Chapter Six
Daphne slid into a seat across from Hermione at the Slytherin table, dressed in an ankle-length burgundy flowy skirt and a long-sleeved button-up shirt that she’d tucked into the waistband. Her hair was half-drawn out of her face and her cheeks were flush still from yesterday’s lessons in the greenhouses and out on the Quidditch Pitch where the sun had beat down on them. “Good morning!” she greeted, leaning across the table for a platter of toast—her favourite breakfast food—which she buttered and then spread jam across, before pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “What’re you reading?”
Hermione exchanged greetings with her and then held up the book so that Daphne could see the title scrawled across it: A Guide to the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. “Thought I should do some more reading into the Ministry since they're our government.”
"That's a good book," Daphne said, wiping crumbs off her fingers before reaching for an apple, which she sliced thinly. "I read it last year—my mum made me. Most students who come from, you know, families like mine make their kids read books like that before Hogwarts. It's supposed to help us learn all about the laws and stuff, in case we ever need it."
Hermione blinked, a little thrown by her words. "That seems a bit… much for eleven-year-olds, don't you think?" Hermione remarked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, sure, knowing some of it could be useful, but isn’t it weird to expect that you’ll need to know that kind of information?”
Daphne paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, you're right, I suppose it does sound a bit much. But when you grow up in the world of pureblood families, you're taught that being knowledgeable about laws and how to navigate tricky situations is part of survival, I guess,” Daphne agreed, “If you want to learn more about the Ministry and Wizengamot, it’s useful to understand the… factions, I guess. Unfortunately, quite a good deal of the Wizengamot are conservative, and a smaller deal is progressive. Then some who care more about bureaucracy and whatnot. The laws the Wizengamot have passed are a good way to gauge where each member leans on different topics. I read The… ugh what’s it called again?... Oh yes, The Wizengamot Compendium! That’s by Lydia Clearwater… she’s a lawyer in the Ministry and her book analyses some of the more important laws and cases they’ve worked on over the years. Her daughter, Penelope, is a Ravenclaw prefect this year.”
Hermione rummaged around in her bag till she found a spare slip of parchment and a pen. She quickly scribbled down the name and said, “Any other recommendations?”
Daphne's eyes lit up. "Oh, plenty! You should read The International Statute of Secrecy and Global Magical Governance by Artemisia Whittleton, too. It’s good if you’re curious about magical societies outside of Britain. The author’s a historian, like Professor Aldous, but she works on the history of wizarding cultures around the world, rather than the history of objects and artefacts, which is what Professor Aldous usually works with.”
Then, Daphne set her breakfast aside and focused entirely on rattling book titles off of the top of her head for Hermione, who was more than thankful for the suggestions, the bookworm in her already eager to read them:
- The Wizengamot Compendium by Lydia Clearwater
- The International Statute of Secrecy and Global Magical Governance by Artemisia Whittleton
- Wizarding Law and Legal Ethics: A Guide for Young Witches and Wizards by Elphias Doge
- Magical Contracts and Covenants: Binding Agreements in Wizarding Society by Gwendolyn Herbert
- Bloodlines and Bureaucracy: Pureblood Influence in Magical Law by Amarantha Selwyn
- The Magical Citizen’s Guide to Rights and Responsibilities by Hortense Broombridge
- Through the Veil: Mystical Crimes and Punishment by Marigold Weathersby
- Laws of the Land: Magical Creatures and Legal Status by Pandora Greaves
- The Art of Media: How Magical Journalism Shapes Society by Clementine Carver
- A History of Magical Movements: Protests, Reforms and Revolutions by Lavinia Bagshot
- Dark Arts and Law Enforcement: A Historical Perspective by Alistair Muldoon
- Enchanted Boundaries: Property Laws and Magical Territories by Orpheus Harkness
“By the way, what is that?” Daphne asked, nodding at Hermione’s pen.
“It’s a Muggle pen,” Hermione said and handed it over for the girl to assess. “It works like a quill, but you don’t have to refill it constantly. Once it runs out, though, you have to buy a new one, but it’s much easier to work with than quills, I’ve found.”
Daphne’s eyes sparkled with interest. “How brilliant! That seems so much easier than dipping your quill in ink constantly. Where can I get one?”
“Keep that one, I have plenty. I can get my Mum to send some to you if you like.”
"Really? That would be amazing, thank you!" Daphne beamed, clearly thrilled at the idea of having one of her own. "And you should be able to order those books from Flourish and Blotts, but if you have any trouble, let me know and I’ll get my parents to send copies to you.”
"I'll let you know if I need help. Thanks for the offer." Hermione smiled, and still needing to finish her breakfast, continued eating while reading the Daily Prophet, which had just been delivered by a flurry of owls overhead.
LATEST: GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN
Investigations continue today into the break-in at Gringotts on July 31st, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins insisted that nothing had been taken. In fact, the vault had been emptied that very same day.
