Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine; they were created by Ms. J.K. Rowling. The only thing I can claim to own in all this is my imagination.
A/N: I’ve moved the author’s note to the top this time because I need to apologise for the abnormally long time it’s taken to get this chapter up. I just couldn’t get this chapter into proper shape and I have to profusely thank my wonderful beta without whose help and support this chapter would not have been half of what it is now. That said, read on and enjoy, and let me know what you think of it.
The cold night wind tore at the invisibility cloak that Harry had drawn over himself and the broom, as he flew towards his destination. Harry watched as dawn lightened the sky, colouring it with varying shades of pink. He could see the ground whizzing past under him, lights twinkling from some of the villages that he passed. Normally, these were sights that would have done much to lift his spirits. But this time he had too much on his mind to fully appreciate the beauty of the scenery that was laid out before him. He was thinking again of what he had to do and what his next steps were. His plans had to be perfect to ensure that Voldemort had no inkling of where he was, and also to deny Voldemort any opportunity to hurt those he cared about. Then a new thought began to intrude. A thought that he did his best to ignore, but it just wouldn’t go away.
Why did she let me go? Harry wondered again and again. The Hermione he knew or thought he knew would have tried every trick in the book to make him stay. Yet she had let him go. Has she finally realized that I have to do this alone?, he thought. If she had, then she was probably the only one; Harry had no illusions about how Ron and the others would react to his disappearance. And what about her request that he let her come with him? That had been strange to say the least. She must know that he, Harry, was going into grave danger and yet she had wanted to come with him. Why? Why? Wh…
SQUAAAAWK!
Harry came to his senses, just in time to avoid hitting an eagle that had happened to stray into his flight path. Luckily for them, he zigged just as the eagle zagged, thereby averting a horrific mid-air collision, the likes of which one reads about in the papers every once in a while. But Harry’s train of thought was derailed, as he spent an invigorating five minutes trying to escape the enraged eagle bent on revenge. By the time he was able to give the eagle the slip, with some dizzying flying which would have brought tears of joy to Oliver Wood’s eyes, he was quite near his destination. Checking once again that both he and the broom were still invisible, he flew down over the waking city of London.
Harry took some time to get his bearings, since he had never flown over this part of London before. Then his sharp eye caught the outline of Regent Park and sure enough, there was the London Zoo as well. Now Harry knew where he was and soon he had located his destination, King’s Cross. From his bird’s eye view, he could see all the trains standing in the station. One of the trains was different from the rest, with its distinctively scarlet engine. Any wizard would recognize it as the Hogwarts Express, a sight that no muggle would be able to see from above. Satisfied now, Harry flew lower and shortly touched down on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
So far his plan had worked, but it could all come crashing down if anyone happened to be on the platform. Luckily there wasn’t, Harry was alone, and with a sigh of relief he pulled off the cloak and stuffed it back into his bag. Now it was time for the next part of the plan. Quickly checking again that there was no one on the platform or on the train, Harry quickly ducked into one of the compartments and began to pull off his clothes. Out of his bag he took a set of clothes that no one knew he owned. He pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of tattered black jeans. Over the t-shirt he put on a green jacket and drew the hood over his head so that it obscured his forehead and his famous scar. As a final touch he clipped a pair of shades to his glasses. The transformation was complete but now came the tricky part, taking care of his bag and the broom. He first cast a spell to shrink the broom to half its normal size so that it fit quite comfortably into his bag. Next, he transfigured the bag itself so that it now resembled a well-worn suitcase. McGonagall would have been proud of that transfiguration, thought Harry, grinning to himself. All things considered, Harry was quite sure that he no longer resembled the famous seventeen year old wizard that everyone recognized, and he knew that this was something that would be very important if he was to be successful in hunting down the Horcruxes while avoiding detection.
