Evil for Evil
zzz7zzz
Summary:
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, evil for evil."
In a world where Harry Potter grows up with Sirius Black, the Head Auror, Harry develops a fierce sense of justice—one that calls for retribution rather than forgiveness. Trained in Dark Arts, Harry is unafraid to use his magic to take care of what's his and punish those who stand in his way. Along the way, he draws Hermione Granger into his world, offering her a path of strength against those who judge her for being Muggleborn.
FIRST YEAR Done!
SECOND YEAR Done!
Relationships:
Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags:
Modern Marauders (Harry Potter)FluffFluff and AngstPre-HogwartsAlternate Universe - No VoldemortHarry Potter is the Heir to the House of PotterHarry Potter is the Heir to the House of BlackAuror Sirius BlackSirius Black Adopts Harry PotterProtective Sirius BlackNo HorcruxesBAMF Harry PotterBAMF Hermione GrangerDark Harry PotterDark Hermione GrangerGood Draco MalfoyNo Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter)Smart Harry PotterSmart Ron Weasley
Chapter 1: Pizza
Chapter Text
Harry Potter hated bullies.
Growing up under the stern but loving eye of his godfather, Sirius Black, the Head Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry developed a strong sense of justice. He despised anyone who used their power to harm others. Whether it was physical, magical, or a matter of status, Harry had no patience for those who thought their superiority gave them the right to trample others. Perhaps it was his upbringing, constantly hearing stories from Sirius about the darker side of the wizarding world. Or maybe it was just who Harry was, instinctively drawn to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.
Purebloods bullying Muggleborns were the worst offenders in his eyes. But Harry wasn't one to stand by and let injustice go unchallenged. Not even at ten years old. He'd been in more than a few scraps with other magical children—kids whose families pushed blood purity ideals on them like a badge of honor. Harry's physical and magical gifts made it easy to defend himself. Even without a wand, he could summon enough strength and magic to hold his own, something Sirius could only chalk up to his father's Quidditch skills and mother's raw talent.
Right now, though, his anger was being tested.
The boy standing in front of him, taller by a head, sneered down at Harry with cold, blue eyes. "You freak!" he spat, reaching out to grab Harry's glasses. Harry ducked quickly, his legs pumping as he surged forward, ramming his head into the boy's chin. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Harry's skull, but the taller boy let out a howl of pain, clutching his chin and staggering back.
Before Harry could steady himself, two more boys grabbed him from behind, their hands tightening around his arms like iron bands. He thrashed, trying to pull away, but his small frame was no match for their combined strength. A fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Harry gasped, bending over, the taste of bile rising in his throat.
Anger flared in his chest. He hated this—being helpless, being hurt, being held down by people who thought they had the right.
His hand flailed wildly, gripping whatever he could reach—a handful of hair, an ear, anything—and yanked with all his might. One of the boys shrieked, letting go, and Harry used the momentum to pull free. He threw his elbow back, connecting with soft flesh, hearing another grunt of pain as he spun around, fists raised, ready to keep fighting.
For a few more minutes, the fight raged on. Punches, kicks, and yells flew through the air until Harry, seething with fury, let out a guttural scream. The bullies—whether out of fear or surprise—took off running, their retreating footsteps echoing in the park as they fled.
Breathing heavily, Harry stood there, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched. Blood dripped from his nose, and his glasses lay shattered on the grass. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, wincing as pain flared in his ribs. Slowly, he stumbled back, collapsing onto the grass, his body exhausted from the adrenaline surge.
In that moment, he almost forgot why he'd been fighting in the first place.
"A-Are you okay?"
The soft voice startled him, and Harry jumped to his feet, eyes darting around for the source. His vision was blurred without his glasses, but he could make out a figure—a girl, about his age, standing a few feet away. She was holding a book, her brown curls framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she stared at him, clearly shocked by what she'd just witnessed.
Harry grinned through his discomfort, wiping the blood from his nose. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
The girl's brow furrowed, confusion mixing with concern. "You're the one who's hurt," she said firmly, her voice soft but steady.
Harry shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though the ache in his ribs told a different story. "I'm fine. Nothing a few potions and some sleep won't fix." He laughed, though it came out as more of a wheeze. "Did you get your book? Is it good?"
The girl blinked at him, then glanced down at the book she was clutching to her chest. She held it out slightly, as if showing him. "The Hobbit," she said quietly.
Harry's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, that's a good one," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You know they all die in the end, right?"
Her mouth dropped open, and her face paled even more, her eyes widening in horror. "No, they don't!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in panic.
Harry's smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So you've read it, then?"
The girl's indignation faltered as she blushed slightly. "Well… yes, I've read it," she admitted, almost defensively.
"I was just kidding." Harry chuckled, dusting off his shirt and wincing as the movement pulled at his bruises. "It's a nice book."
"You've read it?" she asked, her tone shifting from shock to curiosity.
"Twice," Harry replied with a casual shrug. "Sirius… my godfather, he's big on books. Made me read it a few years ago. It's great, I guess."
He took out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face carefully, and pulled a small vial of shimmering liquid from his other pocket. He uncorked it and downed the potion in one go, sighing with relief as the pain dulled. The girl watched him closely, her eyes lingering on the glass vial, her expression puzzled.
"Do you go to that school over there?" Harry asked, jerking his chin toward the public school in the distance.
She nodded slowly, still staring at him. "Yes. You?"
Harry grinned again, his expression softening. "I'm homeschooled." His voice held a note of longing. "Must be nice going to a place like that. I hope I get to go to a school someday."
The girl didn't reply immediately, her eyes studying him with an intensity that made Harry shift slightly under her gaze. Something about this boy was strange, different—like he didn't quite fit into the world around him.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Harry's face changed, eyes widening with realization. "Oh crap!" he blurted out, his hand flying to his pocket. "I need to go! Sirius is probably looking for me by now!"
The girl blinked in surprise, startled by his sudden urgency. "O-Okay," she stammered.
Harry began to run but turned back with a grin. "Be careful, Hermione! Watch out for those bullies!"
Hermione stood frozen, waving awkwardly as he disappeared around the bend. It wasn't until the boy was completely out of sight that she looked down at her book. There, on the cover, a small sticker caught her eye.
"Property of Hermione Granger."
Her lips twitched into a smile as realization dawned. She wondered how he knew her name. He must've noticed it when she showed him the book. For some reason, the thought made her laugh softly to herself.
xxxxx
Hermione Granger hated bullies.
Her father used to tell her, back when everything felt safe, that she shouldn't allow herself to be pushed around by other kids. "Don't let them make you feel small," he'd say, his kind eyes full of warmth. "You've got to stand your ground, Hermione. You're stronger than they think." Those words stayed with her. They gave her the confidence to fight back, just enough to let the bullies know she wouldn't be easily cowed.
But that was before.
Before the accident. Before everything changed.
When her father died, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Hermione's resolve crumbled. Moving on had been harder than anything she'd ever imagined. She tried to hold onto the strength he had passed on to her, but without him, it felt like she was walking through life on shaky ground. Her mother, too, was struggling—forced to work twice as much just to keep them afloat. With her mother constantly working, Hermione knew she had to avoid trouble. It wasn't fair to expect her mother to come to school every time a teacher had something to say about her, or whenever Hermione got in trouble for standing up to someone.
So, Hermione learned to blend into the background. She became quieter, more reserved, hoping to remain unseen. Invisibility was safer than being noticed. It meant fewer fights, fewer confrontations, fewer chances for her mother to be dragged into school meetings they could no longer afford the time or energy for.
