Chapter 1
First Year
What she’d imagined to be the best time of her life ended up being a poorly assembled patchwork of her worst nightmares. There was nothing that Hermione Granger hated more than being unprepared, and from the moment she stepped foot onto the Hogwarts Express, she realized that she was facing an uphill battle she’d never win.
She contemplated throwing herself off the train and burning every book and magical implement she’d purchased over the past year, but the small part that pleaded ‘what if’ within her won out.
What if this was the place she’d finally belong? What if she was able to make friends? What if there were adults who cared enough about her to help her reach her goals and encourage her along the way?
What if was a dangerous thought, but one that she clung to as she sat alone on the train, smile growing weaker as groups of friends peered into her train cabin before leaving when they saw the strange sitting with a book inside.
Uncertain and alone, Hermione followed the crowd of first years to the large, bellowing man who told them to get into boats, swallowing her nerves as she plopped down in the rickety wood vessel. She looked up hopefully at the sound of voices heading towards her boat, quickly taking in the fact that it was the only one not completely full. Someone would have to sit with her!
She deflated a bit when she noticed that it was two boys, but tried to school her expression into a nice, slightly aloof one that always worked for the cool girls back home.
“Who are you?” the redheaded boy asked as he plopped down in the boat and caused it to bob back and forth.
She blushed at the pointed attention, squeaking out an answer. “Hermione Granger!”
Too scared to ask who he was, she let an awkward silence flow over the trio. She racked her brain, certain that she hadn’t read anything about current students in the books she’d been pouring over for the near year since she’d been informed of her magical inheritance. Hogwarts, A History had become a lifeline to her; she knew that no red headed students were highlighted. No students at all, in fact.
“He’s rude,” the black haired boy with round glasses apologized. “My name is Harry Potter, this is my friend Ron Weasley. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she nodded, not quite sure what to say, her top-tier social skills striking again.
“Are you muggleborn?” the redhead asked.
“I don’t know,” she swallowed. “Is that bad?”
“It’s not bad,” the other boy interjected. “Just means your parents aren’t magical. My mum’s a muggleborn and she’s brilliant!”
Thank God, Hermione exhaled, feeling a bit better.
“My parents aren’t magic… Just me.”
“Wicked, isn’t it?” Harry smiled, toothy grin lighting up his face.
It took all of the 11-year-old’s self control not to word vomit every thought in her head out.
She just nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in her throat as the pair started a private conversation about some sports game they’d just been to.
Once more alone with her racing mind and not a friend in the world, it seemed like this was the place she was destined to hold, regardless of the world she inhabited.
xxxx
“But why?” Hermione asked, voice rising with unbidden frustration. “There has to be some way to stop it, to live a normal life. We aren’t in a time of war and persecution any more, so why do we need to live like we still are?”
“Miss Granger,” Professor Black sighed, running a hand through his long hair. “It’s offensive to myself and other caregivers and littles to continually insinuate that being classified isn’t normal. It is normal to generations of witches and wizards, no matter your personal thoughts on it. Now, if no one has substantive questions, we’ll wrap up. See you all at the same time next week.”
Hermione felt a lump build in her throat, upset at saying the wrong thing for the millionth time since coming to Hogwarts. She was always saying something to upset people or saying too much or speaking in an academic way that confounded her peers and annoyed her professors.
All she wanted was to understand what she was learning in class, especially classifications. Learning that some portion of the magical population was imbued with ancient magic that either gave them the spirit of a child or a parent was… shocking. It was only the presence of other students in nappies and the presence of cribs and prams in random corridors that had her certain they weren’t playing a joke on her.
That didn’t mean she comprehended it, though; and no one seemed to want to help her. It was easy for them, having been raised with the idea of witches and wizards and littles and caregivers; but her? She’d been tossed head first into ice cold water without any idea how to swim. She was drowning and no one cared. Not her parents, not her roommates, not her professors, no one.
She hurried out of the classroom, missing the way that her professor called after her with a look of regret in his eyes. Her tears started falling before she’d made it to the bathroom she’d come to frequent, her only consistent company a miserable ghost named Myrtle.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she sobbed, hitting her wrist against her forehead.
Everything she did was wrong, and the fact that she was sitting alone, crying on her 12th birthday only solidified that. She had no friends, she had parents who were more concerned with their work than their daughter, and she didn’t even really like herself. Everything she said offended someone, and she couldn’t even understand why.
What was she supposed to do?
“Stop crying,” she directed herself, pushing her thumbs into her eyes to try and stop the flow of tears. It took a few minutes of pitiful sniffling and snuffling, but eventually, she stopped crying and took a deep, stuttering breath.
