Insomnia, anger, memory lapses.
Those were the words Harry Potter had written on a parchment as he was searching for some ailment on the day he and Hermione had been attacked. But no matter how much she tried reading the book in which the note had been and how much she was harassing the Hufflepuff to explain what it meant, her researches weren't giving Hermione a clearer picture and only made it muddier. The more Hermione was digging, the less it made sense.
It reminded her of the 'squib' problem. She had at first believed Harry to be a dreadfully shy boy afraid of his own shadow but Nathan had snorted when she had said that.
"Harry," he had told her, "may be selling the image of the poor stupid squib, that doesn't mean you should buy his act. I'm sure he loves pretending he is a useless squib, this isn't what he is."
Seeing her dumbfounded face, Nathan had looked around and, once he was sure nobody was listening, had learnt to whisper, "You do realize I'm famous, don't you? As in… most famous child in the wizarding world famous. We're the most famous family in the world, it shouldn't be surprising we all deal with the fame in our own way. It happens his is pretending to be a poor innocent, harmless squib."
She had at first been shocked at how the boy had waved her concerns away by pretending he was just 'acting'. Now however, she knew there had been some truth in his words.
One: Harry wasn't stupid at all. Or if he was, then the majority of the people she knew also was. Honestly, how could he have pretended he was stupid to her fact when Hermione herself had troubles translating the book he had been reading that day? Did he even realize he was basically insulting everybody when he was putting himself down like that?
Two: Harry wasn't a pushover.
She had been surprised when she had come to that realization. No matter how hard somebody pushed him into doing something, if his mind was set, he was not going to do it. The mystery that was his attack being the most recent example of his stubbornness.
Three: when she was attempting to boss him around or make him see her point of view, there were moments Harry would send her a look and she got the distinct impression she was walking on very thin ice and shouldn't push her luck and anger him.
It was for all these reasons she often had the distinct impression she was barking up the wrong tree when she was tackling a problem Harry was involved in and was wasting her time.
Speaking of time...
She sighed and hid her face behind her hands.
She was tired. So tired she wanted to cry. And it was only 9 a.m. and she had yet to start her research for Buckbeak's case.
She wanted to give up, she wanted to scream and tell Professor McGonagall she had been wrong about her, leave her time-turner and the wizarding world while she was at it.
Only she couldn't. Her pride would allow it, and she knew she could do it. She had to do it.
She couldn't not do it.
So she took with a sniff yet another book and forced herself to read it.
Failure was not an option.
0~*~0
When Harry came for the History club, Hermione was half-crying on the book she was reading.
He sighed. He knew Jeremy had told her not to push it, but the Gryffindor clearly hadn't decided to listen to the Seventh Year.
For a while, he pretended he wasn't seeing anything and read a book on magical theory for the upcoming entrance exam for Merlin Academy. After a sniff too many, he gave up.
"Give them to me."
Hermione slowly raised her head and his fingers started hitting the table.
"Your notes," he explained. "Give them to me. You don't have time for this."
"Actually, I-"
"You don't. You don't but I do. Give me your notes on Buckbeak's case."
He was going to spend far too much time in the library for his tastes but that was the least he could do.
"Harry," she slowly began, "you have to focus on your studies and-"
"-you think I'm not sick of reading the same book over and over again?" He couldn't stop the bitterness from tainting his words. "Or- or to do the same thing over and over?"
Hermione had the decency to look away.
"I know the levitation charm better than you ever will by now." He pointed the bookshelf behind her, "I've read everything about it, which, trust me, wasn't as easy as it probably sounds like. I'm tired of you thinking I'm some charity case," he bluntly said and Hermione uncomfortably shifted in her seat. "I'm telling you that you don't have time for this and that I can do it. I'll gladly do it, Hagrid's a friend."
And Harry gave the coup de grace.
"Why can't you trust me?"
Hermione shakily exhaled and Harry for a moment thought she was about to burst to tear. "I-I'm sorry. S-So sorry. I just… it's just… I always do research on my own and… and I… I trust you, I-I do. It's just that-"
"You're a bossy control-freak."
Hermione startled.