Picking up the suitcase, the new Harry emerged from the compartment. The platform was, thankfully, still empty, and Harry walked briskly over to the barrier that led to the rest of King’s Cross station. He paused in front of the barrier, and then quickly walked through and emerged onto the bustling station, between platforms nine and ten. He kept walking to ensure that no one noticed his sudden appearance. He knew the Weasleys had probably discovered his disappearance by now and might have already sent out people to look for him. Hopefully the disguise will do its work well, thought Harry as he headed out towards the exit. And, indeed, he couldn’t have chosen a better get-up, looking now like any other teenager on a quick visit to London. Out on the street, Harry signaled for a cab.
“Where to, mate?” asked the cabbie who drew up in front of him.
“Thirteen, Edgeware Road”, said Harry.
“That’s not too far,” said the cabbie doubtfully, “oh well, it’s still early in the day. Hop in.”
Harry got in and the cab whisked him away to Edgeware Road, the cabbie chatting away happily about the weather, his opinion of the performance of England’s first Labour Prime Minister in eighteen years after his first year in office, and on England’s dim hopes in the upcoming Ashes test cricket series against arch-rival Australia. Harry made approving noises whenever the cabbie made a particularly forceful point, but on the whole he remained silent through the trip.
A few minutes later the cab pulled up at its destination. “Here we are, thirteen, Edgeware Road,” said the cabbie.
Harry paid the man with some muggle money that he had exchanged at Gringotts, and as the cab drove away, he turned to face the house in front of which he now stood. It was a nice house with a red tiled slanting roof; compact and modern without being stern, the kind of house one wouldn’t mind living in. It was one of the many that lined Edgeware Road. As Harry walked up the pathway leading up the front of the house, the door opened and a lady stepped out. She was dressed in a smart grey suit and her brown hair was done up in a bun. Harry was suddenly struck by a passing thought, of just how much her daughter looked like her.
“Hello? And who might you be?” she asked, smiling uncertainly at him. Clearly she hadn’t recognized him, and this was heartening since it was proof positive that the disguise worked and that he couldn’t be recognized by friend or foe.
Harry smiled at the lady and unclipped the shades. “It’s me, Mrs. Granger,” he said, “Harry Potter.”
Mrs. and Mr. Granger watched as the young man steadily worked his way through breakfast. They had been expecting him; and the rest of Harry’s stuff was carefully stored in the spare bedroom on the first floor. As he ate, they reflected on how the train of events - which culminated in Harry having breakfast at their house that day - had been set in motion.
It had begun almost three weeks earlier, on a quiet evening at the Granger residence. Hermione had left on a two-day trip to Portsmouth to visit her grandmother. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, as was usual, were spending their free time poring through medical journals. It had been an evening much like any other evening that they had spent since Hermione had left to attend Hogwarts. The difference came when the telephone had suddenly jangled insistently. Mr. Granger had answered, expecting it to be either Hermione or one of their friends calling for a chat. The voice on the phone had been neither, and it had identified the speaker as Harry Potter. Mr. Granger had been rather astonished at this as Harry had never once, in the six years that he had been friends with Hermione, called her at home. It was even more surprising when Harry had said that he wasn’t looking to talk to Hermione but rather to Mr. Granger himself, and to Mrs. Granger. Slightly stunned, Mr. Granger had consulted his wife and had then asked Harry over to lunch the next day.
Harry had arrived at their house the next day, right on time, but he had started on his story even before they could begin lunch. For three hours they had listened, all thoughts of lunch forgotten as Harry had recounted to them the story of his life. They had, of course, heard snippets of it from Hermione but listening to Harry telling his heart-rending tale had been an eye-opener to the dangers and the unfairness that prevailed in the magical world. They felt that it was too much to expect a seventeen year old to go up against and capture such a powerful wizard. For Harry had been careful to omit any mention of the Horcruxes or the fact that he would have to either kill Voldemort or die trying. The Grangers had been impressed by the almost frightening calmness with which Harry had told them the story all the way till the death of Dumbledore.
