Chapter 2
“What does being Little mean for my 7th year?”
Ms. Figg had been gone for a few moments, and Hermione finally got up the courage to ask her professor.
“Well, some of that answer will depend on your headspace,” Professor McGonagall explained, “which we won’t know until your first drop.”
“What if I just don’t drop?” Hermione asked. She wondered if there would still be a way out of this Classification, a way to preserve the future she wanted for herself. It wasn’t fair to spend her youth fighting a war just to lose it all anyway.
“You’ll drop,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly. “And if you try to repress it, you’ll destabilize your magic even more. You could cause permanent damage, so don’t get any ideas.”
“You may not drop far,” Professor McGonagall added. “It could be that your headspace is still a teenager, we don’t know. But we’ll figure it out and you’ll still attend your 7th year, Miss Granger, rest assured of that.”
“Will there be any point?” Hermione asked quietly. She felt the tears starting to burn in her eyes and blinked hard, willing them away. She would not cry. Crying meant they were right.
“Miss Granger, surely you know you can still do anything regardless of classification,” Professor McGonagall said. “Professor Dumbledore himself was a Little, you know, and it didn’t stop him at all.”
Hermione stared in shock, but before she could ask any further questions the fireplace glowed green once more, and Ms. Figg returned followed by a tall, slender witch with strawberry blonde hair.
“Professor Marlene McKinnon,” she said, holding out a hand for Hermione to shake, shooting a wink to McGonagall over the teen’s head. “I hear you’re looking for a Caregiver.”
“I mean, uh…I suppose,” Hermione answered, taken aback. She’d assumed any Caregiver told of her new classification would automatically treat her like a baby and had prepared herself for it. Still, as the shock settled, she bristled slightly.
“Or at least,” she continued, “they were looking for me.”
“Ah, yes, I also heard you weren’t exactly thrilled to be a Little,” Marlene continued.
“I just can’t see how it’s correct. There’s been no signs,” Hermione protested again, finding her voice now that she’d had a chance to process. “Is there any chance at all?”
“None,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly, though not unkindly. “I brewed it myself with our new Potions mistress, and I assure you, every part was followed thoroughly. For what it’s worth, you aren’t the first to be surprised out of your year.”
“Of course, we cannot give you details about your peers,” McGonagall added quickly, “so don’t even try to ask. Just know you aren’t alone.”
“Well surely that proves there’s a problem!” Hermione insisted. “Littles are rare, or are supposed to be! If you’ve had more than one-“
“Same thing happened my year,” Marlene said, reaching out to cautiously place a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione hated how calming the gesture felt, but if Marlene noticed her shiver she ignored it and continued on.
“I went to school with Harry Potter’s parents, you know. We graduated around the time of the first battle against Voldemort, and you could tell. I was a Caregiver, and one of my best mates was Little, along with a few of our classmates.”
“Really?” Hermione asked. Her heart sank. She knew, of course, she’d been telling Ron all week that their past few years could take its toll, but part of her still hoped it would be wrong, or different this time.
“Listen,” Marlene said, “I understand you aren’t thrilled about classifications. And there’s still a lot we don’t know. But from what Ms. Figg told me, your core is also suffering from something, and there’s reason to believe my aura as a Caregiver could help that bit, so even if you’re against the Little part, why don’t you stay with me until we get your magical signature sorted out?”
Hermione stared at the woman, wondering just how much she knew already about her. Still, her logic was sound, and Hermione didn’t want to risk any permanent damage to her ability to do magic. Little or not, magic was the only part of her future she still had left.
“Fine,” she mumbled.
“Good,” Marlene replied. “Now, I understand you’ve been staying with the Weasleys? Why don’t we go collect your things and I’ll take you to my place? I have a spare bedroom and you can decorate however you wish.”
Hermione looked between Marlene and the other witches, and at an encouraging nod from Professor McGonagall she finally agreed.
“But, what do I tell Mrs. Weasley?”
“Whatever you wish to tell her,” Marlene said. “But, Hermione, this isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You shouldn’t need to worry about telling anyone your classification.”
“Littles are a gift in our world,” McGonagall added. “And I can assure you, any intolerance of classifications will be dealt with harshly at Hogwarts this year, so you need not worry here either.”
Hermione sighed and nodded, deciding to bite her tongue. This was happening whether she agreed or not, and the quicker she could get this part over with and get alone, the quicker she could decide what to do next.
Marlene bid the other women goodbye before grabbing a handful of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace.
“After you,” she said, and Hermione immediately stepped in and shouted for the Burrow, walking out and dusting herself off as Marlene followed behind her.
“Oh, Hermione dear, you’re back, how was your- Marlene? What brings you here?” Mrs. Weasley asked, rounding the corner out of the Burrow’s tiny kitchen. Ginny poked her head around after her.
“I, um, I’m Little, apparently,” Hermione squeaked, deciding to get it over with. “They want me to live with a Caregiver, so…”
“We would’ve let you stay here, dearie,” Mrs. Weasley said, stepping forward to wrap Hermione in a large hug. “I already raised seven children, what’s one more Little, after all?”
“There was an issue they worried about,” Hermione mumbled into Mrs. Weasley’s shirt. “Said I need a Caregiver.”
“Is Hermione alright?” Ginny asked, now stepping fully into the room. Hermione’s face just flushed.
