Chapter 42: Touring the Defenses

7 September 1940

John McKinnon's alarm woke him at quarter 'til three, just in time for him to walk around a bit and try to look like he hadn't been sleeping in a chair for the better part of four hours before Hermione returned. His neck was stiff, but his head was, thankfully, clear, and entirely John McKinnon.

He summoned an elf to bring him a sandwich and a glass of water, and took a turn around his office while he waited, wondering what he had been thinking, letting Hermione Granger, of all people, borrow his copy of The Nature of Thought. He knew, obviously, that he had been thinking she would never understand half of it, but having sorted through her memories, even just the ones she had seen fit to share with him, he revised that line of thinking. If the "psychology" texts he now had memories of were her standard fare, she most definitely would understand Flamel. Perenelle's prose was very accessible. Much more so than some of those German fellows the girl had obviously read and been applying.

He was halfway through his sandwich when Hermione knocked. He bid her enter, and she took a seat, sliding the book back onto the desk, as she had when he'd woken up earlier. She looked troubled.

"Something wrong?"

"Just an odd interaction with Lady Margolotta," the girl said. "It's nothing, I'm sure."

Lady Margolotta, is it? "Did she tell you to call her that?"

The girl looked up, startled. "Yes. Well, actually, she said everyone calls her Margolotta, and I ought to as well, but I think that's not quite true. I couldn't possibly. Especially since she was calling me Miss Hermione."

John's eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline. The girl was correct in thinking that no one called the Lady of the Library by only her first name, and so far as he knew, only a handful of students had been invited to call her Lady Margolotta, most of them post-OWL Ravenclaws. Most of those who tried it without invite were swiftly disabused of their library privileges. "Did she by any chance see what you were reading?"

Hermione thought for a moment. She had been in the Main Reading Room, and she hadn't been keeping an eye on the librarian. "It's possible," she allowed with a shrug.

Great, thought John, brushing the last crumbs of his sandwich from his fingers. The Lady's going to kill me for giving restricted literature to a fourth-year.

"She did let me have Charington's book on Mind Healing from the Restricted Section, though, and Sedgwick says she'll let us take out the basic first-aid texts, so I think you're probably safe." Hermione grinned. She didn't think the Librarian thought much of the Restricted Section, as a concept.

"Wait, you knew that The Nature of Thought is restricted?"

"Of course. It's nearly impossible to get a copy, even on the black market. I thought you knew I knew. Was that shot about me being more Slytherin than anyone but Tom and Turner just a stab in the dark?"

"No, it was a shot at your making an oath as a Gryffindor."

"Oh. Well, I'm just as much a Gryffindor as I am a Slytherin. And I didn't try to obliviate anyone anyway."

"What did you do?"

"I tried to make a copy of it, and found that there's a nifty little copyright protection ward on it. Then," she continued, before he could say anything about her trying to make illegal copies of restricted literature, "I read the chapter on Mind Healing, and absolutely had to go see if that was the actual basis of modern Mind Healing," the girl gave him a hard stare.

"Hence the Charington book?" He winced as he thought about the contents of that particular text. The Charington book was the most recent reading on the required list for prospective Mind Healers, and included extensive discussions about the side effects of mental healing for the Healers themselves. It was a disturbing read.

"Yes." She stared at him a bit longer. John was starting to get uncomfortable.

"You," the girl announced abruptly, "Are absolutely mad if you think I'm going to let you try to solve my problems by fucking up your own head until it matches mine, using sympathetic magic to link us together, and then trying your damnedest to undo the pathological parts before they drive you round the bend. I'm surprised you're not completely insane already, in multiple ways. You did this for five years? How many personalities have you got at this point?"

John gave the girl a wan smile. It seemed she did have a grasp of the basic principle of the magics used for Mind Healing. "It's just me, now. At most we were fifteen, sixteen active personalities? And most of them were insane. Perhaps another twenty or so that were sane and quiet. I managed to hide it for almost a year, kept practicing. It was probably the worst thing I could have done. It took a bit more than a year to get everything sorted out. I… had a lot of help, creating thought constructs and moving them into different objects. What finally worked was a variation on a Soul Jar Ritual, and the enchantments used for a pensieve. Each personality now lives in a different object. It was… a bad time in my life. Perenelle was a lifesaver, honestly." Maybe, John thought, the girl would take the bait and ask about Perenelle rather than his stability.

