Chapter Twenty One- Year III- Moral Decline
Almost from the start, Hermione had made peace with the certainty that this year wouldn't be her last. Searching for Horcruxes, therefore, would be a waste of both time and energy.
Still, she felt guilty. This timeline would be hardly enriched by her presence, even if she was pushing some of the Slytherins towards a Lighter path. If she wasn't going to go all out and try to defeat Voldemort, then she had to admit to herself the truth of what she was doing: experimenting. Seeing exactly how much certain players affected the future. Tossing them in the direction of the correct choice but not warning them of the dangers, nor giving them anything with which to protect themselves.
How long could she go on telling herself that she was the hero of this story?
"I wonder what it is that makes an action 'good'," Hermione said, pushing Severus's book closed. She would not be ignored.
Severus glared at her hand and then up at her face. "There's no rigid answer," he said.
Hermione huffed, glaring back without Severus's genuine irritation. "Of course not. I'm not daft, you know. But there must be some kind of loose definition, or else no one could have morals at all."
"An action that prevents harm from coming to someone else is a 'good' action," Severus said when it became clear that Hermione wasn't going to let it go.
"I thought so at first, too, but what if that action causes harm to someone else? What then?"
"Why are you treating me as the authority on morality?" Severus grumbled.
She giggled. "Well, I'm certainly not one! That's why I'm asking."
"I don't know," said Severus. "Is that what you want to hear? Questions of good and evil can be and have been argued since we knew of the concept. No answer is completely satisfying, for often there is no completely good choice."
"That does make me feel better," said Hermione. "I suppose that works."
Having convinced herself that her actions were excusable, Hermione moved on.
The next step was to wait. She dropped hints to the others, took down the Notice-Me-Not, and practiced her Hybrid Legilimency. It didn't take long for some of the Slytherins to seek her out.
She felt powerful, and she wasn't sure exactly how comfortable she was with that.
As much as she could be at that point in time, she was happy. Her every waking moment was occupied by numerology and equations, gathering data and learning how to organize it into something executable. The diagram was really beginning to take shape.
Content. She was content. She only had to work on the project and theorize, and everything would be fine.
Christmas Vacation came, and Hermione had Vici take her back to Selwyn Estate. At Hermione's request, Morfan spilled every little piece of information he'd learned over the past few months. Rhea stayed out of her way unless it was at meals. For her part, she spent her time studying, even though the end of the two weeks showed little marked progress.
Hermione didn't take the Express back to Hogwarts, either.
By the end of March, she found the bulk of the work complete. The diagram included every person and event that she could recall related even peripherally to Voldemort's rise and fall.
Her next move was to perform another spell, a much riskier spell. The paths at that time only responded to the equations, but Hermione couldn't possibly know every action every person performed.
The spell- more like a ritual than a spell, really- involved good old-fashioned DNA. Easy enough to get from a large majority of the people on her diagram, but some would be far more difficult to retrieve. Voldemort's, for example.
She would plan for that later. For now, she would do what she could. The next few weeks were spent collecting DNA samples: hairs from Severus and Regulus plucked directly from their scalps as they glowered at her, hairs from the brushes of Lily and the Marauders, saliva samples from many of the Slytherins and staff members, and a surreptitious fur-stealing from Minerva. Albus was the only one to present a problem.
Albus, naturally, was careful about where he left traces of himself. The more Hermione observed him, the more she realized that his long beard and hair were taunts. Once removed from his body, everything lost all scientific evidence of ever having belonged to him.
As tempting as it was, asking him just wouldn't be acceptable. An entirely separate Arithmancy calculation proved that he would only become suspicious and investigate, and there was little chance that he would allow it, anyway.
Fine, she would figure that out later. She would move on.
Political figures also proved difficult, though not impossible. Hermione asked Vici for help often, as the wards on the Ministry didn't do anything to hinder her. Merlin, that loophole was wide open. Did no one realize how useful house elves were?