“She will be,” Marlene explained. “The Ministry just wants to be precautious, is all.”
Hermione was grateful for Marlene’s discretion, truly, but looking at the worry on Mrs. Weasley’s face bothered her.
“The Weasleys are like my family,” Hermione said quietly. “I don’t mind if we tell them what’s going on.”
“Why don’t you go get your things, Hermione, and I’ll put the kettle on,” Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing for Marlene to follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll have your favorite tea and some biscuits ready when you’re done, so you can have a snack before heading to the McKinnon house.”
“I’ll come help you,” Ginny said, taking Hermione’s arm and leading her upstairs. Once the girls were inside Ginny’s bedroom, she closed the door and looked at Hermione.
“So how are you actually doing?” Ginny asked, keeping her voice low in case her brothers walked by.
“I shouldn’t be a Little,” Hermione groaned. “I mean, it makes no sense. I’ve always been the one to write study schedules and do homework and pack our bags. I’ve always taken care of people. If I’m not going to be a Neutral, shouldn’t…”
Ginny nodded as Hermione let the question trail off. “It would make sense, yeah,” she agreed softly. “But our magic…I think it’s a little more complicated than that. And we’ve had a hell of a few years.”
“No kidding,” Hermione grunted, shoving things into her beaded bag. “What about you, though? I just…no one else knows yet and I don’t know how Harry and Ron are going to react. What do you think about it?”
“Well, my brother is a moron, so who knows how he’ll react. But Harry will be supportive, I’m sure. And as for me, I’m just glad someone is finally going to slow you down and take care of you for a change.”
Hermione paused at that, searching Ginny’s face for some sort of punchline. Instead all she saw was genuine concern, a gentle smile, and the redhead reaching to pat her on the shoulder.
“Let’s go have your snack,” she said, taking Hermione’s arm once more. “It’ll be Mom’s last chance to feed you entirely too much for a while, so I’m sure there’s a whole plate of biscuits waiting for you.”
Ginny was absolutely correct, as tea and biscuits were waiting for Hermione downstairs, Mrs. Weasley insisting she and Marlene continue to take more and more. Hermione was insisting for the third time that she was full when she heard someone arrive via Floo.
“Mum, I’m back,” Ron called, waltzing into the kitchen. “Oh, Mione, there you are. McGonagall didn’t tell me you were here. How’d it go?” He sat and grabbed a biscuit, utterly oblivious to the blush creeping up Hermione’s cheeks.
“Um, okay,” she squeaked. “Yours?”
“Easy Neutral,” Ron shrugged. “They called Neville in, and he took quite a bit of time, but my test was super quick. Yours seemed to take longer than Neville though.”
“Yes, well,” Hermione stammered. “I, uh, as it turns out, I’m…I’m a Little,” she spat out quickly.
Ron choked on his tea, his mother slapping him on the back as he put his cup down. Before he could stop coughing to speak, she looked at him.
“Ronald Weasley, consider your next words very carefully,” Mrs. Weasley warned.
“I wasn’t going to say anything bad!” Ron insisted. “Just surprised, that’s all.”
“That’s why she’s here,” Hermione sighed, gesturing to Marlene, who sipped her tea quietly. “I have to live with a Caregiver.’
“Why?” Ron asked. “Littles can stay with Neutrals, and I’m sure Mum would allow it.”
“My core is damaged,” Hermione said, voice wavering as she admits it to one of her best friends. “They think a Caregiver aura can fix it.”
“Mione, I…are you okay?”
“She’ll be alright,” Marlene said, standing once more. She had been eyeing Hermione carefully, and the teen had the distinct sense Marlene could tell how close to tears she was. “Thanks again for the tea, Molly, but we should probably be off.”
“You both are welcome any time,” Molly said, “I mean it. Come over for dinner some time, once things get settled.”
“Come on, Hermione,” Marlene said, helping the girl to her feet. “I don’t live far, so we can Apparate from here. Are you opposed to side-along?”
“No,” Hermione said, and before she could add in that she was perfectly capable of Apparition on her own, a familiar pull hit her stomach and she landed in another kitchen, this one much more minimal than the Burrow’s.
“Welcome to my home,” Marlene said, catching Hermione as she stumbled on the landing.
Hermione followed as Marlene showed her around the house. It was a small family home, with a modest office and library area, good sized garden outside, and a couple of extra bedrooms.
“You can take this one,” Marlene said. “It’s right across the hall from the bathroom, and not far from my room should you need anything in the night.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said curtly, “but I shouldn’t need anything. I will be fine, I think.”
“Yes, well, it’s an offer I’d make for anyone, just so you know,” Marlene shrugged. “Feel free to make yourself at home. I do have a few things to work on in my office, so I’ll be in there if you need anything.”
Hermione nodded, sitting on the bed as Marlene exited and shut the door behind her. The bed itself was comfortable, big enough for two people with nightstands on either side. She looked around the closet, noting it had a charm placed that made it bigger on the inside, with shelves running up one side. She sighed, placing her bag on one of the shelves to be unpacked later, before throwing herself across the bed once more.
“I’m not upset or Little,” she muttered to herself, feeling hot tears prickle the corners of her eyes once more. “I’m just angry. It makes sense to be angry.”
Having justified their presence to herself, Hermione buried her face in her new pillow, finally allowing the tears to flow.