Chapter Text
Hermione had a problem. It hadn’t originally been her problem. But when she had questioned and researched and poked and prodded and wouldn’t leave well enough alone she had found an answer. And now she had a problem. A big problem.
It had started with the horrible event of Harry winning the Triwizard Tournament by appearing bloody and hysterical, clutching Cedric’s body, and refusing to let go.
Voldemort. Voldemort was back.
Hermione was acutely aware of what this meant. Nowhere was safe. She had read about the last war. Read about attendance levels during the first war in Hogwarts, A History. Heard the slurs thrown at her in the hallways. Not just from spiteful Slytherins. She heard the mumbled ones from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and even her own house. Not often. Not many. Usually thrown about when Hermione asked about homework when the professor forgot or couldn’t stop asking why or reminded people of the rules that they were blatantly ignoring. But they were said and that was enough.
If he was back - if he could kidnap Harry from Hogwarts under the watch of Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody, and Professor McGonagall, not to mention all of the ministry wizards in attendance - then nowhere was safe.
She wasn’t safe.
Harry. Harry wasn’t safe.
Harry needed to be somewhere safe this summer. He had watched Cedric die. Watched Voldemort return. Been tortured. Seen his dead parent return while he dueled the man who murdered his parents. All during a tournament he was forced into and consequently vilified for by his peers and Britain’s wizarding world.
Harry needed to be somewhere where he could be sad and angry and scared and not alone and safe.
Where was safer than Hogwarts?
Certainly not the Dursleys. Putting aside the fact that there was an evil magical genius running around whose dearest wish seemed to be to kill Harry in a very public fashion, the Dursleys were more likely to starve Harry than take care of his emotional needs this summer. That wouldn’t do. It hadn’t for the last three summers. But this. This was the line. She was not letting Harry go back there.
So where? Where was safer than the Dursleys?
It needed to be somewhere with wizards or witches. Someone who was brilliant with magic. Who could ward and curse and charm a home safer than Hogwarts could ever be. This requirement alone removed a lot of options.
The wizard or witch needed to be loyal to Harry. Not against Voldemort, not in awe of Harry Potter, not willing to do the right thing. They needed to be willing to step in front of Harry Potter if Voldemort showed up and be ready to die if necessary. Lily Potter did not sacrifice herself just so Harry could die later.
The problem, Hermione thought, sitting back and looking at her list, was that there wasn’t a single adult who would do that for Harry. Sure, the Weasleys loved Harry but if Molly was faced with saving her child’s life or Harry’s life, she was going to pick her child. The Weasleys had a lot of children to go through before they would pick Harry. There weren’t any adults at the castle who protested Harry joining the Triwizard Tournament. Not properly. Not like a parent would. If Hermione had been entered against her will, muggle or not, her parents would have been here with a lawyer faster than a portkey.
Something, Hermione had noticed, that Dumbledore hadn’t done. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Dumbledore didn’t want to protect Harry, he had brought Professor Moody here specifically to help with that, or at least tried to. It was the fact that it hadn’t worked. Dumbledore was doing things that Harry was saying he didn’t like. And then he was doing them anyway.
Dumbledore, reasoned Hermione, was a headmaster, not a parent. He isn’t going to react like a parent and why should he? That’s not his job.
Next best option then. What was the next best option than what amounted to being a stand-in parent?
A godfather, a traitorous part of her mind whispered. Lily and James Potter wanted Harry to go to Sirius.
Sirius was… mad. For lack of a better word. It wasn’t his fault! Or rather, not all of it. Hermione suspected she still wouldn’t feel confident in Sirius’s parenting skills even if he wasn’t half mad from Dementor-induced brain damage. But the point was that he was. Mad, that is.
He loves Harry. Loves him enough to risk coming to Hogwarts when he was wanted nationally. Loves him recklessly. Recklessly enough to step in front of a madman with a wand and not stand aside.
Fine. Let’s say Sirius was the adult. Where would they live?
Sirius Black, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, her mind helpfully supplied. Sirius’s name had been plastered everywhere in her third year and always followed by a different title. Murder. Escapee. Prisoner. Heir.
The phrase “Nobel and Most Ancient House” had made her curious. Wizarding Government wasn’t a subject that was taught at Hogwarts. The things she had known about the Wizengamont were what she picked up while reading about other topics. Then Mr. Malfoy tried to kill Buckbeak and then she got really curious. Wizarding politics, for lack of a better description, was backstabbing chaos. There didn’t seem to be a governing body. Or nobles, despite what the black family title seemed to suggest. Or a history of a governing body. Except for the Statute of Secrecy. That was a very clear thread running through every account. Everything else just talked about the people. There seemed to be two distinct needs that kept the Ministry alive. The need to enforce the Statute of Secrecy and the need to do something with people who broke the law.
The evolution of the different ministry departments could be followed by tracing the different names associated with each department to notable figures in history. You had to know someone or be someone or both to create a department, the only departments that seemed need-based were the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Mysteries, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. All of the other departments either didn’t need to be their own department or, frankly, needed to be heavily overhauled.
The current attitude of the minister reflected this. The wizarding world was not prepared for war. Its government was not prepared for war. Its head was the result of centuries of popularity contests. Dumbledore, genius and powerful as he was, was supposed to be the head of a school. And he was the most prepared person in this scenario.
To no one’s surprise, the wizarding world was very clear on its laws about money. The Black family, with its claim to nobility - which, for the life of her, she couldn’t find any actual connection to any type of government or monarchy - has lots of money. Money that, if Sirius was exonerated, could be used to protect Harry.
So all she had to do was prove Sirius’s innocence.
Something that not even Dumbledore could do.
