Hermione Granger was a clever girl.

She actually preferred to think of herself as a young woman, or more properly now, a young witch. Her parents, however, were a little less enthused at such a change in nomenclature. She knew they were less than comfortable with some of the -- changes -- their little girl had gone through over the last couple of years, so she decided not to push the issue for now.

She knew she made people uncomfortable at times. Before starting at Hogwarts, many of her teachers seemed to become worn down by her enthusiasm for her studies. She found this all a bit odd. Weren’t they supposed to be interested in what they taught? Her classmates had made no secret that they preferred to avoid her company. "Bookworm" was the nicest thing they’d called her. If they felt threatened by her intelligence, then she’d rub their noses in it ever chance she got.

It made very little sense to her, this obsession other girls seemed to have with things that really didn’t matter. Who cared about looking pretty if you got awful marks? Pretty wouldn’t get you into university. Not a good one, anyway. Pretty wouldn’t get you a career, not one worth having anyway. She was appalled when she realized how much time each day some of her classmates spent on ‘getting ready’ to go to school. Hygiene, of course was important. But a shower, brushing her hair, and getting dressed was the limit. She sat down with a pencil and paper one morning and calculated that over a year Frieda Hopkins (by her own admission) wasted enough time to have read War and Peace. The original translation.

Hermione knew she was no prize in the looks department. She’d inherited her father’s incredibly bushy hair, but her mother would not dream of letting her keep it as short as he did. She’d also inherited a considerable overbite from her mother’s side of the family. "Beaver-Face" was one of the less polite names she’d heard. She was due to start orthodontic treatments, but her acceptance at Hogwarts put a crimp in that plan. She couldn’t return for re-fittings and adjustments while she was away at school. All this meant that she was going to have to get by on her brain, and not by playing dress-up, which was fine by her.

It also meant that it was extremely distressing when she realized she’d been rather stupid about something. The letter in her hand was proof of that.

Her first year at Hogwarts had been like a dream, in good and bad ways. Discovering that she was special, magical even was enough to go to her head if she wasn’t careful. Discovering that Muggle-born witches and wizards were looked down upon by magical society helped prevent her head from getting too big. She still remembered the first time she heard "Mudblood" and knew it applied to her. The flash of shame and anger almost made her ill as Draco took to the air, with Harry a second behind him. Gregory Goyle was snickering about the remark when Ron pulled his wand out and asked him which armpit he wanted his nose moved to. It was an utterly crude remark, and he really shouldn’t have been threatening a student, but she was glad it shut the Slytherin up.

She’d never had anyone defend her before, not like that. It was a rather odd feeling. It was sort of embarrassing. After all, she should be able to stand up for herself. At the same time, it was nice not to have to. It was a little disconcerting to find out she had a friend and hadn’t even realized it immediately. She’d had that driven home when her dream turned into a nightmare. The horrid things those Slytherins said about her were bad enough, but they were nothing compared to the terror she experienced when that enormous troll smashed his way into the girl’s lavatory. What followed was a hazy kaleidoscope in her memory: getting dragged out by a hand as large as her torso, being hurled through the air, the gentle sway as Ron’s spell caught her. She was still helpless in midair when Harry was swatted aside like a bug. The look on his face was almost frightening as he climbed back to his feet, picked up his wand in the other hand, and used Neville’s distraction to kill a fully-grown troll.

Harry was fascinating to her, but in an unsettling way… like a half-completed puzzle. He seemed unusually mature, except when he was consciously trying to have fun with them. Then it was almost like he was playing a role… it would have made her wonder if he was just manipulating them, except for the real joy that crept into his voice. None of it really made any sense to her. He was unusually skilled in magic, but she was better at working things out. It was like he’d always been reading ahead, but she noticed that when they studied together he actually read slower than she did.

And then there were his moods. He often came to breakfast acting like he’d just left a funeral. It took half the meal before Harry seemed to really come back to himself. Ron was best at dealing with Harry when he was like this, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the gangly red-head looked out for their friend. Once in a rare while, she’d catch Harry’s eyes in an unguarded moment. She remembered their last dinner in the Great Hall. His eyes… for a moment they seemed so old.