“But we’re not telling you what was in there, keep your noses out of it if you know what's good for you,” a Gringotts spokesgoblin said this afternoon.
“Did you know that Gringotts was broken into the day before we started school?”
“Really? I had no idea! Let me see,” Daphne said, reaching across the table for the newspaper. She read the rather short article with raised eyebrows. “Well, I’m not surprised that Gringotts wouldn’t give any information to the Ministry or the Daily Prophet. They’re extremely private and protective of what’s theirs, such as the bank. The Ministry’s been trying to enforce laws that’ll give them more control over Gringotts, but well… the goblins don’t comply because they’re refused the same rights as humans and there’s only so much the Ministry can do when the bank controls like ninety per cent of Britain’s gold.”
Daphne’s words had more than caught Hermione’s attention and she set everything to the side to give her all of her attention. “What do you mean? What rights are they refused?”
“Well, they’re not allowed to own wands for one.”
“What do you mean they’re not allowed to own wands?” Hermione demanded, “But they have magic!”
“They’re classified as Beings by the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because they can understand laws and are capable of intelligent thought, or something or rather the definition says, but because they’re not human, the Ministry bans them or any other ‘creature’ from owning wands made by Ministry-funded organisations, like Ollivanders. That’s not to say that goblins don’t own wands in other forms or other countries, but they just can’t own one from a business that’s Ministry-funded, which is pretty much all of them as wand-making is highly expensive and hard to master. It’s all a load of tosh, in my opinion, but the Ministry cares more about protecting the people who line their pockets and their desires, that they don’t even blink an eye at the numerous injustices they enforce. Honestly, the wands aren’t even the worst of it.”
"That's... that’s awful.” Awful was an understatement, but Hermione didn’t have another word to describe it. It made her a little sick to the stomach. It seemed like the Ministry did more bad than good, she was realising, and Hermione simply couldn’t understand it. She’d never once looked at someone and thought that they deserved less than her simply because of who they’d been born as. To her, thinking that way was inhumane—even evil. It made her furious in a way she couldn’t quite fathom or begin to verbalise.
“The wizarding world likes to pretend it's progressive, Hermione, but it’s still stuck in its old ways. My dad’s been trying to push for change in the Wizengamot for years, but he’s always been shut down. No one wants to talk about issues that would actually make things better for everyone because that means losing money in some form, and Merlin forbid the already astonishingly rich upper-class lose a tiny bit of their neverending wealth.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Considering it was Saturday, Hermione and Daphne had decided to spend their Saturday exploring the grounds—well, as much as they could, as Hogwarts’ grounds were rather extensive in size. Their footsteps pattered out of the Great Hall, through the Entrance Hall, and toward the doors that led out to the entrance courtyard. There, they were intercepted by Harry and Ron.
Ron was dressed in corduroy trousers and a large striped t-shirt. Beside him, Harry was dressed in clothes that looked much too large for him, a couple of sizes too big, really—his trousers were baggy and tied around his waist with a belt, with a faded grey shirt tucked into the waistband, a flannel long sleeve pulled on over. Everything was so large and faded, his t-shirt even sporting some holes along the hems, that Hermione wondered if they were even his.
She averted her eyes before he noticed her looking. “Morning,” she greeted the boys brightly.
“Morning, Hermione. And, uh…” Harry trailed off, fumbling awkwardly, clearly unsure of Daphne’s name.
Daphne seemed entirely unfazed by Harry not knowing her name. Instead, with a gracious smile, she extended her hand to him. “Daphne Greengrass. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, isn’t it?” she posed it as a question, but Hermione was rather sure she knew quite a lot about them, including their names, considering their families had attended Hogwarts for as long as her own family had been.
Both boys nodded, and Harry gave a sheepish grin, his nerves forgotten in the wake of Daphne’s unbothered nature—she had that calming sort of effect on everyone, Hermione was coming to realise. “Yeah, that’s us,” he said, “Hagrid invited us down to his hut for his tea. I thought you might want to join us, Hermione—he asked after you and wanted to know how you were settling in at Slytherin. You can come too, Daphne, if you’d like.”
The invitation was casual, but there was a warmth and eagerness in Harry’s tone, that had Hermione, already looking forward to a trip out of the castle, smiling brightly in agreement. She exchanged a glance with Daphne, who nodded, and together, the four of them left the castle.
Stairs led from the Entrance Hall down to the large stone courtyard. This courtyard, unlike many of the others throughout the castle that were bordered by Hogwarts' enormous stone walls, was open and breezy with the scent of summer’s air and the soon-to-be autumn chill. Hedgerows, fountains and statutes were spread out about the courtyard, shaded by enormous willows whose branches hung low and full. In rectangular flowerbeds bloomed roses, thistles, heathers, bluebells, avens and primroses, all perfectly trimmed and watered. The sunlight bathed it all in a warm glow, a gentle breeze rustling against the plant life and bees that flittered through the flourishing plants for nectar.