She then bitterly smiled. "Is that what you think of me?"
The Hufflepuff crossed his arms. "It's not an insult. But you do like being in control a bit too much. Right now, I'm asking you to let go. Let go and trust me."
Hermione bit her lower lip and seemed to consider her choices, torn.
Finally, she very, very slowly slid her notes in his direction. "If you need help, call me?"
"Sure."
Her voice was very small. "And- and you'll let me check once in a while?"
Baby steps. It was all about baby steps. "How about once a month?" he proposed.
She tiredly smiled at him. "You've got a deal."
0~*~0
Hermione relapsed somewhere around December.
Harry knew the task ahead of her was gigantic and that, in many ways, Nathan and Ron were her enablers. They trusted her to do their research, completely. If they didn't know something, they believed all they had to do was to ask her and everything was going to work out. And Hermione was far too happy to worm her way into the library and read everything she could.
"I found this book," she said before handing him a grimoire, "and I thought it fit everything we-"
"Already read it." He turned the page of his book. "Long story short, no."
He didn't know who expressed their doubt on his abilities in front of her, but he hated them.
She faltered. "Oh. So, what did you find?"
Harry sighed.
Truth be told, he knew the probability of Buckbeak surviving was close to 1%. He had learnt far too much about Common law and wizarding courts but it was obvious that the case was not as straightforward as it first looked. In theory, it could go one way or another.
That was, if the injured student hadn't been Draco Malfoy himself. A pureblood, one of the sacred twenty-eight families, injured by the hippogriff of a wizard like Hagrid? A wizard accused of raising dangerous creatures and expelled fifty years ago because of it? Somebody whose appearance might betray giant blood?
Harry was surprised at this point Hagrid was still teaching and he suspected Dumbledore to have done amazing damage control to help the groundskeeper.
But if Malfoy couldn't get Hagrid, then he had no choice but to settle for Buckbeak. And the wizards judging the case would be too biased not to condemn the hippogriff, if only to save face and not been seen as weak.
Saving face. Keeping up appearance. That was how the wizarding world kept turning. And Harry more than anybody knew it was foolish to expect it was going to change anytime soon or that a miracle was going to happen.
"I've seen a case," he told her. "N-Not a hippogriff b-but… this could set a precedent."
Her face immediately brightened. "Great! Have you got your notes?" After reading them, her mood slightly fell. "Is that really all we've got ?
"Sorry."
"No, no. It's not your fault. I just-" She bit her lower lip and braced herself. "I suppose we need to work harder."
Seeing her opening her book, he sighed. "Hermione, the odds of Buckbeak surviving are not very high."
"That's why we're working on raising them," she answered, not bothering to raise her head. "And we'll keep working on it until he's found innocent. Not matter what, Malfoy will not get Buckbeak killed. Have you got anything else?"
Harry was about to answered by the negative when he stopped.
That was dangerous, he couldn't help thinking at the idea he's just had. And while it wouldn't be his first rodeo, he hadn't done something at that scale before and if it failed he knew his family would fall on him.
Question was: was saving Buckbeak worth it?
Hermione sighed, misunderstanding his silence and one hour later excused herself and left the library.
Wearily, Harry took his quill and dipped the tip in the inkbottle.
Dear Youth Representative for the Wizengamot,
My name is Nathan Potter and I have a query to make...
0~*~0
When Remus entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Nathan Potter was already there for their first private lesson.
"What's inside?" the boy asked at the sight of the box in Remus' hands.
"Another boggart," he said, stripping off his cloak.
Nathan flinched.
"I've been combing the castle this week," he explained, "and very luckily, I found this one. It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor and I'll think it'll be an excellent dummy."
Remus smiled but the Gryffindor seemed sick.
He frowned. "Is everything alright, Nathan?"
Nathan startled. "What? Oh, yes, yes. It's just…" Nathan hesitated a moment before bracing himself, as if he was about to reveal a terrible secret. "My boggart is not a Dementor."
Remus blinked. "I thought you said-"
"And I was wrong," he bitterly admitted.