She didn’t need friends. She didn’t need her professors to like her, especially when she tried as hard as she could to relate to them and only seemed to annoy them. She just needed to study, get good marks and get the job of her dreams, yet to be determined, after graduation. If she had a great career, why would she need anyone? There was nothing that she needed from other people, nothing at all. No matter how much she craved attention and smiles and love.
Hermione would stop trying to impress others, not when it was always destined to cause her hurt and leave her alone.
She needed no one.
xxxx
“What are you doing for spring hols, Hermione?”
The girl in question jolted, not used to being spoken to outside of the classroom or library.
She looked up from the advanced potions book she’d checked out from the library and took the quill she’d been unconsciously sucking on out of her mouth with a heavy blush before speaking.
“Staying here,” she answered Harry, scoping out the heavy lunch options that’d appeared on the table with a wrinkled nose. Hogwarts’ food was far too greasy for her, and she found herself eating less and less as the days went on. Was more than one green option too much to ask?
“Oh, really? I didn’t know students could stay here,” he replied, Neville Longbottom, Ron and their other housemates nodding along.
She blushed; yet another thing for them to rake her over the coals for.
“I did for winter hols too,” she admitted with a shrug, not sure what else they wanted from her.
“Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t go and see me parents,” Ron choked out through a mouthful of sausage.
Hermione wasn’t the only one close to gagging at the boy’s close display, Dean Thomas’ curled lip obvious.
“Me too,” Lavender Brown said in the high, giggly tone Hermione observed was only used in front of boys. Never in their dorm, not that she ever spoke to Hermione outside of snide remarks about her parentage and lack of friends. “You said your parents were too busy to pick you up, right Hermione?”
Harry and Neville let out loud noises of affront, but it didn’t register over the ringing in Hermione’s ears. She got up from the table and rushed out, unwilling to hear what else was going to be said about her.
No one needed to tell her that she was an outcast, and hearing it out loud only brought everything she tried to forget to the forefront of her mind.
It was only later, when she trudged to History of Magic that someone tried to talk to her.
Professor Binns was an ancient ghost who would continue with his boring lessons through the most dire of circumstances, so Hermione didn’t even try to shush Harry when he slid into the normally empty chair opposite her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked somewhat petulantly.
“I… don’t think people are very nice to you,” Harry admitted, his gaze far more sympathetic than Hermione’d ever experienced. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings.”
She had to swallow back a hysterical giggle.
“You don’t hurt my feelings,” she replied immediately, the lie flowing easily off her tongue. “No one does.”
He looked disbelieving at that, even to her untrained eyes.
“I mean it!”
Harry made a small noise. “Okay… Well, if you want a friend, I’ll be here.”
Oh. She didn’t expect that offer. Didn’t quite know what to do with it, either.
“Thank you,” was the only answer she could provide. Needed to mull it all over, likely in the silence of a near-empty castle once everyone left tomorrow. She’d get back to him after break if he was still showing signs of desiring friendship.
“Good talk,” the boy muttered, nodding before moving back to his normal seat next to Neville and Ron.
She smiled to herself before jolting back to reality and starting to take notes on yet another Goblin rebellion, a warmth flaring in her stomach at Harry’s concern for her. It was an unexpected start, but a start nonetheless.
xxxx
“Miss Granger,” a voice shook her out of her concentration.
“Oh!” she squealed, quill dropping from her mouth as she lifted her head up from the heavy tomb to see Professor Black standing a few feet away. “You scared me!”
He had an amused smirk on his face. “I’ve been standing here for five minutes. What are you reading that’s got you so wrapped up?”
Rats.
She blushed, immediately throwing her hands over the book.
“Nothing!”
The man simply strolled up next to her, unhanding the book with barely a struggle.
“This doesn’t look like nothing, dear girl. Looks like a book that first years aren’t supposed to have access to, hm?”
“I wanted it,” she answered, crossing her arms across her chest. She was reading Caregiving: A 21st Century Guide for the Newly Classified, a book she had snuck from the restricted section. It boggled her mind learning that anyone under the age of 14 couldn’t check out books on classifications, professors citing that students should learn the history of classifications in the classroom. It made no sense, but the books were closely guarded, and her only chance to grab books was while Madam Pince was off on vacation and the library was empty. “Needed to learn more…”
“What, you would rather get in trouble than ask your dear old classifications professor your questions?”
If only it was that easy!
She mumbled under her breath, missing the man’s smirk. As a dog animagus, his hearing was far better than the normal wizard’s, making it easy to hear everything the little first year was saying.
“What was that?”
“You don’t like my questions,” she shrugged, trying to quell the feeling of hurt that rose within her. She saw the way Professor Black treated others, laughing with them, patting them on the back, talking quidditch. He seemed so approachable, yet to her, he was closed off, just like everyone else she tried to impress.