They had moved after the accident, relocating to a smaller house in a cheaper neighborhood. The transition had been hard, especially leaving her old friends behind. The small, two-room house had felt so hollow compared to the home they'd lived in as a family of three. They hadn't been poor before—just comfortable. But without her father's income, her mother barely scraped by. Hermione knew they had just enough to cover the basics each month, and any unexpected expense could send their lives into a spiral.
Still, Hermione wasn't angry. Her mother was doing her best—juggling two part-time jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. She worked at the local library as an assistant and also helped out at a small bookstore nearby, cataloging old books. It wasn't much, but Hermione loved the one perk it came with—her mother could bring home a free book each month. That small joy meant the world to Hermione.
Books had always been a safe haven for her, even more so after her father's passing. They were like companions, filled with adventures and stories that whisked her away from the heavy realities of life. But today, that comfort had been shattered.
Now that she was back home, sitting in her quiet, dimly lit room, Hermione's hands trembled as she pulled out her school supplies and carefully laid them beside the book on her desk. Her fingers traced the spine of the novel, her heart sinking at the small tear in the back cover. The boys at the park earlier had yanked the book from her hands so roughly that they hadn't even noticed the damage they'd caused.
A lump rose in her throat, and Hermione swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. The book wasn't just any book. It was a gift from her father. One of the last things he'd given her before he died. She should have known better than to take it out of the house, but she hadn't been thinking. She just wanted a quiet place to read, to escape for a while.
She tried to fight back the sob that clawed at her chest as she stared down at the torn cover. A wave of frustration welled up inside her—at the bullies, at herself, at the unfairness of it all. She wanted to scream, to cry, but instead, she forced herself to focus. Her hands moved mechanically as she began patching up the tear with tape, smoothing it over carefully, trying to fix what had been broken. But no matter how much tape she used, the damage was still there, a reminder of her helplessness in that moment.
She thought of the boy in the park. The one who had fought back.
He had been fearless—fighting off those older boys with a fire in his eyes that Hermione hadn't seen in anyone her age before. She hadn't even known his name, but something about the way he stood his ground, refusing to be pushed around, made her feel a pang of admiration. He had protected her, even though he hadn't known her, even though he was the one who ended up hurt.
A small smile tugged at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest. She wished she could be like that again—strong enough to fight back. Once upon a time, she had been. Before her father's death, before everything changed.
But things were different now. She couldn't afford to be reckless anymore. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to be called into the school to deal with more trouble. She had to stay out of the spotlight, had to keep her head down. No matter how much it stung, she knew that was her reality now.
Hermione sighed, gently closing the patched-up book and setting it aside. She wiped at her eyes, shaking off the lingering sadness as best she could. She wasn't the same person she had been before, but maybe, just maybe, one day she could be again. Watching that boy stand up to the bullies, unflinching, had sparked something in her—something she thought she had buried along with the memories of her old life.
Maybe she didn't have to be invisible forever.
xxxxx
Harry Potter had lied to Sirius again.
He'd made a habit of sneaking off lately, especially after his Potions lessons with Aunt Andromeda. Sirius always asked him where he was headed, and Harry always had a convenient excuse. Today, it was something about wanting to check out a new bookstore in the Muggle town nearby, but the real reason was far different. He had a gut feeling, one that made his stomach twist in that uncomfortable way it always did when something was wrong.
Hermione. He had to check on her.
Harry gripped the old Beater bat that once belonged to Sirius back in his Hogwarts Quidditch days. The wood was worn but solid, the perfect size for his hands. He stood just outside the park, peeking through the trees as he caught sight of the older boys—the same ones from yesterday. They were loitering near the swings, their eyes darting around as if they were looking for someone. Harry had no doubt they were looking for either Hermione or him.
His lips curled into a wicked smile, fingers tightening around the handle of the bat. If those boys wanted trouble, he was more than ready to deliver it. But as he scanned the park, his smile faltered. Hermione wasn't there. Good. He hoped she had enough sense to stay away from the park, but still, he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him.
A voice startled him. "Hey."
Harry spun around so fast he almost dropped the bat, holding it out like a wand in defense. His heart pounded as he faced the person who had snuck up on him. It was her. Hermione. She stood just a few feet away, her brown eyes wide with surprise, clutching her book to her chest like a shield.
"Hermione!" Harry gasped, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. "Gosh, you scared me!"
"You scared me!" Hermione shot back, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the bat in his hands. "What is that you're holding, anyway? Do you plan on hitting those boys with it?"
Harry quickly tried to hide the bat behind his back, cheeks flushing. "No! Well… maybe, yes. Just preparing, you know. They looked like they were planning some kind of payback after what happened yesterday, and I was worried they'd come after you."
"Violence isn't always the answer, you know," Hermione said, frowning, though her eyes still flicked to the bat suspiciously. After a pause, she tilted her head. "What's your name again?"
"Harry. Harry Potter."
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, this time enunciating her name with emphasis, clearly correcting the way Harry had said it before.
Harry nodded. "Hello, Hermione." He couldn't resist a small smile. "Yes, yes, violence isn't always the answer. But do you really think you shouldn't fight back when they're doing the same to you?"
Hermione's frown deepened. She wanted to be honest, wanted to agree with him, but there was something unnerving about Harry standing there, casually gripping a bat like it was a normal part of his day. The fact that he seemed perfectly ready to charge into another fight unsettled her.
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," Harry continued with a sly grin. "Evil for evil."
Hermione rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to smirk. "That's not how the saying goes."
Harry laughed, a sound that echoed through the park with surprising warmth. "I know. I added that last part to make a point." His expression darkened again as he glanced toward the group of bullies. "Run along, Hermione Granger. I'll deal with them so you can get home safely."
Hermione bristled at that. She wasn't some damsel in distress! She could handle herself. But reality hit her like a punch to the gut—she knew all too well that if she got into a fight, her mother would be dragged into the school again. The thought of making things harder for her mother made her fists clench in frustration. She hated this feeling of helplessness.
"I know a safer street to walk home," Hermione muttered, her voice tinged with annoyance. "I'll just start taking that way instead of coming through the park."
Harry turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. "Do those boys go to your school?"
Hermione nodded reluctantly. "Yes. They're older, but they're in a different building from us."
Harry scowled, his jaw tightening. So, they could still target her whether or not she was in the park. He cast another glance at the group of boys, then considered his options. Maybe he could bring Draco and Ron next time to deal with them properly. Or better yet, maybe there was something more permanent he could do. After all, this was a Muggle town—he couldn't exactly use magic, or worse, use his godfather's influence.
A sigh escaped him. He'd have to think about this later. For now, he had to make sure Hermione was safe. "Yeah, okay, let's go."
"Go where?" Hermione asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"To your home," Harry said matter-of-factly. "I'll walk you there. Might as well look around town while I'm at it. Never been near here before."
Before Hermione could protest, Harry had already started walking in the wrong direction. She sighed, grabbing his arm and gently pulling him toward the right street. "Where do you even live?" she asked, exasperated.
Harry grinned. "Grimmauld Place. My godfather owns a townhouse there. I stay there when I'm with tutors and stuff."
Hermione blinked at him. It had been just a day, but the bruises from yesterday were completely gone, as if they had never existed. His clothes were pristine—new, expensive, branded. A small bag was strapped across his chest, and two rings gleamed on his fingers, one gold on his right hand, a dark one on his left. He looked like someone from another world, a rich world, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what he was doing wandering around this part of town.
"Won't your parents be worried about you just walking around like this?" she asked, more out of curiosity than concern.
Harry's carefree smile faded slightly, replaced by something darker, more solemn. "My parents are dead," he said quietly, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of sorrow. "So they're probably busy worrying about other things."