And then he had put forth a strange request. He intended to go alone to capture Voldemort but he was sure that no one would let him, so he wanted to leave in the dead of the night when everyone else was asleep. He said that the Weasleys and everyone else would immediately begin searching for him and so he would need a place to lie low, a place they would never think to look. In short, he had asked if he could stay at their house for a couple of weeks until the search had been abandoned. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been initially reluctant to agree to his plan, considering that it would entail, well, if not lying to Hermione, at least, hiding the truth from her. But Harry had played on their fears for their daughter’s safety and had made them promise not to say anything to Hermione or anyone else. He had even made them promise to ensure that Hermione returned to Hogwarts. They had grudgingly agreed and Harry had left, his lunch still uneaten.
On the thirtieth of July, Hermione had left for the Burrow to attend Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and not ten minutes later, Harry had shown up on their porch with his effects that he had asked them to keep for him till he returned. It hadn’t been much, just a battered old trunk and a cage with a snowy-white owl in it, which Mrs. Granger had immediately fallen in love with. Now he had returned, exactly on the day he had said he would. They had been hoping that he would change his mind during the wedding and tell his friends everything, but the very fact that he was at their dining table had destroyed that hope.
Mrs. Granger felt a stab of pity for this young man seated before her. He was so young, with so many other things that he should have been doing, instead of having to capture powerful wizards. Brushing these thoughts away, she cleared her throat and spoke up, “So did you have a good trip; no trouble getting here?”
“No trouble at all,” said Harry, smiling up at her, clearly grateful that the ice had been broken.
“And were you able to leave without any hitches?” she asked, more out of politeness than curiosity, feeling that if there had been any hitches he wouldn’t be there in the first place.
Harry paused in his eating, unsure of whether to tell them what had occurred before his departure. Deciding that since they were her parents, they had right to know, he sighed and said, “No, Hermione saw me and tried to stop me.”
“Apparently she failed,” observed Mr. Granger dryly.
“Well, she, sort of… let me go,” said Harry, staring at his plate.
“What?” exclaimed Mrs. Granger, “She let you go? Why?”
“I wish I knew, Mrs. Granger, but I’m just as lost as you are,” answered Harry truthfully.
“Well, Hermione never does anything without a reason. I’m sure you’ll find out the reason for it soon enough,” said Mr. Granger with an air of finality, and effectively put an end to that particular topic of conversation.
“Look at the time!” exclaimed Mrs. Granger, suddenly looking up at the clock on the wall. “We have to leave now, dear,” she told her husband, “we have to be at the clinic in fifteen minutes.”
Harry watched as they rushed about collecting their equipment. When they were ready, Mrs. Granger turned to him with a worried frown on her face.
“Take care, Harry dear; feel free to watch television and you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. Umm… unfortunately I was unable to make any lunch as…” she said casting an uncertain glance at him.
“You weren’t sure I’d turn up,” Harry finished for her, a smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry Mrs. Granger, I can forage for myself.”
“That’s all right then,” she said, sounding very relieved, “Hermione’s room is on the first floor as well, it’s down the corridor and on the right after your bedroom. I think you’ll find quite a lot of reading material in her room. We’ll be back by about seven or thereabouts. See you then.”
“Bye, Harry, see you later,” said Mr. Granger smiling at him as he shut the door and then he did a double take and opened it again.
“Oh Harry, I wanted to ask you something. Surrey plays Nottinghamshire at Trent Bridge in the County Championship. The match is from today through Saturday. Would you like to go; it’s not too far from London and I’m off this weekend,” asked Mr. Granger, looking at Harry expectantly.
This simple statement would probably have bamboozled most pureblood wizards, but luckily for Harry who had spent ten years at the Dursleys; its meaning was clear enough.
“Not really, Mr. Granger, but thanks. Cricket isn’t my game,” said Harry apologetically.
“Ah…a football fan, eh? Then how about West Ham up against Manchester United on Saturday at Upton Park? That’s only about forty-five minutes from here. Manchester United is looking good for the Premiership this year, and Dwight Yorke is in rare form,” said Mr. Granger enthusiastically.
“Uh… no, I don’t really follow football either, sir. Sorry,” said Harry. Though Dean would have loved to go, he thought, remembering his friend from Hogwarts, Dean Thomas, who was a keen football fan and a supporter of West Ham.
