Evening. Same Day.

Saturday, Sept. 14

The world came into focus for Hermione with sounds.

“Hermione, can you hear me?”

It sounded like Harry.

But that wasn’t possible, the girl thought as her heart clenched. Harry was dead. The snake had killed him. It had killed her too.

...

But then how was she here? She wondered.

“Hermione? Wake up, please,” Harry’s voice said again.

“Don’t rush her, Mr. Potter,” a woman said gently. “Give the potion time to work.”

Who was that woman? Hermione wondered. And what potion?

Curious for answers, the girl opened her eyes.

Harry’s face hovered over hers. His dark hair was as disheveled as ever, with wild strands sticking out every which way, his brilliant green eyes were clouded by worry, and his lips were lacking their customary smile. It was the most beautiful thing Hermione had seen in her short life.

“Harry?” She asked, almost afraid to hope.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Harry said, and then he smiled. It was small, hesitant almost, but it made Hermione reconsider her recent realisation, because this was the most beautiful thing the girl had ever seen.

“Are you okay?” Harry was asking. “You were—”

Hermione hugged him, as tight as she could. “You’re okay,” she said, tears rushing down her face. “You’re okay.”

Harry hugged her back, and his voice broke when he said: “I am.”

Through her tears and her relief, Hermione finally noticed her surroundings, as well as its other occupants.

They were in the infirmary (Hermione had never been before, but the rows of small beds with crisp, white sheets was an obvious clue), and watching she and Harry, one with worry on her face, and the other with an unreadable gaze, were Madam Pomfrey and The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Seeing her staring at them, Dumbledore said: “I’m glad to see you’re convalescing splendidly, Miss Granger, but I fear I may need to interrupt your rest; I have some questions I need you and Harry to answer, if you may.”

“Albus, must you do this now,” Madam Pomfrey asked. “The children need their rest.”

“Thank you for your time, Poppy,” Dumbledore said gently, but in clear dismissal. “If you could excuse us, please.”

The matron looked very unhappy at being dismissed, but she obeyed all the same.

Harry had let go of Hermione by now, but they still clasped hands, and he sat with her on her narrow bed and they faced Dumbledore as a united front.

From the tiny nightstand by the bed, Hedwig let her voice be heard, and Hermione looked at her in surprise; she’d forgotten all about the owl.

The bird looked fine though, so Hermione didn’t feel too guilty about her lapse.

Looking back at The Headmaster, Hermione made eye-contact with the old wizard before she remembered and quickly focused on something else. Like his pink robes, which were conspicuous enough to easily attract the young girl’s eyes.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore sighed, and it sounded genuinely sad.

But why would he be sad? Hermione thought. She expected him to be angry, after all, he was here because he’d learnt everything they’d been up to, right?

She looked to Harry to see if he had any answers; he didn’t, but he did have some information to give.

“Dumbledore told me that he had some questions to ask me,” Harry said, “but I told him that I wouldn’t talk to him unless you were awake, so he asked Madam Pomfrey to wake you.”

“That I did, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “And I’m sure you already know what my questions are, so I won’t waste any time with preamble.

“How did you know about the basilisk, Harry? How did you know about Slytherin’s chamber?”

Hermione swallowed. This was bad. They’d already decided that they didn’t want anyone to know about Harry’s future knowledge, it was why they’d gone through all the trouble to do all of this themselves.

If Dumbledore was asking questions like this now, how much longer would it be until they let something slip or he figured it out himself.

Dumbledore was supposed to be more than just a powerful wizard, after all, he was supposed to also be very intelligent.

Harry either wasn’t feeling the same worry Hermione was, or, more likely, he was great at hiding it, because he said: “How do you know it was me, though? I mean, for all you know it could have been Hermione who told me about the chamber and the snake.”

Dumbledore sighed again, and it sounded even sadder than before.

“Why don’t you trust me, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, and through his hand in hers, Hermione felt Harry still.

“Trust you?” Harry asked quietly. “Trust you? Do you have any idea what it was like growing up with the Dursleys? Oh, wait, you do. Ten years of hell, you said. Ten years of being told every day that my parents were good-for-nothing drunks who got themselves killed in a car accident. Ten years of being called a freak. Of being told I was unwanted.

“Do you know why the Dursleys stopped beating me? It was because Vernon got carried away once and broke my jaw; I had to go to hospital. They stopped because they were scared people would only believe I ran into a door so many times.”

Harry was shaking, his hand in hers squeezing so tightly. He could barely speak.

So Hermione spoke for him.

“They starved him instead,” she said, and despite knowing the risk it would expose her to, she looked Dumbledore in the eyes. Because she had to know, she had to know why Dumbledore would leave Harry with people who he knew would treat him the way the Dursleys did.

Dumbledore’s eyes held sadness and great pain, probably more pain than Hermione could ever understand, and the girl found that she liked it. She liked knowing that she was hurting the old wizard even just a fraction of how much he hurt her friend.