Hermione froze. She couldn't believe he had just outright told her all that. She wasn't under any sort of vow of secrecy.

"Are you telling me," she said slowly, looking at her hands in her lap, "that you have thirty-odd horcruxes lying about?"

John winced. He had forgotten, in his examination of the more recent memories, that the girl knew about Soul Jars. What had Dumbledore been thinking? Stupid question, John, he was thinking the same thing you were when you let her take The Nature of Thought. "No. Not horcruxes. They're not soul fragments, just mind fragments, and my mind was already shattered, so there was no need for a sacrifice to rend it to pieces. They wouldn't save me from death. If I died, I imagine they would vanish, or maybe that they would become a collection of objects haunted by different ghosts that are not-quite-me. That's all."

"Regardless," the girl said, stubbornly on point, "You will not help me in that way. If that is the help you intend, I will refuse your treatment, and never speak to you outside of class again. It's not healthy, and it's not right."

Another wan smile. "I can live with that. In fact, I've looked through the memories you gave me, and, unless you're hiding something extraordinarily twisted extraordinarily well, it wouldn't help you anyway. You're not pathological, just highly stressed and, shall we say… extremely well-compartmentalized. We'll need to try to relieve some of that stress before it starts to do damage, but for now, reorganizing your mind would be counterproductive. It's already far more organized than most I've seen. I'll listen to you, if you need someone to talk to. I can try to council you on how to deal with Tom and Bellatrix. I can teach you basic Occlumency so you and Tom can maintain your separate identities.

"That one's key, I think," he pointed out, "since it's more or less what you don't want me to do, and I from what I've seen of Tom, you don't want to share his particular brand of insanity. Do you even realize how much time you spend in one another's head? This past week it's been at least an hour a day, on average. That's twice as much as a qualified Mind Healer would do, even for the most desperate cases."

"More than half of that was after Dumbledore wrecked his memories," Hermione pointed out.

"You've been spending more and more time sharing mind-space as the week's gone on," John countered, raising an eyebrow, "And that's just what you showed me. I know you edited. There's no way that memory stream was unconscious."

Hermione flushed. "I just wanted you to believe me."

John sighed. "I do, Hermione. And I'm willing to help. And nothing I do will endanger my own health, I promise. So we'll start with Occlumency, the kind Mind Healers learn, against internal and external influences. And then Divination, since that's what you came here to learn in the first place, yes? And once we've got you sorted, we'll work on everything else. One all-consuming mental project at a time. Sound good?"

"Okay." Hermione assented in a soft voice.

"Right. Let's start, then. Would I be correct in thinking that you pulled me into your mind last time, like you pull Tom into your head to let him see through your eyes?"

"Yes, kind of. Normally we only drift around in the surface thoughts, though. I don't think either of us has ever gone inside the other's memory structure."

"Well, I don't think I rightly did either. I think you caught me with a torrent of memories in your surface thoughts, by thinking specifically of those memories and their associated memories. This time, I want you to keep your mind mostly blank. Don't try to pull me in, when you feel my mind on the edges of yours. If you can, in fact, it might be worth it to try keeping me out, so we can see how your external shields look at the moment. But I need to be able to see your entire mindscape, which means not flooding me with an infodump, yes?"

"I think I can do that." The girl smiled and met his eyes.

"Don't be afraid when your shields fall. It's normal to feel very vulnerable at that point. It can be an unpleasant sensation. But it will hurt more if you try to throw me out once I'm already past your shields, especially since you don't yet have any training in getting the sort of leverage you need to separate your mind from someone else's. If you want me to stop, close your eyes, or think "Get out" at me, as hard as you can, okay?"

"Don't worry, Professor McKinnon. I'll be fine. I've been fooling around with this stuff all week. You can hardly be more invasive than Tom."

"He hasn't actually tried anything very invasive, you know, from what you showed me. But no, I won't be trying anything much more than that, at least for this first time. If you're ready, then?" she nodded again, still meeting his eyes. "Legilimens."

