The Anti-Heroine || A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter XXXVIII

CHAPTER XXXVIII:

Harry's POV:

Harry was glad to finally reach the Great Hall, which looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry and Hermione walked past the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Slytherins at the far side of the Hall, in the seats saved for them next to Daphne and Tracey.

"You two alright?" Blaise asked, his dark eyes sweeping over them both, as if searching for injuries, or at least any sign that things were amiss.

"Been better." Harry said, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Has the Sorting started yet?"

"No, McGonagall and Dumbledore aren't here. Sprout's having to look after all the firsties."

"Yes well, they might be a while. When we left McGonagall was tearing Dumbledore a new arsehole." Hermione snorted. Blaise whistled.

"She's changed her tune– I thought she hated you."

"She did." Hermione said, frowning. "I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. We're meeting her tomorrow, so we'll find out then, I suppose. She's set up a new policy, banning Dumbledore from having any contact with me."

"Did he yell at you for stabbing him with the broken wineglass?" Draco asked, causing Blaise to choke while taking a sip of water, and Theo had to whack him on the back. Tracey and Daphne were both laughing, and even Parkinson looked amused.

"Worse," Hermione said, with a genuine shudder. "He tried to adopt me– had Fudge there and everything with paperwork."

"The fuck?" Blaise said, loudly, gaining several glares by the professors on the end of the staff table nearest them who overheard his swearing.

"Don't worry, she already had a plan in place." Harry assured them, when it looked like Hermione was too pissed to explain. "Her, er, uncle is filing for custody."

Their Slytherin friends were all still unaware of the fact Hermione was a muggleborn, a lie that Harry would be very happy if it was never, ever exposed– ever. Despite his quite reasonable anxiety about bloody Voldemort play-acting as Hermione's uncle, he was pleased that Hermione would now have "evidence" that she wasn't a Muggleborn.

"Her uncle?" Parkinson practically pounced on his words, like he knew she would. "I thought you didn't know your parents, Granger?"

"He tracked me down. Turns out my mother was a squib. He didn't even know I existed until recently." Hermione said, and Harry was confused by her eyes flicking over to Draco's before she said, almost reluctantly, "Thaddeus Dagworth got into contact with me two years ago."

It was Draco's turn to choke, though he didn't even have the excuse of having been drinking something. Instead he just looked... well, his expression was something between horror, terror and awe. Harry turned to Hermione, raising an eyebrow, while Theo thumped Draco's back and Blaise filled up a goblet with water and pushed it into the blond's hand.

"He knows." Hermione muttered, her voice low enough so only he heard her. Harry's eyes bugged out.

"He knows who 'Thaddeus' really is?" he asked in a strained whisper.

"I didn't tell him, he figured it out." Hermione grimaced. "We weren't careful enough."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Demanded Parkinson to Hermione, once Draco had finally stopped coughing and she could talk with having to raise her voice in order to be heard from across the table.