The man sat down next to her, tapping his fingers on the library table as he spoke.
“I appreciate questions that are grounded in goodwill. A few of your classmates are bound to be classified, and for your sake as well as theirs, I don’t want you making negative comments in my classroom. Not understanding something is perfectly normal, I mean, why do you think we have classifications class for muggleborn students in the first place? But deriding people for something they can’t change because you don’t want to understand what you’re being taught? We can’t have that.”
How was she supposed to explain something the man didn’t seem to get?
Was it even worth it?
“Muggleborns have a very low chance of being classified,” she answered instead of addressing his question head on.
The man let out a groan she didn’t quite understand. “That’s not the point, Miss Granger. The point is that you are coming into an entirely new world; having anything less than an open mind is only going to hurt you, your friendships and your future career prospects. You need to be more careful.”
Was he truly so blind at how hard she was trying to understand, to fit in, to become a part of this world?
“No one wants to be my friend anyway,” she shrugged, starting to pack up her things, soggy quill included. He’d stomped all over her safe space.
“That’s not true,” the man replied, a little less certain than before.
“It is. No one likes me here,” she was confused by how shocked he looked at her truthful response.
“That isn’t - Merlin, girl, you are as stubborn as a mule.”
He deflated at her confused expression.
“Miss Granger… Would you like some unsolicited advice?”
She nodded.
“You would be surprised how much better life can be if you stay quiet and follow along with what others are saying and doing. You’re a smart witch, smarter than most kids your age, but every time you open your mouth… you push people away. No one wants to stick out at your age, so you need to work to blend in. Be quiet, nod along in the Great Hall, keep your hand down in class, say yes when other people ask you to join them… at least for a few weeks. See if it does you any good. You’ll be surprised at how well it works.”
Mulling the advice over, Hermione made a noise of agreement even though she didn’t fully understand the man’s end goal. Perhaps he was right and she could do well in school and make friends at the same time if she followed his advice.
“I’ll try,” her tummy already warming at the approving smile on the man’s face. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.
xxx
Second Year
“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, pointing a finger towards Mrs. Norris, the prowling cat who’d just slinked into the corridor they were sneaking through.
“Run!” Harry shout-whispered, tossing his invisibility cloak over Ron and himself before running.
Leaving Hermione alone.
Why was she always left alone after being dragged into their schemes?
Unable to handle the frustration and fear inside of her at potentially getting into trouble yet again, she fell to the cold ground and sobbed, leading Professors Snape and Black to her like a lighthouse beacon. The cat stalked away once they showed up, clearly hoping to find other students to rat out.
“Well that’s one way to get caught,” Professor Black snorted, ignoring his companion’s hiss of reprimand as he kneeled down next to the girl.
She looked like a little one throwing a tantrum, something that only amused Sirius.
Hermione Granger was the least likely little in the history of magic; she was probably overtired and losingher marbles due to her constant studying. He had given up trying to get her to slow down after a few fruitless attempts, figuring her head of house, Professor McGonagall, could try her damndest to do the same.
“What’s happened, girl? Are you hurt?” Professor Snape asked in a gruff tone, only causing her to cry more. She was going to be in so much trouble, again!
“No,” she stuttered out through sobs, wishing she had a quill to chew on. She bit her lip instead, knowing that she’d be laughed at if she put her thumb in her mouth to soothe herself.
“Gotta settle down, girlie, you’re going to wipe yourself out,” Sirius warned, hovering over the girl. If she was a little he’d pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he couldn’t do the same tonight. Not with an unclassified student.
It took a few minutes for her to calm down, time that allowed for Sirius to hear near-silent footsteps as Harry and Ron re-entered the hallway. He’d been young and troublesome once, which aided him in barking out to his godson and the youngest Weasley boy who were sneaking back to see what happened to Hermione.
Out of nosiness or concern for the girl, he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Hermione was often getting into trouble with the pair, taking the fall for the trio everytime. If they messed up a potion in class she’d feign putting the wrong ingredient in the cauldron, if they were late to a lesson she’d say she forgot something in the dormitory and made them wait for her, if they were out past curfew and caught by Filch she’d lie about dragging the boys to the library with her.
Everyone saw through the girl’s poorly told lies, but no one on Hogwarts’ faculty called it out. It was admittedly easier to let the girl take the blame than to get Molly Weasley or Head Auror James Potter involved in their students’ constant wrongdoing. The school wasn’t obligated to inform muggle parents of behavioral issues, while they were when it came to half-blood and pureblood students.
So yes, Sirius would tell James that his son was a little shit in his personal capacity, but as a professor? He’d often ignore the boy’s actions. It was easier for everyone that way.
Or, as he was shamefully discovering, almost everyone.
“Harry James Potter, if you’re here, I would go back to my dorm immediately. You and your partner in crime will meet me in my office before breakfast.”
