Chapter 3: Wands
Chapter Text
Sirius Black could hardly believe it when Harry first told him. The girl he'd been spending most of his time with—the same girl he would sneak out to visit—was a witch. Not just any witch either, but a Muggleborn. What were the odds? He mused on how strange and fascinating the world could be. Was magic somehow drawing them together? Or had fate intervened to ensure that Harry would find a friend in Hermione Granger?
Either way, Sirius was thrilled. Harry, who'd always been a bit closed-off, had found someone who truly understood him, even if neither of them had realized their connection until now. And judging by how Harry practically latched onto her, it was clear that anyone who dared hurt this girl would face the full fury of Harry Potter. He smirked at the thought—Harry wasn't one to hold back, and protecting Hermione had become almost second nature to him.
Today, they were in Diagon Alley, and Harry was dragging an equally excited Hermione from one shop to the next, their laughter ringing through the cobblestone streets. The sun bathed the magical alley in warm light, casting reflections off the many shop windows displaying enchanted goods. The scent of parchment, magical herbs, and sweet treats from Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor filled the air.
Harry was meant to be here with Ron and Draco, but the moment Hermione showed up, he left his friends without a second thought. Hermione, wide-eyed and brimming with curiosity, absorbed every sight with wonder. The magical world had come alive in a way she had only ever dreamed about, and Harry, with his easy confidence and childlike enthusiasm, was the perfect guide.
Sirius watched them from a few paces back, a knowing grin stretching across his face. Typical Potter, ditching friends the moment a girl came along. He shook his head fondly, keeping his distance while giving Harry space to enjoy his day.
As he read through a letter from the Ministry, he was interrupted by Harry sprinting toward another shop. "Harry!" Sirius called out, his voice laced with amusement and mock exasperation. "We should visit Gringotts first." He reached out and snagged Harry by the collar just before he could dart off in another direction.
Harry stumbled to a halt, flashing his godfather an impish grin. "Gringotts, right. I suppose we need some money for this little adventure." He looked over at Hermione, who was standing beside her mother. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he turned back to Sirius. "Ah, of course, we mustn't forget Gringotts," he said, nodding solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with barely-contained excitement.
Hermione's curiosity piqued, and she tilted her head. "What's so special about the bank?"
Sirius chuckled under his breath. "You'll find out soon enough, Hermione," he said cryptically.
Harry leaned in closer to her, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. "You'll love the vaults. Goblins guard the money, and each family has their own vault, deep underground." His green eyes sparkled with anticipation, and for a moment, he looked like any normal 11-year-old boy eager to show his friend something cool—except Harry's version of 'cool' involved goblins and ancient vaults.
"The vaults? Goblins?" Hermione echoed, her excitement now matching Harry's. She glanced up at her mother, who smiled warmly, amused by the children's energy.
"We also need to make sure you get enough for your books," Harry added, his tone suddenly serious as if this was a matter of great importance.
Hermione beamed at him, her heart swelling with warmth. Harry's equal love for books was something she deeply appreciated, even if she hadn't known him for long. She nodded eagerly. "Then let's go! I can't wait to see it."
Emma Granger walked alongside Sirius, laughing softly. "He's certainly excited about visiting a bank," she commented, her eyes following the two children as they led the way toward Gringotts.
Sirius let out a sigh, though his grin betrayed any hint of frustration. "I'm just warning you now," he said to Emma, his tone light and teasing, "I apologize in advance for whatever antics Harry pulls today."
Emma raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Oh? Should I be worried?"
Sirius smirked, scratching the back of his head. "You'll see. He's already got something planned, no doubt about it."
xxxxx
Harry and Sirius assisted a pale and shaky Hermione and Emma as they stumbled out of the cart. Their wild ride down to the Potter vault had been a whirlwind of loops, sharp turns, and freefalling that left both Granger women visibly shaken. It was far worse than any roller coaster, and to make matters worse, there hadn't been a single seatbelt or safety measure to keep them from tumbling out of the rickety contraption.
Throughout the ride, Hermione had clung desperately to Harry, her eyes squeezed shut, screaming at every stomach-lurching drop while Harry laughed beside her, thoroughly enjoying the adventure. Behind them, Emma had gripped Sirius's robes so tightly she almost pulled them off, her face a mixture of terror and nausea. Sirius had tried to comfort her with little success, as he too had struggled to keep a straight face during the cart's crazed journey.
When they finally came to a halt in front of the massive, ancient vault door, Hermione leaned heavily against a nearby pillar, her legs trembling so badly she could barely stand.
"I-I-I never want to do that again," she stammered, still trying to catch her breath. Her brown eyes were wide with lingering fear as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "W-We almost died."
Griphook, the goblin who had operated the cart, simply rolled his eyes at her words, unimpressed by the human tendency to overreact.
Sirius, trying to suppress his grin, gave Hermione a sympathetic look as he patted Emma's back, attempting to soothe the poor woman who was now fighting to keep her breakfast where it belonged. "Unfortunately for you both," he said, his voice full of amusement, "we'll be taking the same cart back up."
At that, Emma groaned softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're a cruel, cruel man, Sirius Black," she muttered weakly, leaning against the vault's stone wall for support.
"You prat," Hermione snapped at Harry, glaring at him with a mixture of frustration and lingering terror. She had her arms folded tightly across her chest, her knuckles white. "You knew how awful that ride would be, didn't you?"
Harry pressed his hand over his mouth, trying—and failing—not to burst into another fit of laughter. His shoulders shook with barely contained mirth as he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Hermione, really I am," he said between snickers, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "But come on, you've got to admit, it was a bit of fun!"
Hermione's glare deepened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I did not find it fun, Harry James Potter," she huffed, though her flushed cheeks hinted that she might have found some excitement in the chaos, even if she wasn't ready to admit it.
Griphook approached the vault's door with the quiet efficiency typical of goblins. With a quick flick of his bony fingers and a muttered incantation, the massive door creaked open, revealing the treasure hidden inside. Harry moved to step forward, but he stopped abruptly, turning back toward Hermione with a sly grin.
"Wait here for a moment," he instructed, holding up a finger as if he were about to share a great secret. Hermione, still recovering from the cart ride, nodded slowly, her curiosity piqued despite herself.
From the entrance, Hermione could already glimpse the glittering heaps of gold, silver, and bronze that filled the room. It was a veritable sea of coins, stacked into neat piles and scattered across the floor like treasures from a pirate's hoard. But beyond the money, there were other, more mysterious items that caught her eye—ancient jewelry encrusted with gems, finely crafted paintings in gilded frames, elegant furniture, and crates stacked high in the corners. There were even strange-looking artifacts she didn't recognize, likely imbued with magic she couldn't yet comprehend.
Harry disappeared deeper into the vault for a moment, and Hermione stood at the threshold, her wide eyes wandering over the vast collection of wealth. She couldn't help but wonder what it must be like for Harry, to have grown up with access to all of this. Did it ever feel overwhelming to him? Or was he so used to it that it was simply part of his life?
A few seconds later, Harry reemerged, holding something in his hand. He flashed Hermione a grin, motioning her forward. "Alright, it's all set. You and Mrs. Granger can come in now."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?" she asked suspiciously as she cautiously stepped across the threshold, half-expecting some sort of magical trap.
Harry smirked, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "I just had to key you and your mum into the wards. Only people I approve of can enter my vault, so now you're on the list."
Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. "That's... actually pretty amazing," she admitted, impressed by the level of magic involved.
Harry handed her a small, nondescript satchel. "Here, this should help. Go ahead and put about a hundred Galleons inside."
Hermione blinked, looking at the modest little bag in her hands. "Harry, this bag won't even hold a fraction of that," she said skeptically, shaking it to demonstrate how tiny it was.
Harry's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Ah, that's where you're wrong. It's got an extension charm on it. You could fit a whole horse inside, and it'd still feel light as a feather."
Hermione's brows shot up. "A horse?" she repeated, eyeing the bag again, half-expecting it to reveal some hidden depths.
Harry leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows playfully. "I could probably fit you inside, if you want to try." His smirk deepened as he reached out and gently pinched her cheek.
Hermione's eyes widened in mock horror, and she quickly pulled away, swatting his hand. "Absolutely not!" she declared, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite herself. "I'd prefer not to spend the rest of my day stuck in a bag, thank you very much."
Harry chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. "Was worth a shot," he said, turning to Sirius with a grin. "What do you think, Sirius? Could we have fit her in?"
