Shattered Moments
By Rurouni Star
Answers to the people what ask the questions…
1) I probably shouldn't even bother answering this, but, eh. Not all fanfiction deals with the main character (gasp!shock!) and actually, a great deal of it doesn't even mention Harry Potter. I'm going to take this to mean you just haven't read a lot of it.
2) You'll find the answer to the Malfoy memory question this chapter. Like that isn't giving anything away.
3) Hermione would hardly know if any other Order members knew (she doesn't even really know about the Order yet, after all) and as it's from her point of view… neither do you.
4) Hermione independently researched a little wizarding law and Dumbledore later said they would do their best. That's about all the plan entails. Though NNNGH, I want to say more.
Here we go. Strap yourselves in tightly and keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle (though you can always stick your head out).
Chapter 8 – Imperio"Remember when life's path is steep to keep your mind even."
-Horace
Over the next few weeks, Hermione noticed quite keenly that George was avoiding her. She didn't blame him, but at the same time, she felt an awful disappointment in him. For some reason, perhaps because of his father's position, she'd expected him to understand. What the curses really were, the kind of people that used them…
The bright spot in these bleak and furiously busy days, though, was Arithmancy. Her teacher had brightly informed her the first day that she, unlike the other students, would have an entire extra year to prepare for her OWLs. She would be allowed to take them her fifth year, as usual, but would have the special advantage of being a year ahead.
This inspired a feverish need in Hermione to do well in the class – even beyond her normal appetite for learning – and Harry and Ron began complaining that she was spending too much time studying. She may have said something slightly waspish to Ron at that, but she assured herself afterward that it was for a good cause.
And then, just as she was settling into a routine of ignoring George, ignoring Sirius, and ignoring everything but her schoolwork, she was disrupted.
Because when Lupin came into class with the same tired expression, she knew.
"Today," he said quietly, his hands clenched white on the railing of the stairs, "I will be putting you each under the Imperius Curse."
Hermione clenched her hands in her lap tightly. "That's illegal," she said, without looking up.
Lupin smiled tightly. "Yes, it would be normally. But it has been decided that you should know what it feels like, and what its signs are. Therefore, I will be asking you all to watch your fellow students as they are commanded to perform everyday things – there will be a foot and a half tonight on the signs of the Curse."
A few groans arose about the room, but Hermione could still feel the palpable excitement at the idea of getting to try something so forbidden…
Couldn't they see what this meant? Or even what it was doing to their teacher, to have to show them…
Lupin was kneeling at her desk now, hands on the edge.
"I will understand if you wish not to do this," he said gently. "If I could, I myself would leave."
But Hermione felt something inside her stiffen irrationally – Harry, staring blankly, green tinted; Harry, unmoving and bleeding and dead…
"No," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "No, I- I have to do this."
Lupin sighed and rose to his feet once more, calling the class to attention.
And then, the lesson began.
Dean Thomas spun around exactly three times counter-clockwise, and then three more clockwise. He sat down looking puzzled and slightly disturbed. Lavender Brown climbed atop a desk and jumped off of it nimbly. Neville began reciting what was unmistakably a Shakespearean sonnet.
And then.
"Harry?" Lupin said quietly, sounding uncertain.
Hermione watched him get up slowly, out of the corner of her eye. He seemed grim, and somehow determined.
She watched with horrified fascination as Lupin resignedly pointed his wand at his best friend's son and said, "Imperio."
"Would you please raise your right hand in the air, Harry?" Lupin asked softly.
Harry… hesitated.
His right hand twitched.
"I asked you to please raise your right hand," Lupin repeated. Hermione could tell he thought that Harry couldn't hear him. Which was ridiculous, of course, because the commands were partially mental…
Harry's hand twitched again, but he didn't move it.
The class had begun to stare at him, incredulous. Dean's eyes opened wide in amazement. He let out a low whistle, as Lupin repeated himself once again.
Harry's arm made a strange jerking motion, but only ended up swinging around to grab at a desk.
Lupin let his wand fall away, and Hermione saw that he was looking even more haggard and gray than usual.
"A very good job, Harry," he said, though his eyes were sad. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Hermione watched her friend sit down, exertion evident on his face, and wondered why she was so certain he'd just worked harder to dispel Lupin's influence than he'd done in his life.
"Hermione," Lupin said then, and again he hesitated. "Are you quite sure you want to do this?"
In answer, she rose from her seat and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She focused her eyes on his wand and said nothing.
"Imperio."
The word resounded through her head – a clear, resonant sound that struck at her very soul. But it was infinitely more gentle, this time, as though the man that had uttered it cared only to see that she was listening.
This time?
A content, floating feeling – one she had felt before.
Would you please walk over to Harry's desk, Hermione?
She felt the urge to do just that take her – and why not, he'd asked politely, and she knew him, he was a very nice person-
No. There was a reason she was fighting. She was sure of it.
Hermione mentally declined – politely, but firmly.