Cobbled paths led off of the courtyard in all directions, and they took the one that led down the greenhouses, winding through the green hills, past patches of wildflowers, and down toward Hagrid’s hut, which sat nestled against the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest.
“Did you hear about the Gringotts break-in?” Hermione asked Harry and Ron.
Ron glanced over at her, surprise etched onto his face. “What break-in?”
Hermione rummaged in her bag for the Daily Prophet and handed it over to the two boys to read.
Harry let out a little gasp. "I was there that day; Hagrid and I—we were both at the bank when it happened.”
“That’s scary. The robber could’ve been there and you didn’t even know!” Hermione responded, though Harry didn’t seem to be fearful of this fact—rather, he looked excited at the prospect. “I wonder what they were trying to steal. Isn’t Gringotts supposed to be one of the most secure places in the country?”
“Supposed to be,” Ron said, his tone skeptical. “It’s considered to be one of the safest places in England, aside from Hogwarts, that is.”
As the hills flattened and they neared the end of the path, which stopped at Hagrid’s hut, the air grew cooler from the shade of the trees. The towering forest—filled with sycamore, yew, beech, and oak, and patches of moss—rose high into the air, thick trunks and low-hanging branches casting deep shadows across the hut nestled into a clearing of the forest, surrounded on three of its sides. The structure itself was built from a combination of stone and wood, with a faint trail of smoke curling from the slightly crooked chimney that sat on its roof.
On the small porch steps sat Hagrid, whittling at a piece of wood while he sang. His voice was unlike anything Hermione had ever heard. His voice was deep and resonant, drifting toward them on the wind. It stirred some… some sense in her that sent shivers down her spine and the hair rising on her arms. His voice was its own sort of magic—an undeniable sort of magic that couldn’t be learnt from a textbook because it was truly of the Earth and nature.
The moment was broken when Fang, Hagrid’s large boarhound dog, spotted them and charged forward with exuberance, barking excitedly. His tail wagged so wildly it was a wonder he didn’t take flight. Hagrid’s voice, booming and fond, rang out, “Fang! Quit it, ‘ya mangy beast!” Hagrid scolded, though there was no malice in his tone. He pocketed his knife and rose from the porch with a warm grin. “He won’t hurt ‘ya—just doesn’t know his size.”
Hermione, her heart lightened by the sight of Fang’s unbridled joy, laughed as the dog nearly knocked her off her feet. She managed to crouch down and calm him by running a hand over his thick fur while the others took turns giving the dog a scratch behind the ears.
After Fang had gotten his fill of attention, Hagrid ushered them inside. The hut was cozy but humble, with only two rooms. The main area served as a combined kitchen, dining, and living room. A large circular table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. The fireplace was roaring with a comforting fire, a kettle boiling in. Pots, pans, and a variety of gardening tools hung from the ceiling, while an armchair—large enough to fit Hagrid’s imposing frame—sat near the window beside a stack of plants whose stems hung low in trails that swooped the ground.
“Grab a seat,” Hagrid said with a wave, and the four of them settled around the table, eager for a snack. Hagrid, ever the gracious host, passed around plates of chocolate chip cookies. “So,” Hagrid began, looking around the table, “Granger, eh? Not related to the Dagworth-Grangers, are you?”
Hermione shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not.”
Hagrid, always the inquisitive one, gave a knowing chuckle. “I wondered when I heard you were in Slytherin. Muggleborns in Slytherin are as rare as hens’ teeth, it’s true. Can’t remember the last time there was one.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she felt her irritation rising. It was becoming a pattern—her blood status being the center of attention. She cleared her throat, determined to set the record straight. “I’m not a Muggleborn,” she said firmly. “Not that my blood matters in the first place enough for people to be so concerned about it. It’s rather annoying, really.”
Hagrid, looking at her with a mix of understanding and sincerity, gave a nod. “Doesn’t matter, indeed, Hermione. What’s in your heart is what counts. Good people come from all kinds of places—houses and families included.”
Sensing the awkward, slightly tense lull in the conversation, Daphne said, “Did you make these, Hagrid? They’re fantastic!”
Hagrid puffed up at the compliment, his face beaming. “Yeah, I did. Greengrass, right? I remember your father, Silas. A great man, he is. Great man.” He went around the table and poured them all cups of green tea, and pushed over a small pot of milk and sugar if they should wish for it—Hermione preferred her tea untouched by sweeteners, as it was practically written in her blood by now to be adverse to lots of sugar, as was normal for anyone who had a dentist for a parent. “So, how’s your first week of classes been?”
The group went around sharing stories about their lessons and the excitement of the first week at Hogwarts.
Ron, however, couldn’t resist complaining about the lack of magic in their lessons so far. “It’s not fair that we’re not allowed to use magic yet!”
Hagrid chuckled and patted Ron on the arm with what he probably thought was a gentle touch, though it nearly knocked both Ron and his teacup to the floor with the force of it. “It’s for the best, Ron. Safety is important. ‘Ya got to learn the basics first, or you’ll end up hurting one ‘nother. Enjoy the process—I sure wish I was still learnin’ up at the castle.”
