Chapter Text

Late November, 1993

Hermione ground her teeth as she slammed the parchment onto the table between them.

“If you’re going to lie, at least attempt to spin it into some sort of recognizable web, Ronald.”

Both Harry and Ron let their eyes flit to the paper she’d flattened before them. In clear, precise red words across the top was a very strong suggestion from Professor McGonagal that, “Perhaps, Miss Granger, it would behoove you to either teach Mr. Weasley how to paraphrase, or else make a visit to Professor Flitwick to learn the Anti-Copy Charm to stop your fellow classmates from trying to turn in your work as their own. As I am unable to definitively prove whether such was done with or without your consent, despite my personal feelings on the matter, I am forced to give both of you failing grades per the Hogwarts policy. See me after class.”

Ron gasped as he finished reading the scrawling words, reaching into his bag to retrieve his own essay. He’d been so certain of receiving at least an A that he hadn’t even bothered to check his grade when the papers were handed back.

His indignant huff became a choked gasp as he realized that he, too, had a giant T and a similar paragraph across the top.

“How?”

“How?” Hermione echoed back, her voice reaching near-screech levels. “You bloody wanker! You didn’t just copy my own work into your own handwriting! You bloody well duplicated the original—twice! Then you put a duplicate back in my bag and burned the original. McGonagal summoned the original and got a handful of ashes! And since you couldn’t be bothered to check your grade and didn’t stay after class as she asked, it cost Gryffindor a hundred points. What were you thinking?”

The ginger-haired idiot just shrugged. “If they can’t prove who wrote the original, they can’t blame either of us, right? No reason to fail us completely. We should have at least gotten half credit.”

Hermione felt her magic gathering and swirling as her anger grew with each spoken word. She didn’t bother with her wand; she knew enough power blanketed the area at the moment that she did not need the aid of a focus. Her lips parted, and she let the words pour forth. “May magic judge  your worth, and may Loletta be merciful, for I, Ronald Billius Weasley, shall not.”

Winds swirled around as a bright, glowing spider appeared on the table. It raised its forelegs in threat and then charged at the youngest Weasley male. Before Ron could react, the image burst into glitter, attached itself to his form, and soaked deep into his skin. He jumped from his seat, jumping and swatting at himself, trying to remove the spider remnants while his screeches and whimpers filled the air.

The swirling breeze stopped abruptly as Hermione turned away, marching up to her dorm without another word.

Harry hiked one eyebrow at his male best friend before shaking his head as he returned to his own homework. As he poised his quill over the parchment, he paused a moment. He turned his eyes toward where Hermione had disappeared, frowning. “Why Loletta?” He mumbled.

A hand swatted his arm. Harry turned toward the left, seeing the twins sitting there with the biggest grins he’d ever seen—and that worried him more than those skiving snackboxes they were designing. “Loletta is the Goddess of Spiders and Guardian of the Great Web. I know Binns is utterly boring, but you should really pay attention to at least the information about the old gods and goddesses. Of all of the possible entities she could have called to spook our little pain in the arse of a brother, choosing the Goddess of Spiders—I’d call that absolute poetic justice.”

Fred, or George—why couldn’t they wear name tags—started cackling. The other took only seconds to join his sibling as they watched a tiny trail of arachnids start to climb Ron’s chair.

The screech of fear and indignation that echoed through the common room quickly reminded Harry that not only was his best friend horribly afraid of spiders, but also that his other best friend was both brilliant and scary.

~*~

That night, Hermione closed the curtains around her bed and cast a silencing charm. She knew without a doubt that her dorm mates would have plenty to say about what had just happened. She did not know whether they would say anything inside the room. However, she had no intention of listening to their hateful drivel.

She was exhausted. That blast of magic had felt amazing, but it had also left a serious drain on her reserves. She needed whatever rest she could get. As if the constant Time Turning wasn’t already doing a wild number on her energy.

Ron had been copying her essays for quite some time. She hadn’t caught him, but she’d seen some of the papers he’d turned in. She’d also noticed that her own grades had started slipping. Now that she knew what was happening, she wondered if the professors thought she’d actually given that bubble-headed baboon permission to literally duplicate her work and turn it in with his own name on top.

As if, she thought bitterly.

As her eyes drifted shut and her brain slowed down, she felt the slight tickle of a tear drift down her cheek.

~*~

Chapter Text

2. Late Night Learning

Morning dew moistened the hem of her shift as she padded barefoot across the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest. She couldn’t remember waking up or leaving her dorm. She couldn’t remember deciding to walk outside while it remained dark out. And she certainly couldn’t remember thinking that the Forbidden Forest was a good place to take said walk. Yet, something summoned her. Magic summoned her. If Hermione had learned one thing during the Christmas Holiday, it was that she really needed to listen when magic spoke.

Which had apparently brought her here, before sunrise, walking in her night dress toward the darkness of the forest. A tickle on her shoulder alerted her to the presence of her only friend lately. She reached a hand up and gently caressed the tiny critter where it perched. A sense of joy and peace fluttered through her as the funnelweb spider seemed to snuggle into the linen of her shift.

As Hermione stepped to the edge of the grounds, not yet entering the great wood, she hesitated. A gentle crackle of magic ghosted across her skin, tugging softly on her core. She drew a slow, steadying breath and stepped forward.

As the school faded from view, and the trees and bushes surrounded her, she felt more than heard a painful wail in the air. The spider on her shoulder shivered. It hurts, a strange voice spoke into her mind.

Another responded. Be calm, Mosag. Our new Harvester comes.

She kept walking. A few moments passed before she spotted a glow in the clearing ahead. The closer she got, the more fear that gripped her while at the same time, a jolt of awe caught her breath.

There, in the clearing, stood a bright, glowing being in the shape of a beautiful elven woman. At least, she appeared elven in the way a Muggle would think of one, not like the house elves. The woman was quite tall with long, flowing white hair. As Hermione got even closer, she realized that only the upper part of the woman’s body appeared human. The rest of her looked like a giant, mist-formed spider. Exactly like the image in the book.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. “Loletta,” she whispered on an exhale of shock.

The woman turned her attention toward her. “There you are, dear. Come. You have much to learn this night, and my poor creatures here have been neglected for well over ten years.” The goddess waived one of her ethereal hands toward her side.

Hermione’s eyes widened even further to see a very large, very angry looking acromantula nestled nearby.

She heard Loletta give a soft chuckle. “Fear not, my child, for I will teach you to care for them as they should have had all along. Once Mosag here can identify you, she will help protect you as you care for the others. It will be a lengthy process to regain their trust. My last Harvester…” the Goddess let her voice drift off for a moment. Then she sighed. “There is too much history to be relayed in a single night, and much will be understood as you learn. For now, we must focus on the most pressing of issues—stopping the suffering of my children. For as long as they remain suffering, we cannot repair the discordance in the Great Web.”

Hermione drew on her courage to fight past her fear as she stepped forward to stand beside Loletta.

“Bring your hands forward and allow Mosag to gather your taste. Start with the hand upon which you were bitten while gathering your friend’s broom pieces.”

Hermione gasped, cradling her left hand against her chest. Her right hand caressed where two small puncture marks never fully faded. “How?”

Loletta chuckled. “I am the Goddess of Spiders, Hermione. They all talk to me. And it is they who chose you and marked you as the new Harvester. Think about that night. Think about how you stopped the red-headed menace from ending the life of one of my most gentle of creatures with an accidental summoning. How you cradled it to your body even as your ‘friends’ called your horrible things. And then, as you moved it away from the humans and into safety among the trees, it gave you a tiny nip. That nip was the beginning of your new journey. That is how you became the chosen. For you had compassion for my creatures, even while those around you would see them harmed.”

As she spoke, she coaxed Hermione’s hands toward Mosag’s pedipalps and chelicerae. The bits ran across her hand, the pedipalps ‘tasting’ her skin, and the fang-like appendages leaving a light coating of something.

“Your part of the web began much as so many others, but it started to diverge and strengthen very early. You have always cared for the little ones around you—warning them to build their nests where neither predators nor humans could see them lest they be returned to the earth and its cycle. Whether you realized it or not, they listened. They heard you. And they began whispering of the one who would repair the discord. That night, when you saved one of my creatures from an horrific death, you tugged on the Great Web, even though you had no knowledge of how to do so. You accidentally repaired a small swirl of discord.”

Mosag seemed to have completed her inspection and settled herself as if to rest. Loletta guided Hermione’s hands to the acromantula’s eyes, cupped her fingers, and slid them along all of the edges, carefully cleaning small, hardened globules from where the lens meets the cephalothorax. They were small in comparison to the size of the spider she touched, but each one filled her palm. They looked like glimmering green and black pearls.

“This is the most important of the Harvester’s duties. Much like oysters, irritants get in my children’s eyes and become encased within a hardened shell. After a certain point, it begins to create pain and interferes with their ability to see, their ability to maintain the Great Web. When they cannot perform their maintenance duties, this allows discordance to form. Magical beings who have become attuned to the Web begin to feel this discordance, and if nothing is done to repair, it worsens.”

Rather than letting the pearls drop to the forest floor, Loletta pulled a shimmering cloth from the sleeve of her robe. It barely looked large enough to hold even one of the irritants they’d coaxed from the spider’s eye, yet one after another dropped gently inside the bag as they worked. Three to four pearls came from each of the smaller eyes, while nearly ten were coaxed from the spider’s largest oculus. Once they had finished, Loletta tugged an ethereal string to close the bag before sliding it upon Hermione’s wrist. The bag and all of its contents merged into the flesh of her forearm.

The sense of relief with the removal of the first pearl had caused Hermione to focus intently. By the time the last irritant had been carefully removed, she felt nearly overwhelmed with euphoria.

She felt her own tears sliding down her cheeks as she gently cupped Mosag’s ‘face’. She sniffled. “Oh, you poor thing. You’ve been suffering for so long.”

Mosag stood to her full height, letting Hermione’s hands slide away from her body. She raised her forelegs, rubbing at her eyes.

I can see again.

Hermione felt, rather than heard, the voice within her mind. She also felt every caress of those newly working eyes as they slid over her own form. There was only a moment’s hesitation before she felt acceptance swarm her.

She’ll do.

Then Mosag skittered off into the woods. Hermione had never seen the acromantula before this night, but she just knew the creature had quite a bit more pep in her step now that she could see again and was no longer in immense pain. The shadow of the pain still remained, but with time, it would fade.

Loletta settled her hand on Hermione’s shoulder, drawing her attention back to the Goddess. “You did well, child. Throughout the next months, Mosag will bring you many of her family for you to purge the irritants. Truly, it would be best if you could simply dedicate your time to the nest, but until a great many of them have been helped, it is much too dangerous for you to get close. As long as they suffer, they cannot tell friend from foe. Mosag will keep her brood in order, letting you help them all over the course of many nights.”

Hermione immediately thought of the Time Turner and whether it could help ease their pain sooner.

Loletta shook her head. “No, child. The artefact you are using for your studies is dangerous. It is made partly from acromantula tears, those pearls that now reside within your harvest bag, but the tears were not coaxed gently free. They were ripped from the eyes of my children even as those who took the pearls slaughtered the creatures from which they came. The way they are harvested affects the magic within them. Should the containment magic holding that device together crack in any way, very bad things could happen to you. Putting such dangerous magic in such a weak containment vessel and then into the hands of one so young and untrained… This is some of the discordance we need to repair.

“Being in harmony with my creatures will eventually allow you to skitter freely along the Great Web when it is needed. Causing them harm to gather the tears… all for the sake of being able to force a skitter without accessing the Web… no, child. You must not use that device while Harvesting. My children will easily feel the discordance that brought you to them. It would erode their trust in you.”

Then she gently smiled. “You needn’t concern yourself, Lady Harvester. The time you spend here in aid of my children will not affect the outside world. As far as anyone can see, you are sleeping peacefully in your bed right now. One of the gifts granted you as my Harvester, at least until you are able to dedicate your time fully, is that you will not lose any further time or energy. As your rapport builds and more of the nest welcomes you, you will actually find yourself feeling more rested, despite your use of the dangerous artefact. Until then, take very special care to make sure that device remains unscathed. I would hate to lose you so soon after finally finding you.”

With a tip of her chin toward the school, Loletta began leading her back out of the forest. “For now, carefully continue as you have been, and tell no one anything. I am still searching for the source of the discordance—the source who drew my last Harvester away, causing my Spinner and Weaver to fall into despair—the source who distorted the minds of even the most devoted of my caretakers, my priests.”

The Goddess sighed. “There is so much repair to be done, so much for you to learn. It disheartens me that you must do so without the guidance of the former Harvester. But she has been corrupted and cut off from the Web.”

Hermione could feel the heaviness, the weariness emanating from Loletta. She still didn’t quite understand what was happening, but she knew, somehow, that this was vitally important. She paused, turning to face her Goddess.

“Why me?”

Loletta knelt, caressing her with a foreleg. “You called upon me. No one has called upon my magic in a long time, which has actually caused it to diminish. It is faith the fuels the deities, my dear. Without faith, we lose our magic, and without that magic, we lose the ability to attract others. It becomes a vicious ever-depleting cycle from which the deities themselves have the inability to recover. Someone somewhere has to develop faith in us of their own volition before we can even begin to recover.