Walk over to Harry's desk, Hermione.
Hermione tried to shake her head, but found it was all she could do to stay still. Her muscles trembled.
Go to his desk.
To Harry, was the implied meaning. To where he was sitting, watching her with clouded eyes…
But Harry is dead.
No, she said. "No!"
And suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her knees, and she was gasping on the floor, facing Harry's desk, her palms touching the cold stone.
"No one is certain what criteria distinguish those able to resist the Imperius Curse," Lupin said, sounding incredibly drained. "But I suppose I have to stress that this class seems… unusually resistant to it. Most victims will not even put up a fight."
Hermione breathed deeply, eyes unfocused, thinking of the flash of heart wrenching fear and denial she'd felt.
"People who have been under the Curse before," she rasped. "They also… have some resistance…"
Lupin looked at her sharply, though most of the class was probably disgruntled at the fact that she was still calling out facts.
"Yes," he said. "Over time and prolonged exposure, people do gain resistance. One of the most obvious signs that a victim is fighting the curse is muscle spasms, as you must have noticed. Though these usually occur after at least two weeks."
It had been a good while since her last flight from the class – but Hermione said, "May I please be excused, Professor?"
And again, he let her go.
Hermione stumbled away, as far away as she could.
And she remembered.
It was hard, at first, to access the memory – it was fuzzy and distorted, and she couldn't see the details. But the seal had broken – some other part of her had rebelled, the same part that pushed away the Imperius, the same part that screamed over and over that Harry and Fred were dead-
She leaned against the same wall, in the same hallway – she slid down it slowly and put her face in her hands and cried.
I have so many memories in me, she thought desperately. So many different things that might be true and might have happened and might still happen-
And she understood it all, and it was so frightening. Because Dumbledore knew, and Sirius knew, and Lupin knew that Voldemort was going to come back, or was back, and that the war would start all over again. They were preparing them the only way they knew how.
But I know, something in her said. I know already. And it doesn't make a difference at all.
Those feelings were for another time. They were lost and afraid and desperately aimless. But now, all she felt was betrayed.
Hermione got back to her feet and walked to the owlery to write a letter.
000000
When Harry asked her later if she was all right, she told him she had used Hedwig.
"Is that okay?" she asked serenely.
He was confused – but he nodded slowly. "Hermione," he said. "You don't seem all right, lately."
She sighed. "I'm not, really. But how all right am I supposed to be, with everything that's been happening?"
Harry seemed to take this into consideration as she sat down with him to study. For just a little while, she let herself believe that nothing was changing at all, and that she could do her schoolwork and go to bed like a normal, sane person.
Her dreams that night disagreed.
He was watching the hat at the center of the room. She could tell he was nervous – his name was so close to the beginning, and his house was so predefined, he couldn't be anything but nervous. She felt the need to clamp a steadying hand on his shoulder before she remembered she couldn't.
"Black, Sirius!"
He realized it was him only a moment too late – one of the people behind him pushed him forward. Pale blond hair… no, that was preposterous.
He was seated on the stool, the hat slipped over his head- and suddenly, Hermione could hear the voice in his head, a little whisper in her own ear. It gave her shivers to remember how horribly frightened she'd been at her own Sorting.
"Well, well…" the hat said. "You're a bit of a black sheep, aren't you?"
The boy frowned, even through his nervousness. "That's a really bad pun, you know," he said.
The hat chuckled. "It's not the last time you'll hear it, either. Especially if you go where I want to place you."
She walked closer to him, knelt before the stool, amazed at how utterly small and insignificant this person before her seemed.
"Where- where is that?" he whispered back.
She had the distinct impression the hat was smiling. "Why Gryffindor, of course."
Sirius Black, at eleven years of age, stiffened on the stool. A young McGonagall, nearby, watched with a tapping foot and obvious frown. She thought she knew where he was going – where the rest of his family had gone and where he would end up too. Hermione wanted to tell her she was wrong, and at the same time felt the oddest urge to tell the hat to just put him there instead. But of course, it couldn't hear her.
"You… you can't be serious," he managed.
"I'm usually quite serious when it comes to Sorting," the hat said back. "You know, you've got quite a bit of potential for Gryffindor. Godric would have loved you. Brash, defiant, courageous. The prime example."
"But… my family…"
"It all depends, I suppose," the hat continued. "If you're brave enough to try, you're brave enough to be in it. Otherwise, we might still put you in Slytherin with the snakes."
The boy's mouth thinned to a line, and Hermione realized that she was watching a defining moment in his life.
"I…"
"Yes?"
"I think I ought to go in Gryffindor. If that's all right."
"Quite right, my boy, quite right… well, in that case, it'll have to be-"
GRYFFINDOR!
Hermione woke with an uneasy knot in her stomach. The day proceeded well, though, and the dream was forgotten in a flurry of other things. As the weeks passed, she found only one reason she might be feeling so edgy.
Hedwig had returned – but she was not carrying any letters.