She knew Harry was hiding something, and that it was probably fairly awful. When she asked him about it, he always re-directed the conversation or avoided the issue altogether. It was frustrating, but it wasn’t until she made the connection between Harry’s headaches and Professor Snape that it began to come together. While she had worked it out for herself, she still had a suspicion that Harry already knew about it, but couldn’t tell her. It was all so convoluted that she got headaches thinking about it. She would have been quite angry with Harry if he hadn’t hinted he was as constrained as the rest of them.

Fortunately, her other friends were not as complicated. Neville was a quiet, shy boy, but he was starting to grow out of it. He always seemed a little sad about something. She had an idea she knew what it was, but she couldn’t bring herself to pry. It was only when they studied for Herbology that he really opened up. His enthusiasm for his favourite subject was inspiring, and he always led them through revisions for that class.

Ronald was even easier to deal with. His face was always an open book, at least to her. It was comforting, in a way, to have a friend that didn’t really have any secrets. No shadows lurked behind those startlingly blue eyes. But that wasn’t to say he was simple. He was, she admitted, a bit thick on certain subjects. But at other times he’d display an amazing perceptiveness. He’d always encouraged her to stand up for herself, even after that horrible confrontation with Professor Snape when he threatened to snap her wand. She’d never been the object of such hatred before, and for nothing more than the circumstances of her birth. She realized that day that being a ‘Mudblood’ was something she was going to have to deal with for the rest of her life. Even if she had friends who would stand by her, other people would hate her for it. The look on Harry’s face when the jars started exploding was almost frightening, but she knew that would never change the opinions of the Snapes and Malfoys of the Wizarding world. After Harry went to sleep, she sat in the common room and gave serious thought to owling her parents to withdraw her from the school.

She was on the couch, staring into the fireplace, when Ron sat down beside her.

"He’s still asleep," he said quietly.

"He seemed exhausted when we left the dungeons," she fretted.

Ron nodded, the firelight striking golden highlights off his hair. "It took a lot for him to not let Snape have it, after what he said."

"I don’t want him getting in trouble for me," she said in an aggrieved tone.

"He didn’t just do it for you, Hermione," Ron sighed. "My parents fought a war to stop that kind of thinking. His died for it," he said in a serious tone, looking in the fire all the while. "That’s why You-Know-Who got so many people to follow him. It gave them an excuse to feel superior and lord it over the Muggles and the Muggle-born. Someone like Draco knows that you are smarter than he is, and will make a far better witch than he will a wizard. It’s got to be killing him inside, so he attacks you on things that don’t even matter, like who your parents are. It’s how he distracts himself from the fact that he’s just a spoiled, smarmy little git."

It was one of the most mature and comforting things he’d ever said. She turned to stare at him, blinking rapidly. "T-thank you, Ronald," she whispered.

He ducked his head, blushed and looked away from her. "Gryffindors got to take care of their own, yeah?"

Thinking about his words, she’d had an epiphany. Ron was straightforward and didn’t hide things… but he had a lot more depth to him than a first glance revealed. Somewhere along the line he’d picked up a strong protective instinct. It might have come from having a little sister. Almost every time he’d got upset or cross with his friends, she could in some way trace it back to his desire to watch out for them. He was as frustrated as she was with Harry, but for different reasons. While she couldn’t stand unfinished puzzles and unanswered questions, her friend got annoyed when Harry wouldn’t tell him what was hurting him. It made Ron feel helpless and frustrated, and she often found herself acting as his sounding board as he vented about it.

Harry gave a plausible explanation regarding how he came to be confronting Quirrell alone, but she had her suspicions… just like she did about Halloween. Ron told her that the letters Harry spent hours writing were going to his little sister, who Harry had only met once on the train platform. She thought it was a sweet that he didn’t want her to feel left out, and her information about magical housekeeping was fascinating. But at the same time, Hermione knew he was also doing more with those letters. Harry never spoke of what he wrote to Ginny about, except in the most general terms, but she had a feeling that he was compartmentalizing his relationships. Was this an aspect of his secretive nature or something else?