The loud clopping of shoes had Snape muttering under his breath about dunderheads and lax professors.
“Miss Granger,” Sirius said as he held out a handkerchief. The girl took it and just blew her nose in it like a trumpet, doing that a few more times before handing it back to him.
Disgusting, yet the girl seemed to think nothing of it.
“I didn’t want to,” she whimpered, causing Sirius to let out a surprised exhale.
“Didn’t want to what?” Snape drawled, sighing as he bent down so that he was no longer looming over the pair like an overgrown bat.
“Be out late,” she sniffed, rubbing her eyes with closed fists. “I’m sle- tired.”
“Then why in the world are you out past curfew?” Snape asked.
“Ron and Harry asked,” she said as though that explained everything.
“And?” Snape’s question was edging on impatient, if only to Sirius’ ears.
“I had to go.”
“You don’t have to do anything, girl! Especially when it gets you in trouble.”
“Professor Black said,” she replied, brow furrowed in confusion as she looked between the men as though that explained everything.
“Hold up now,” the older Gryffindor interjected. “What did I say?”
“To be quiet and nod along and say yes when people tell me to do things; that’s how you make friends, you told me!” she replied insistently, parroting back what he’d told her offhandedly over a year before.
“Oh girlie, that wasn’t meant to be taken literally,” he groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.
“What do you mean?” The look of confusion on her teary face broke his heart and perplexed him. How was someone so smart so thickheaded?
“Rule one, listen to nothing that comes out of this dunderhead’s mouth!” Snape directed, jaw tight. “How, pray tell, has his advice served you?”
Hermione only had to ponder for a second, “I have friends now.”
“My god,” Snape groaned. “Who gave you the chance to squander so many young minds?”
“Oi! It’s not that bad,” Sirius snapped. “It’s just a misunderstanding, isn’t it Hermione?”
“I don’t know…”
The conversation was only leaving her more confused, but thankfully, her tears had stopped by this point.
“Darling girl, getting into trouble for your friends is never the answer. Especially when your friends are knuckleheaded boys who will let you take the fall every time.”
“You said… you said to be quiet and let them lead!”
Sirius knew that Marlene and Remus would rake him over the coals if they knew what he’d done. What would they do in this situation? Taking a deep breath, he tried to embody his better halves.
“Sweetheart, I am sorry for confusing you, but the way you’re thinking about friendship is all wrong. Friendship is a two way street, right? You can’t do everything for them and have them do nothing in return and call it a friendship. That’s being used, and that’s no good.”
“Oh…” her head wobbled like a bobblehead as his explanation sank in. “I think they like me, Professor, I just think they don’t like getting in trouble.”
Both men laughed at that, like she’d told a particularly funny joke.
“You’ve got that right, but sometimes they need to get into trouble. Especially if you’re the one who continues to take the fall.”
Hermione frowned, “They said their mums would be sad if they found out they were being bad… Ron said my mother and father wouldn’t care since they don’t even write me back.”
Ouch. Both Sirius and Severus were quiet as they mulled that one over, both knowing firsthand what it was like to have neglectful parents.
“Whether or not their parents are upset, they’re still doing something wrong and blaming it on you. That’s unacceptable.”
The girl just bowed her head at the stern tone of the potionsprofessor she’d only seen in passing, knowing she was in trouble with him. She didn’t want to share how confused she was at their reactions, though; she was only following the advice Professor Black had given her!
“You’re not in trouble, Miss Granger,” Sirius sighed, yanking on some of his long hair in the way his wife always said would cause him to prematurely bald.
“I was bad,” she frowned, even more lost at the turn of the conversation.
Neither noticed the considering look that Professor Snape gave her at her words.
“You’ll go back to your dorm and go to sleep. We’ll pretend this never happened if you stay out of trouble the rest of the term. Deal?” Professor Black asked.
Hermione assented eagerly. “Deal!”
It was only when they turned away from the Gryffindor dormitory, Hermione safely inside and heading to bed, that Severus spoke to his former classmate.
Before their detour, they’d been heading to the little’s dormitory to relieve older students of their overnight duty, knowing that they would need sleep to perform well on their exams in the days ahead. The overnight shifts were never bad, only needing to tend to a little one with a nightmare or a crying baby who needed a change every once in a rare while, but they were particularly tiresome for students who were already studying day in and day out.
“Have you considered Miss Granger’s classification?”
“Neutral,” Sirius answered immediately.
“And why is that?” Snape asked in the tone that had driven Sirius wild as a student.
“She’s too rational to be anything else. Girl has her head stuck in a book constantly and asks more questions than any other student I’ve ever met.”
“Hmmm.. asking questions constantly, that sounds like quite a few toddler-aged littles I know,” Snape remarked.
