Chapter 1
Hermione Granger chewed on her nails nervously as she waited outside of Professor McGonagall’s office. The Battle of Hogwarts ended, and she along with Harry, Ron, and all other would’ve-been 7th Years were summoned back to school for their Classification tests, since they missed them during the school year. Harry had just been called in, meaning she was likely next of the Gryffindors.
She’d been tortured by Bellatrix, fought Death Eaters, even faced the prospect of losing her best friend, and it was all over. The wizarding world was safe, the safest it’s been in her lifetime, and yet…she was afraid.
“Cheer up, Mione,” Ron offered, waiting casually for his turn as well. “We’re likely all Neutrals, anyway. You don’t have to look so worried.”
“Stressful events can affect the rates of the other Classifications,” Hermione explained again, for the umpteenth time. “And we just finished a war.”
“Doesn’t mean you’ll be a Little,” Ron shrugged.
“Even if you are,” Neville offered quietly, “it wouldn’t be the worst thing. My gran always said Littles were a gift from magic, to remind us of joy.”
Hermione bit her lip, unwilling to argue with Neville. Deep down she knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be anything but Neutral. She had too many plans, too many big goals, to be anything else. After all, did Littles even have jobs? And even a Caregiver felt like a curse, stuck being depended on when the entire world was out there.
No, Hermione decided. She would have to be Neutral. She just had to.
After what seemed like an eternity, McGonagall’s door opened.
“Miss Granger, your turn,” the witch said, greeting her with a smile and gesturing her inside.
“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked immediately. She looked as McGonagall closed the door, noting the office only contained her professor, Madam Pomfrey, and another kindly old witch that was reminiscent of a kind grandmother.
“He took my fireplace back to his godfather’s,” McGonagall answered. Hermione nodded, knowing Harry moved in with Sirius as soon as the war was over.
“Miss Granger, take a seat,” Madam Pomfrey directed. “I’ll be running a regular diagnostic spell, and then I’ll need a blood sample for the Classification potion.”
Hermione sat and rolled up her sleeve, pretending not to notice the other witches’ looks of pity at the scar across her arm from Bellatrix.
“Miss Granger,” the elderly witch said as Madam Pomfrey began her work, “I’m Ms. Geraldine Figg, from the Department of Classifications. I’m here to oversee the test, as well as help determine any next steps we may need to take.”
“Next steps?” Hermione asked, ever curious.
“If you’re determined to be a Little, we’ll have to determine your foster placement,” Ms. Figg explained. “And if you’re a Caregiver, we’ll want to register your information for whenever you’re ready to care for a Little.”
“Will you be returning for your 7th year, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked.
“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Hermione answered quickly. Professor McGonagall just chuckled lightly in response.
“Hm,” Madam Pomfrey said, looking over the glowing results of her diagnostic spell as they hovered over the potion containing Hermione’s test. The results were a lot of markings, and while Hermione could make out a few runes, they made no sense to her.
“What is it?” Hermione asked nervously, not liking the frown that spread over the mediwitch’s face.
Madam Pomfrey shot a look to McGonagall, who walked over and looked at the results herself. Even Ms. Figg stood to check it out, and all three elder witches slowly turned to look at Hermione, faces etched with concern.
“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall began, “you have been classified as a Little.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. She tasted bile in the back of her throat, her heart beating loud enough that for a moment she worried Ron and Neville would hear it outside.
“No, I, I can’t…I can’t be-“
“We have been seeing more of them,” Ms. Figg said gently. “The past few years will really give us an uptick, I’m sure.”
“It’s more than that, Hermione,” McGonagall continued, and the professor resorting to her first name made her blood run cold.
“Your magical signature,” Madam Pomfrey continued, “it’s…unstable. Not to a terrible degree, but-“
“Enough that we are concerned,” Ms. Figg concluded. “Your signature denotes a Little who has been repressing their nature, putting your very core at risk. Tell me, have you dropped, or had any signs of your Classification before today?”
“None!” Hermione insisted. “None at all! Not that there’s been any time, of course-“
“That may be the problem,” Ms. Figg muttered, the other witches nodding along with her.
“What does this mean? Am I…am I okay?”
“You’ll be fine,” Madam Pomfrey promised. “It just is going to, shall we say…complicate Ms. Figg’s next steps for you.”
“Are we sure it’s correct?” Hermione asked, looking at the runes floating over the cauldron once again. “I mean, I can’t be a Little.”
“I ran the spell twice before confirming with your blood,” Madam Pomfrey replied.
“You are a Little, dear,” Ms. Figg said. “I’m terribly sorry if this was a shock, but it does not change facts.”
“Would you like us to fetch your parents, perhaps?” Professor McGonagall asked kindly. “We can make an exception for them with the Floo-“
“No!” Hermione insisted, color draining from her face. She winced at the look her professor gave her, quickly conjuring an excuse. “I mean, I just…they don’t know about Classifications, they won’t understand, and I just…I want to wrap my own head around it first,” she finished lamely.
Professor McGonagall gave her a long hard stare, akin to the looks the trio were used to after a night of mischief, before her eyebrow raised.
“You’ll have to stay with a wizarding family until your first drop, just in case. What do you plan to tell your parents?”
“Oh, well,” Hermione said, squirming in her chair slightly, “They went traveling months ago, and are in Australia currently. Mrs. Weasley has let me stay with them while we recover and get ready to come back to school.”
“I see,” Professor McGonagall said, though the look she gave Hermione told her she didn’t believe a word.
“The Weasleys are all Neutrals,” Ms. Figg murmured, pulling out a large notebook and rifling through it. “While usually we would be alright with a Little/Neutral placement, given the rarity of Caregivers, due to your signature I’d feel much better finding you a proper Caregiver.”
“Do you have any available?” Madam Pomfrey asked.
“I believe I may,” Ms. Figg said, finger tracing page after page as she skimmed her notes. “Tell me, Miss Granger, you said you plan to return to school, yes?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“Perfect,” the elderly witch grinned, snapping her book shut. “I have just the idea, then. As it turns out, I have a Caregiver who recently applied to foster, and has taken a position at Hogwarts.”
“Do you mean-“ McGonagall began, and the other woman nodded, causing a grin to break out over the professor’s face.
“I do,” she said, crossing the room and throwing a handful of powder into the fire. “And I’ll go see if she’s available for a visit.”
“Wait, who is she talking about?” Hermione asked, as the witch disappeared into the green flames.
“Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” McGonagall beamed, “Marlene McKinnon.”