Hermione Granger looked down at the letter in her hand. Here was a good reason for him to be secretive.

She, Ron, and Neville had stayed in contact by owl post once the summer started. Harry, however, neither sent, nor replied to any messages. Immediately, Ron blamed ‘those awful Muggles’ Harry lived with. Hermione wondered privately if Ron would have been so quick to blame if Harry had been sent to live with a Wizarding family. There were other reasons, she wrote to Ron, why Harry might not be answering. They could all be gone on holiday. His post might be diverted for security reasons. Or he might be immersed in a research project similar to the one he’d given her in the Gryffindor common room.

This last letter disabused her of those notions. When she read the condition Harry was in when Ron and the twins found him, she began crying. The thought of Harry being beaten by his relatives made her physically ill. Errol blinked at her sleepily as she dashed off a reply, asking a dozen questions in the first paragraph. She was about to seal the letter when she read over it and reconsidered.

Hermione Granger was a very clever girl. That’s what made it even harder to admit it when she was wrong. If she wasn’t a Gryffindor, she wasn’t sure she could have added what she wrote next.

> PS — Ronald, I also want to add that I was wrong. I dismissed your concerns because I thought you didn’t trust Muggles to take care of our friend. Well, I mean I thought you didn’t trust them because they were Muggles. I was wrong and you were right… and it haunts me that my words might have delayed you going after Harry and prolonging his suffering. You were a better friend than I, and you didn’t forget that ’Gryffindors take care of their own.’ I have a little project that Harry asked me to take care of over the summer, but if you or he need anything, please do not hesitate to contact me. I will write Harry when you say he can get post again, but please let him know how sorry I am.

She looked down at the parchment and let out a sigh. She felt better getting that out, but she was a little worried at Ron’s reaction. She might not have any friends left by the time they returned to Hogwarts.

It was with some trepidation that she unfolded Ron’s reply a couple of days later. Her mother had asked her why she’d been eating so poorly, but she just blamed it on an upset stomach. At least the letter wasn’t a Howler. She remembered Harry sharing Ginny’s explanation of the glowing red envelopes Mrs. Weasley had owled to the twins on a couple of occasions.

As she read the letter, Hermione felt a warm sense of relief. Ron didn’t blame her. In fact, he said it was Ginny who’d really forced the issue — which was a bit odd. Ron insisted that if anyone was at fault it was him. He and Harry had talked about the Dursleys over Christmas, but he and the twins waited too long to check on Harry.

Hermione blew out her breath in an exasperated sigh. The boy was very noble, but it was silly for him to blame himself for something Harry’s horrid relatives had done. She barely finished the thought before she caught herself and began blushing. The same could probably be said of herself.

The news that Ron’s parents were applying to become Harry’s legal guardians brought a genuine smile to her face. Harry needed a home with people who actually cared about him. From Ron’s descriptions, The Burrow would be an ideal environment for Harry.

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The next day was a Saturday, and her father agreed to take her to the library. Such trips were a frequent occurrence in the Granger household, but this time Hermione headed for the Periodicals sections, rather than New Acquisitions. The librarian on duty showed her where to find the Surrey periodicals, and it didn’t take her long to find the article in the Surrey Advertiser: "Local Community rallies Around Accused Couple".

She copied down the pertinent details before she became too upset. The Dursley’s had been charged by the Surrey Area Child Protection Committee, but they’d hired a very sharp solicitor. Their neighbours were all giving deposition in support of "such a fine upstanding family" and going on about that "no good delinquent they’d been saddled with". The story stated that the victim, whose name was withheld, was being treated in a private facility.

When she got home, Hermione wrote a scathing letter to the editors of the Surrey Advertiser, suggesting that Little Whinging should have the tap water checked for lead, as the town was obviously full of imbeciles. After that was done, she felt a little better. She spent considerably longer on her second letter.

> Dear Harry,

> Ron tells me you are feeling much better now, which I am glad to hear. I went to the library and found an article about your aunt and uncle in the Surrey Advertiser. I’ve included a summary on another page, so you can read it when you feel up to it. I know the article is probably upsetting, but I know you hate having things kept from you.

