Chapter Three

Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.

-Lilo and Stitch

Amy sat in the floor, ignoring the man, Andrew Porter, on the phone line. How? How can they be dead? Amy spoke to them not two hours ago. How can they be dead? How will Hermione-Hermione! Oh my goodness, how will Hermione take this? Does she have any family left? Will she go to an orphanage? Amy's heart ached for the oblivious girl she was babysitting. She absent-mindedly brushed a curl out of Hermione's face. The girl mumbled something indistinguishable in her sleep. It sounded suspiciously like "Mum".

This was too much for the sixteen-year-old. She shoved a fist into her mouth to keep her sobs from waking Hermione. The Grangers had been friends of her parents for ages, ever since the newlywed couple moved into her neighborhood eight years ago, and it broke her heart.

"Hello? Miss Kilmon? Hello, are you still there? Hello?" The policeman's voice cut through her thoughts. Amy cleared her throat

and answered him, hoping her voice wouldn't crack.

"Yes, I'm still here. Wh-what am I supposed to do? Hermione's asleep, and I don't know what to do!" She wailed, feeling scared, panicked, confused and sad all at the same time. It was quite an odd feeling, a voice noted in the back of her head.

"I need you to come to the station and answer a few questions. Hermione is Mr. and Mrs. Granger's daughter, right?" He asked, still sounding stern but also gentler.

"Yes," she twiddled with the phone cord to keep busy.

The officer sighed, sounding older and more weary. "Please, take her to your parents or another trusted adult. I would rather not have to explain to her where her parents are. At least not until we locate any other relatives that would take her in."

"Of course," Amy swallowed again. "I'll take her to my parents' house. They'll watch her for a while."

"Good. It would be best for you to come to the station as soon as you can."

"Give me thirty minutes. I should be there by then," Amy stated, staring at the still-sleeping Hermione.

Amy's parents were extremely upset at the news, and her mother insisted to keep Hermione at the house. Amy managed to transfer Hermione to her house without waking her, which was a miracle in and of itself.

Now Amy's father drove her to the police station. They were both quiet, contemplating life and death.

"Amy, are you okay?" Her father broke the sudden silence.

"Honestly, Dad, I don't know. Not three hours ago, Emma and David were alive. I talked to them. They hugged Hermione. How can they be dead?"

Her dad sighed. "Honey, that's just part of life. I'm upset, too, but death is part of life."

"Life sucks."

"I know."

They lapsed back into silence until they arrived at the station, where Amy was promptly escorted into a questioning room. She couldn't help but feel like a criminal as she stared at the two-way glass. She waited for a few minutes until a person in a uniform came in from the only door. She stared at him, scrutinizing everything about him, from his slightly balding head, to his scuffed shoes, to his shirt pulled tight over a pudgy beer belly.

"I believe we talked on the phone earlier, Miss Kilmon. I'm Police Chief Andrew Porter." He introduced himself politely.

Amy nodded her head. She didn't know what to say, so she just stayed quiet.

Mr. Porter cleared his throat. "Well, we know that the accident was just that: an accident. From witnesses, we gathered that a drunk driver crashed into their car as they were pulling out of a restaurant parking lot. The impact killed the driver and Mr. Granger instantly. Mrs. Granger was fatally wounded, but she managed to hang on until the paramedics arrived. She told them she had a daughter and a great aunt. She said, and I quote, 'send Hermione to Aunt Minerva. She'll be safe there.' Do you know who this Aunt Minerva is?"

"Mrs. Granger mentioned an aunt one time. I think her name was McGonagall or something like that. Now that I think about it, her first name might be Minerva," Amy stated; her face was contorted into an expression that showed she was thinking long and hard.

The chief smiled slightly, looking pale. "Do you happen to know where Ms. McGonagall lives or works? If you do, finding Hermione a home will be a lot simpler."

"I have no idea. I know Dan said something about Pigwarts or something," Amy blushed, feeling foolish.

Andrew paled even more until he was ashen. "Do you mean Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, that's it!" Amy exclaimed, happy to have remembered.

"Thank you, Miss Kilmon. That's all I need at the moment. You can leave now," Andrew said, feeling a bizarre range of emotions he thought weren't physically possible before today. Why, why, why did the school have to be Hogwarts? The same school where his mother taught? Minerva McGonagall, the woman who abandoned him when he was eight years old...

Minerva McGonagall was grading her first years' Transfiguration papers on how to transfigure a mouse into a teacup when a piece of parchment appeared on her desk. She frowned; it was from the Ministry. She opened it warily and began reading.

To: Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor of Transfiguration

Ms. McGonagall, we regret to inform you that your niece, Mrs. Emma Jean Granger, and her husband, Mr. David Gerald Granger, have passed away. They are survived by their only daughter, Hermione Jean Granger. You are Miss Granger's only living relative, and, as such, her guardian.