Sirius, who had been leaning casually against the vault's entrance, crossed his arms and grinned back. "Oh, definitely. I think she'd fit quite comfortably, but you might have trouble getting her out again." He winked at Hermione, who rolled her eyes.
Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she began carefully scooping Galleons into the enchanted satchel. The clinking of the gold echoed faintly in the vast vault as she worked, her hands moving steadily as she tried to wrap her head around the sheer wealth that surrounded her. This was all part of Harry's world—something so far removed from her life as a Muggleborn that it felt like stepping into a fairytale.
xxxxx
They were finally out of the bank, the chaos of Gringotts now behind them. Hermione and Emma had insisted on taking a short break after their second wild ride in the cart, both looking slightly pale and shaken. The second trip had been just as nerve-wracking as the first, and despite Sirius's and Harry's efforts, there wasn't much they could do to ease the nausea and dizziness that still lingered.
Hermione had leaned heavily against the nearest wall, her breaths slow and deliberate as she tried to calm her nerves. Emma sat on a bench nearby, holding her head in her hands, her expression one of mild horror as she swore never to step foot inside Gringotts again unless absolutely necessary.
Sirius, ever the responsible adult, had given Harry a pointed look, scolding him under his breath. "Don't tease her anymore, Harry. She's been through enough today."
Harry, to his credit, had merely shrugged, looking guilty but clearly still amused by the earlier events. He hadn't meant any harm—Hermione's reactions were just too entertaining for him to resist. Still, he nodded in agreement, deciding it was best to leave the teasing for another time.
After a few minutes of recovery, both Granger women had regained their composure, and they were off again, weaving through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The sunlight glinted off the cobblestone streets, and the warm air buzzed with the energy of witches and wizards hurrying about with their shopping.
Their next destination was a bit more lighthearted—Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry had decided to save the bookstore for the end of their trip, knowing that once Hermione got her hands on a book, it might be impossible to pull her away.
Madam Malkin's shop was a charming little store with a welcoming, cozy atmosphere. As they stepped inside, the doorbell tinkled softly, and they were greeted by the sight of rows upon rows of beautifully made robes, all neatly arranged on racks and shelves. To their relief, the store was empty, giving them the freedom to browse without the bustling crowd.
"Hogwarts, dears?" Madam Malkin's cheerful voice rang out from behind the counter as she approached them, her eyes lighting up when they fell on Harry. "Oh, my, Harry Potter!"
Hermione turned to glance at Harry, curious about the shopkeeper's reaction. Harry, however, merely smiled politely at the woman, clearly used to this kind of attention by now. "Hello, Madam Malkin," he said, his voice polite and warm. "I'm here with my friend Hermione Granger, to get fitted."
Madam Malkin's eyes shifted to Hermione, her expression softening into a friendly smile. "Why, of course! Such a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger," she said warmly. "Now, who would like to go first?"
"Hermione first, please," Harry said, stepping aside and gesturing for Hermione to step forward.
With a slightly hesitant nod, Hermione stepped up onto the small stool that Madam Malkin directed her to, feeling a little awkward under the attention. As the robe maker slipped a long black robe over her head, Hermione stood as stiff as a board, as if she were undergoing some kind of test. Her fingers fidgeted nervously as Madam Malkin began pinning the robe, adjusting it to the perfect length.
Harry, watching from the side, couldn't help but chuckle softly. There was something endearing about how serious Hermione looked as she stood there, clearly uncomfortable in the spotlight.
"You're not being tested, you know," he teased lightly, catching her eye with a playful grin.
Hermione shot him a mock glare, though her lips twitched as if she were trying not to smile. "I'm just... making sure it's perfect," she muttered, though it was obvious she was flustered by the whole experience.
When Madam Malkin finished with Hermione, Harry stepped onto the stool himself, his posture relaxed and confident as the woman adjusted his robes with practiced ease. Hermione watched him with mild amusement, marveling at how calm and composed he seemed compared to her own nervousness.
A few minutes later, Madam Malkin stepped back, surveying her handiwork with satisfaction. "All done," she announced with a smile. "Would these be traditional robes, then?"
Harry shook his head, his green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Make it the best quality, please. Acromantula silk for the inner lining, and could you add warming and cooling charms to both sets as well?"
Madam Malkin's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she nodded eagerly. "Of course, Mr. Potter. You have excellent taste."
"And for Ms. Granger?" she asked, turning her attention to Hermione.
Harry didn't miss a beat. "Just the same, please," he replied smoothly. "We'd also like two sets of winter cloaks each, with warming charms. The best quality you have, please. Oh, and two pointed hats, and two pairs of dragon-hide gloves."
Madam Malkin beamed. "Excellent choices, Mr. Potter. I'll have everything prepared and ready for pick-up later today. In the meantime, feel free to continue your shopping."
Harry smiled, nodding his thanks. "Thank you very much, Madam Malkin."
As they left the shop, Hermione couldn't help but glance at Harry, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Do you know Madam Malkin?" she asked, her tone laced with surprise.
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've never met her before in my life."
Hermione frowned. "Really? She seemed to know who you were."
Sirius, who had been walking just behind them, smirked and cut in. "Harry's quite famous in our world, Hermione," he said, his tone light. "People recognize him everywhere."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly at that, but she didn't press the matter further. She was still learning about this magical world, and Harry's fame was something she was only just beginning to understand.
As they continued down the street, the sounds of Diagon Alley surrounded them once more—vendors shouting, the clinking of coins, the chatter of witches and wizards discussing their purchases. Hermione took it all in, her mind buzzing with excitement and a sense of awe that had yet to fade.
"So, what's next?" Sirius asked, turning to Harry with an inquisitive raise of his brow.
Harry thought for a moment before sighing. "Cauldron, crystal phials, telescope, brass scales—basically the boring stuff, I guess."
Sirius grinned, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Ah, the essentials. Nothing too exciting, but necessary all the same."
"Alright, let's get to it then," Harry said, his tone bright and full of enthusiasm despite the task ahead. He turned to Hermione with a teasing smile. "Hope you're ready for some thrilling shopping, Hermione."
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help laughing softly. "As long as there are no more death-defying cart rides, I think I'll survive."
Harry grinned at her, the easy camaraderie between them making the day feel lighter and more fun. Even the mundane task of gathering school supplies seemed like an adventure when shared with a friend.
xxxxx
Hermione was immensely grateful for her brown satchel, a simple but charmed bag that had proven far more useful than she had anticipated. Despite the numerous supplies they'd purchased so far—cauldrons, quills, parchment, and countless other school necessities—everything fit inside her bag effortlessly. She marveled at the convenience, thankful they didn't have to lug their purchases around Diagon Alley like ordinary Muggles.
They'd crossed off nearly every item on their list, but now, they were finally approaching the one Hermione had been most eager for—her wand. Out of everything, the prospect of owning a wand, a real magical wand, sent thrills of excitement coursing through her. She felt a burst of childlike glee bubble up inside her as they stepped in front of Ollivanders.
The store was narrow and shabby, a quaint little shop that seemed to radiate ancient mystery. Peeling gold letters above the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Hermione's eyes drifted to the solitary wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window display. It seemed simple, unassuming, yet she knew within these walls rested an item that could change her life.
When they entered the store, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The inside was small, with a palpable sense of age. Dust coated every surface, including the thousands of narrow boxes piled up to the ceiling. The silence was eerie, broken only by the soft shuffle of their footsteps across the wooden floor. A single, spindly chair sat in the corner, adding to the air of minimalism and mystery.
"Hello?" Harry called out, his voice slicing through the stillness.
For a moment, there was no response. Then, to their surprise, a frail, white-haired man appeared from behind a towering stack of wand boxes, his silvery eyes gleaming with age-old wisdom and something else—something curious.
"Ah, Harry Potter," the old man said, his voice raspy yet full of intrigue. He smiled, his eyes scanning Harry with fascination. "So, it's finally time for you to choose your wand. I remember well when both of your parents stood right where you are now, to buy their first wands."
Harry smiled politely, nodding. "Hello, sir. This is my friend, Hermione Granger. She'd like to get her wand first, if you don't mind," Harry said, gesturing toward Hermione.
The old wandmaker's eyes shifted to Hermione, his gaze penetrating as if assessing her very soul. "Ms. Granger, is it?" Ollivander murmured. "Very well, step forward."
