If You Want a Thing Done Right, Do It Yourself

Chapter 2: If You Want a Thing Done Right, Do it Yourself

Hermione spent the better part of two weeks leafing through Hogwarts, A History at bedtime, reveling in the comfort it brought her.

The consensus among the extended Weasley family remained that Ron was a moron of the First Order, although she'd managed to convince everyone that there were deeper issues involved and not a simple case of stupidity. Harry had gone to talk to him and reported that Ron was physically well but emotionally floundering. Hermione's first thought was to attempt to convince her husband to visit St. Mungo's, then remembered that she'd probably have no more success with this plea than when she'd asked him to go for fertility testing. Arthur was frankly embarrassed and apologized to Hermione for his son's behaviour. Hermione would have none of it.

"It's not your fault, Arthur. You need not apologize."

"He's acting like an irresponsible adolescent," Arthur pointed out, clearly upset by his youngest son's actions. "You don't deserve to be treated like this, Hermione. Ron loves you, I'm sure of it."

"Ron loves all of us," Hermione said gently. "He's only trying to find his way right now." And having said that, she realized that she truly believed it. It was the first step in finding her way out of her own emotional morass.

What if, she thought one night as she crawled beneath the covers, Ron finds his way, but it doesn't include me?

It wasn't a happy notion, but she was able to push it aside when she opened her book and began to read.

* * *

"Excuse me."

The elderly clerk at Flourish and Blotts jerked his head upright at the sound of Hermione's voice. "Yes, madam?"

Hermione smiled politely. The man had been asleep behind a stack of books, obviously not expecting someone to interrupt his solitude. "The lady at the front desk said that you might be able to help me."

"Of course. How may I be of assistance?"

"I'm looking for the latest copy of Hogwarts, A History."

"It should be on the shelves in the history section."

The man gave every appearance of wanting her to leave so that he could resume his nap. Hermione's smile became a little more pained.

"I know. I've just come from there. You see, the copies on the shelves are the same edition as the one I have at home. I wanted to buy a more up-to-date version."

"Which edition do you own, madam?"

"I believe it's the twenty-third or twenty-fourth. It was published in 1929."

"Ah. That is the latest edition, then."

"It is? Why?" Hermione was aghast. Considering the fact that the British wizarding world had been through numerous upheavals since 1929, how could the publishers have neglected to update it?

"It's updated every century, madam. You may expect the next edition in the year 2022." The gentleman returned his attention to the books in front of him as if hoping she'd take the hint and leave him alone.

"But – that's irresponsible!" Hermione spluttered.

The elderly man looked up once more, clearly affronted by this charge against the literary world. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, not meaning a word of it.

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance. "Thank you," she said stiffly. She walked back to the history section of the bookstore, muttering inwardly that the Muggle sector definitely had the upper hand in this instance; such laxness would never be tolerated there. Annoyed, she hunted for and found Modern Magical History, a book she'd read prior to her first year at Hogwarts. She leafed through the first few pages and found 'Sixty-Eighth Edition, printed 1989.'

Nineteen-eighty-nine?

Hermione cast the book aside and immediately hunted down The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. And discovered that both books ended with the infant Harry Potter vanquishing Lord Voldemort.

"Excuse me."

The elderly man lifted his head, displeased to find an annoyed Hermione Granger standing in front of him once more.

"Yes, madam?"

"These books have not been updated in quite a while, sir." She held them out accusingly.

The prospects of a good nap faded into thin air. The man contemplated Hermione sadly. "Perhaps madam would have better luck finding what she wants in the archives of The Daily Prophet?"

"Look, Mister – ah –"

"Blotts."

"Blotts?" Hermione echoed faintly. "You're one of the proprietors?"

"The sole proprietor, as Eugenia Flourish-Digsworth passed on some sixty years ago." Mr. Blotts rose to his feet.

"Oh." Hermione was torn between chastising the man for stocking outdated books and praising him for operating, what had been to her, a little piece of heaven.

"Am I to understand that you believe our selection to be less than current?"

"Well... yes," Hermione admitted. "Quite frankly, I'm astounded that these books have not been re-edited to include information on the wizarding war of the last decade."

"Wizarding history is generally best viewed over a broad canvas. While the late unpleasantness with that Dark Lord --" Blotts hesitated, looking as though he would rather be hexed senseless than say the name.