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him. He said it so nonchalantly, as if it didn't matter, but the shadow that crossed his face told her otherwise. For a moment, she thought he was joking, but the sadness in his eyes was undeniable, no matter how quickly he masked it with that confident front he always wore.
She bit her lip, torn between wanting to ask more and feeling it would be too intrusive. What had happened to Harry Potter? The mystery of him deepened, but she didn't dare pry.
xxxxx
"Wow, this is a nice place," Harry murmured as he stepped inside Hermione's home, glancing around the small yet cozy living room. The dim afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. He sat down on the well-worn couch, placing the drinks they'd bought on the coffee table. He looked content, though slightly out of place, his sharp eyes flicking around, taking in the cramped but neat space.
Hermione, looking a little flustered, dropped the box of doughnuts and pizza next to him. She collapsed into the armchair opposite, her hair sticking to her forehead slightly after the walk back. It had been an exhausting trip, mostly because of Harry. He seemed completely oblivious to how much money he was casually tossing around. Every time they stopped to buy something, whether it was drinks, doughnuts, or pizza, he had fumbled through a thick roll of cash in his bag, handing out too much or too little, dropping coins everywhere.
Hermione sighed, almost embarrassed on his behalf. She could have scolded him for being careless, but she didn't. He was so cheerful, grinning after each purchase as if it was a grand adventure. Besides, it wasn't often that someone treated her to doughnuts, especially ones from the store her dad used to take her to.
As she looked around her small living room, a wave of discomfort washed over her. "Isn't this place a bit small?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.
Harry leaned back on the couch, his expression unreadable as his eyes moved from the compact kitchen to the dining table, which had only four mismatched chairs, then to the two doors that led to the bedrooms and another leading to the bathroom. "Small?" He shrugged. "I think it's quite nice, especially if it's just you and your mum." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'd think it would feel... cozy. You can talk to each other even when you're in different rooms. Must feel... close."
Hermione blinked at him, her heart tightening at his words. "Closer with Mum," she echoed softly. Her eyes flickered to the small hallway leading to her mother's bedroom. Harry didn't know how distant things had felt lately. It wasn't her mother's fault; she worked so hard now, always exhausted when she got home. It just wasn't the same without her dad.
Harry broke the silence by opening the pizza box, his curiosity piqued as the smell filled the room. Hermione handed him a plate, trying to snap herself out of her thoughts. "So this is pizza, huh?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder, like he was seeing some exotic artifact for the first time. His green eyes sparkled as he watched the melted cheese stretch when he lifted a slice.
"You've seriously never had pizza before?" Hermione asked, eyebrow raised in disbelief. She grabbed a slice for herself, watching him carefully.
"Nope," Harry admitted, almost sheepish. "Sirius is a bit particular about what I eat. Says it's important I have a balanced diet. So it's always homecooked meals and... well, proper food." He frowned at the memory but brightened up as he took his first bite. His eyes widened with delight as the flavors hit him. "Blimey, this is brilliant!"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh as Harry started devouring his slice with childlike enthusiasm, practically inhaling it. She watched him, smiling despite herself. It had been so long since she'd had pizza herself, and seeing someone enjoy it so much made her appreciate it all over again.
Harry reached for his drink next, fumbling with the straw, and took a large gulp. His reaction was immediate. He coughed, almost spitting it out as his face twisted in disgust. "Ugh! What is that?" He set the cup down, looking at it like it had personally offended him.
Hermione giggled, covering her mouth. "It's just soda, Harry. It's carbonated. I told you it might be too sweet for you."
Harry wiped his mouth, grimacing. "It doesn't just taste sweet. It's... fizzy and weird!" He glared at the cup suspiciously. "Sirius would lose his mind if he knew I drank this." He gave it another look, as though contemplating whether to risk another sip.
"You should've gotten juice like I said," Hermione remarked, taking a sip of her own drink. She tried to suppress a smirk as Harry bravely took another small sip and pulled a face again.
He sighed dramatically, pushing the cup away. "I'll stick to water next time," he muttered, shaking his head. But he didn't seem upset. In fact, there was a lightness to his mood, like he was savoring this whole new experience, weird drinks and all.
As the laughter between them subsided, Hermione leaned back, watching Harry with a curious gaze. It still felt odd having him here, in her home, sitting on her couch and eating pizza like they'd known each other for years. He wasn't even from her school. In fact, he had only just come into her life, a strange, bold boy who seemed to be both a mystery and an open book.
Harry caught her staring and smiled, wiping the cheese off his hands with a napkin. "What?" he asked, his voice playful.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. I was just... thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
She hesitated, not sure if she should say it, then blurted out, "It's just weird, you being here. I've never had a friend from school come over before." She paused, adding, "You're not even a student there."
Harry grinned, leaning back against the cushions. "Well, I'm honored to be the first. Maybe if I wasn't homeschooled, I'd have been there too. We could've caused some trouble together."
Hermione snorted. "I don't cause trouble."
"Sure you don't," Harry teased, his eyes twinkling. "But you're too smart not to get into a bit of it, every now and then."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her chest. He's smart, too, she thought. He's read The Hobbit. He should be.
She smiled to herself as they ate in comfortable silence, two unlikely friends, sharing a meal in a small house that, for the moment, didn't feel so lonely anymore.
xxxxx
Fortunately for Harry, the end of his tutoring classes coincided almost perfectly with Hermione's dismissal from school. Every day that week, as soon as he was free, Harry would bolt down to the park, eager to find Hermione and keep an eye on the bullies who still lurked around. Though they didn't seem to be actively hunting for new victims, their presence unsettled him.
For the past few days, Harry and Hermione had been spending time together after school, sharing snacks and talking at her house. It was something Harry had come to look forward to, even if he wouldn't admit it. He kept telling himself he was just making sure Hermione was safe, but the truth was, he enjoyed the time they spent together. She was smart, sharp-tongued when she wanted to be, and surprisingly fun to tease. Every time he poked fun at her, she'd get this adorable little frown, muttering about how "violence isn't the answer," though her clenched fists told another story. Harry often wondered just how far he could push before she'd actually smack him.
The peaceful afternoon was suddenly shattered by a loud, angry voice.
"There you are, you little brat!"
Hermione flinched, startled by the shout. Harry's instincts kicked in immediately. His body stiffened, and his arm shot out protectively in front of Hermione, shielding her from whoever had spoken. He quickly scanned the area, his senses on high alert, only to let out an exasperated groan when he recognized the figure storming toward them.
It was Sirius Black.
Harry felt his stomach twist, not with fear, but with a mix of annoyance and mild embarrassment. He knew what was coming.
"I knew you were sneaking out!" Sirius growled, his face darkened with a mix of anger and concern. His long strides quickly closed the distance between them, and before Harry could even attempt to talk his way out of it, Sirius's hand shot out, reaching for him.
Hermione, despite being scared of the imposing figure marching toward them, did something completely unexpected. She pulled Harry behind her, her small frame standing between him and Sirius. Her brown eyes were wide, but determined. Even though her heart raced in fear, she lifted her chin and glared at the man, though it was obvious she was barely managing to keep her composure.
Sirius barely gave her a second glance before his hand found Harry's ear and pinched hard.
"OW! Ow, okay, okay, stop!" Harry yelped, trying to squirm free from Sirius's grip. "I'm sorry, Sirius! I was just with a friend!"
Sirius didn't release his grip, narrowing his eyes. "What friend?" he demanded, his tone sharp and suspicious.
Finally, Sirius let go, and Harry took the opportunity to walk toward Hermione, rubbing his sore ear. "This is Hermione Granger. She's my friend!" Harry announced, not entirely sure if he was trying to boast about having a friend or just trying to use her as a buffer between himself and Sirius.