Hermione was surprised to hear that Hagrid had been a student at Hogwarts. It seemed unlikely that a man who was clearly at least half-giant would be allowed to attend the school, much less own a wand, if the goblins weren’t even allowed to own wands when they handled the wizarding world’s money.
Harry, too, seemed surprised by this, though for different reasons, Hermione imagined. “I didn’t realise you went to Hogwarts, Hagrid. You never said anything.”
Hagrid’s expression softened, a wistful look in his eyes as he chuckled lowly. “It was a long time ago, Harry. Feels like a lifetime ago now…” he trailed off and stood, busying himself with piling the plate with more cookies, and re-boiling the kettle on the stove for his cup of tea.
“Say, Hagrid, did you know that Gringotts was broken into?” Ron asked, “Harry mentioned you both were there that day—you could’ve seen the robber without even knowing!”
This, again, seemed like not the kind of subject Hagrid wanted to be discussing, as he quickly changed the subject. “Your brother, Bill, works at Gringotts, don’t he, Ron? Oh, and Charlie, of course… good lad, Charlie is. He used to help me ‘round the castle with all the animals. Had a special touch for getting them to trust him and feel comfortable ‘round him. Heard he’s trainin’ as a dragon handler in Romania now… Always knew he’d end up working with animals professionally.” He talked about Charlie like a proud father would. It was rather sweet, actually.
They remained with Hagrid for the better part of an hour before he told them all that he needed to get back to work as he was currently nursing one of the school’s thestral’s back to health with Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, after it got some kind of infection in its wing.
He sent them back up to the castle with bags of cookies, and they tromped their way back up the path to the castle.
“Did anyone else think Hagrid was avoiding the subject of the break-in?” Hermione asked after a couple of moments of silence, the only sounds being the fluttering and chirping of birds and the shuffle of their feet on the stone pathway.
“Yeah, I thought so, too. It got me thinking: that day, we went to a different vault first before we went to mine,” Harry began, “Hagrid got this tiny parcel from inside it. When I asked what it was, he said it was top secret—something he was getting for Dumbledore—and that I should keep it to myself. Do you think it’s related?”
“Wait, are you suggesting that Hagrid stole something from Gringotts? As in the Hagrid that just gave us homebaked chocolate chip cookies?” Daphne asked incredulously as if the mere idea of it was inconceivable
Harry’s eyes widened. “Well, no… but it’s not entirely impossible, although I don’t think Hagrid would’ve robbed Gringotts with a student… that seems a little silly and not at all like something a robber would do. But I do think it’s a little suspicious.”
“It could’ve just been something Dumbledore bought himself but couldn’t get because he was busy at the castle getting things ready for students to arrive.” Ron shrugged casually.
“Well, it’s definitely odd,” Hermione agreed, “But with basically no information on what was stolen or what Hagrid retrieved for Dumbledore, it seems best to leave it be for now.”
“Agreed,” Harry said as they arrived in the courtyard and headed into the Entrance Hall. “Ron and I were going to go down to the library and read up a little on Transfiguration… It was more confusing than I thought it’d be. Would you both like to join?” He seemed sheepish as he said this, and rubbed at the back of his neck, with a slight flush to the tips of his ears.
“We weren’t going to go to the library till tonight. We wanted to spend the day exploring the grounds while the weather was nice,” Hermione said apologetically. “We should organise a little study club though. There are the ones for each class, but it could be nice to combine our groups and help out one another.”
“What? Study with the other Slytherins?” Ron said without speaking and then blushed madly, his face blossoming into a vibrant red. “I mean… it’s just that—well, you’re alright, Hermione—and you, Daphne—but I don’t know the rest of you…” he said hesitantly.
Hermione didn’t blame him because Slytherin wasn’t exactly known for its great companionship, but it stung a little regardless. “Well, Adeline and Alana are great,” Hermione assured, “And we don’t really spend time with anybody else, so you don’t have to worry about verbal sparring unless you decide to spend time with Pansy or Draco.”
“Alright then,” Ron said eventually.
“We can plan something once we know when all of the extracurriculars are so that we can work around what we’ve each signed up for,” Daphne suggested and once they’d all agreed, they separated.
Harry and Ron headed for the staircases that took them up to their common room whilst Hermione and Daphne headed into the Great Hall to fill up their water bottles before heading back out into the sunshine.
With it being later in the morning, the sun was much higher in the air and beat down against Hermione’s back as they circled the castle to where the Forbidden Forest met the Black Lake. They walked in the small gap between the two, their shoes crunching on the rocky shore. It was a peaceful and serene moment, filled only with the sound of the sloshing of the water. It was a brief pause in the otherwise mind-boggling flurry that was their new lives.