With the Notice-Me-Not conspicuously absent, Albus watched her. He knew she was up to something, clearly.
It didn't matter. Obviously it didn't. Hermione wasn't technically doing anything against the rules. Albus would just have to sit his paranoid arse down and wait for her to leave.
Along with May came finals, and Hermione couldn't help being upset. She couldn't really explain it to herself. This had already happened the exact same way before, and she hadn't been sad then.
Severus and Regulus, and especially Regulus, didn't have time to humour her. Hermione offered to help Regulus study, but he declined. Hermione shouldn't have been offended, but she definitely was.
The two people she could even begin to consider her friends were too busy for her, and Hermione didn't have the patience to sulk or find other company. She wished that she had a need to study, herself, but Hermione was thoroughly tired of pretending to find new information from her textbooks.
Instead of puttering around the castle being useless, Hermione took herself to the grounds and paced back and forth. She could pretend that she was doing something else, something more productive, but she was pacing. When she'd acquainted herself with every corner of the fields, Hermione began venturing into the Forbidden Forest.
In hindsight, it was a mistake to be so predictable- to make an effort to present herself as someone with valuable knowledge and then remove herself from protection entirely. It was stupid, plain and simple.
"What are you thinking, Selwyn?" said Travers. Hermione whirled around, reaching for her wand. She nearly tripped on a root, and in her momentary physical disequilibrium she was easy to disarm. "Expelliarmus," he said, lazily, and her wand flew into his outstretched hand.
"I'm thinking that it's awfully rude to disarm someone if you're only planning to have a civil conversation," Hermione hissed. A chill dragged over her skin, puckering as it went. The sun was just beginning to set, but it would be a few hours yet until curfew. During those few hours no one would think to look for either one of them.
"And so it follows that..." Travers prompted. He was smirking, and it wasn't the attractive expression one could have found on one of the Black brothers. The curl of his mouth was both cruel and thoughtless, and it did no favors to the dark hair shorn within an inch of his scalp or the muddy, expressionless eyes. His nose reminded her of Severus's in its length and width, and unlike Severus, it fit his face. He reminded her of a golem, some monster created of clay and wishes to rend without art or thought. If she concentrated perhaps she would be able to make out the fingerprints of his maker.
"You're an arse, and you think I'm daft," Hermione said. "And you don't mean well. If you don't mean to hurt me in some way, you would have returned my wand."
How could she present herself? The truth was unacceptable, obviously, and she could only guess whether his intentions were general or specific. Did he want to know the answers to the exams, or the outcome of the brewing war? Whether he would have a healthy child, or whether wizards would rule over the unworthy Muggles?
"Like you could use it anyway," he scoffed, tossing his head as if his hair were in his face. "You'd just blow yourself up, and then you wouldn't be useful to anyone."
"Point taken," said Hermione. She'd allowed people to believe that her magic was unstable, not missing. Not an ideal, but one that would explain the answers to questions she couldn't admit the truth of. "But no less rude."
Travers shrugged, his wand not quite leveled at her but not at ease either. "Well, while we're both here, why don't you answer a few of my questions?"
Hermione frowned. Of course, that would be his objective. She was useless except for her knowledge. "If I like your questions, then fine," she said.
"Sit," Travers said, waving his wand and Transfiguring her a chair. It wasn't the effortless gesture he wanted her to think it was; she could see the strain on his face from the nonverbal casting. "We might be here for a while. Oh, and Muffliato."
"One of Snape's spells?" Hermione sneered. "He'd be so flattered." His mouth twitched, and Hermione was conscious that he was becoming irritated. Good; she was irritated too.
"Sit," he said again, and Hermione obeyed rather than make him force her, which would escalate the situation. She didn't like pain, and she wasn't looking forward to its inevitability. "What is your business at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"My guardians are encouraging me to find a suitable spouse." The truth. It would be easiest to stick to the truth.
