A/N: How did the Basilisk attack on Hermione and Penelope unfold? And what was Professor McGonagall doing before she had to give Ron and Harry the terrible news of Hermione's Petrification? I've explored some of these themes before, and there is some great quality fanfic out there that also speculates this, but with a few more years' experience writing fanfiction, I thought I'd rewrite and improve this scene. Also stayed tuned for amusing cameos from Lockhart and Madam Pince, some slight suggestions of embryonic awkward feelings towards Ron, what it feels like to be Petrified, and how Hermione reacts when she finds out how it all unfolded. Enjoy!
PS: If the fic creeps you out in places, then I've succeeded. Writing parts of it at night was a mistake!
Monster at the Library Gates
For Minerva, nothing cheered her up more than Quidditch. Especially when it looked like Gryffindor would finally win the blasted Cup at long last. And she knew that for the majority of students, it was a welcome relief from the clutches of paranoia that had gripped Hogwarts over the past year. She knew that right now, Harry would be getting ready for the game - and she felt no shortage of pride in the boy's accomplishments. If only his father could see him fly….
Her thoughts were rudely cut off by a whirl of garish lilac robes.
"Hello Minerva!" came the perpetually chirpy voice of Gilderoy Lockhart. Scowling, Minerva looked at her former student with what she hoped was a neutral expression. "Gilderoy," she greeted stiffly. "Had a good morning?"
"Marvelous," replied her vainglorious colleague with enthusiasm, rocking on the balls of his feet, though Minerva noticed his smile, as ever, never truly reached his eyes. He frowned slightly as he stared at the wall beside Minerva. "Say, Minerva, might I point out your water pipes may be in need of some expert repairmanship? They were particularly bad around beside my office last October – could barely concentrate on my fan-mail and homework marking with the racket at times!"
Minerva raised an eyebrow, her mouth forming a thin line. As Deputy Headmistress, harsh criticism of Hogwarts bordered on the personal for her, especially from the mouth of someone as academically lazy as Gilderoy Lockhart. "I'll be sure to raise it with the Headmaster," she said primly. "And…."
"And Minerva." Lockhart cut over her as if he hadn't heard her. "Please be sure to pass on my expertise to Professor Dumbledore. It could be an infestation of some sort causing the hissing and the damage. Three years ago, as a matter of fact, I was in America on a book tour, and was able to drop by at Ilvermorny to help them clean up a Doxy infestation from their plumbing. Of course, Durmstrang and Castelobruxo's faculties all ordered my latest pest-control book immediately afterwards! I-"
"Thank you Gilderoy," acknowledged Minerva, rolling her eyes. Typically, Lockhart didn't notice as he turned away from McGonagall to insect the now-hissing wall beside them. For once, Lockhart had a point, she reasoned. Presumably a steam leak from the bathroom upstairs.
She snapped out of it. What she wanted was this moron to leave her alone, or else firing a Stinging Jinx into a sensitive part of his anatomy was a distinct possibility.
"Anyway Gilderoy," she addressed him briskly. "You've probably got lots of things to do." Like fan-mail, she privately thought savagely.
Lockhart beamed.
"An excellent suggestion, Minerva! Quidditch is starting in – what, thirty minutes? Excellent, can't miss that!"
Oh, no, Minerva thought, horror filling her. The amount of damage Gilderoy Lockhart had been shown to be capable of at Quidditch matches….
"Your expertise is undoubtedly legendary," she sighed, staring at the still-hissing wall. "I'll see you down there, then."
"Righto!" said Lockhart brightly, his robes swirling as he strode away towards the stairs with purpose, leaving Minerva positively hissing herself. That insufferable toss-
"-just understood something! I have to go to the Library!"
Hermione Granger's animated voice was discernable even from a floor below. Minerva frowned as Hermione rocketed up the last of the stairs, surprisingly ignoring Lockhart's ebullient greeting to her. Lines of worry and thought were etched deep in her face. Something about this didn't quite gel for Minerva.
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione positively skidded to a halt just in front of Minerva, panting heavily.
"What on earth has got into you?" she demanded. Academically obsessed Hermione was, this was surely excessive. She'd always come to watch Harry play.
