowed those perusing it to reach those heights safely and easily. Self-indexing shelves, not quite as old, filled most of the center and wings. Not quite as tall, but still topping four meters each, they could be commanded to rotate their books up and down at verbal commands so there was no need for ladders or floating platforms there. The newest shelves even found books on certain topics, at the mere touch of one’s wand and a strong mental command, and deposited them in one’s hand. That the whole library was covered with a tailor-made silence spell, allowing everyone to talk normally without the voices carrying further than a few meters, was almost to be expected, as much as self-expanding tables that never ran out of space for books or studying partners. Hermione’s home away from home, Ron had called it - the young witch certainly felt at home there, and had happily informed them about the features of the library at every opportunity during their first year, eyes filled with delighted wonder at such a paradise for a bookworm. Kind of like Ron got when it came to Quidditch, not that Harry had ever voiced that comparison to either of them.

They had made their way, still invisible, to the back, near the restricted section. There, visible, but out of reach of even the most advanced student without permission from the Headmaster himself, were the rarest, and most dangerous tomes stored, some of them dating back to the time of the Founders, some said to be even older. Hermione’s Holy Grail, Harry knew. That night though she had not wasted more than a single, longing look on those books before she had turned to the Magical Beast section, face set with stubborn determination.

“My Patron, I would suggest we split our efforts up. One searches the books dealing with mythical and extinct beasts, the other two search through the tomes describing exotic beasts.” Hermione’s expression had clearly indicated that she did not consider this a mere suggestion. She had not yet been as able to hide her feelings on such matters.

“A good idea, my Wand.” Back then, they had been formal with each other even if had been just the two of them and Ron. That had changed, of course, that very night.

The three had been sitting at a table in the back, books covering the top. Hermione had gone through three tomes already, Ron had been on his first, Harry on his second, when they had been interrupted by the arrival of Lockhart. The professor hadn’t been happy to find three second year students there. But since he had been as pragmatic as his lessons, he had not taken much to be persuaded into joining them rather than escort them back to the Gryffindor dorm once he had seen their planned research. As he had put it “If more of my colleagues were willing to research knowledge rather than search the castle, we might have already dealt with the monster.” He had even granted them a pass to access the books that spells prevented students from taking out of their shelf without special permission from a teacher.

Harry hadn’t known how long they had spent there, barely talking to each other but for showing each other possible monsters, until Hermione had suddenly exclaimed “Yes! I’ve found it!” The three others had quickly crowded around her, staring at the picture of a basilisk in an old tome while the excited witch had explained her reasoning. “It all fits! Harry could understand it, so it has to be a snake, or snake-kin, or serpent-like monster. The spiders leaving, the dead roosters - probably the work of a conjured fox, not a real one - and the petrified victims, since every one of the them had only seen the reflection of the basilisk’s eyes, not the eyes directly. Hagrid must have come to the same conclusion, that’s why he has been carrying a mirror! And the monster is traveling through the pipes, that’s why no one found it yet and why Harry could hear it!”

Lockhart had nodded. “It sounds convincing, enough to take to the Headmaster. Basilisks… they have been thought to be extinct in Britain for hundreds of years, maybe even in the world. The last sighting I investigated was a hoax. Well done, Miss Granger. Let us head to the Headmaster’s office then, and inform him.” Hermione had beamed at the praise, and Harry had felt proud of her. Then he had frowned. His best friend had beamed at the famous, good-looking author turned teacher, and he hadn’t liked that.

Hermione and Lockhart had sent the books back to their proper places with a few flicks of their wands and they had gone off. Not even at the door though Harry had heard the hissing voice of the monster again - coming their way!

“I hear the basilisk! It’s headed towards us!” His voice had been muffled by the library’s enchantment, but his friends and Lockhart had heard him. Ron had paled and started to pray to all the gods he could think of, Hermione had trembled, but both had taken their wands out. Lockhart had been faster though, grabbing the three children and pushing them back towards the restricted section. “Hurry, if we hide it might pass!”

They hadn’t needed much prompting, and had run to the back of the library, pressing themselves against the ends of the shelves, hopefully hidden from view. Harry and Hermione in the middle, Ron to their right, Lockhart to their left. The author had been shaking as well, sweat covering his face - they knew he had started to join hunting expeditions for his latest books, but always in the company of a experienced wizards or witches. And yet he had taken out his ever-present mirror - Harry had decided then and there not to make fun anymore of Lockhart’s well-groomed appearance - to observe the doors of the library.