Hermione swallowed nervously but stepped up to the counter, her hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Ollivander began pulling out boxes, opening them carefully, each wand inside placed delicately in front of her.
"Give it a wave, Ms. Granger," he instructed, handing her a slim wand made of ash wood.
With a tentative flick of her wrist, a small puff of smoke erupted from the tip, followed by a loud crash as a stack of boxes tumbled off the shelves behind Ollivander. Hermione gasped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she quickly set the wand back on the counter.
"No, no, that won't do," Ollivander said, shaking his head with a chuckle. He handed her another wand, this one made of willow.
Again, Hermione gave it a wave, only for a gust of wind to blow through the shop, scattering papers and dust everywhere. She grimaced, setting the wand down.
Thirty minutes passed in this manner, with Hermione growing more and more frustrated. Every wand she tried seemed to have a different, chaotic result. Harry watched in amusement, though he couldn't help but sympathize with her.
"Maybe I'm not meant to be a witch," Hermione muttered under her breath after yet another failed attempt, her frustration growing.
"Nonsense," Ollivander said, pulling out another box. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he opened it. "Try this one—dragon heartstring, eleven inches, unyielding, blackthorn wood."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, then wrapped her fingers around the wand. The moment her hand closed around the smooth wood, a warmth spread through her, radiating from her fingertips all the way to her chest. She lifted the wand and waved it gently, and immediately, the shop was filled with a brilliant violet light, glowing softly yet powerfully around her.
She gasped in awe as the light slowly faded, leaving behind an air of calm. Ollivander smiled, clearly pleased.
"Ah, excellent choice, Ms. Granger," he said, nodding in approval. "Dragon heartstring, blackthorn—unyielding but strong. A perfect match."
Hermione's face flushed with pride, a wide smile breaking across her face. "I... I can't believe it. I found my wand!"
"You didn't find the wand, my dear. The wand found you," Ollivander corrected gently.
Harry grinned at her excitement. "Looks like you're officially ready for Hogwarts now."
"Thanks to you," Hermione beamed, holding her wand like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"Now, as for you, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, turning to Harry with a knowing look.
Harry stepped up, not quite as eager but curious nonetheless. The process was much the same—wand after wand, each with its own peculiar reaction, though Harry remained far more relaxed than Hermione had been.
After thirty minutes of trying different wands, Harry began to grow bored, raising an eyebrow as Ollivander searched through the stacks for something else. "How many more wands are there?" he asked, a teasing grin forming on his lips.
"Patience, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said with a soft chuckle. "The right wand will come." He pulled out another box, opening it with care. "Phoenix feather, twelve inches, unyielding, yew wood."
Harry took the wand in his hand, feeling a sudden pulse of energy. He gave it a flick, and a brilliant green light exploded from the tip, filling the room with a soft glow before it gradually faded into the air.
Ollivander's expression shifted, his smile fading as he stared at the wand in Harry's hand. His eyes narrowed, and he murmured, "Curious… very curious…"
Harry, now more interested, tilted his head. "Sorry, but what's curious?"
Ollivander's gaze lifted to meet Harry's eyes, and he spoke in a low, serious tone. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother…" He paused, pointing to Harry's scar, "gave you that."
Harry blinked, feeling the weight of Ollivander's words settle on him. He reached up, touching the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, though his expression remained calm. "Interesting," Harry said after a moment, his voice steady. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Thank you for that valuable tidbit, Mr. Ollivander."
The old wandmaker nodded solemnly, still eyeing Harry with a mixture of respect and curiosity.
"How much for both wands?" Harry asked, pulling out his money bag.
"Fourteen Galleons, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said quietly, his tone reverent as he handed over both wands, carefully wrapped in soft, velvet-lined boxes.
Harry handed over the coins and tucked both wands securely into his robes. He gave Ollivander one last nod, then turned to Hermione and Sirius. "Let's go. We've got the most important thing sorted."
As they stepped outside into the bustling street, Hermione looked down at her new wand, still slightly overwhelmed by the experience. "I can't believe I actually have a wand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry grinned at her. "Told you it'd be exciting."
Hermione smiled, her heart still racing with the thrill of it all. "I can't wait to see what kind of magic we'll be able to do with these."
"Plenty, trust me," Harry said confidently as they made their way down the street, the excitement of their adventure still buzzing in the air around them.
xxxxx
Harry stared down at his melting ice cream, watching the vanilla drip over the edges of the cone, forgotten in his hand. His mind drifted back to the words Ollivander had said earlier, the way the old wand maker had stared at him with that unnerving intensity, mentioning his scar. It wasn't the first time someone brought it up, but it still left him unsettled, tugging at memories he tried to ignore. Sirius had warned him about this, told him that people would try to poke and prod about what happened that night — how Voldemort had killed his parents and how the Killing Curse rebounded, leaving him with his lightning bolt scar and ending the Dark Lord's reign.
A shadow of a smile ghosted across Harry's lips as he thought of Sirius, his godfather's advice often coming at the oddest times. Sirius never sugarcoated things, especially when it came to the darker side of life. He'd been an up-and-coming Auror during the height of the war, and Harry remembered the stories he'd overheard about how Sirius handled Death Eaters. There was no hesitation in his methods — sometimes brutal, sometimes merciless, but always effective. He'd once told Harry that he'd do anything to protect the people he loved. That included hunting down those who betrayed them.
Like Peter Pettigrew.
Sirius's current mission to find the rat who betrayed Harry's parents was something the Auror had taken deeply personally. The Ministry had even turned it into a joke after years of no success, dubbing it the "Rat Hunt" in the Daily Prophet. Harry chuckled, remembering how Sirius laughed it off, but underneath, he knew his godfather was still furious. Last month, he chased some leads to France, only to find it was just an unregistered Animagus, a prankster kid a few years older than Harry. Still, Sirius wouldn't give up. He never did.
"Harry?" Hermione's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked, surprised to find her staring at him with concern, her brown eyes full of worry. "Are you alright?"
Harry shook his head as if to clear it and managed a weak smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... tired, I guess."
Hermione frowned, clearly not convinced, but she didn't press further. Instead, she hesitated before speaking. "We can always go to the bookstore next time, if you're too tired," she offered, though her tone betrayed how much she wanted to go. Her eyes brightened just at the thought.
Harry smirked, amused by her attempt to be considerate. "Are you sure?"
Her face flushed as she bit her lip. "No... not really. I mean... can we go? Just for a little while?" Her cheeks turned pink, and she quickly added, "At least for an hour?"
Harry laughed, the sound shaking off some of his previous melancholy. "I'm just teasing, Hermione. Of course we can go. Honestly, you didn't even make a dent in your money bag. We still need to spend some more of it on your precious books."
Hermione's eyes lit up even more, but she crossed her arms in mock annoyance. "Well, it's your fault I didn't spend anything. You kept paying for everything!" she said, giving him a playful scowl.
"Can't help it," Harry said with a grin, taking a lazy scoop of his now half-melted ice cream. "I've got more money than I know what to do with."
Before Hermione could respond, the bell above the door jingled, and Harry's mood instantly darkened. A group of girls walked into the shop, their presence unwelcome and immediately recognized by Harry. It was Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis — Draco had affectionately dubbed them "the problematic trio." They always seemed to be in the middle of trouble.
"Oh, hey, Harry!" Pansy greeted with an exaggerated enthusiasm, her eyes lingering a little too long on him. Behind her, Millicent and Tracey offered polite but insincere curtsies.
Harry barely concealed his eye roll. "It's Heir Potter to you lot," he corrected, his voice tinged with authority. "And this," he gestured toward Hermione, "is my friend, Hermione Granger. She'll be starting Hogwarts with us this year."
Hermione waved shyly, clearly not used to this kind of attention, especially from girls who looked at her as if they were sizing her up for a duel.
"Granger?" Pansy raised an eyebrow, her tone condescending. "What family is she from?"
"She's a Muggleborn," Harry said, his voice steady but firm. He didn't miss the flicker of disdain in Pansy's eyes or the smirk tugging at Millicent's lips.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension. There was something in the way Pansy asked the question that made her feel like she was being judged, and she didn't like it one bit.
Millicent caught Hermione's eye and snickered, a cruel smile creeping across her face. "Something funny, Bulstrode?" Harry asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Millicent's grin widened as she leaned in slightly. "Oh, nothing, Heir Potter," she muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. "Just wondering why the shop started smelling like dirt."