Hermione’s gaze wandered to the dark, seemingly endless stretch of the Forbidden Forest. A flicker of curiosity, so strong she had to clench her hands into fists, filled her as she eyed it. “Have you ever seen a centaur?” she asked, “I read that there are entire herds living in the forest. I’d kill to see one… they’re considered to be some of the most majestic creatures in our world, though they don’t really like humans, apparently. Not that I blame them, humans are kind of terrible…”
Daphne laughed, her eyes following Hermione’s gaze. Her own narrowed thoughtfully. “I haven’t. Centuries ago now, a herd used to live near the border of my family's estate, but they migrated further North because their environment got more populated. I’ve always wanted to see one…” Daphne replied, her tone full of longing. “We could venture in a little if you’d like. We’re allowed in to a certain depth. And after that… well, no one’s around to know otherwise.”
Hermione grinned at Daphne’s mischievousness. It was becoming clearer by the day that the Daphne presented around others—the one who was prim and poised, with perfect manners—wasn’t the Daphne presented around Hermione and those she considered to be friends. She was noticing that more with Adeline and Alana, too. Noticed the wildness in their eyes; the curiosity and ferocity that mirrored what lived in Hermione. It was what drew Hermione even closer into their orbits. “We probably shouldn’t—at least not till we know a couple of charms to keep us safe if we encounter anything,” Hermione said eventually, though she was disappointed they couldn’t yet. But she was nothing if not realistic, and if she got her and another student killed on their first week at Hogwarts, her Mum would resurrect her just to kill her herself.
“You’re probably right,” Daphne agreed, “So, have you tried any spells yet?”
Hermione shrugged sheepishly, her cheeks colouring. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve always been a rule follower and the teacher’s said that we shouldn’t do any spells yet. Disappointing teachers has always been a bit of an anxiety of mine, so I haven’t…”
“Well, there’s no harm in trying, you know? Everyone else has,” she said with a cheeky smile and reached into the holster on her arm for her wand. “Lumos.” The tip of her wand burst to life with a brilliant white light that illuminated the surrounding trees with an almost otherworldly beam of light.
Wow,” Hermione gasped, eyes wide with glee. “You did that so easily.”
“I practiced a lot over the summer. My parents wouldn’t let me try anything else, but they wanted me to know it because I’m—well… I’m a little bit clumsy,” she admitted with a blush of embarrassment.
“Will you show me?” The request slipped out before Hermione could stop herself, her voice full of eager curiosity. The display of magic had lit a… a fire within her that she hadn’t known she possessed. It reminded her of the same insatiable hunger to learn that she’d felt when Professor McGonagall told Hermione she was a witch—the same desire for her to need to know absolutely everything about this new possibility.
Daphne plopped down into the grass with a wide grin and sparkling eyes. “I’d love to.” She patted the grass beside her. The two sat cross-legged on the mossy ground, the shadows of the trees providing a cool respite from the midday sun. “Have you ever meditated before?”
Hermione shook her head, meeting Daphne’s eyes. “No, but I know what it is. Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Daphne began, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, “meditation is what my mother taught me to help me with my accidental magic. Meditation is also what families use to help with Occlumency and Legilimency.” She hesitated, her gaze distant for a moment. “My mum taught me after I accidentally shattered the windows in my bedroom once when I had a bad dream. I ended up covered in cuts from the glass exploding all over me and she was absolutely terrified that I’d end up really hurting myself or somebody else if I didn’t know how to control my magic. Thus the meditation.”
“I didn’t even know that accidental magic could be that powerful,” gaped Hermione.
“It usually isn’t. Mostly, it’s just levitating a teddy bear or flickering lights, but if your emotions are really heightened, or uncontrollable, such as during a nightmare, it can get bad.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed Hermione a series of tiny white scars up her arm that had Hermione wincing. “I got these to show for it—the glass was enchanted so usual healing spells didn’t work as well on them. Anyways, meditation is really helpful for your magic, so it’s a good place to start.”
“Hold on,” interrupted Hermione, a thought flickering in her mind. “What’s Occlumency and Legilimency?”
“Occlumency is essentially the ability to clear your mind and turn it into a fortress. That way, if someone tries to enter it, they can’t get in. Legilimency is the opposite—it’s when someone uses magic to enter your mind to access your thoughts, memories, and emotions. It’s incredibly invasive. That’s why most wizarding families teach their children Occlumency skills, at least at a rudimentary level. For example, if someone broke into the Minister of Magic’s mind, can you imagine the secrets they could uncover? It could be disastrous.”
“Wow,” Hermione murmured. “Do you know how to do Occlumency?”
“I know the very basics, but I haven’t gotten far with it yet—it’s a lot more difficult than it sounds, although some people have a natural affinity for it. Meditation is the starting point. Once you’ve mastered that, you can begin working on building up your defenses.” She paused, her eyes glittering with quiet intensity. “Meditation also helps you discover your magical core. Once you’re aware of it, you can start learning how to direct your magic. Think of it like… like a child learning to walk—before they can walk, they need to understand how to use their legs. Magic works the same way. You have to understand how to guide it, and once you do, so many doors open. One day, if you understand your core well enough, you might not even need a wand to use magic.”