If you wish for her to go to a muggle orphanage, please inform the Head of Magical Adoption at the Ministry as soon as possible.

If you choose to accept her as your magical responsibility, owl the Head of Magical Adoption and you will get a notification by owl in two-four days, asking you to come to the Ministry to legalize your guardianship of Miss Granger. Likewise, you will need to collect the child as soon as possible.

Have a pleasant day,

Cornelious Fudge, Minister of Magic

Minerva's heart clenched painfully. Her eyes watered as she roughly shoved the papers to the side. She felt a tightness in her throat and swallowed loudly.

With shaking hands, Minerva grabbed a clean piece of parchment off of her desk and scribbled out a letter to the Head of Magical Adoption, Natalia Smyth. She called her owl, Anastasia, and tied the letter to her leg.

Minerva stood up and paced. What was she going to do? Now Hermione only had her, a great aunt she probably doesn't know exists! How is Hermione going to take it? How is she going to explain to Hermione that her parents are dead?How is she going to raise a six year old? The last time she was the guardian of a young child..No. Minerva refused to think about Andrew. It won't happen again, she vowed to herself.

The Transfiguration professor squared her shoulders. The best thing to do now is gather Hermione, she told herself resolutely. Then she can worry about the rest. Minerva left her office with a slightly faster than usual pace; she needed to find Albus and explain to the old Headmaster the situation.

She contemplated the circumstances. Either Hermione will be magical or muggle. Hopefully, the child will be magical; Minerva didn't want to have to explain how so many people could do magic and Hermione couldn't. She knew how hard it could be to be the odd one out. Before Hogwarts, Minerva always considered herself different. Not a good type of different, either. Her mother always told her she was normal, but her sister made sure she knew she was not. If she was normal, why could she make flowers bloom out of season, why could she make things explode when she was angry, why could she do so many things normal children could not?

Minerva gave a start as she noticed the gargoyle waiting patiently for her to recite the password. How was she at Albus' office already? Minerva shook her head slightly to clear it.

"Licorice wands." The stone behemoth moved out of the way and she climbed up the spiral staircase, eager to speak with the headmaster.

Albus greeted her from his desk. "Minnie, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a grim," he said, concerned.

"My niece and her husband were involved in an accident and they...passed away. I am their daughter's only living relative and I must take her in. I'm going to collect her now, actually," Minerva managed to speak with her voice cracking only slightly.

"Oh, Minnie. This truly is terrible. Use my floo. It will be quicker than walking to the apparation point," Albus offered, looking upset.

"Thank you, Albus," she said gratefully.

Harry opened his eyes with a groan. He jumped in surprise when he noticed he was no longer in his cupboard, but instead in a big, bright, white room. There were a few other people here, and most of them were kids in beds. All of the kids are wearing dresses, even the boys, Harry noted with amusement.

He noticed a woman in a long dress looking after a student in one bed. Harry could hear he muttering, "I have told him and told him...always playing Quidditch...even in the storm...honestly!" She kept muttering and paying him no attention, so Harry decided it was safe to relax, if only slightly. He wondered about Quidditch, but he didn't dare speak up. The first survival rule in the Dursley household: Don't ask questions.

It was then Harry decided to take stock of his injuries, like he always did after a beating. His mouth tasted bad, but that was nothing new. His stomach ached slightly, and he was surprised it didn't hurt as much as it usually did after being punished.

Harry watched the woman curiously. She was going around the other end of the room, looking at other kids. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable. The bed squeaked and he froze. The woman looked over at him, an expression on her face that looked like Aunt Petunia when Dudley was sick. She started over to him and he tensed, hoping she would ignore him. As she neared his bed, he shrunk into the covers and closed his eyes, hoping the woman couldn't see him.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?" The woman asked authoritatively.

Harry opened his eyes tentatively and whispered, "Fine, ma'am." He stared at her, trying to decide if she would hurt him or not.

She smiled. "Good."

Harry said nothing, still watching her. The woman had blonde hair like Aunt Petunia, but that was where the similarities ended. This woman had a plump, kind face and warm brown eyes, where Aunt Petunia had a thin face and cold blue eyes. She was also a round woman with a soft-looking body. Aunt Petunia was extremely skinny and had sharp-looking edges everywhere. The woman smiled at him and reached to fluff his pillow. Harry flinched, expecting a blow. She frowned and he flinched again, burrowing deeper into the blanket.

"Mr. Potter, I will be right back. I'll have someone who wants to see you with me. Is that okay with you?" She spoke slowly to him, hoping to keep him calm.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered again. He really didn't want to see anyone, but he said yes, hoping she wouldn't hurt him if he agreed.


Hi, guys...awkward... So, excuses for not updating: summer homework for AP classes, babysitting, a trip to the ER(long story), studying for my permit, life...

p.s. (from aƩropostale-sorry couldn't help myself) unicorns are awesome.

p.p.s. I'll try to make longer chapters, but no promises