Parkinson and Davis laughed, the insult clear. Hermione's eyes widened, a blush of both embarrassment and anger spreading across her cheeks. But she quickly composed herself, turning to the group with a sweet smile.
"Funny," Hermione said, her voice sickly sweet. "I was just thinking the same thing when you lot walked in. Maybe it's you."
Harry bit back a laugh. Hermione's quick retort caught him off guard, but he couldn't deny how proud he felt. That was brilliant.
Millicent's face turned a deep shade of red, her fists clenched in fury. "You filthy Mudblood!" she spat, stepping toward Hermione.
Harry's face darkened instantly. His voice was cold, sharp. "Touch her and I'll break your wand."
The entire group froze, the tension in the room palpable. Millicent stopped mid-step, visibly rattled. Parkinson and Tracey exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure how to handle the situation now that Harry was involved.
"And if you call her that word again," Harry added, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll break your legs."
The threat hung in the air for a moment before the girls, realizing they were outmatched, quickly backed away. With one last venomous glare at Hermione, they hurried out of the shop, their laughter silenced.
As the door swung shut behind them, Harry relaxed, taking another scoop of his ice cream. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "They're nasty."
Hermione frowned, still processing the insult. "What did they mean when they called me... that word?"
Harry sighed, his heart sinking. He didn't want to explain this to her, not now, not like this. But he knew she deserved to know. "Well... there's something you should know about the wizarding world. There are different kinds of witches and wizards. Purebloods, who come from two magical families — like Draco, Ron, and Sirius. Then there are half-bloods, like me. My dad was a pureblood, but my mum was a Muggleborn. Then you've got Muggleborns, like you, and Squibs — people born to magical parents but who can't do magic."
Hermione listened carefully, her expression thoughtful as she absorbed the information.
"Some pureblood families believe that magic should only stay in magical families, that Muggleborns are... well, beneath them," Harry explained, his voice filled with frustration. "That word, 'Mudblood,' it's a horrible slur. They use it to insult people like you, as if you don't belong in our world."
Hermione's frown deepened, and she looked down at her hands. "So... that's why they said it. Because I'm Muggleborn."
"Yeah," Harry said softly. "But don't let them get to you. They're wrong. You're brilliant, Hermione. And when we get those books, you're going to prove it."
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes softening. "You really think so?"
Harry smiled, his hand resting on her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know so."
xxxxx
As Harry and Hermione stepped out of the store, the golden light of Diagon Alley's afternoon sun cast warm shadows across the cobbled street. Sirius and Emma stood a few steps away, each holding a cage. Harry's godfather had a mischievous grin plastered across his face, while Emma smiled warmly at her daughter, her eyes twinkling with pride.
"Here you go, kid," Sirius called out, his grin widening as he approached Harry, holding up a cage with a beautiful snowy owl inside. The owl's amber eyes stared back at Harry with an almost intelligent curiosity. "Happy birthday!"
Harry's eyes widened with delight, his heart skipping a beat as he gazed at the majestic bird. He barely noticed the crowd bustling around them or the distant chatter of shoppers in Diagon Alley. All that mattered was the creature in front of him.
"Hello there," Harry murmured softly, almost as if speaking to a long-lost friend. The owl blinked at him, tilting its head slightly as though it understood. A warm feeling spread through Harry's chest. "I think I'll call you... Hedwig."
Hedwig hooted softly in response, the sound low and comforting. It made Harry laugh, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the street.
"It seems she agrees," Sirius chuckled, ruffling Harry's already messy hair. "A fine name for a fine owl."
Meanwhile, Emma handed a similar cage to Hermione. Inside was a slightly larger brown owl, with flecks of gold and white in its feathers, its large, round eyes giving it a wise and almost thoughtful expression. Hermione blinked in surprise, her gaze darting between the owl and her mother.
"Is this... Is this mine, Mum?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she couldn't quite believe it.
Emma smiled tenderly, brushing a stray curl from Hermione's forehead. "Yes, dear," she said. "Sirius mentioned he was getting Harry a birthday gift, and I thought it was only fair you have one too, especially since your birthday is just around the corner. And besides," she added with a wink, "he said owls are very useful for sending letters. It'll help me stay in touch with you once you're at Hogwarts."
Hermione's eyes filled with emotion, her heart swelling with gratitude. She reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against the cool metal bars of the cage as the owl gazed at her with calm patience.
"Thank you, Mum," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"What's his name?" Harry asked, stepping closer and smiling at Hermione's stunned expression.
Hermione studied the owl for a moment, then smiled. "Edgar," she said, her voice growing more confident. "His name's Edgar."
Harry grinned. "Cute name." He chuckled, leaning in to get a better look at Edgar. "He looks like he's sizing us up."
Hermione giggled and reached through the bars, gently stroking Edgar's feathers. The owl didn't seem to mind, closing its eyes as if enjoying the attention. But then, a sudden thought struck Hermione. She gasped and whipped around to face Harry, her eyes wide with realization.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, clutching Harry's sleeve. "When's your birthday?!"
Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback by her intensity. He scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Oh... well, it was actually right when I got back from France," he admitted, avoiding her eyes. "I was going to invite you to celebrate, but Aunt Minnie showed up, and... well, things got a bit busy."
Hermione's mouth fell open in shock, her hands tightening on the fabric of his robes. "Harry!" she scolded, her voice a mix of disbelief and guilt. "You should have told me! We could've done something! Now I've missed it completely!"
Harry laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal, really," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We can celebrate another time. I promise!"
But Hermione shook her head, her frown deepening. "It is a big deal! Birthdays are important!"
"Don't worry about it," Harry reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. "Besides, I've already got the best present—a day out in Diagon Alley with you. That's more than enough."
Hermione blushed at his words, warmth flooding her cheeks. She was about to protest again when Harry clapped his hands, grinning broadly.
"Anyway!" he said, deliberately changing the subject. "It's time for books!"
At the mention of books, Hermione's face immediately lit up, her previous worry melting away like snow under the sun. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and all thoughts of Harry's forgotten birthday flew out of her mind.
"Books!" she echoed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. She clasped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. "Oh, we're going to Flourish and Blotts, right? Oh, I can't wait! There's so much to learn!"
Harry laughed, thoroughly amused by her sudden burst of energy. He couldn't help but be charmed by the way Hermione's love for knowledge made her practically glow.
Chapter 4: Potter Library
Chapter Text
Sirius Black leaned back against the chair provided by the shopkeeper, his sharp eyes flicking between the growing pile of books on the counter and Emma Granger's increasingly flustered expression. The peaceful quiet of the bookstore was only interrupted by the rustling of pages and the soft murmur of Hermione's voice as she eagerly explained each book to Harry.
He couldn't help but smirk to himself, remembering how Harry had tried to warn him about Hermione's love for books. At the time, Sirius had laughed, brushing it off as something similar to what he'd seen with Lily and Remus—both voracious readers, but manageable. Now, as he watched Hermione practically vibrate with excitement at every new tome she laid her hands on, he realized he had greatly underestimated Harry's description.
"Merlin's beard," Sirius muttered under his breath, glancing over at Harry, who looked both amused and overwhelmed by Hermione's enthusiasm. The boy was trying his best to keep up, but even his godson was struggling to match Hermione's sheer speed as she pulled book after book off the shelves.
Emma sighed apologetically, her fingers tightening around the teacup provided by the shopkeeper. "I'm really sorry about this," she said, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fondness. "Hermione really, really loves her books. I didn't think she'd go quite this wild though."
Sirius chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "I can see that," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "Though I must admit, I wasn't prepared for just how intense it is. Harry told me, but... this is another level entirely."
Emma gave a small, slightly weary smile as she glanced over at her daughter. Hermione was speaking rapidly, her hands fluttering excitedly as she showed Harry a particularly thick volume on magical creatures. Harry, for his part, looked like he was doing his best not to drown under the avalanche of information.
The bookshop was quieter than usual, and Sirius made a mental note to thank the kind shopkeeper who had agreed to close the store for a private session. The pile of books Hermione was purchasing probably accounted for at least a week's worth of sales, and it wasn't even noon yet.
"At least it's not too busy," Emma murmured, sipping her tea gratefully. She looked more at ease now, her earlier nerves easing as the comfortable atmosphere of the bookstore settled around them. After a few moments of silence, she glanced at Sirius, her brow furrowing slightly. "Is the school... safe?"