“She’s not!” Sirius snorted.
“That’s all you have?”
“Not that littles aren’t smart, but she’s brilliant. Knows everything and can perform every spell on her first try, though her people skills leave something to be desired.
“I don’t think you’re hearing what you’re saying.”
“She’s not a little. There is no possible way she’s a little.”
“I’ll have an I told you so waiting on the other side of September, dog. Just you wait,” Snape sighed. “Now hurry up, we’re late enough to relieve the students as is.”
xxxx
Third Year
“My name is Healer Prewett and this is my colleague Healer Davies. We lead the Classification Department at St. Mungo’s; I work with littles and Healer Davies works with caregivers. I know this can be a bit scary; do you have any questions for us?”
Hermione always had questions, but in this instance, she was scared silent. This was a test that she couldn’t prepare for, as all of her professors and the older students she’d badgered had warned her. She swallowed down the anxious lump in her throat, not wanting to cry. She’d gain nothing from crying.
“It’ll be okay,” Healer Dorcas Prewett continued calmly at the tight shake of the third year’s head, taking in all of her reactions. “Now, why don’t you start by telling us about yourself?”
Hermione could do that. “I’m a third year in Gryffindor.”
The healers tried to hide their smiles, far too used to the non-answers they received when they asked such a general question at the start of a classification test.
“We were both Gryffindors too; do you play quidditch?” Healer Ryker Davies asked.
Hermione’s face immediately scrunched up in distaste. “No way! It’s dangerous and gross and takes up way too much time.”
“Time from what?”
She answered the female healer, “Studying! Harry is on the team and he never studies, I have to help with all of his work so he can go to practice.”
Oh boy, Dorcas thought, this was going to be one of those days.
“What do you mean you do all of his work?”
“I help Harry do his coursework and essays,” she explained without missing a beat.
“He can’t do his own?”
“Oh no,” she shook her head. “He has no time! If I don’t help him, he won’t be able to stay on the quidditch team.”
“Hmm, now, do older students have help with their work so that they can stay on the team?”
Hermione, taken aback, paused. “I don’t know… maybe? I don’t do all of his work, that’s cheating, I just help him finish and revise his papers.”
“Do you like doing his work?” Healer Daviest questioned.
“Not really.”
“Then why don’t you say no?”
“Professor Black said it’ll help me make friends.”
Dorcas was going to kill her former classmate; no, she thought deviously, she’d let her dearest friend - his wife - do it for her.
At their prodding, Hermione explained how Professor Black had pulled her aside her first year, his surprisingly decent advice going awry in the mind of the girl in front of them due to his piss poor delivery.
Their conversation continued on with the girl’s childlike exuberance over what she was learning in school and them in turn having to field her countless questions that finally bubbled up. Queries that she continued to throw towards them, not seeming to notice the way that they started to lag at her extensive questioning.
It was the most unconventional test she’d ever given, but Dorcas was nearly certain the girl was a little. Trusting that her colleague of many years would follow her lead, she took the next step in a likely little’s classification.
“Oh dear,” she made a point to look down at her watch. “So sorry to run off on you like this, but Healer Davies and I must head out to another appointment for a moment. We’ll show you to a waiting room where you can make yourself comfortable. We’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Er, okay,” Hermione answered nervously. She liked chatting with the two nice adults; they asked her lots of questions and seemed to care about her life.
Shat was going to come next? She looked around the room that wasn’t what she expected at all, with light yellow walls and a room full of toys and books to entertain her. Most of the stuff felt a bit young for her, though she presumed that the hospital had to cater to people of all ages, especially the classifications ward.
“Take a seat, we’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Dorcas shut the door behind Hermione, following her colleague to the observation room on the other side of the office.
“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a nuanced classification,” Ryker mused as he sat down, rubbing a hand through his neatly trimmed beard. “What are you thinking?”
“She’s definitely a little, but the handle she has on her headspace is like nothing I’ve read or witnessed. Her emotional milestones have me thinking she’s about three, but her speech patterns and interpersonal understanding couldn’t be more advanced. It’s like she read the book of how to be a fourteen-year-old and says all the right things without fully understanding what she’s saying or what’s going on around her.”
“That’s the perfect way to describe it. Her emotional markers are far less developed than you’d expect for someone of her intelligence and eloquence, but even then, she uses words that one’d expect of a toddler every now and again in place of one that matches her speech level.”
They both watched as Hermione curiously peered around the room, looking in every bucket and drawer that she came across. She let out a happy noise as she came across what they realized was a children’s book that was popular among wizarding families and silently observed as she settled into a light green bean bag chair to read it. She pulled the fuzzy blanket they’d draped over the chair onto her lap, snuggling in to read.