"Oh, umm-," Hermione's extensive vocabulary seemed to be failing her. "It's something about Arithmancy," she finally managed, locking wildly up and down the corridor. Minerva frowned. She had an inkling that the girl wasn't telling the complete truth, but beyond a hunch, she had no proof. Hermione had after all signed up for every Third Year subject available.
She nodded.
"Very well. Be sure to come down to the game soon, won't you? And best be no wandering by yourself. We're still a little on edge after last November and December." The horror at the sighting of the motionless Colin Creevey, of seeing a most frightened-looking Harry beside the Petrified Hufflepuff boy and Nearly-Headless Nick, rushed back into the forefront of her mind.
"Certainly Professor," Hermione beamed. Turning tail, she sped off towards the nearby Library entrance, her bushy mane of hair flying behind her. Minerva sighed and turned to face the hissing pipe in the wall beside her.
It was now silent.
Why was she suddenly on edge? Why was Hermione so animated all of a sudden? She shrugged her shoulders and decided to follow her pupil. At the very least, she could chat with Irma Pince to see if anything unusual had occurred lately.
Hermione had disappeared into the labyrinth-like mass of shelves by the time Minerva arrived at the Library entrance. As she greeted Percy Weasley, who made his way past her towards the Entrance Hall, she caught the Librarian's attention.
"Minerva," she greeted cooly, scanning her expression. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing, Irma," Minerva said airily with more confidence than she felt. She lowered her voice. "Just making sure you haven't seen anything out of the ordinary lately. Miss Granger seemed awfully flustered just before."
"Probably just workload," Irma sighed, running her hands through her greying hair. "And there hasn't been anything odd lately. Not since Miss Weasley almost fainted in here just before Christmas. Poor girl."
Minerva nodded sympathetically. "It shook her – her friend Creevey getting Petrified," she elaborated. "Needs more rest, just like you, Irma."
"You're not wrong," Minerva's younger colleague replied tiredly, her sunken cheeks and pale pallor obvious. Her eyebrows formed a knot as she spotted an unfortunate young Ravenclaw student traipsing in and Minerva braced for the eruption that was imminent.
"OUT!" she bellowed. "Mud on your shoes – that's the second day in a row I've had to call the Caretaker!" Cowering, the student ran for it as Irma took in a steadying breath and turned back to Minerva. "Students these days. No respect for the art of literature or study. Sandwiches yesterday, what will it be tomorrow? Chocolate?"
Minerva's eyes began to glaze over as the Librarian entered another diatribe about poor student behaviour in the Library. As a result, she failed to notice Hermione Granger stuff a wrinkled bit of paper into one of her fists, and remove a studying mirror from a nearby shelf, a look of triumph and determination stamped across her face.
…
Hermione saw Professor McGonagall move away from Madam Pince's desk and pass an older girl - one of Ravenclaw's Prefects - as she got to her feet, buzzing at the link she'd made. Her destination was the Gryffindor Common Room. If she hurried, she might just be able to tell Harry of her discovery….
Madam Pince gave her a suspicious glare as she hurried out of the Library, but Hermione didn't care as she turned left to take the shortcut up to the main staircase and the Common Room. It all fitted! Why hadn't she made the link between the hissing in the walls, Harry's Parseltongue abilities and the Petrified victims before? She'd heard of the legend of Medusa, as mentioned by Professor Binns earlier that week. How her legend among Muggles was thought to have been the result of multiple sightings of Gorgons among the wizarding and Muggle communities in Greece. As a result, she'd looked up the subject of Petrification three days beforehand.
But that didn't fit. Gorgon sightings were practically non-existent in Britain. And it didn't explain how the Monster was able to arrive, attack the victims, and then leave them without anyone else seeing them. Or how only Harry could hear it speak.
There was something also off about Tom Riddle's account. From what Harry had described, it looked like Hagrid had been keeping an Acromantula. Harry hadn't wanted to raise the topic since, but she now knew this much. Spiders didn't Petrify. Ever. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was off about Tom Riddle, and the Diary. An innocent-looking object possessing such powerful magic….she didn't trust it one bit. And the thought of the Diary falling into someone's hands other than Harry's also made her uneasy. The theft had to have been deliberate. And in that case, had the Heir used it, and been able to find out that Harry Potter was on their case?