> On that subject, I think my research has borne fruit. I found a reference in a history on the war against Grindelwald. I had no idea that there was magical involvement in World War Two! Anyway, it was a list of training given to spies attempting to infiltrate the dark lord’s forces. The infiltration was for the most part a failure, and a lot of brave men died in very messy ways, but I digress.

> The curriculum for the training mentioned something called Occlumency. Most of the other items made sense, but none of them mentioned protection from mental examinations so I did some more digging. I am now a proud owner of Occlumency: the Hidden Arte. I’ve read it already, of course, and it was quite fascinating. I think it is just what we need to stop a certain person from abusing his abilities. I’ve taken the liberty of having the other copy Flourish and Blotts could locate sent to you at The Burrow.

> I’m going to practice this very hard while I’m on holiday with my parents. (They want to leave next week, so owl traffic may take a bit longer after that.) From what that book implies about Legilimency, you are right to be cautious. Of course, the fact that you know to be cautious is probably part of what you are hiding. Don’t worry about answering my questions until I can make sure I will be able to keep your confidences.

> Speaking of confidences, you may wish to speak with Ron, and possibly his sister and brothers. I think they still feel bad about not coming to get you sooner. I myself didn’t have a clue, and well, urged them to be careful so they didn’t get you in trouble. I suppose that is sort of ironic, but not in a funny way. In his last letter he sounded dreadfully guilty.

> If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know. If this Occlumency is not going to do what you need it to do, please let me know as soon as possible. I might be able to talk my parents into another trip to Diagon Alley before we go to Heathrow. Hopefully, when we get back we can all get together to see Neville’s new greenhouse.

> Your friend,

> Hermione

~+~

Harry was very relieved to be leaving Saint Mungo’s. Healer Stanhope finally cleared him to be discharged after his foot stopped tingling. However, that did not dissuade Mrs. Weasley from holding his elbow as they made their way to the Floo. Deep down, Harry didn’t really mind how she tended to hover. As much as it drove her children spare, a small corner of his soul relished the attention. She was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever really known, and it was hard to keep his emotions in check at times.

Ginny was the only person in the kitchen when they arrived, and she immediately dropped the potato she was peeling into the sink.

"Don’t waste food," he said, stepping past her with a grin and rescuing the spud. He smiled as her face slowly reddened.

"Harry, you’re here!" Ron called from the doorway. In less than a minute he’d dragged Harry all the way up the zigzagging stairs to his room, where a second bed had been set up. It was hard to tell, since he had to squint to block out the orange glare, but it appeared that his school trunk sat at the foot of the bed.

"I see you decided to decorate with Chudley Cannon colours," Harry observed, wincing and rubbing theatrically at his eyes.

"Yeah, brilliant, isn’t it?" Ron’s grin was infectious.

"It’s very bright, I’ll give you that." Harry smirked. "Thanks for getting my stuff out of there."

Ron looked a little uncomfortable. "The twins did most of that."

Harry stared at him for a moment. "Hermione’s worried about you, you know."

Ron twitched and gave Harry a strange look. "We’ve got all summer to do those ruddy essays."

"For some odd reason, she seems to think you’re blaming yourself for what my uncle did."

Ron started to look a little annoyed.

Harry held up the palm of his hand. "She didn’t tell me anything directly, but you know she’s almost as bad at the touchy-feely business as I am. I made a guess and your face just confirmed it, mate." Harry sighed. "Look, I tend to get into a lot of rubbish I didn’t ask for. Sometimes I can see it coming, other times I can’t. If I didn’t anticipate them going completely off their nut, how could you expect to?"

"Blimey, Harry, how can you talk about something like that like it’s no big deal? You could have died!"

"I’m not trying to be blasé about this Ron… But… I haven’t been normal since that mad bastard threw the killing curse at me when I was a baby." Harry made a face. "You get used to something if that’s all you experience, yeah? Maybe your family can show me what normal is like."

"Dunno if we qualify as normal, Harry. I think Mum’s out to fatten you up like a Christmas goose though."