"Voldemort," Hermione supplied through gritted teeth.

"Quite so," he said, relieved at not having to pronounce the name personally. "While it is certainly noteworthy, only time will tell as to its impact on history as a whole."

Hermione's jaw dropped abruptly. "Noteworthy? Excuse me?"

Blotts was beginning to appear desperate. "Madam?"

"I lost friends in that war, and you call it noteworthy?"

Her voice was loud enough to attract the attention of several nearby customers. Blotts fell back into his seat, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and scribbled something upon it.

"Here," he said, thrusting the paper towards her, "is the name of the publishers of the books you mentioned. Perhaps you would care to speak with them directly?"

And leave me alone, Hermione finished for him. "Thank you," she said, taking the parchment and glancing at it before tucking it into a pocket of her robes. She strode out of the bookstore, certain that old Mr. Blotts was quite relieved to have gotten rid of her.

Hermione used the Public Floo to return to the Ministry, feeling as if she'd wasted a good portion of her lunch hour for nothing. Instead of taking the lift to her office in the International Magical Office of Law, she took the stairs down to the Second Level and Auror Headquarters.

"Oh, good, you're in." With only that as preamble, she dropped into the spare chair in Harry Potter's cubicle.

Harry, who had just taken a large bite of a roast beef sandwich, regarded his friend with mild surprise. "S'up?" he mumbled.

"I've just come from Flourish and Blotts," Hermione announced.

Harry finished chewing, swallowed his food, and washed it down with a sip of tea from a large mug. "Earth-shattering news," he stated. "Imagine that: you, of all people, going to Flourish and Blotts."

Hermione ignored his sarcasm. "Refresh my memory, Harry... Were we, or were we not, involved in a wizarding war during our time at Hogwarts?"

"Sounds familiar," he said dryly, leaning back in his chair. "Is there a point to all this?"

"The point," Hermione said, her voice brimming with indignation, "is that the war may have made the papers, but it didn't make the books."

It was the righteous anger that Harry had seen her display a million times before – the same righteous anger that usually meant Hermione Granger was making a mountain out of a molehill. The same righteous anger that meant that Hermione Granger was about to take on a Project. "Enlighten me, would you?"

"I've been re-reading Hogwarts, A History. And don't say, 'What else is new?'" she warned him. "I've been so upset about Ron that I've not been sleeping well, and I didn't want to take potions if I could help it, so I thought that perhaps some light reading at bedtime might --"

"Hermione..."

"All right, fine," she snapped. "Anyway, I decided to drop by Flourish and Blotts and pick up the latest edition. It turns out that it's only updated once a century. Then I looked for some of the other books I'd read on wizarding history, and they've not been updated, either. They all still have you as a baby with a mysterious scar."

Harry regarded his friend benignly for a moment, then said, "Mind if I keep eating my lunch?"

"Of course not, but Harry, here's the thing," Hermione persisted. "I spoke with old Mr. Blotts himself, and he referred to the war as 'the late unpleasantness with the Dark Lord.' We were nearly killed on more than one occasion, and he's acting as though it was something you could sweep under the rug!"

"But that's always been the attitude, Hermione," Harry reminded her. "That whole thing about not saying Voldemort's name. No one wanting to believe that he had returned. Most people wanting to hide out rather than fight. That's how most of the wizarding world has approached anything ugly: sweep it under the rug, put it into a dark cupboard, pretend it's not there. That's why this whole department is so bloody huge," he said, waving his arm in a wide arc. "We handle the stuff that's been swept under the rug so that witches and wizards all over Britain can go to sleep at night and pretend that it doesn't exist."

Hermione scowled. "I suppose so. But it's still not right."

"No. It's not." Harry bit off another piece of sandwich.

"What bothers me is that it's as if we risked life and limb for nothing."

Still chewing, he raised an eyebrow in response. Hermione continued.

"It's an insult to everybody who fought in the war. I don't care about having my name in a history book. And I know they handed out medals and citations immediately afterwards. I just want everyone to get the respect that he or she is due. Not bothering to update the history books is sort of a slap in the face."

Harry swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. "Why don't you do something about it? Write an article to the editors of the Daily Prophet."

Hermione was thoughtful. "That's good for a start. And Mr. Blotts gave me the name of the publishers of the books. I think I'll write them a few letters, too.