John found himself on the edges of Hermione's mind. Her natural shield was flexible and quite thin, but supplemented by several layers of what appeared to be somewhat misapplied elementary diversions of obscurity and misdirection, probably something out of that Occlumency primer she had read; a sparkling barrier of gold and green sparks, probably a product of the blood bonding with Tom; and quite surprisingly, a net of miniscule, finely detailed ward-runes. He would bet good money that the ward-net was one of Tom's defenses, which had extended over Hermione when their minds were joined. It was the most sophisticated of the shield-layers, but it had been built for Tom's mind, not Hermione's, and there were gaps where her natural shields were exposed. He slipped through one of these gaps and punctured the natural shield, ignoring the obscurity and misdirection fields.

When he entered the mind-scape, he called out a greeting. More organized minds could often speak to legilimencers. Hello, Hermione, can you hear me?

Yes, of course, professor McKinnon. Where are you? Hermione materialized an avatar for herself, which was floating lightly in the space, exactly as she had looked in his office.

He grinned to himself. It wasn't often that someone's ideal avatar was of their actual physical appearance. He pulled his presence together in a semblance of his twenty-year-old self. Nice avatar. Do you want to be fifteen forever?

No, of course not. But this is what I look like.

You don't have to.

I know I don't. I could look like a dragon if I wanted to. But I don't. The avatar shrugged. This is fine. Do you want to be, what, twenty, forever?

John laughed. It was a good time in my life. Care to show me around, since you're here?

I suppose I could. Though I can't say I've ever really spent much time looking at my mind from this side. It's rather odd, isn't it? Though I suppose this is how neural networks are commonly described in the literature…

John looked at the mind-scape in front of him. It was rather odd, a collection of light nodes in different colors, rays or fibers connecting them to each other, some glowing more brightly than others, sparkling as thoughts raced through the network, drawn from the interconnection of thoughts and experiences.

What's that dim region over there?

The dim region lit up for a split second as Hermione recognized it. My experiences from before July. I'm trying not to think about them much.

John's avatar nodded. It's such a small section. What's the rest of this?

This section, she waved, and a series of nodes glowed white, is experiences since July. The rest of it is… referential knowledge, I suppose. Things I've read in books, but not experienced, but that still apply to my life. That nearly detached section over there she waved again is old knowledge that I might reference sometimes, but haven't used in ages – half-forgotten stuff.

John was impressed. The ratio of referential to experiential knowledge was at least ten to one, and so ridiculously well-integrated that he could not have picked out for himself where the division was. I see. Where is your body, from here?

Hermione's avatar looked at him questioningly. Anywhere, I suppose. It's not a matter of physical space, is it? I mean, I just have to turn my attention externally, and I'll be looking out, from anywhere in this space.

John thought he understood. Most people had a defined path between their thoughts and physical senses, but Hermione probably spent as much if not more time referencing the massive network of book knowledge as she did using her physical senses, so she simply had to pay conscious attention to one or the other in order to return to her body. And how would you get to Tom's mind? Can I follow you there?

I don't know. You can try. It's this way. She grabbed his avatar by the hand, and dragged it along with her own to the far reaches of her consciousness.

What just happened?

I don't know. We needed to be here, and it's my mind. So we're here. Sorry. That was kind of a Tom-ish explanation. I'll think about it and get back to you.

John chuckled. It was a more reasonable explanation than any of his other patients would have offered, even if it was somewhat lacking in precision. Let's try another question – where is here?

At the edge of my mind. The border with Tom's mind. If I turn "outward" here, I'll see through my eyes. Once we cross the line, she waved her avatar's hand, and a golden barrier appeared in the midst of an otherwise indistinguishable landscape of directionless non-color, if I turn "outward" I'll see through Tom's eyes, and he'll be able to hear us talking.

John found this somewhat disturbing. He had thought that perhaps there would be a tunnel, or bridge or some other connection between the two minds, but their surface-thought space seemed to meld together almost seamlessly.

Do you mind if we cross over?

No. I suppose if Tom does, he'll kick you out.

She pulled his avatar through the golden plane distinguishing the two spaces.

Hermione? I thought you were going to see McKinnon.