“You did that for me, even before you learned you were magical. You were but a child of eight or nine, left to wander the library at Cambridge while your parents attended one of their conferences. The library felt your magic even while it still lay mostly dormant within you, and it led you to the hidden room only accessible to those of magic-kin. You found the stories of the old deities, and you took in all of them, but you focused on me, on my spiders. As you read more and more about me and my children, the library’s spider-kin caretakers skittered to you. And you accepted them, stroking their carapaces as you read.

“And then, in your moment of indignant rage, you called on me. You did so with retribution in mind, this is certain, but even so, you put your trust—your faith—in me. That faith should be rewarded.” She chuckled. “And it shall be.”

Hermione felt the magic thrum through her. Still, she felt drawn to clarify. “I don’t want him injured, my lady.”

Loletta grinned. “I know. I could read your heart even then. He won’t be. But he will be taught a lesson.”

The goddess stood tall once again, offering her hand to Hermione. “Now, it is time to rejoin your spirit to your physical form. Rest well, my child.”

~*~

Chapter Text

3-Punishment and Allies

Over the next several weeks, two things made themselves very well known. The first was that whatever Hermione had done had apparently worked.

None of the other third year Gryffindors were surprised that it worked. They were, however, very surprised to learn just how the spell manifested.

Every returned paper showed very clearly across the top “No Credit” beside Ron’s name. Other than that, rather than any words whatsoever, each parchment looked to be covered in spider doodles. Spider doodles which came alive and swarmed him as he tried to read his grade.

More than one professor had commented some version of, “Perhaps Mr. Weasley, it would behoove you to attempt to actually write words rather than turn in multiple copies of similar artwork. For someone who abhors spiders so much, you certainly appear obsessed with doodling them.”

Madam Pomfrey was getting sick of seeing him in the infirmary on an almost daily basis for calming draughts, too. She’d thought the twins to blame at first and assumed the poor boy had been hit with some combination of Befuddlement, Confundus, and Obsession charms. Her diagnostic charm, however, had shown none of those. She’d even kept him for observation for an entire week. Interestingly, the homework he did while there all received an actual grade. A low grade, but a grade nonetheless.

Within days of his return back to the dormitories and normal classes, the spiders also resumed.

This led to the second revelation: Ronald Bilius Weasley hadn’t done his own homework for a very long time. This knowledge came about just before the end of term and the Christmas break when he stood arguing with Professor Flitwick for once again receiving zero credit.

“I’m telling you, it had words on the page when I turned it in! You had to have done something.” He towered over the tiny professor in his rage, the page in his hand now showing only his name and Flitwick’s grade.

“Mr. Weasley, kindly calm yourself.” The words were polite, but even Harry could tell that the diminutive, yet pleasant professor was at his limit. Apparently, the rest of the class clued in, as they also said nothing.

With a quick wave of his wand, Flitwick snatched the poor attempt at homework back from the disgruntled teen. He laid the paper flat on the nearest table. Then he pointed his wand. No words poured forth, however, magic very much flowed from the wand to the paper.

An image formed in the space above the page. The image very clearly showed Ron casting a duplication spell. Then he siphoned the ink at the top of the page. A quick flick threw his name in the now blank space. Another hastily cast charm altered the penmanship to match his.

Flitwick’s pale face grew red as his scowl deepened. With another swish, an entire stack of similar pages started zipping into the room.

“Mr. Weasley, you will remain here. The rest of the class is dismissed. You will report either to your common rooms or the library for the rest of this class period.”

As the students quickly exited, several teachers were seen following the trail of both blank and spider-covered pages that had apparently been summoned right off their desks.

When the last adult entered the room, the door snapped shut with a very loud bang. Only moments later, several ghostly looking forms swarmed out of the closed door.

Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione. The slight quirk of her lips sent shivers down his spine. He knew she would likely head for the library, so he turned toward the common room, anxiously reminding himself to never piss off that witch.

As more and more students filled the halls, Harry realized those ghostly forms he’d seen must have been the other teachers sending messages to also dismiss their current classes.

With that, he knew without a single doubt that Ron had definitely screwed up.

~*~

Hermione had gotten quite used to sitting alone. She’d spent most of her primary school years alone before coming to Hogwarts. She had a private study area at her parents’ dental practice where she sat alone while they worked. The majority of her first year had been excessively lonely as well—at least until the boys figured out they got better grades when they let her check their homework.

Second year had been a bit more friendly between them, if only for Harry feeling grateful for Hermione’s help with studying. Knowing what she now knew, she couldn’t help but feel a bit grateful that she’d been petrified in the infirmary rather than sneaking into the Chamber with the boys. It still may have been a majority of ‘sheer dumb luck’, but they had figured it out on their own. The boys were by no means dumb, but they were lazy, Ron more so than Harry.

As the days and weeks had ticked by, and with each incident of spider retribution, she felt Loletta’s strength slowly growing. Strangely, she felt the eyes of the Slytherins in their shared classes or the Great Hall, yet the amount of ‘mudblood’ harassment had greatly declined. Not even just toward her. Something had made the rampant blood purists take a step back for a rethink.

With nearly half of the acromantula population blissfully harvested of their pearls, they had started arriving bearing gifts for her—large balls of their webbing. Loletta had taken the time to teach her how to craft another harvester bag and hide it within her right arm, keeping the tears and the webbing completely separate. As she had been promised, all of the soul-skittering she did during her sleep did not appear to further tax her already-stretched-thin energy stores. In reality, she gained the nice side effect of being able to tap into additional energy and magic via the hidden harvester bags.

Yet every evening, despite having not called upon magic’s judgement toward any person other than Ronald bloody Weasley, she sat at the farthest end of the Gryffindor table, alone. At least, for the most part. The twins seemed to have taken it upon themselves to share her section of the table. They also welcomed her to study with them in the library. Mostly, they spoke among themselves, just giving her companionship, but they never turned their back on her like most of the rest of her housemates.

So it was that evening, as she and the two tricksters sat near the end of the table in the Great Hall when Professor McGonagall approached, looking exceptionally stern.

“Miss Granger, I need you to come with me.” The woman didn’t even wait for Hermione to stand before turning away and heading toward the door.

Hermione rose, squaring her shoulders. However, as she followed behind the stern matron, she quickly realized that she was not alone in her journey. Flanking on either side and slightly behind walked Fred and George Weasley.

At the door to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall paused, giving a quick glance over her shoulder to verify Hermione’s presence. She stopped immediately and spun around, her eyes narrowing.

“I believe I very clearly asked for Miss Granger, and only Miss Granger, not you boys. You will return to your seats immediately.”

Fred spoke from her left. “With all due respect, Professor McGonagall, we insist on our attendance at this meeting.”

George continued. “We assume she has been summoned due to an alleged curse on our little brother.”

“This alleged curse happened in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, with no less than half of our house mates present.”

“A meeting was held among all attendees as soon as it became apparent that Ron thought himself cursed.”

“And it was decided that the two of us would act as representatives for the rest of our housemates should Hermione be called for interrogation.”

“With us acting as representatives and being fully willing to allow either you or Professor Dumbledore to extract our memories of the event in question, it would save all of you a lot of time in questioning the rest of Gryffindor House.”

McGonagall gritted her teeth, pursed her lips, and released a very rough breath through her nose. Then she rose to her full height. “Very well. Come along.” As she turned back toward the door, she shot over her shoulder, “You should know that your parents are in the office as well. They might not take so kindly to your interference.”

She couldn’t see it, but Hermione most certainly felt the scoffing eye roll coming from both boys.

“We are well aware of Hogwarts protocol in regards to extreme miscreant behavior, Professor. As a matter of fact, we have been counting on it.”

McGonagall nodded. This time, her voice sounded slightly cheery. “I am well aware that you are both well aware, Weasleys.”

The group remained silent as they traversed to the Headmaster’s office. The staircase stood open, awaiting them. The professor stepped to the side, signaling for the three students to enter first. As soon as she stepped on, the staircase started turning, moving them upward. Inside, two benches sat angled outward from the headmaster’s desk, with Dumbledore seated behind the heavy mahogany.

“Fred, George, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Weasley asked as soon as they entered the room. “I’m not complaining, mind you. Your brother could use a little support.”

George scoffed, taking a seat on the bench opposite his parents, rather than with them. “We’re not here to support Ron, mother. We’re here for Hermione.”

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly before his expression settled back into his normal, twinkly look. “That does explain why the bench expanded on that side. Come, everyone take your seats and let us get this matter settled.”

He turned his attention to Hermione. “Miss Granger, it has been brought to our attention that you placed some sort of curse on young Mister Weasley here. I would ask that you share the nature and design of the curse such that it can be removed. Upon further investigation, it will then be determined as to whether any justification for your behavior can be found. If not, I’m afraid that you will be required to stand before the Board of Governors to face possible expulsion.”

Before Hermione could respond, though, Fred sat up straight and met his mother’s eyes. “I call upon the Prewett blood that my mother should clearly read the event in my memory.”

McGonagall gasped.

Dumbledore frowned. “I highly doubt that is necessary.”

Molly Weasley, however, scowled. Not toward either Fred or George, or even Hermione. She scowled toward her youngest son. Then she nodded toward her twins and stood. Fred met her in the middle of the space between the benches. Using her wand, she placed a small cut in the center of her palm and held it out. Fred mimicked her action, placing his now bleeding palm face down upon hers. The matron then locked her gaze to his, unblinking.

While this happened, George nodded at their father. “If you wish to also see for yourself, Dad, I can call upon the Weasley blood.”

Arthur hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “I’m certain your mother will share with me later. The Prewett magic has always been stronger for such things.”

It only took a few uncomfortable minutes before mother and son parted and a quick swish of the mother’s wand healed both hands. Fred returned to his seat without a word. Molly, however, did not return to her seat. Instead, she knelt before Hermione, a look of timidity upon her face as she took the girl’s hands gently within her own. The elder woman pressed her forehead to Hermione’s hands before raising her pained gaze upward.

“Miss Hermione Granger, it is with great humility and sadness that I beg your forgiveness on behalf of myself, my husband, and my youngest son for the false allegations rendered against you this day. If my word is not good enough to remove said allegations, I will gladly take my place at your side before the Board of Governors to plead your innocence. Should you deem it necessary, our family will offer you whatever compensation you require for the slander of your good name that has been perpetrated over the last six weeks.”

Hermione let Loletta’s magic guide her response. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I accept your offer, should the need arise. At this time, I do not see any reason to request compensation. While it was one member of your family attempting to slander, it was also two other members of the same blood who have taken it upon themselves to aid in my defense. Magically, the karma is balanced more on the positive side.”

With her affirmation, Molly rose from her supplication and nodded toward the door. “You three are no longer needed here.”

“I believe I should be the one to determine that—” Dumbledore’s rant cut off as he caught Molly’s gaze.

The woman repeated herself through gritted teeth, her hair beginning to crackle with temper. “They are not needed, Albus.”

The headmaster blinked several times before waving his hand at the staircase. “Off with you. I’m sure I’ll be calling you back later to complete my own investigation.”

Hermione and her escorts did not wait for any further acknowledgment. The twins scurried toward the staircase, pulling her with them and taking extra steps downward even as it spiraled so that they could exit as fast as possible. No one spoke until they’d stepped into the outer hall.

Hermione turned toward the twin troublemakers. “What just happened?”

Fred and George tugged her further down the hall until they found a space with no portraits within hearing distance. Between the two of them, they threw up enough privacy wards to make the goblins proud before they seemed satisfied.

“The first thing you need to know is that our mother is scary powerful,” Fred began.

“That woman could hit us with a zap of electricity without even being in the same room to see what mischief we were causing,” George continued.

“Rumor has it that she accidentally sent a justice-based curse into half of Gryffindor back in her day, and Dumbledore had to beg her to reverse it because too many potential order members were getting hit with official charges over some of their stunts.”

“He’s been a little bit afraid of her since then, because if she can do that accidentally, just imagine what she is capable of when she tries.”

“By calling upon the Prewett blood, she knew I had no way of fabricating any sort of lie. The blood magic itself will not allow falsehood to be spread between those sharing in such a way.”

“She has the ability to use it without our consent, but by offering it up so willingly, it made the connection that much stronger.”

“Ickle Ronniekins is going to have his arse handed to him right proper, and Dumbledore will have his hands tied in regards to attempting to pursue anything against you.”

Hermione held up one hand, pausing the bouncing conversation. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why would you put yourselves into the position of being my guardians, as such?”

George grinned. “Not many witches or wizards call upon the old deities anymore. Something happened a long time ago that made aligning yourselves with the deities fall out of fashion.”

“Right,” Fred added. “The thing is, those who do choose to align themselves gain… a level of power and respectability that many others can only dream of. It’s something that is gifted to us without our asking.”

“Wait,” she said. “Us?”

Both boys grinned widely. “We chose Dolos, of course.” They spoke in unison.

Hermione snorted. “Dolos, the Greek spirit of trickery, cunning deception, craftiness, treachery, and guile. That seems utterly appropriate for you two miscreants.”

Fred chuckled. “I can see that you’re still confused in regards to how that ties in. Dolos informed us that it was of great importance that Dumbledore not learn of your alignment with Loletta. By calling upon the Prewett blood and letting mum see the things inside my head, we circumvented the use of either a penseive or legilimency. We were able to magically forbid old Dumbles from sticking his eyes where they don’t belong.”