The list of creatures that could Petrify was tiny, and none of the other culprits lived in Europe. But the Basilisk theory lined up entirely. Well-intentioned though Tom Riddle may have been with the intervention against Hagrid, but a spider was not the culprit.
As she turned the corner, practically on autopilot, she forced herself to a halt, and pulled out the mirror. You have to be more careful, she thought, as she shivered at the memory of the rigid Mrs. Norris, back arched in terror.
How fortunate the Basilisk victims had been! All, with the exception of Nearly-Headless Nick, had undoubtedly avoided its direct, lethal gaze. A watery reflection in the case of Mrs. Norris. Colin and his fried camera. And Justin, though he had nothing to protect himself with, had perhaps had he luckiest escape of all – Nick shielding him from an unhindered view of the snake's eyes. All its victims, frankly, should have been dead. Why had Colin received enough warning to pull out his camera, given the snake was clearly an expert at hit-and-run attacks?
She unfolded the single word she'd written on the ripped page. Pipes. It certainly explained the faintly hissing pipes she and Ron had heard that Halloween night. Then a thought struck her.
When did Moaning Myrtle die? If she'd died as a result of sighting the Basilisk, then surely the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in her bathroom? Mrs. Norris had, after all, been Petrified directly outside the Bathroom's entrance. And that raised another theory.
Were the Basilisk's victims targets of opportunity, or specifically targeted? She was inclined to suspect the latter. A snake like the Basilisk would never be able to identify targets by human-imposed criteria like Blood Status. That was for its human master to specify.
She let out a shudder as she tweaked the mirror left and right, looking behind her as she quickened her pace, passing close to the bathroom where the troll had attacked her and she'd gained two unlikely friends two Halloweens beforehand. The sooner she was in the Common Room, the better. Then she, Harry and Ron could come to a decision about how to approach Professor Dumbledore with this information. The good news was that the castle was emptying itself of targets, Muggleborn or otherwise.
Except for you, said a creepy voice in the back of her head, forcing Hermione to a halt as horror washed over her.
What if she was the target the Heir of Slytherin had nominated? Had the Basilisk tracked her movements back to the Library from inside the pipes?
Her heart now beginning to hammer away, she paused by another corner, and checking it with her mirror, turned onto another corridor. Then a couple of things stopped her in her tracks.
First, the creepy absence of light further down this corridor. The snake could easily lie in wait in the gloom ahead, completely undetected. No way was Hermione going to use this route. Then she spotted movement.
Right at the edge of her field of vision, obscured by the pattern of shadows, she half-sensed, half-saw something ahead of her. A human figure, relatively small, and strangely familiar.
A flurry of spiders passed by her, breaking Hermione's focus as she heard a series of faint hisses emanating from the wall ten paces ahead and to the left of her. A trickle of water suddenly gushed from a floor-level grate as something below displaced it.
Adrenaline now suddenly flooding her veins, and with all thoughts of the Gryffindor Common Room extinguished, Hermione's legs kicked into action. As she turned the corner to flee back the way she'd come, she came across another layer of water pouring from another drainage grate, and she slipped on it, legs flying out from under her like a skier losing their skis.
With a whimper, the mirror went flying out of her right hand and hit the wall, shattering.
"No!" she cried out desperately, clamping her hands over her eyes as she got back to her feet. Get to the Library. Find Professor McGonagall. Three more turns. As she reached the second bend, only sneaking glimpses of the corridor ahead through briefly parting her fingers, she let out a sigh of relief, only to involuntarily squeal as she ran into someone else.
She fell backwards, involuntarily opening her eyes with the impact to look back down the corridor she'd just fled down. No Basilisk. Thank Merlin.
"Hey!" cried the other student – a taller, older girl whom Hermione vaguely recognised as Ravenclaw's Prefect. "Watch where you're going next time – you all right?"
"No," panted Hermione, getting to her feet and pulling herself around the corner, trembling uncontrollably. "I know what the Monster in the Chamber is – it's a Basilisk. Heard it just before. I - I think it's after me."
The girl's face paled.
"You got a mirror?" she demanded, a stitch now burning away as she attempted to regain her coherence.