Harry rubbed at his ribs. "That actually doesn’t sound too bad." He gave Ron an even look. "So are you all right now?"

Ron nodded.

"Am I going to have to have this talk with the twins as well?"

His friend shook his head. "Maybe Ginny though," he said in a small voice, "she seems a bit down about something."

"I’ll do that," Harry agreed. "You’ve always looked out for her, haven’t you?"

Ron looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet his eyes. "Well, she’s my sister," was all he said.

Harry made an exasperated sound. "You say that like it’s something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with Gryffindors looking out for their own?"

Ron frowned at him. "We don’t know if she’ll be in our house, Harry."

"Ron, she’s a Weasley. Don’t be daft."

"She’s also the first girl Weasley in several generations," Ron snapped.

Harry gave his friend an appraising look. "You’re actually worried about this, aren’t you? Have you ever known her to back down from anything or anyone?"

Ron looked thoughtful. "That doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll get sorted that way."

"Tell you what. I’ll bet you half the galleons in my vault she ends up with us." Harry braced himself for the inevitable reaction.

Ron’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t have that kind of money," he snapped.

Harry rubbed his chin to hide a small grin. "No, your stakes are not trying to boss her around for the school year if I’m right. Besides, if I’m right, she’d just hex you for trying anyway," Harry concluded airily. The old Ron would have stomped off or acted uncomfortable the rest of the day. Harry was inordinately pleased when his best friend just rolled his eyes and made a rude noise.

Soon the boys were racing down the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was cutting up some chicken and Ginny was still working on the potatoes with an aggrieved look on her face. Harry walked up beside Ginny, grabbed a small knife, and started peeling as well. Ron, who was heading for the door, gave Harry an odd look.

"Ron, go tell the twins to make sure the yard is picked up, then come back in here and set the table." Mrs. Weasley said, giving Harry an approving look.

Ginny froze when Harry walked up beside her. After a moment she shook her head and began peeling again. However, her cuts were a lot messier, and her peelings were rather thick. Harry also noticed her hands were shaking a little. "If you cut your thumb, Ronnikins will never let you hear the end of it," he muttered.

She cocked her head and looked up at him. Harry smiled and she smiled back. She whistled a little tune as she began peeling again.

Harry knew something was wrong the minute Mr. Weasley Flooed home. When he stepped out of the green flames, his normally genial face was creased with worry lines. When he whispered to his wife, she too began frowning.

The table was set and dinner was almost ready, but Mrs. Weasley immediately shooed everyone but Harry out of the kitchen. She left a large spoon stirring the mashed potatoes on it’s own as she motioned for him to sit.

"Something must have gone wrong," Harry said without preamble.

"Yes, I’m afraid so," Mr. Weasley agreed. "Auror Shacklebolt was keeping me updated on how his case was progressing. It seems The Dursleys have retained a very top-drawer Muggle solicitor to represent them… one who apparently has some expertise in dealing with the Ministry. The representative from our legal office that met with them did not handle things well at all."

Harry felt his stomach fill with ice. "How bad is ‘not well’?"

Arthur swallowed before continuing. "The Dursleys have given signed and witnessed depositions regarding their versions of what occurred. Copies of these documents are being held by a number of other parties, with instructions to mail them to various Muggle publications the day the trial starts. In exchange for their silence and giving up guardianship, the ministry liaison agreed to stop the prosecution."

Harry felt like a statue carved from ice. His uncle was going to walk away from this unscathed. Hell, from that article Hermione read, he was probably going to be lionized as a victim of unjust persecution. For a moment, Harry toyed with the idea of finding a way to leak their address to Voldemort and letting history repeat itself. Looking back, Harry would wonder always wonder about what changed his mind. Was it a desire to not sink to that level, or the fact that he wanted to destroy them personally?

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley’s voice distracted him, even as he made his decision. Her hand was warm on his forearm, covering the doxy scar.

"I need to go to Gringotts," he said quietly, then shook his head. "Actually, I need to schedule an appointment - that would be better. If you’ll excuse me for a moment?" His voice echoed hollowly in his ears as he fumbled for quill and parchment in drawer under the clock.