“Dolos didn’t tell us why, but he was extremely adamant that your alignment be protected at great cost.”

“And while Mum may not be happy with us, or with our alignment, the woman fully respects the old deities and their power. So, I made sure she saw the command from Dolos. She is now bound, through us, through the honesty of the Prewett blood, to help protect that information.”

“And while Dad may not be as tightly bound in that manner, he is bound to his wife. Regardless of what she shares with him, he won’t reveal anything that will put his wife or any of his children at risk of angering an old deity.”

Hermione let some of the stress and tension melt from her shoulders. Through bits of laughter, she stated, “I am so glad to learn that I am not the only brilliant but scary person in Gryffindor.”

With that, the twins dropped their wards and led her back toward the Great Hall. “Come along, little sister. Let’s get to dinner before that idiot brother of ours shows up.”

~*~

Chapter Text

4-Slightly Overpowered

Hermione tucked away the last of the night’s harvests into their respective bags and smiled. All of the female spiders had come willingly with Mosag to have their tears harvested. The younger males came along, as well, although slightly less willing… until their vision fully returned. The older males, on the other hand, were being absolutely stubborn. Mosag’s mate, Aragog, had forbidden them from being harvested, calling her a falsehood not to be trusted.

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching. She could really use the break from classes. Ever since Loletta had explained the danger around the time turner, she had used it much less. She had been giving herself at least an extra hour or two a night for homework and revision on top of her class overlaps. That had stopped the very next day. Instead, she’d had a good heart-to-heart with herself as to whether her papers being absolutely perfect was absolutely necessary.

She wanted to trim her class list as well, but Loletta had warned against that action just yet. “There are certain discordances that must be corrected before that can happen, child. Be patient. I would never council you to use such a dangerous artefact unless it was absolutely necessary,” the goddess had explained. And where Hermione had started questioning authority, she had placed her full faith in Loletta.

As she settled onto the forest floor and allowed some of the ‘smaller’ acromantulas to receive cuddles from her, Loletta took corporeal form across from her.

“It is time for your next lesson to begin. You have mastered the art of harvesting their tears, for which they have begun gifting their silk. Soon enough, they will also wish to gift their venom. At your next Hogsmeade visit, a young goblin by the name of Farnack will approach you. Greet him with deference. Before you clasp hands, you will need to focus your mind on creating a separate satchel with three of the largest tears hidden inside as a gift. When you clasp, focus on transferring that gift to him and accepting his gift in exchange. That which you receive will make the venom harvesting possible.”

Hermione blinked. “I can transfer with thought?”

The goddess snickered. “My dear, you are currently harvesting with thought. Your physical body remains in your warm bed while your mind and soul are out here in the forest with my children.”

The young girl tried several times to speak, paused, and went silent again. Finally, she just said, “Wow.”

Loletta’s laugh bounced off the trees. “You are such a refreshing acolyte. You absorb and learn so quickly and yet miss some of the tiniest details that actually power the whole.” She smiled kindly, showing that her words were not meant as an insult.

“All of magic is about thought and intent, my Lady Harvester. Once you understand the intent, the words are pointless. Think about how you called upon magic’s judgement for your friend. You spoke no Latin, which is the language used for the basis of your school’s spells. You did not even touch your wand. You merely focused your intent. Your professors teach you to focus on the words because the words give meaning, and meaning gives intent. Those who are struggling usually do so because they have a harder time understanding the meaning of the words rather than the intent of the spells, and this creates discord within their own magic.”

She paused, letting Hermione have a few minutes to absorb that information into her mind.

Finally, Hermione raised her eyes to her deity and heaved a heavy sigh. “Something tells me that was not the intended lesson.”

“No, it was not.” Loletta smiled. “Tonight, you will begin learning how to see and touch the Great Web.”

~*~

Hermione quickly realized that she had to dull her focus, or at least remember to include fine details. Professor Flitwick had set them to practice the Carpe Retractum charm as pairs. When she’d focused her intent, she’d focused simply on the action of rope and pull. It had roped Neville instantly and pulled him so fast that he’d smacked into her, knocking both of them into the wall. On the other side of the room.

As their professor helped peel them off the wall and apart, he asked, “What do you think you did wrong there, Miss Granger?”

Hermione shook her head a couple of times to clear her thoughts. “I put way too much intent behind the action words and forgot to think about speed and force.” Her words came with gasps of pain. She glanced at her partner. “Are you okay, Neville?”

The boy appeared stunned. He patted around his body absently. “I, uh, I think I’m mostly okay. A few bruises, but nothing feels broken. Pretty sure you took the brunt of it.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle while taking shallow breaths. “I think you’re right. Pretty sure I’ve cracked some ribs, sir.” Her vision swam slightly. “And a concussion.”

“Oh, dear,” Flitwick tutted. He pulled his wand and sent off a patronus. “Tell Poppy she’s needed, please.”

By the time the mediwitch had arrived, the Charms professor had already conjured a stretcher and was helping Hermione to ease down onto it. Neville helped on the other side making sure she didn’t topple in the process.

Pomfrey glared at the scene. “Another Longbottom spell gone awry, Filius?”

Hermione grunted against the pain. “No, Madam. All  mine.” She sighed with relief as she settled onto the stretcher. “Although Neville should also get checked just in case. That was a lot of force.”

The matron looked momentarily stunned. Then she waved her wand above the supine student, drawing forth a diagnostic diagram. Her eyes widened. “Just how much force did you use, girl?”

Flitwick waved a hand at the wall. “Enough to crack the stones.”

Pomfrey mumbled under her breath before casting another diagnostic over Neville. She quickly conjured a second stretcher and pointed at it. “We’re not taking the risk of you walking down any stairs with that concussion, Mr. Longbottom. On you get.”

Within a few minutes, she had both stretchers levitating before her as she guided them out the door.

~*~

Neville nudged the curtain aside and carried two trays into the area. “I brought your tray. Madam Pomfrey was going to have the elves deliver something to you, but I wanted to do it.” He hesitated. “If that’s okay?”

Hermione nodded. She touched a spot on the edge of the bed, which caused the top to slowly lift into a reclined angle. “She said the bones should be fully knitted back together by tomorrow morning—afternoon at the latest. And while the injury from the concussion has healed, she wants me to avoid any sort of casting for at least the next few days… which means I have to stay here where I can be monitored for any accidental magic as well.”

The girl tipped her head slightly to stare at her classmate. “I am a little surprised. I fully expected you to avoid me even more now.”

He shrugged after resting the two trays onto the bedside table. After he maneuvered it so that she could easily reach, he slid the visitor’s chair closer. “I had a few minutes to rewatch events in my head while the potion unscrambled my brain. You really didn’t mean to put that much force into your spell. I could see the shock on your face even as I collided with you. And the truth is that you got hurt way worse than I did.”

He grabbed his fork and stabbed at the salad. Then he sighed. “I also saw the moment very clearly right before I slammed into you. You had the chance to move out of the way. You fully recognized what had happened, and you knew that if you didn’t move, you’d get hurt. But if you did move, I would be hurt even worse. You intentionally took the brunt of the force to stop me from getting my skull caved in.”

The two took a couple of minutes to nibble at their food while they sat in companionable silence.

After several bites, Neville continued. “Something has changed about you, Hermione. I haven’t been able to figure out what, but I can tell that whatever it is—it is both good and important. It’s like with each bit of change that is happening to you, things start to move a little more harmoniously. Like something that was wrong is slowly getting corrected.”

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved over the last, well, since you called magic’s judgement down upon Ron. He’s always been a bit of an ignorant git and a lazy sod, but to go so far as to just try to fully cheat his way through the entire year… well, that’s an all new low, even for him. The amount of work he put in to perfecting those few spells… if he bothered putting half as much effort into his actual work, he’d be passing without an issue. Instead, he just focuses on quidditch, and chess, and being a berk. I just don’t understand it.”

Hermione chuckled as she stabbed at a piece of roast. “That’s because you’re judging his actions through your own perceptions.”

Neville scrunched his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You and I are both only children, so we were not raised with siblings sharing our spaces, our toys, our family. We were raised with receiving all of the attention—whether we wanted it or not. We learned to study on our own. We learned to do our chores and had no one else to blame if something happened, or did not happen that should have. Until we went to school or childcare, we did not have anyone around to tease or harass, or even to play with.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’m following you.”

She sighed. “Now, imagine if you had grown up with five older brothers and a younger sister. All of the Weasleys we have met thus far are extremely rambunctious. They are full of mischief, especially toward each other. You and I also grew up in plentiful households and nearly everything we received was always new. Being the youngest boy, I imagine that nearly everything Ron received through his life has always been something one of his older siblings already made use of, even down to his clothing. Mrs. Weasley is a skilled enough witch that I’m sure she resizes everything to fit, but I highly doubt Ron has had much of anything that did not already belong to someone else.”

“I’m still following, but how does that equate—”

Hermione continued. “Now, imagine your eldest brother became a Gringott’s curse breaker—a very prestigious job. The next became a dragon tamer, a job which shows off his both magical and physical strength. Percy is already looking forward to a job at the Ministry, and with his high grades and stickler-for-rules attitude, he stands a chance to be very well positioned. The twins are immensely brilliant, even if it does not seem so. Those jokes they craft are all their own magic—based, yes, on the things they learn, but twisted to serve an amazing purpose. You have all of this strong magic in your family…” At this point she paused. “Then in our first year, it took him ages to get even the most basic spells correct.”

Surprise etched across Neville’s face. “He’s lost in the shadows.”

She nodded. “Yes. He has unfortunately been lost in the shadows for his entire life. Even coming to Hogwarts, he was sorted into the same house with his siblings, so he is still in their shadows. He is trying to find his own way out. We both know that he’s going about it the wrong way because we’ve been taught. I imagine that by the time Ron came along, Mrs. Weasley was so exhausted with dealing with the twins’ antics and always having to keep such a close eye on them that she may have forgotten what she had or had not yet taught to her youngest son. And then she had Ginny, too.”

Hermione continued. “We see things from a neat, orderly existence. Being here at school is the closest either you or I have come to having to share much of anything. I suspect that is part of the reason why your nerves are strung so taut. You got used to your grandmother hovering over you all the time, stopping you from making mistakes, so you never learned how to determine whether something was good or bad on your own.”

Neville shook his head, digging back into his meal. “How did you get so bloody smart, seeing as we were raised similarly?”

Hermione both grinned and cringed. “I’ve had some help learning to see the intricacies of the Web of Life. I understand a lot more than I used to. It has helped temper some of my behavior because I could see the discord certain things caused. I still have a lot of learning to do, but one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is that no matter what, I cannot control everything and everyone around me.”

Neville’s eyes lit up. His voice was barely audible. “You tugged on the web.”

It was Hermione’s turn to have her eyes widen in shock. “How…?”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “That’s what my Gran calls it. She does it sometimes when her magic is acting up. Or at least, that’s what she says. She starts talking about a knot in the wrong place. Then her eyes go all glassy, like she’s staring into nothingness. Then she’ll jerk her arm as if tugging on an invisible rope. Anytime I ask, she just says she had to tug on the web to fix something. Whatever spell she was trying to cast after that just seems like it has been supercharged. She accidentally blew up the dishes one morning just trying to send them to the sink.”

Hermione chose at that moment to neither confirm nor deny anything Neville said, just for the sake of maintaining her secrecy. She could tell that her friend thought what his grandmother mentioned was ‘just her way of saying things’. Hermione, however, very much knew differently. Augusta Longbottom had a connection to Loletta. Now, she had to figure out how to determine what that connection was, and if it was safe to meet with the elder.

Meanwhile, she needed to heal. And figure out how to limit the strength of her focus so that she didn’t end up in the infirmary every day, nor send someone else there as she had done with Neville.

She pressed one hand to his to get his attention. “Thank you, Neville.”

His brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For not shunning me for giving you a concussion.”

He snorted. “If everyone who cast a spell wrong got shunned, no one at Hogwarts would ever have friends.”

She nodded. “True, but everyone has been a little frightened since I called upon magic’s judgement in regards to one Ronald Weasley.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “That’s because they don’t understand how that works. If you think about it, it’s mostly the halfbloods and muggleborns avoiding you. The purebloods already did so, but they have changed how they look at you. It’s not like you actually cursed him. You simply gave karma a little push in the direction of one very deserving soul. Believe me, I thought very hard about doing that to Malfoy back in first year. The difference is that I was always more afraid that I would be judged unworthy of making the call. That’s the kind of thing that can backfire on you. When you call upon magic’s judgement, it also judges you. The fact that it found your request true is probably more of why our housemates are frightened. It proves that you are a very powerful witch, Hermione. Not even the blood supremacists will mess with that kind of power—at least, the smart ones won’t.”

She drew her hand back and picked up her fork again, schooling her facial features into mere curiosity. “Oh really? Is that why some of the teasing and bullying has tempered?”

“With this kind of power at the beginning of our third year, by the time you come of age and are able to tap into your full magic, you will be so much more than just scary. You’ll probably actually be recognized as a Pureblood by those like my gran who believe that pureblood refers to magic’s blessing rather than to which family you were born.”

~*~

Chapter Text

5. Farnack's Gift

Hermione walked silently toward Hogsmeade with Neville beside her. The twins whispered between themselves behind her, having taken their guardian status quite seriously. Very seldom did she find herself truly alone anymore. It was a strange situation, yet she found it quite soothing. At least one of the three boys was always nearby anytime she was not in her dorm room. While studying, they only spoke when exchanging thoughts or asking for help. At dinner, they shared calm conversation, most times about the twins’ latest ideas but occasionally about Neville’s most recent potions accident.