I did. I've brought him with me. He's touring the defenses, as it were.

Why can't I sense him?

I don't know.

It's probably because you're touching me. Let go of my hand.

Oh! That's odd. Hello, John. Tom's voice was disembodied.

Tom! You can't just call him John! He's a professor!

But he's a cool professor, right John?

John made his avatar roll its eyes. Tom can call me whatever he likes. I am a guest in his mind, after all.

Where's your avatar, Tom? Hermione asked.

A silver viper solidified out of the aether. Why does it matter? I'm still going to be speaking to you mind-to-mind.

Because I like to have something to look at while I'm talking.

John changed the subject. What do you know about mind-magics, Tom?

Well, I set up a ward-net around my thoughts last year, something I came across in, oh what book was it? Candleglass' book on mind magic and wardscapes, I think. Or Corkingtower's, maybe. I was looking into warding, not mind magic, specifically, but it seemed interesting, so I gave it a shot. Obviously it doesn't keep out Hermione, or anyone she chooses to bring in. I'll have to look into that.

It's extended around Hermione's mind as well, now. John put in. But it's not tuned to the shape of her mind, so it's not as effective.

That may explain how Dumbledore's been getting in.

He's read you more than once this week?

Hermione told you about Sunday? He tried, the first Transfiguration lesson, as well. I showed up like this and tried to take a bite out of him, and he backed off quickly enough. Didn't see anything. Soooo… mind magics. I've read the same books Hermione has. I've got a handle on my memory structure since Sunday. The snake twisted, and the structure John had seen in Hermione's memories appeared. It was, he thought, the most convoluted memory palace he had ever seen, traditionally architectural, but twisted into fantastical shapes, completely ignoring the conventions of real-world physics. It gave John a headache just imagining trying to navigate it. I can move it around so it's hard for an invader to find it. That's about it. And of course I can do the Parsel mind-meld thing. The snake radiated smugness.

Parsel mind-meld thing? Hermione asked.

It's what I've just been reading about. You're not the only one who studies on their day off. One second.

A willowy, humanoid figure appeared, vaguely feminine in shape, but covered in scales, rather than skin.

This is sound of scales on wet stone.

Speaker, why have you tied my consciousness to this form? The basilisk's voice was surprisingly melodious, at least in Tom's mind.

You don't think it's funny, that I'm a snake, and you're a human… more or less?

I do not.

Tom sighed. Fine.

Their forms shimmered, and Tom's snake was replaced by his usual form, but sitting cross-legged in mid-air and wearing muggle clothes. The snake-woman took the form of a silver python, wrapped around him, with her head on his shoulder.

Better?

It is not my usual majestic form, but it will do, I suppose.

It is more to our scale. I could make you a tiny basilisk, but that would be insulting, would it not?

(Basilisk?) John thought to himself. (Tom Riddle has access to a basilisk? The world is coming to an end, I know it.)

It would.

I do not wish to insult you. Tom said simply.

As well you should not. So. Humans. I am sound-of-scales-on-wet-stone. Here, I gather, we will understand each other whether or not you speak properly. How are you called?

Hermione. Hermione said, looking at the basilisk with distinct interest.

Heart-sister Tom translated, giving the great serpent Hermione's relationship to him in Parsel. The girl grinned.

And you?

John. John looked like he was most definitely in over his head.

Teacher of mind magic clarified Tom. Human names don't really mean much, in Parsel.

Would you know me, if I were to visit the Chamber? Hermione asked the basilisk.

I hardly get much company. I shall assume that if my Speaker allows a young human female in to visit, that you are she.

It's probably a safe assumption. If I bring more than one down, I will be sure to be there to introduce them, regardless.

What, are you going to invite Bellatrix down?

Warrior-lady-child of the star-people clan Tom translated. Apparently the Blacks are well-known.

Hermione ignored this aside. I look forward to the meeting great one.

You didn't tell me she speaks! The basilisk bumped her avatar's head against Tom's.

Unfortunately my tongue is clumsy, my lady. I have learned a few words, but most of them I cannot say, save in my mind.