Sirius's gaze flicked to Hermione, his brows furrowing as he took in the sight of the small, bushy-haired girl glaring at him. Her brave front faltered just a little when his sharp grey eyes landed on her, and Sirius could see the nervousness behind her defiance.
'Great,' he thought. 'First time meeting one of Harry's friends, and I've already terrified her.'
"I'm sorry, little girl," Sirius said, his tone softening. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and gave her a somewhat apologetic smile. "I'm Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. I hope he hasn't been giving you too much trouble. He's a bit of a handful sometimes."
"I am not!" Harry interrupted, folding his arms across his chest indignantly. "I was protecting her from the bullies in the park!"
"Bullies?" Sirius frowned, his expression darkening as he turned toward the park, which was a few streets away. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Did they hurt you?"
Hermione shook her head quickly, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of this large, intimidating man confronting the bullies.
"Did they take something of yours?" Sirius continued, his eyes narrowing. "Did they break something?"
For a brief moment, Hermione's face tightened, her lips twitching as if she was about to say something. Sirius caught it. His sharp eyes didn't miss much.
"Well, alright," Sirius muttered, his voice low, his suspicions confirmed. He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for action. "Where are they? Let's teach those little brats a lesson."
"NO!" Hermione practically shrieked, her voice trembling with panic. Her mind raced, horrified by the idea of Sirius confronting the bullies and making everything worse.
'Is this why Harry's so quick to fight?' she thought. 'Because his guardian is just as ready to throw fists at a moment's notice?'
"Why not?" Sirius asked, clearly confused by her resistance. "If they've done something to you, you deserve a bit of justice. Come on, vengeance awaits." His lips curled into a wolfish grin, and Harry, caught up in the excitement, looked ready to charge into battle.
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt her voice falter. "I-I don't want to get in trouble," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes. "If my mum finds out, she'll have to leave work to deal with it, and... she can't. She's too busy."
Sirius paused, his expression softening as he looked down at the small girl in front of him. There was more to this story than she was letting on, and he didn't like it one bit. He glanced at Harry, who was watching Hermione with a mixture of confusion and concern. Sirius made a mental note to get the full story from Harry later.
"Alright," Sirius sighed, relenting. "We won't do anything." He gave Harry a quick wink, which Hermione didn't catch but Harry did. Harry grinned, nudging Sirius with his elbow as if to say, "Good job."
"Well," Sirius clapped his hands together, "time to go home, Harry."
Harry huffed, folding his arms. "I still need to walk Hermione home."
"I can walk home on my own, Harry," Hermione interjected, her voice quieter now. She forced a weak smile, though inside, she didn't want him to leave. She'd gotten used to Harry walking with her, and going home alone would bring back that hollow feeling she had gotten used to since her father passed. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Black."
With that, she started to walk away, her small figure retreating down the street. Harry watched her go, waving sadly as she disappeared into the distance. Once she was out of sight, he groaned and turned to Sirius, his frustration clear.
"Are you serious right now?" Sirius asked, crossing his arms. "You're the one who's angry?" Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I told you not to be out here for too long. What if you accidentally do something? What if—"
"I won't!" Harry cut in, his voice sharp. "I can control it! I'm good at it! Besides, if you were so worried, maybe you should buy me my own wand and—"
Sirius swiped at him, missing by inches as Harry ducked, grinning cheekily.
"You're grounded for a week," Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "You're staying at Potter Manor. No sneaking out, no trips to the park, no anything."
Harry groaned dramatically as Sirius grabbed his hand, leading him toward a nearby alleyway. Within seconds, the two of them vanished into thin air.
xxxxx
Hermione hadn't seen Harry for an entire week. His sudden absence gnawed at her, leaving an emptiness that she hadn't quite anticipated. She figured he was probably grounded, based on that tense conversation she'd overheard between him and his godfather. Harry had been sneaking out just to spend time with her—or at least that was his excuse, insisting it was all about protecting her from the bullies that haunted the park.
But if Hermione was honest with herself, she missed him. It wasn't just the protection; it was his presence. The way he talked, how easily he made her laugh, the casual way he helped with her homework without even breaking a sweat. She didn't have many friends—none, really. Her conversations were usually with the friendly librarian at school or her homeroom teacher, but neither of them could keep up with her intellectually the way Harry did.
And now... she had no one to talk to. Most kids her age just didn't get her. They were either too silly or too immature for a proper conversation, so Hermione often found herself spending time alone, her nose buried in a book, her mind wandering to places beyond her reach.
Harry, though—Harry was different. He was sharp, quicker than most boys his age, and he'd managed to help her with her schoolwork with just a glance at her textbooks. It irked her sometimes, how easily he understood things, but it also fascinated her. He was... interesting.
As school finally let out for the day, Hermione sighed, her mind already turning to the quiet evening ahead. Her mother wouldn't be home until late, which meant another dinner of microwaved leftovers. What she wouldn't give to have pizza with Harry again...
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even realize where her feet had carried her until she looked up and saw the familiar stretch of the park ahead of her. Of course. This was her old route home, before she and Harry had started taking a detour to avoid the bullies.
And now, here she was, back at the park.
And so were they.
The familiar sneering faces of the bullies greeted her, and her heart sank as she caught their smirks. That smug, self-satisfied look they always wore when they were about to make her life miserable. For a brief moment, anger flared in Hermione's chest. She was tired—tired of being afraid, tired of being pushed around, tired of feeling helpless. Maybe today, she'd actually fight back. Maybe today, she wouldn't run away.
Her fists clenched, and she opened her mouth, ready to say something—anything—to defend herself.
But before she could even speak, three boys charged past her like a whirlwind of chaos.
"Fear not, Hermione Granger!" a familiar voice called out, filled with confidence. "The Marauders are here!"
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise as Harry came charging in, flanked by two other boys. One was a redhead, tall and lanky, while the other was blonde and smaller but equally fierce. The three of them moved with startling speed and coordination, as though they had done this a hundred times before. They hit, dodged, and pushed the bullies back with a terrifying efficiency.
Hermione stood frozen in place, watching in a mixture of shock and awe as Harry led the charge. She watched as one of the older bullies tried to escape, only for the blonde boy to grab him by the waistband of his pants, yanking him back and dragging him toward Harry. Without hesitation, Harry landed a sharp smack right between the boy's eyes, sending him stumbling backward.
When the fight was over, the bullies were kneeling before Harry, their expressions a mix of pain and humiliation. Harry grinned wickedly, his eyes alight with the thrill of victory. He stepped forward, delivering a sharp slap to each of their faces in turn, his voice cold as he spoke.
"Don't let me catch you here again," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "If I do, I'll bring more friends next time. And if you ever mess with her again"—his gaze flicked to Hermione—"you'll regret it."
The bullies muttered half-hearted promises, nodding quickly, their bravado shattered. When Harry finally let them go, they scrambled to their feet and ran, but not before the redhead got in a few quick kicks, sending them stumbling off in a hurry.
Harry cheered, throwing his arms in the air triumphantly. He turned to his two companions, and they all high-fived, their laughter ringing out through the park.
Harry made his way toward Hermione, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he pulled her into a tight hug. "I've missed you, Hermione! I was starting to worry they might've started picking on you again."
Hermione blinked, still processing everything that had just happened. Her heart was still racing, though not from fear anymore. She didn't even care that the two other boys were standing nearby, waiting to be introduced. All she could focus on was Harry—his voice, his warmth, his presence.
"Fortunately," Harry continued, completely oblivious to her stunned silence, "we saw you just in time. They didn't get the chance to take your book again."
Hermione finally found her voice, though it came out in a soft murmur. "Thank you, Harry."