"What do you need a mirror for-"
"Please, just give me it," Hermione pleaded. "If it attacks us, that's our only means of survival."
The Ravenclaw girl, now beginning to tremble herself, pulled one out of her pocket.
"What do you want me to do with it?" she queried, holding it aloft uncertainly. Hermione swallowed nervously.
"Look around corners and behind us," she whispered. "And keep quiet. Close your eyes if you see any suspicious movement ahead." Hermione shuddered. The Basilisk could be literally anywhere in the castle by now.
"How do you know this?" demanded the girl in a suspicious tone as they cautiously began to move forwards.
"I'm Hermione Granger - Harry Potter's friend," she elaborated. "He heard this….evil voice that no-one else could hear, right before Mrs. Norris was attacked…he heard it again just earlier this morning. And he's a Parselmouth."
"Sweet Merlin," the girl said faintly, nodding. "I'm Penelope Clearwater, by the way."
"Pleasure," Hermione said grimly, eyeing nothing but Penelope's mirror as the older girl looked around the next corner then, giving a thumbs up to Hermione, motioned forwards.
"So we tell Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall?" whispered Penelope.
"That's right," Hermione breathed back. "It won't attack us if we're surrounded by other people – it never has." Even now, her brain was ticking over. The Basilisk's archenemy – roosters - had all been killed, and its victims in many cases had been left alone for ages before anyone found them. Harry had mentioned the Basilisk's bloodthirsty comments. Had the Heir ordered it to leave its victims' bodies alone, or did the Basilisk simply loathe Petrified flesh?
Penelope's next intervention was far less welcome.
"Did you hear that?"
Hermione strained her ears to listen. A smooth, rasping sound of scales on stone. It reminded her of hearing a cloak dragged over leaves in the Forbidden Forest the previous year….
"Stop!" Penelope hissed. "Back up!"
With horror, Hermione did so, spotting in an instant an alcove with a suit of armour. She tapped Penelope's shoulder and pointed to it. But the other girl shook her head, and with a shaking hand pointed into the depths of the mirror, which was showing a partial view of the corridor to their left. A massive, forked tongue suddenly appeared, then was withdrawn. Then it happened again. They would have been barely sixty metres from the Library, but for their isolation, they might as well have been on the moon. Hermione briefly considered calling for help, but what good would that do? Get Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall killed?
Hermione was all too conscious of the beads of sweat beginning to break out over her body. A glowing beacon for the King of the Serpents, which was now surely metres away. Backing herself and Penelope behind a small buttress, she closed her eyes and thought of Ron and Harry. Harry, bravely walking alone to fight Quirrell and his master. Harry, winning his first game of Quidditch. Ron, scoffing his mouth full of sweets and needling her over her work ethic. Ron, scowling at Lockhart for the three-hundredth time. Ron, defending her from Malfoy…..
She felt a tap on her shoulder and heard Penelope hiss in her ear.
"It's gone."
"Keep a look behind us," she breathed back. "It may ambush us from behind."
"Quietly," urged Penelope, determinedly avoiding looking down the corridor to their left and instead pointing straight ahead to the reassuring safety of the Library entrance at the end of the corridor straight ahead.
Hermione briefly looked down the corridor to her left and saw a scaly tail whip out of sight at the end of the corridor.
"It's checking out an alcove," she whispered. "Keep moving." So that was her pipes theory confirmed. The Basilisk could squeeze itself into ridiculously tight surroundings. Thank heavens it hadn't investigated their previous hiding spot.
Trembling, she out a hand up to wipe her face, but unfortunately also succeeded in dislodging her ripped library book page. Before she could stop herself, she let out a gasp, and clapping a hand over her eyes, reached for the paper as the Basilisk suddenly let out a snarl, accompanied by much rumbling as it began to extract itself from its predicament.
"Hermione!" called out Penelope, rushing back towards her, but Hermione shook her head. "No! Get to safety!"
"You need the mirror," Penelope shot back as a shadow began to fall upon the corner they were just behind. "Come on!" Forcing Hermione to her feet, they both looked at each other, only for Penelope to let out a scream and turn her back to the approaching menace, positively throwing herself to the floor.
"It's behind us!" the older girl shrieked. "Run!"