But I appreciate the effort and the attempt, heart-sister of my Speaker! It has been too long since anyone has spoken with me, and now there are two, the basilisk uncoiled herself from Tom's avatar and wrapped herself around Hermione's instead. We shall learn to speak to one another, I think. You do share a mind with my Speaker, after all.

How can you tell?

You taste the same, around the edges, the basilisk said, flicking the nose of Hermione's avatar with her tongue.

This is absolutely fascinating, John interrupted, but unfortunately I believe it is nearly time for Hermione and myself to go.

Is it dinner already?

Yes, the alarm I set is ringing.

Okay. We should head back, then. I'll come fetch Tom shortly, my lady, and meet you in person. The snake nodded, and moved back to Tom, who was beaming, apparently pleased that his sister and his new friend were getting on so well.

Come on, professor. She grabbed his hand. See you soon, Tom. He waved.

Hermione pulled herself and John back to her mind and body, then released him so that he could find his way out. She really had no idea how to kick him out, if she had wanted to. She turned her attention to her senses again, and found herself facing the professor across his desk. She blinked and slouched back into her chair, as John came back to himself as well.

She grinned at him across the expanse of dark wood. "I think that went well, don't you?"

For the second time that day, John found himself laughing uncontrollably. "No. No, I really don't. Your shields are a mess, there's no apparent distinction between your mindscape and Tom's, and I've just spent two hours talking to a time traveler, a sadist, and a basilisk. It's like a bad joke. If you want to keep Tom out of your head, you'd have to solidify that line you outlined for me between your mind-spaces, and it would require constant maintenance – that's how integrated you two have managed to become. Nine Hells! The basilisk thought you were enough the same person to learn to speak to her through that mind-meld thing. And integrating your minds has apparently weakened Tom's shields as well, by the way, which means he'll have to re-tune that net if he wants it to be effective, and you'll probably both have to study Occlumency for it to be effective for either of you, and – what are you doing?"

Hermione was scribbling something in her dayplanner. "Sorry, professor. Just taking notes."

"While you've got that open, pencil in a meeting every Saturday morning from now until forever. I expect that's about how long it will take to fix this mess. I'd say the only good thing we established today is that your memory constructions are still independent."

"Thank you, Professor."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm absolutely serious about that. For all we know, this could be progressive. And for the love Light, call me John. Our priority for next week is going to have to be seeking out yours and Tom's motivations behind that blood bond, so warn him that I'll need to do some digging in his mind, too…"

"Thanks, John." Hermione grinned. "It won't be so bad, you'll see. I'm a quick study, and it's not like I haven't got incentives to make this work. And I'm pretty sure Tom doesn't want our memories or personalities melding any more than you or I do, so he'll probably cooperate."

"Still doesn't mean I want to dig around in his memories," John grumbled.

"If it's any consolation, I think he can probably keep you away from the more disturbing ones, if you ask him to. You are doing us a favor, after all. The least he can do is not drive you nuts while you do it. Again. Check your margins, by the way. I've left some comments, since no one's updated the notes for about fifty years." She winked cheekily at him, and closed the door quietly behind her as John flipped rapidly through his copy of The Nature of Thought.

In the pages describing Mind Healing, there was a new, scathing tirade in tiny, precise block capitals, including references not only to the Charington book, but also to what had to be several muggle texts, which would not be written for another twenty to forty years. The overall gist was that Mind Healing was an idiotic art, man's greatest display of hubris, and that those who would attempt it were no better than the worst they would try to heal. Being only human gave them understanding for their subjects, but no distance for perspective, and the attempt in itself was a hollow one, doomed to failure. He considered for a moment erasing it, but instead labeled it – Hermione Jean Granger, age 14. Perhaps when she graduated, he would pull it out, and see what she thought of her assessment when she'd had a few more years' perspective herself.

In any case, it should be of interest to future scholars, should any of the muggle texts ever get written. Otherwise, he presumed, most of them would think it was a joke.

John stretched, and decided abruptly that, no matter how much he wanted another nap after that hellish excursion, he really ought to eat a proper dinner, and so he made his way down to the Great Hall, wondering idly how long it would take Hermione to drag Tom away from the Chamber of Secrets, where ever it was. Some days, the gods must just look down at us and laugh and laugh, he thought as he descended the Great Staircase, the cruel bastards.