Harry grinned, clearly pleased with himself, before gesturing toward the two boys who were watching the exchange with eager expressions. "Oh, right! I almost forgot—these are my friends and cousins." He pointed at the redhead first. "This is Ronald Weasley."
The redhead, Ron, gave her a crooked smile. "Hey."
"And this," Harry continued, pointing to the blonde boy who had dragged the bully back, "is Draco Malfoy."
Draco gave her a small, polite nod. "Hello."
Hermione managed a weak smile, her mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. "I-I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself, her voice a little shaky. "Nice to meet you."
She turned her gaze back to Harry, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile spread across her face. She had missed him—more than she'd realized. But her smile quickly faded into a frown as a thought struck her. "Wait—does Mr. Black know you're here?"
Harry rolled his eyes, clearly expecting the question. "Of course he does." He paused, glancing at Ron and Draco, who were both stifling laughter. "Well... I told him I'd be visiting you."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but Harry ignored her skepticism, grinning mischievously as he changed the subject. "Anyway, let's go!"
"Go where?" Hermione asked, though she found herself following him without hesitation.
"Pizza!" Harry declared. "Ron's been dying to try it."
Ron perked up at the mention of pizza, his face lighting up with excitement. "Oh, yeah. I've heard it's brilliant!"
"And I wanted Draco to try soda," Harry added with a smirk, leaning in to whisper to Hermione like it was some grand conspiracy.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, then laughter bubbled up inside her before she could stop it. For the first time in what felt like forever, she laughed—really laughed. It felt good. The weight of the past week seemed to lift off her shoulders, if only for a moment.
Together, they made their way out of the park, their laughter and banter filling the air as they headed off toward their next adventure.
Chapter 2: Hogwarts
Chapter Text
Harry Potter had spent most of his afternoons exploring the town after his tutoring sessions, often meeting up with Hermione Granger. They had become close in a short time, and Harry found himself looking forward to these moments more than he cared to admit. It was a nice escape from his otherwise routine days. Emma Granger, Hermione's mother, was happy to see her daughter finally spending time with someone her age. The absence of friends in Hermione's life was no secret to her, and while she was curious why Harry was homeschooled, he quickly smoothed things over by explaining that his godfather was overprotective. He did mention, somewhat casually, that he planned on going to a proper school next year, which made Hermione wonder if she could join him somehow.
A scholarship, perhaps? She knew she was smart enough.
Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy, Harry's other two friends, had only visited once. Though they enjoyed the novelty of Muggle food, they didn't return, and Harry had simply shrugged it off when Hermione asked why. He explained that they were busy and lived too far away. There was a flicker of something in Harry's eyes, though—a shadow of secrecy that told Hermione there was more he wasn't saying. Still, she let the topic drop, as it wasn't her place to pry. Not yet, at least.
When school let out that day, Hermione gathered her things, mentally preparing for another long, quiet evening at home. Her mother would be working late again, which meant reheating leftovers and maybe reading a book until she fell asleep. A soft sigh escaped her as she stepped out of the building, heading toward the gates.
That's when she noticed a group of girls from her class huddled near a tree, giggling and whispering in that annoyingly high-pitched way they did when they thought something—or someone—was exciting. Hermione followed their gaze toward the school gates, and there he was—Harry Potter, standing casually with a grin on his face, his messy black hair tousled by the wind and his piercing green eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. He had that look again—the one he always wore when he was either plotting something or itching for trouble.
Of course, Hermione thought, letting out a frustrated huff. Harry never could sit still for long, always eager to stir up some sort of excitement.
The girls near the tree shot her glares when they realized she was the one Harry had been waiting for. Hermione ignored them, secretly relishing the brief moment of attention as Harry's eyes locked onto her. His grin widened, and without hesitation, he darted over to her.
"Hermione!" Harry's voice rang out as he jogged up to her, laughing. His hand was already reaching for her bag, a gesture that had become habit in the past week.
"Honestly, Harry, you don't need to wait for me every day," Hermione said, but she didn't pull her bag away when he slung it over his shoulder.
Harry chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. "I was about to sneak into the school to find you. I figured no one would notice if I slipped in—no uniforms, right? Could've blended right in."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. Harry was dressed in dark slacks and a black shirt with a green undershirt peeking out at the collar. His clothes were simple but neat, and somehow, despite the tousled hair and carefree attitude, he always seemed to draw attention. He had a magnetic quality about him—whether it was his charisma or the way he held himself with such confidence, she wasn't sure. Whatever it was, people noticed him. Always.
"No, Harry," she said with a sigh. "Don't come in. Just wait for me at the gate or the park. You don't need to get into trouble."
Harry frowned, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Trouble? Me? Come on, Hermione, I can't just stand around doing nothing. It's boring."
"Well, why are you here so early, anyway?" Hermione asked as they began walking.
Harry shrugged, smirking. "My last tutor was busy, so I did some reading on my own and left the house early." Then, before she could say anything, he added with a sly grin, "And yes, I asked permission from Sirius. Gosh, you act like I'm some kind of runaway. I've been out on my own plenty of times."
Hermione shook her head but couldn't help smiling at his cheek. "Sirius is just worried about you, that's all."
Harry made a face but didn't argue. She knew he wasn't fond of how protective his godfather could be. Still, after the first few days of Harry sneaking off to town, Sirius had relented, even asking Hermione to keep an eye on him when he wasn't around. Hermione didn't mind. In fact, it gave her a strange sense of importance, knowing she was trusted to look after Harry—though in truth, it often felt like she was the one being dragged along for his adventures.
"So, what do you want to do today?" Harry asked, glancing down at her.
Hermione thought for a moment. She didn't have many hobbies outside of reading, and Harry, while perfectly capable of sitting still with a book, had little patience for television. He found it dull and preferred the pages of a novel to the flicker of a screen.
"Can we go to the bookstore?" she asked suddenly. "I need to buy a reference book for my French elective."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Brilliant! I was hoping we could go there anyway." His grin turned sheepish. "Sirius just gave me my book allowance, and he added a bit extra… for you."
Hermione blinked. "For me?"
Harry nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah, you know, as a thank you for 'taking care of my bloody arse,' as he put it."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You're buying me books?"
"Well, yeah. Either that, or we could blow it all on snacks again." Harry winked, clearly enjoying her reaction.
Before she could respond, Harry grabbed her hand and started pulling her in the direction of the bookstore. Hermione barely had time to process what was happening, but the excitement bubbling up inside her made it hard to care. He was buying her books. Books. Could this day get any better?
As they walked, she noticed the way Harry navigated the streets with ease, like he knew the town inside and out. He had a knack for slipping in and out of places, almost like he was always one step ahead, even when it seemed like he was just wandering. His confidence was infectious, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a little thrill at being swept up in his world, even if only for a few hours.
They turned a corner, the familiar sign of the bookstore coming into view. Hermione's heart raced. She was practically vibrating with excitement now, her mind already whirling with thoughts of all the books she could buy.
xxxxx
Harry had completely underestimated how much time Hermione could spend in a bookstore.
When he had offered to buy her some books, he hadn't realized just what kind of a bookworm she truly was. What started as an innocent afternoon trip turned into two grueling hours of watching her meticulously scan through shelves, flipping through pages and debating with herself over which books to buy. It wasn't that he minded waiting; he liked seeing her so immersed, so passionate, but after a while, he started to feel like he was in a test of patience.
Technically, it was only 10 books in the end. But the process had felt like a lifetime.
"Hello, Harry, Hermione," Emma Granger's voice broke through Harry's dazed stupor as she stepped into the shop, catching sight of the growing pile of books at their feet. Her nametag jingled softly as she pinned it to her shirt, ready to start her shift. "Quite a stack of books there, Harry. Are you having trouble finding something?"
