Professor Slughorn sat down in his office, below most of the castle, one spring evening. He was preparing his fifth year students for their O.W.L examinations, and had been browsing through the work of old students. He stumbled upon two files, strange opposites. Still, he put them down together on his desk because the more he thought about it, the more he thought that these two former students of his were very similar indeed.
Both women were currently away from Hogwarts, fighting tirelessly for their separate causes. Hermione Granger was with Harry Potter, doing some secret work for Dumbledore to help defeat Voldemort. Slughorn had an inkling of what that work might be, and he felt familiar regret creep up into his chest. He swallowed it down with a swig of firewhiskey and looked back down to the student files on his desk. Ah yes, Miss Granger and Miss Lestrange. Bellatrix, he doubtlessly knew, was fighting for Voldemort, after serving years and years in Azkaban. He shuddered at the thought. He liked the girl.
He remembered both girls in his potions class. Each would raise their right hand, strong and proud, each time he asked a question. He couldn't remember either of them ever answering a question wrong. Both would stir their potions with their curly hair coming down in front of their faces, obscuring their vision but never their concentration. Each girl preferred to work alone, he remembered, and when given a partner, would rarely allow them to do much work.
Outside of class, he knew both girls to be sort of outsiders. They were well known of course, but Bellatrix was proud and outspoken, and Hermione had a know-it-all reputation, so each girl lacked many friends. Still, Slughorn drew another parallel. Bellatrix was constantly with her classmates Rodolphus Lestrange and Evan Rosier. Hermione, he well knew, was best friends with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
He remembered how both girls loved to read, constantly finding them in the library with their nose in a book that looked older than Dumbledore. He thought about how they were popular among their teachers, himself included. They were both members of his Slug Club, a collective group of his most inspiring students.
You forget, said a voice in his head, that one was practicing unforgivables while the other was perfecting her patronus and healing charms.
Slughorn sunk into an armchair by his fireplace. He thought about the girls once they left school and sighed. Both had gotten swept up in enormous causes as soon as they became of age. Bellatrix flocked to Voldemort's side, fighting for him in the First War, and getting herself thrown into prison at its end. They say she went crazy in there. He hoped it wasn't so. He had only seen her once since she'd gotten out, while he was in Knockturn Alley procuring some potions supplies. She looked tired and emaciated, yet still stunning in a strange way. He had glimpsed her darting into a store, glancing back and forth to make sure she wasn't recognized. He felt the strangest urge to follow her, to talk to her, but he stopped himself.
His mind drifted to Hermione. She was now out with Harry and Ron, doing a dangerous task for Dumbledore. He had no idea where she might be, or what exactly she might be doing. She still had a year at Hogwarts left, which she had sacrificed in order to do the work of the Order. He hadn't seen her since the last day of her sixth year. He felt sad for these two girls, who had given up the end of their childhood to their causes.
In fact Bellatrix had given her entire life to her cause, and what it gave back to her was a passion for cruelty, a sadistic master who showed no mercy, and a loss of fourteen years of her life to a prison filled with vile dementors. He didn't know how she could keep fighting for His side, yet in his heart he knew she would be loyal to Voldemort until she died.
He was grateful that Hermione hadn't fallen to Voldemort's side, although it was never really a concern of his. He just worried for her life, fighting against the Death Eaters and Voldemort. He couldn't see her leaving her cause either until the day she died. Slughorn sighed. He saw the same passion fueling them, from either side of the divide that kept them apart.
Although they came through his classroom thirty years apart, he still couldn't believe the strange parallels between his students. He stared at the fire for several more minutes, thinking about the girls.
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