"Nothing else?" His brow was beginning to contract in an expression which could only be disdain.
Hermione forced a chuckle. "Not really, no. I'm hardly here for a magical education, obviously."
"What project do you work on between classes?"
Did she need any more evidence of her gross negligence? "I have an Arithmancy project." Things were already getting too close to the full truth. But then, how else could she explain away her appearance of being a Seer? How had that seemed like a good idea for so long?
"And its object?"
"I've already told you," Hermione said. Her hands were beginning to shake.
"To find a spouse?"
"Yes."
"How shallow," Travis said, smiling.
"You would think so, I suppose," Hermione said, willfully ignoring his sarcasm.
"What is your purpose in seeking the company of Snape and Black?"
Hermione had anticipated this question, at least, and she had a ready answer. "Snape is entertaining and has accurate observations, and I'm considering Black." Even the thought of marrying Regulus made her want to dig her own grave and lie in it, but she resisted the urge in favor of looking convincing.
"What did you say to them that got them to begin speaking nonsense in the Common Room?"
"As I don't know what they're saying, I cannot answer that." Lie number two.
"About you being a Seer."
Her whole body was tensing up. "Oh, that. Just a few conclusions I came to from running calculations." In direct defiance to her body's nervous reaction, her voice was calm and even a bit condescending.
"What conclusions?"
This was the crossroads. She could lie, or say- "Following the Dark Lord will lead them and their families to premature deaths. The Blacks will apparently become extinct after this generation, for example."
"What other families?" His face was closing off, pinching.
"The Princes, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Potters, the Longbottoms, the McKinnons, and so on." She didn't dare say the Traverses but perhaps he saw it in how she avoided his eye.
"Why do you say that?" A deep breath. She could see it. He was losing his composure.
It was beyond avoiding, now. He was getting angry already. How did he get off trying to intimidate her? She's Hermione bloody Selwyn. She'd survived Azkaban, she'd survived Voldemort, she'd survived Bellatrix, she'd survived Dolohov. What could this rat-mustached teenage boy do to her that hadn't already been done? Besides, if he wasn't prepared to hear the answers then why would he seek them out? Stupid boy. "You really don't know? It's so easy to figure out," she said, feigning innocent confusion and swallowing instead of spitting at his feet.
"Enlighten me." Oh, look, he's actually twitching. Was it really that easy to rile him up?
"The Dark Lord doesn't actually care about blood purity. It's just the handy springboard for his ascension to power. He's nothing but a corrupt politician- or a cult leader. He doesn't even believe what he preaches."
His breaking point was approaching. "How dare you."
"You asked, mate," Hermione said, borrowing the facetious tone from Sirius.
"You filthy blood traitor." He'd forgotten about his wand- it lay neglected by his side.
"Hardly. How is pointing out the obvious a betrayal to my blood?" Even if he wasn't thinking of his wand right then, his fist was clenched and ready to fly- he was still dangerous. She couldn't afford to get cocky, or she would have her head bashed in. But then she would have something to pin on him, and she could destroy him.
His open palm swung, and Hermione was too slow to avoid it. Her head and torso turned to the side, the left side of her face heated and stung. Her heart was staccato, allegro, adagio. She hadn't believed he would really strike her.
"Do you feel better now, Mr Travers?" she asked, and she was calm. Genuinely calm. "It can be difficult to challenge your worldview. Happens to the best of us."
This time it was his fist, but Hermione was prepared for it. She ducked just enough that the blow glanced off her cheek.
"I wonder what it is about physical violence that convinces one that it will help. You don't feel better at all, do you? Hitting things won't stop you from wondering if I'm right."
"Shut up," Travers hissed, teeth bared and face red. "I could kill you! Don't you understand, you crazy bitch?"
