Harry let the Cloak go, and it passed from his hands to hers.
“It sings,” Hermione said. “It’s singing to me.” She reached up, and wiped at her own eyes. “I can’t believe you did that, Harry.”
Harry’s other hand came out of his pouch, now bearing a long golden chain, at the end of which dangled a closed golden shell. “And this is your personal time machine.”
There was a pause, during which the planet Earth rotated a bit further in its orbit.
“What?” said Hermione.
“A Time-Turner, they call it. Hogwarts has a stock they give out to some students, I got one at the start of the year to treat my sleep disorder. It lets the user go backwards in time, in up to six one-hour increments, which I used to get six extra hours per day to study. And to vanish out of Potions class and so on. Don’t worry, a Time-Turner can’t change history or generate paradoxes that destroy the universe.”
“You were keeping up with me in lessons by studying six extra hours per day using a time machine.” Hermione Granger seemed to be having trouble with this concept for some unaccountable reason.
Harry made his face look puzzled. “Is there something odd about that?”
Hermione reached out and took the golden necklace. “I guess not by wizard standards,” she said. For some reason her voice sounded rather sharp. She arranged the chain around her neck, placing the hourglass inside her shirt. “I do feel better now about keeping up with you, though, so thank you for that.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Also, since Voldemort wiped out the House of Monroe and then, so far as everyone believes, you avenged them by killing Voldemort, I got Amelia Bones to railroad a bill through what’s left of the Wizengamot, saying that Granger is now a Noble House of Britain.” “Excuse me?” said Hermione.
“That also makes you the only scion of a Noble House, which means that to get your legal majority you just need to pass your Ordinary Wizarding Levels, which I’ve set us up to do at the end of the summer so we’ll have some time to study first. If you’re okay with that, I mean.”
Hermione Granger was making some sort of high-pitched noise that would, in a less organic device, have indicated an engine malfunction. “I have two months to study for my O.W.L.S?”
“Hermione, it’s a test designed so that most fifteen-year-olds can pass. Ordinary fifteen year-olds. We can get a passing grade with a low thirdyear’s power level if we learn the right set of spells, and that’s all we need for our majorities. Though you’ll need to come to terms with getting Acceptable scores instead of your usual Outstandings.”
The high-pitched noises coming from Hermione Granger rose in pitch.
“Here’s your wand back.” Harry took it from his pouch. “And your mokeskin pouch, I made sure they put back everything that was there when you died.” That pouch Harry withdrew from a normal pocket of his robes, since he was reluctant to put a bag of holding inside a bag of holding no matter what was supposed to be harmless so long as both devices had been crafted observing all safety precautions.
Hermione took her wand back, and then her pouch, the motions somehow managing to look graceful even though her fingers were a bit shaky.
“Let’s see, what else… the oath you swore before to House Potter only said you had to serve until ‘the day you die’, so you’re now free and clear. And right after your death I got the Malfoys to publicly declare that you were innocent of all charges in Draco’s attempted murder.”
“Why, thank you again, Harry,” said Hermione Granger. “That was very nice of you, and them too, I guess.” She was repeatedly running her fingers through her chestnut curls, as though, by organizing her hair, she could restore sanity to her life.
“Last but not least, I had the goblins start the process of building a vault in Gringotts for House Granger,” Harry said. “I didn’t put any money into it, because that was something where I could wait and ask you first. But if you’re going to be a superhero who goes around righting certain kinds of wrongs, it will help a lot if people consider you to be part of the upper social strata and, um, I think it may help if they know you can afford lawyers. I can put in as much gold into your vault as you want, since after Voldemort killed Nicholas Flamel, I ended up holding the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“I feel like I ought to be fainting,” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice, “only I can’t because of my superpowers and why do I have those again?”
“If it’s all right with you, your Occlumency lessons will start on Wednesday with Mr. Bester, he can work with you once per day. Until then, I think it might be better for the true origin of your powers not to become known just because a Legilimens looks you in the eyes. I mean, obviously there’s a normal magical explanation, nothing supersupernatural, but people do tend to worship their own ignorance and, well, I think the Girl-Who-Revived will be more effective if you remain mysterious. Once you can keep out Mr. Bester and beat Veritaserum, I’ll tell you the entire backstory, I promise, including all the secrets you can never tell anyone else.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Hermione Granger. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”
“Though you’ll need to take an Unbreakable Vow to not do anything that might destroy the world before I can tell you the more dangerous parts of the story. I mean, I literally can’t tell you otherwise, because I took an Unbreakable Vow myself. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” said Hermione. “Why shouldn’t it be okay? I wouldn’t want to destroy the world anyhow.”
“Do you need to sit down again?” Harry said, feeling alarmed by the way Hermione was swaying slightly, as though in rhythm with the words being spoken.
Hermione Granger took several deep breaths. “No, I’m perfectly peachy,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
“That was it. I’m finished, at least for now.” Harry paused. “I do understand that you want to do things for yourself, not just have them done for you. It’s just… you’re going to be a more serious kind of hero, and the only sane choice is for me to give you all the advantages I can manage—”
“I understand that quite well,” Hermione said. “Now that I’ve actually lost a fight and died. I didn’t used to understand, but now I do.” A breeze ruffled Hermione’s chestnut hair and stirred her robes, making her look even more peaceful in the dawn air, as she raised one hand and carefully clenched it into a fist. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. We need to measure how hard I can punch, and how high I can jump, and figure out a safe way to test if my fingernails can kill Lethifolds like a real unicorn’s horn, and I should practice using my speed to dodge spells I can’t let hit me and… and it sounds like you could maybe arrange for me to get Auror training, like from whoever taught Susan Bones.” Hermione was smiling again now, a strange light in her eyes that would’ve puzzled Dumbledore for hours and that Harry understood immediately, not without a twinge of apprehension. “Oh! And I want to start carrying Muggle weapons, maybe hidden so nobody knows I have them. I thought of incendiary grenades when I was fighting the troll, but I knew I couldn’t Transfigure them fast enough, even after I stopped caring about obeying the rules.”
“I have the feeling,” Harry said, imitating Professor McGonagall’s Scottish accent as best he could, “that I ought to be doing something about this.”
“Oh, it’s much, much, MUCH too late for that, Mr. Potter. Say, can you get me a bazooka? The rocket launcher, I mean, not the chewing gum? I bet they won’t be expecting that from a young girl, especially if I’m radiating an aura of innocence and purity.”