Sorry I haven't posted in so long. I actually had most of this chapter written months ago, but never got round to posting it.
Thanks to all the reviewers, favourites and follows, your support is much appreciated, always makes me smile and gives me incentive to keep writing.
Hope you all enjoy reading this chapter.
Final Valedictory.
Hermione walked into the room and immediately felt relieved, the Chamber of Secrets always did alleviate much of her stress.
The design of the room never failed to intrigue her. Even after she had been down here numerous times, she still marvelled at its structure. Towering pillars entwined with carved wood and intricate stone statues of snakes aligned the hallway of the room, its floor smooth with marble. The room's colour was predominantly green, silver and black, of course and a tall Salazar Slytherin stood at the far end of the room. The velocity of the statue was simply amazing, well….. after all, the basilisk had been able to rest within the mouth of it.
Maybe this was symbolism of Syltherin's ability to speak Parseltongue, thought Hermione. It was certainly an intriguing thought. However, after all the time she had spent down here, she also knew that everything had a purpose; Slytherin couldn't have indulged in such trivial matters.
Hermione moved toward the statue of Salazar Slytherin, manoeuvring around the carcass of the Basilisk which now lay directly in front of the statue. The Basilisk having been defeated in her Second Year, it was no longer a problem to enter into mouth of the statue. Hermione had soon discovered that the Basilisk itself was not placed without reason. Concealed within the tunnel was another room and as it happened to be, upon discovering the room, Hermione realised that it was the personal library of Salazar Slytherin.
Upon closer inspection, none of the books Hermione had even heard of and that itself was unusual considering the amount of time Hermione had spent reading. Furthermore, most of the books there were not published, which she assumed were the original works. Having been admittedly quite the book worm herself, Hermione had been intrigued to no end, but she resisted, she resisted reading any of the books in the library; she knew that they would be dark after all.
"Come on Ron, I don't want to stay here too long."
Hermione hid behind a pillar, casting a disillusionment charm and mufliato on herself to ensure she remained hidden.
"Remind me why we're sauntering around the body of Salazar's pet snake again?" Ron asked, scratching his head whilst shifting uncomfortably.
Harry briskly walked up to the carcass of the basilisk, severed one of it fangs and wrapped it up with a piece of black velvet material.
"Basilisk venom destroys hocruxes Ron." Harry answered, moving back towards the entrance of the Chamber.
"…How?"
After a moments silence, Harry answered Ron. "I'm not entirely sure either, it just does."
"You know…Hermione would know," Ron grumbled, putting his hands in his pockets while shrugging. "If you'd all just let her in… we need her Harry…."
Hermione smiled at Ron. He had been on her side the whole time, fighting for her right to be in the Order. She was truly grateful, but at the same time, she also knew that sadly his attempts were all in vain as the rest of the Order was against it. What she could not fathom, was why.
"Ron, you know why she can't be here."
Hermione perked up upon hearing what Harry had just said.
Harry moved back closer Ron, gripping his shoulder with one arm. "As much as this pains me to say….. she can't be trusted."
Hermione was dumbstruck. Had Harry, her best friend which she had risked her life for numerous times, just said that she could not be trusted?
"I know this is hard… I mean I still believe that she's well…Hermione, but after what Dumbledore said, as much as I'd like to trust her I think we should still be…cautious?"
"You really believe what he said, that she is not 'who she really is'? Come on Harry, I think that old loon has just gone a bit off, sounds more like a riddle than anything."
"Dumbledore would never mean any harm to us Ron. As much as I love Hermione, I think we should heed Dumbledore's words and just…keep a distance. I mean, everything will still be the same. The only difference will be that she doesn't participate in the Order's activities."
The room was silent before Ron finally spoke in a wearisome voice.
"…I guess so…"
Harry and Ron trudged back to the entrance of the Chamber.
"Open."
Hermione shook her head at the painful memory. She had openly wept for hours after they had left, replaying Harry and Ron's conversation over and over in her head.
They did not trust her.
That fact itself hurt Hermione the most. But the thing that confused her was what Dumbledore had said. What did he mean by the fact that she was not who she really was?
She definitely knew who she was. Her name was Hermione Jean Granger. She was born on the 19th of September in 1979. Her parents were both muggles and worked as dentists. And her best friends were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
That was the truth without a doubt.
Hermione shook her head again and thought back to the memory.
Although that night had been a painful one, it had not all together had only negative outcomes. She was now able to enter the Chamber of Secrets freely through mimicking exactly how Harry had said "open" in Parseltongue.
Initially, it had been to seek refuge.
It hadn't been quite so bad when it started. Harry and Ron still acted like they always did around her and she had convinced herself that maybe things would be alright.
Oh how she was wrong.
As time went on, it became evident that they were growing further and further apart. Harry and Ron would make a rather pathetic excuse that they had to be somewhere or do something, and Hermione would go along with it, smile and act convinced, though it was obvious that they were out performing a task for the Order. It didn't help that most of her friends were in the order and their absences were quite noticeable, especially when she would be sitting alone in the Great Hall during meal times. Hell, even Malfoy had noticed, and had been bothering her about it with his snide comments.
She had had a number of breakdowns and fits of rage which eventually resulted in her frequenting the Chamber of Secrets as a place of refuge. Something about the place, maybe its smooth marble floors or what not, just seemed to sooth her.