Right?
This is where Hermione found the problem. It started when she researched truth charms and truth jinxes. Because if you can hex people to speak backward or create anti-cheating quills then there should be a truth charm right?
And then she found Veritaserum. And unbreakable vows. And wizarding oaths, a near cousin to vows. And legal contracts signed in blood quills.
Maybe, she could overlook his initial incarceration. Everyone else had. But now, when Harry needs power and money and someone to care about him? Now that Dumbledore knew that Sirius was innocent? And that he was Harry’s godfather? Why not prove publicly that Sirius Black was innocent? Why hide him?
Then Hermione remembered Dumbledore's position in the Wizengamont. Even if he could add dockets or recall a court - something that Hermione was frustratingly not sure about - he knew who the lawyers were. Knew the family friends. Knew who to talk to, to cause outrage.
And he didn’t. God knows Sirius wasn’t in a position to do so.
She sat back with a huff. Dumbledore wasn’t keeping Sirius hidden to stop Harry from leaving the Dursleys. Right?
Granted, he could be concerned about Sirius’s health and his parenting abilities. But that wasn’t a reason to continue to allow a miscarriage of Justice.
Of course, she could be missing something. Something that you had to be there to know. Hermione considered this option. The opposite could be true as well. Harry could have underplayed how bad it was at the Dursleys. He always said he was fine when he wasn’t. That had to be it. Dumbledore didn’t know how bad it was.
She just needed to tell him.
—
Dumbledore, Hermione thought, as she stood blinking bewilderedly, is very good at saying a lot without saying anything at all.
He knew. Apparently. Or thought he knew and wouldn’t listen.
A curl of something cold and slimy and heavy wrapped through her stomach to her throat. A voice in the back of her head whispered he knows. He knows. He knows.
Hermione took a breath. A list. She needed to make a list.
1. Dumbledore is aware of how bad it is.
2. Dumbledore said it’s not as bad as I thought it was.
3. Dumbledore insists that Harry needs to stay there this summer.
4. Dumbledore said we need to work together to keep Harry safe.
5. Dumbledore asked me not to write to Harry to keep him safe.
The list was not making Hermione feel better. Numbers one and two were contradictions that Dumbledore said in the same breath. Of course, he knew what it was like at Harry's house and Hermione was wrong about it.
How could Hermione be wrong? She saw how skinny Harry was. Knew about the nightmares and the scars that Ron would worriedly report to her. Knew that Harry’s home was not safe in a way that she couldn’t verbalize.
Hermione felt the full weight of being 14 years old and a muggle-born witch. What could she do? Who could she go to? What adult did she know that wouldn’t go to Dumbledore and trust his judgment on the matter while also not hating her for her blood? While also not being a possible enemy to Harry?
Not any of the professors. Not the Weasleys. Maybe the Weasleys? Hermione remembered the way that Mrs. Weasley had gotten Harry’s school supplies. Remembered the way that she had confidently used Harry’s key. Where had she gotten it from? Harry certainly didn’t give it to her. If he had unlimited access to his vault then he would have multiple broomsticks.
What about professor lupin? Harry didn’t know him but he did know Sirius. He was friends with his parents. On the other hand, he had worked for Dumbledore. And never checked on Harry.
Hermione looked up to find herself at the library. She was surprised she had moved from the bottom of the headmaster's tower.
She.
She just.
Adults were supposed to be helpful. Or at least want to help. Sometimes they weren’t good at it. But they tried. Dumbledore's the headmaster of a school for children. He is supposed to know how to help.
How could he not help?
—
If asked, how exactly, she ended up asking Dobby, of all sentient beings, for help, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to explain.
She hadn’t slept in about two days. Hadn’t been sleeping well before this. Had lists she didn’t remember making with the same information in different orders.
It worked though. When she’d called out, through her tears, behind her silenced bed curtains for Dobby, he appeared quickly and with a loud enough pop to send her flinching back.
“Harry Potter’s Granger is crying!” He cried out, upset. “Why is Harry Potter’s Granger crying? Dobby can help!”
Hermione sent a silent thanks to the universe for silencing charms and then glanced down at the parchment she was holding.
24. The floating cake.
25. The barrier.
26. The bludger.
“Dobby,” Hermione said in a fit of tears and exhaustion and desperation, “can you help me?”
“Yes, miss!” Dobby said, his ears flapping as he nodded. “Do you wants tea?”
“Dobby,” Hermione said. “If Professor Dumbledore and Harry asked you to do something at the same time, who would you listen to?”
Dobby stopped nodding. He studied her more seriously than she thought he could be. “Dobby is a free elf. Dobby would help his friend, Harry Potter.”
“Even if it meant disobeying what Dumbledore asked you to do?”
Dobby stood his ground and lifted his chin. “Dobby is a free elf. Dobby doesn’t have to listen. Dobby would help his friend, Harry Potter.”
Hope bloomed in Hermione’s chest. It was a painful, raw thing. “Dobby. Harry is in danger. Professor Dumbledore isn’t listening. He wants to send him back to the Dursleys. I need to talk to Sirius but I can’t travel on my own yet. Not from Hogwarts.”
“Dobby can do it!” Dobby said. “Dobby can talk to Sirius Black!”
“No one else can be there, Dobby. Dumbledore can’t know.”
“Dobby will go right now! Dobby will wait until he is alone.”
Hermione rushed to grab clean parchment. Hesitated for a moment before she began to write. Dobby took the envelope like it was something precious.
“Dobby,” Hermione hesitated but he looked at her expectantly. “Can you wait for a reply? And wait until I’m alone to give it to me?”
“Yes, Miss,” and with that, Dobby popped away.