Chapter Seven: The Neglected Characters
Professor Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore was not at all surprised when 'that insufferable new girl' ended up in Salazar's house. He had never met a more Slytherin girl than she, and he had to admit -if grudgingly- that she could go places with that brain of hers. What did surprise him was that after several years without any schooling, she showed up to his transfiguration class and scored perfectly on a pop quiz she wasn't there to learn the answers for. Hermione Franklin had walked through the door laughing with Abraxas Malfoy over something about potions and boils. He would have to remember to ask Horace. Then she had taken a seat in the back of the classroom, beside Alphard Black, and directly behind Tom Riddle and Abraxas.
Dumbledore had waited two minutes after the bell rang to call the class to attention.
"Good afternoon, my dears! Today, I would ask that you put away your quills, we will be having a practical exam on inanimate to animal transfiguration. You can summon one of the chalices upon my desk to yourself, and transfigure it into any animal you wish, so long as it fit's upon your desk. If you do not have anything by the end of the period, you will receive a zero for the day, and the faster you complete your task, the more points will be awarded."
He had seen Ms. Franklin raise an eyebrow, questioning if she was included in the test, and the fire in her eyes when he had nodded an affirmative. Her wand had flicked in the direction of his desk, and a silver chalice flew towards her desk, but her lips hadn't moved. Nonverbal spells? He had wondered incredulously, before dismissing it as a fluke. Then he had sat behind his desk and picked up his newest book, Convincing a Community, which was transfigured to look like Advanced Transfigurational Theory and How it Applies to Arithmantic Principles. He had of course read the latter text, but it was not quite as interesting as the former.
Barely a minute into his reading, he was interrupted by a breeze that ruffled the pages on his desk and caused him to raise his eyes to the class. There, he saw none other than Ms. Franklin , who was sitting at her desk with her hand raised.
"Yes, Ms. Franklin?" He had asked benevolently, a kindly twinkle in his eye. After all, it wouldn't due to have students see how easily annoyed he was by student's ignorance.
"I've finished, sir." The rest of the class looked up at that, even Riddle who usually refused to react to anything, and stared at her desk.
And indeed, when he had stood up to look more closely at her work, he had seen not a silver chalice, but a miniature Doberman running across her desk as it played fetch with a small ball of paper.
"Well done, Ms. Franklin. Full marks." She had smiled in a small, self satisfied way, before turning to her bag and picking out a large book without a title. Then, of course, Riddle had said he was done, and he couldn't pester her about the book.
Regret and discipline often run hand in hand. For, one who disciplines oneself by refusing to take a step off of their normal path, will forever live with the regret of never trying anything new. However, he who has no path, but jumps from circumstance to circumstance will also regret forgoing the safety of the single lane. There is a fine line between the two extremes- knowing when you're jumping off a cliff, and knowing when you're diving. Most people never learn the difference. Dumbledore liked to believe himself different from most people, and thus above falling for such paltry tricks. (He tended to ignore the whole Grindewald thing, and if he did look at it, he termed it a 'valuable character building experience'.)
So, when he saw the chance to corner the Slytherin girl- Hermione Franklin, he reminded himself, wouldn't due to show prejudice- he decided it would be a graceful dive that would result in his finally winning a hold over her and her secrets. He was sadly mistaken.
She had just entered an empty classroom on the fourth floor, though Dumbledore couldn't construe a reason for her being there. She was pacing the room, mumbling something under her breath, and in her moment of inattention Dumbledore stepped through the doorway and charmed the door shut.
"Hello, Ms. Franklin." He said, keeping his tone neutral. He was not overly surprised when less than a millisecond later her wand was at his throat, his wand arm pinned against his side.
"I thought I asked you not to come upon me unawares, sir." She tersely answered him, letting go his arm and lowering the wand so it pointed to his chest even as she backed away. "Is there something you want from me?"
"Why don't you take a seat, my dear. I believe we have much to discuss- things we have let sit far too long."
With a flourish, the Slytherin- Ms. Franklin- had created a cushy armchair in place of one of the desks, and sat down gracefully. She then gestured towards him with her wand, and he found himself seated in a chair very similar to hers, if slightly shorter.
"Thank you, my dear. Now, if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions?" Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, taking on the posture of a keen listener. Hermione straightened nearly imperceptibly in response.
"That depends on the questions, sir. Some things are simply... Too painful... for me to recount as of yet." Her eyes had teared up, Dumbledore noted absently, not caring in the least, though he nodded sympathetically.
"I understand, my dear. But some things are more important than a single person. Now, you were injured when you arrived- by Grindewald?"
"By the most recent Dark Lord, yes." She was staring into her lap, as though searching for answers there.
"What do you know of him, of his tactics?"
"That he fights to win, sir." A short glance towards him- he dove into her eyes only to be forced out- before ducking her head down again. "And he fears you."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly, wondering if she had ever talked to the man, or if that was only hearsay. "And he told you this himself?"
A flicker of amusement crossed her eyes. "No, Professor. He is too arrogant for such admittances. But why else has he yet to enter England? We both know he has the strength."
