Hermione's No Good, Totally Horrible, but Not Absolutely Terrible Summer - PART 1
Grimmauld Place - Beginning August
Hermione muffles another scream into her pillow. She felt seconds away from either ripping her hair out or bashing a Weasleys head in with one of her tomes. When the Order had shown up at her house at the start of the summer, Hermione had understandably panicked and left with them without asking many questions. Something she is severely regretting at the moment.
At no point was it mentioned they would be locked in a decrepit, rank house, forced to clean and unable to leave for any reason even if it’s to walk around the block for some fresh air. They’re even banned from the back yard! Which is actually mildly understandable if she allows herself to stop to think about some of the magical creatures and flora she saw growing out there. Neville would certainly love it.
To top it all off, there isn’t even an active threat! Absolutely no sign in the world at large that something is wrong. There's no reason she couldn't have gone to France with her parents, and now the Order won't let her leave to meet up with them at all. Hermione also hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the letters she's sent haven't reached her parents either.
Then there was being told she couldn't contact Harry, which made sense for entirely one week before she thought about it enough to call bullshit. If this was before 3rd year and the ministry didn’t know his address, then she could almost understand. But that's most definitely not the case anymore.
And she’s tried everything. Well, almost everything. Hermiones tried every variation of owl delivery she could think of, going as far as to have the twins sneak a letter and owl out in the middle of the night. All that got her was a stern look from the headmaster and a berating from Mrs. Weasley. Muggle post services yielded similar results to her never-ending dismay. Surprisingly, it was Ron who shot out the idea that perhaps Harry has a mail redirect on him, so they switched exploration paths.
Hermione even stooped so low on her morals as to ask Kreacher to deliver it. Only to learn the surlier than normal elf was ordered by Sirius to not have any contact with other members of the Black family. While a very nice piece of information to know about her best friend's lineage, entirely unhelpful in her current predicament.
So yes, Hermione feels completely justified screaming her frustrations out on a soft inanimate object. The only thing keeping her sanity in check is that her terrible, absolutely no good summer hasn't been entirely horrible. And has, in fact, been incredibly productive despite literally everything else. If you count obsessive planning, bribes, sneaking around, and going through constant emotional upheavals as productive.
After her first week here, things just were not sitting right in her stomach. Like a puzzle from their yearly adventures that she felt she already had some of the pieces to. But unlike their yearly adventures, it was like staring at a blank canvas without any reference photos. She knew she had some of the right paint to get a finished result, just no grasp of what the greater picture might be. Where to put her brush first, in what color.
First year, they knew something was being guarded from theft and it only took putting two and two together to figure it out pretty early on in the year. Second year was much the same with the mental gymnastics of petrifications plus Slytherins Monster equals Basilisk in the chamber. Third year was a cluster fuck she regrets almost more than accepting to come to Grimmauld. At least there was no real sleuthing til the end when things fell into their laps. Even Professor Lupin's condition was practically told to them by Professor Snape.
This is all to say, Hermione hadn’t known where to start on figuring out where her feelings stemmed from, so she did something that had never crossed her mind before. She reread her personal journals.
Journaling had been a practice her parents encouraged at a young age. Being a single child with working parents and no friends, left a person a lot of time with their thoughts. It was a practice that lessened but never disappeared after starting Hogwarts. Hermione may have friends now, but they are teenage boys and there's just some things she can't bring herself to bring up. Like how pretty Adrian Pucey from Slytherin looks when studying in the sun by the library windows, or how annoying it is to find a bra that actually fits lately.
Thinking back now, Hermione doesnt think she’d change her decision even if it meant saving her rose tinted glasses of the magical world.
One Week into Grimmauld Stay
Keeping one ear on the hall behind her, Hermione pokes her head into various closed off rooms of the house to find a good place to set up camp for her project. The nagging sense of urgency pushes her forward despite her disgust at the state of each room she passes. Finally, the young witch stumbles on what looks like a study, and a quick wipe down with the damp cloth she brought with her cleans up the sole desk in the room.
Her hair sways wildly in anticipation as she sits down in front of her notebook and journal. Waiting for a good time to sneak off by herself had seemed to drag on for hours, even if it was only now just after lunch. Hermione hasn't been able to sit still since the idea came to her the night before. She had read the first couple pages before bed, but had to put the journal down when it became clear she would need to notetake as she went.