Every hair on Hermione's body stood on end as she felt the rumble of stone indicating that the Basilisk had now turned the corner, finally having caught up to its quarry.
"LOOK IN THE MIRROR!" she bellowed. She was now utterly certain she wouldn't make it to the Library, but at the very least, just maybe, they could still both escape death.
Penelope turned her head to look back, but Hermione yelled out again.
"LOOK IN THE MIRROR!" she repeated again, positively pleading with the older girl now.
"What if it bites us?" Penelope half-sobbed, half-whimpered back.
"It won't!" Hermione called out with more confidence than she felt. Her theory that the Basilisk wouldn't snack on its Petrified victims was, after all, just a theory. Tears of terror began to form at the corner of her eyes.
"Please, Penelope," she begged. Gulping, Penelope nodded, her eyes still shut, then turned away to pick up the mirror, let out a final gasp, and dropped her head to the ground.
Picking herself up, with the Basilisk almost literally now breathing down her back, Hermione gulped and secured the paper in her hand. It was essential she was found with that paper. Shutting her eyes, she lurched forwards, only to stumble over Penelope's Petrified form. Landing on the ground, she paused for a moment, convinced her heart was about to give out from the strain it was under. She opened her eyes a crack, only to find, standing in front of her, a most familiar figure.
Ginny Weasley. Pale, trembling, and with her eyes shut, and with something black tucked under her arm.
"Ginny?" she croaked in disbelief, but, grimacing almost apologetically at her voice, Ginny turned her back as the noise behind Hermione rose to a crescendo.
Where was the mirror? She blindly lunged for it, hoping against hope to find it, as the creature drew nearer and Hermione was suddenly doused in a most odious smell of slime and sewerage.
Prizing it with difficulty from Penelope's prone form, she held it close, pointed it directly above her head, and with a final, soothing breath, opened her eyes fully. With an oddly detached sense of calm, Hermione looked up into it as the Basilisk let out a hungry hiss.
A most hideous, gigantic apparition, leering above and behind her, easily as thick as the largest oak tree and with poisonous-green scales. A most horrific mouth, wide enough to swallow her whole, with set after set of jagged teeth glimmering with poison. Great bulbous yellow eyes trained on her as it reared up behind its latest prey.
She couldn't help it. Her mouth opened in shock as her nerves tingled and felt almost every muscle simultaneously seize up painfully on her. Her eyesight instantly became super-saturated, washing out all colour and contrast. The blinding light remained burned into her retinas as she distantly heard and vaguely felt the thump as she contacted the stone floor, hard.
The blinding light began to dissipate and fade away to black as Hermione's hearing began to also diminish. Mercifully, the slithering of the Basilisk began to fade to nothing as Hermione heard Professor McGonagall's echoing, indistinct voice draw nearer.
All the while, a single name was playing out in Hermione's head, even as her thought processes also began to slow in her now-Petrified state.
Ginny. It was Ginny.
Was she the Heir of Slytherin? And what did she have that was so familiar?
…..
Minerva was doing one last sweep of the Library, but so far she'd been unable to find Hermione. That was good news. Clearly, the girl's academic worries had been settled, and she'd headed off to the pitch to watch Harry play, no doubt bickering with Mr. Weasley like an old married couple. She smiled knowingly as Penelope Clearwater passed her and headed for the Library entrance.
Minerva paused with suspicion as she came across a discarded, aging book which had a page unevenly ripped out of it. Although she was no Irma Pince, desecration of a book like this was excessive by anyone's standards. She flipped to the front cover: Most Macabre Monstrosities, and frowned. An overly zealous Care of Magical Creatures student, or yet another student trying to become an expert on the Chamber of Secrets?
A couple of distant yells permeated Minerva's mind, but she dismissed them. Young students, running along the corridors having some low-key mischief. Nevertheless, the hairs on her back were standing up again.
You can't make decisions based on paranoia, Minerva told herself sternly. She looked at her watch and exclaimed. The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match was only minutes away from commencing, and the prospect of a Cup win for Gryffindor, that elusive prize, made her pulse soar. She nodded in thanks at Irma Pince, who was still beadily watching over the now-significantly depleted brood of students still studying in the Library.