“They locked him in a cupboard for days with nothing but water and some bread. Like a dog. Then they would make him cook and clean, and then they would eat while he watched.

“He cried himself to sleep so many times,” Hermione said, feeling the pain like it was her own, and in a way, it was. She had seen it in Harry’s memories; lived it. Felt his anger and sadness and loneliness.

It left a bad taste in her mouth, knowing that there was a lot more—a whole decade’s worth—that Harry had had to live through alone.

“So, no, Dumbledore,” Harry said, “I don’t trust you. To be honest, I don’t even like you. And I’m sure you had reasons for doing what you did, maybe even good ones, but I still don’t trust you. And I still don’t like you.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “I understand that some of my decisions have been painful for you, Harry—”

Harry scoffed. “No shit,” he muttered.

“—and I realise now that I will have to win your trust. But you must trust me when I say, Harry, that I will always fight The Dark, whatever form it may take.

“Please,” the wizard said, his bright, blue eyes sincere, “let me help you.”

Hermione looked at Harry. The boy looked conflicted. And Hermione realized in that moment that Harry was not in the right state of mind to make any important decisions. Neither was she, to be honest.

“Can we have some time to think about it?” She asked, and Harry quickly grabbed onto that.

“Yeah. After all, the snake’s dead, right?” Harry asked, and Hermione blinked as she realized that she hadn’t even considered whether the snake was alive or dead.

She’d just assumed that it was dead. After all, Dumbledore would hardly be here talking to them, if there was a giant, enraged basilisk loose in the castle.

“Yes, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “The snake is dead.”

Harry shrugged. “Then we have time,” he said.

Dumbledore considered that for several seconds, and Hermione was beginning to worry that the wizard might push, when he acquiesced.

“Very well then,” Dumbledore said, then, after a pause, and with his eyes twinkling just a bit, added: “Unfortunately, there still remains the matter of your deaths to resolve.”

Hermione blinked. “What?” She asked, while Harry made an inarticulate “huh?” sound.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Oh, yes, if the rumours are to be believed, then, in one afternoon, the both of you have somehow managed to lose your lives to a Hungarian Horntail, a nest of acromantulas, and a gloom of dementors.

“Myself, I much prefer the version of events where Harry swooped down into the Chamber of Secrets on a phoenix and saved Miss Granger from a nest of fire-breathing basilisks.”

“Uh huh,” Harry intoned. “Did I also do it with my eyes closed and only using my bare knuckles? You know, to give them a fighting chance.”

Dumbledore laughed again. It was a nice laugh.

When the mirth subsided, Dumbledore spoke: “Alas, there is no greater defence against falsehood than the truth; which is why I would ask you to come to dinner in The Great Hall. As soon as you’ve had a change of clothes, of course.”

Hermione and Harry both looked down at the very unflattering hospital gowns they were wearing.

Oh.

“Your trunks have been brought down for you,” Dumbledore said, gesturing at the objects where they laid some distance away.

The wizard looked at them then, deeply, and for a long time, before finally, he said: “And for whatever it may be worth to you; I am very proud of what you have accomplished. Both of you.”

With that he left, and despite themselves, as the children got to dressing up, they were both left feeling a little better, a little warmer, for having received The Headmaster’s praise.

*****

In the two weeks Hermione had spent at Hogwarts, there had been (way too) many times when the entirety of the student body had stared unabashedly at she and Harry while in The Great Hall.

Tonight became another one of those times.

Well, no actually. It was like none of those times.

As soon as Hermione and Harry stepped into the hall, conversations petered out, and all eyes turned to them, yes. This was expected.

What wasn’t expected, was the mighty cheering that broke out a few seconds after that.

It started from the Gryffindor table, but quickly spread through the entire student body, bar Slytherin, most of who simply looked angry, wary, or annoyed.

What had started as a cheer quickly grew into a standing ovation, and it was so powerful now that even some of the teachers joined in, albeit in a much calmer fashion.

“What is happening right now?” Harry asked, needing to shout to be heard over the din.

“I don’t know,” Hermione shouted back.

Finally, the cheering died down, and Hermione and Harry were once again left standing there and being stared at by a silent hall.

Fortunately, Dumbledore came to their rescue this time.

“Be seated, everyone,” the wizard said, as he rose.

Harry tugged Hermione, and the girl quickly followed.

They made their way over to their friends, a space already set out for them, and as soon as they sat, Dumbledore continued, which, luckily, kept anyone from asking them any questions just yet.

“There have been a lot of conjecture about the events of this afternoon involving Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. In light of that, I have come to put the matter to rest by giving you the truth of the events.

“Earlier today, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger came across Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, and while exploring it, as children are wont to do, they came across the chamber’s protector, a thousand-year-old basilisk.