Mr. Granger looked genuinely shocked that there was an Englishman alive who didn’t follow cricket or football. Harry smiled at his expression, but how could he explain that his favourite game was one that Mr. Granger had probably never heard of and definitely never seen.
“It’s probably best if I stay inside, Mr. Granger, it’s safer that way,” he said, by way of explanation. Mr. Granger looked satisfied.
“Yes, yes… something in that. Well, bye again Harry, see you in the evening,” he said and shut the door.
“What a strange young man,” said Mr. Granger, as they drove to their clinic.
“Now, now, dear, just because he didn’t show much interest in cricket and football doesn’t make him strange,” said Mrs. Granger calmly, “And Harry is such a nice boy, so polite and respectful and caring.”
“That’s all very well, but it’s not healthy to shy away from sports like that,” stated Mr. Granger who apparently held very strong views on the matter. With a daughter like Hermione, he had never had an opportunity to share his love of sports with her. He had rather hoped that Harry would share his interest and since that had not happened either, he was feeling rather disgruntled.
“Perhaps they have sports of a different kind in the wizarding world,” she said soothingly, “Besides, you can’t expect him to be cheering at a stadium right now considering that task that he’s supposed to do.” She paused, watching the sights that she saw everyday flashing past, her mind clearly far away in a different plane.
“It’s so unfair that he has to do it,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, almost as if she was speaking to herself.
Mr. Granger pursed his lips at his wife’s words. “Hmmm… I’m not so sure about all that he told us. I mean look around you,” he said to explain himself, “does it look as if a war is on right now?” His wife didn’t seem to have heard him; she was still looking out the car window.
“I wonder if he didn’t make up some of that stuff,” Mr. Granger mused and then admitted, “Though why he would do that, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“No, he wasn’t lying,” said Mrs. Granger suddenly, startling her husband and causing him to almost hit the car in front, “I could see it in his eyes; he meant every word”
It had been five days since Harry had disappeared, and no one had any idea about where he had gone. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on a search party, much against Lupin’s arguments, and so the Order had checked every plausible hiding-place; Godric’s Hollow, Grimmauld Place, even Privet Drive. Vernon Dursley had nearly had an attack of apoplexy when he had seen Moody, Lupin and Tonks at his front door. The three wizards had, however, ascertained that Harry wasn’t there and that the Dursleys did not know where he was. The Order had even checked with some of the muggle hotels in London but to no avail and by now the search had been given up. Harry had covered his tracks well.
Things had become rather chaotic at the Burrow since it was now the headquarters of the Order. Most of the Order members kept dropping in, some at very odd times. It was during one of the slack times that Hermione sat in the hall trying, yes trying, to read a book on advanced defensive magic. She had spent four days feeling thoroughly miserable as almost everyone in the house had avoided her and Ron had pretended she wasn’t there.
Finally, that morning, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George had decided to play two-a-side Quidditch, more to cheer up Ginny than anything else, and Hermione was trying to use the time to read up a little before their Hogwarts letters arrived. She had read ten pages in two hours, a record for her, and she had just read the same line for a fifth time without understanding it, when there was a loud crack from outside. She didn’t pay much attention to it, thinking it was just another Order member looking in. She was right in a way, for when the door opened, Professor McGonagall was standing on the threshold. McGonagall hadn’t come to the Burrow since the first meeting there. Hermione knew that as Headmistress of Hogwarts, McGonagall had a lot on her plate at the moment, so it came as quite a surprise to see her standing at the door of the Burrow.
“Ah, Ms. Granger, how nice to see you,” said McGonagall, smiling at Hermione, “Molly, good to see you too,” she continued, addressing Mrs. Weasley who had come to see who it was.
“Why, Minerva, this is a pleasant surprise, come in, come in, please. Can I get you anything, tea, pumpkin juice?” asked Mrs. Weasley, looking slightly flustered since she was, after all, addressing her children’s’ new headmistress.
“Some tea would be nice,” said McGonagall settling herself down on a vacant armchair and Mrs. Weasley hurried to make the tea.