> Master Goldfarb,

> A situation has arisen where I would appreciate your expert advice. I was hoping I could impose upon your schedule for a few minutes at any time that would be convenient for you.

> May your Gold always flow,

> Harry James Potter

Harry gave Hedwig a few strokes as he tied the letter to her leg. After he sent her on her way, he sat back down again. He made a conscious effort not to clench his fists.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said in a kindly voice. "I don’t think the Goblins usually make customers schedule appointments."

He nodded. "I know, but I’m asking him to help me with something that is just barely legal with my inheritance. I think I should probably be as polite as possible, don’t you?"

Mr. Weasley nodded and his wife looked thoughtful. "I need to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to run some errands, so I can take you to Gringotts, unless he won’t see you tomorrow."

"I think he will. But asking first is a gesture of respect. I suppose I’m buttering him up a bit."

"That can’t hurt, Harry. But I’m afraid this may not be the end of it," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "When I read the report on the meeting, I discovered something troubling. Right at the end, the Dursley’s solicitor made a remark about how his clients had supported you long enough, and that they would look forward to you starving in some orphanage. Young Derments, who was quite annoyed at how neatly he’d been handled, made some remarks about you being the heir to a massive fortune from your parents."

Harry smiled grimly. "The Dursleys still have to give me up though, right? Finding that out will just grind salt in the wound."

Mr. Weasley blinked in surprise. "I suppose it would, Harry. But I’m more concerned about him spreading that information. We’ve been keeping your guardianship hearing as quiet as possible, but this may complicate things."

"Wouldn’t that be privileged information… oh wait, who am I kidding. The Dursleys would want him to tell anyone willing to use that to make my life miserable. Has the hearing been scheduled yet?"

"It’s set for next Wednesday at the Ministry."

"Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Weasley, but is anyone at the ministry besides you both competent and honest?"

Mr. Weasley gave a lop-sided smile. "I suppose it doesn’t always seem like it, but yes, there are some."

Harry nodded. "Is there any good news?"

"Dinner is ready," Mrs. Weasley said brightly.

Harry chuckled, "That’s good enough for me."

"I hope so. You really need to eat better, Harry," Mrs. Weasley chided as she opened the door. She glared at the sight of her four youngest children clustered around the keyhole.

"I told them not to eavesdrop," Percy said pompously from the stairs.

"It’s all right," Harry said quickly. "I don’t care if they know — it just saves me having to tell them."

"We were just staying handy for when dinner was ready," Ron said cheekily as they filed in and took their seats.

Harry had eaten more than a few meals at The Burrow, but it felt like he could recall each one distinctly. Being surrounded by Weasleys: eating, talking, laughing, and obviously caring about each other — it was so different that it made Harry feel like a different person as well. It was more than just the fact that they accepted him. They wanted him there. And this time around, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were basically adopting him.

True to Ron’s predictions, his mother urged Harry to take a fourth helping of the roasted chicken. As it was, he was nearly in physical pain when he got up from the table. He hadn’t really been able to enjoy the pudding either. Ginny looked at him a little oddly when he started helping with the dishes, and he remembered that clearing the table had always been one of her chores. He shrugged. If he was going to make a place for himself here, they needed to stop treating him so much as a guest.

To be honest, it was also a chance to be around Ginny, as well. After nine months of nothing but letters, it was something else to actually see her again. Of course, she was much shyer in person than she was on parchment, but he hoped that would wear off. It was also interesting to get to know her before her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets, and he could see hints of the drive and fire that had finally made him aware of her in his sixth year.

Harry shook his head as he put the last of the plates in the sink. He needed to keep his focus. Being adopted by the Weasleys was a massive change from the old timeline. He needed to remember the pledge he made to himself in St. Mungos. He wasn’t going to sit back and rely on his foreknowledge anymore. He still retained some of his abilities and knowledge, and moreover he knew how bad things were going to get when Voldemort returned. There were changes to be made, and anyone that got in his way was going to think they’d been run over by a Hungarian Horntail.