"Yes, yes." Dumbledore looked at the slight form in front of him, and reminded himself she could very easily be a spy. "How did you get here?"
"I managed to create a portkey, but I didn't have time to program a specific destination. I just wanted to get somewhere safe." He thought he saw a tear drop into her hands.
And there she went again, from battle hardened warrior to shy teenage girl- it made no sense! "And you had no contact with Grindewald?"
"None." Her eyes met his, shining out their honesty. He sent another probe, this time far more gentle, searching for cracks. "Some things are better off not known."
Dumbledore blinked. "What do you mean, my dear?" He reached down to pat her knee, sending a thread of compulsion out towards her simultaneously, and he felt her mind give way.
"Well, his torture methods for one. They are new, and very innovative. He has this serum- I don't know what it's called- and it makes you tell the truth no matter what. He also invented a bunch of new spells, well, I think it was him, it may have been a follower, to give pain like the Cruciatus but without the after effects..." She paused in her monologue, looking up at him, and he could see her wondering why she had told him so much. He tightened the compulsion.
"Why are you here?" The girl shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the seams on her cloak.
"To spy for Grindewald. He has my mom. He told me if I was good and sent him all the information I could on you, he wouldn't torture her so much. He said he might even keep her alive..." Again, she raised a puzzled brow, and he felt her fighting off the compulsion. But that just wouldn't do. He increased the strength even further.
"Have you sent him anything yet?"
"No, s-sir. I was waiting until the end of the month, when I was going t-to s-sneak into y-your office." And the compulsion broke. The instant before it did, he cast chains upon her chair and summoned her wand.
"Now, Ms. Franklin, I can't let you do that." His tone was hard, unforgiving.
"Please sir, its my mom! I-I can't let him... Sir!" He saw her eyes alight with a new fire. "What if I fed him false information? You could tell me little snipets of truth, and I could cover it up with lies, and he'd be none the wiser!"
"Now, why would I trust you to do such a thing, Ms. Franklin?"
"You... I... I would write the letter, and then bring it to you to read over and send it yourself, so you would know exactly what I wrote. And I would give you Grindewald's return mail. Please sir, if you make me leave... My mother... She's the last family I have, sir, I'll do anything." By the end, her voice was steel, the truth of the words outweighing the pain of having to say them. Dumbledore pretended to nod thoughtfully. He had finally gotten her to admit her intentions. He was pleased with her solution, knowing it gave him near insurmountable power over her. Power he desperately needed, judging by the girls magical strength. If she were to get a large enough group together- Riddle, Abraxas, and a few others, they could threaten his control on the ministry in a few years. He would not stand for that.
Looking at the tears trailing down her face, he would never have to. You are mine, he thought. Mine. He knew well enough how to use grief and fear to drive her, to force her to do things she would have otherwise balked at. Starting now.
"I will require all of your memories of Grindewald, so I might view them in a pensieve." Her eyes were dull, as she nodded her consent.
"But sir, I never actually spoke with him, it was all through the... his followers." He noted the pause.
"What were you going to say, Ms. Franklin? 'All through the' what? If you do not speak the truth, I will have no choice but to send you to the dementors." She gulped audibly, and he saw her fingers twitch, before she opened her mouth again.
"He has this system, sir. It's hard to explain, really, but he calls it the "grapevine". He connects all of the torture chambers to it, and if he has a command for you, or an offer, it shows up in blood on your wall. One of the first things you learn is that it's written in your own blood- the pain is-was- excruciating. Sometimes, he would tell you what his followers had planned next for you, which variant of torture it would be that time, and the wait made it all the worse... Thats how I found out I was to be a spy, though, sir."
"I see. Can he hear the victims through this 'vine'?"
"No, sir. In order to respond, you have to wait until the torturers come, and ask them to write the response on the wall."
"Hmm. Then I require your memories of the wall, my dear. Now, if you please." The words themselves were kind, but he knew his tone would allow no argument.
"I don't have my wand, sir."
"Ah, yes, foolish of me." He reached out to her, now knowing that she did not have control of wandless magic. He flicked his own wand, and the chains left her body, vanishing into thin air.
"Thank you, sir." Then she raised the wand to her forehead and wisps of creamy white thought pooled around the wand. He made another wand motion, and Franklin flinched when the cold crystal of a memory container met her hand. In moments, the memories were locked up and in his hands, waiting for his perusal.
"Now, my dear, I'm afraid I can't let you leave without a trace on both you and your magic. We wouldn't want you slipping back into Grindewalds hands, now would we?" With a muttered incantation and a few flicks, Dumbledore ensured he would know her whereabouts every second of the day, and any charms she cast would appear in one of his instruments to be marked and stored for later perusal.
"No Professor." Still the dull, beaten voice.
With that he rose, vanished his chair, and gave her a fully twinkling smile.
"Thank you, my dear. You have made the right choice, coming to me."
Then he left the room, a bounce in his step and a grin on his lips.
Hermione, seconds later, did the same.