“D-Do you think it has gone away?” Ron had asked, whispering despite the muffling spells.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Harry had answered, holding Hermione close. The young girl was almost panting, and biting on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“The doors have just been pushed open. It’s coming inside.” Lockhart’s voice had destroyed what faint hope they had had. The monster had been inside the library, they could not look for it without dying, and the spells that muted their own words inside the room would hide any sound the beast could make until it was upon them. The wizard had started to cast, conjuring rooster after rooster. “Send them away with stinging hexes. If we are lucky one of them will get close enough so its cry will be heard by the monster. It won’t kill them, only a real rooster could, but it should still affect it.”

While the three students had started to cast - missing a few before they managed to steady themselves, Hermione had muttered, quietly so only Harry had heard, “I would have never thought I’d die because a library was too silent.” Then the cries of the stung roosters had made conversation impossible.

Suddenly the shelf Harry and Hermione had hidden behind had started to shake, as well as the next on the other side, and the sound of a gong filled the library. “That’s the alert that sounds when someone tries to remove a protected book without permission! It alerts the librarian!” Hermione had exclaimed. It also threw the miscreant back, as Harry had been told. More gongs sounded - the monster had to be stuck between those two shelves, books shaken loose by the impacts, hopefully getting battered by those spells. “Run!” he had shouted. “To the exit!”

The four had scrambled up and had started to run towards the doors while behind them the massive serpent had trashed, caught between the two shelves holding the “magical beasts” section. Eerily, no sound but their own steps and the gongs could be heard even though shelves might be crashing and tumbling behind them.

Lockhart had been the first at the door, reaching out to open it when he suddenly had been propelled sideways, crashing into a table. A slim figure had appeared in front of the doors, smaller even than Hermione, her wand still pointed at Lockhart.

“Ginny?” Ron had exclaimed, incredulously, when his sister had turned towards him, showing red eyes and cruel expression.

“Hah! Did you think you could escape me, Potter?” She had smiled almost manically, and Harry had realized this was not Ron’s sister, but someone possessing her. Ginny had started to say something else, but had been interrupted by Hermione.

“Petrificus Totalus!” The muggleborn witch had cast the spell perfectly, as expected, but the spell splashed harmlessly against a blue shield suddenly protecting the redhead.

“You dare raise your wand against me, mudblood? Crucio!” Ginny’s face had been twisted with hate as she had cast, and Harry had not thought, just reacted, throwing himself between his best friend and the possessed witch, shielding her with his body. Instead of the expected pain he only felt a brief shock as the spell had been reflected towards Ginny, who had cried out with pain for an instant before she had dropped the spell. The girl had been reeling and before she had managed to cast again Ron had tackled her to the ground and wrestled her wand away from her. Hermione’s next body-binding curse had not been deflected, nor had been a stunner from Harry.

With a groan, Lockhart had gotten up. “What happened?” he had asked, shaking his head and blinking, blood seeping through his left sleeve. At that moment the gongs, which had been constantly ringing, had suddenly stopped.

The four had looked at each other for an instant, no one daring to look back. “Run!” And they had run again, through the doors, leaving Ginny or whoever had been possessing her behind. Turning to the right and around a corner, Lockhart had stopped, wand raised and aimed at the floor in front of the doors to the library. When the basilisk had crashed through them, the floor and the doors literally exploded in its face.

The others had only heard an inhuman, monstrous roar, but Harry had heard the curses, the promises of vengeance, and the pained exclamations as the monster had come at them again. Another corner, and a fiery flash had passed them. Only when Harry had heard the trilling song had he understood - Fawkes! The phoenix had been attacking the monster!

Another roar shook the walls. “Eyes! Eyes!” And Harry had understood what Fawkes had been doing.

“It’s blind, Fawkes blinded it!” He had shouted as the reached the next corner, only to see the stairs in front of them turn away just as a sad trilling had sounded behind them, suddenly cut off. “Dead! Kill!” the basilisk had shouted, in triumph.

“He got Fawkes.” Harry had spit out, staring at the empty space where the stairs had been. They had been trapped, no way out. Lockhart had barely managed to run, still hurt from Ginny’s spell. But… “It’s blind, we can trap it here. Send it over the edge!”

Hermione had nodded and had started to cast at once. “Aquamenti!” Harry and Ron had followed her example and had covered the floor with water, which Hermione had turned to slick ice.