It was strange, yes, learning that she did not have to stand alone all the time. It was soothing in that she found what felt like true friendship among these young men.

In her recent lessons, after fully recovering from her most unfortunate concussion, she’d started learning how to trace the Web, find the connections. More often than not, instead of true connections, she found intricate knots where the webs had been bound by a human-like hand rather than spider claw or pedipalp. Loletta always cautioned her against touching those as of yet.

She let her mind slowly drift along the outer fringes of the web as each step brought them closer to the small village. She did not work to trace anything in particular; she merely watched as each connection joined together along the way.

As they reached the very edge of the village, a glimmering, new connection caught her attention. Hermione stopped walking, letting her eyes trace the thin line as the sunlight danced along it. It led to a small stone building barely larger than a phone booth standing by itself on the side of the path. Hermione blinked a few times, making sure she read the sign correctly. Then she turned her head toward the twins.

“How long has Hogsmeade had a Gringotts branch?”

Fred’s eyes lit with glee as her words seemed to have made the building appear from thin air. “It hasn’t. Oh, this is outstanding!” Without another word, he reached forward and opened the door, waving for her to enter first.

Hermione ducked slightly to enter the goblin domain, letting her gaze wander the much larger space. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of course it’s bigger on the inside. It seems magical domains are nearly always T.A.R.D.I.S.-like.”

The throat clearing nearby drew all of their attention as the door closed. A grizzled-looking elder goblin approached, giving a very slight bow. “Welcome, my lady. I am Farnack.” He extended his hand toward her.

Hermione focused her thoughts inward for just a moment, remembering what Loletta had told her about transferring the gift to him. The pause really did only take a few seconds, but it still made her hope she had not offended the being. She then reached her hand forward and grasped his as she dropped into a curtsey. “Well met, Farnack.”

As soon as their hands touched, she felt the swap. Her eyebrows rose. “Oh,” she spoke softly.

Farnack gave a very discreet nod. “This branch only appears when needed.” Then he shrugged. “At least for now. It has potential to become more commonplace. That remains uncertain still.”

Then he turned toward the young men in the room. “Gentlemen, I believe it is time we discuss establishing your trust.”

~*~

The clearing lay surrounded in fog. The only open space in the thick, heavily laden air was directly around where Hermione and Loletta sat with Mosag and two other female spiders.

“Farnack is one of the few goblins with a specific alignment. Even then, he has to keep it hidden due to all of the laws humanity has created against his kind.”

Hermione frowned. “That seems… excessive.”

Loletta nodded, “Indeed. However, even had the laws not existed, the Goblins would still choose to keep such information to themselves. Throughout the ages, sentiment has shifted so often that they feel it is safest that way.”

Hermione nodded while her mind worked. “Like the Crusades and the Holocaust.” Then she sighed. “And so many other events in history. One ruler finds certain things acceptable. Then a new ruler takes over, and those things are now outlawed. Next thing you know, Daniel finds himself in the lion’s den once again.”

Loletta grinned. “Precisely. Now, concentrate and bring forth your gift from Farnack.”

Hermione closed her eyes and focused. It took only a moment before she felt the weight of a bag similar to that of her harvest satchel fall against her palm. She opened her eyes again and gazed upon the delicate looking silk. Very carefully, she tugged the strings to open the top. Then she reached in and retrieved what turned out to be a fairly large tray of intricate flasks.

The Goddess nodded. “Those are Goblin crystal, crafted by the most talented of their kind. They are unbreakable, and once sealed, can only be opened by the intended receiver. They are perfect for containing the acromantula venom and protecting it from falling into the wrong hands. Just as with the tears, there is a vast difference between freely gifted venom and that which has been taken by force from the dead body of one of my children.”

Loletta paused. “You will also be able to use these vials to collect another venom, but it will involve rekindling your friendship with he who holds the right of harvest with the enemy of my children.”

It took Hermione a good long while to think through Loletta’s words. Finally, her memory brought forth the image of the page she’d torn from the library book the previous year. “The basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. I need to talk to Harry.” She paused. “But it’s been months since the beast was slain. Wouldn’t it have rotted by now? And wouldn’t I need to speak to the Headmaster?”

The Goddess shook her head. “Right of Harvest is a magical binding. Not even your headmaster has the ability to circumvent such old magic. No matter how much he might want to get his hands on those remains, he cannot dare to touch them without the victor granting it. ‘To the victor goes the spoils’ is much more than just an ancient saying. It is a magically protected event when a magical being is involved.”

With a wave of her hand, she highlighted some of the Web and guided Hermione’s eyes. “See here, these knots? He tried. He did everything within his power attempting to get around such an ancient spell of protection. He spent much of the warm months recovering from his attempt when it backfired most spectacularly. He continues trying to work out how to get around the protective magic. He will continue to fail. However, if you can convince your friend to take you to the carcass and grant you permission to harvest it, the Right of Harvest will pass magically to you without any risk of backlash. I believe you also have access to someone who can assist you with such a task with whom you could, shall we say, share the wealth.”

Once again, Hermione let her studious mind wander, trying to decipher her matron’s words.

Loletta interrupted her thoughts. “You can think on that during your waking hours. As for the spoilage, between the Right of Harvest and the magic bound to that cavern, it is not a concern. For now, let us begin with our friends here. They have been anxious to gift their venom.”

~*~

Chapter Text

6. Negotiations

Hermione felt her face flame with embarrassment when it finally clicked in her head to whom Loletta had been referring. She sat beside Harry in History of Magic doing her best to take notes rather than fall asleep as most of the class while Binn’s monotone voice droned about the Goblin Wars. She had two notebooks spread open before her. One contained the notes from this class while the other contained notes concerning what she’d learned from the library about the Right of Harvest.

With a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying attention, she focused on the strings of the Web around her and pulled them into a buffering dome. Then she nudged her classmate.

“Harry?” Even with the dome, she whispered.

He answered in kind. “What?”

Nudging her notes toward him, she asked, “Are you aware that you are the only person magically capable of touching the basilisk corpse in the chamber?”

He flinched, his nose wrinkling. “But I don’t—”

Hermione slapped her hand over his mouth. “Do not finish that statement. Magic will hear you. I understand your sentiment, but I have a proposal.”

She waited until he nodded before removing her hand.

He stared around them. “How did nobody notice that?”

She grinned. “I’ve blocked them from hearing us. We could probably talk at a normal volume, but I’m not one hundred percent certain that I crafted the dome correctly. Now listen.”

As she spoke, she flipped to a blank page and started scribbling a contract. “That basilisk corpse contains a lot of viable potions ingredients that are worth a ridiculous amount of money to the right people. Because of the ancient magic guarding it, no one besides you can touch it, and it will remain preserved until you either declare that it just go away—at which point it will literally rot immediately—or you transfer the Right of Harvest to someone else.”

“So if I were to state right now that—”

Once again, her hand flew to cover his mouth. “Please don’t. I don’t want to even risk that magic could hear you and take it as fact rather than just you talking a question out loud.”

He rolled his eyes and nodded once again before pulling her hand away. “But why? I have a ridiculous enough amount of gold in my vault. It’s actually insane how much money I have.”

She agreed. “Sure, but you weren’t the only one to go into that task, were you? You may have been the only one to get to the actual Chamber, and you ended up being the one who actually fought and defeated the beast, but you didn’t start out alone. Can you think of why anyone else could be interested in that corpse, or at least the profits from it?”

She could almost see his thoughts connecting the threads. Then his brow furrowed.

“But you’re mad at Ron. Why would you offer to do something that could benefit him?”

“I’m mad at him for copying my papers and being a lazy sod. He actually hurt my grades instead of just his own. But I am still capable of recognizing that he has been by your side since that first train ride.”

Harry seemed to turn that thought through his mind. Then his eyes narrowed again. “And just why are you willing to do this? Why not just explain the Right of Harvest stuff and try to convince me to either do it myself or hire someone to do it? On that thought, why hasn’t Dumbledore come to me about harvesting it for the good of the school?”

Hermione smiled. “There’s that brain I knew you had. I have it from a very trusted source that our esteemed Headmaster spent the summer attempting to get around the ancient magic rather than talking to you and gaining permission.”

“Does this ‘trusted source’ have anything to do with how your magical strength has apparently multiplied like crazy?”

She hesitantly agreed. “It might have something to do with that.”

Then the boy’s face flushed with anger. “You mean to tell me that he is fully aware of the magic protecting the corpse, and instead of talking to me about it, which, let’s be honest, I’d likely have granted him full permission without asking any questions—instead of going the easiest route, he’s been trying to circumvent ancient magic?”

She nodded. “That would have been recognized as coercion, even by magic. Both parties have to be fully aware of exactly what is transpiring in order for the Right of Harvest to transfer. And that, Harry, is why I’m talking to you. My source has informed me that the Headmaster spent much of the summer healing from the magical backlash of his tampering.”

Harry’s voice rose. “It’s been almost seven months! He could have asked me in the hospital wing while I was doped up on potions and recovering. He could have called it payment for Fawkes healing me with his tears! But instead, he’s trying to keep me from knowing that I have the magical right to what? A few thousand galleons?”

Hermione rested a hand on her friend’s arm to calm him. “Apparently, I did make the dome strong enough.” She chuckled as he realized he’d been practically yelling by the end of his tirade, and yet no one around them seemed to notice.

“Sorry about that.”

She shrugged. “I fully understand. It’s almost like the school curriculum is only teaching us current magic and pretending like anything from ancient magic is bunk just to keep us ignorant of our true power.” The sarcasm practically dripped from her words. She continued. “Ignoring that, let’s say it’s not just a few thousand galleons. The venom alone sells for nearly three hundred galleons per drop and is heavily monitored by every magical ruling body because of the danger involved in it. It is only available through a direct connection at Gringotts so that everything is traceable.”

Again, Harry furrowed his brow in thought. “How would you get around all of those safe guards in order to sell the harvested parts.”

Hermione watched her friend’s face turn slightly green at the thought. She stifled a chuckle. “You know how you and Ron have repeatedly said that I am, and I quote, ‘brilliant but scary’? I may have formed a direct connection with a goblin already in order to trade some other highly prized and strictly monitored potions ingredients that found their way into my possession.” Then she grinned wide. “And nobody asks the goblins how they came into possession of certain things.”

Then she slid her other notebook closer and pointed to some of her class notes. “The goblins have defeated a great many magical beasts and gained Right of Harvest, Harry. It’s all right here in our history books, even if it is shrouded in language that hides the significance of the events.”

They spent the rest of the class period negotiating the harvest contract. Hermione found herself a little stunned at how Harry requested the profit value be split. The base split came down to fifty-fifty between him, as the victor, and her, as the harvester. After that, he further split his half such that he actually only kept ten percent. He asked for twenty percent each to be placed into trusts for both Ronald and Ginevra Weasley for their own parts in the situation. Those trusts would be managed by the goblins of Gringotts until such time that both of the parties reached adulthood according to magic, at which point they would then be notified of the existence of the trust.

Hermione had inquired as to the reasoning behind not telling them until they’d come of age. Harry had rolled his eyes and said, “They’re broke, Hermione. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed Ron’s jealousy about the monetary background either of us have, even if I never knew of mine until I went to Diagon Alley for the first time. During last summer, Mr. Weasley won 700 galleons, yet they all still came to school this year with used textbooks and hand-me-downs because they spent the majority of those winnings on a vacation to Egypt. I don’t begrudge them their vacation. I don’t begrudge Molly or Arthur from continuing to buy second hand. But do you think for even one moment that if either Ron or Ginny suddenly found themselves with a substantial pouch in their hands that they would even consider putting it in a trust for the future? If I can present a good amount of gold in an already established vault as a Coming of Age gift for them as proof that letting the goblins handle your investments will see you funded far into the future, it stands a better chance of sinking in.”

“That’s pretty forward thinking of you, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “I had a little time to talk to the goblins about my inheritance while I waited for everyone else to arrive at the Leaky this summer. It was eye opening, to say the least. The fiduciary contract surrounding my own vault was enacted seven generations back and is a work of magic all on its own. It made me rethink a whole bunch of things. Then they actually showed me the account books… Hermione, I have nearly twice as much gold in that vault than I did when I first saw it two years ago. And I have an entire separate account for my tuition so that had anything gone really bad, the cost of my schooling was still covered! If Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had found out about it, I don’t think that even they could have blown through it. Though I’m sure they would have tried, out of spite, if nothing else.”

His eyes dropped to the contract. “So, once we sign this, you take care of everything else, and I don’t have to worry about it anymore?”

She nodded. “You’ll have to show me how to get in. After that, you’ll just continue to grow your vault and worry about your homework.”

A grin tugged the boy’s lips upward. “What do you think you’ll do with your fifty percent?”

“I’ll keep some parts for my own potions inventory, of course. But half of my portion will go to pay the person I am hoping to convince to help me with the harvest.”

“Do I want to ask?”

Hermione hiked one eyebrow. “If you think on it, it’ll come to you. Meanwhile,” she tapped her wand to the class notes, duplicating them. “Since we spent this time negotiating, here is a copy of my notes from the lecture so that you have something to study when needed.”