Hermione blinked in surprise at the depth of Daphne’s knowledge. She felt a rush of gratitude that Daphne was willing to share this with her—this was no small gift; it was a wealth of potential for Hermione’s future skills. “You know so much,” Hermione said softly, feeling a bit awed. “I feel so out of my depth. There’s so much I don’t know, and I feel like I’ll never know as much as you all do.”
Daphne shook her head, a soft, comforting smile spreading across her face, making her look radiant and almost angel-like under the golden sunshine. “I read a lot and my parents always encouraged me and my sister, Astoria, to ask questions and learn. But I have very little practical experience, to be honest—almost none, really.”
With that, Daphne guided Hermione through her first meditation session.
“Focus inward,” Daphne’s voice instructed, low and steady, filled with a quiet confidence that Hermione couldn’t help but admire. “Feel the flow of magic within you. It’s always there—like a heartbeat. Don’t force it. Just listen.”
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She allowed herself to relax, letting the tension from her shoulders drain away. She focused on Daphne’s words, trying to empty her mind of the usual clutter of thoughts, theories and questions that never seemed to end. It took her a few minutes… it was a lot harder in practice to empty one’s brain when usually, that brain ran at a never-ending speed, like a hampster on a wheel. But she did so… slowly, her thoughts flickered to a halt. Slowly, she stomped out everything that wasn’t necessary for this meditation session.
And in that silence, something blossomed—a faint, flickering warmth that thumped like a pulse, radiating through every bone, speck of blood, and molecule of her body. At first, it was the pulse, then as she let it fill her, a spark appeared… then an ember. It grew under her focus, gently expanding outward till her mind filled with its orange warmth, the force a constant, quiet energy that felt like… “It feels like home,” Hermione whispered in a breathless, almost reverent tone.
From where Daphne sat—eyes closed, legs crossed and hands settled on her knees—a smile tugged at the very corner of her lips, but she did her best to control it before it distracted her too much. “That’s your core. It’s the source of all of your magic and power.”
Hermione sunk into the core, letting it spread and take hold. It felt like a hug. Small, wild, but strong… And entirely her own. “Is it always like this? So quiet?” Hermione said quietly once they’d ceased their session and both opened their eyes. The world around her seemed impossibly quiet in a way it never had been before, and everything seemed impossibly brighter. She’d never before felt so much peace in her mind. It was an exhilarating feeling.
“Oh, it can be loud when you want it to be, but magic shouldn’t always be about making noise… It’s about using it purposefully. The power comes from how you channel it. Learning to connect with it is the starting point for knowing how to wield it. However, it’s not always easy. Most witches and wizards never bother to connect with their core because they’re happy to learn the spells and cast them. And sure, their magic obeys, but when you learn to work with your magic, you can do incredible things with it.”
Hermione glanced down at her hands in thought. She could still feel the faint stirrings of her core, deep in that untouchable part of her chest, flickering like the never-ending flames in the hearths of the Hogwarts fireplaces. “Why wouldn’t you want to connect with it like this?” she asked Daphne, “Surely this way you can… can channel your magic more precisely, right? Besides, I don’t like the idea of my magic obeying me… My magic feels like—like a friend; like a part of me like any other bone or organ…”
Daphne smiled, eyes full of understanding. “That’s how we should look at it. It’s not just a tool to get us what we want. Magic is all around us—in everything and everyone. Thinking we’re more powerful than it seems like a disservice to the gift we’ve been given.” Her words hung in the air, resonant like the murmur of a distant echo.
Hermione blinked, her attention drawn back to the soft, pulsing warmth inside her—the core Daphne had helped her tap into. “I don’t want to take advantage of it,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I want to understand it. I want to work with it, not force it.”
“Good.” Daphne’s voice was low. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the sounds of the forest surround them—birds calling faintly from the trees, the distant ripple of the lake lapping at the shore. “But understanding your core is one thing. Harnessing it, especially in a high-pressure situation, is another. That’s when you’ll really understand your power. It’s one thing to sit in the quiet of a forest, or your room, where nothing demands your attention. It’s another entirely when you’re in the middle of a fight or trying to protect someone—that’s when you’ll learn whether or not you truly understand your magic.”
Hermione nodded, feeling the gravity of Daphne’s words like a weight on her soul. The idea of magic as a force that could be both calming and terrifying at once was overwhelming. She had always been drawn to the idea of control—had believed that if she could control her magic, her knowledge, and her abilities, she could be safe. But now, Daphne was showing her that it wasn’t about control—it was about connection. Harmony. Working with the magic, not against it.
“I meditate every night before bed,” Daphne added, “It helps me clear my mind, but it’s also like exercising—working my core, becoming more aware of it. That’s why my Mum made me do it. She’s a big believer in not just using magic, but feeling it, and understanding it at its core. And when I eventually tried the Lumos Charm, it was much easier because I was already aware of my core. It wasn’t about forcing the light out. It was about allowing it to emerge.”