Hermione had been rather taken aback by the sudden appearance of McGonagall, which was why she played no part in the previous exchange. When she finally found her voice, she dispensed with greetings and said the first thing she could think of. “Professor, Harry’s gone…”
“I know, Ms. Granger, and that is one of the reasons I am here today. I did intend to come earlier, but unfortunately the arrangements for the reopening of the school rather delayed my visit. But first, there is some other business to be taken care of,” she said, rummaging in the pockets of her cloak, “I have with me, Hogwarts letters for you, Mr. and Ms. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Lovegood. I presume you all are returning to Hogwarts?” she asked, eyeing Hermione sternly.
“I suppose,” said Hermione listlessly.
McGonagall’s face lit up, and it was obvious that she was now bursting with some more stop-press news. “Then it gives me great pleasure to give you this,” she said, and standing up, she solemnly handed over an envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest to Hermione.
Hermione opened the envelope and emptied the contents onto her palm. She knew what it was; a badge of scarlet and gold, with the Hogwarts insignia and the initials HG on it, for Head Girl. She said nothing, no whoop of joy, no tearful thanks; she just stared at it.
“Well I must say that every other Head Girl has reacted with greater enthusiasm on being presented this badge,” said McGonagall, more than a little coldly.
Hermione jumped at the sound of McGonagall’s voice. “Sorry, Professor, I…thank you so much. It’s a great honour,” Hermione mumbled, with no marked increase in enthusiasm.
As McGonagall narrowed her eyes, Hermione asked quickly, “Who’s going to be Head Boy; Ron?”
“I’m afraid not. Mr. Weasley has many wonderful qualities but I’m not too sure that he’d be able to cope with the responsibility of being Head Boy,” replied McGonagall, still eyeing Hermione keenly, “Ernie McMillan will be Head Boy this year.”
“Oh, and Professor Moody has agreed to take on the role of Defence against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. The real Professor Moody,” McGonagall added, with a twinkle in her eye.
Well that isn’t so bad, thought Hermione. She was looking forward to having Moody teaching them. As for Ernie, he could be pompous at times but he did have his head screwed on right. Then a thought struck her and she looked up sharply at McGonagall.
“And what if Harry hadn’t vanished? What if he was coming back to Hogwarts?” she asked sharply.
McGonagall looked impressed. “Very astute, Ms. Granger, yes, I did intend to bestow the responsibilities of Head Boy to Potter. I did, in fact, suspect that he intended to pursue this course of action. I was hoping that I might be able to coax him to stay on with the promise of this role,” she said.
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Hermione simply.
“No? I think you’re right,” replied McGonagall, placing the tips of her fingers together, much as Dumbledore had done, and regarding Hermione over them. “Power has never been much of an incentive to Potter. It is a quality that will be of great value to him on this… mission of his.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley bustling in with a tray bearing two steaming cups of tea, which she handed to Hermione and McGonagall. She made some desultory conversation with McGonagall, mainly dealing with Ron and Ginny’s performance in school. McGonagall assured her that they were doing quite well though Ron needed to put in more work as this was the NEWT year for him. Mrs. Weasley was genuinely pleased that Hermione had been made Head Girl, and McGonagall was saved the rather unpleasant task of telling her that Ron wasn’t Head Boy thanks to a shrill scream from the kitchen.
“Tonks,” Mrs. Weasley explained to them as she rushed away to contain any possible damage, “Brilliant as an Auror, useless in a kitchen.”
Hermione sat staring glumly into the remnants of her teacup, looking to the entire world as if the tealeaves portended a rather gruesome death for her. She didn’t notice McGonagall watching her carefully.
“I spoke to Remus and he told me of your… confrontation, as it were, with Potter, the day he disappeared,” McGonagall said finally. Hermione nodded but said nothing.
“And I agree with him,” continued McGonagall, “You did the right thing.”
Hermione looked around at McGonagall. “Stop” she said, more sharply than she had intended to, and causing McGonagall to spill some tea down the front of her robes.
“I beg you pardon?” asked McGonagall, hastily cleaning it up.