“But we missed half the lecture.”

She snorted. “I can multi-task, Harry. I was still taking notes.”

“Why am I not surprised? I’m sure I’ll thank you come exam time.”

~*~

Chapter Text

7. Negotiations—Part 2

Shortly after dinner, Harry had escorted Hermione through the entrance in the 3^rd floor girls lavatory. However, when he’d prepared himself for the slide ride, she’d shaken her head at him.

“Are you a wizard or not, Harry James Potter?” Then she’d cast Wingardeum Leviosa upon herself and directed herself downward in a gentle feather fall.

Once they had both landed—in a space that had been vanished of its boney detritus—Harry shook his head. “There were three of us, Hermione. Three wizards who clearly were incapable of remembering that we were, in fact, wizards, and slid down a dirty, disgusting shaft to land in a heap of rat skeletons. You’d have thought that at least one of us would have remembered the troll thing and thought of the levitation charm.”

Hermione kept her eyeroll to herself. “And just think, you don’t have to worry about how you’re going to get back up now, do you?”

The boy’s eyes widened. However, his voice remained calm when he replied. “That’s a… very valid point. I’m just now beginning to wonder whether I’m capable of critical thought. At all. How can I possibly be ‘The Chosen One’ if I can’t think of something so simple?”

She let the grin spread widely. “Sheer Dumb Luck… and some really smart friends.”

As they passed the shed skin, Harry shivered. “Any chance you could just vanish that, too?”

“Sorry, Harry. That’s quite valuable—possibly four thousand galleons of powdered snakeskin once prepared, and that’s just our portion. Just keep reminding yourself that this should be the last time you have to see any of this.”

Finally, they stood before the heavy stone door. Harry started focusing on the snakes to call forth his Parseltongue. However, Hermione rested a hand on his arm.

“Let’s try something else first, shall we?” Then she pulled the contract and quills from her bag, letting Harry sign first and quickly etching her own name after his. No sooner had she lifted the quill than a swirl of wind spun around them, and Hermione felt her skin tingle.

Harry boggled, shaking himself as if a strong chill had travelled down his spine. “Now I’m really glad we didn’t sign that in the classroom. What was that?”

“That was the transfer of the Right of Harvest magic.” Then she stepped in front of the blockade and spoke sternly. “As the holder of the Right of Harvest, I am here to inspect my spoils.”

Your magical Right of Entrance has been recognized for the duration necessary to complete the Harvest. The words seemed to echo in her mind, coming from the very stones around her. She also got the very strong sense that magic would indeed intervene if she tried to circumvent by leaving any portion of the beast behind just for the purpose of maintaining access to the Chamber.

Without a single bit of Parseltongue, the serpents released the lock on the door.

Harry released a heavy breath. “When you said I wouldn’t need to return, you actually meant it.”

“Oh, Harry. When have I ever said something that I did not mean? Had my declaration not worked, I would have paid very close attention to how you opened the door and taught myself the most basic of Parseltongue. You have every reason to never enter this Chamber again, and I would never force you to come just to grant me access. Once I have convinced my chosen work partner and their contract is also signed, I am certain even they will be able to vocally gain entrance without your, or even my needing to intervene.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. Then that mischievous grin settled on his face once again. “So, how are you going to convince Professor Snape to work with you, the muggleborn bane of his existence?”

The girl practically bounced internally. “I knew you’d figure it out. This is what I mean, Harry. You are by no means dumb. You’re just lazy about it. If someone else is nearby to do the thinking for you, you let them. That may be a protective coping mechanism you’ve adapted courtesy of your… relatives. However, it’s something you should work very hard to overcome. Stop letting folks around you do your thinking for you. Take back control over your own life.”

Harry blushed slightly. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll be employing a little bit of Slytherin tactic. And that’s all you need to know about it. Now, I’m sure Ron is wondering where you’ve disappeared to, and I really do need to inspect so that I can attempt to determine how many vials, satchels, boxes, or carrying cases I will need to get this over and done with. Go on.”

He shook his head very adamantly. “Hermione, I may not be the best friend a person can have, and I know I killed that beast. But there is absolutely no way in the Nine Hells that I am letting you go in that chamber by yourself for the first time. After this, I will promise to assume that you have someone with you.” At that, he paused. “If you don’t, you come get me. As much as it is an utterly disgusting thought, I don’t want you going in there alone.”

“Are you sure?”

He cocked one eyebrow. “I’m doing my own thinking here, Hermione.”

Hermione was very glad to have him with her a very short time later as she laid eyes on the carcass. She stumbled and would have fallen had he not caught her. “Bloody hell,” was all she managed to say.

As soon as their feet settled back on the stone floor of the bathroom, Hermione rushed to the first cubicle and expelled her dinner. After flushing, washing her hands and rinsing her mouth, she quickly apologized. “It was seeing the sheer size. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t really know.”

Her friend merely snorted in agreement.

She brought her eyes up and locked them to his. “Voldemort doesn’t stand a chance against you, Harry Potter.”

Her words brought color back to his face and seemed to settle him. “Thanks. Let’s get out of here.”

~*~

Hermione waited another week before she finally knocked on Professor Snape’s office door.

The man scowled as he glared down at her. “What great honor has bestowed upon me your presence at this time, Miss Granger?” Despite the animosity of the question, he did not immediately slam the door in her face and seemed willing to actually listen to her answer.

She squared her shoulders and steeled her voice. “I require assistance with a potion that is well above my skill level, sir.”

Those beady eyes narrowed, yet he bade her enter. Once the door had closed, he allowed the disdain to fill his voice. “What kind of potion would be considered above the skill level of a girl who deemed herself capable of brewing Polyjuice in her second year?”

Choosing to ignore the barbed statement and without waiting to be asked, she seated herself in the chair opposite his desk. “I have reason to believe that someone important has been struck with a combination of Obsession, Compulsion, and Devotion curses. I’m sure it is possible that it was potions, but my gut tells me that it would have been very difficult for even an untrained person to not taste those particular potions. Not to mention that the potions themselves would have to be constantly readministered, whereas the curses could be subconsciously maintained by the caster provided they maintain contact with the victim at least twice a year, if my research is to be believed.”

He scoffed. “You could obtain such a potion from any reputable apothecary.”

She nodded. “That much is true. However, I would like for the potion to then provide the drinker protection against those curses being recast upon them, and if the alleged victim is not cursed, it should do absolutely no harm to them, nor change their mental status in any way. No standard apothecary can provide such a thing.”

She noted only the slightest tick in one eye as he registered exactly what she had asked.

“You do realize, Miss Granger, that such a potion would contain ingredients that few, if any, Potions Masters would have readily on hand. It would require the brewer to dedicate an entire week with very little sleep due to the intensity of the process. I highly doubt you could offer proper compensation for such a task.”

Without a word, Hermione stuck her hand in her bag and withdrew a magical Non-Disclosure Agreement, handing it across the desk.

Snape’s eyes narrowed even further as he read the contract. “What the hell is this?” He demanded.

She maintained her calm demeaner. “Before I am willing to tell you either how the ingredients will be acquired or how you will be compensated, I need that NDA signed. If your curiosity is not strong enough to sign for that knowledge alone, I’ll leave you be and work on finding a different Potions Master to assist me. However, it really is awfully convenient that Britain’s foremost Potions Master happens to teach at the very school I attend. Getting permission to visit other Masters during weekends… let’s just say that we both know how well that would go over with the headmaster.”

He let his body relax as he read through the NDA once again. “I note that this NDA expires the moment the victim drinks the potion. That’s a very curious bit of wording.”

Hermione sat silently, refusing to answer the non-question.

Several minutes of her professor staring at her as if attempting to read her mind—and he couldn’t, thank you, Loletta, for that gift—finally saw him grab his own quill and scribble his name across the bottom. She had signed it before ever entering the room, so it automatically duplicated itself, and a copy floated to each of them. Hermione tucked hers in her bag while Snape left his copy sitting on the desk before him.

She drew a deep breath and focused. A very tiny vial appeared to rise from the flesh of her arm and settle into her palm.

“Acromantula venom, three drams, freely given from a live specimen.”

She focused again on the other arm, pulling forth one of the smallest of the pearls hidden there and moving it into her other palm.

“Acromantula Tears, five drams, freely given from the same live specimen.”

The elder no longer leaned snidely back against his seat. Instead, he had lurched forward with the first revelation and nearly crawled onto the desk with the second. She allowed him to inspect the items, which he did without touching either them or her. Once he seemed satisfied, he glanced up at her with a little less disdain.

“Then it’s true. There’s a new Harvester in town.”

Hermione acknowledged the statement with a slight tip of her head.

The professor reached behind his desk, grabbing what looked like an innocuous box. A quick Gemino replicated the item. He then opened them, showing her that they were actually extremely intricate, highly protected boxes that would only open for him. She placed each ingredient into its own and let him place them back on his shelf.

“You have placed a great deal of trust in revealing yourself to me, Lady Harvester. That NDA has an expiration date.”

Hermione had to school her reaction to his addressing her with such formality. “Yes, it does. I will never hold a being under and open-ended geas. They are too much like slavery,” she spoke plainly.

His eye twitched again.

She ignored it.

His lips pursed before speaking. “And my compensation?”

With that, she finally pulled out her harvest contract with Harry, an addendum page attached dividing her portion with him evenly. As she let him read it, taking in his expression as he did, she spoke. “As I informed Harry, and I am sure you are well aware due to having made the necessary restorative potions, the headmaster attempted—and failed—over the summer to circumvent the magical Right of Harvest. This will put a stop to any further action on his part by removing the temptation.”

Snape drummed his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. “This is… considerably more compensation than even that potion is worth. What else is required for this to go forth? If I sign this, what else will I be driven to accomplish?”

Hermione hiked one eyebrow. “Not driven. Not a requirement. Only a request. I would like to receive private, advanced potions lessons. I believe it goes without being said that I will take part in the harvesting of the basilisk in question, which would include lessons on how to do so, even if I do not foresee ever needing the knowledge again. I would, however, also be willing to share with you my connection within Gringotts who would see to handling the dispersal of all harvested materials which you choose not to keep within your own potions inventory.”

Still, he studied her, his face revealing nothimg. “Why did you not include that as part of the contract?”

She leaned back, relaxing her posture as she answered him. “I believe a person’s right to choose should always be respected, Professor Snape. Even if I disagree with that choice. You might think that 25% of a basilisk is an overcompensation for such an expensive and intricate potion. But I have already managed to lock you into several weeks of magically-bound silence, another several weeks of private lessons on harvesting and preserving a magical creature, and the knowledge of my status. Perhaps I place a higher value on all of those things than you do, but I think the current contract is actually quite fair. It is true that you could very easily reveal who I am to the headmaster as soon as the victim—”

“A victim whose name you refuse to reveal,” he interrupted.

“Yes. As soon as this victim has consumed the potion, you could expose me.” She shrugged. “I am part of the,” she rolled her eyes, “Golden Trio. My life will be in no more danger than it is now. However, the danger would potentially come from sources known currently as allies. Honestly, as soon as the headmaster learns that the carcass has been successfully harvested, I’m sure he’ll immediately understand that I played a major part in the task. He’s already unhappy with me for the calling of justice, and with the Weasley twins for putting a halt to his trying to force me to remove said judgement. I have entered into all of this with my eyes wide open, seeing even more than some would wish me to see.”

They sat in silence for several minutes while the professor’s eyes jumped back and forth between the contracts before him and the mere third year student who had gained the blessing of an old deity sitting across the desk from him.

Finally, he grabbed his quill and inked his name across the addendum. “Excellent negotiating, Miss Granger. If not for your presumed blood status, you definitely would have been placed in Slytherin. We have a deal.”

~*~

Chapter Text

8. The Potion

December, 1993

Hermione had signed the bid to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday as soon as the form appeared. While she did wish to visit with her parents, she wanted to spend time with Loletta without the interruption of schoolwork even more. She also assumed that would be the best time to begin harvesting the basilisk… once Professor Snape completed the potion, that is. Logic told her that he could prep some of the minor ingredients ahead of time, but most of the preparation had to take place in the presence of the brewing potion while the brewer shared their magic into both the preparation and the cauldron at the same time.

It was an extremely powerful bit of magic that she was happy to turn over to such a skilled master. She had other important things to learn.

For example, how to buffer some of the strength of tugging on the Web with her magic, particularly when she did not realize she was casting.

Just the night before, she’d been calling for Crookshanks, trying to get him out from under Lavendar’s bed. After several calm tries, she’d gotten frustrated. She’d stomped her feet and demanded, “Crookshanks, come!” The kneazle had flown from under the bed and slammed into her hard enough to knock her over. Despite her apologies, he was currently none too pleased with her. Thankfully, they’d landed on her own bed, and no one had been present to see the event. Nor had either of them been injured outside of the scratches with which the cat made his displeasure known.

For the most part, life had returned to her new normal. The Weasley twins and Neville sat with her at the end of the Gryffindor table for meals. Every once in a while, she’d catch the headmaster staring in her direction, but as soon as he saw her notice him, he’d turn back to whatever conversation took place with the professors.

Harry moped about his damaged broom, of course. She might not like flying, but Hermione fully understood that Harry absolutely did. He easily could purchase himself a new broom, provided he could convince either Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore to escort him to Diagon Alley.