"Thank you for the conversation, Irma," she said politely, though unenthusiastically. Her colleague really was on the obsessive end of the spectrum, what with her threats of physical violence at students over the slightest blemish.
Irma nodded stiffly and returned to her paperwork. Shaking her head slightly – how could even Irma Pince not be enthused by the art of Quidditch? – Minerva pressed on, and looked up and down the now-empty corridor.
Almost-empty corridor.
For there were two motionless figures lying near the end of the corridor to her left. Students.
"Irma!" she called to her colleague as terror rushed through every fibre of her body. "Come quick!"
As she ran to aid the fallen students, she was dimly aware of the Librarian behind her shouting at everyone to remain in the Library until further notice. Her mind, however, was focused on the motionless figures ahead. Please don't let them be dead, please…..
She finally reached them, impatiently brushing away a handful of spiders that were crawling over one of the bodies. Then she looked down into the frozen brown eyes of Hermione Granger, and let out an involuntary shriek of horror. All along, she knew something wasn't right, and she'd ignored her instincts. Now, here was the brightest of her year, mouth frozen in shock and eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her hand clutching a mirror in a death-grip.
She tentatively laid a shaking hand onto Hermione's chest, feeling with sweet, sweet relief, the tiniest, faintest pulse.
Petrified.
"Oh, Miss Granger," she whispered, brushing away a stray tear as she stared at the motionless girl and the mirror she still held aloft determinedly. "What on earth did you know?" Taking her eyes off Hermione, she turned to the other victim – a Ravenclaw student with long, curly hair.
With considerable effort, she rolled the other girl over to see a similar mask of horror frozen there. It was Penelope Clearwater, the very same Prefect she'd seen, happy and healthy, not four minutes beforehand.
Thankfully, also Petrified, not dead. Minerva made sure of that. But where had the Monster come from?
There came the sound of feet slipping on the stone surface and Ginny Weasley came rocketing around the corner, her face white and lined. Upon seeing Minerva, and the sight of Hermione and Penelope, she let out a gasp, and sank to her knees, burying her face and shaking with what Minerva knew were sobs.
Minerva moved away from the Petrified students, and focused her effort on comforting the youngest Weasley as best she could. Wrapping her arms around Ginny, she could feel the girl positively ease into her embrace, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh. She paid no attention to the little black book the girl was still holding.
"I'm sorry you saw this, Miss Weasley," she said bracingly, rubbing Ginny's back. "It'll all be over soon, and they'll be all right, soon enough." She felt rather than saw Ginny nod and pull away from her embrace, sinking to the ground as she wiped her eyes and let out a sniff.
"Minerva!" gasped Irma as she rushed to beside Minerva's right shoulder, gasping at the sight of Hermione and Penelope. "When did this happ….how are we going to…."
Grimacing to herself, Minerva got to her feet, pulling out her wand. In an instant, two stretchers materialized out of nowhere. This attack called for drastic action, though she was no longer certain of anything. With the attacks still continuing, would Hogwarts even survive? Forget about Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup….
"Wingardium Leviosa," she whispered, levitating the motionless Hermione onto one of the stretchers. Copying her, Irma did the same for Penelope.
"Irma," she began. "I want you to take Miss Granger and Miss Clearwater to the Hospital Wing. I'll let the Headmaster and the students know everything." Irma nodded determinedly and with a whirl of her wand, the stretchers began to move forwards, still hovering three feet off the ground. Minerva turned to the distraught student behind her, noticing with disgust that the edge of her own emerald robes were caked into some sort of muddy substance, and quickly spotting similarly slimy material on patches of the girl's uniform.
"And Miss Weasley?" Ginny looked up at Minerva, and for a second, Minerva was convinced she saw a hint of regret in the girl's eyes.
"Go and clean yourself, and get a Pepperup Potion from Madam Pomfrey. Follow Madam Pince, and when you're done, be sure to return to your Common Room. Understood?" Ginny mutely nodded, hurrying away, and Minerva raised her wand. Two silvery cats darted down the corridor: one for Albus Dumbledore, another for Poppy Pomfrey. Poor Poppy, as if the year couldn't get any worse for her.