Harry looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against a book display. His smile was easy and cheeky, but his eyes shifted to the teetering stack next to Hermione. "Afraid not, Mrs. Granger," he said, pointing at the books. "Those are Hermione's books. She's just having a tough time choosing between two versions of the same book."
Emma's eyes widened slightly, eyebrows raised. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry quickly jumped in, already anticipating her question.
"My godfather gave me a bit of extra money," he explained smoothly. "Said it was for Hermione, for 'taking care of me' while I'm out and about."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Sirius had been generous with Harry's book allowance, though Harry had "borrowed" a little extra from his vault for Hermione. He had noticed a few things in her home—an almost empty pantry, frayed furniture—and it didn't take long to piece together that the Grangers weren't doing well financially. Hermione never mentioned it, but her pride was clear. She'd never accept charity outright, so Harry had come up with a way to help her indirectly. This "book allowance" was a means to an end—he couldn't bear seeing her reading the same old books over and over again. She deserved more.
"Ah, I see," Emma said with a knowing smile, though a hint of surprise lingered in her eyes. She had met Sirius Black before and knew him to be a proper gentleman—strict, but kind. Trusting Hermione to keep an eye on Harry while he worked showed how much faith he had in her. Emma sighed, glancing at her daughter, who was still intently staring at the two books in her hands, debating their merits. "How long have you two been here?"
"Two hours," Harry replied, his voice half-resigned, half-amused.
"Oh, dear," Emma laughed softly. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I've got to get started with my shift. Good luck, Harry. You might be here for a while."
"Thanks, Mrs. Granger," Harry chuckled, shaking his head as Emma left them.
He turned back to Hermione, who still hadn't moved. She was completely absorbed in her internal struggle, holding up the two books as if she expected them to magically tell her which one to choose.
"Hermione," Harry groaned, rubbing his temples in exaggerated frustration. "Just take them both."
"I can't, Harry," Hermione sighed, her voice filled with exasperation. "I only have a budget for 10 books. You said yourself that I could only pick 10."
Harry looked at her as if she had just spoken nonsense. "Hermione, I'll pay for the extra book. Seriously. Just take both and let's get out of here. I'm starving."
Hermione frowned, clearly torn between her desire to stick to the rules and her love for books. "No, just give me a few more minutes. I need to think."
Harry slumped down onto a nearby chair, groaning dramatically. "If you stand up right now and head to the counter, I'll add in another book—on top of the one you're already struggling over. But only if we leave now."
Hermione froze, torn between excitement and hesitation. Slowly, as if the offer itself was some kind of test, she began to rise from her spot on the floor, the two books clutched tightly in her hands. Harry smirked, victory flashing in his eyes as she stood, still somewhat uncertain but starting to make her way to the counter.
"You drive a hard bargain," she muttered, casting a sideways glance at Harry as he gathered half of the books and followed her to the register.
Harry grinned at her. "You're welcome."
The cashier raised an eyebrow as they began piling the books onto the counter one by one. Hermione watched nervously as the numbers on the register climbed higher and higher, but Harry was unfazed, already pulling out the money he had brought with him. Before Hermione could say anything, the transaction was done. The books were neatly boxed up, and Harry handed her the lighter of the two boxes.
When they finally stepped outside, Harry let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, lifting his face to the sky. "Finally! I was starting to think we were going to spend the rest of our lives in there."
Hermione flushed with embarrassment, her eyes still spinning slightly from the sheer amount of money that had been spent on books. "I'm sorry… I didn't realize how long I was taking."
"Don't be sorry," Harry said, glancing at her with a teasing grin. "It's good practice for the future. Next time we go to the bookstore, I'll bring a pillow so I can take a nap while you explore."
Hermione froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat as she replayed his words in her head. Next time? Did that mean they would do this again? There would be a next time? Her thoughts raced, but Harry seemed oblivious to her sudden pause, whistling softly as he glanced around the nearby shops, clearly thinking about what they could grab to eat.
"Is it heavy?" Harry's voice cut through her thoughts, startling her.
"Huh?" Hermione blinked, snapping out of her daze.
"The books, Hermione," Harry repeated with a laugh, already reaching for the smaller box in her hands. "It doesn't feel that heavy, but I'll carry it anyway. Now, how about you pick what we eat, and we get going before I pass out from hunger?"
Hermione barely had time to respond before Harry was steering her toward a row of food stalls, his playful tone catching her off guard. "I might just eat that stray cat I've been seeing around here if we don't find something soon."
"Are you crazy?" Hermione hissed, her irritation growing as Harry's loud laughter echoed around them. His carefree attitude was always a contrast to her more serious nature, but in moments like this, she found herself caught between frustration and amusement.
Harry shot her a mischievous grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Only when I'm hungry."
As they continued walking, the weight of their books lightened by the ease of their conversation, Hermione found herself smiling despite the chaos of the day. With Harry, nothing was ever simple, but it was always an adventure.
xxxxx
That night, Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, her room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The stack of twelve brand-new books lay neatly arranged on the floor beside her bed. Twelve books! Her heart fluttered with excitement as she gazed at them, hardly believing they were hers. It had been ages since she had this many new books, and the sheer thought of diving into them filled her with a joy she could hardly contain.
She rolled onto her back, hugging her pillow tightly as she squealed in delight. Her giddiness refused to settle, her mind racing with the thought of all the worlds waiting for her to explore. And it was all thanks to Harry.
She sat up, her smile fading slightly as she thought of Harry. She hadn't expected him to buy her so many books. At first, she had hesitated, her pride tugging at her to refuse his generosity. But she quickly realized that refusing would do no good—Harry was persistent, and he might just flood her house with books if she said no. Probably books about wild adventures, war, or murder mysteries—things Harry was drawn to, while Hermione preferred fantasy and non-fiction, books that fueled her imagination and thirst for knowledge.
She sighed, sitting cross-legged again and staring at the books, deep in thought. How could she ever repay him? Harry was brilliant, sharper than most boys his age, and so thoughtful. She couldn't just let this go without doing something for him in return.
Cooking for him? Hermione cringed at the thought, imagining the disaster it would be. She could barely scramble an egg, let alone whip up a decent meal. Teaching him something? That idea made her snort in disbelief. Harry didn't need teaching—he had a mind like a steel trap. More often than not, it was him helping her with tricky bits of her homework, much to her irritation and reluctant admiration.
No, it had to be something special. Something only she could do.
Hermione's gaze drifted toward her tiny bookshelf, her fingers lightly tapping her chin as she mulled over the possibilities. There had to be something there. Her eyes landed on a dusty, old book gifted by her late grandmother, one she hadn't thought much of until now. A smile slowly crept onto her face. Maybe there was a way to surprise Harry after all.
She extended her hand and, without a second thought, willed the book to come to her. The old spine of the book lifted slightly from the shelf before it zipped across the room, landing perfectly in her open palm.
Hermione smirked at her little display. She didn't know how she did it, and she never dared to ask anyone. It was as though the magic only worked with books—nothing else seemed to respond when she tried. But it didn't matter. Maybe she could show Harry this little trick. Just to see the look on his face. That thought filled her with a strange excitement.
But then her smile faltered. A dark memory flickered in her mind like a shadow passing over the sun.
"Freak!"
The cruel word echoed in her head, the sting of it still sharp after all these years. She winced, pulling the book closer to her chest. No, maybe it wasn't a good idea to show Harry this... not yet. What if he didn't understand? What if he thought she was strange, different—just like the others had? The last thing she wanted was to ruin the friendship they had built.
Hermione closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. Perhaps one day, when she trusted him enough, she'd tell him. But not now. It was too soon, too delicate.