And still, every night, she returned to the Forest to either harvest from the spiders or learn more about navigating the Web from Loletta. With as much as she had already collected, Hermione wondered just how those two small satchels could possibly continue to have room. Then she reminded herself that they were crafted by the magic of her Goddess. She also wondered if perhaps having so much hidden inside her is what caused her magic to be so strong and how soon she could pass a bit more of it to Farnack.

“For now, my dear, you will retain as much as you can. As you borrow magic from the harvest bags, some of the contents do get depleted. Right now, your mind recognizes the practically endless well of magic hidden within you. You need to alter that perception. Make it so that instead of recognizing the full satchel, you are tapped into just a single point on a single thread of the bag itself.”

Hermione let Loletta’s explanation roll through her brain while she focused.

“At some point in the future, you may need to access a great deal more power, but for now, pick a single thread, and then a single point on that thread.”

After several more unsuccessful attempts, she finally focused and brought the satchel of tears forward into her hand. She stared at it until she could physically see each individual thread of magic woven to create the material. Then gently, she tugged a single thread forward and created the tiniest knot. With a smile, she sent the bag back into her arm.

This time, when she focused her magic, she could remember that knot such that it was the only part of the bag actually touching her core. She stretched out one hand toward a smaller acromantula and spoke softly. “Gimme.”

The spider drifted across the clearing, coming to rest softly in her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered before letting the creature scuttle away once again.

Loletta clapped. “Well done, child! That should certainly reduce some of the overpowered spell casting.”

Hermione released a breath of relief. “Thank goodness. To be honest, it was little frightening not having much control over my spells.”

The goddess nodded as she settled beside the girl on the ground. “I can certainly see how that would be unsettling.” Her hand waved in the air causing a shimmery web to appear. “Now that you can pare back the strength, tell me what you see.”

Hermione hiked one eyebrow. “Is that why you put off showing me much about the Web?”

“If you unraveled the wrong knot at the wrong time, it could reveal that which we have kept so well hidden. Now,” she pointed at the Web. “What does this thread connect?”

~*~

Christmas Eve, 1993

When the summons finally arrived, Hermione felt anxiety encompass her entire body. Every cell felt as if it quaked. She’d known it would come soon; she hadn’t seen Professor Snape anywhere since the end of class the previous Friday. If he’d started brewing immediately after his last class that night, he would have potentially finished the potion this morning.

She had expected the man to collapse into bed and sleep for at least two days prior to summoning her. Yet here she sat, alone in her common room, note in hand delivered to her by one of the Hogwarts elves, requesting her attendance in his office before breakfast. The house elf remained, waiting to transport her there.

“Professor Sir instructed Mankie to wait for Young Miss. Professor Sir is mighty tired, Young Miss. The sooners you gets there, the sooners Professor Sir can sleep.” The elf made a motion with her hands to hurry the girl along.

Hermione smiled softly. “Of course, Mankie. I’ll be just a minute.” She grabbed her clothing, stepped into the bath, and quickly changed. Then she brushed her hair and teeth, not bothering to attempt to do anything with it. Her professor had just spent over a hundred hours brewing. She refused to keep him waiting.

Back in the bedroom, she grabbed her shoes. Before she could sit down to actually put them on, though, Mankie grabbed her other hand and whisked her to the dungeon.

“Merlin’s sake, Mankie. You could have let the girl put her shoes on.” Snape’s voice sounded gravelly.

The elf squeaked. “Mankie is sorry, sir. Mankie will shut her fingers in the door.”

Snape snarled. “No, you won’t. Such was not a grievance worthy of punishment. However, if you feel so driven, you may swat yourself twice with a soft slipper.” He turned his attention to Hermione. “Take the time to put your shoes on, Granger. Then take your potion and go.” He waved his hand toward a large vial on the desk.

“Three drops for every year suspected of being under the curses. If no such curse exists, nothing untoward will happen. If the curses do exist, the victim will notice the effects clearing from their mind almost immediately, depending on just how long they’ve been under the influence. At this point, I presume that by the time I awaken, the final detail of the contract will have been satisfied.”

He scratched his chin, his fingernails dragging through a week’s worth of beard growth.

Hermione stepped forward. Without picking the vial up, she pushed it closer to him. “The last of the contract can be satisfied at this moment, sir.”

His tired eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

She sighed. “The potion is for you, professor.”

Snape spoke through clenched teeth. “You expect me to believe that you paid me a quarter of a full-grown basilisk harvest to brew a potion for myself?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Hermione nodded toward the chair. “May I sit, sir?”

Mankie squeaked again. “Professor Sir needs a bath and sleep. Young Miss should take her potion and leave.”

“Mankie, leave us.”

“But sir—”

Snape narrowed his eyes at the elf. “Professor Sir will have a bath and go to sleep very soon, Mankie. This is a conversation that needs to happen right now, and it is one to which you need not be privy. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor Sir. Four swats with a soft slipper?”

He nodded. “Four swats. Please bring tea, and then you can prepare my bath.”

The elf snapped out and back and out again in moments. Snape poured two cups, handing one across the desk to her. “Now, Miss Granger, please explain to me why you contracted me to brew a potion for myself.”

Hermione took a small sip of the tea to clear her throat before she started talking. “Sir, if I were to have come to you having purchased said potion from anyone else, would you have willingly taken it?”

He snorted into his own mug. “Trust that some other brewer has made it through such a grueling process without taking shortcuts or making mistakes? Of course not.” Then he froze. “What has caused you to believe that I have been so afflicted?”

“Loletta has been training me on reading the Web of Life, sir. Part of my practice is to focus on individuals around me and read the Web as it connects to them. When I look at the Web surrounding you, it is full of discordant knots—knots made unnaturally that cause the Web to be misshapen, the threads to connect where they don’t belong. The goddess has warned me against repairing any of the discord for now. However, that potion is one that works to repair within a designated field inside the discord. It will provide you with a shield against further tampering without upsetting the Web as it currently lay.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

She shrugged. “If you brewed it to the specifications I asked, then absolutely nothing will happen to you outside of gaining protection against potential manipulation. It will taste absolutely vile, but other than that, you’ll finish your tea, have your bath, and sleep for probably two days.” She met his eyes. “And then you still gain a quarter of a basilisk and freedom from the NDA.”

Snape continued to study her for several more minutes before he reached into his desk and withdrew two pipettes. He handed one to her.

“One point three milliliters should cover the entirety of your lifespan to date, Lady Harvester.”

Oh, she thought. He wants me to take it, too. Is this an act of showing trust?

Hermione hesitated only a moment before opening the potion vial and pulling the correct dosage for herself. She then handed the bottle across the desk to her professor. As she watched, he filled his own pipette with around three and half milliliters.

He nodded toward her teacup. “Best to swallow quickly and wash it down with that.”

Without another word, they tipped their heads back, mouths open, and squished the bulb on their pipettes.

The taste hit her tongue like acid. It was sharp, acrid, and made her think of the smell in the bottom of the quidditch laundry hamper mingled with the sewage treatment plant back home. She clamped her lips closed to keep from spitting it out. Her clenched fists beat against the mahogany.

“Swallow, Granger. It only gets worse the longer you wait.”

Hermione beat her fists three more times before she managed to force her throat to work. She swept the teacup into her hands and drained it. When Snape refilled it, she quickly drained that one too.

“Oh, dear gods, that was the worst! I’ll be tasting that for absolute days!” Her entire body shook.

She heard the elder chuckle slightly. “I didn’t think you had it in you. I thought for sure you’d simply insist that—” As his words cut off, the minor joviality on his face sank into a more crestfallen look.

Hermione watched as his eyes darkened. Crestfallen became an angry storm. He turned his face away.

“Professor?” Concern riddled her voice.

He ignored her. “Mankie.”

The elf appeared immediately. “Sir?”

He did not look at either of them. “Please escort Miss Granger back to her room. Neither of you will speak of this meeting. Not even if asked by the headmaster.”

“Yes, sir.” House elf and student spoke in unison.

~*~

Chapter Text

9. A Surprising Turn of Events

January, 1994

Hermione did her best to stifle her disappointment. She’d waited patiently for any word at all from Professor Snape, yet none had come. At least, none had come from the professor himself. He had sent one brief message through his house elf.

Mankie had appeared directly beside her on the bed the morning of Boxing Day.

“Good. Young Miss is awake. Professor Sir sends Mankie with a message, and Mankie is to give that message exactly as Professor Sir said it.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes and then pushed herself upright. “Okay, Mankie. I’m ready.”

“Meddlesome Twinkle Eyes has sent Professor Sir on a fool’s errand. Professor Sir will return with the students. Touch nothing.” The elf nodded before disappearing once again.

True to the message, he had remained absent for the rest of the break. She had not seen him until breakfast the first day of classes. Using just a tiny amount of focus, she could tell the shield held strong around him, but the man was exhausted yet again. The occasional glares she saw him send the headmaster did nothing but confirm for her to whom ‘Meddlesome Twinkle Eyes’ referred.

What had her most confused, however, was the question of just what kind of errand could the headmaster of a secondary school have sent one of the professors to handle that would have taken a week? Granted, the Headmaster was also Chief Warlock; that just made the question even more confusing. So far, she only knew what could be found in the school library about the workings within wizarding society. Sadly, what she had been able to read was written with clear gaps leaving out things that ‘everyone already knows’. When she’d asked the clerk at the bookstore for a muggleborn’s guide to wizarding Britain, the elder man had just chuckled and assured her that she would learn everything she needed to know at Hogwarts while bagging her schoolbooks for her.

Once again, she sighed in frustration as she finished her breakfast. They had Care of Magical Creatures this morning.

Her brow furrowed. That was another thing. Did wizarding society have no requirement for certifications before allowing someone to teach their youth? Granted, she liked Hagrid. As a person. Mostly. As a professor—the man hadn’t even been allowed to complete his own secondary education. Sure, he was enamored with beasts and wild creatures. She felt certain he’d gained quite a bit of hands-on knowledge that would be useful to know. But was it enough to be a professor? Had the headmaster even tried to find someone actually qualified, or had he simply chosen the path of least resistance? Based on the barely restrained looks of consternation upon some of the other professors’ faces during the arrival feast announcements, Hermione had a strong feeling they may have argued in the same vein and been ignored.

She had no one to whom she could pose these questions unless Professor Snape allowed her to pick his brain on something other than how to harvest a basilisk if and when they finally made it to that point.

Hermione could only draw a smidgeon of relief from the fact that it did not appear Snape had said anything to his employer about her alignment. Since she had put a clear ending to the non-disclosure, she knew the risk hovered around her. The number of individuals whose silence she relied on now numbered six, none of whom were her alleged best friends. She did not worry about the twins, strangely enough. Neville, too, seemed safe as a holder of that knowledge. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were a necessary involvement on the twins’ behalf.

But why had Loletta guided her to Professor Snape? Sure, she needed his help to harvest the beast. She felt she could have accomplished that without the anti-curse protective potion.

Allowing her frustration to reduce her appetite, Hermione set her utensils down and pushed the plate away. She gathered her things and made her way outside, her mind still pondering the issue.

About halfway across the green, her circular thoughts aligned themselves into a semblance of order that nearly had her stumble.

She spoke aloud to herself. “You took the potion, Hermione. You showed your trust in his brewing process. Your lack of reaction outside of concern for him proved that you were not being manipulated. His emotional shift from being entertained at your discomfort to an anger that required his sending you away with his house elf shows that the potion worked on him beyond just giving a layer of protection. Whatever else is happening in the background, he has learned that he can trust you, at least to a certain degree.”

As the rest of her classmates joined her, she pushed those thoughts out of her mind.

~*~

Hermione took her time putting her salamander back in its terrarium after class. She wanted to take a moment to talk to Hagrid about her research into Buckbeak’s defense. Before she could speak, however, she noticed none other than Draco Malfoy himself approaching.

The blond boy bowed his head toward her, offering a more formal bow toward Hagrid.

“Professor Hagrid, I have a delivery for you from my barrister.” He held an ornate envelope toward the half-giant.

Hagrid stuttered. “B-but the trial’s not until April.”

Malfoy’s eyes slid sideways as if checking to make sure Hermione remained nearby. He cleared his throat. “After much discussion with my parents during holiday, sir, we have opted to drop all charges against the hippogriff known as Buckbeak. That envelope contains written confirmation from our barrister as well as the formal declaration from the Ministry. We feel it is in everybody’s best interest that the matter be relegated to mere history and lessons learned.”

With one more formal bow, Malfoy turned on his heel and walked calmly away.

That must have caused him great pain to refer to Hagrid with any level of respect, Hermione thought. But why did he make sure I was close by?

As she made her way to her next class as well, the thought continued to plague her mind. That envelope could have been sent by owl, yet Malfoy chose to hand deliver the information. And to have gotten the Ministry approval to drop charges, during the holiday no less, had to have taken some extra effort, possibly even bribery.

But why?

~*~

Chapter Text

10. A Touch of Peace

When the students arrived at the potions classroom, it was immediately apparent that something had changed. The tables had been rearranged so that they lined the outside of the class. A single table stood in the middle. Rather than waiting for the students to settle before entering himself, Professor Snape leaned against the center table, his arms crossed. Thankfully, his expression still looked the same, lest someone think he’d been replaced by Pod People or those strange aliens from V, that miniseries that her father loved to watch every time it came on the telly. Frankly, watching creatures peel their human-looking flesh from their bodies to reveal their alien forms hidden beneath only served to make Hermione think that, as disgusting as it was, Polyjuice was certainly a better option.