Hermione was looking even more upset. “Please, stop saying that. I know you mean it to help but it doesn’t. If anything it… it’s starting to make me feel worse.”
“Ms. Granger, I know this must be hard on you,” said McGonagall quietly, “But this is what Potter is destined to do and we can’t stop it.”
“Destiny is what we make of it,” Hermione said, quoting something that she had once read.
“Clichéd,” replied McGonagall smiling, and then her voice became more solemn, “I agree that each person’s destiny is unique, and it depends on the person as to what he or she wants it to be. Unfortunately, in Potter’s case, his destiny will be dependent on Lord Voldemort, whether he likes it or not.”
“It’s so unfair. He shouldn’t have to do this,” cried Hermione, almost shouting now.
“True, Ms. Granger, but he does have to, the fate of the whole wizarding world depends on him now,” said McGonagall, trying to be as soothing as she could.
“He’s only seventeen years old; he doesn’t deserve to have this hanging over him. There is so much he needs to learn, so much of life he needs to live.” There was clearly a lot more that Hermione wanted to say only she wasn’t able to put them effectively into words.
“Ms. Granger, often, what we want and what we get are two very different things. It’s not always fair, but it is the reality and we have to deal with it the best we can,” advised McGonagall. Then she continued on a more positive note, “And I personally think that Potter has begun dealing with it. It’s up to us to give him all the support we can.”
And once again Hermione realized that she was being given good advice that was completely wasted on her. She just couldn’t push away the fear that something bad could happen to Harry because she hadn’t stopped him. Knowing also, that this line of conversation wasn’t likely to be very fruitful, Hermione moved to one that she was anxious for clarification on.
“Professor, in his letter, Harry mentioned something about some charms on my parents’ house. What was all that about?” asked Hermione.
McGonagall looked surprised. “Didn’t he tell you? Potter asked Filius to put a Fidelius charm on your parents’ house and clinic. Potter said that Voldemort might try to get to him through yourself and Mr. Weasley, and he wanted to be sure your families were also kept safe. Didn’t Potter tell you that?” she asked again.
It was Hermione’s turn to look astonished. “A Fidelius charm; on my house? That’s very advanced magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and very powerful. Your parents are quite safe, Ms. Granger, never fear,” said McGonagall confidently.
“And who’s the Secret Keeper?” Hermione asked, though she was quite sure of the answer.
“Why, Potter of course,” confirmed McGonagall, “That’s why I’m surprised he hasn’t informed you of this. If Potter does not tell you the location of your house, even you cannot return there.”
It took a moment for the full import of McGonagall’s words to hit her. I can’t go back home, I don’t even know where it is. How can this be, it’s my house? And why didn’t Harry tell me about this, why did he have to hide it?
Hermione’s emotions were in a whirl; she didn’t know whether to be resentful for Harry’s not telling her, or be thankful for what he had done. So she satisfied herself by turning on McGonagall.
“Harry actually got you to put a Fidelius charm on my house, and no one told me about it?” she asked McGonagall, the accusatory tone in her voice very evident.
McGonagall coughed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Yes well, Potter told us that he wanted to tell you himself but apparently he hasn’t. In fact, I believe he originally wanted to talk Scrimgeour into assigning some Aurors to watch over your parents’ house, but he wisely decided against it. That’s why he settled on the Fidelius charm,” she said in a rush.
Hermione’s eyes widened with surprise. “Harry wanted to do all that for me?” she squeaked, “He went through all that to make sure my parents are safe?”
“In case you haven’t noticed Ms. Granger, Potter cares a lot about you,” said McGonagall dryly.
Hermione carried on as if McGonagall hadn’t spoken, “And all this time I thought the reason he wasn’t replying to my letters was because he was still grieving over Professor Dumbledore’s death, while he was actually planning all this.”
“Yes, it’s quite impressive; how meticulously he has laid his plans out,” said McGonagall, looking quite awed by the amount of forethought that Harry had shown, “And I’m sure it will be of great help to him in the future.”