She shook off the lingering worry and flipped open the book, her fingers gliding over the worn pages. The familiar scent of old paper and ink soothed her, grounding her in the present. For now, she would lose herself in the stories, in the comfort of the pages, and she'd figure out how to repay Harry later.
Tomorrow, perhaps, she'd come up with something brilliant. After all, she always did.
But tonight, it was just her and her books.
xxxxx
Time had flown by, and before Hermione knew it, summer had arrived in full bloom. The warmth of the season crept through the neighborhood, filling the air with the sweet smell of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. Despite the sun beaming outside, Hermione found herself tucked away inside her room, a pile of yarn on her bed, her mind drifting.
She could hardly believe she was already set for secondary school. Her mother had assured her that she'd still be attending the same school, which was a relief in some ways. The neighborhood they lived in now wasn't ideal—cheap, sure, but safe, and at the very least, stable. Hermione wasn't sure she could handle another major change on top of everything else. The move had been hard enough.
But even with secondary school on the horizon, something else weighed on her mind: Harry. He still hadn't told her where he was going to school. He seemed to have a plan, one he was keeping close to his chest. When she'd tried asking him about it, he'd only given her a knowing smile, as if the answer were too complicated to explain. A small part of her—a part she would never admit out loud—hoped Harry would join her at her school. She pictured him sitting next to her, poking fun at her during lessons, always ready with some clever remark. But deep down, Hermione knew it was a far-off dream. Harry was different, even though she couldn't quite put her finger on how.
Still, Harry had promised to visit her, his tone casual, as if it were obvious he'd keep coming around. The thought reassured her more than she cared to admit. She had grown used to him, to his teasing and his relentless energy. Harry had a way of making things exciting, even when all they were doing was sitting on the grass, talking about books or daydreaming about adventures they'd never have.
Before Harry had left for a trip with his godfather, he had given her a bundle of new books to keep her company. Hermione had rolled her eyes at him at the time, playfully scolding him for treating her like some book-hungry gremlin who couldn't survive without his constant deliveries. But the truth was, she had grown to rely on him. She wouldn't say it, of course—it would only boost his ego. And God knew Harry already had enough cheek to last a lifetime.
She let out a long sigh, glancing at the mess of yarn spread out across her bed. The task in front of her was proving more difficult than she'd imagined. She had been trying to knit Harry a sweater—something to show her appreciation for all the books and the way he always looked out for her. But after hours of frustration and too many failed attempts to count, she had settled on making him a scarf instead. The stitches were uneven, and there were places where the yarn bunched up awkwardly, but it was coming together, slowly but surely.
"I'm hopeless at this," Hermione muttered under her breath, staring at the half-finished scarf. It was a far cry from the sweater she'd imagined. Still, it would do. After all, autumn was months away, and she had time to finish it. Maybe if she practiced enough, she could try the sweater again someday—though the idea of ever getting good enough to manage that seemed laughable at the moment.
Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the yarn, her thoughts drifting back to Harry again. He had a knack for getting under her skin, teasing her just enough to rile her up without crossing the line. Sometimes she felt like he was daring her to hit him, just to see if he could push her that far. Hermione had been tempted many times to oblige him, especially when he pulled one of his more infuriating stunts, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Harry was her friend—her only real friend, if she were honest with herself. Hitting him, even playfully, just didn't seem right.
She smiled a little, thinking about how irritatingly smug he'd be when she finally gave him the scarf. He'd probably wear it all the time just to tease her about her knitting skills, even if it turned out lumpy and misshapen. But deep down, Hermione knew he'd appreciate it. That was one of the things she liked about Harry. For all his teasing and bravado, he had a kind heart, and he cared about the people around him more than he let on.
Hermione looked out her window, the warm summer breeze gently stirring the leaves of the trees outside. The park where she and Harry had first met wasn't far from here, and she could still remember that day vividly—the way he'd come charging into her life, bold and brimming with confidence. She hadn't realized it then, but that day had changed everything for her.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she picked up her knitting needles again, determination flickering in her eyes. The scarf might not be perfect, but it would be hers, a gift for the boy who had unknowingly become such a big part of her life.
And as much as she missed him now, she couldn't help but feel excited for when he'd return. She had new books to read, a project to finish, and—most importantly—a promise to look forward to.
Because Harry had promised there would always be a next time.
xxxxx
Harry arrived at Hermione's door sooner than she had anticipated. She barely had time to process that he was back from his trip before he stood there, holding a large box brimming with treats, books, and other trinkets. His arrival was as sudden as it was welcome, his grin wide and his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Emma Granger answered the door, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the sight of the overflowing box in Harry's arms. She exchanged a quick glance with Hermione, who had hurried over, just as curious. As they opened the box together, the contents spilled out like a treasure trove: fine chocolates, fragrant tea leaves, a bottle of wine, artisanal soap, perfume, postcards from places Hermione could only dream of, and even small toys that looked like they were handmade.
And of course—books.
Emma picked up the bottle of wine with a small, approving smile as she shook her head. "Harry, this is too much," she said, though her hand clutched the bottle with a mother's eagerness.
Harry smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I actually only bought the books and the wine, Mrs. Granger. Everything else—well, Sirius received it while visiting some family friends. We ended up with so much extra that I thought you and Hermione might enjoy some. The tea's supposed to be really good too."
Emma chuckled, tucking the bottle under her arm. "I might take you up on that. And thank Sirius for me, will you? I'd love to have him over for dinner one of these days—if he can spare the time."
"Definitely! Maybe when he's not swamped with work. Even in France, he was still busy half the time, so I mostly toured around with some of the kids from his friends' families."
Hermione, who had been quietly inspecting the contents of the box, glanced up at Harry with wide eyes. Among the gifts were three new books in French—an immediate favorite. She already had a battered French-to-English dictionary, a prized possession for her language classes, but these books? These were leagues beyond. Real literature in French. The kind that would challenge her and keep her busy while Harry was away.
She glanced at him, wondering how he had thought of it. "You didn't have to, Harry," she mumbled, though the excitement was evident in her voice.
Harry just shrugged. "I figured you'd like them. Plus, it's not like I could come back empty-handed. What else was I supposed to do with all this stuff?"
Emma and Hermione both laughed at that, but it was Hermione who noticed the subtle way Harry's eyes softened as they settled on her. He really had thought about her during his trip, enough to pick out books that she would love, despite all the teasing about her reading habits. She could feel a warmth rising in her chest, a familiar yet strange feeling whenever Harry did something thoughtful without even realizing it.
As Harry launched into stories about his adventures in France, Emma leaned back against the counter, listening with interest. He spoke animatedly about the sights, the culture, and even a few mishaps along the way. He laughed about the time they tried to order food in French and ended up with something entirely unexpected, or how one of the kids managed to lose their camera in a river during a boat tour. "So yeah," Harry said, grinning, "no pictures. Just these souvenirs and the memories."
Once he was done recounting his trip, Hermione led him to her room, Emma staying behind to tidy up and put the gifts away. As they entered, Harry took in the sight of her room, his eyes immediately drawn to the towering stacks of books scattered across the shelves and the floor.
"When's your birthday, anyway?" Harry asked casually as he wandered in, eyeing the piles of books as if calculating how much more space Hermione had left before her room was overwhelmed.
"My birthday?" Hermione repeated, confused by the sudden question.
"Yeah," Harry grinned, "remind me so I can get you a new bookshelf. I don't want to hear from your mum one day that you got buried alive under a pile of books."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that. "I'll have you know I'm very good at balancing them," she said, trying to sound indignant but failing.
Harry laughed too, but the laughter faded into something softer, something warmer as he approached her. Without warning, he pulled her into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around her with a surprising tenderness. "I missed you, Hermione," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.