And so, doing what she knows she does best, Hermione starts to take notes on her 12/13 year old ramblings. She's quick to make categories in her notes. Some of them focusing on herself, habits and trends she noticed in her own behavior. Most of the others for Harry, Ron, the Wealseys as a whole, Headmaster Dumbledore, blood purity culture and a questions list about her and Harry’s utter lack of knowledge on wizarding traditions.
It doesn't take long at all for a concerning picture to begin to bloom in her mind. Putting aside her and her friends' troubling (in hindsight) behavioral patterns, too many of their yearly adventures now seemed… manufactured. Hermione absentmindedly runs her fingers over the small scar at the crook of her right elbow. A gift courtesy the shattered porcelain from the troll that even Madam Pomfrey's magic somehow couldn't fully fix.
Her pen jabs the parchment a bit more forcefully than intended as she thinks about all the times she or those she cares about almost died and she lets herself be placated with pretty words about the castle being the safest place in Magic Britain.
Hermione takes the time to write out a play by play of the philosopher's stone event on a clean piece of parchment. At the time she had thought Professor McGonigal had been logical in her dismissal of their accusations towards Snape. Him being a long standing professor she's worked closely with for years and all. However, the not so small part of Herimione that idolizes the woman, can't help but feel betrayed. Even if they had the ‘who’ of the problem wrong, it still should have been a valid enough warning to have it checked out. Even if it was just to humor them!
She’ll always love the woman, but she’s definitely starting to see why Harry has such an issue with adults or trust in general. Up til that point, the only time they had ever lied was to cover up the troll story. As if her version had been at all believable, Hermione can't help but snort to herself. They’re not jokersters or have ever pulled a prank, and at that point, weren’t known for running into trouble. Unintentionally or otherwise. So to outright dismiss all three of them for lying? Hermione just can’t wrap her head around it.
On the wall behind her, she pins her newest epiphany. Why, when the stone was supposedly protected by the best of what Hogwarts had to offer, did three eleven year olds get through with little to no problem? Hermione couldn't tell you how long she stood staring at that particular question on the wall.
In essence, the question relies on the trust placed in the headmaster's word that the best teachers created the obstacles. Something Hermione genuinely doesn't doubt. A blind person could see the professor's signatures all over the traps. But she finds his statement holds inherent fallacy if she thinks hard enough on it.
Did the professors know what they were protecting? Did they know from whom? Did they know they were protecting anything at all? What guidelines did the Headmaster give them for their obstacle? You can have the greatest minds in the world working on a task, but it really all comes down to the parameters they are given to work within. And it certainly seems like the bar was low if first years more or less breezed through it.
~~~
Ginny found her hours later surrounded by stacks of notes and parchment pieces that were haphazardly stuck to the wall. “Hey… dinner’s going to be soon, what are you working on?” the younger girl asks curiously as she steps into the room. Brown eyes flit around the barely organized chaos, lingering on some of the more obvious notes on the wall.
Hermione wouldn't say the two aren’t friends, having shared rooms together over the years, but they most certainly have never been close. Friendly acquaintances perhaps. However, Ginny also presents her with the perfect opportunity for an outside perspective. Something she thinks she might be in desperate need of at the moment. Her own eyes stray to a specific note on herself. ‘~Hermione-Bad at accepting help/opinions~,’ seems more like a taunt at the moment than the self reflection it was intended as.
“It’s..” She waves her hand in a so-so motion, “kind of a personal project. Do you have plans for after we eat? I could probably use a second set of eyes.”
“Yeah I have some time,” Honey brown eyes glance over her papers again, “Are these notes about your first year?” The hesitant interest in her voice was palpable.
“It's a bit of a long story, I’m not really sure how to explain it, but somethings wrong.” Hermione grips the end of one of her curls in frustration while her other hand jabs accusingly at her notes. “Too many things don't add up like they should and I keep getting left with more questions!”