“The serpent attacked them, and the two Gryffindors fought and killed it. As we all can see, they are not dead, and whatever injuries they suffered, minimal as they were, have been promptly handled by our own Madam Pomfrey.

“A round of applause for our matron, everyone.”

There was a small smattering of clapping hands.

Dumbledore continued: “Please, do not trouble them for more details, as it is unlikely that they will have any to give you.

“Now,” and here Dumbledore smiled, “let us enjoy this bountiful feast that our kitchen staff has managed to scrounge for us on such short notice.”

And with that, The Headmaster sat down.

For several seconds after, no one seemed to know how to react.

Then the whispering started.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, staring at Harry with wide eyes. “You really killed a giant basilisk, Harry?”

Even without looking, Hermione could tell the entirety of the Gryffindor table was straining to hear every word of Harry’s reply.

“Uh, no, actually, I didn’t,” Harry said. “The snake swiped me into a wall,” as he said that, Harry grimaced like the memory was coming back to him, much like it was for Hermione herself, at least until Harry continued, “I passed out after that. Hermione was the one who killed it.”

All eyes immediately focused on her and Hermione quickly shook her head. “I didn’t kill it, Harry. It dodged my spell.”

Harry blinked at her. “Really?”

She nodded.

“Then who killed it?” The boy asked curiously.

Hermione didn’t know. At first she’d just assumed that Dumbledore had shown up in the nick of time or something, but that was looking less and less likely now.

But then who had killed the snake? It’d been just the two of them there. Well, them and—

“Harry?” Hermione called, and when he looked at her, she led his line of sight with hers to Hedwig, who was giving them a look that virtually screamed ‘who do you think?’

Harry looked at the owl, then at Hermione, at the owl, then back at Hermione again.

Don’t do it, Harry.

He did. He really did.

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Harry said. “That chicken must have killed the basilisk.”

The look Hedwig gave Harry in that moment should, by all logic, have knocked him dead, but Harry, of course, kept living.

Hermione was starting to suspect that it might be a superpower. That, and annoying people.

“A chicken killed the snake?” Parvati asked in complete confusion.

“Hm-mhm.” Harry nodded. “Only thing that makes sense. Anyway, what’s been going on with you guys?”

It was obvious everyone was waiting for more. For some grand story, perhaps?

Hermione thought that that might be it. They wanted to hear the swashbuckling tale of how the amazing Harry Potter and his friend slew the evil basilisk.

The thought hit her; they wanted to hear a bedtime story.

Something exciting and adventurous. Something fake.

They didn’t want to hear the true story; the story of an unstoppable monster and two children who nearly died.

Hermione reached out for Harry’s hand.

He took it, and she drew strength from the contact.

Harry had the right idea, Hermione thought.

They wanted a story, then there was their story; a chicken killed the basilisk.

A monster-slaying, karate chicken. Let them enjoy that story.

Seeing that neither Harry, nor Hermione, will be giving anything more, the table around them descended into awkward silence for a bit, before Lavender said: “Oh, right, Ron made seeker.”

“You tried out?” Harry asked and Ron nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, we could have come to cheer you on,” Harry said.

“He didn’t think he’d make the team,” Dean supplied.

Ah. Ron had been rather skeptical about his chances back during Flying Lessons.

Harry scoffed and shook his head like Ron had been being silly. “Oh, well,” he said, “better late than never, I guess.” And Harry raised his cup of pumpkin juice up. “To Ron. Gryffindor’s seeker.”

Everyone cheered, even Hermione, and Ron blushed, though he looked happy.

“Wood says I still have a lot of work to do on my flying though,” Ron said.

Harry waved that away. “Pish! He’s the Captain. Training you is his job. Your job is to look cool.”

“I thought his job was catching the snitch?” Hermione asked.

“While looking cool,” Harry amended, and at her look said defensively: “Hermione, you can never overestimate the importance of looking cool.”

Hermione just rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, yeah, Harry,” Ron said suddenly, “you remember that spell you used to find Neville’s toad back on the train?”

“Is Troy lost again?” Harry asked.

Hermione swatted him, knowing he’d gotten the name deliberately wrong. “It’s Trevor.”

“Right, sorry. Is Terror lost again?”

“No,” Ron said, ignoring their byplay, “Scabbers is. I was wondering if you could find him.”

Hermione froze.

“Scabbers is missing?” Harry confirmed.

“Yeah,” the redhead answered easily, “I haven’t seen him for hours now.”

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, then, like a lightning bolt, Hermione realized something that her mind had probably deliberately ignored all this time out of relief; Quirrel was absent from the staff table.

He was never absent.

She and Harry had the same thought right then, ‘this could not be a coincidence.’

And it was in that moment that a ghostly, silver hawk flew into The Great Hall and hovered before Dumbledore, and in a panicked, male voice, said: “Dumbledore, we need you! Death Eaters have set fiendfyre to Hogsmeade!”