Snape raised one eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak. “As you can see, this term, we are going to start doing things a little different. Seating is now assigned. You have three minutes to wander the room to find said assigned seat. Starting now.”

As per usual, Gryffindor moved to one side of the room while Slytherin started reading tags on the other. Also as per usual, it seemed that Hermione led the way on the Gryffindor side. Rather than just hunting for her own name, she read the first tag, “Pansy Parkinson,” she called out. “Your name is here.”

Without looking to see if the girl responded, she looked to the other name. She hiked her own eyebrows into her forehead. “Lavendar Brown,” she called out again, keeping her thoughts to herself as she moved to the next table.

“Ronald Weasley,” she heard Malfoy call from the other side of the room.

Hermione did look up at that. Malfoy just smirked at her, called out the next name—Vincent Crabbe—and kept moving. Between the two, they had everyone in their assigned seats within the allowed three minutes. The students were by no means silent, however. Every single table had both a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Barely contained contempt rolled through the air like a storm cloud.

Standing at the end of their respective rows, both students realized they had no more names to call out. Yet, neither had found their own.

Snape, with what looked like a suppressed grin, finally straightened from his almost relaxed position and waved one hand toward the center table. The two students approached, seeing their names displayed more prominently on a placard that had been hidden behind their professor.

He began speaking. “One thing that is very important to learn, especially in potion making, is how to work together with someone whom you might find distasteful. The likelihood that you are always going to get along with your partner is slim. As such, you have been paired with someone whose skill level closely matches your own. In the future, this may change.”

As the professor spoke, he began wandering the room, glaring at the students who continued to show animosity toward each other rather than pay attention.

“On each table, you will find the name of the potion which you will be brewing and a single cauldron. This, also, has been assigned according to skill level. As such, there will be no opportunity for any of you to cheat, as no two tables have the same potion assigned. You will work as a team, and you will be graded as a team. Your grade will be based not only on the successful completion of the potion, but also on how well you cooperate. A failing potion could still gain a passing grade with proper cooperation. Some of you will finish fairly quickly. As such, you may either sit silently and observe your fellow students in their work, or you may begin tonight’s homework, which is written on the board. Either way, you will not disturb those around you, lest you cause their cauldrons to explode courtesy of any distractions.”

Hermione stifled a snigger as nearly every eye in the room turned to look at the table where both Neville Longbottom and Gregory Goyle sat.

“Well,” the professor snarked. “What are you waiting for?”

Hermione felt every Gryffindor eye watching her. She could even hear Ron’s only half-mumbled encouragement toward doing Malfoy bodily harm. She ignored all of it and glanced at their assigned potion. Her pupils flared as she saw Draught of Peace scrawled in Snape’s distinctive spiky penmanship.

“That’s OWL level,” Malfoy whispered.

She swallowed hard as she read through the instructions, stopping immediately when she got to the powdered unicorn horn. It had to be ground in the presence of the cauldron and incorporated by the hands that ground it. But it was the second part of the instructions that gave her pause. She sighed as she pointed to the final sentence.

“You’ll need to complete this portion, Malfoy, unless we wish to blow up our cauldron and put the entire class into an irreversible coma.” She couldn’t help the blush that stained her cheeks as he read the sentence and comprehension dawned. As she watched, the boy’s brow furrowed.

“That leaves you with having to complete the entirety of the rest of the potion if we wish to actually complete it during the allotted time. Unicorn horn is very difficult to grind with mortar and pestle.”

She nodded in agreement. “Shall we?”

With very little else being spoken, the two students got to work. By the time Malfoy signaled that the horn was ready, Hermione had just added the last bit of stewed mandrake. They smoothly swapped places so that Malfoy could add the unicorn horn as soon as the potion turned purple. It wasn’t until they were adding the last of the finely powdered porcupine quills that either of them seemed to realize that not only was Snape nearby, silently watching as they worked, but also that the rest of the class appeared to be focused solely on them.

They both released a sigh of relief as the potion finally turned white. They stepped away from the table. Hermione handed a small kerchief to her classmate, using one herself to dab at the sweat on her brow.

Professor Snape stepped up to the table and stared into the cauldron. He grabbed a pipette and pulled a small bit, holding it up to the light to inspect.

“Miss Granger, what made you and your companion divide the work between you as you did?”

Hermione hoped her classmates did not notice how her face flushed once again, or if they did, she hoped they attributed her coloring to the heat and exertion involved in the brewing process. “The unicorn horn had very specific handling instructions, sir. If the person handling it was female and within three days of either side of their menses, the risk of explosion would be exponentially increased, and the potion could send everyone into an irreversible coma.”

The man nodded, turning back toward the rest of the class. “That, students, is what cooperation looks like.” Then he turned back toward them. “Outstanding, which is not a grade I often give. Gather the several trays of phials from the storeroom and begin bottling. Waste not a single drop.”

When they found the trays of phials, they also found prewritten labels with the brewing date already on it… as well as their names as the brewers.

“Huh,” Malfoy said in slight disbelief. “It looks like our professor counted on us being highly successful.”

Hermione nodded, slightly stunned. “It appears that way, indeed.” Then she paused, gathered her courage, and raised her chin as she picked up one of the trays. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

When he said nothing, she raised her eyes to his. He looked confused.

“For what,” he asked.

She sighed. “For not failing us out of spite. I know you don’t prefer to work with… someone of my blood line or house affiliation.”

He snorted. “First off, I’m a Malfoy. We do not cut off our nose to spite our face, unlike your redheaded housemate and my own idiot friend. I understand that they brew at similar levels, but pairing the two of them together was a disaster waiting to happen.”

He nodded, signaling for her to precede him back toward their cauldron. “Secondly, you could have also done the same. Yet, when presented with a very guaranteed way to do so by ignoring the instructions, you chose to instead ignore your embarrassment and admit that you were within the specified time of your menses.”

Her face flamed. “And Professor Snape made me do so in front of the entire class.”

She heard the boy snort behind her. “Don’t worry. I’m fairly certain that actually earned you sympathy from both houses. At least among the entire female population. Some of the males have absolutely no idea what you meant. Those who do will mostly be smart enough to mark a calendar to know when not to brass you off.”

As they worked together to bottle and label everything, Hermione chanced a glance toward Neville. Then she sighed. “How did Neville and Goyle manage to actually not explode anything?”

She heard Malfoy cover his laugh with a cough. His voice dropped to a very discreet whisper. “They didn’t brew a potion. They brewed furniture polish. I saw the label before moving to the next table. There was literally nothing magical or flammable about it.”

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle her outburst. “Oh my goodness. I want to feel bad for them, but they really are horrible. I wish, for both their sakes as well as the rest of the students, that they would be allowed to drop the class.” Her eyes drifted over. “Did they succeed? I’ll admit that I didn’t really pay any attention to anything around us.”

Again, he seemed to struggle to speak through his stifled laughter. “No. It was… lumpy. And tar-like. And while it didn’t have the chance to explode, it most definitely caught fire somehow. Professor Snape put up a massive shield charm, trapping everything inside the cauldron. I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling he also put up a bit of a silencing spell. I could see mouths moving and a bit of chaos, but I barely heard a thing.”

Hermione thought back over the brewing process. Her brow furrowed slightly. “I have to wonder whether he did so right after we got started. I don’t remember hearing much of anything. But, to be honest, I tend to get extremely focused and can block out a good amount of the surrounding noise.”

She shrugged with a sigh. “Regardless of any of that, it was nice to be able to focus on my own work without having to pay attention to my housemates to keep them from catastrophe.”

As the rest of the class had less complex potions, most of them had already completed all of their clean up. Professor Snape snapped his fingers, and strips of paper appeared on each table.

“Those of you who were able to set aside your petty prejudices and complete today’s project successfully will have received the name of the next product you will be brewing with your current partner during the next practical brewing session, allowing you time to research the components should you choose to do so. It will be either of the same difficulty level, or slightly higher difficulty for those who truly embraced partnership in their brewing. Those of you who were unsuccessful,” and with that he shot a look directly at the corner table where both Longbottom and Goyle were tucking their heads in shame, “will notice that the name of the product has not changed. Until you can work together to complete the assigned product in an actual usable form, you will not only remain with the same partner, but you will also continue to have the same assignment.”

Murmurs erupted around the room. Several pairs could be seen starting to discuss their next assignment. Others glared at the professor, who seemed completely unphased by their reactions.

He continued. “If you have completed the appropriate clean up, you are free to leave.”

As Hermione finished wiping down their work surface—with just hot, soapy water lest the residue of their project react poorly with magical cleaning—Malfoy stared at their own assignment scrap. With a confused look, he lifted his eyes.

“Professor, this says we are to report to our heads of house after dinner tonight.”

“What?” Hermione’s squeak echoed off the far walls. She dropped the rag, wiped her hands on a towel, and then grabbed one side of the small slip of paper so that they both held one edge as she read it silently. Even as she read, the words on the paper started to change. She nudged Malfoy so that he looked at the paper once again, holding a finger to her lips to signal he should not read it aloud.

‘Report to the 7th floor corridor, tonight after dinner. Pace the hall across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times while thinking the following: We need a private conference room where we can only be found by those whom we deem worthy. Tell no one.’

As soon as she finished reading, the paper turned to motes of ash and floated up their noses, depositing the memory securely in their minds while leaving no trace behind.

Both students raised their eyes to their potions professor—only to find them completely alone in the room.

Chapter Text

11. Secret Meeting

The two students stood with their mouths agape as they watched the door appear where solid wall once stood. Etched on the door were lines that reminded Hermione of Sanskrit yet seemed more elegant. Below those etchings lie even more etchings, this time in recognizable letters.

‘Inside this space, we speak no names. Protection sought is not a game. Lessons learned are useful after. Enter ‘friend’, and leave True Master.’

“Oh,” Hermione spoke on a sigh. “That’s why it looks familiar. The etchings above—it reminds me of the Elvish script inside Tolkien’s many works.”

Her companion nodded, pointing to the word ‘friend’. “Do you think we need to speak the Elvish word for friend for the door to actually open?”

Hermione glanced to her side, fixing a confused gaze on Malfoy. “I mean no insult, Malfoy, but you know of Tolkien?”

The boy grinned. “Tolkien was a half-blood who used his knowledge of the wizarding world to write fantastical stories that he secretly published in the muggle world. The Ministry discovered these stories during routine research in keeping abreast of what muggle society thinks magic is. They quickly became popular here as well, to the point that every wizarding household maintains original signed copies on the family library shelves.”

Hermione gaped for a moment before snapping her jaw shut. “Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised by things like this anymore.” Then she nodded toward the door. “Shall we?”

Draco gave a quick nod. He raised a hand and held up three fingers, dropped one, then dropped another, and then pointed at the door.

In unison they said, “Mellon.”

The edge of the door glowed briefly before it swung outward.

Hermione drew and released a steadying breath before stepping forward, Draco following very closely behind. As soon as they’d both cleared the threshold, the partition swung shut, sealing them inside. Only a faint light illuminated the space directly around them. They could sense that the space expanded much beyond where they stood, yet everything remained cloaked.

The familiar voice of Professor Snape rumbled from the darkened shadows. “Welcome, children. Please remember very strictly the first sentence you saw inscribed on the outside of the door.”

“Inside this space, we speak no names.” Draco spoke the phrase while Hermione just nodded in agreement. The young man seemed to contemplate the implications for a moment before his brow furrowed. “Taboos?”

Hermione frowned. “I am unfamiliar with that phrase.”

Draco turned toward her, explaining but without his usual hostility. “A person can bespell their actual name such that when spoken by another person, the name holder can actually hear the conversation taking place and know what is being said. An extremely powerful witch or wizard can use such a spell to include a tracer and allow them to find the speaker through apparition without full knowledge of the destination. It’s very risky, and it takes a ridiculous level of magic to accomplish and maintain.”

She processed that information, and then her frown deepened. “Wait. Does that mean that more than just the meddlesome twinkle-eyed fool’s name is bespelled?”

Their professor gave a slight nod. “It is a very tiny addendum within the ironclad professorial contracts granting permission to said meddlesome fool to do so at his discretion.”

“So he has the ability to know what is being said, not just about himself, but about everyone under his employ,” she stated with a hint of disgust.

A single hiked eyebrow. “And that which we say to each other when addressed by name. Yes.”

“That’s…invasive beyond belief,” Draco added. “And extremely illegal, I believe. It certainly explains his alleged omniscience.”

Another nod of approval met their eyes. “Illegal, if not for that well-hidden clause, which we are befuddled to avoid noticing.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “The potion,” she whispered.

Again, Snape gave a nod of acknowledgement and approval. “Correct. There were other clauses under such protection, as well. That is still being unraveled and is not of your concern. It is also not why your attendance was requested here tonight, although there is a small tie in.”

The professor waved a hand toward the shadows. The light expanded, revealing a large, round table, around which sat three other professors, well known to both students. McGonagall sat in immediate view, with Flitwick and Vector to either side of her. Four empty chairs sat waiting. Simple maths said that someone remained not yet in attendance.

“Take a seat, please.” McGonagall waved toward the chairs. They quickly obeyed.