To the girl's credit, Ginny's face looks like she's taking her words seriously. But perhaps Hermione shouldn't be too surprised, the other's first year at Hogwarts had been a nightmare in and of itself. Two years can't have been long enough to fully work through all the trauma from that year, unless she had a really good care team. Suddenly, Hermione is very unsure the other girl has even had someone else to speak to about it.
Releasing her death grip on her errant curls, Hemione sinks into her chair with a sigh before picking her pen back up. “I hate to ask but… Did you ever see a healer beside Madam Pomphry after your first year?” Hating herself for it, Hermione can't make herself look at Ginny as she asks.
It is silent in the room for a minute before there's a resigned huff and Ginny jumps up to situate herself on the edge of the desk. Neither are looking at the other as she responds with a simple if blunt, “No. No I did not.”
The silence in the room sat heavy but not necessarily unwanted. Nor unwarranted. Ginny took the time to read more of the notes on the wall and draw her own conclusions to Hermione's project. Hermione sat back and observed Ginny as closely as Ginny was the parchment.
Finally breaking the tensions, light brown eyes turned to meet darker ones of the same color. “Let's get dinner, you can catch me up on everything in our room tonight, and tomorrow we go over this all with a fine tooth comb.”
Two Weeks into Grimmauld Stay
The week went fast after Hermione found no real harm in showing her younger, more naive personal thoughts to the other girl. Letting Ginny read through the first journal hoping for an insight she hadn't already scribbled down.
Ginny couldn't have been more than a couple pages into the book when she asks, “How exactly did your fascination with the headmaster start? It almost sounds like you practically deified him before even starting at Hogwarts.” That had started them both down a rabbit hole that was her introduction to magic and other magical persons.
Still, the initial question stuck with her through the week, or well, the phrasing of it. She had already made notes on her unhealthy relationship with authority figures and rules. But the thought that she had immediately put a man, who she knew close to nothing about, on such a high pedestal that her child brain used lingo more often found when talking about religious figures was… disturbing. To put it very mildly.
With Ginny's help, they listed out all they knew about the older wizard, and the result was both impressive and less than. Albus Dumbldore is, without question, a supremely exceptional wizard. Albus Dumbldore is also, without question, a supremely exceptional politician. Having had a career in government and law for just as long as his career in education, and an arguably more prolific career than that of his path to headmastership.
After spending the week together, many of Hermione's reservations about sharing such personal information fell to the wayside of the perceived importance of her task. What was the point of privacy when something so much bigger seemed to be happening, and she is somehow near the epicenter?
Another concerning trend they spent time talking about is Harry's continual treatment by her and Ron, particularly Ron. The young witch feels bad lambasting one of her best friends when he's not here to defend himself, but it isn’t like she's letting herself off the hook much either. Because as it turns out, being an only child who’s never had any friends, with busy parents, isn't very conducive to figuring out the do’s and don'ts of interpersonal relationships.
It was hard not being mortified when Ginny explained in detail why Ron and Harry turned on her so aggressively after the firebolt event with McGonagall. Why it had been so hard to gain their trust back afterwards as well. Trust she broke again with Harry this last year when she publicly stood by Rons side instead of his in her misguided attempt to keep their trio together.
She loves Ron, she really does, but she should have stuck with Harry even if it risked making him even more jealous than he already had been. And isn’t that the crux of Ron's issues? Jealousy. Or would it be envy? Hermione shakes away the pointless thought. Either way, it’s a trait you’d have to be blind not to notice about Ron, and one that has gone unchecked more often than not since they were eleven.
Hermione listens absentmindedly as Ginny makes random disgusted noises as she reads through some of the entrees from this last school year. But it was only when the younger girl got to the event of the first task ending, where the two of them tried to reinsert themselves into Harry's life, that their peaceful week and a half began to take a nosedive.
“Hermione…” The sickly sweet quality of Ginny's voice was at striking odds with the way the room suddenly felt the barest bit cooler. “Will I, at any point, be reading about the apology Harry was surely given after months of being treated like absolute shit by his best friends?” You'd have to be a fool to ignore the cold sweats the tone elicited, and Hermione is certainly no fool.
“I apologized as soon as all the energy died down the next day, but uh… I’m starting to realize my apology might not have been for the right thing.” Hermione can't help but cringe at her own words. Reading those passages over again, she sees now that it was an apology for herself, not her friend. She had needed validation, forgiveness, and for things to just go back to how they were.