Dorcas was reminded of her own children’s reactions as she watched the girl read the book, clearly for the first time, giggling and letting out noises of wonder as she flipped the pages and had little bits of magic, like feathers and fireworks that disappeared after a few moments, burst in her face.
“What if she’s just curious?” Dorcas asked, unsure of herself. “What if we’re totally off the mark?”
“Looking at this, I don’t think we are,” he quirked a brow as the girl brought a corner of the blanket to her mouth as she continued to scan the pages, enraptured as her face moved closer and closer to the page.
“So what’s next? HSS?” she asked, already gaming out how they’d get the girl to take the Headspace Settlement Serum.
“She is muggleborn, so we’re good to move ahead. Want me to send in someone from your team while I notify the school and ministry?”
“Yeah, send in Healer Cattermole. I’ll brief her quickly before we visit Miss Granger.”
“Good luck,” Healer Davies saluted his counterpart before exiting the room to begin the procedural part of a classification.
With muggleborns, parental consent was not needed, especially when a classification meant that they’d need to sit down with both parents, inform them of the history of caregivers and littles, then let them know the gift that magic had imbued their child with. They always had obliviators waiting outside, the unfortunate reality being that many muggles did not take their child being classified, especially as a little, with much grace at all. They’d simply revert the parents memories back to before, but help orchestrate a slow pulling away of their child from them.
As a little, they’d need to be cared for by trained caregivers at all times, making it virtually impossible for their child to come back home for anything more than a short visit. It was more distressing for the biological parents, in most cases, as the littles often slotted in with older caregivers or foster families with ease. It would be an uphill battle with this particular little one, but likely more for her own pushback than her parents.
Only minutes later, once Healer Cattermole was briefed on the difficult situation and long afternoon they were looking at, the women walked into the testing room after giving a quick knock on the door.
Hermione jolted in her cushy seat, clearly having dozed off for a moment. She looked adorably embarrassed as she shook herself awake, removing the blanket from her mouth and trying to hide her book under the fabric. As if they hadn’t seen a similar scene countless times before.
“Apologies for the delay, it’s been a busy day in the ward! Did you find something to read?”
“Just a book,” she muttered, fingers twining in the fuzzy blanket. “What now?”
“Well,” Healer Prewett lowered herself to the ground, crouching next to the girl to try and make herself seem non-threatening. “We have a potion that you’ll need to take. It’ll let us know if our observations are correct.”
“You don’t know? Why don’t you use magic to find out?” she asked, eyes wide in confusion.
The healers both laughed gently. Dorcas spoke, “I wish I had an answer for you, dear girl. The potion is the most helpful part of the process. Do you have any questions before taking it?”
“Will it hurt?”
“No sweetheart,” Healer Cattermole crooned. She was known for being a soft touch around the ward, something that Dorcas needed in the moment to smooth out some of her admittedly rough edges. “It won’t hurt at all. It feels quite nice in most cases, I hear, and it tastes like cotton candy!”
“I can’t have candy,” she frowned, thinking of her dentist parents.
“We won’t tell,” Healer Cattermole whispered with a wink.
Hermione giggled, taking a breath before opening her mouth and accepting the potion like a baby bird. Her parents had always told her to trust doctors, er, healers, so that’s what she did in a brief spurt of hopefully Gryffindorish bravery.
Dorcas couldn’t help but remark that Severus Snape was an absolutely brilliant man the same way that she did every time a little settled in their headspace seconds after sipping his creation.
She frowned as the girl whined, only needing to pull the blanket back gently to see that she’d wet herself. It was yet another indicator of the girl’s age range, as younger littles were unable to control their bladders as they settled into their headspace for the first time, just like they would be in their new life in the days ahead.
“Oh, sweet thing,” Dorcas cooed as she lifted a magically lightened Hermione into her arms. The serum, in addition to reducing the weight of littles so that they could be carried after being classified, dropped them fully into their headspace. For some, that changed very little about their personalities and mannerisms, but others, like Hermione, it showed just how guarded they felt they needed to be.
It illustrated just how much of an uphill battle was in front of the girl. Being muggleborn, being so academically driven, having friendship struggles… She'd need a lot of assistance, patience, love and encouragement, and Dorcas was already mentally flipping through the rolodex of foster families who could take the young witch in.
“Here we are,” Mary Cattermole smiled, opening the door to an empty nursery just a few doors down.
They put the girl on the changing table, grabbing a nappy out of one of the baskets that looked to be her size. While the girl was likely not going to be in diapers full time, it was easier to keep her in them while at the hospital.
She was dressed in a light pink onesie only a few minutes later, eyes growing heavier and heavier until they didn’t open again.
“Mind staying nearby?” Dorcas asked as she gently placed Hermione in the crib and relocked the side.