“Heard! Kill!” the basilisk had shouted and suddenly Harry had been filled with anger, fear forgotten.

“Then come get me, you stupid snake!” he had shouted - in parseltongue, as Hermione had told him later.

With another roar the monster had just done that, charging around the corner. Harry had already been moving to the side, and still was almost clipped when the monstrous serpent reached the patch of ice and, unable to stop, had slid over the edge where the stairs had been and had fallen down three floors to crash head first into the stone floor.

*****​

As they had soon found out, the fall had killed the beast. Its poison had been sizzling, eating through even the magically treated stone floor - which had cracked from the impact. Hermione had mentioned something about larger animals being more vulnerable to falling, but Harry had not been paying attention. The auror contingent had surrounded the corpse with wards and charms to keep anyone from stepping into the drops of poison splattered around it while the four basilisk slayers had been ushered to Madam Pomfrey to be checked and treated.

Dumbledore had arrived at the infirmary as well, some time later, with an unconscious Ginny floating behind him. “Another victim of Slytherin’s Monster” he had stated, handing her over to Pomfrey. He had looked over at Harry and his friends, then had met Lockhart’s eyes until the author had nodded in understanding. ‘Baiting the Basilisk’ would later strongly hint at Ginny having been controlled by some hitherto unknown power, probably similar to the hypnotic eyes of Chameleon Boas, a fact that had vexed Hermione’s sense of intellectual honesty, as her father had explained it to Harry one day after a particular rant of hers.

On the positive side, all three students had received a cut from the profits of Lockhart’s next book - if not as much as his usual partners got, seeing as he had been involved a bit more than usual in dealing with the beast. Technically, Harry had gotten Hermione’s share as well, as was his due as her Patron, but at least he had gotten to spend it on her tuition without hurting her pride.

The encounter had also turned Ron from Harry’s mate into a friend of the two. Sharing lethal dangers tended to make minor annoying personal faults seem unimportant, or so Hermione had claimed, though Harry had wisely not asked if she had meant hers or Ron’s. At least they hadn’t had to go through all the formal etiquette anymore when it was just the three of them, since Ron now counted as “close family” and would not expect such formalities.

*****​

“At least the book royalties are coming in. The Ministry has still not paid out the due compensation for confiscating the corpse of the basilisk.” Hermione’s voice shook Harry out of his reminiscing. “I can’t believe settling things take that much time, with Lockhart, you and Dumbledore waiting for it.”

“Sirius said that until the Ministry has found a way to profit from it it won’t be settled.” Hermione muttered some very uncomplimentary words about corrupt officials in response. The young witch could be very opinionated about the virtues of an efficient and transparent government. Harry changed the topic before she could could start a rant about the lack of democracy in Wizarding Britain. “It’ll be good to see Remus again.”

As he had hoped, Hermione picked up on it. “Oh, yes. He’s the best DADA teacher we have had so far.”

“Better than Lockhart, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?” Harry couldn’t help but tease his best friend about the crush she had had on the Professor.

“You’re just jealous.” Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, grinning widely, before pulling her legs up on the seat to prop up her book with her knees. “Does that mean Sirius will visit his best friend often, and oh so coincidentally will meet his favorite godson as well?”

Harry smiled in response. “Indeed. He stocked up on enough floo powder to fill a trunk.”

“It’ll be good for him. He shouldn’t be alone.” Hermione grew serious again. Harry knew that she thought Sirius needed therapy after his ordeal, but his godfather was adamant in his refusal, claiming he only needed to live it up to make up for the years he lost to Azkaban. Sirius had pulled himself together after escaping that prison, but it taken him weeks until he could think clearly enough to actually contact Remus, instead of sneaking into Hogwarts and trying to capture the rat while hunted by a horde of dementors. Harry knew his godfather still wasn’t really well, but he couldn’t do much about it. His own encounter with the dementors was still fresh in his mind, to imagine having to live around those monsters for 12 years… he shivered.

“Here.” Hermione handed him some chocolate. “Have they found the one who ordered the dementors to attack us yet?” Harry shook his head in response, munching. “I bet they haven’t yet decided what makes them look worse, having dementors go out of control and attacking the Boy-Who-Lived, or having someone inside the Ministry who had sent dementors to attack the Boy-Who-Lived and might send them out again at someone else.”

Harry frowned. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sirius, he said exactly the same thing.”