The allure of the place increased after she had found the library. At first she would just look around and explore the expanse of the chamber; but frowned when she realised that although this kept her busy, her mind wandered and ultimately she was unoccupied. She then proceeded to look through the titles and duly noted that most of them were dark, as she had assumed. As much as the knowledge perked her interest, she would not read them. She would not delve into the dark arts.
However, she found that with each sequential visit, her determination wavered as her mind thirsted.
With nothing to occupy her, her mind had wandered back to her conversation with Dumbledore and Snape.
Why would they think she was weak? Was she weak?
As much as she loved Neville, surely she'd be more competent, yet even he had been invited to the Order.
It enraged her.
Thus, frustrated, once again she had found herself back in the Chamber of Secrets.
She had stood there idly fingering the smooth spines of the various books on the shelf and eyeing the books in front of her. Her determination shattered.
She would help them and she would be useful.
The temptation.
She would be more skilled than they could possibly imagine.
The knowledge.
Knowledge was still knowledge she had reasoned, whether dark or not and to counter magic of any kind, one had to first fully understand it.
The power.
Finally letting that last ounce of hesitation dissipate, she had picked up a book, with a comparably more innocent title, and begun reading.
Hermione brought her thoughts back to the present.
She shuffled through the shelves of books in front of her, until she found the book she was looking for. It was a rather large book, bound with black leather and imprinted on the front cover in gold embroidery was two words: Avada Kedavra.
She heard a rat scurrying across the floor and immediately cast the spell. The jet of green lit hit the creature and immediately it was lifeless; its body limp against the cold marble floor.
Hermione smiled.
The action itself was not unprecedented, Hermione had to admit.
Knowledge could be learned in a more theoretical sense, however, as Hermione had discovered throughout her education and sometimes much to her dismay, remembering the broom incident in her first year, practical application was also required.
At first, she would cringe even at the very thought of performing such a cruel spell, an unforgiveable at that. After all, she had been the advocate for elf rights, and loved animals herself, dearly….
…but it was necessary to make sacrifices.
When she had accepted that thought, and finally mustered the strength to perform the spell on a rat, it had ricocheted off a nearby mirror and almost killed Hermione, herself.
And it was as such that Hermione had gritted her teeth, and practiced the spell a many more times; eventually she had become desensitized and could perform the unforgiveable without hesitation.
The action even had begun to give her a satisfactory feeling; perhaps, a feeling of superiority.
Of power…
"Practice makes perfect…" she mumbled to herself, smiling.
Hermione stroked the smooth spine of the book, and plopped herself down on one of the more comfortable arm chairs in the room; she eagerly opened the book in her hands, deciding to restart from the beginning.
Avada Kedavra – Killing Curse
The Killing Curse was invented during the early middle ages, primarily as a means of quickly and efficiently slaying one's opponent in a duel. When cast, the spell emits a flash of green light from the caster's wand and immediately kills upon contact. However, the curse is able to be blocked by inanimate objects, and upon contact will produce explosions of varying intensity…
Hermione awoke with a start, and realised that it was already dawn. All those nights of not sleeping had crept up on her, and without realising she had fallen asleep in the Chamber of Secrets. Panicked, she quickly stowed the book back in it place and left the premises. She rushed through the corridors, all the while praying that nobody was awake this early, especially in her dormitory.
Finally rounding the corner, she reached the painting of the Fat Lady.
"Again you wake me from my sleep! This simply cannot continue, for the past year I have not had a night's sound sleep thanks to you! What are you out doing….."
Hermione cringed at the Fat Lady's shrill voice.
"Heshasasastsihh."
Still grumbling, the portrait of the Fat Lady reluctantly opened the door to the Gryffindor common room.
Though the painting was not the nicest one in the castle, she was internally grateful that the Fat Lady did not mention her "nightly activities" freely.
Hermione tiptoed into through the common room and into her dormitory.
"Hermione? Is that you? What are you doing so early in the morning?"
Shit.
Hermione froze for a second, her heart pounding fast.
Quickly, she took in a breath, regained composure and in another spilt second she was smiling and walking towards the direction of the voice.
Pavarti Patil.
"Were you sneaking out to meet with a boy?" Pavarti giggled.
Of course. Of course, that's what she would think.
Hermione smirked as she moved into the moonlight. This was going to be easy.
"Pavarti!" Hermione, slapped her playfully. "I was just in the common room, reading."
"Sure you were."
"Well, not all of us are up this early, doing their makeup."
Pavarti blushed and Hermione moved back over to her side of the room .
Hermione unconsciously scratched her wrist on her left arm.
Hermione had not always been good at lying. In fact, she had been probably the worst liar in her entire year. But surprisingly enough, she had perfected the skill within a month. It occurred to her that she had never needed to lie before and the thought saddened her greatly.
Ouch.
Hermione looked down at the source of irritation. Strange. She had treated the scratch on her arm with the correct spells and concoctions, but it seemed to look worse. In fact, it looked like the scratches had multiplied, irritating her skin a sickly red colour and forming a sort of a criss-cross pattern.
Hermione winced as she fingered it.
She would treat it later when she had the time, or perhaps a trip to Madame Pomfrey's –
—No, she cut off her thought short.
It was necessary to shy away from unnecessary attention; especially with what she had in plan…