"Why would you do that?" Hermione said. "The cons far outweigh the pros. Even if I am a blood traitor like you claim, I'm not some Mudblood no one would miss. All of Britain knows who I am. My absence would be immediately noticed. Besides that, you cornered me here because of the things you think I know. Already, that was a pretty stupid decision. Do you even know how to use an Obliviate, Travers? How will you cover your tracks?"
By now, Travers's face was so red she thought he might burst. Both of his fists were clenched- both! He'd dropped his wand when he slapped her! So even as Travers grabbed her by her hair and punched her square in the nose, Hermione could smile. He didn't know it, but he'd already lost.
"What does pain mean to me?" she asked him aloud, her words necessarily slurred. Blood ran into her open mouth, coating her tongue with a wash of warm pitch copper. "What is your aim? You know it won't help you."
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP OR BY MERLIN I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!"
"Aww," said Hermione. "How cute." Her arms, which he hadn't trapped since since she hadn't struggled at all, came up and she dug her thumbs deep into his bulging eyes.
He let go of her immediately to clutch at his face, falling to his knees. Hermione stood, stepped around him, and picked up his wand. It was a pretty little thing, well-maintained. She considered it for a moment before snapping it over her knee.
She should help him. He had no wand, no sight, no companion- it was pretty likely he would die out there if no one brought him back.
She could have helped him. She chose not to.
It took five days for anyone to notice that he was missing. He'd been studying for his NEWTs, and he constantly complained that classes were useless, so for a while everyone assumed he was holed up somewhere. But when no one even saw him by Wednesday, the professors got worried. Albus ran a scan for his magical signature, and when it came up negative Slughorn organized a search.
Hagrid was the one to find him. What was left of him, anyway. By then he was hardly more than bones. That's what Hermione heard, anyway, and she couldn't know just how exaggerated the claim was.
Hermione didn't feel guilty. She should have, but she didn't. A good deed was one that prevented harm from coming to others, right? Perhaps Marlene McKinnon and her family would agree that she'd done the world a favour.
To her delight, no one suspected that she'd had anything to do with it, and she passed her exams again unmolested.
The days before their scheduled return to their homes for the summer were pleasant. (Few actually mourned Travers, and it was decided that he'd just wandered out too far into the Forbidden Forest and gotten lost. It was the Forbidden Forest for a reason, after all.) Even the Ravenclaws came out of hiding and basked in the sun, enjoying this brief respite from responsibility.
Sometimes Hermione forgot that they were just kids. She'd known them as adults, as warriors, as fallen heroes, as traitors. It was hard to keep those images apart. Severus, especially, often bled into her old Professor.
As peaceful as those weeks were, Hermione only felt uneasy. The end was nearing.
She started keeping her Arithmancy notes with her at all times. That year's effort was the most precious thing she possessed, and she wouldn't be able to handle it if she had to leave it behind.
June dawned as chilly and bright as ever, and Hermione spent it writing letters. She would take care of this timeline as much as she could.
The first letter was to Albus, detailing every Horcrux and its location, as well as known Death Eaters and those who could possibly be changed. Protect Lily and James Potter, she wrote, but above all protect their son.
The second letter was to Aberforth, telling him much the same as she'd told Albus.
The third and fourth letters were to Severus and Regulus, and they were the hardest to write. She was placing a lot of responsibility on them both, and especially on Severus. Would it be worth it for him to someday be able to look back and say that he'd done his best? Would that be enough, or would he always look back with regret on his failures?
And Regulus. She just wanted him to live. Take care of Sirius, have children if Sirius didn't, make the right choices. Regulus... what would his life look like if he survived past eighteen? He truly had the potential to be a good man. She believed in him, because otherwise she might cry.
On June 13th, Hermione slept in. She didn't have to worry about missing the Express, or being discovered in a dorm, for the Room of Requirement hid her effectively. The sun was approaching its apex when she called Vici. Together they packed her things, and Hermione took the house elf's arm with a fond little smile. Vici Disapparated them both, and-
The year reset.