She sighed as she barely gave the thin trail of water behind the crime scene any attention as she steeled herself for what she knew must be done. Harry and Ron were both going to take this news extremely badly. And Oliver Wood would be positively homicidal…
…..
Unbeknownst to anyone, Hermione had heard much of the exchange. Blurred, out of focus shadows was all she could see now, but she'd been absolutely positive she'd heard Professor McGonagall and Madam Pince find her, and heard the sounds of Ginny, sobbing away.
Ginny, who had helped attack them.
Ginny, whom she now knew she'd spotted on that creepy corridor just minutes before the Basilisk found her and Penelope.
None of it made any sense. And what little detail about Ginny had bugged her, even as the Basilisk behind her had been moving in for the kill from above and behind?
Something she wore…..No.
Hermione cursed her inexorably slowing train of thought as she felt herself spiraling towards the blackness that was awaiting her. Just like with Muggles going into induced comas, she thought. Thought was the last thing to go….
What was the girl's name?
What was bothering her? Something familiar-looking.
A black book…..one she'd seen before.
It hit her, just as she was pulled under entirely, horror flooding her one last time.
Tom Riddle's Diary.
With that, Hermione surrendered to the comfortable warm blackness that now surrounded her.
It was some time later that she heard Professor McGonagall's voice again, heard Harry and Ron's exclamations of horror. Ron's groan in particular tore at her. She wanted nothing more than to break free, to sit up, hug him, reassure him that she was still there, but even thinking about this produced crushing fatigue, and she surrendered to the inky blackness once more.
She resurfaced a number of times, increasingly infrequently. She once awoke to Ron admitting he'd borrowed Harry's cloak, mentioning something about no sleep, Hagrid being arrested and spiders trying to eat himself and Harry. She heard other sounds on occasion: that of Madam Pomfrey's bustling around, administering her and the others some sort of preservation tonic that she couldn't quite taste, and of Harry and Ron visiting her when they could, sometimes with them even taking turns reading Lockhart to her. If only she could express her gratitude.
Even, much to her relief and horror, Ginny visiting her and breaking down as she confessed everything. She heard snatches from her of a diary, of Tom Riddle, and of rooster feathers and paint, but she no longer had the energy in her brain to process why this was important.
She was getting weaker and weaker in this state of rigor mortis. Even remembering Harry and Ron's names took effort. Her final memory was of someone stroking her hand and removing something from it, but she couldn't understand why some small part of her was feeling victorious….
…
She felt something enter her throat, and it tasted beyond disgusting.
Then it hit her. She could taste again! Her memory, thought process, hearing and more came back with a nauseating whirl as she shut her eyes to cope. She feebly attempted moving an arm, felt it respond….
She lurched forwards, gagging on the last of the utterly terrible potion she'd just been force-fed, and opened her eyes for the first time in…..weeks?
Staring back at her, relief flooding her features, was Ginny.
"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing off her bedcovers, only to regret attempting standing up as her legs turned to jelly. Ginny let out a dark chuckle.
"Rest easy, Hermione. It's over." She bit her lip, and Hermione remembered with her horror the Diary, the Basilisk attack…..
"It was a Basilisk!" she exclaimed, attempting in vain to get up again, but then a voice erupted through the Hospital Wing.
"Miss Granger! Sit down this instant!" Madam Pomfrey came rushing over frantically, and Hermione looked around, finding with shock that all the beds were now unoccupied.
"How are you?" the Matron asked nervously, handing Hermione a glass of water. Even drinking water now felt like a heavenly gift after so long.
"Fine," Hermione gasped, sitting up straight in her sheets. "But you've got to let everyone know – it was a Basilisk that attacked me, and-"
"Easy, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey reassured her with a smile. "Your friends solved it – with lots of help from you – I might add." At that, Hermione held out both her hands. Where had the paper gone? One of the boys must've taken it. Sheer, giddy relief flooded her. Out of all the things to go wrong in the minutes leading up to the attack, her brain had been the one thing that hadn't let her down. That, and Penelope's mirror.
"It's good to have you back," said Madam Pomfrey firmly, her lip trembling a little as she handed Hermione a bar of chocolate. "Thank Merlin this year's almost over. Given that Miss Weasley might need to discuss a few things with you while you get your energy back, I'll leave you in peace for ten minutes or so. Okay?"