Hermione froze, caught off-guard by the sudden embrace. "R-Really?" she managed to squeak out, her face flushing as her arms slowly found their way around him in return.
"Yeah," Harry chuckled softly, "mostly because you speak English, and I spent a month listening to people speak French—or butcher English." He grinned at the memory. "But really, I missed you. Next time, when we go out of the country, I'm bringing you with me."
Hermione snorted, trying to hide the way her heart leapt at his words. "I don't even have a passport, Harry."
"We'll figure it out," he said confidently, releasing her from the hug and flopping down on the floor beside her bed. He watched as she began organizing the new books on her shelf, her hands moving with a kind of reverence. "So, what have you been up to while I was gone?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She had missed him more than she realized, and having him back now, filling the room with his presence, made the past month seem oddly distant. But she smiled, turning back to her books. "Oh, you know... just reading, studying... waiting for you to come back and entertain me."
Harry laughed, his voice filling the room. "Well, here I am. Now you're stuck with me."
xxxxx
Harry was mid-sentence, animatedly describing a mishap in France when a knock interrupted his story. Emma peeked into Hermione's room with a gentle smile.
"Hermione, you have a visitor."
Hermione exchanged a curious glance with Harry.
"I'll wait for you here," Harry said, already reaching for one of her books. He opened it casually, settling back into her room with a smile.
Hermione nodded and slipped out of the room, her mind still half in Harry's tales of France. When she stepped into the living room, though, her breath hitched. Standing there, tall and formidable, was a woman in emerald-green robes, her black hair tightly pulled into a bun. The woman's stern face softened with a small, kind smile.
"Hello, Ms. Granger," the woman greeted, her voice crisp and polite. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She shot a glance at her mother, Emma, who looked equally astonished but also intrigued.
Professor McGonagall began to explain the existence of magic, Hogwarts, and how sometimes children born to non-magical parents—Muggleborns, she called them—had magical abilities. She even demonstrated some magic, transforming into a sleek black cat before their eyes. Hermione let out a gasp, her heart racing with excitement. She had read about magic in books, but to see it—to know it was real?
Her eyes scanned the letter that McGonagall handed her, the Hogwarts crest gleaming on the parchment. A grin spread across Hermione's face as she skimmed over the details—until her eyes caught the list of school supplies. Her excitement faltered slightly as she thought of the cost. Her mother had been working so hard already.
"Professor," Hermione asked tentatively, her fingers brushing over the letter, "about these school supplies..."
Emma, standing beside her, tensed slightly, her smile fading as concern crossed her face.
McGonagall smiled kindly, understanding immediately. "Do not worry, Ms. Granger," she said reassuringly. "Hogwarts offers scholarships for Muggleborn students, which will cover all your educational expenses, including your school supplies."
Emma let out a sigh of relief, and Hermione's face lit up again. She couldn't help herself—she let out a little laugh of pure joy, and her mother hugged her tightly, both of them sharing the moment of happiness. McGonagall watched with a soft smile.
Before Hermione could ask another question, the door to her room creaked open, and she froze.
Harry.
In all the excitement, she had completely forgotten he was still here.
Harry emerged from her room, about to slip past and head for the bathroom when he stopped, his eyes landing on Professor McGonagall. His brow furrowed in confusion, and then recognition dawned on his face.
"Aunt Minnie?" he asked, his voice rising in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He let out a groan. "Did Sirius send you to check on me?"
McGonagall blinked, just as surprised. "Harry?" she said, squinting at him. "I might ask you the same thing. What are you doing at Ms. Granger's house?"
Hermione stood there, completely stunned. Aunt Minnie? Harry knew her?
"Hermione's my friend," Harry replied casually, walking over to stand next to her. He paused when his eyes landed on the letter clutched in her hand. Before Hermione could react, he took it from her and scanned it. His eyes widened, and he let out a sharp breath. "Hermione's a witch? Merlin's beard, is this real?!"
"You know about Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, her excitement rekindled.
Harry's face split into a wide grin. "Of course! I just got my letter before coming here!" He jumped up in excitement. "We're both going to study there!"
Hermione couldn't contain herself. "You're a wizard?!" she asked, her voice rising in disbelief.
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "I am! And Sirius is too! This is amazing! We're going to Hogwarts together, Hermione!"
Overcome with excitement, Hermione threw her arms around Harry, and they jumped up and down together in sheer joy, laughing loudly, entirely oblivious to the amused look on Emma's face and the raised eyebrow from McGonagall.
"Oh my gosh," Harry said breathlessly, "I still can't believe it. You, Hermione, are a witch! You're brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!"
McGonagall cleared her throat, interrupting their jubilant celebration. "Harry," she began, "how long have you two known each other?"
Harry tilted his head, thinking. "A few months, I think? I met her while I was... err... walking around town."
McGonagall's sharp gaze softened. "Well, then I suppose it's fortunate you already know each other. It will make the transition to Hogwarts easier." She looked directly at Harry. "I expect you'll guide Ms. Granger as she enters our world."
Harry straightened up, nodding eagerly. "Of course, Aunt Minnie. Hermione, watch this!"
He flicked his wrist dramatically, and from the kitchen, a small box of chocolates soared through the air, landing perfectly in his hand. He held it up proudly. "See? Magic!"
McGonagall sighed, clearly used to Harry's antics, but her expression shifted when Hermione raised her hand. Without a word, a book floated from the shelf and landed gently in her palm. She beamed.
"I can do that too!" Hermione squealed, her voice brimming with excitement.
Harry's eyes widened, and he shouted in excitement. "Hermione, you're a natural!"
They were both buzzing with joy, chattering non-stop about all the magical things they could do, when McGonagall clapped her hands, regaining control of the room.
"Now, as much as I'd love to stay, I have other students to visit," she said. "Harry, would you please inform Sirius that you and the Grangers will need to visit Diagon Alley for supplies? I'm sure you can help guide Ms. Granger through the process."
Harry grinned, already nodding. "I was going to suggest the same thing. Hermione, you're going to love Diagon Alley! And—oh—you have to see Flourish and Blotts! The books, Hermione!"
Hermione clapped her hands, barely able to contain her excitement at the thought of new books—magic books.
McGonagall turned to Hermione with a final instruction. "When you arrive at Diagon Alley, be sure to visit Gringotts first. Show them your letter, and they'll guide you through the process of accessing your scholarship fund."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Actually, Aunt Minnie," he said with a mischievous grin, "Hermione won't need the Hogwarts scholarship."
McGonagall blinked, surprised. "Oh?"
Harry turned to Hermione, his expression softening. "You see, when my mum died, she left a fund in her will. Every year, she wanted to choose one Muggleborn student to cover their full tuition and expenses at Hogwarts."
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief as Harry leaned in closer. "And I choose you, Hermione. You can get whatever you need—and as many books as you want."
Hermione gasped. That was the final straw. Overwhelmed, she threw herself at Harry, hugging him so tightly she could hardly breathe. She was so happy, so full of gratitude, that she almost kissed him right then and there.
McGonagall, watching the heartfelt exchange, simply smiled. "Very well, Harry. I'll inform the Headmaster. Ms. Granger," she added with a soft smile, "I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts. And please, do try to keep Mr. Potter out of trouble."
Hermione giggled, and Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not that bad."
As McGonagall turned to leave, Emma stepped forward. "Thank you, Professor," she said warmly, her voice thick with gratitude.
McGonagall nodded, casting a final glance at the two children. "Take care, both of you. I'll be seeing you at Hogwarts."
"Bye, Professor!" Hermione called out.
"See you soon, Aunt Minnie!" Harry added with a smirk, watching as the professor stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.