Sirius tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at the question. "Hogwarts, you mean?"
Emma nodded, her eyes softening as she glanced over at Hermione, who was now debating whether or not to buy a third set of magical history books. "Yes," she said, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "I know we've all been so excited about magic and Hogwarts, but… I can't help but worry. Ever since her father passed away, it's just been the two of us." Her voice caught slightly as she spoke, and her eyes lingered on Hermione's bright, animated face. "Now she's going off to this boarding school on her own, and… well, I suppose I'm just nervous."
Sirius watched Emma for a moment, understanding dawning in his eyes. He had seen this kind of worry before, the same look of concern and love that Lily had often worn before whenever she thought of Harry. He leaned forward, softening his usual roguish expression with a gentle smile.
"You don't have to worry about Hogwarts," Sirius said reassuringly. "It's one of the safest places in the world. Besides, she won't be on her own. Harry likes her, you know." He smirked, glancing over at the two kids. "In fact, I'd say he's already taken her under his wing. She couldn't ask for a better friend."
Emma's gaze followed Sirius's, and her features softened as she watched Hermione laugh at something Harry said. The two of them were completely immersed in their own world, talking about books and spells and creatures. For a moment, it was as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only them.
"Harry's a good boy," Emma murmured, smiling fondly. "I can tell he cares about her. She's been so excited about Hogwarts, and I think having someone like him to look after her makes me feel a little better."
Sirius chuckled, standing up from his seat. "He'll do more than look after her," he said with a wink. "If there's one thing I know about my godson, it's that he takes care of the people he cares about. And Hermione… well, she's already part of that circle." He wandered over to a nearby shelf, scanning the titles with interest. "Wait here a moment. I've got something for you."
Emma watched curiously as Sirius disappeared behind a towering shelf of spell books, only to return a few minutes later with a stack of thin, well-worn volumes. He placed them gently on the table in front of her, a proud smile tugging at his lips.
"These," Sirius said, tapping the top book, "were recommended by Harry's mother, Lily. She always suggested them to Muggleborn parents who were new to the wizarding world. They're full of practical information, written with Muggle references that'll make things a bit easier to understand."
Emma's eyes widened as she picked up one of the books, flipping through its pages. The titles ranged from A Muggle's Guide to Hogwarts to What to Expect When Your Child is Magical. They were filled with useful information about magical customs, schooling, and everyday life in the wizarding world, all written in a way that made it accessible for someone who wasn't born into magic.
"It's a lot to take in," Sirius continued, his voice softer now. "But these should help you get a better understanding of the world your daughter's stepping into. Consider it a gift, for taking care of Harry every time he snuck out to your place."
Emma's head snapped up, her eyes widening. "Wait—sneaking out?" she asked, incredulously. "I didn't know he was sneaking out!"
Sirius gave her an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Of course you didn't," he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "He's quite good at it, unfortunately."
Emma's expression shifted from surprise to a bemused smile. "Well, I suppose I'll have to keep a closer eye on him then."
Sirius laughed, waving off her comment. "Oh, don't worry too much. He only sneaks out when he's bored—and trust me, between Hermione and Hogwarts, he won't have much time for boredom anymore."
They both shared a laugh, the lighthearted moment easing the lingering tension from earlier. Across the store, Harry and Hermione continued their conversation, completely oblivious to the adults watching them. Their voices blended with the soft rustle of pages, the quiet hum of magic in the air, and the comforting warmth of old, well-loved books.
For now, all was well in their little corner of the world.
xxxxx
Hermione stood in front of her full-length mirror, her heart racing with excitement as she stared at her reflection. She was grinning widely, her brown eyes bright with joy as she admired the way her new Hogwarts robes fit her perfectly. The material was soft yet sturdy, made from the highest quality fabric. It flowed smoothly down her small frame, hugging her in all the right places without being too tight. She loved how it felt—light enough that she didn't feel constricted, but warm enough to protect her from the chill. It was like the robes had been designed just for her, and she could almost imagine sleeping in them, they were that comfortable.
With a small, delighted sigh, Hermione spun around once, watching as the black fabric twirled around her. It wasn't the most exciting color yet, but she knew that would soon change. Once she was sorted into a House, the robes would be lined with the signature colors of whichever House she joined. Her mind raced with the possibilities: scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow and black for Hufflepuff, or green and silver for Slytherin. She had read so much about each House, memorizing their traits and traditions from the many books Sirius had recommended.
She paused for a moment, her hands smoothing down the front of her robes as she thought about it. "Ravenclaw," she whispered to herself, nodding confidently. "I'm almost certain I'll be in Ravenclaw."
It made sense. She had always been the top of her class, always striving for knowledge and understanding. Surely the Sorting Hat would see that she was brilliant, driven by a thirst for learning that fit perfectly with the traits of Ravenclaw House.
But then her mind drifted to Harry, and her smile faltered slightly. What about him? Where would he end up? He wasn't like her—brilliant, yes, but in a different way. He was brave, confident, and strong-willed, the kind of person who could easily fit into Gryffindor. Then again, he was also cunning and strategic when he needed to be, which seemed to match Slytherin's qualities.
She winced at the thought. What if they ended up in different Houses? What if Harry was sorted into Gryffindor or Slytherin, and she was put in Ravenclaw? Would that change things between them? Would Harry still talk to her, or would the separation create a distance between them that she didn't want to think about?
Hermione bit her lip, her reflection frowning back at her. "Surely it won't make that much of a difference," she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the worry. "Harry would still talk to me... wouldn't he?"
She stared at her reflection for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty, before turning her attention to the rest of her room. Her eyes landed on the magnificent trunk that sat near her bed, gleaming with polished wood and intricate carvings. It was a gift from Sirius—one of the most thoughtful, practical gifts she had ever received. She smiled softly at the memory of Sirius's explanation when he handed it to her.
The trunk was no ordinary piece of luggage. With a featherlight charm cast on it, it felt as light as a feather no matter how much she packed inside. And the expansion charm that Sirius had placed on it meant she could fit nearly a quarter of her entire book collection, along with clothes, school supplies, and anything else she might need for her time at Hogwarts. She had been reluctant at first, knowing the trunk must have cost a fortune, but Sirius had been insistent, telling her that it was the only way she'd be able to bring all her books.
She couldn't argue with that. And if she were honest with herself, she liked that Harry had bought the exact same trunk. It made her feel... connected to him, like they were matching in some small way. It was a little silly, she supposed, but the idea of having something so similar to her best friend gave her a sense of comfort.
Running her fingers over the smooth surface of the trunk, she opened it and peeked inside, smiling at how neatly her belongings were arranged in the various compartments. Books were stacked carefully in one section, clothes in another, and personal items like her journal and a few favorite keepsakes were tucked away safely in smaller pockets. She had even left room for a few more books, just in case she found anything else in Diagon Alley that caught her eye.
As she closed the trunk, her thoughts drifted back to Harry, and she found herself wondering what he was doing at that very moment. Was he thinking about Hogwarts too? Was he imagining what it would be like to walk through those grand halls, just like she was?
She hoped he was excited. The idea of going to Hogwarts together, even if they ended up in different Houses, filled her with a sense of anticipation. There was so much they could learn, so much magic to explore, and the idea of sharing that experience with Harry made it all the more thrilling.
Hermione glanced back at her reflection in the mirror, her smile returning as she imagined walking through the halls of Hogwarts in her new robes, books in hand, ready to take on whatever the magical world had to offer. And beside her, she pictured Harry, just as eager and determined as she was.
"Even if we're in different Houses," she whispered to herself, her smile growing. "We'll still be best friends. Nothing will change that."
Her confidence restored, Hermione stepped away from the mirror and sat down on the edge of her bed, her heart light with excitement and hope for the adventures that awaited them at Hogwarts. The uncertainty of the future still lingered in the back of her mind, but for now, she let herself focus on the excitement of the moment—the thrill of wearing her Hogwarts robes, the joy of preparing for a new chapter in her life, and the knowledge that, no matter what, Harry would be right there with her.
xxxxx
Harry walked into his room at Potter Manor, only to be greeted by the familiar sneer of Draco Malfoy, lounging on one of the plush chairs near the fireplace. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on the boys as they relaxed after a long day. Draco, never missing an opportunity to tease, wasted no time.
"Ah, finally, the traitor is here!" Draco drawled, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief as he tossed the Quaffle lazily from hand to hand.