Ginny's gaze as it studies her feels heavy. Judgment isn’t foreign to Hermione, but the pervasive crawl of guilt that accompanies it this time makes her want to hide away. Steeling herself, Hermione uses all her willpower to keep her eyes on the girl that's become a fast friend over the last week.
Rather than blow up on Hermione like she is very much expecting, Ginny just gives her a firm nod before standing up and marching straight out of the study door. Hermione tries to scramble out after her, but is entirely too late to stop the brutal right hook Ginny throws at Ron the moment she enters his bedroom.
It's the look of utter bafflementon both Ron and twin's faces mixed with the high emotions of the week that finally has Hermione reaching her breaking point. She sinks down to the floor, tears streaming down her face, and chokes out a fit of hysterical giggles.
“What the bloody hells has gotten into you two?” Ron groans as he pulls himself off the ground. A prominent bruise already forming on his upper cheek.
“That was-”
“-Awesome, Ginny!”
“But, whats,”
“The occasion?” Fred and George took turns volleying off eachother, looking equally parts wary of approaching and like they wanted to parade her around the house in celebration.
Long red hair sways around her as she turns to stare down her older brothers, who are very much so on her kill list too. Luckily for them, unfortunately for Ron, they didn't rank very high at the moment, “The occasion is giving this piece of kelpie shit a serious attitude adjustment,” Ginny's tone still containing the far too calm quality it had gained in the study. George, perhaps sensing the imminent threat, grabs the back of Fred's sweater and takes a healthy step backwards.
“What are you talking about? I’ve barely even seen you this last week let alone had an attitude with you! And Hermione, will you please stop laughing?!” Ron's face was steadily getting as red as his hair.
“You have got to be the worst friend in this whole Circe’s damned world!” Ginny crowds into her brother's space, jabbing him in the chest with her finger.
Anger getting the better of him, Ron swats her hand away, “Sod off, Ginny! What is she on about Hermione? What did you tell her?” Turning his ire to his friend and ignoring her declining mental state.
“Leave her the fuck alone! She hasn’t done anything but try to help,” Ginny shifts just enough that she's blocking his view of the other girl. “You're nothing but a jealous, envy ridden prick who doesn’t deserve the care and love you get from people like Hermione and Harry. You are self absorbed, self righteous, hateful, and needlessly cruel.” The words come out cuttingly sharp causing everyone in the room to flinch, and for Hermione to finally get a better hold on her emotions.
Ginny sees his eyes flicker to his friend on the ground and the dumbass finally seems to register the tears. She, however, isn't about to let him change the topic, Hermione is more than capable of taking care of herself at the moment.
The initial anger on Ron's face drains away with his color as Ginny continues her tirade after working her way back into his personal space. “You want what everyone else has, but wont lift a fucking hand to change your own lot in life. You belittle one friend for being smarter than you, and demean the other for the money his parents had to gods damn die to leave him! Harry and Hermione walk on eggshells around you because if they say one wrong thing you hold it against the entire friendship, or act like a prissy bitch for a week at minimum. Harry still wears his bloody whale of a cousin's hand-me-downs for Godric's sake because you get mad if he even looks at new clothes, let alone offer to buy them for you as well!”
Ginny takes a deep breath and cuts Ron off when it looks like he was about to open his mouth. “I don't wanna hear whatever Flobberworm crap is about to come out of your mouth. You do not think before you speak and it's to the detriment of all your interpersonal relationships. If you weren't Harry's first friend in the magical world, do you think he would have put up with all the horrible behavior you’ve exhibited towards him? That's rhetorical,” She holds a hand up to cut him off again, “I’ll tell you now, he would not have. Whoever else he made friends with first would have told him to drop your arse at the first sign of a toxic friendship!”
The violent flinch the last sentence elicited made a squirm of quilt creep into Ginny's stomach, but it squashed easily under the sounds of Hermione's soft hiccups behind her. That girl has taken far too much onto her shoulders without having anyone to unload about it with.
Ginny closes her eyes for a moment to take a few deep breaths and get a cap back on her anger. A move so similar to Arthur Weasley at his most pissed, that all three boys shift uncomfortably at the realization that their little sister may not take after their mother as much as they first assumed.