“Of course, take your time,” Healer Cattermole waved her boss off, a soft look on her face as she stared at the peacefully slumbering little. Like most who were surprised by their classification, the sweetness was sure to dissipate once she was alert enough to have the difficult conversations ahead of her.
xxxx
Sirius shouldn’t have been as shocked as he was when he looked back to every interaction he’d had with Hermione Granger.
For a confident, self-assured man, he felt his stomach sink as his comments towards the young girl over the past three years flew through his mind.
“I didn’t do right by her,” he admitted to his friend.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorcas narrowed her eyes.
“I have said some really shit things to the girl, especially in light of her being a little.”
“Oh, like the fact that she should be quiet and go along with what others are doing if she wants to have friends?”
His head hung low like the guilty dog he was. “And admonishing her in class for being prejudiced until she stopped participating.”
“Merlin’s saggy y-fronts, why would you ever?”
“She had questions about everything, why this, why that, how didn’t people fight their classification? What was I supposed to think?”
“That she was asking incessant questions like every three-year-old to ever live? Did you really not see it, Sirius? Truly?”
“I didn’t,” he sighed. “I’m an idiot, a fool, you can call me anything you want and it won’t change things.”
“Oh no, you aren’t going to wallow in self pity. No pity parties in my ward, Black, not from you.”
He huffed a laugh at his friend’s characteristic response. “Tell me how I can help.”
“She’ll need a foster; she can’t go back to Hogwarts until she’s settled into her headspace and fully understands what to expect in the days ahead. There’s also the matter of informing her parents, which doesn’t seem like it’ll be a major issue based on the few stories she shared.”
A foster; Sirius could help with that. It was the least he could do. “Smart gal. I’ll narrow down the list of fosters for you.”
“No need, I already know who I’ll suggest placing her with.”
“Who?”
Her pointed stare gave him the answer.
“We haven’t fostered in years,” he spluttered. Once they’d had their son, Ophiuchus, they’d only taken in short-term fosters, not wanting their biologically young boy to stymy a little’s emotional state in the way that they often could.
“And I know both Marlene and Remus are keen to do so again now that Ophi is at Hogwarts. The poor dear will be dealing with a lot - her parents, if what she said is to be believed, are going to take this very poorly. She can’t go back to school for a bit while she settles, which the little witch is going to throw up quite the fuss over. She will need a lot of attention, and more than that, she will need strong willed caregivers who aren’t going to throw in the towel when she bucks against her classification and the care she’s receiving. She IS a little, and she needs caregivers who will treat her like one and not like a pesky little problem or an adult.”
“I don’t think there’s a caregiver on the foster rolls who wouldn’t be willing to take on the challenge.”
“You say that now, but a few days of the girl asking incessant, probing questions and snarling like a little lion cub will throw many of them off. She’s not your typical little, not at all. And I can’t think of a family better prepared to take her in, hopefully for good.”
“Don’t put the broom before the quidditch player, Dor. I’ll need to see if Marls and Remus are even up for this,” Sirius sighed, resigning himself to taking in the little witch who’d unwittingly wormed her way into his heart over the past three years. She was a fierce, smart girl who he completely misread. And mistreated. He owed her for his wrongdoing and harsh treatment, but he couldn’t see his guardianship of her as a transaction. The girl deserved to be loved for who she was, which he had realized was a rare thing for the Gryffindor.
“Of course, of course. Go home and chat with them, then bring them here if you’re in.”
“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, marveling at the way he was a grown man and still bossed around by all of the tough women in his life.
He was greeted by Clarence the elf as he exited the Floo into their home, the small purple creature rocking out to some music that was blaring through his headphones while he flicked his fingers here and there to clean the already immaculate Floo foyer. Their elves didn’t have enough to do, and complained about it constantly, but soon, he figured they’d be busier than busy.
“Master Sirius!” the elf crowed, voice louder than it needed to be as the music filled his ears.
Sirius gave the tiny creature a friendly salute before heading out in search of his spouses, finding them in the middle of a heated kiss at the kitchen table.
“Oi, get your hands off my spouse,” he jested, smirking to himself.
Remus and Marlene just sighed, the man rolling his eyes as he spoke. “You’ve made the same joke for over 15 years, and it’s still as unfunny as it was the first time. What are you doing here?”
For a man who never lacked words, Sirius barely knew where to start. “There’s a newly classified little, a muggleborn… She needs a foster and Dorcas thinks we’re the perfect choice.”
He knew he was a goner as soon as Marlene’s beautiful green eyes lit up with excitement. “She? A little girl? What do you know about her?”
Remus’ solemn expression slid into a smirk at their wife’s tone of awe, clearly realizing where this was heading.
“Her name is Hermione Granger, she’s a third year.”