Hermione listened intently. There was something about the ease with which Daphne explained it, the calm confidence that threaded through her words, that made Hermione believe it was possible. She could do this.
“Do you think meditation could help with controlling magic in more dangerous situations?” Hermione asked, her voice full of tentative curiosity. “Like... in a duel, or if I needed to defend myself?”
Daphne turned her head, a quiet smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Absolutely,” she said simply, her tone assured, “but it’s not something that happens overnight. Meditation, focus, and connecting with your core—it takes time. You need to trust yourself, trust your magic. The more you practice, the more natural it becomes to use. And when you’re faced with a crisis, when your heart is pounding, you’ll be able to draw on it, not as a last-ditch effort, but as something that’s always been with you.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Hermione and Daphne returned to the castle for lunch, thoroughly sun-soaked and ravenous after hours of wandering the grounds. Hermione was sure she’d probably have a sunburn on her nose tomorrow.
As they entered the Great Hall, the usual chatter and clatter of students filled the air. Hermione’s eyes immediately found Adeline and Alana, sitting together in their usual spot. Alana was halfway through a sandwich, while Adeline was flipping through a textbook half-heartedly.
“Hi!” Alana greeted them with a large, open smile, her eyes sparkling with energy when Hermione and Daphne sat down.
“I was looking for you,” Adeline said, her tone more measured but no less warm. She looked at Hermione as she spoke, the words purposeful. She patted her school bag which looked rather full—Adeline was much less organised than the rest of them and always seemed to be carrying around a myriad of items in her bag and pockets. “I have something for you.”
“Sorry, Daphne and I were out on the grounds all morning,” Hermione said as she reached for some chicken salad sandwiches and a cold glass of orange juice, which was soothing after a morning in the sunshine. “What is it?”
Adeline’s expression turned weary and guarded. She glanced first at Daphne, then at Alana, her eyes lingering on both for a moment before returning to Hermione. “I don’t think we should talk about it here...” she said quietly.
Hermione understood immediately: the subtle shift in Adeline’s gaze, the way she seemed to weigh her words carefully, made it clear that it was personal, and that only meant one thing—it was about her father. Letting out a small breath, Hermione nodded. “Let’s go talk about it in that classroom we found,” she said, finishing off her sandwich. “I’d like to tell Daphne and Alana about it, too.”
“Tell Daphne and Alana about what?” Daphne chimed in over her bowl of pasta salad.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
The dungeons were cool as they headed for that unused classroom, slipping inside, the door creaking softly behind them. The room was as they left it—dark, untouched, but oddly comforting.
Hermione was a bundle of nerves. It was one thing to share her secret with Adeline, her cousin, but it was another thing entirely to share it with Alana and Daphne. Sure, they were quickly becoming close friends, but she couldn’t anticipate how they would react to this. But she wanted to share this with them regardless, and she couldn’t quite put into words why she felt that way considering she’d only known them for going on a week now.
Alana’s eyes were full of concern as she pulled herself onto one of the desks. “What’s going on?”
Hermione swallowed heavily. “This is important. I’ve only told Adeline, because, well… it somewhat affects her,” she began, voice low and wavering. “When I went to Gringotts during my Diagon Alley visit, I tried to open myself a vault but they said I already had one… they took me to Griphook, the bank manager, and he told me my father’s identity because he opened the vault for me…”
Daphne and Alana exchanged a tentative glance. Their brows were furrowed in confusion, though neither of them interrupted, giving Hermione the time to speak up on her own terms.
“Regulus Black was my father,” Hermione admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
“Alana’s face faltered and she sat forward, leaning her hands on her knees. Disbelief etched her features. “Regulus Black? Are you sure?”
Daphne’s face mirrored Alana’s skepticism. It was clear neither of them had quite been expecting this.
Hermione nodded, stomach tightening. “Gringotts confirmed it.” Hermione and Adeline both waited, gazes fixed on their friends, hoping for some kind of reaction.
“And that makes you both family—and Draco, as well,” Daphne mused finally. “Also makes you the heir to the House of Black. You’d get a lot of respect in Slytherin if they knew.”
Hermione nodded. “I didn’t know what to do at first when I found out his identity, but they told me I was related to Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy, who were both Regulus’ cousins. I couldn’t get a hold of Narcissa, but I did get a hold of Andromeda, and we started writing to each other. She said that if I had any questions, I only had to ask. Adeline saw her aunt’s owl delivering a letter to me and confronted me about it, so I told her,” She paused in thought for a few moments, brows furrowing. “I don’t want our house to respect me because of my last name or who my father was. I want them to respect me because of who I am and what I can contribute to the world. Besides, I’ve spent my entire life as a Muggle… In some ways, despite my blood, I am a Muggleborn. And our family doesn’t exactly have a stellar reputation… I mean, look at Bellatrix—no offence, Adeline—”
“None taken,” Adeline said, smirking.