“At least we now know how your power works.” Hermione pushed her errant lock back behind her ear again.

“No more experiments where poor Harry gets cast at.” Harry grinned, exaggerating his relief. It hadn’t been that bad, but Hermione had been rather obsessed with finding out what his power did, why it had repelled the spells from Quirrell and possessed Ginny, but didn’t save him from Draco’s ambush in 3rd year, or any of her own spells, and her experiments had become more… elaborate over time.

“Dumbledore knew all along, but never told you about the blood charms until you were about to move in with Sirius. That man and his secrets…” Hermione huffed, annoyance visible on her face. She hated when knowledge was hidden from her.

“To be honest, that was a secret better not revealed to just anyone.” That his protection worked against Voldemort and all his marked followers was good news. That Voldemort was not dead, but trying to return to life, and had attempted so twice by possession, was rather bad news. At least Harry knew his family would be safe at Privet Drive. And seeing Ron’s reaction when he had realized that he had tackled Voldemort himself when he had charged his little sister… Harry had to chuckle. Hermione looked puzzled, so he explained. “I was thinking of Ron’s reaction to hearing about that particular secret.” That caused her to grin as well.

“Speaking of him… it’s a quarter to 11. The Weasleys should arrive any time now.” Hermione stood up and opened the window, leaning out. “I don’t see any redheads yet though… ah, there. They just arrived.” She drew her wand. “Expecto Patronum!” A silvery otter started to swim around in the air in front of their window. The witch sat down, then frowned at Harry’s bemused expression.

“You really like that you finally mastered that spell.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “It’s more dignified than shouting. As your retainer, I have certain standards to hold up.”

“And you can show off that you mastered a spell most adults can’t cast.”

“That too.”

Crookshanks chose that moment to make himself be heard, demanding to be let out of his pet carrier. Hermione narrowed her eyes at her familiar as she opened the carrier. “I should feel jealous. You sleep for hours during the trip, and as soon as Ron shows up, you wake up.” As Harry expected, the half-kneazle ignored her complaints and started to strut around the compartment.

A short time the door to the compartment was opened and Ron stuck his head inside. “Ah, there you are!” Behind him, Fred and George waved. Harry saw they were wearing their new open robes over what looked like a skin-tight suit made out of smoke that was shifting through all colors of the rainbow. Ron noticed his expression, and nodded sagely. “They are baiting people to cast finite on them.”

“Ah.” Harry understood.

Fred - or George - put a hand on his chest, slightly displacing the smoke around it. “We’d never do such a thing. This is just fitting attire for the start of our Year of Exploration.” “Very fitting attire. Form-fitting even.” his twin added.

“It’s the Year of Discovery.” Hermione spoke up, after glaring at her familiar, who was begging Ron for some treats. Then she noticed what clothes the twins were wearing, and blushed slightly.

“We like the Year of Exploration better. We already know who we are, and what we want to do with our lives. But we have so much to explore.” “And so many.” Laughing, the twins went off to find a compartment of their own - probably sharing it with Lee Jordan and the Gryffindor chasers. Harry couldn’t help but remembering what Sirius had told him of his parent’s Year of Discovery, and blushed slightly before banishing the memory.

Hermione closed the door with a flick of her wand while Ron stashed his trunk before feeding Crookshanks a few more treats. She frowned “You’re spoiling him.”

Ron was unrepentant. “Only the best for the tomcat who tried his best to defend me against a vile rat.” He sat down, petting the purring half-kneazle. “So, what have you two been up to? Apart from Hermione abusing her Patron’s permission to practise magic all the time.”

Hermione had the grace to blush, before launching into a detailed description of her family’s trip to France.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson suppressed the urge to hex the idiot in front of her into silence. Draco Malfoy was going on and on about his vacation, his plans for the year, his decision to take part in the Tournament contrary to his father’s warning - as if the Goblet of Fire would actually pick him as the Champion of Hogwarts. But instead of cursing the fool she smiled, giggled, and flattered him. As stupid as Draco was, convinced of his own superiority despite dozens of examples to the contrary, he made a wonderful tool for her own plans. So easy to manipulate. She’d miss him, well, a bit, once she’d drop him in their 6th year. If he lasted that long - his father could only cover so much for him.

Until then though Draco would serve very well for her plans to deal with a few … not rivals, annoyances. Sometimes she wondered if anyone knew just how much of Draco’s blunders were orchestrated by her.


Chapter 3: The Goblet of Fire