Eyes fixed on his shoes, he said, "I found a boggart in an empty classroom one night. It was- It was definitely not a Dementor."
Remus frowned but the Third Year's eyes were still looking at his shoes, fists tightened.
"Did you have any problem with it?" he tried.
Nathan startled and blankly looked at him.
He then nervously laughed. "M-Me? No-No problem at all. A bit-A bit spooky –it was night after all- but I managed just fine. I-I wasn't even scared!"
Remus pensively looked at the boy who had begun biting his fingernail.
"It's alright to be scared. You know that, don't you?"
Something in the Gryffindor's face shifted for a second.
Finally he snorted. "It was just a boggart. And I'm a Gryffindor, I can handle it. I'm sorry I made you waste your time, Moony. It-it's not going to be problem, right?"
Remus shook his head. "Not at all. I've thought about making you confront a Dementor but I suppose it will be better if we begin with you casting the patronus charm without the presence of one."
"The patronus charm?"
"That's the spell I'm going to teach you," he told the Gryffindor. "It conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of anti-Dementor —a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. It is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon —hope, happiness, the desire to survive —but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it."
Nathan slowly smiled.
"It is a very difficult spell," Remus warned. "I know from your teachers you are a good students, but this charm is way beyond OWL level and infinitely more complex that any spell you may have learned before." Seeing Nathan's shrug he insisted. "Not only does it need quite a lot of magic to be casted, it requires more than that. To cast the patronus charm you need a happy memory. And not any happy memory," he added before Nathan could say anything, "the strongest memory you've got. A happy memory so strong it fills you up until you cannot feel Dementor's presence anymore."
Nathan made an incredulous face. "So… To defeat a Dementor, you need to somehow be very happy?"
The Defence Professor lightly laughed. "As I said, it is a very difficult spell. So try to choose the perfect memory you've got for this situation. A happy memory so strong not even a Dementor can take it away."
Nathan pensively looked at his wand. "Finding a happy memory, eh?"
The Gryffindor finally looked at Remus and gave him a well-practiced smile.
"That part is going to be easy, I'm sure."
0~*~0
It was not easy.
That was how Hermione understood the situation when Nathan came back from his private lesson in what couldn't be described as anything but a foul mood.
Nathan was undoubtedly a gifted and powerful wizard, everything seemed to come easily to him and yet, at the end of his third lesson, he still hadn't managed to produce a single spark.
Hermione didn't say a word as the Gryffindor kept pacing around the Common Room like a caged lion.
"He did tell you it was a very difficult charm," Hermione reminded him.
"So what?" he snapped. "I just- How can I not-"
He kicked the armchair in front of him and grimaced in pain.
"He better not tell Dad," he murmured.
"Why would he?"
He startled, as if she had forgotten for a moment her presence.
Finally he sighed. "They're childhood friends. Mind you, I think they're not as close as they pretend to be so I should be safe." Seeing her puzzled face, he sighed again. "Dad hates talking about that time. Why I don't know, but I think it's linked with Pettigrew."
It's at that moment Hermione remembered the escaped criminal was Nathan's own godfather. "Does that mean he knows Pettigrew?"
Nathan grimly smiled. "Of course he does. They were best mates. The Marauders, that's how the four of them called themselves. I wouldn't be surprised to learn Pettigrew is the reason Professor Lupin is there, at Hogwarts."
Hermione slowly digested the information.
Suddenly she frowned. "Four?"
Nathan stilled and looked at her as if she had, somehow, done something terrible in saying that word.
After a few tense seconds, he fell on the armchair, exhausted.
"James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. Sirius Black is Harry's godfather. And before you ask, me and Harry have never met him. Like I said, Dad hates talking about that time, and Sirius' name is not to be said in front of him. Ever."
He looked at the ceiling as if considering something important. Finally, he sharply inhaled, as if he was bracing himself for something terrible.
"He never mentions him b-but I-I think I remember something- You see, when the- When the Dementors are there I-I… I remember a man screaming."
He finally looked at her and Hermione couldn't help thinking he had never seen him so vulnerable.
"I think it's his voice I remember. The night Voldemort came, I think Sirius Black was there."