“And Sirius Black, too. And, well, Adeline told me about my father and what he was a part of… I don’t know if I’m ready to publicly take on that legacy. It’s one thing to tell you all, and another thing to tell everyone else.”
“You don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready,” Alana said firmly, patting Hermione’s arm assuringly.
Daphne nodded in agreement. “Besides, yes, your family’s history isn’t a good one, but all pureblood families have a sordid past somewhere along the line—the Black’s just have one more than most,” she said, “Forget about everyone else. It doesn’t matter what they think of you or your family. You’re not your father, you’re not any of your relatives. You can be whoever you want to be. All that should matter is doing right by yourself and the people you love, Hermione.”
Hermione couldn’t help but tear up at Daphne’s gentle, kind words. They meant more to her than she knew. She hadn’t realised just how much of her family’s baggage she’d been carrying around—just how much of her father’s disappearance she’d been consuming herself with as if somehow it had been her fault. She still wanted to find out what happened to him, but she didn’t have to do it at the cost of herself.
“I agree with Daphne,” Adeline chimed in. She reached into her bag and pulled out a large, heavy tome which she handed over to Hermione. “I was saving this for when we had privacy, but I think it’ll help with some of the answers to questions you have.”
The tome was a weight in her lap and hands as she looked down at its inky black cover. It was soft to the touch, and the title was imprinted on its front in deep green, cursive script: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Hermione opened the book and read the introduction aloud:
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black: An Introduction
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black stands as a cornerstone of wizarding society; a family whose name is synonymous with both grandeur and controversy. For centuries, the Blacks have woven their legacy into the very fabric of the magical world, exerting influence over the Wizengamot, shaping political and magical scholarship, and standing at the forefront of both innovation and tradition. The Blacks have contributed to the arts, magic, and governance, with many notable wizards and witches emerging from their lineage, their names etched into history. Yet for all their achievements, the family’s story is marred by ambition, division, and a relentless pursuit of power, often at the expense of unity and harmony.
The Blacks are a family of great contrasts—where noble bloodlines and a commitment to their heritage run parallel with the harsh truths of their past. Their wealth and influence have always been undeniable, but so too has been their legacy of infamy. The family's unwavering belief in the purity of blood, their adherence to strict traditions, and their intolerance for what they deemed “lesser” bloodlines created rifts—both within the family and in the wider wizarding world. Their relationship with the Ministry of Magic, other magical families, and their own kin was frequently fraught with strife. Many of their children have borne the weight of their family name, with some breaking away in rebellion against the ideals they were raised with, while others embraced those very same ideals to tragic ends.
This revised edition of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is a departure from the dry historical accounts of the past. Edited and expanded by Andromeda Tonks née Black, this volume seeks to rectify omissions from earlier editions and present a fuller, more nuanced history of the Black family. Through the careful inclusion of those who were unjustly cast aside or overlooked in previous generations, Andromeda has ensured that every branch of the family tree is acknowledged—whether they were celebrated or forgotten, revered or shunned.
Hermione flipped to the table of contents and names of each member of the house filled the pages. The names were listed in order of birth, spanning centuries of lineage, like a linear version of a family tree. As Hermione scanned the names, she felt a strange sense of reverence. These were the names of people who had led to her, sitting in this very moment. Sure, it was a weight history to behold—full of triumphs and regrets—but it also filled her with a sense of hope; hope that she could do something good with the name and all it brought with it so that none after her had to feel this warring inside over their legacy that she felt day in and day out.
Her fingers trailed down the final page, past Regulus’ name, and then without warning, she paused. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto the words listed there: Hermione Jean Granger. “My name’s in it?” she asked, voice trembling with emotion.
Adeline, sitting beside her quietly, softened at Hermione’s shock. “Well, you’re family, aren’t you?” she said firmly, gaze kind, and almost protective.
Hermione’s heart swelled, eyes glistening with more tears that she fought to hold back. “I just didn’t expect to be included…” she confessed, running the tips of her fingers across her name over and over again.
“Andy mentioned in her letter that she was going to update it,” Adeline explained, “She’s charmed it so that all copies will reflect what’s in yours so that as we update your chapter over time, it’s in everyone’s.”
Hermione set the book to the side and wrapped Adeline in a hug, squeezing her in a way that she hoped conveyed her gratitude. “Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Adeline was slightly taken aback by the sudden embrace, but wrapped her arms around Hermione, too. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said, voice tender with understanding. “I hope you’ll find the family you’re looking for in us.”
“I already have,” Hermione replied with quiet conviction. In this unexpected, newfound connection, she felt a bond that went beyond blood or history. It was a connection formed from shared experiences, understanding, and the strength to face what the future held together.
Daphne and Alana, who had been watching the exchange in quiet solidarity, shared a smile.
For all the complexities that had shaped Hermione’s life, for all the pain and confusion that came with discovering a past she had never known, this moment was one of peace— a peace found in the company of those who truly cared. She was no longer just a stranger to this world, a girl searching for a place where she belonged. She had found her place—right here, among these people, among this family.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she could finally breathe.