Opening her eyes again, Ginny keeps them narrowed on Ron, “So here what's going to happen. You will keep your mouth shut and follow me to the study we’ve commandeered. You will continue to keep your mouth shut as you read over every single piece of information the two of us collected and extrapolated on this last week and half. And only after you have finished reading all that is in there will I humor the sound of your voice. I don't care if it takes you all night or all week, you will do it.”
Then smiling as sweetly as she knows she can, Ginny turns her attention to the twins, “ And you two will be with him every step of the way making sure he keeps on task, yeah? I truly believe the two of you are due some needed illumination as well.” With that, she turns on her heels and walks towards the door, “Hermione, I’ll be back in a moment if you want to stay here or go to our room. Ron, Fred, George, donot make me drag you along.”
Ginny keeps her head forward and back straight as she hears her brothers push each other out of the room after her. It’s time to get the ball rolling on this puzzle with more than just her and Hermione, and if she can traumatize Ron into being a better person along the way… Well, you can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.
One Month into Grimmauld Stay
Kreacher is an old elf. He was born into the House of Black on the night of a new moon, when the stars shined brightest in the sky. Something, he's privately always thought, offered him a greater connection to the family magics.
By the time Kreacher was old enough to work, he was taking care of baby Sirius Black II, the great grandfather of the currently living namesake. Kreacher has had a hand in rearing and serving the last three Lords to the House of Black, and had been there for the youth of the 4th Heirs. The death of the kind Master Regulus had, in the old Elfs opinion, been the official end to the reign of the once powerful and glorious family.
He had witnessed the decline in Master Orion's health and the further decline of Mistress Walburga after her husband and sons death. The disgraced son's sentence to prison was the final hit to her already frail mental state. The day she sealed herself away was the day Kreacher knew he would be the last Black. And it leaves a bitter bile in Kreacher's mouth that even in the dissolution of a once great family, he is still unable to complete the final order he received from precious Master Regulus.
This house had become his family's tomb. A place of remembrance as the memory of his family fades into obscurity in the world outside of these decaying walls. It is, Kreacher expected, to be his own final resting place.
The arrival of Sirius Black III, at the beginning of summer, could be seen as nothing other than an ill omen to the old elf. The wizard has never appreciated the history of his forebears and rebelled at every chance he had after starting his Hogwarts education. The dread of ill tidings seemed to come to fruition a week after the filthy mutt came back when the wards were weakened to allow entry to Wicked Whiskers and his oddball group of sycophants.
To call the feeling he is experiencing anger, when Grimmauld was invaded by a troupe of light wizards, would diminish the strength of Kreachers emotions. These people come into his place of rest and touch, clean, and destroy that of which they have no claim.
Kreacher hates, hates, hates filthy mutt Master and his disrespect for the family Black. Even with the good master and mistress dead, the insolent child acts as if he's somehow getting back at them by destroying priceless artifacts. No care for the wixen history behind them, no care for the destruction of knowledge now lost to the world.
Since they arrived, he’s had to make himself scarce in his own home. Kreacher's only solace being they haven't moved very far from the rooms they've been able to clean on the ground and first floors. It's for this mix of reasons only, that it takes Kreacher nearly a month to stumble upon the recently cleaned study tucked away on the 2rd floor.
The room was close enough to where the children slept that he had not ventured near it til he noticed each of the kids sneaking into the room. From his memory, Kreacher didn’t think there was anything of worth in there, so he assumes they must be hiding a secret of their own.
The old Elf feels the air in his lungs catch as he approaches the outside of the door. A wizarding house as old and lived in as Grimmauld, takes on a semi consciousness of its own. Helping or hindering its occupants depending on familial connection, likeability, or any other bizarre reasonings a sentient building can have. Kreacher had especially noticed little things that left him believing the house was gaining a more independent sentience over the last decade.
None of that stops the shock Kreacher feels when he realizes that the door to the study is being warped by a concealment ward placed by none other than the sentient house itself. Kreacher being Kreacher can see it, but he very much doubts that any adult in the house would be able to. Not even stupid Master Sirius. It certainly makes more sense why the muggle-loving red haired demon-banshi hadn’t caught them sneaking off yet.