Across the room, Ron grinned widely, leaning back against Harry's bed, his fiery red hair practically glowing in the firelight. He had been tossing the Quaffle with Draco moments before Harry arrived, and now his blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he eyed his best friend. "So, how was the date with the Granger girl?" he teased, his tone light but filled with that usual brotherly jab.
Harry scowled, his emerald eyes flashing with annoyance. "Piss off, you two," he muttered, though there was no real anger behind his words.
Ron snorted, clearly enjoying Harry's discomfort. "I can't believe you left us—your best mates—just to go shopping with a girl!"
"She's not just a girl," Harry said defensively, throwing his cloak onto the nearby chair. "She's my friend too, you know."
Draco rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk. "Then why couldn't she have come along with us, Potter? Would've been better that way. Instead, I had to spend the day with the entire Weasley clan. Bloody nightmare."
Ron chuckled, remembering the sight of Draco being herded like a stray dog by his mother, Molly Weasley, as she tugged him through shop after shop. "I spent the better part of the day laughing at you, mate. You should've seen your face when Mum made you help carry all the bags!"
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't remind me," he grumbled. "I spent the entire day dodging a mob of redheads. It was like a sea of ginger, and every five minutes, Mrs. Weasley was pulling me along, shouting at me not to wander off." He shuddered. "And don't even get me started on when we nearly got caught sneaking towards Knockturn Alley."
Ron's laughter grew louder, and he slapped his knee. "You were practically white as a sheet when Mum found us near Borgin and Burkes!"
Harry smirked, leaning against his desk. "So, does that mean you didn't manage to get any extra wands, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ron shrugged casually. "Got two extra," he said, as if it were no big deal. "Draco got two as well. Managed to grab them before we were pulled back to Diagon Alley."
Draco, looking a bit pale, nodded. "I still can't believe they actually sell wands plundered from graves," he muttered, shivering slightly at the memory. "It's twisted."
Harry grinned, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Well, I got five extras with me," he said, clearly proud of his haul. "I managed to grab three when we were in France, and I nicked another two when we were near Knockturn Alley before Sirius dragged me back." He folded his arms, leaning back. "That should last us a while, don't you think? Enough to keep us out of trouble when they start checking our wands at Hogwarts."
Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Five extra? Blimey, Harry, are you planning to start a wand collection or something?"
Draco chuckled darkly. "Well, knowing Potter, he's probably planning something more than just pranks."
Harry smirked. "Of course I am," he said smoothly. "Pranks are fun, but I've got something more... ambitious in mind."
Draco's eyes gleamed with interest, and he sat up straighter. "What's the plan, then?" he asked eagerly. "I like causing trouble as much as the next person, but I want to do something more permanent this time. Not just harmless pranks like those Weasley twins. I want something... bigger."
Ron, still grinning, leaned forward. "I've been thinking about the Marauder's Map," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Remus and Sirius said the original is lost somewhere in Hogwarts and it's probably outdated by now. But what if we could make our own? Imagine the things we could do with that kind of map!"
Harry's grin widened. "Funny you should mention that," he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "While I was out with Hermione, I nicked a few Mandrake leaves."
Both Draco and Ron froze for a moment, their eyes widening as they processed what Harry had just said.
"Mandrake leaves?" Draco repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harry nodded, his expression smug. "That's right," he said. "We start focusing on becoming Animagi as soon as we step foot in Hogwarts. The goal? To become the youngest Animagi in history."
At the mention of Animagi, Draco's eyes practically lit up with excitement. He had always dreamed of becoming one, but his mother, Narcissa, had forbade it, insisting it was too dangerous for someone his age. But here was Harry, offering him a chance to do it. And not just do it—do it in secret, like a true Marauder.
"Now that," Draco said, grinning broadly, "is a plan I can get behind."
Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Imagine it, mates. We could find every hidden passage in Hogwarts, sneak out to Hogsmeade whenever we want, and no one would ever be able to stop us."
"And if we find the right secret room," Draco added, his voice filled with excitement, "we could make it our base. Somewhere hidden, somewhere only we know about."
Harry's grin grew as he saw the excitement building between his two friends. The possibilities were endless, and the thought of creating their own Marauders' legacy was thrilling. "We'll need to be careful," he warned, his voice steady. "Becoming an Animagus isn't easy, and if we're caught... well, let's just say the consequences won't be pretty."
Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Please, Potter. I live for danger."
Ron chuckled, leaning back against the bed once more. "We'll be legends, mate. Just like your dad, Sirius, and Remus were."
Harry's expression softened slightly at the mention of his father, but the glint of determination in his eyes remained. "Then it's settled," he said. "We'll start gathering everything we need once we get to Hogwarts. Mandrake leaves, the ingredients for the potion, and we'll find a hidden spot where no one can disturb us."
Draco's grin stretched from ear to ear as he stood up, pacing the room with excitement. "This is going to be brilliant. The youngest Animagi Hogwarts has ever seen—and no one will know but us."
Harry leaned back in his chair, satisfied as his friends continued to plan, their voices filled with enthusiasm. They had no idea what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: they were going to shake Hogwarts to its core.
xxxxx
Emma Granger sat at the small wooden desk in the corner of the living room, a soft frown of concentration on her face as she carefully folded a sheet of parchment. Her hand hesitated slightly, hovering over the paper before she finally pressed the fold into place. This was still all so new to her—writing letters to wizards, sending them off with owls. She glanced out of the window, taking in the sight of the quiet, suburban street where normal birds flitted from tree to tree, completely oblivious to the world of magic hidden just beneath the surface.
With a small sigh, she stood up and called softly, "Edgar?"
A soft flutter of wings answered her as an owl swooped down from the curtain rod where it had been perching, its beady eyes watching her expectantly. Emma offered a shaky smile, still not entirely used to the idea of talking to birds like they were postmen. She gently tied the folded letter to Edgar's leg.
"Hello, dear," Emma whispered, her voice almost conspiratorial, as if afraid someone might overhear. "Can you please deliver this to Sirius Black?"
The owl hooted in acknowledgment, its head tilting to one side as if considering her request. And just like that, with a few powerful flaps of its wings, Edgar was off, soaring into the sky. Emma watched it disappear into the clouds, still in slight disbelief that such a thing was possible. But then again, she was slowly getting used to the surprises the magical world had to offer. After a few letters from Harry arriving via his owl Hedwig, she realized this was part of her new normal.
At least there were plenty of birds in their neighborhood, so an owl here and there didn't raise too many questions from the neighbors.
As she turned to head back inside, Hermione's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Was that a letter, Mum?" The girl stood at the entrance of her room, her curly brown hair framing her face, looking curious as always.
"Oh, yes, Hermione," Emma laughed, feeling warmth spread through her chest as she saw her daughter. She walked over to where Hermione stood, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I was just sending a letter to Sirius. I had a question about something I read in one of the books he bought for me."
Hermione's eyes lit up with interest, ever the bookworm. "Really? What did you ask him about?"
Emma chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, there's this part that mentions how some Muggles—non-magical people like us—can take on jobs in the wizarding world too." She paused for a moment, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I was hoping he could suggest some roles I might be able to do. I want to learn more about your world, Hermione. If you're going to be part of it, I want to be a part of it too."
For a second, Hermione stood frozen, her heart swelling with emotion. She didn't know what she had expected, but hearing her mum's words... it was overwhelming. Hermione's eyes welled up with tears, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Emma, hugging her tightly.
Emma laughed, though her voice cracked with emotion as she returned the hug. "Oh, don't cry, darling. You're going to make me cry too."
Hermione sniffled, pressing her face into her mum's shoulder. "I-I'm sorry, Mum," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I just didn't realize… I'll be leaving so soon. We promised we'd always be there for each other after… after Dad..." Her voice broke, and she sobbed softly. "And now I'm going to be gone for so long."
Emma held her daughter even tighter, stroking her hair soothingly. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, her own heart aching at the sight of Hermione's tears. "You'll be back for Christmas. We'll still see each other. And I'll always be just an owl away."
Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I know, but it's not the same. I don't want you to be lonely without me."
Emma pulled back slightly to look at her daughter's tear-streaked face. She gave her a tender smile, gently cupping Hermione's cheek. "I'll be fine, love. I might miss you terribly, but this is your time now. You're going to learn amazing things, make new friends, have adventures..." She smiled. "Although I am a little sad I can't be there with you for your birthday."