“Before we begin,” Snape met Hermione’s eyes. “With your permission, of course, the rest of the attending adults have agreed on the necessity of consuming that horrid concoction. If you do not have it with you, each can arrange for a moment of your time after class so that they can receive the same protections. I would like to also recommend to the one seated beside you that he should acquiesce to the same.”

Hermione closed her eyes and focused, pulling the large vial from its hiding place within her magical ‘storage’. “Considering how my own housemates currently view me, I did not feel comfortable leaving it anywhere, not even within the protections of my own trunk.”

McGonagall gasped. “I know you said, but seeing is a whole new hippogriff.”

Malfoy muttered beside her. “There is already so bloody much to unpack about this night, yet I highly doubt we’ve reached the crux.”

As Snape accepted the vial from her outstretched hand and started measuring doses into individual pipettes, Professor Flitwick conjured a large tea set and dispersed the cups around. Professor Vector sniffed her pipette and pressed a hand to her mouth, gagging.

“If my scant research is correct, it tastes even worse than it smells,” Madam Pomfrey said as she carefully accepted the pipette from Snape and settled herself into the last open seat. Without hesitation, she squeezed the dose into her mouth, forced it down with a shudder and started gulping the still-steaming tea, swishing some in her mouth as well.

Apparently, seeing the matron consume the substance without hesitation was enough to convince the others to follow suit.

Draco looked at Hermione. “Why didn’t he hand any to you?”

Before she could respond, Snape pulled a silvery strand from his head and held it in his hand. A flourish of his wand created a floating image. With wide eyes, Hermione realized he must have pulled forth the memory of watching her take the potion, including her horrible reaction to it. Then the man smirked at the boy with knowing eyes. “Are you going to be outdone by the brightest witch of your year?”

Even recognizing that her professor had very neatly outmaneuvered and manipulated a member of his own house, Hermione had to stifle a giggle at Draco’s outraged expression. The younger male wrinkled his nose, tipped his head back, and squeezed the fluid into his mouth. His head shot up, his eyes blown wide. He clearly looked ready to spew it from his mouth.

Those eyes cast to where the memory continued to play, showing Hermione slamming her hand on the desk before forcing herself to swallow. Resolve settled into the stormy grey of his eyes as his throat worked. His hands quickly closed on the teacup.

“Ack, ye beaky bastard. Ye couldnae made it taste less like a fetid swamp?” McGonagall gasped the words between gulps of her own tea.

Snape raised one eyebrow at his colleague. “And you would know the taste of a fetid swamp how?”

The elder woman waved a hand over herself. “I’m Scottish,” she said, as if that simple phrase explained everything.

Snape returned his attention to Draco. “I believe it has been long enough for any existing curse to have been warded off. Have you noticed any sort of sudden clearing of your mind?”

Draco frowned. “For some reason, the minute we crossed that threshold, I felt the strong urge to speak each of your names. It took a lot of focus to not do so. Now, I feel… settled. As if that urge is gone. I’m not having to focus on keeping my mouth under control.” He met his elder’s eyes. “What does that mean?”

Snape frowned. “It means the bastard may have managed to bewitch the entire school population somehow, seeing as I know very well that you have not been alone with him long enough for such a spell to have been cast. We’ll brainstorm that at another time.” Then he fixed his gaze at both of them. “What do you know about mastery?”

“It’s the only form of ‘higher education’ offered in the wizarding world,” Hermione volunteered.

Draco continued. “Apprenticeship is a high honor, bestowed only on the most deserving of individuals. But Hog—” he stopped immediately when his head of house glared at him. “Right. No names. This school hasn’t had an apprentice in many years.”

McGonagall nodded. “Apprenticeships are not typically offered until after students have at least sat their OWLs. This allows the student time to truly figure out if there is a branch of magic that specifically calls to them.”

Vector chimed in. “In rare circumstances, an apprentice may be selected early if true aptitude is seen.”

“In very rare circumstances, an apprentice will be shared between more than one master,” Flitwick’s squeaky voice added.

“In the rarest of circumstances, the five core magical masters will recognize a potential so unusual that it normally only happens once or twice within a millennia: a student with unmatched potential to become a True Master.”

“That’s just a myth,” Draco scoffed.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Not a myth, just…” He leaned closer to make his meaning clear. “…unspoken.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Unspeakables?’ she thought. ‘At least four professors and our resident healer are Unspeakables?’

Draco sighed. “There is still the issue that apprenticeships have to be approved by the person sitting in that large office up the winding staircase with the gargoyle. And again, this particular school has had a veritable drought of such.”

“Yes. It seems that, for some reason, apprenticeships fell out of fashion around the same time as alignment with old deities fell out of fashion.” Snape’s expression hinted at deeper meaning to his simple statement.

“Control,” Hermione whispered. She raised her gaze toward her teachers. “A page right out of extremism history. If you control the information, you control the population.”

“This still doesn’t get around the approval side of things,” Draco interjected.

Vector nodded. “It would be an Unspoken apprenticeship, done in complete secrecy and outside the control of the school. Permission would need granted by your magical guardian under veratiserum. Due to… certain circumstances, this cannot be acknowledged in written form in any manner. Because of this, you will need to wait until end of term to speak directly with your magical guardian.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “My parents are both non-magical. How would that work?”

Vector tipped her head sideways to study the young girl. “Did you not have a magical guardian arrive to your house to explain and escort you to gather your first year supplies?”

She shook her head. “No. I got my letter when we returned from holiday abroad. It included instructions on how to find the establishment guarding the wall and explained that the keeper there would grant me entrance. Mum and Dad thought it was some sort of joke mail until they tried to dispose of it, and it jumped out of the bin and back into my hands on its own. Dad even tried tracking down the post mark before finally agreeing to check out the location and see if what the letter said was true. And that was only after I’d accidentally exploded my tea cup when he tried to burn it.”

McGonagall’s pursed lips clued her in that something had gone terribly wrong. “Post mark? It came through the muggle post!? Did you have personal contact with any magical person prior to setting foot inside the establishment? Or even see an owl?”

“No,” Hermione confirmed. Then her brain kicked into overdrive. She met McGonagall’s eyes with confusion. “If I had a magical guardian, wouldn’t they have been required to attend that meeting in which I was threatened with being called before the Board of Governors?”

Draco balked. Loudly. “The bastard did what? That is absolutely illegal! He’s probably counting on the lack of training from your magical guardian in regards to ‘what every magical child should know’ to get away with it! My father—”

Snape interrupted. “Can’t hear about anything until you can tell him in person.”

“Oh! Merlin’s bloody ball sack!”

The elder witch’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “I’m going to pretend I did not hear that, young man, considering the situation before us.” She turned her attention to Vector. “Rainbow, is there a log that the Head Boss of Us could check?”

Vector nodded. “There should be. The guardians are supposed to receive special training as well as compensation for the extra work of helping those students learn about all of the little things that those born into magical families consider common knowledge. I have a checkup at Mungos this weekend. I’ll swing in for a quick visit.”

McGonagall turned toward Snape. “Beaky, you’re positive that potion will protect us from being Confunded again?”

Snape snarled his lips. “You doubt my brewing?”

She patted his arm. “Of course not, my boy. Will we be able to recognize that it is happening so that we can play along to avoid rousing suspicion?”

The dark-haired man nodded. “A happy side effect, I assure you. You’ll feel the magic tickle and the ‘command’ will filter into the forefront of your mind as the effect of the spell is cancelled as quickly as it is cast.”

“Theoretical or…?”

“Proven,” he spoke calmly, although the tension leaked through every syllable. “The day after I finished brewing and had taken my own dosage.”

McGonagall twitched as if she held her own tongue hostage to avoid cursing. She drew a deep breath in through her nose before slowly blowing it out. She turned to Flitwick. “Teapot, do you have the charmed assignment paper?”

Hermione couldn’t help it. Vector being called Rainbow made perfect sense. Snape being called Beaky felt so disrespectful just to even think about, but it also made a degree of sense. But diminutive Professor Flitwick with his squeaky, high-pitched voice, being called Teapot sent her into gales of laughter.

Draco nudged her, scowling. “I get it. He’s small. He squeaks. It’s not that funny.”

Through her laughter, Hermione started singing. “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Draco’s jaw dropped open, his mind making the connection as Flitwick started giggling.

“Well spotted, young lady. Too bad I can’t give you points.”

Pomfrey spoke softly, her face showing she focused deep in thought. “Hissy Fit, who all was present at the mentioned meeting? Adult-wise, that is.”

McGonagall wrinkled her nose. “Just myself, the meddlesome bastard, and Mr. and Mrs. Carrot-Top.”

“What are you thinking, Shaman?”

“I’m thinking, you Beaky Bastard, that it’s possible her magical guardian was present. Only they have no idea. For the same reason we had no idea what was in our employment contracts.”

The adults in the room seemed to share a lot of thought with just stares and raised eyebrows between them. Finally, Snape jerked his chin. “I believe I have an appointment with the Goblins soon. I can arrange for a… meet up with a certain carrot top and ask a few innocent questions.”

Finally, all of the attention focused back on the two students. McGonagall spoke.

“Once we get the guardianship situation figured out, we can move forward with getting the documentation signed. Meanwhile, as you have both very successfully brewed a fifth year potion, solved complex arithmancy high above your level, showed immense aptitude and ability in spell casting for the other three disciplines of Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense, we have together decided that, rather than arguing over who can apprentice you, it would serve both us and you to give you the option of becoming True Masters. We intend to continue filtering you a few assignments well above your year until the full apprenticeship begins, as we doubt either of you would be so foolish as to turn down this opportunity. Those assignments will be received on the ash paper that brought you here, attached to the back of your graded, normal classroom assignments. The Beaky Bastard will provide you with special ink to use on the back side of your standard assignments which can only be activated by the person intended to see said assignment.”

Vector added, “Those of us who can, that is. Others may simply pose the additional assignment as an extra credit for house points due to the inability to fit everything needed within a single parchment.”

McGonagall nodded. “That too. Most of the additional work will have to remain theoretical until we have signed permission. After that, the practical side will be handled at each of our discretions, and with all of the appropriate cloak and dagger as befitting the secrecy involved. You will also have your own code names.”

Draco piped up, an excited grin on his face. “Do we get to choose them?”

McGonagall’s lip curled slightly. “No. They’ve already been selected, based on what others perceive as your worst attributes. It makes it highly unlikely that anyone who overhears would ever associate it with its true purpose. They would only associate the word or phrase with an insult toward you.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “It makes sense, but it will take some adjustment not to associate the insult.” Then she sighed. “What happens if permission from my magical guardian cannot be obtained? Would I lose the opportunity?” Her voice rang with the distress that thought caused.

The look that crossed McGonagall’s face made the girl wonder if her head of house shouldn’t actually be Slytherin. “One way or another, young lady, even if we have to employ some of the twinkle-eyed bastard’s methods, we’ll get it figured out. Don’t you worry none about that.”

Draco sighed. “I’m assuming that we will need to, at least in regards to any conversation we might have that is not related to the mundane day-to-day events, practice very diligently in not using proper names for anyone or anything.”

Snape agreed. “Especially in situations where you are working together on anything. A certain someone is very much not fond of the revised teaching methods. It is not in his interest that any of you start to get along.”

The boy nodded, thinking. “I’m just a little confused on why there is a healer in the room.”

Pomfrey grinned. “My dear boy, who better to put someone back together than the very person who knows exactly how to tear you apart? Not all Defense masters become healers, but every single full-fledged master healer is also a master of defense. It allows us to recognize what someone was hit with in order to counter it.”

Draco’s eyes bulged. “I will never be able to look at healers the same way again.”

Before anything else could be said, a small chime sounded in the air. McGonagall sighed. “That’s our cue that someone is searching for one or more of us. It is time we go our separate ways. In the event that either of you change your minds about becoming True Masters, use the ash paper to write the declaration of intent and hand it to either of us with that day’s assignment.” With her words, Flitwick handed each of them a single sheet of the self-destructive parchment.

Then the elder woman waved her hand toward the far corner of the room. Two separate doors appeared, each with the symbol of their respective houses above them. “The castle provides, when necessary, secret paths directly to your dormitories—or the lavatory, if anyone is in the dorm that would question your arrival through the wall. This will not work willy-nilly, mind you. It only works from this room, going out. Never coming in, much to our chagrin. Now, go. It is important that no one suspect anything outside the ordinary.”

Both students stood to leave, approaching their respective doors. Hermione paused, staring at the parchment in her hand. She turned back, a look of curiosity upon her. “Beaky,” she gagged after speaking the word, pressing her free hand to her chest. “Sorry. That just feels so disrespectful.”

Snape nodded. “What is your question?”

Hermione fingered the parchment. “Would it be possible to infuse the potion into this ash paper so that it could be appropriately dosed without forcing the person to taste it? Or without their knowledge, in the event of need?”

Snape’s eyes widened causing his eyebrows to reach nearly to his hairline. “I think we have your summer project established. We’ll provide you with some notes regarding the paper itself, as well as a book list to do research before you leave. If you can convince your parents to take you to either of the major university campuses to visit the hidden libraries there, you might find additional information.”

Hermione smiled and then stepped through the door without looking back.

Snape waited until Draco had also left the room before he let his eyes meet his companions.

Flitwick gulped his tea. “A mastery level project before the apprenticeship has even officially begun.”

~*~