Knowing the children are asleep, Kreacher gently pushes the door open. A snap of his fingers and the sconces along the walls flare to life. The elf… doesn’t know what he’s looking at at first, and his initial confusion doubles. Why is Grimmauld protecting this?
Entering the room and making sure the door closed behind him, Kreacher is able to better take in the room that is utterly plastered with parchment and pictures. Notes in five different penmanships litter the multiple desk spaces that were set up. And string. A huge, overwhelming amount of red string, but as Kreacher focuses he can spot yellow and blue scattered amongst the net of interconnecting lines.
Trailing his finger along the string closest to him leads to a note on the wall to the right of the door that just says ‘Basilisk at Hogwarts; See Chamber of Secrets excerpt -1992’. Kreacher can’t help but blanch. “What?” His disused voice croaks out. Following the red sting to the other side was a piece of parchment reading ‘Hogwarts staff - Negligence/Incompetence/Criminal Culpability’. This one had several pieces of string attached to it, and one of the yellow stings leading off to a picture of Albus Dumbledore. Which had its own grouping of red strings leading off to different parts of the room and another yellow leading to a note on the Order of the Pheonix.
Kreacher realizes it’s a room sized investigation board as he steps back into the open center. He’s seen some put together over the years by his previous Lords, but none of them looked remotely similar to this. Nor could they compare to the sheer expansiveness of it. The children did this in a month without magic?
They had pictures clipped from newspapers and magazines of all the critical players from the last war (both light and dark), the Hogwarts staff, certain political figures including the ministerial cabinet and Wizengamot faction leaders. There was a section of the wall facing the door dedicated to tasks they have completed, are working on, or plan to get to in the future. Next to this was a list of brainstormed ideas on how to contact Harry Potter, a good half of them being crossed out already.
Noticing his name mentioned on the list, Kreacher takes in the details they wrote down about the boy's location. While he doesnt know if he would take a letter the half blood if asked, it wouldn't hurt to see if he could even reach him. Most wizards don't think to ward against elves, but it does still happen and this is the boy-who-lived. Despite the commonality, Kreacher still feels a shock of surprise when he’s able to track the young wizard much easier than anticipated. Oh. Oh.
Kreacher frantically pops into a room he has studiously avoided since Master Regulus’s death. At first glance, the tapestry does not appear to have changed in the decade and half since Kreacher had last seen it. With shaking fingers, the elf finds Master Orion's picture with practiced ease. He ignores the burning in his eyes and the pain in his chest at the sight of all the blacked out names and traces down to Master Sirius. His breath catches when under that is another line that should not have been there.
The boy may have been able to hide it from Mistress when he was a teen, but Kreacher knew the moment he saw Sirius the summer after his graduation. The boy had been cursed infertile. The ease in which he carried himself afterwards always led the elf to believe it was either voluntary or self inflicted. Sirius Black III never made a secret of wanting the madness of the main line to die with him.
Steeling his nerves and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he finally looks at the picture that confirms Harry Potter is the blood child of Sirius Orion Black. Kreacher feels his heart start to beat wildly in his chest at the hope his family might not be as lost as he once thought.
Master Sirius and the Potters must have done a blood adoption while in hiding. Despite everything, he gave them an Heir. Old Master Arcturus had to have known. Kreacher never understood how he seemed to give up so easily in the end. Did not appear to fight to keep the family alive. Little did anyone know, Arcturus already had his assurance for the future of House Black.
Kreacher thinks about the child's lineage for a moment before nodding his head to himself. Two Pureblood fathers make the Heir Pureblood by default. With one a full Black and the other with a Black for a mother, the elf couldn’t have asked for a better match made at the time of the boy's adoption. And while Kreacher really doesn't want to think of his mothers contaminated blood, if he were to pay any headance to other testimony, her blood should make the child's magic extraordinarily strong.
Kreacher drums his fingers on the hardwood floor where he sits in thought before the family tree. Perhaps… he could tweek his beliefs for his new little Heir. So long as he doesn't throw the family name back in his face like his idiot mutt of a father. Nodding his head again, the old elf pops back to the study. He’ll have to keep a better eye on the young wix under his roof in the coming days.