“The one who you’ve complained for years, what did you say… asks questions like a leaky faucet?”
“The very same one, Rem.”
“She was classified today?” the woman asked.
“She was, turned fourteen yesterday… Dorcas said that they were pretty positive she was a little, but she sank right into her headspace when she took HSS. She’s sleeping now, but if I know the girl, she’s going to be a bloody terror when she wakes up.”
“Sirius, must you be so callus? The poor baby’s life is being turned upside down, she needs a safe space to come into herself and to be told that everything’s going to be alright. What will her parents say?”
“Doesn’t seem like they’re much in the picture, she spends her in-school hols at Hogwarts, only goes home is in the summer.”
“That makes it less messy on the Ministry’s end, at least,” Remus ran a hand over his stubbled chin. “Are you comfortable doing this, Sirius? You don’t have to say yes; as forceful as she is, Dorcas will understand. Fostering a little doesn’t need to be a snap decision; we can take time.”
“I know, I know. But she deserves a good home, one with caregivers who are not going to chuck her out when she doesn’t fit the mold of what they expect a normal little to be. I can’t think of a much better home than ours?”
“I’ve always wanted a little girl,” Marlene admitted softly, and both men’s hearts melted a bit. The trio had awkwardly fumbled their way together in fifth year, nearly causing Sirius’ hag of a mother a heart attack while delighting the Lupin and McKinnon families. They knew each other as well as breathing by this point, and any of them pretending that they weren’t going to welcome the girl into their home was just theater.
“We know,” Remus acknowledged, continuing in a gentle tone. “But this little, Hermione, she’ll need time. It won’t be perfect, not at first.”
“Just because it’s not perfect doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, Remus.”
“I never said we shouldn’t, I just want to temper expectations.”
Remus was the level-headed one, he always had been. Sirius was a loose cannon, always running his mouth and getting into trouble while his better halves got him out of it. Marlene was their sun, the light that they orbited around. Sweet, intelligent, fiery and beautiful. They were an unconventional trio, something that their son Opiuchus told them often, but they had worked like a dream for nearly 20 years, as hard as it was to believe that so much time had passed.
“Well, if we’re doing this, the elves need to get supplies while we head to Mungo’s.”
“Cobain,” Marlene called for their head house elf, who popped into the room with an eager smile.
Sirius just shook his head as the creature started to squeal at the news a little was joining the family, if only temporarily, grabbing a glass of water and gulping it down. It was going to be a long day.
xxxx
Hermione found herself unable to stop the hoarse, heartbreaking cries that were coming out of her.
A stranger was holding her to a well-padded hip, the stranger cooing as shifted from side to side. How the woman, who looked to be a normal height and weight, was holding her so easily was beyond Hermione, but all that she knew was that she found comfort in the physical affection despite the part of her brain that was screaming stranger danger.
“Poor girl,” a new voice broke through Hermione’s sobs, the woman from earlier. A doctor? No, a healer. Her mind was addled, and nothing seemed to make sense. She was hungry and tired and confused, but no one seemed to care. “Everything’s all worked out now, no need for tears.”
She tried to speak and realized she couldn’t, not when she’d jammed a comforting thumb in her mouth. No one had mentioned it or made fun of her, which was odd. She was a newly 14-year-old; she should be past getting comfort from such a childish thing, but neither woman seemed to mind.
“Ah, good news! All squared away?” the woman holding her asked as she began to walk out of the room into the St. Mungo’s hallway.
The pair chattered back and forth, ignoring Hermione’s disgruntled whining like she wasn’t even there. She closed her eyes, sinking into the bone deep exhaustion that she was feeling without a fight. Her tummy hurt, her head hurt and nothing was making sense besides the comfort she took from the warmth of the woman’s arms.
“There we are!” a voice cooed as she was jostled and placed into someone else’s arms.
She only realized that she’d been given to yet another stranger as she looked up and saw a man looking down at her. His brown eyes were kind, and he was letting out a soothing rumble as he settled her against his chest. She felt even smaller than normal in his warm embrace, too sleepy to do anything but close her eyes, suck on her thumb and wonder when she was going to wake up from whatever fever dream she was in.
Her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, the part that normally went a mile a minute and evaluated every angle of a situation was silent. Even the part that had curiosity about anything and everything was muted.
“Good girl,” the man whispered in her ear as a manicured hand moved to rub her bare legs gently. The other woman had been far too loud, making her tummy squirm uncomfortably for a reason she was far too out of it to pinpoint. This man, however, spoke as though he wanted only her to hear, something she appreciated even in this cloudy space. “You’re safe now, pup, I’ve got you. Rest.”
Bucking every minute self preservation instinct she still possessed, Hermione listened. She closed her eyes, unsure of what was to come the next time she joined the land of the living.