Hermione hugged her again, tighter this time, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her mother's warmth. "I'll miss you too, Mum. So much."
For a few moments, they stood there in silence, holding onto each other, neither willing to let go.
Then, after a long pause, Emma broke the quiet, her voice lighter this time, trying to lift Hermione's spirits. "Well, maybe, just maybe, I could ask Sirius if we could borrow his fireplace."
Hermione pulled away, looking at her mum in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Emma's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Apparently, there's a magical way to travel through fireplaces," she explained with a chuckle. "It's called Floo Powder, I think. You step into a fireplace, say where you want to go, and poof! You're there. Just like Santa Claus!"
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait... you think Santa's a wizard?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder at the thought.
Emma grinned, shrugging playfully. "Well, he does enter houses through fireplaces, doesn't he? There might be some truth to that story."
Hermione's mind was racing, her thoughts already jumping to all the possible explanations. "I never thought of that before… maybe I'll do some research and find out!"
Emma couldn't help but laugh, pulling Hermione into another hug. "Of course you will," she said fondly. "My little researcher."
Hermione giggled, feeling lighter now as she rested her head on her mum's shoulder. For a brief moment, the weight of her impending departure faded away, replaced by the warmth of her mother's love and the comfort of knowing that, no matter where she went, she'd always have a home to come back to.
xxxxx
Sirius sat in his worn-out armchair in the study of Grimmauld Place, the fireplace crackling quietly as flames danced in the hearth. A half-empty mug of tea rested on the table beside him, forgotten, as he unfolded the letter in his hand. His eyes skimmed over the neat handwriting, and a low hum escaped his throat. After a moment, he passed the letter to Harry, who sat next to him, absorbed in a thick book with a leather-bound cover.
"Huh," Harry murmured, glancing at the letter. "I didn't know Muggles could work in our world."
"There are a few exceptions here and there," Sirius replied, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful nod. "Technically, in a magical sense, Muggles are better off than Squibs. They have a little spark of magic in them, just enough that they can sometimes produce magical offspring. Squibs don't have any magic at all."
Harry snorted, closing his book with a soft thud. "Must be due to the inbreeding." He ducked quickly as Sirius, with a mock glare, lobbed a piece of bacon at him from a nearby plate. It sailed over Harry's head, landing with a plop on the floor.
"I wasn't talking about your family!" Harry added quickly, raising his hands in surrender, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm just saying, it makes sense."
"Cheeky prat," Sirius muttered, shaking his head in mock disapproval. He let out a weary sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "I knew Emma was going to ask about working in our world eventually, but I'm not sure who to reach out to. If Hermione's mother is going to be working here, I want her to be somewhere safe. I'll be busy most of the time, and I can't keep an eye on her."
Harry frowned, the gears in his mind already turning. "I don't know much about how Mrs. Granger works, but she's great with books. She works at a library as an assistant and helps out at a bookstore, too."
Sirius hummed, deep in thought. His previous conversations with Emma had left him with the impression that she was intelligent and kind, but perhaps a bit too passive. Not weak-willed, but quiet enough that some pure-blood wizards might target her, thinking Muggles were beneath them. She couldn't work out in public, not as a cashier or in a magical shop—too exposed.
Harry's face lit up with sudden inspiration. "How about at Potter Manor?" he suggested, sitting up straighter. "Remember when we talked about hiring someone to help sort out the blasted library?"
Sirius barked out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's actually not a bad idea." He thought back to the sprawling expanse of Potter Manor, a place filled with centuries of history and, more specifically, the library. The Potter library was massive—five floors tall, with shelves towering at least 12 feet high. It was a labyrinth of books, with tomes that had been forgotten over the years, some collecting dust, others hidden away in forgotten corners. No one had managed to properly clean or catalog it in ages, and there were untold amounts of hidden knowledge waiting to be discovered. Fortunately, it was all Light magic, so it was safe, but it was still a monumental task.
"It's a good idea," Sirius nodded thoughtfully, his voice carrying a note of approval. "She'll have a place to live, access to the Floo Network, and the Manor is well-protected by wards. If she wants to go out, she can Floo directly to Grimmauld Place and head out from here. No one would suspect a thing."
Harry grinned, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. "Then it's settled!"
Sirius, however, wasn't entirely convinced yet. He held up a hand, hesitating. "Wait, Harry. Are you sure? The Potter Library is a great place, but she's still a Muggle. Someone we barely know, no less. This isn't just about sorting books. This is about security, trust."
Harry waved his hand nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair with a carefree grin. "We could always make her take the Vow."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "The Unbreakable Vow doesn't work with Muggles, Harry." He rolled his eyes, suppressing a smirk.
"Oh… right," Harry said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I trust her. And Hermione's under my mum's scholarship, so I doubt Mrs. Granger would do anything against us. Plus, she seems nice."
Sirius sighed and shook his head, giving Harry a wry look. "Speaking of that scholarship…" His tone turned more serious, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Since when did Lily ever have a scholarship in her will? I've read it through front to back, countless times."
Harry shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I may have… improvised a bit. Did you know Hogwarts' scholarship fund is only twenty Galleons for the whole year?" He shuddered dramatically. "The books Hermione bought alone cost ten Galleons, and her wand was seven!"
Sirius gaped at him. "Well, maybe if she didn't buy half the bookstore, she'd have enough for the rest!" he exclaimed, though his lips quirked upward in amusement.
"Come on, let her have her fun," Harry said with a smirk. "She's a brilliant witch. Consider it an investment in her brains." He crossed his arms over his chest, his tone growing more serious. "I like her."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "You like her?" he echoed, his voice teasing.
"I do," Harry said proudly, sitting up straighter. "There's something about her… something fun. I'm more excited knowing she'll be coming to Hogwarts with me."
Sirius shook his head, though there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Just don't cause too much trouble, Harry. I already have Dumbledore questioning me about that scholarship trick you pulled."
Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Let him wonder. Hermione's mine, and he'll just have to deal with it. That old goat should focus on bigger problems instead of meddling with young kids."
Sirius let out a low chuckle. Harry had never been one to hide his dislike for Albus Dumbledore. In fact, ever since he learned the full story of his parents' deaths, Harry had held a grudge against the old wizard. He blamed Dumbledore for not intervening sooner, for being part of the reason his parents were gone. That resentment had only grown over the years, simmering beneath the surface.
"Anyway," Harry said suddenly, standing up from his chair with a stretch, "send a reply to Mrs. Granger so she knows what's happening. I'm off to the Weasleys."
Sirius chuckled, shaking his head as Harry left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
xxxxx
The grand, ancient doors of Potter Manor creaked open as Hermione and her mother, Emma, walked inside, their footsteps echoing faintly in the vast hallway. The air was filled with the faint scent of polished wood and old parchment, and the grandeur of the estate was overwhelming. Hermione's eyes widened as she marveled at the intricate details of the architecture, from the high ceilings adorned with delicate chandeliers to the long, richly colored tapestries that lined the walls. Emma was equally captivated, though she tried to remain composed, despite the overwhelming opulence.
Harry, walking just ahead of them, couldn't help but smirk at their awe-struck expressions. It wasn't the first time he'd seen visitors react this way to Potter Manor, but somehow, it felt different with Hermione and her mother. There was a sense of pride swelling in his chest as he led them through the winding hallways, each turn revealing yet another lavish room or priceless piece of magical history.
"It's… it's enormous," Hermione whispered, unable to stop herself from turning in circles, trying to take everything in.
"It takes some getting used to," Harry said with a grin, glancing over his shoulder. "But you get the hang of it."
They had been touring the manor for two hours, taking in the sights from the grand ballroom to the various studies, filled with ancient tomes and relics. Now, they were nearing the end of the tour, and both Hermione and Emma looked tired but fascinated by all they had seen. Harry stopped in front of a large oak door, the wood engraved with elegant carvings of the Potter family crest.
"Finally, here we have your rooms," Harry said, pushing open the door with a flourish. The hinges creaked softly, revealing a suite that was larger than any room Hermione or her mother had ever seen. The sheer size of it caused Emma to stop in her tracks, her breath catching.
"You can have this one, Hermione, or the one next to it. That door over there connects both rooms, so you're only ever one step away from your mum," Harry explained as he gestured toward the connecting door. "And my room is just upstairs, but… it's warded. Only the Heir or Lord of the House can enter, so if you need me, I guess… knock?" He flashed a mischievous grin.