Hermione nodded in gratitude as the Matron left, allowing Ginny to lean forwards. For the first time, Hermione noticed how fatigued the younger girl looked.
"Hermione," she began tentatively. "I'm so sorry! It was me! All this-"
"Stop," Hermione cut her off gently, reaching for her hand. "You don't need to apologize for what you got put through." At these words, Ginny squeezed back, let out a sigh, and dissolved into quiet tears.
"Tell me more," Hermione encouraged her gently. And so Ginny did.
They covered Ginny's luridly real nightmares, her fatigue while writing to Tom Riddle, how she'd found paint, mud and rooster feathers on her robes, how she'd tried to destroy the Diary once she realised its evil nature, how she'd stolen it back from Harry out of fear it would possess him next, and how Tom Riddle had possessed her one last time and taken her down to the Chamber to die, her fighting his control all the way. How she'd awoken to Harry having slayed the Basilisk and destroyed Tom Riddle's Diary. The worst stab of horror came as Ginny revealed Tom Riddle's true identity.
"….So like I said, I was so stupid," Ginny finished, drying her eyes on Hermione's sheets. "How can I make it up to Harry….to everyone….about what happened?" She let out another shudder and Hermione impulsively hugged her. Her muscles still ached from lack of use, but she was rapidly recovering.
"No-one blames you," she said quietly. "Ginny, in fighting off him for so long, you were exceptionally brave. Braver and stronger than I can put into words." Ginny let out a shudder as she leaned back, then, much to her surprise, let out a laugh.
"What?" Hermione snapped. What on earth had she said was so funny?
"You're almost as bad as Dumbledore," she wryly chuckled back. "Hermione, have you any idea about what a know-it-all you are? You're simply brilliant in how much of this you solved – Ron was singing your praises all of last summer."
"Was he?" Hermione exclaimed, her stomach swooping slightly as she felt her face heat up slightly. Ginny shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
"Sort of. You know Ron – you know in our family he likes you if he starts giving backhanded compliments and jibes."
Hermione laughed.
"That does sound like Ron. Speaking of which, where are he and Harry?"
Ginny smiled.
"In the Great Hall," she replied. "Professor Dumbledore's having a celebratory feast, and they'll definitely be looking forward to seeing you."
"I can imagine," smiled Hermione, remembering with affection the snatches of memory of their visits while Petrified. How they'd both come and read her Lockhart's books. She turned and much to her surprise, saw a solitary bed with a privacy screen around it at the far end of the Hospital Wing.
Ginny followed her gaze, and as Hermione turned back to her, she saw a smirk play across the younger girl's face. "Yes, you noticed. Looks like Professor Lockhart isn't the dashing hero idiots who buy Witch Weekly think he is," she teased. "It must be the first time Ron's ever been right about anything around you." Hermione felt her cheeks flush scarlet as she leaned towards Ginny.
"What on earth do you mean-" she began, but Ginny cut her off.
"He's fine for now, Hermione, don't worry. But Ron has quite the tale to tell you."
"Smugness doesn't suit you, Ginny, it really doesn't," Hermione shot back loftily as Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office.
"Ready, Miss Granger?" she asked. Hermione smiled in gratitude at the Matron, who had done so much in such stressful circumstances. For her and all the other Petrified victims. "Thanks for everything," she relied, getting to her feet with a slight wobble – her shoes were still on from when she'd been Petrified.
Madam Pomfrey nodded in satisfaction.
"Very well, off you go to the Great Hall. But be warned: don't ever get admitted in here again. You, Weasley and Potter; you'll be the end of me."
"I'll try my best," she replied. "Ginny, are you coming?" To her disappointment, Ginny looked down glumly, then back at her.
"Wish I could," she said wistfully. "But this-" she gesticulated wildly – "-will take time. I'll be fine, Hermione. Soon enough." Hermione nodded, a small pang of sadness piercing her as Ginny traipsed back to her bed and lay down with a sigh, but then she thought of the scrumptious food awaiting her in the Great Hall, of the two friends that meant so much to her waiting….
She positively took off, hair and robes billowing behind her.
They had solved it!