Hermione didn’t reply; instead, she continued to stare unseeing out the door into the middle distance. McGonagall stood up, and walking over to Hermione, she laid her hand on Hermione’s shoulder.
“I also agree with Remus about another thing, Ms. Granger, you must believe in Potter,” said McGonagall quietly, “Keep your faith in him strong, and he will succeed, and even more importantly, he will come back.” McGonagall gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Hermione nodded and turning, she smiled up at McGonagall.
“Well, I need to be going. There is still much to be done ahead of the new term. So I shall see you in school on the first,” said McGonagall briskly.
McGonagall set down her teacup on the table and flashing another encouraging smile at Hermione, she swept from the room and out of the door. As she walked out, she failed to notice a rather grimy figure sidling along the edge of the house. A figure who till she had stood up, had been listening to the conversation through the window. And that figure was looking particularly angry, his scarlet face making a nice match with his flaming red hair.
Unknown to Hermione, miles away, Harry was, at the same moment, standing in her bedroom and staring at her rather awe inspiring collection of books. For the first few days that he had spent at the Grangers’ home, he had felt rather embarrassed about entering her room. But five days of watching television and reading his own spell books had become too monotonous, so he had decided to overcome his hesitation and take a peek in her room, to see if she had anything worth reading. When he had opened the door to her room, his jaw had nearly hit the floor as he beheld the massive number of books she had in the room.
He was now trying to decide which book he should read first. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to have any of her magic books in the room; but then again, Harry could understand that she couldn’t possibly keep magic books out in the open. Resigning himself to the fact that he would have to do with muggle literature till he left the Grangers, he chose a book at random. “Pigs have Wings,” he read aloud from the cover, which had the picture of an enormous black pig. He opened the book at random and started to read.
The House of Godric Gryffindor has always prided courage above all other traits, which is why the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry chooses all Gryffindors based on their ability to stand fast in the face of danger. As is obvious, this reflects on the most well known traits of Godric Gryffindor himself, known for his outstanding courage in the face of adversity.
Harry blinked, staring at the words in shock. Surely this couldn’t be a muggle book if it held references to Godric Gryffindor, and the Sorting Hat, and Hogwarts. He turned back to the cover, which still said Pigs have Wings, and had the same motionless picture of a rather obese pig. For the first time, Harry noticed that it had been written by a Mr. P.G. Wodehouse.
Harry recognized the author; one of his books had been a reading assignment for Dudley. Harry had vivid memories of the book because Dudley, in one of his tantrums, had thrown the book at Harry, and then had been too terrified to ask for it back. Harry had had a pleasant time reading the book till Uncle Vernon had confiscated it. So Harry knew for a fact that Mr. P.G. Wodehouse was not a wizard, nor did he know about Godric Gryffindor. He pulled down another book called Madam Bovary and, turning to a page near the center of the book, he began to read.
Monkshood, Wolfsbane and Aconite are three names of the same plant. This plant is used in the brewing of Wolfsbane potion, aptly named as it is used by people who have been infected by werewolves. A person infected by a werewolf, will also transform into a werewolf at the full moon. A werewolf is an aggressive and dangerous creature and can bring great harm to anyone who crosses its path. If unable to roam freely or attack anyone or anything, a werewolf may even harm itself during the full moon. However, under the influence of the Wolfsbane potion, an infected person will transform into an ordinary wolf, and will not unduly harm anyone during the period of the full moon. The correct mode of brewing Wolfsbane potion is given below.
Harry couldn’t believe his eyes. This was clearly a potions book, yet outwardly it looked like a muggle book. Suddenly, Harry threw back his head and laughed.
“Got to hand it to you, Hermione,” he said, addressing the room in general, “you’ve done it again.”
She had somehow worked out a way to transfigure the magical books to resemble muggle books, so that any muggles looking through her library would be none the wiser. Harry was sure she had also put charms on the books so that any muggles picking the books up would be unable to see their true contents. Still chuckling, he replaced the book he held in his hand and went back to the first book he had picked up, which he strongly suspected was actually, Hogwarts: A History. He returned to his room and reclining on his bed, he began to read it for the first time.