Hermione didn't respond at first. She simply stood there, staring at the room in stunned silence. It was far larger than the small flat she and her mother currently lived in. The bed alone was a massive queen-sized affair with an ornate wooden headboard, dressed in thick, soft blankets that looked as though they could swallow her whole. A spacious desk sat in one corner, and nearby, bookshelves lined the walls, already half-filled with various titles—some ancient and some newer, likely untouched for years. A plush couch rested near the fireplace, which crackled softly, casting a warm, inviting glow across the room. The large windows let in streams of soft sunlight, illuminating the space, while a door led to a private bathroom and a walk-in closet.
"T-This is too much," Emma murmured, her voice shaky. She had been overwhelmed from the moment they arrived, but this—this was beyond anything she had expected. She glanced at Hermione, whose eyes were still wide in disbelief.
"It's really not, Mrs. Granger," Harry said quickly, stepping forward with a reassuring smile. "It's the safest place for you if you want to work in our world. You won't have magic to protect yourself, and most of the jobs Muggles could do here would expose you to… well, dangerous situations."
Emma opened her mouth to protest again, but Harry had already seen the worry forming on her face. He didn't want her to feel uneasy, so he swiftly changed the subject.
"Dobby!" he called out.
In an instant, there was a soft pop, and a small, wide-eyed house-elf appeared in the room, bowing so deeply that his long ears brushed the floor. The Grangers both gasped in surprise, stepping back instinctively.
"Master Harry Potter, sir, called for Dobby?" the elf asked, his large green eyes gleaming with eagerness as he looked up at Harry.
"Yes, Dobby," Harry replied warmly. "This is my friend, Hermione Granger, and her mother, Emma. Treat them as you would treat me. Mrs. Granger is going to be working here in Potter Manor, organizing and cataloging the Potter Library, and I'm assigning you to assist them whenever they need help."
Dobby straightened up, his ears twitching with excitement. "Mistress Hermy and Missy Emmy!" he squeaked, his voice high-pitched and filled with joy. "Dobby is most happy to serve!"
Hermione knelt down, smiling softly as she extended her hand toward Dobby. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dobby," she said kindly.
Dobby blinked rapidly, his eyes widening even more, if that were possible. He hesitated for a brief moment before gingerly taking her hand, shaking it with a trembling grip, as if he could scarcely believe what was happening. "M-Mistress Hermy is shaking Dobby's hand…" he whispered in awe.
Emma, a bit more reserved but not wanting to be rude, followed Hermione's lead and extended her hand to the house-elf as well. "Thank you, Dobby," she said quietly, though her voice was tinged with uncertainty.
Dobby's eyes practically sparkled as he shook Emma's hand, looking up at Harry with unbridled delight. "Master Harry Potter, sir, Dobby likes them very much!"
Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you might, Dobby."
Hermione straightened up, still smiling at the house-elf's enthusiasm, and turned to Harry. "So… the Potter Library," she said, trying to sound casual, but there was a note of excitement in her voice that she couldn't quite hide. "How big is it, exactly?"
Harry grinned. "It's big. Really big. You'll see."
"Shall Dobby take Mistress Hermy and Missy Emmy to the Potter Library now, Master Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked eagerly, bouncing on his feet.
"Yes, please," Harry replied, moving closer. "Hold on to Dobby, and I'll guide us."
Hesitantly, Emma and Hermione each placed a hand on Dobby's small shoulder, glancing at each other nervously. Harry casually rested his hand on Dobby's head, and with a soft pop, the group vanished from the room, the luxurious surroundings of Potter Manor disappearing in a blur.
xxxxx
The moment they stepped into the Potter Library, Hermione's eyes widened in sheer wonder. The library was colossal—a vast circular tower stretching upward, its ceiling seeming to vanish into the shadowy heights above. Bookshelves lined every inch of the curved walls, stretching across five towering floors, with spiral staircases winding their way up like coiling serpents, beckoning readers to explore. The scent of old parchment and aged leather filled the air, mingling with the slight tang of dust that floated in the beams of sunlight streaming through the high windows. It was a place that exuded both grandeur and neglect—a forgotten gem from a bygone era.
The sheer number of books was staggering, and they weren't just neatly arranged on shelves. Piles of tomes littered the floor in precarious stacks, some toppling over, their spines cracked and worn from decades—if not centuries—of disuse. The shelves themselves were bending under the weight of the countless volumes, some sagging dangerously, threatening to collapse entirely. Dust clung to the corners of the room like a stubborn memory, and cobwebs adorned the far reaches of the ceiling, swaying slightly with the draft that whispered through the cracks.
Harry stood in the center of the room, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering over the disarray. "So, uh… this is why we need help," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and apology. He gestured around them at the chaos. "There's really a ton of books, and some of them are centuries old. It used to be a great library—my great-grandfather was the last one to properly use it."
He cast a glance at Hermione, who was already climbing the spiral staircase to the second floor, her eyes shining with excitement as she trailed her fingers over the spines of the ancient books. The overwhelming sense of history in the room seemed to spark something deep within her, like she had just walked into a treasure trove. Harry could see the hunger for knowledge practically radiating off her as she disappeared into the higher floors.
Emma, too, was already busy, kneeling on the floor and carefully picking up some scattered books, sorting them into neat, organized piles with a practiced ease. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, but there was a gentle smile playing on her lips, as though she found solace in the quiet task.
Harry, on the other hand, couldn't summon the same enthusiasm. Sure, the library was impressive, but it wasn't Grimmauld Place. That was where the real treasures lay—Dark Arts, ancient rituals, the kind of magic that thrilled him, not the dusty old tomes of family history and herbology that filled the shelves here. He had always believed that the Dark Arts were only dangerous when wielded by evil, and in the hands of someone with good intentions, they could be a tool for justice, a way to protect those he cared about without hesitation, without mercy. Grimmauld Place's library had books that sparked his curiosity, his drive to learn about the deeper, darker aspects of magic.
He made his way over to one of the couches, sinking into the plush cushions with a sigh, pulling out a Muggle book from his bag. He was more than content to sit back and let Hermione and Emma take charge of the library. After all, it would take hours before they'd even make a dent in organizing the place. And Harry had no intention of spending his afternoon sorting through dusty old books.
He cracked open the book, letting his eyes drift over the first few sentences. As he settled in, the soft sounds of Emma's gentle tidying and Hermione's excited murmurs as she explored the upper floors created a peaceful, almost serene atmosphere. He could hear the faint sound of Hermione muttering excitedly to herself as she pulled book after book off the shelves, likely making mental notes about what to read first.
"Harry, this is incredible!" Hermione's voice suddenly echoed down from the second floor, breathless with excitement. "I've never seen so many books on magical theory in one place! And some of these look like they're written in ancient runes—I've only ever read about books like this!"
Harry glanced up from his Muggle book, smirking slightly. "Glad you're enjoying yourself," he called back, his tone light but teasing. "Just don't get too carried away, yeah? We might need a team of house-elves to clean up after you if you pull down every book from those shelves."
Hermione didn't respond immediately, and Harry could almost hear her rolling her eyes at his comment. But a moment later, she reappeared at the railing of the second-floor balcony, peering down at him with a thoughtful expression.
"You know, Harry," she began, her voice more serious now, "you could learn a lot from this library too. There are books here on defensive spells, healing magic, and even ancient enchantments that could be useful."
Harry's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. He knew Hermione was right, of course—there was value in the knowledge stored within these walls, knowledge that could help him grow as a wizard in ways beyond just the dark magic he was so drawn to. But old habits died hard, and his fascination with the darker side of magic was something he wasn't ready to let go of.
"I'll think about it," he replied noncommittally, returning his gaze to the pages of his book. "But for now, you go ahead and enjoy yourself. I'm happy just… watching you work."
Hermione gave him a look, one eyebrow raised in exasperation, but she didn't push the issue. Instead, she turned back to the shelves, already lost in the world of books once more.
As the minutes passed, the quiet murmur of pages turning and books being rearranged filled the air. The sunlight shifted slowly, casting long shadows across the room as the afternoon wore on. Harry could feel himself getting more comfortable, the weight of the old library fading into the background as he immersed himself in his Muggle book, only occasionally glancing up to see Emma or Hermione working.
It would be hours before they realized the sky outside had grown dim, and the once bright, sunlit library was now bathed in the soft, amber glow of the enchanted torches lining the walls. But Harry was content. Let them enjoy the books. For now, this was enough.