"Good idea." Harry raised his mug to take a sip of tea, then paused, a grin on his face. "There were no books about me, huh?"

"I didn't check the Biography section. I can't imagine there would be, after that horrible business with Rita Skeeter."

At the war's end, Rita had announced her intention to write a biography of Harry Potter. When Harry had flatly refused to cooperate, the reporter retaliated by writing a book of her memoirs, which focused heavily on past interviews with The Boy Who Lived, as well as interviews with other unprincipled opportunists (primarily Slytherins who had known Harry at Hogwarts). There had been an ugly few months of mud-slinging when the book came out, finally ending when Rufus Scrimgeour was caught with his hand in the till at the Ministry, providing the wizarding world with a different scandal on which to focus.

"Glad to hear it."

Hermione chewed on her lip. "We all gave some interviews, didn't we? To the newspapers and the like?" The British press had wanted to talk to them, as had representatives from foreign wizarding papers and magazines.

Harry nodded. "I think they tried to talk to all the people who looked as if they had a hand in Voldemort's downfall. I even recall seeing somebody interviewing Filch, of all people. Why do you ask?"

"I just don't understand why someone hasn't written an accurate history of the war. Wouldn't you think someone would want to read it? There's that old maxim about 'those who don't heed history are doomed to repeat it' and all. We were part of history, for heaven's sake. Doesn't it matter? It's an absolute insult to Albus Dumbledore's memory if we allow this to go on, Harry!"

"True." Harry leaned back in his chair and studied Hermione thoughtfully. "Why don't you write it?"

"What?" Stunned, she sat bolt upright in her chair. "You're joking, right?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Am I? You're right in that someone should take it upon themselves to write an accurate account of the war. It should be someone who was intimately involved in it so that the truth can be known. You don't want a revisionist historian trying to make Voldemort look like a victim because of his horrific childhood or something."

"But Harry, I've never – I mean, I've written papers for work, but --"

"You interview the people involved and summarize their stories and string them all together. How hard can that be?"

Hermione was looking as dazed as if she'd been hit in the head by a large object. "Me... write a book...?"

"Why not? You love to read. Seems to me that the two are connected somehow."

"Harry," she began, laughing nervously, "that's – that's –"

"That's what? Possible?"

She stared at him wonderingly. "I don't know. Let me think about it, all right?"

"Fair enough." Harry rested his elbows on his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded his friend. "You know that you're capable of doing anything you set your mind to, Hermione."

It felt like a gust of fresh wind was blowing through her soul. Hermione felt her skin tingle with anticipation. "All right, then. I'll – let you finish your lunch then," she said, climbing to her feet. "And... and I'll think about it."

"Have a good afternoon," Harry said, winking at her.

A silly smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I think I just might."

* * *

She accomplished virtually nothing that afternoon. Hermione's current work assignment had her dealing with a trade agreement with Italian wizards, yet try as hard as she might, her mind kept wandering back to Harry's suggestion. Finally, when her department head left early for the day, Hermione pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and a fresh quill.

And sat staring at it. How in the world did one start a book?

When she'd spent fifteen minutes immobilized into inaction, Hermione decided to simply make notes about how she might proceed.

1. Write detailed timeline of war

2. Determine key figures in war

3. Interview participants

4. Each interview as chapter?

She stared at her list, pleased with her progress so far. Key figures... Who were the key figures in the war? Harry, of course... herself... Ron... nearly all of the Weasleys... Dumbledore, except he was dead...

Hermione made a face. The most likely persons to speak for Dumbledore would be McGonagall and Snape. It would be pleasant talking to Minerva again, but Snape... Chances were good that the man would flat out refuse to cooperate, so there was little point in worrying about him. Anyway, Hermione thought, she had no idea where to find him. As far as she knew, no one had heard from him since the trial.

The main thing Hermione recalled from Snape's trial was Harry. When the verdict of 'Not Guilty of Treason by Way of Extenuating Factors' was announced, Harry had leapt to his feet, demanding to know why justice had been perverted. It had taken both Weasley twins, along with herself and Ron, to remove him from the courtroom. Outside, the press pounced on them, and Harry left no doubt in anyone's mind that, in his opinion, Severus Snape should have received the same life sentence as every other Death Eater who'd been tried thus far.

Perhaps Minerva could provide her with the information she'd need. Perhaps she wouldn't need to talk to Snape after all.